At the time of writing this, I have finished the manuscript for the murder mystery I had been writing and done one complete revision/edit of it. Then, I went through and created a reverse outline. This is a handy tool to see what you’ve got on the page in a manageable way – because 94K words is not really something one can take in all at once.
I don’t normally do a reverse outline for my novels, but this one is more complicated than ones I’ve had in the past. There are far more characters and details and plotlines to track. I want to make sure I’ve not dropped a plotline somewhere or neglected a character (which I know I did upon reading through it again). In addition, I’m a continuity freak – I want to make sure the timeline actually lines up. If a chapter is four days later and it’s a weekday, does that line up with the previous chapter date? Things like that.
It didn’t take me long to connect the facts that I have closet doors in my office and a couple stacks of differently-colored Post It Notes. One color for chapter/dates. One color for when a new character is introduced (and any important details). One color for murder cases. A large red star in the corner of any character or plotline that disappeared.
I got through the first twenty chapters by taking notes in my notebook – then I sat down and wrote out the Post Its, sticking them to my door.
Great, I thought – this is going swimmingly and will be such a great tool once it’s done.
Then I went into my offie the next morning to find several of the Post It Notes on the floor. Some had curled and fell. I restuck them. I flattened all of the notes best I could.
Next morning – more Post Its on the floor. Even more the next morning.
[face palm]
I don’t know if it’s the paint on the doors. I don’t know if it’s because it’s been a bit more humid than normal. But the darn things just won’t stick for long. 😂
Well, here’s a post a bit out of left field for you today. 🙂
When I was a kid, my papa (maternal grandfather) would sometimes sit my sister and I down and play for us videos of his favorite comedian – a Danish-American man (who also acted and could play the piano beautifully). His name was Victor Borge (well, that was his professional name – he was born Børge Rosenbaum).
Papa would turn on the VCR (yes, I am dating all of us here), put in a VHS tape, and then press play – and we would be lost in absolute giggle fits before long. Probably surprising to many given the man was in his eighties by then – but there we were, two little girls, unable to control their laughter.
Why am I bringing this up? Well, a clip of his came across my social media the other day, and as it always does when his name is mentioned or a clip enters my feed, I went and sought out my favorite clips – and I giggled. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen these clips – I know what’s coming. But even so, they still get me every single time.
Like me, my papa was a storyteller (I still list him as my favorite storyteller, and I should probably say I learned to love stories from my papa and he is absolutely the reason I’m a writer these days) – we both had a love of language. So of course we would bond over language-based comedy. Below are two of my favorite bits – Phonetic Punctuation and Inflationary Language. I highly recommend checking them out. (I mean, who couldn’t use a giggle these days?)
I don’t remember when I first heard someone say never to judge someone for mispronouncing a word because they probably learned that word from reading. But it has stuck with me.
“There should be a hotline you can call where you can safely pronounce words you’ve only ever read out loud for the first time, and they say, ‘oh sweetie’ and kindly explain hot it’s pronounced.”
Here’s the thing – English is hard. It’s, quite honestly, a mistake. It’s what happens when you take German people and French Latin people and force them to live together. English falls out. Accidentally.
Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever heard someone speak German or someone speaking French – but these two languages sound nothing alike. And they follow (very) different rules.
And every word in the English language follows a specific rule for things like conjugation or pluralization. The issue is that they don’t all follow the same rules. Because they don’t all descend from the same language. (In cases of silent letters, shifts in pronunciation after the invention of the printing press are to blame. Yes, we used to pronounce the ‘k’ in knight and knife.)
Certain English words follow those German rules and others follow the Latin rules. Not to mention all the words we’ve absorbed from other languages (referred to as ‘loan words’). (And English is one of the languages with the most words. That’s saying something given there are over seven thousand languages spoken in the world today.)
Take the word mouse (or louse – but not house). This word descended from Germanic roots, where the ‘ou’ becomes ‘i’ (due to what is called strong declension – they pluralize irregularly rather than by adding an -s or -es suffix). (House is an outlier because while it used to follow this pattern, it no longer does – it got ‘regularized’.) The same happens with goose (or foot or tooth) where the ‘oo’ becomes ‘ee’ in pluralization.
