Jigsaw Puzzle Mania

Jigsaw puzzles! Hoo boy. I get a lot of satisfaction and enjoyment from putting jigsaw puzzles together. Nerdish? Probably. My husband, Bernd, enjoys it also, but not nearly as much as I do.

We’ve only recently begun doing jigsaw puzzles again. When we first moved to Arizona, we’d spend our evenings working on one together. But then our lives got super busy and we spent our evenings trying to recover from the day just past. We gave away all our jigsaw puzzles and I stopped thinking about them.

I got my first smart phone about a year and a half ago. Might be longer. As I’ve gotten older, I find I lose track of the passage of time. That’s why I’ve taken to writing on the calendar any “big” purchases we’ve made so that when Bernd says something like, “You know, I was hoping that new mattress would last a lot longer than it has,” I can go to the calendar (I move the notation forward with each new calendar, no OCD there, nope) and see just how long we’ve had it. We’re both usually surprised at how much time has passed between the purchase and the present time.

Anyway, until I got my smart phone, I had one of those small phones that slide open to reveal a keyboard. That was a real improvement on my very first flip phone. The keyboard made it so much easier to type text messages. By now you’re wondering what this has to do with jigsaw puzzles.

I resisted downloading apps on my smart phone for months. I was determined to continue to use it as I had my “dumb” phone; for calls and texts only. I refused to become welded to my phone and thought if I didn’t put apps on it that would suffice. Maybe it would have. I’ll never know. Bernd got his first smart phone a few months after I got mine and he had no compunctions about downloading apps. This did not, in the least, help me to keep my resolution.

I ran across an app for jigsaw puzzles. I immediately downloaded it and began sliding pieces all over the screen of my phone and putting puzzles together. I enjoyed it so much, I told Bernd about it and he enjoyed it too.

One day, after having gone through the entire library of puzzles available on that particular app at both a low piece-count setting and then at a higher one, the thought occurred to me that maybe we’d like some real puzzles again. So for my weekly shopping trip, I planned a stop at Wal-Mart.

Wal-Mart actually has (at least ours does) a large selection of jigsaw puzzles. There are some for very young people and some for adults. They ranged from 30 pieces to over 1,000 pieces. For our first puzzle, I selected a 750 piece alpine lake scene from Buffalo.

Our first jigsaw puzzle purchase

I don’t really know how many days it took us to put it together, but we had a lot of fun doing it. More fun than I remembered from years ago. So when it was done and I had only bought the one, we had to make an emergency jigsaw-puzzle-withdrawal trip to Wal-Mart. We bought two. Woo hoo! That was only the beginning.

We also like castles

Costco carries jigsaw puzzles around the fall/winter holiday season. I was there this past Friday on my weekly shopping outing and saw that they had a huge selection of D.O.W.D.L.E. puzzles. I purchased our first round one. Up to now, we’ve done only rectangular puzzles. The Buffalo puzzles are nice in that there are five main puzzle piece shapes, so if you have two sides to a piece in place you can limit the number of pieces you need to look through to find the next one. That is, providing you have pre-sorted all the pieces by shape. Which I always do.  And then by color. Might have to rethink the OCD comment.

But this new puzzle is not like that. With the exception of the perimeter pieces and maybe two dozen or so other odd pieces, all the rest are of the same general shape. And there are 500 of them altogether. We’ve worked on it for one evening so far and whereas with the Buffalo puzzles we would have the perimeter put together and started filling in the interior, we still do not have the perimeter put all together.

It’s not just the roundness that is slowing us down. The subject matter is particularly difficult. It is artist Eric Dowdle’s painting of an Aztec calendar. I must have been out of my mind.

