Began and Started

I read this from another blog and it has stuck with me. The more I read the more I realize how true it is. Be careful when using the words "began" and "started" to describe an action. These two words can add a lot of depth to the situation or it can bog your writing down. To decide if you really need either word, read through the paragraph.

Hanson began to chant. Fireballs flew from his fingers. As he started on the next incantation, a lightning bolt struck him and the spell fizzled out.

The "began" isn't needed but the "started" is. The reason behind this is that the chant was completed without any issue. The second incantation is interrupted; therefore it is good to specify that he started but he never finished. The scene could be changed to:

Hanson chanted. Fireballs flew from his fingers. As he started on the next incantation, a lightning bolt struck him and the spell fizzled out.

Rule of thumb: If the action is interrupted use "began" or "started" but if it isn't get rid of them.

*Thunder of Wonder

Intro: I recently got to ride a subway. I don't often ride a train of any sorts but every time I do I am amazed by the sheer noise and intensity of a train coming and leaving a station. I hope to write more about subways in future stories.

The tunnel glowed with an eerie red and blue light. A great noise thundered all around. Paxton watched a small boy cover his ears and look around anxiously. Nothing came down the tunnel but Paxton looked at the ceiling and watched the trembling beams above. Paxton thought back to the first time he'd first ridden the subway. The feeling that the whole tunnel would collapse with a single train. The noise that sounded as if a dragon roared. A wind that pulled at the hair and clothes, tempting you to look for the oncoming train.

Paxton watched the young boy, his hair in the breeze edge towards the yellow line looking down the tunnel. His face was bright, eyes full of wonder, and breath catching in his throat. The boy was looking for the source. For a moment Paxton wished he could give the boy what he wanted. A dragon. A troll. A living machine. A giant snake. Something other than a plain train.

The train came around the corner and Paxton watched the boy. The smile didn't wane. The excitement didn't waver. The boy waved and the driver waved back. Paxton chuckled as the boy blew a kiss to the driver and climbed on the car with his mother.

As Paxton went back to work, sweeping the concourse, he closed his eyes and listened to the sound of thunder echo away from the platform station. The boy was a lucky one if he could claim his father drove the trains that caused wonder in both children and adults alike.

Libyrinth

by Pearl North

I received this book at the World Fantasy Convention in 2010 and had a chance to meet Pearl North. I hadn’t heard of her before but the very name of the book intrigued me. A library-labyrinth. As a self-proclaimed connoisseur of books I had to read it. The main character, Haly, can hear the voices of the books. I love the fact that each book has a distinctive voice and since she has listened to them for as long as she can remember, it isn’t too difficult to tune them out when she needs to. There are two distinct groups in this book, those who treasure the books and the knowledge they hold and those who destroy books and pass on their own knowledge through singing. I enjoyed all of the characters though some of them did have more depth. Other times I wanted to shake a few of them because of the choices they were making but nothing that was against character.

I love the fact that there are well-known book references tossed throughout this novel and there is even a handy appendix in the back which lists all of them. While for the most part I would say this book is suitable for YA audiences, there are a couple of scenes that made me squirm. Overall, I really enjoy the premise of this book and the idea of different forms of power and equality. It really made me think about the art of reading, writing, and singing.

Vacations

I find that taking a vacation sometimes means that I visit a place to learn that I don't want to live there and don't want to go back for a very long time. It also makes me appreciate my own home and bed.

Prepositional Phrases

Have you ever heard the rule that you're not suppose to end a sentence with a prepositional phrase? Ever come across an instance where rewriting a sentence to meet the rule makes it more confusing? The 'rule' isn't actually a rule at all. It was someone's personal preference that was later accepted as law because of his influence. Ending a sentence with a prepositional phrase can often be avoided but there are times it just sounds better to leave it. Use your own personal taste on whether to end the sentence in that fashion. You may have to defend your choice but most of the time people won't care. Most of them won't even notice because it sounds natural.