So what about moose? What happened there? The ‘ou’ doesn’t become an ‘i’ when pluralized. Actually, nothing happens to it when it’s pluralized…? Well, it’s a loan word – it’s roots are Indigenous (from several Indigenous languages). It doesn’t follow the Germanic rules because it’s not Germanic. It follows the rules of its Indigenous roots. Thus, moose is both singular and plural.
Shifts in pronunciations post printing press are also to blame for words not always sounding like they look. Not to mention dialects/accents with different pronunciation rules. I mean, look no further than American vs British English. There are words we spell differently, and many that we pronounce differently. And it’s the same language. (Well, sorta. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)
All this to say – no wonder if we’ve only read a word and never heard it out loud that we might pronounce it incorrectly.
We should really consider why we find it charming when someone with a different accent pronounces a word in a unusual (to us) way, but when someone mispronounces it from only having read it, we don’t. Instead, we should be applauding the attempt.
Title: Fly Girl Author: Ann Hood Genre: Memoir Pages: 288 Publication Date: Apr 4, 2023 StoryGraph* Moods: informative, adventurous, reflective How I Stumbled Upon This Book: I honestly don’t remember where I first saw this book – I don’t think it was a verbal recommendation from anyone. But I read it as research for a story I’m working on. Other Books by this author: Hood has over a dozen other books to check out *StoryGraph also offers content warnings.
Description:
“In 1978, in the tailwind of the Golden Age of air travel, flight attendants were the epitome of glamor and sophistication. Fresh out of college and hungry to experience the world, Ann Hood joined their ranks. She carved chateaubriand in the first-class cabin, found romance on layovers in London and Lisbon, and walked more than a million miles in high heels, smiling as she served thousands of passengers. She flew through the start of deregulation, an oil crisis, massive furloughs, and a labor strike. As the airline industry changed around her, Hood began to write–even drafting snatches of her first novel from the jump-seat. She reveals how the job empowered her, despite its roots in sexist standards. Packed with funny, moving, and shocking stories of life as a flight attendant, Fly Girl captures the nostalgia and magic of air travel at its height, and the thrill that remains with every takeoff.”
Why I recommend this book:
By the time I flew for the first time, flying wasn’t something people dressed up for, and airlines were already trying to cram as many seats on board as they could to maximize profits over comfort. This memoir by Ann Hood is an interesting look into the ‘heyday’ of flying, giving insights into what it took to even become a cabin attendant, not to mention all they went through dealing with passengers.
Given my own experience flying, I can’t even imagine flying when it was such a luxury – when people wore suits and dresses, and they were served high-end food and drinks in the first-class cabin. Hood lets us into the secret world behind the curtain – her application process, her training, and what it’s like when you’re new and don’t have any say at all in what sort of schedule you get.
But also – the romance of it, getting to see places all around the world most of us only dream of. Not to mention meeting all kinds of people on the flights themselves. Hood even manages to write her first novel during the quiet moments sitting in her jump seat.
If you’ve ever flown, I recommend reading this. You will definitely see your next flight from a different point of view.
“I was one of those people. Stepping off a bus from Manhattan into the glass and concrete terminal dressed in my TWA uniform and on my way to a faraway city. From the moment I had my wings pinned onto my dark blue jacket in 1979, to the day in 1986 when I hung my uniform up for good, being a flight attendant brought me everything that I had dreamed.” ~ Ann Hood, Fly Girl
They say don’t judge a book by its cover, but let’s be real, the cover is what gets us to pick the book off the shelf in the first place. The city of Chicago is practically a character in All Falling Things, becoming the wonderland in which my characters attempt to find themselves, so it makes sense that it should darn the cover:
These days, the days of streaming TV shows and films and music, of ebooks, of endless scrolling on your social media platform of choice – it seems like there is very little in the way of tangible goods anymore (when it comes to the arts – there are still box stores full of…stuff). Which, when you grew up in the 80s and 90s, when you had to transition from records to cassettes to CDs to MP3s… it’s strange to realize how little of our content (that we’ve paid for) that we actually own anymore, that we can actually hold in our hands.