Now I will offer a short comparison of the two puzzle companies. Buffalo’s pieces seem to click together much more definitively than the Dowdle pieces. The Dowdle pieces are, however, all in much better condition than the Buffalo pieces. Some of those from Buffalo will be severely bent or the printed side will be peeling off the backing. If you are into attractive packaging, Dowdle has Buffalo beat by a mile. But if fun is all you are concerned about, they rank about equal in that regard. Of course, it depends on your definition of fun. If fun is occasionally being frustrated out of your mind, then jigsaw puzzles, from whatever company, are for you.

Dog On It by Spencer Quinn

“Dog On It” is the first novel in a series written by Spencer Quinn. The series is known as the Chet and Bernie Mysteries.

At a glance, it might seem like a run-of-the-mill mystery novel, but that notion is soon dispelled by the disclosure that Chet is a dog. Bernie Little runs the Little Detective Agency and is aided in his investigations by his dog, Chet. What sets these novels apart even further is that they are told from the perspective of Chet. And Chet is an especially fine narrator.

I bought this first book on a whim. I’ve read other books written from an animal’s perspective and not been all that impressed. The first few paragraphs in “Dog On It” had me hooked.

In this first adventure, Chet and Bernie investigate the disappearance of Madison, a teenage girl who may or may not have been kidnapped. Bernie is quick to take the case due to a cash flow problem that Chet doesn’t entirely understand. There is actually a lot that Chet doesn’t understand about the human world but that is what makes him so charming. Through Chet, Quinn helps us to see what is both wonderful and ridiculous about the human condition.

In the course of the investigation, Chet gets into some trouble that had me so worried for him that I almost put the book down. But I stuck it out and Quinn pulled Chet out of the metaphorical fire with finesse.

Quinn’s character, Bernie, is a likable, straight-forward kind of guy who doesn’t have a clue about a lot of things but is a great investigator. But it really is Chet who steals the show with his canine practicality and insight.

Quinn is a great storyteller. And he has a deep understanding of dogs that clearly comes through in his writing. I don’t currently have every one of the Chet and Bernie Mysteries, but I’m sure that eventually I will. Every one that I have read has been an absolute delight.

I think Stephen King may have said it best:

“Spencer Quinn speaks two languages – suspense and dog – fluently. Sometimes funny, sometimes, touching, and in a few places terrifying. Dog On It has got more going for it than fifty of those cat cozies. The best thing about the book is Chet, a canine Sam Spade full of joie de vivre. He’s a great character because he sums up what we all love in dogs, how they love life, and how they love us. My sincere advice to you is to rush to your nearest bookstore and put your paws on this enchanting, one-of-a-kind novel.”

Fallin

Microsoft Word Clip Art

Have you ever had a dream that was so real you thought surely you must be awake? A dream where you can feel the wind tossing your hair and the sun on the back of your neck? Where the sounds are so clear and the colors so vivid that it’s almost too real to be real?

I get those now and then. I will wake from them to see that the sun has not yet risen and go back to sleep, certain that the dream will have faded away by morning like most of my dreams. But upon rising, I find that it is still fresh and clear and compelling. So compelling that I have no choice but to sit at the computer and put it all into words.

This story is the result of one such dream.

Merrid has taken her laundry to the Edge to dry as she has done for countless cycles. Her young ones have accompanied her as they always do. Fallin, though, is no longer as young as she once was.

For many visits of the Goddess now, Merrid has dreaded the drying of the laundry. Ever since Fallin ate the Orcis, she worries that her eldest will leave her. Something in Merrid’s heart tells her that today is the Day.

Gillo rushes to the Edge as he always does. So full of young life and desire to know and to experience everything. She calls him away. She warns him not to go too close. But as always, he disobeys. As many times as he has perched upon the rocks and looked down, far below, at the Earthssea, you would think he had had his fill of it.

Only littlest Willid hangs back, holding to the hem of Merrid’s tunic, one finger stuck into her mouth and a look of worry playing about her young eyes. The worry makes her look older than her five cycles. Merrid wonders what that worry might turn into if today is indeed the Day.