*Riding the Storm

Intro: This came from something my niece said, and I heard about it from her father, my brother. "Stormed yesterday. On hearing thunder, daughter said, 'It's not thunder. It's dragons outside. I'm going to get my dragon.' "

Aidyl rested her chin on her hands and watched the trails of rainwater down the window. The gray world did nothing to lighten her spirits. At fifteen, Aidyl was one of a handful students at school who had yet to find her familiar. Some of the other children had been bonded for almost ten years; it was uncommon but not impossible. Everyone's sixteenth birthday was marked by their familiar. That was when the changed happened. If she didn't have one by then, she could practically kiss any chance she had at being normal. That and she would be asked to leave the school. No point in attending an academy of higher level training when she had nothing to train with.

"Have you tried looking out by the pond?" Nyleve asked.

Nyleve's cat sat on the floor and purred. Aidyl spared a glance at her friend and sighed. She wanted to be frustrated with the other girl, but she couldn't. It was a good suggestion, quite a few people picked up various familiars at water. Otters, frogs, fish, mermaids. It was just that Aidyl had already spent a week's worth of nights camped out by the water's edge.

"Maybe you should try the quarry."

Aidyl turned back to the window and breathed out. Her breath fogged up the glass and she drew her finger through it in a large "X."

"Thanks," Aidyl said. "I've already tried both those places and the meadow in the forest, the city center, the animal park, and the sand dunes on the west side of town." Aidyl had been hopeful when she went to the animal park. Having a tiger or an elephant would make up for the fact that she bonded late.

The light in the room winked out and the cat hissed.

"Blast, the substation must have blown again," Nyleve said. "I've got to go. No one's home and I have to check and make sure everything's alright."

"See ya," Aidyl replied lifting her hand and watching her friend leave in the reflection of the glass.

She refocused her eyes when the door shut and stared out into the still dreary world. A flash of light filled the room and a crack filled her ears. She stared out, the white image still seared into her eyes. Another flash another noise, but it wasn't a crack, it was a roar.

The lightning danced across the sky, spinning, diving, leaving a trail of light wherever it went. She ran out of her room, nearly flying down the stairs.

"Aidyl, where are you going?" Her mother called.

"Outside," Aidyl said throwing the door open.

"Be careful, it's thundering outside."

"No." She replied, to herself. "Not thunder. It's a dragon. My dragon."

With the rain pouring down her head, she raced outside and raised her arms. Welcoming the beast to her and bonding with the majestic creature riding the storm.

The Scarlet Pimpernel

by Baroness Emmuska Orczy

The first time I heard of the character the Scarlet Pimpernel was watching the 1982 TV Movie. I fell in love with Percy and watched that movie dozens of times. My mother informed me that it was based on a book and when I was in college I got a hold of a copy and read it. There are some differences between the movie and book but they complement each other. So even if you have no interest in reading the book, you should at least check out the movie if only to gain an appreciation of the French Revolution.

THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL takes place during 1792 and follows Marguerite St. Just. She is a French actress that catches the eye of a wealthy Englishman names Sir Percy Blakeney. They fall in love and get married. After their marriage, Marguerite takes revenge on someone who wronged her brother and that man is sent to the guillotine. Percy becomes distant from his wife, though she doesn't know why. Through all of this the Scarlet Pimpernel, a mysterious man, rescues various French aristocracy from being executed at the guillotine.

There isn't much truth behind the characters but it did give me a small idea of the situation that took place and the horrors of what was happening. I don't read the book for the historical accuracy but I read it for the adventure. The Scarlet Pimpernel is a hero character that I can really stand behind. His methods aren't in righting the wrongs at the cost of his enemies' lives but in doing what he can to make the world better. I highly recommend this book for anyone who wants a well told adventure novel set in a historical period.