And as someone who grew up in the 80s, I do prefer to be able to hold the things that I own. Strange, I know.
But even more important than that, I also want to make sure that as much of the money that I’m spending on the…thing – book, record, whatever – gets into the hands of the person who was responsible for creating it. And that is getting increasingly more difficult. For many reasons. Not just that we are living in a digital world. Not just that the shifts to digital also have shifted profits from the artists’ hands to those that produce them or to the platforms that stream them. (Not to mention AI.) We also have a stagnant minimum wage and increasing inflation. A lot of people don’t have the disposable income to spend on things we currently call a luxury (because we have short memories and forget how it was the arts we turned to to save us during the pandemic).
“If I ever feel bad about spending $ on books, I just tell myself I’m supporting a writer whose parents told them they’d never make any money.”
I realize this can sound self-serving – I’m a writer who wants to sell books. But I’m not saying buy my book here. (Though, if you feel so inclined…) I’m saying if you can, if there is a musician that you like whose music you stream often (which gets them pennies, if they are lucky), maybe consider outright buying an album. If there is someone whose visual art you enjoy, instead of taking another screenshot, perhaps consider buying their art on something (it doesn’t have to be an original or anything big – even buying a print on a card can help them). Like an author but don’t have the means to buy a new copy? Check it out of the library. (If your library doesn’t carry it, request it.) Every little bit helps.
Even more simple things you can do that don’t cost anything but could potentially get them royalties down the line – follow them on social media and help to spread the word:
How to support an artist for free: Like their post, comment (to give them motivation), share (to introduce others to their page), save the post (it helps with engagement).
I’m about to stand up in front of a classroom again for the first time. Well, the first time for these particular classes. It’s actually going to be my 204th time.
I gathered some teaching data recently and discovered that I had taught my 200th course in the spring of this year. (And the 201st, 202nd, and 203rd. Who knew?) I finished my forth-seventh semester. And taught my 2,623rd student. (Many of them took multiple classes with me, which feels like the greatest compliment students can give to a teacher.)
When I was a kid, I thought it would be fun to be a teacher because I could spend my days writing on chalk boards. Little did I know, those wouldn’t even really exist by the time I got to stand up in front of a classroom all day.
Which was a hurdle I had to get over, by the way. I’m an introvert. I was also painfully shy as a kid. (And no, those are not the same thing.) As an introvert, I do better thinking through writing than talking. As a shy kid, I had no interest in being the center of anyone’s attention, let alone an entire classroom of folks. How I ever landed on teaching as my chosen profession, I honestly don’t know.
But I did what I needed to get comfortable with it. I was in Forensics through middle and high school, which helped me get (somewhat) more comfortable standing up and speaking in front of a people. I obviously went to college and grad school to get comfortable with the content. And then I found a job at a small community college in the middle of a corn field down the road from the university where my (now-)ex was getting their masters. (I don’t know why I didn’t think to look for a job or apply there… ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ but given the people that have come into my life through my work, I’m glad I didn’t.)
When I started at this community college, the plan was a couple years, and then we’d probably be moving for my ex’s work. But they added a year onto their graduate degree, and a full-time position opened up at my college. I applied. I got it. Figured I’d save up some money for a couple years, then we’d move.
But then I blinked.
Now I’m about to start my eighteenth year there. My forty-eighth semester. Teach my 2,624th student.
I still remember the painstakingly long countdown to high school graduation – how I couldn’t wait for the next step. And now, somehow, someway, here we are.
And somehow, I still get nervous on the first day of class. I sort of hope that never goes away.
Title: Raising Hare Author: Chloe Dalton Genre: Memoir, Nature Pages: 304 Publication Date: Mar 4, 2025 StoryGraph* Moods: Informative, Reflective, Inspiring How I Stumbled Upon This Book: The woman that runs one of my book clubs (and owns my fav bookshop) recommended it. Other Books by this author: They are currently working on their second book. *StoryGraph also offers content warnings.
