random metaphors

Deceptive Appearances

My lovely friend Tracy Jorgensen has beta-read two of my manuscripts for me (so far), and both times has included fan-art sketches with her feedback. I won’t post the one for Significantly Other because it’s slightly spoilerish (kinda-sorta). More recently, she did this sketch for Fingerprints, my much beloved ms #1.

There are the twins, Taz on the left, Raina on the right. Taz has a bowl of yummy, fudgy goodness. Raina (poor thing) got a stinky pile of dog poop.

Think about it. From a distance (and especially from an image so your nose isn’t involved), the two might look kind of similar, right? Tracy had a whole analogy about the ms to go with it. Maybe I’ll share it sometime.

Meanwhile, I’d love to hear your interpretation. What are two things that look very similar on the surface, but upon closer inspection, one is awesome and the other … not so much?

Come on, creative types! What’s the best you can come up with? (Or maybe just a silly caption for the picture?)

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Getting the Right Consistency

You’re all thinking this is another post about how Food Network rules my life, right? Wrong. That’s not the kind of consistency I’m talking about.

Every time I have a long enough break from school, I drive to visit my family over 500 miles away. That’s a lot of driving, and it’s given me a chance to develop very specific road-trip pet peeves. Two of the biggies are related to consistency, but at opposite ends of the spectrum.

The first annoyance is the driver who can’t seem to maintain speed on the highway. Not everyone has cruise control, and not everyone who has it wants to use it. That’s fine. But when they vary as much as 15 or 20 mph due to nothing other than their own distraction, I get annoyed. Especially since they always seem to go fast when I could pass them, and drag their wagons when I’m stuck behind them indefinitely.

The other problematic drivers are consistent when they shouldn’t be. They go one speed—say, 65 mph in a 70 zone. The highway cuts through a small town, so the speed reduces significantly, maybe down to 45 mph. They keep going 65. Too slow when they should go fast, too fast when they should go slow.

Okay, time for a writing parallel—why not?

Driver #1 is like a writer not maintaining consistency within the plot or characters. Yes, characters grow and change, but not out of the blue, and not just because it’s convenient for you. Don’t make your readers slam on the brakes for no reason.

Driver #2 is like a writer plowing through the ms with the same level of tension throughout. There should be peaks and valleys. Sometimes the reader needs a relative breather. Don’t blast through the scenic village at the same speed you cruise through the desert.

Now I’m off to check my ms for both varieties of consistency.

Any tips, tricks, or thoughts related to consistency … in writing, life, or anywhere else?

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Maturity is Eating Your Vegetables

** This presumes you’re the kind of person who doesn’t like vegetables. I’m not that kind of person. I rather like most vegetables. But it’s a metaphor. Just go with it. **

When you’re a little kid (who doesn’t like vegetables), your parents know you should eat veggies, but you don’t care. You don’t care that they’re good for you. You don’t care about those wonderful vitamins and all they can do for you. You don’t care about the nasty things that can happen if you have a deficiency of those vitamins. You only care about how marshmallows and popsicles are better than asparagus and broccoli, just because they are.

Our parents bribe, cajole, and threaten us so we eat our carrots and Brussels sprouts. At some point, though, we accept that we really can’t live on Pop Rocks and root beer. We really ought to eat those things that came out of dirt. Once we open our minds to them, we may even find they’re not so bad.

This is one of many cool things about teaching teenagers—and no, I’m not really talking about diet and nutrition.

With the ages I teach—and particularly because I’ve stuck with many students over several years—I get to see a lot of them making transitions to self-aware maturity. The kid who used to blow off everything academic starting to take things more seriously, even looking back and saying he wished he’d buckled down earlier so he could’ve learned more. The girl who voluntarily comes in during lunch for extra help, even though we both know she’d rather be chatting with friends than torturing herself with math.

I don’t get to see the transition for all of them. Some come to me with a very grounded worldview already in place. Some leave my class still thinking life will be a party—they’ll put it together later … or maybe not. (I’m pretty sure some on-paper adults are still patently immature.) But when I do see it, it’s very cool.

A current example: If you recall, I teach deaf kids. That means they all have IEPs (Individualized Education Plans, required for any kid with special ed services). This month has been IEP season at my school, so we sit down for a meeting with each kid (and a parent or two) and discuss where they’re at, where they want to go, and what they need to do to get there.

Most teenagers are counting down the days to graduation. “Come June of (name-the-year), I’m outta here!” My students are generally no different. Technically, though, they can stay with us until the year they turn twenty-two. Most shudder at the thought.

But then some of them take a realistic look at their goals. Maybe they want to go to college, and they look at their reading and writing levels. Not good enough … but right in a range where an extra year of high school, really working on it, could make the difference. And they say, “Yeah, I think I should learn more so I’m ready, because college is hard.”

That’s not just going for the carrots—that’s reaching for a big scoop of the whole vegetable medley.

I love that moment.

And I’ll keep trying my best to make those veggies tasty.

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