Job Crossover

This week at my job, I had the opportunity of going over nearly a dozen different magazines. I have never worked for a magazine publisher but I have worked for a place that did textbook layout and design and I am prone to believe that the two fields are similar in some ways. As I was trying to judge which magazine was one of "the best" for the field, I was surprised by what I found. A well known, well respected magazine had blatant errors and it just didn't look professional to me. I started to give my review and then took a step back realizing that I may in fact need a second opinion.

At the textbook job, we had to layout the pages by spread, two pages side by side. Those two pages had to bottom align. The last line of text on both pages had to line up with each other. We had strict specifications on how much space was above and below headings, how many stacked words you could have at the beginning or end of lines, and even how many letters could appear before and after the hyphen of a wrapped word. We had sheets of information for each job we did and we referenced them on almost an hourly basis, or at least I did, some of my other coworkers had better memories. I gained an attention to detail when it comes to layout because of this job.

So, back to the magazine's blatant errors. I was really frustrated by the page numbers in the footer. I always thought it was common practice that the page number is consistently placed (either in the header or footer, I don't care, so long as it is consistent) on a page, especially if it is in a footer. I can accept the fact that ads don't get footers and I can also accept that occasionally a picture will bleed off the edge and there is no footer, but for the rest of the magazine there should be page numbers. Am I right? How else are you suppose to find the article on page 124? This magazine moved the footer, changed the style of page numbers, and would just leave it off when they seemed to feel like it. I couldn't believe it. The other magazines got it just fine. Why couldn't this one do it? I now know what raises my hackles when looking through periodicals, footers, who would have guessed I would have a "foot fetish."

Past-Past

In the majority of stories you will come across an instance where you need to talk about the past tense, the easiest way to do this is by using the word "had." Example: Jessica had dealt with this before. The problem comes when you working in past tense and trying to write about something that happened before the current past tense. Therefore you get the past of the past. Though I am an English Major, I don't claim an expert knowledge on the technical terms of all of the ins and outs of writing. I am sure there is an official name for it, but I like to call it the past-past tense.

I read somewhere that the past-past tense often trips people up and the best way to write it is to use "had" once at the beginning of the section to let your reader know it is now past tense. From then on you are good to write it in regular past tense. Don't feel obligated to put it in every time because it bogs down the reading.

Justin remembered how he had hated second grade. It wasn't that he had been a poor student. It was that no one had wanted to share in his adventures. Instead of spending recess playing tag with the other students, he'd spent it alone, with the friends his own mind had created. Now as a senior, that was different. People praised the creations of his mind.

Now without the "had"

Justin remembered how he had hated second grade. It wasn't that he was a poor student. It was that no one wanted to share in his adventures. Instead of spending recess playing tag with the other students, he spent it alone, with the friends his own mind created. Now, as a senior, that was different. People praised the creations of his mind.

You can see that it is still clear that the events of the paragraph are taking place in the past.

*Fall of Civilization

Intro: On Friday, the 13th I would like to add, Blogger was down as well as a few other sites. This was right after Google launched their cloud campaign to convince people that everything is safer when stored on the cloud and not on an actual machine. Hmmm. Blogger came back up but some of the information had been lost during the downtime. I am still under the impression that I want to keep a "hard" copy of information that I can always fall back on. This story came after reading some of the reactions from the downtime.

Harold cranked the wrench one last time and stepped back to admire his work. After four years, seven months, thirteen days, the time machine was finished.

"Looks good, but how do you get it out?" A voice said from the stairs.

Harold spared Meg a passing glance. His childhood friend stood on the stairs looking up at his project. The time machine occupied the entire attic, with a workbench spanning one side of the room and the actual machine in the middle of the room.

"It's a time machine; I don't have to worry about getting it out."

She raised an eyebrow and Harold nudged the bottom of the machine with his foot.

"Hover technology."

"And does it work?"

Harold shrugged. "Want to find out with me?"

