WeWriWa—A suggested alternative to candy

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Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. This week’s snippet comes several pages after last week, when fundamentalist Samantha Smart and next-door neighbor Lotta Valli had an argument about celebrating Halloween and Lotta’s revealing costume.

After school, Cinnimin retrieved a pile of mail spilling out of the mailbox and brought it to her father, whose heart was weakened by rheumatic fever two years ago. One of the letters was from Portugal, bearing mostly miraculous news about a Polish family he’s trying to bring to America.

Hearing about that letter gave Cinni’s best friend Sparky (real name Katharina), who lives in the house with her family, an idea for an alternative to asking for candy.

At 6:00, Cinni, Sparky, Babs, Tina, and Violet set out on their trick-or-treating route, while Stacy, Gyll, the Valli twins, Lotta, and Mandy went on different routes and Terri and John went right to the school’s dance and party.  Sam and Urma stood at the window, shouting invectives and making hex signs.

“Can I ask for only money?” Sparky asked as they proceeded down Maxwell. “I wanna give it to the Hebrew Immigrant Aide Society, or whatever other group is helping the people escaping from Europe.  I’ll give the rest of the money to whatever group is helping people stuck in Europe.”

“Why would you waste perfectly good money on charity?” Violet asked, adjusting her angel wings. “Leave that for the government and official agencies.  They’d probably laugh at your few dollars.”

“As much as I love money, I’d be really mad if I only got coins on Halloween and couldn’t even keep it for myself,” Tina said. “Candy is always the very best part.”

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WeWriWa—Halloween isn’t just for kids

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Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. This week’s snippet comes right after last week’s, when 15-year-old next-door neighbor Lotta Valli, dressed as a ballerina with a bit too much skin showing, told fundamentalist Samantha Smart she didn’t know how anyone could shun Halloween.

“Ain’t you a little old to go trick-or-treating?” Sam asked. “That’s something for little kids, as evil as it is.”

“I ain’t no little kid, and I’m going trick-or-treating,” Cinni said. “Girls can get away with it longer than guys.  Lotta and her friends go to the school dance and party too, and they can wear more adult costumes.”

“I can see that.” Sam glared at Lotta’s ample cleavage. “You oughta cover your body more, so you don’t offend God with that Satanic temptation.”

Lotta pushed up on her bust, and laughed at Sam’s horrified expression.

IWSG—Personal characters and a blacklisted troll

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This month, The Insecure Writer’s Support Group is asking participants to posts photos of ourselves or our alter egos with any of the IWSG swag, or the logo. I edited two of my alter ego dolls into the T-shirt logo, one representing my good side and the other my dark side.

This month’s question is:

Have you ever slipped any of your personal information into your characters, either by accident or on purpose?

As I’ve discussed before, Emeline Rosalie Troy of my contemporary historical family saga is strongly based on myself, though with some differences. For example, I only wish I’d gone to Vassar, I’ve never smoked pot, and I didn’t go right from undergrad to graduate school.

Emeline’s dysfunctional, one and only relationship is also strongly based on mine with my ex-“fiancé,” though I changed his name from Aleksey Smirnov to András Kóbor. I felt giving her a Russian boyfriend would resemble real life too closely, and I didn’t want to waste my favorite Russian male name on such a loser.

Writing the chapter “Halloween Wedding Gone Awry” in Justine Grown Up actually helped me to realize I needed to end my dead-end, dysfunctional relationship with Sergey. If my fictional dopplegänger could look at all this overwhelming evidence and realize it was long past time to walk away, for her own mental health and happiness, then I needed to do the same.

Many other aspects of my life and personality have seeped into my characters and writing over the years. I have a planned future post about how much of your real life to incorporate into your writing, and how to strike a balance between real-life inspiration and too much reality.

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For only the second time ever, I had to blacklist a troll from commenting. I got a notification of a comment on a post about how not to write third-person omniscient, and it sounded so much like a prior comment on a similar post. My instinct was right.

I honestly don’t get why people who disagree so strongly with a blog post take the time to write rude comments like that. If you can’t agree to disagree in a civil fashion, or offer respectful constructive criticism, your time would be better-served reading posts you do agree with.

He’s left a lot of similar rude comments on many other writers’ blogs, all iterations of, “The one and only true way for me is massive infodumps, purple prose, telling instead of showing, and remorseless adverbs, and none of your fascist diatribes and dictates will ever force me to change.”