Merrid works quickly to hang the laundry upon the frames built back from the Edge. They take advantage of the wind that always blows hard up the cliff. The clothes dry quickly here and so the mold is avoided. Merrid wishes there were some other way to dry the clothes quickly and avoid their ruin. But there is not.

Gillo finally walks back to his mother and asks if today is the Day that Fallin will Jump. Merrid looks to him with some dismay and then to Willid, who has now stuck an additional finger into her mouth. Merrid wonders if the tears falling down Willid’s cheeks are due to the harshness of the wind.

Merrid tells Gillo to be quiet and help her with the laundry. Just this season, he has reached a height that allows him to help as Fallin once helped.

Merrid looks to her daughter and calls to her where she is standing at the Edge. Fallin has left her hair loose today and it blows restlessly around her face. Fallin walks to her mother and looks her in the eye. Merrid had not realized she had grown so tall. Merrid thinks to herself that if she had more time, she might become taller than her mother. But Fallin ate the Orcis and so her days in the Settlement are numbered. Maybe, probably, today is the last.

Fallin stands before her mother. Her once golden brown hair has turned the color of the night sky when the Goddess does not grace it. It began to change a few days after Fallin ate the Orcis; growing out dark at the roots. Her fair skin has become a dusky brown. Like the husks of the grain at the end of the season of growth. But most disturbing are Fallin’s eyes. Once such a pale brown as to be almost yellow, they are now blacker than black. They seem to swallow you up and no one in the Settlement will look her in the eyes. Although whether that is the depth of them that is the cause, or that they know her eventual fate is hard to say.

Merrid cannot help herself and once again asks Fallin why she ate the Orcis. Fallin replies as she has each and every time her mother has asked her this. She explains that it seemed the right thing to do at the time and she is not certain she could have not eaten the Orcis. She felt so compelled to do so. Fallin reminds her mother that the Settlement, surrounded by the Earthssea and on this high plateau, can only support so many and that some must Jump that others might continue.

Listening to this, Willid has stuck yet another finger into her mouth. Gillo asks his mother if that is why Father ate the Orcis and Jumped. Merrid looks sadly at Gillo and tells him that her husband, Fillon, did not eat the Orcis. He ate the Trundau and he Jumped. Gillo asks if he will one day eat the Trundau and Merrid tells him that she hopes not because then he will be forever lost to her to the Earth.

Only one who has Eaten can know when it is time. Fallin has known for many days that today is the Day. But she has not said anything. She thought it was best for her family to have it done suddenly and then over that they might get on with their lives. So standing before her mother, she begins to remove her clothing. They are too precious a commodity to go over the Edge with her.

Merrid stands silently with the laundry flapping about her in the wind. Willid has removed her fingers from her mouth and Gillo looks on with some excitement and also fear.

Merrid thinks of the tales the Eldest tells around the fire in the evening. Of times when there was plenty. When there was no Earthssea. When the green hills stretched as far as the eyes could see. Merrid thinks they must surely be just stories. But the Eldest always insists this is truth. Merrid has known no other life than this and cannot imagine it. But right now, she is wishing that it were true and now was then.

Fallin has finished removing her clothing and has neatly folded them. She has placed them at the feet of her younger sister and told her that one day these clothes will be hers. Willid looks solemnly up at her sister and sucks her lips into her mouth not wanting to cry but feeling that she will anyway.

Fallin looks at her family and tells them that she loves them all and turns and runs for the Edge and launches herself into the air. Merrid, Gillo and Willid all run to the Edge and hold there at the furthest they can reach and watch as Fallin descends toward the Earthssea so very far below.

Before Fallin has reached quite a third of the way down, the transformation has begun. Just before she reaches the surface of the Earthssea it is complete. Where once she had arms, she now has wings covered in smooth black feathers that glisten in the sun and throw off little rainbows of color. Where once she had a petite button of a nose, she now has a formidable beak.