She stared at the boxy metal machine and shrugged. "I'm not doing anything else for a while. Can we make it back in fifteen minutes?"

"We can make it back fifteen minutes ago if you want." Harold said motioning for her to climb in.

"If that were true, we would be talking to ourselves." Meg said but she climbed in to the back seat.

"Where do you want to go?"

"How about two hundred years from now?"

"Nice round number," he said an typed in the coordinates.

Harold positioned himself in the front seat and counted down in his head. At zero, he flipped the switch.

The air around them vanished, as if eaten by a fire. Ten seconds later the air whooshed back. As Harold gasped for breath, he could hear Meg coughing behind him. The ship wobbled and then they lowered slightly. Harold caught his breath and looked around. Tall buildings rose around them and people stood frozen, staring at them.

"Harold," Meg whispered. "It worked."

"Of course it did," Harold replied over his shoulder. "What did you expect?"

"Failure, like the last fourteen times you tried this."

Harold had no response.

"Who are you?" A man came forward pointing at them. "What are you doing here?"

A few other people in the crowd murmured.

"We're taking a survey," Harold said scrambling for some paper. He held it up. A few of the people relax. "How do you think the world will end?"

"Zombies," one voice cried out.

"Asteroid."

"Epidemic."

Harold scrambled to write down all of the answers. They moved the machine off to the side so as not to block the sidewalk. He ended up sitting on the end of the time machine while a line formed to give answers. While he wrote, he watched the people. Well dressed. Gadgets. More Gadgets. Blinking lights. Noises. Everywhere.

"They're saturated in technology," Meg whispered as a man with implants in both his ears gave his answer "Ice Age."

"And we aren't. Even though we're not home, you keep checking your phone for messages."

Meg didn't reply but both of them still gazed wide eyed at the people who approached.

"It's like an episode from Dr. Who." Meg whispered at another point.

When the sky darkened, Harold waved his thanks and typed in the coordinates for home. This time they ended up in the grass outside Harold's home.

Meg shoved his shoulder. "Fifteen minutes early."

Harold turned so he could look at her and held up the sheets of paper.

"Can you believe some of these answers? Meteorite. Sun going nova. Sun burning out. Zombies, more zombies. Rise of the animals. Aliens. Robots."

"Did you see their stuff. I would kill to have phones like theirs."

They sat for a moment in silence. Neither mentioned the idea of going upstairs to check on themselves. It just didn't seem right in Harold's perspective.

"Anywhere else you want to go?" He finally asked and with a grin added, "We've got the time."

"How about five hundred years into the future," she replied.

Within a minute the air was gone and ten seconds after that it was back. The tall pristine buildings were gone. Harold couldn't see a structure of any kind. The land was covered with sparse vegetation. He craned his neck around caught sight of some movement behind a bush.

"Hello?"

The bush wavered and then someone climbed out. The woman wore clothes of the same style the Amish wore. She wasn't in a dress but she wasn't wearing jeans and a tee-shirt either. Her gaze remained fixed on the machine.

"What do you want?" She called.

Harold opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Instead Meg spoke up.

"We're here to take a survey. How do you think the world will end?"

"What do you mean end?"

"What will cause civilization to fall?"

"Oh that, it's already happened." She said, moving a little closer. Harold looked around but couldn't see any sign of fallout, zombies, craters, or even fire.

"How?" Harold asked.

"The day the communications crashed. No one could get them back online. It took a couple of years to recover even half of the information lost."

Harold frowned and the woman came closer still.

"Communications?"

"Cellular, internet, satellite. Everything gone in an instant. Went back to the stone age."

"Smoke signals?" Meg asked.

"No. Letters, and telephones. You would not believe the havoc it wrecked."

"And how long has it been since the fall?"

"About fifty years," the woman replied. "Scientists say that if we're lucky, we will get dialup back in my lifetime."

She patted the machine with her hand and then walked off. "I don't know if I should be glad or not. I just hope that this time, we keep good records of everything."