Description: During lockdown, Chloe Dalton was living in the English countryside of her childhood – a restored barn surrounded by farmland. This setting is a stark contrast to her pre-COVID life – where she lived and worked in the city and traveled for work – sometimes risking death to get the story. She seems to thrive in this high-paced world, and time in the country at first feels somewhat like a punishment.
Enter a leveret, or baby hare. Out in the open. In danger. At first, Dalton leaves the leveret in the hopes that its mother will come and take it back to safety. When this doesn’t happen, Dalton takes the leveret into her care hoping to keep it safe until it can be returned to nature. Unfortunately, she didn’t understand what she was doing when she brought the little leveret home. Once in human care, a hare’s survival rate plummets to 10%. (One could argue that if left out in the open, the leveret’s survival rate would have been 0%. Dalton knew the second fact – she didn’t know the first.)
The leveret Dalton rescues (click image to see this on their Instagram).
Dalton creates a set of boundaries for herself and the leveret – she does not name it, tries not to touch it, and does not confine it (except once, briefly). She creates a specially constructed flap so the hare can come and go as it pleases.
This memoir chronicles their time together and the challenges they face – but also the improbable bond of trust between them. Sometimes, life gives us exactly what we need in the most unexpected of was.
Why I recommend this book: When my friend first described this book to me, I didn’t quite understand why they were talking about it with such regard. A memoir about a woman that takes in a baby hare? But I trust this friend (and bookshop owner) – when she says a book is good, it’s good.
So I put a hold on it from the library and waited (the waitlist was quite long). When it finally came in, I devoured it in two days. I couldn’t put it down. The book is indeed part memoir, where we get to see a change in Dalton as she adapts her home and life to coexist with this wild creature – she learns, she grows, she slows down. She is inextricably changed.
The book is also part non-fiction deep dive into leverets. I didn’t expect, even as someone who loves to learn about random topics, to enjoy these parts of the book as much as I did. They are fascinating creatures, hares. And through Dalton’s eyes, we get to see one up close as it grows up, adapts, and changes – and as she learns about hares, she teaches us.
I’ll be honest – I don’t know why this book works. Why I gobbled it up. On face value, it sounds like every other wild animal encounter book out there – but somehow its not. It’s beautifully written, educational, and perhaps satiates our own appetite for such a slowing down, for such an encounter.
“I tell myself not to count the years ahead in which she might never again come, but rather cherish the days she has given me of her own free will, when she lowered her species’ instinctive guard against humans, and shared the beauty and mystery of her presence in silent and graceful companionship. I will remember her leaving, but I will always know that before she did, she always, first, looked back.” ~ Chloe Dalton, Raising Hare
A few months ago, I wrote about a trip I took with my bezzie mate to Liverpool. On that trip, we also took a side quest to Dublin and drove through north Wales. When we were in the planning stages of the trip, I mentioned it to a friend of mine – who told me about how twenty years ago, she had gone to Wales with her family – her girls were little then. The next day, she texted me a photo she had dug out – her two little girls running up a lush green hill in a town by the name of Llandudno. I’d never heard of it, wasn’t quite sure how to even say it. But I looked it up – and it was on the route we had talked about driving. So I let me fingers do the walking.
And color me surprised to learn that this town, straddling a small peninsula on the north coast of Wales, was where Alice Liddel (the ‘real’ Alice of the Wonderland) spent summer holidays with her family (the first of which was in 1861 when she was eight). It’s been speculated, though not proven, that Lewis Carroll (a.k.a. Charles Dodgson) visited the family in their summer home and was inspired to write his story based on Alice’s adventures. True or not, the town has taken on this speculation as truth. So much so that in 1933, the then Prime Minster unveiled a White Rabbit statue – the start of the Wonderland Town Trail (also referred to as the Alice Trail).
If you’ve been following along with my journey of my book All Falling Things, you’ll understand my love of Alice and Wonderland – so this little town I’d not heard of before became an absolute must on this trip (thanks to my friend Amy for bringing it to my attention!). (It was on this trip, though in Dublin, that I held in my hands a signed, first edition of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. I have a thing about holding history – and this was a moment for me, y’all.)