Fallin sleeks off through the air with ease as if she has flown all her life. And indeed, she has, but only in her dreams. She has never told her mother that it was those dreams that made her eat the Orcis. She suspects her father also had dreams.

Fallin does not look back and her family does not call to her. This is how it has been and how it will be. Gillo asks his mother if she thinks his father is happy as a fish. Merrid reminds him that his father is not a fish, but something else. Just as Fallin is not now a bird, but something else.

Willid looks to her mother and asks why. Just the one word, but Merrid understands all that lies behind it. She once asked her mother the same when her brother Jumped to claim the Air. Merrid looks at Willid and tells her what her mother told her. It is how the Mother has decided we shall live and survive and so we do.

Weird Words

Front The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, 1973 edition

It’s said that the English language might possibly have more words in it than any other comparable world language. People are always qualifying things and I have no idea what might be meant by comparable. Unless they mean a marginally (qualifier) related language like German or Dutch.

In any case, most accounts put the number of words in the English language at approximately 171,476 words in current use. The Oxford English Dictionary also contains over 47,000 listings for obsolete words. It seems a shame that words should become obsolete. Well, thinking about it for a moment, possibly it’s a good thing.

Most experts agree that the average English speaker has a working vocabulary of about 20,000 words and a passive vocabulary of about 40,000 words. It was not clear if they meant 20,000 in addition to the first 20,000 for a total of 40,000 or if they meant an additional 40,000. In any case, that’s a lot of words.

Vocabulary that is passive consists of words that the speaker knows but never has a cause to use. I find that to be sad. Wouldn’t it be grand if we could use all the words we know? Or maybe that’s not such a good idea either. Could get awkward.

I love words. I absolutely adore them in all their convoluted meanings, soundings, origins, and spellings. As far as I’m concerned, the weirder the word the better. I hope to make this something of a series with lots of weird words to describe and talk about in the future. There might even be a weird phrase or two, as in “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.” How did that ever come about?

Patoot

“That smells like a horse’s patoot,” is a phrase that I became very familiar with. I was deeply involved with horses for a few years. I groomed them and mucked their stalls. I went over every inch of them. I rubbed their bellies and foreheads. I had my hands in their mouths (well inside their lips, but outside of their teeth, thank goodness) and found the very soft skin on the undersides of their tales.

I learned that horses have some very odd names for some of their parts (actually humans have given them these names, I’m sure that if the horses had a choice they would be far more practical in the naming). For example I offer stifle (the knee of the hind leg, on the front leg its just “knee,” go figure), pastern (if you’re talking about the hind leg it refers to the toe, which is not the toenail or hoof, but a single toe bone just above the hoof, and if you’re talking about the front leg it is like a finger bone) and hock (which is analogous to the ankle). Oh and the knee of the front leg is actually analogous to the human wrist. Horses are put together very strangely.

I’ve seen the undersides of their hooves and looked in their ears, but no one ever said to me while pointing to the pertinent part, “And this is the horse’s patoot.” Well, some of you more well-read and erudite individuals may all ready know what this means. I had a good guess (I was a fan of M.A.S.H.), but I wasn’t certain that what I thought it was, is what it is. Apparently it’s another way of referring to a horse’s behind, butt, backside, rear end.

You can’t spend any significant amount of time around horses and not come into contact with manure. They make it all the time. It’s what they do. A horse would stand and eat all day long if you let it. Statistics say that the average horse will take in about 15 pounds of food each day and excrete about 45 pounds of solid waste. Sounds a bit bass akwards until you take into consideration that they can also drink anywhere from five to 15 gallons of water a day and that one gallon of water weighs about eight pounds. They produce prodigious amounts of urine as well.

The manure that they deposit in their stalls must be removed (mucked out) and I found it is easiest to do this when it has first dried a bit. The manure they leave in the pasture is left to dry completely, and while it doesn’t smell as strongly as the fresh kind, it does retain the manure smell. It gets powdered by the trampling of the horses and rises as dust in the air. I learned very quickly not to lick my lips after a long day with the horses.