Harold and Meg remained in the time machine staring until the woman passed out of sight behind a hill.

"The fall of civilization shall be from the weight of their own accomplishments." Harold said.

"Right You think this is the real future?"

Harold merely shrugged and flipped the switch to take them home.

The Iron Dragon Series

by Paul Genesse

The Golden Cord
It has been some time since I last read a young adult high fantasy. Any high fantasy really. And I'm not just talking about a story involving dragons. Recently I've felt a lot of the high fantasy is too Tolkien-esque and I can figure out the end from the first paragraph. In Paul Genesse's THE GOLDEN CORD I was entranced by the story from the very beginning.

The main character, Drake, is presented with a situation that tests everything he believes in. I was really worried that he was going to make what I deemed to be the wrong choice but he came through in the end and from that moment I knew I would enjoy reading about this character. He's so human in his thoughts and emotions and there are times I just wanted to beat Drake over the head to get him to see the choice but he pulls through in some way or another. This book includes a couple of dwarfs. Since Tolkien's time this race has become predictable. My favorite character in the book is Bellor, the senior dwarf. Paul Genesse gives us what we expect but puts a whole new spin on it.

I am looking forward to reading the sequel. This book is geared towards young adult and while there is one scene where seduction is attempted it didn't bother me. First because nothing is described and second because the reasoning behind the final decision is something I agree with. I really enjoyed this book and it kept my attention to the very end. In fact I am glad the sequel is currently sitting on my shelf.

The Dragon Hunters
THE DRAGON HUNTERS by Paul Genesse kept my attention from beginning to end. I thought I knew what was going to happen, but I was pleasantly surprised with how everything fit together. I am growing more attached to characters from THE GOLDEN CORD, but I also enjoyed the new characters that we met in this story.

Though the idea behind the book is fairly straightforward, kill the king of the dragons, the other plot elements intertwined are very intriguing. The rift between the dwarves and the humans become much more apparent in this book and I really felt my sympathies drawn to the various groups. I am really curious to see how all of the plot lines will be resolved by the end of the series.

While the plot gets more and more intricate with this book, so do the characters. I enjoyed the addition of a new human to the band of hunters and although I didn't agree with all of his methods or choices, I liked the difference of personalities. None of the characters felt like cardboard cutouts with only their names being different. Paul Genesse gives us a variety of motives, personalities, and opinions in the characters that keeps the story moving forward with their own development not just within the plot. I look forward to the next book in the series.

Seasons

Spring is often colder and wetter than I remember it being the previous year. This year there are flood warnings, and while my house isn't in any danger of being flooded, I can see evidences all around of the concern. I have a very blasé opinion about the weather and the seasons in general. It happens. I actually love where we live because I like having four seasons. I don't do very well in hot temperatures, and I get tired of the cold. I like appreciating the seasons when they change. Even though I get tired of snow, I love the first snowfall of the year.

When I listen to people complain about the weather I get a little irked. Part of my issue is that if people would put forth the effort, they would be able to find a job in a location that has the weather they want. I know that isn't true for everyone's situation, but for some of them. I live in the North, snow is expected, yet every year someone complains about it after the first storm. I think complaining about the snow in the North is like complaining about the heat in the South. Come on, people, what did you expect?

Oxford Comma

Because someone said they wanted me to keep doing writing tips, I have now decided to start posting writing tips on Monday. We'll see how long I can keep this up. I can't guarantee that all of the information I present here will be completely accurate but it is what I have come to notice over 6 years as a technical writer and 3 years as a fiction writer. These topics will cover everything from grammar, style, writing process, editing, and submission.

The last comma in a list before the 'and' is known as an Oxford Comma. Fairly recently the AP Stylebook deemed it appropriate to remove the serial comma at the end of a list. For example: I like to read, write, paint and sing. I am a writer in two ways with two drastically different audiences. I work as a technical writer/reviewer for consumer products and I dabble in writing short stories and novels in my free time. My job at work stays up on the latest "trends" in the writing world. At work I remove all of the serial commas because it is in the AP Stylebook.