The trail contains twelve statues, though thirty-four points of interest. You can purchase a map upon arrival, which makes pre-planning tricky – I may have spent time searching and finding points on a map for the statues I’d like to see. We did not see them all – but I guess that means we’ll just have to go back. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ The town was truly lovely, and I could see spending more time there.
We started by parking downtown (again – small town) and walked over to the pier, which takes you out for beautiful views of the town, and then to a small park up the hill (there’s a cable car you can take to go higher up, but we didn’t…this time…). There, we saw two caterpillars, the Mad Hatter, the thrones, and the tea party table:
From there, we walked across the peninsula (it’s about a mile wide), which took us through a residential area – and my goodness, what an idyllic place to live! The homes were utterly charming.
On the other side, we sought out the marble White Rabbit and a rather sinisterly carved wooden Cheshire cat (not posted is the pic I took of my bezzie with his head between Cheshire’s paws):
After another mile walk back through a different part of the residential neighborhood (again, swooning the entire way), we found Alice (looking a bit sinister herself), the wooden White Rabbit (looking quite dapper), and (after a bit of frustration because the GPS took us to the completely wrong spot) the Mad Hatter just chillin’ by the water:
Strangely enough, as much as the town has embraced this tie to Wonderland, there didn’t seem to be an Alice-specific shop from which to purchase souvenirs. (Some shops had Alice-themed things, but most were clearly created with AI.)
It was so lovely to walk around this little town – and we had such a beautiful day for it! Wales is indeed as stunning as it seems, and there’s so much more of it I’d like to explore someday. For now, I’ve got memories of the Alice Trail.
Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch roughly translates to “St. Mary’s Church in the hollow of white hazel near a rapid whirlpool and the Church of St. Tysilio near the red cave.”
On January 26, 1986, wee little me watched the super bowl with my family where the Chicago Bears went on to defeat the New England Patriots 46-10. This was the heyday for the team with the likes of Jim McMahon and William “The Refrigerator” Payton and Mike Singletary – not to mention Walter “Sweetness” Payton. My sister and I wore Bears sweatshirts and shared a set of pompoms – one pom was silver, the other gold. It was a glorious day and a glorious defeat.
Followed by a somewhat embarrassing rendition of the “Super Bowl Shuffle,” which my family did end up owning on VHS. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
And then we spent forty years uttering the phrase, “Welp, maybe next year.”
Last year, though, it felt different. The Bears had a killer season. It felt more reminiscent of those heyday years – where the Bears were great and the Packers less so (we used to lovingly torture our Packer-loving uncle…we didn’t anticipate how quickly that torture would turn…or how long it would remain).
If you had asked me which football stadium I would visit first, I would have, without a doubt, said Soldier Field (current home of the Bears*). Turns out, that wasn’t the case.
The first time I stepped foot inside Lambeau, it was in June of 2017 to see Billy Joel. I figured a concert would be the only way I’d ever step foot in there. But then a few months later, I attended a football game in the role of supportive girlfriend. (How supportive? My team wasn’t even playing. And yes, I did wear a Bears sweatshirt, and yes, I will take credit for the fact that the Packers didn’t score one single point during that game against the Ravens.)
Picture on the left is taken from the upper corner bleachers at Lambeau field, home of the Green Bay Packers
The following August, I did finally see a Bears game at Soldier Field (a pre-season game because wow are football tickets expensive!). We played the Buffalo Bills. In typical Bears fashion, we excelled in the first half, then fell apart and lost it in the second half.
You’re probably wondering why on Earth I’m writing about an American football team on writerly blog. Well, because I’m more than simply a writer. I’m also a fan of the Bears (and Cubs) (yes, it’s difficult to live in Packer/Brewer land). And we’re about to start up our new season – with a renewed hope that hits a bit different than past years.
Maybe this year.
*And yes, I am living in complete denial that my bears might be moving to Indiana… -_-