There is also the issue of intestinal gas. Horses fart even more than they poop. Being as short as I am, I would frequently find myself (and my nose) at a horse’s anus level. I came to the conclusion that horses have a very wicked and well developed sense of humor. Why else would they seem to save their farts for when I was grooming the back ends of them? I would try to move when I saw their tales go up, but was not always quick enough.

I’m fairly certain that after having spent a day at the stables (my husband, Bernd, has been kind enough to tell me so) that I smelled like manure. If someone had said to me that I smelled like a horse’s patoot, I wouldn’t have argued with them. It was probably true.

Zygodactyl

As a child, I would love to sit and read through my mother’s dictionary of the English Language. I still do this from time to time (not my mother’s, I have one of my own), but not with the same robust enthusiasm I had for it as a child. So it was many years ago that I came across two of my favorite words. One of them is zygodactyl and the other is the word that I once used to name my small business, syzygy. I let that website go when it was costing me more to maintain than it earned.

Looking at the word syzygy, it’s obvious (well it is, isn’t it?) why that would be one of my favorite words. Technically, there are no vowels in it. And it has a certain symmetry to it that is compelling; at least to someone who loves words and their etymology.

But zygodactyl caught my attention for two reasons:  (1) any word with the letter “z” in it fascinated me as a child, and (2) its definition. As a child I loved birds more than just about anything else, except maybe dogs and horses. Most birds have four toes on each foot. The majority of them have three toes pointing forward and one toe pointing back. Parrots and Budgerigars and many of the tree-climbing birds have two toes pointing forward and two toes pointing back. These birds are zygodactyl. As a child, I delighted in telling anyone who would listen (and many who were not really interested) about our parakeet and his funny zygodactyl feet.

Zygodactyl comes from Greek roots (most really odd words seem to, but I suppose they are not odd to the Greeks). Zygo refers to a yoke or a pair, and dactyl is simply a finger, toe or other similar structure.

The last word in my mother’s dictionary was zyzzyva (sounds dirty doesn’t it), which is any of a number of tropical American weevils which are often destructive to plants. I might have considered this word to be even more amazing than syzygy because of the preponderance of “Z’s,” but it has one actual vowel and so lost that potentially lauded distinction.

By now you are probably wondering what syzygy means. Even if you are not, I will tell you. That’s just the way I am; always a delight and full of fun and interesting facts. It is an astronomical term that refers to when three celestial bodies form a straight line with each other. This is as when the sun and earth and moon line up to create an eclipse.

As for patoot, I’ve been unable to find it in any of my many dictionaries and its origins are unclear, as may be the point of this article. But I did manage to get quite a few good words into it, didn’t I?

Writing and Letting Go



Copyright Dianne Lehmann
 

Quite a few years ago, I did a lot of writing for a website that, in exchange for content, allowed me to advertise my own website. It was a great arrangement. I got to hone my writing skills and, ideally, drive buyers to my jewelry “shop.”

I received a comment on one of my articles that caused me to think a lot more about it than I might ordinarily. For the most part, fellow authors on the site wrote most of the comments I received. Rarely would a non-author take the time to leave a few words behind to let me know they had read it. So when I got one of those, I took note. And when they were less than complimentary, I especially took note.

It’s one of my goals as a writer to always improve my writing skills. This goes beyond mere grammar and spelling (which Microsoft Word does a fairly adequate job of monitoring and fixing). The words one uses and the orders in which they are applied are essential to getting ones meaning across as unambiguously as possible. Still, as careful as one might be, things might still be misconstrued. I’ve sent a number of what I thought were perfectly clear emails that ended up creating a lot of trouble.

