Something in the Air?

I guess my next move should be to buy a lottery ticket, since I just received the Kreativ blog award from Tricia over at Talespinning. Thanks, Tricia.

This award requires that I divulge some personal information. I'm going to leave you with one - I have a large freckle under my left eye that constantly causes people to stop and say, "You know you have a mascara smudge under your eye."

For more quirky Andrea see my post on quirks.

Now to share the love, here are some fellow Kreative folk:

Suzette Saxton, Shooting Stars
Wendy, Writes in the City
The Story Siren
The Wednesday Chronicles

How do you Quirk?

August 1 was my birthday, which astrologically puts me in the Leo camp. We leonine types are "impossible to miss, since they love being center stage." I won't deny that I enjoy attention, but I don't necessarily seek it, with one major exception: MY BIRTHDAY!

I am a total birthday narcissicist, unafraid to lord over the entire day like the Empress of Everything and expect all participants in the big "me" fete to just go along with it.

My family and friends have very kindly indulged me in this annual practice to the point where I now get calls not only to wish me "Happy Birthday," but to hear what sort of shenanigans I've gotten up to on the big day.

I consider Andrea's birthday hegemony to be one of my defining quirks.

Quirks are those traits that set us apart as individuals. Beyond personality, quirks are those inexplicable behaviors, desires, dreams that truly make each human unique. Quirks don't always show our best sides - they show us for who we really are: the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Beyond birthday bliss, here are a few more of mine:

I love eating pickles right after chocolate. The contrast is taste-bud overload awesomeness!
I can't tolerate the Beatles or the Beach Boys. (I can already hear the moans of disbelief and objection. Sorry, sorry, sorry. I am who I am.)
I name all the cars in my family.
I find clutter comforting. (My husband hates this one.)
When I'm happy I make up little, tuneless songs about whatever I'm doing, (i.e. "dusting, dusting, this is the song for dancing and dusting").
I am horribly ticklish right behind my knees.
I think being offered vanilla ice cream for dessert is an insult. (And no, it doesn't matter if it's "real" vanilla with the little black specks. If it isn't slathered in hot fudge I'm not interested.)
I think morbidity involving children, ala Edward Gorey, is hilarious.

(photo credit)

Why do I think quirks deserve close scrutiny?

Because the quirks that set us apart from other folks are also the best tools for building characters in your writing.

Knowing a character inside and outside means understanding their every tic, their own special quirks.

Advice on writing often discusses writing characters that aren't "too perfect," that even your protagonist must be flawed. I completely agree, but I think there's more to it than simply the absence of perfection.

To make your characters lovable, understandable, and empathetic they have to be like us: unique, strange, fascinating, fallible - in a word: Quirky.

Think about your characters - go beyond motivation to really discover who they are.

What is the song she hates having stuck in her head?
What color does he really wish his hair was?
Why does he refuse to make his bed in the morning?
What is her most frequent recurring dream?
Is he superstitious?

Quirkiness builds dimension in characters, makes them live and breathe. Have you discovered how your characters quirk?

Word Friction

I spend much of my day mulling over words. For the most part I adore words, but a few bother me to the point of distraction. The reason: the sound of the word negates its meaning.

Two key culprits - bucolic and sanguine.

Bucolic. This word purports to evoke benign, pastoral, even soothing settings. For me it's much too close to bubonic. When I picture a bucolic meadow, an image of undulating grasses kissed by a summer wind manifests...but the field is littered with bodies in various states of decay. Like this:













Sanguine. The problem with this word is its relation to sanguinary - one of my FAVORITE words. For any of you who don't know sanguine = enthusiastic, cheerful, optimistic, whereas a sanguinary event involves lots and lots of blood. Or better yet, if you've been exsanguinated you had a date with a vampire that went badly for you, but had a happily-sated nosferatu at evening's end.

Though sanguine has come to dominate the lexicon, sanguinary is the older word, from which sanguine derived. In the past the two words had a more direct affiliation, sanguine also meant a ruddy, flushed complexion (get it? from blood rushing to one's face....aha!) but as language is always evolving and words grow distant from their own origins, at some point the relation of these two drifted apart and now the two meanings have become oppositional.

I stand firmly in sanguinary's camp.

So for me a sanguine pastime equates to turning lazing laps in the pool at your Beverly Hills Estate...but the pool is filled with AB negative instead of water.

(Hmmm, I'm really not sure what to make of the fact that I actually had a successful hit upon Googling "pool filled with blood"...I guess their "Don't be evil" motto went out the window (or was defenestrated for any fellow word freaks out there).





If anyone else has a word they can't stomach, let me know. I'd love to hear your own word sound/meaning divergence quirks.

I Know I Don't Call (But That Doesn't Mean I Don't Care)

True confessions: I have an incredible aversion to the phone. I wouldn't label it a phobia. I'm not overwhelmed by a gut-gnawing sensation when my phone rings, but I do experience a sharp irritation akin to sandpaper on bare skin.

I envy people who can chatter endlessly on the phone because it appears to be a nice way to connect with other people. But that's not me, nor will it ever be. I'm not a phone person. In fact, I am on the other side of the planet from where you phone people live.

I can't offer a sound or rational explanation for the reason phone calls strike me as burdensome. I love talking face to face. I love hand-written letters, emails, Facebook, and of course, this blog. But phone calls - everything from the press of the device against my ear to the raspy metallic sound of the distant voice on the other line - strike me as artificial and forced. I'm not good at it, I don't enjoy it.

So I won't call. But I still miss you and you should write me a letter or email if you want to talk.

It's not you. It's me.