I'm really attached to the last comma in the list. I think it adds clarification. Though I leave the Oxford Comma out at for my technical documents at work I put it in for my creative writing. In the long run, having the Oxford Comma there or not is really up to the situation, or to the professional who edits your work. Just make sure you don't put a comma where it isn't suppose to go.

*Pretty

Intro: After writing short stories every day for a month, I didn't think it would be hard to go back to writing one a week. The problem isn't writing the story, it's coming up with the idea. Once I have that it isn't too hard. So my idea for this week: I use to ride the bus to work every day and while it was never scary, I sure did meet a lot of interesting people.

The bus headed out of the dregs of the city but its passengers represented the worst of the society. Everyone sat in the same seats day after day. Pricilla sat by the bus driver, though it didn't make her feel any better. The old driver had given her a sense of comfort, this new one seemed as shady as the rest of the passengers. He was younger than the previous driver and his short cut dark hair didn't hide the scars that covered his head. He never smiled and occasionally she caught him staring at her in the mirror above his seat.

"Hey, Pretty."

Pricilla nodded to the woman getting on. This woman, called Smiles, sat next to Pricilla. They rarely talked to one another but Pricilla always breathed a sigh of relief when she got on. This woman was almost normal. The non-normal issue was the voices the woman talked to.

"Next stop, One-oh-Five and South Town Avenue."

"Thanks, Gravelly," someone called from the back, probably Dope. Everyone on the bus had nicknames. After leaving the dregs of the city, the next stop was an hour away. People liked to talk, but no one liked personal information, especially since names were powerful. If you knew someone's name, you could find out a lot of information about them. Pricilla wondered, not for the first time, how many of her fellow passengers were avoiding the law.

Smiles talked next to her, but Pricilla knew from years of experience that unless Smiles called her directly by name, not to bother conversing. She looked at the empty two seats next to her. Two passengers had stopped coming three years ago, but she still wondered what had happened to them.

One had been an elderly lady, everyone called her Silver because of her fine wispy hair. The other had been what people took to be her grandson. He was called Ghost because he always wore a gray hooded sweatshirt and never talked or showed his face to anyone. Every morning he was at the same stop as Silver and helped her on. Once on the bus they sat together and more often than not she would fall asleep resting her head on his shoulder. He got off before she did and always hesitated at the doorway looking back at her. She would laugh and wave him on. Five minutes later, Pricilla would help Silver off the bus.

"Thank you, Pretty," Silver always said. "You and Hector are such good kids."

The bus stopped and the doors opened. They had always creaked before, but since the new driver started they didn't. Pricilla had noticed other improvements. The torn seat covers being patched one by one. The floors swept every day. The windows cleaned once a week. She looked up at the mirror and the driver turned away looking out the open door. His straight lined mouth curved in a frown as one person got on.

The large man was unfamiliar to Pricilla and she ducked her head, staring at the floor and waiting for the shoes to pass.

"Well, ain't this a pretty one."

A hand grabbed her shoulder. "What's your name?"

Pricilla looked up in surprise and caught a whiff of alcohol on the man's breath. She swallowed, paralyzed with fear.

"That's Pretty," Smile said.

A few other voices spoke up from the back but Pricilla was too fixated on the face in front of her.

"Take a seat," Gravelly said his voice even rougher than usual.

The large man plopped down in the empty seat next to her, his elbows resting on his knees.

Pricilla continued to stare at the floor as the bus jostled along. She felt the man next to her shifting and after fifteen minutes his hand was brushing her leg. "Please," she said.

He lifted his hand and rested against the seatback, his hand on her shoulder. "Is that better?"