These are just some examples:

 

 

My classic horror film series continues on Friday with the lost 1922 Lon Chaney, Sr., film A Blind Bargain. Next week will feature two more Lon films, The Unknown and the lost London After Midnight (both 1927), and Hilde Warren und der Tod (1917).

How much do you sprinkle yourself into your stories? Have you ever dealt with trolls or people leaving rude comments? What would you say to a writer who insists on only doing things his or her way and rejects suggestions for improving his or her writing?

WeWriWa—Halloween costumes at the bus stop

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Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. This week, I’m switching to my yearly Halloween-themed snippets, in a section from the book formerly known as The Very Next. This is my chronological second Atlantic City book, set from March–December 1939.

During breakfast, antagonistic, longterm houseguests Urma and Samantha Smart had some very choice words for the Halloween costumes and decorations on display, and the holiday itself. Now Sam has gone out to the bus stop, and stands out like a sore thumb among all the other kids.

This has been modified somewhat to fit ten lines, and been given more paragraph breaks. Gyll is pronounced like Gil, not Jill. Like his oldest sister Liylah, I was too used to the alternate spelling to want to change it after my kreatyv spylyngz phase ended. Cinnimin’s name was an honest misspelling, not an attempt at creativity, but I kept it for the same reason.

Cinni had dressed as a devil, Sparky was a dog, Babs was a friendly witch, Stacy was a wizard, and Elmira was a princess.  Barry and Gary, standing off to the side, hadn’t worn costumes, though they could use the excuse of being too old and boys besides.  Babs was now in eighth grade, and in a minority coming to school in costume.  She got away with it for one more year because she was a girl.

Violet and Mandy came out to the bus in their own Halloween costumes, an angel and an antebellum girl, respectively, while Tina and Gyll came dressed as pirates.  Terri and John, like Barry and Gary, were too old to come to school in costume, though that hadn’t stopped John from dressing up as a dapper ringmaster.

The Valli children from next door, fifteen-year-old Lotta and thirteen-year-old twins Robert and Jane, had also flouted the unspoken rule against older students coming to school in costume.  Lotta was a ballerina with a little too much skin showing, Jane was Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, and Robert was the Cowardly Lion.

“The holy roller didn’t dress up, I see,” Lotta said. “I don’t know how anyone could possibly shun Halloween, since you get free candy and money for doing nothing, you get to wear a costume all day long, and the parties are always fun.”

WeWriWa—Served by the Alberighis

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Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. This week’s snippet comes a bit after last week’s, when 20-year-old Darya Koneva and her friends entered a diner run by Italian–Americans, the Alberighis.

One of the young waitresses smiled at Dmitriy and asked how he got five dates, wondering if there were one girl from each borough to see him on leave. He admitted four of them are his godsisters, and that Darya is his oldest godsister’s best friend.

Ema means “mother” in Estonian. Dmitriy calls his godmother Katrin “Ema Kati,” and calls his blood mother Anastasiya “Ema Stasya.” For the first few years of his life, he believed Katrin was his mother, since Anastasiya was almost completely uninvolved in his caretaking.

Darya slumps against Viivela and picks at the plate of fried potato wedges brought over with a bottle of ketchup.  When the entrées come, she longingly inhales the scents of tuna melt, grilled cheese, hamburger, clam chowder, and fried haddock.  She can hardly believe she’s not rushing to wolf down so much delicious food, and that there’d ever again come a time when she’d lose her appetite for any reason.  Three months ago, she didn’t need any prompting to swallow soup with broken glass, worms, and cloth; sawdust bread; raw potatoes and turnips; or vegetables with mold.

“I bet Ema Kati’s already writing a big article about this,” Dmitriy says as he sprinkles oyster crackers into his chowder. “I’ve always been surprised how she’s never been questioned or arrested for being so openly Socialist, particularly during wartime.  She’s written so many articles criticizing Japanese internment, racist anti-Japanese propaganda, the draft, the treatment of conscientious objectors and people performing alternative service, segregation in the military, the xenophobic immigration quotas keeping out people desperately trying to escape the Nazis, and the censorship and downplaying of reports of Nazi atrocities.”

One of the waitresses sets a bowl of minestrone and a glass of cherry Italian soda before Darya. “My grandfather insisted you have something.  You’re probably hungry, even if you don’t feel like eating now.”

 In my fourth Russian historical, A Dream Deferred: Lyuba and Ivan at University, Katrin’s Socialist activism and decades-long career with left-wing newspapers finally catches up with her. When she arrives home from a trip to Japan in 1950, to survey the bombs’ damage firsthand, she’s arrested and put on trial.