"Dude, he's hitting on Pretty," Dope called from the back. A few of the other passengers joined in the laughter egging Perv on. Perv moved closer to her.

"Don't touch me," she said getting up from her seat. Perv reached out and grabbed her hand. "You're not suppose to stand when the bus is in motion."

The bus screeched to a stop and she toppled forward slamming against the driver's seat. Perv still held on to her hand and she tried to tug out of his grasp.

"Let me help you find a seat," Gravelly said. He moved forward, his fist darting out and slamming into Perv's jaw. The large man slumped, slack jawed and a little dazed.

"Just give me a second to remove the trash," He grabbed Perv by the shirt and pulled him off the seat. Pricilla had never realized how tall Gravelly was. She only ever saw him seated but he stood a couple of inches over the pervert as he dragged the man to the door and shoved him out. The man lay in a heap on the ground. Gravelly shut the door and turned to the rest of the passengers.

"No one disrespects Pretty on this bus. Got it."

There were a few mumbles of protest.

"If you don't like my rules, tough. I'm the only bus driver who'll take this route. You follow me or you get kicked off. Now everyone get back into your seats, I have a schedule to keep."

Pricilla sat down and the bus started up again. She folded her hands in her lap and when she looked up at the mirror and caught Gravelly looking at her, she smiled. He blushed and turned back to the road. When her stop arrived, she paused by Gravelly for a moment.

"Thank you."

"My pleasure, Pretty."

"My name's Pricilla."

"I'm Hector."

"I'm glad." She smiled and climbed off.

The Ordinary Princess

by M. M. Kaye

This is one of my all time favorite stories. It is a story that takes a fairy tale setting but twists it for a somewhat more realistic setting. The story revolves around the seventh daughter of a kingdom. All of the fairies are invited to her christening. The last one blesses the Princess Amethyst to be ordinary. From that moment on the Princess is just called Amy and is ordinary. Though she may be ordinary in appearance her character and determination are not. This book is fairly short and a quick read and the whole idea of a kitchen maid and a man of all work being happy as they are makes me smile. The characters don’t develop a lot throughout the story but since this is more of a fairy tale I wasn’t bothered by the fact that there is little change with the characters from beginning to end.

One of the other reasons why I love this book is because M.M. Kaye drew all of the pictures herself. The artwork just makes the story come alive, especially the picture that shows the man of all work sitting on the table eating ice cream. It makes me happy just thinking about it. My mother read this book to me when I was younger and I hope to be able to read it to my children. This book was out of print for a while and difficult to find but was reprinted in 2002.

Children in Church

I had a conversation recently with a woman who has three small children. She was worried about bringing her children with her to church because she wasn't sure they would behave. She was worried that other people would "look down" on her and her children. I tried to reassure her, as someone who doesn't have children, that people won't think any less of her or her children if they have a difficult time remaining quiet all the time. I don't know if I convinced her or not.

As someone who has four siblings, young cousins, nieces and nephews, and no children of my own, I have several opinions on children. I didn't realize how opinionated I was until this woman told me of her dilemma. While there are definitely places that aren't suitable for children, especially infants, most people understand if children make noises. (My issue comes when I am sitting in a conference or movie theater and the parent of said screaming child doesn't leave to take care of the child.)

Here is my opinion on children in church. Most people fall into three categories. 1. Those with children: They don't even notice anyone else's screaming child because they are too focused on their own. 2. Those who don't have small children: They look at parents with screaming children in sympathy because they had to live through that already. 3. People like my husband and me: We make faces at the kids when the parents aren't watching and give them origami animals we've made out of the programs.

*Forgotten Memories

Published 3 May 2012

Intro: This is my twenty-seventh NaShoStoMo. I read someone's NaShoStoMo story about memories and wanted to try my own. I liked the idea of being able to put memories into spheres to keep them fresh but to forget them as well. You can probably guess what I would do with one if I had it.

http://www.everydaymormonwriter.com/work/forgotten-memories/