Because we writers are privy to our thought processes (hopefully, but sometimes there are things going on in my head that I just don’t understand), we sometimes leave something out or write something in our personal “shorthand” that the reader might not understand. That comment I mentioned pointed this out to me very well.

The authors on the site I have mentioned who read my articles on a regular basis had come to know me a bit. They had learned about the way I think and become familiar with how I express myself. The casual, off the cuff reader had none of that. And when you add in this particular reader’s not very well expressed comment, it led to a lot of confusion on my part and my poor little brain was working hard to figure it out.

It finally did do that about half way through a 30 mile drive I was making shortly after reading the comment. I had cleared my mind so that I could focus on driving and then the real meaning of the comment became apparent to me. I struggled for the rest of the drive to focus on driving because a part of me wanted to rewrite the entire article to make what I meant clearer.

By the time I returned home many hours later, I no longer had the compulsion to rewrite it. I did however, think about leaving a reply to my reply that would hopefully explain things better. Ultimately, I decided that what I had written as my initial reply was fine. This led me to believe that my initial article as it was published was probably fine as well. Maybe not perfect, but good enough.

When I first started writing, I had the hardest time letting go of my articles. I would agonize over them for days wondering if they were actually finished and as good as they could be. Did they really say what I wanted to say? Were they entertaining? Enlightening? Were they any good at all?

I never went back and rewrote a single one of the articles I wrote for that site (and there were something more than 250 of them). Yes, I might correct a spelling error if I noticed it or fix a typo, but an actual rewrite … never. I had to ask myself why.

When my husband, Bernd, was first teaching himself to paint with watercolors, the thing he had the hardest time with was knowing when it was finished. Could it use another duckling sitting on the water? Did that tree need a little more light in the crown? Does this shadow firmly anchor the potted plant on the tile? He would agonize sometimes for days. But finally, he would decide to let go of it. He has never gone back and modified any of his paintings. Although there is one that he started over three times. The first iteration ended up on the floor, upside down, and smeared liberally all over the carpeting. You’re probably thinking, hmm watercolors, no big deal. Well, not really.

I would upon occasion, reread some of my earliest articles. I tended to sit there and cringe. I could have fixed them. But I didn’t. They are a history of my progress as a writer. But that isn’t the real reason I did not rewrite them.

Once I decide to let go of something I’ve written, it is finished … at least to my mind. Done. As perfect as I could make it. And that’s pretty much how I feel about anything that I’ve created. So to rewrite it would be to say that I had not done the best that I could at that time. That I had let go of something that was not ready to be let go. That I had failed to do my best. I don’t really have a problem with failure. I do it all the time and I’ve become accustomed to it, more or less. But to not have given something my best shot is not something I want to do and to think that I may not have disturbs me. So I didn’t rewrite. There might be a little unwillingness to firmly face reality at all times in there. I don’t know. But I do know that at some point, you just have to let go of it.

I’ve spent some time over the years studying and learning from the Tao Te Ching. I have a favorite “verse:” 

“Fill your bowl to the brim and it will spill. Keep sharpening your knife and it will blunt. Chase after money and security and your heart will never unclench. Care about people’s approval and you will be their prisoner. Do your work, then step back. The only path to serenity.” This is from the translation by Stephen Mitchell.

Not only do you have to let go of what you have written, you have to also let go of the negative comments (it’s okay to hang onto the good ones). If you don’t let go of the negative bits it will undermine your confidence and tie you into so many knots you’ve no hope of escape.

Having written all that, I am, even so, now sitting here and wondering when this post will be ready for me to let it go. I will not tell you how many times I have reread and edited it.

Have I lived up to the implied promise in the title? Have I written clearly and unambiguously? Does it have a point? Was the point well made? And a more important question for me right now, when the time comes to hit the “Publish” button on my first novel, will I be able to do it?  I certainly hope so.

C. J. Box and Joe Pickett

A few years ago, I thought it might be nice to move to Wyoming. I looked at housing and income information, weather, and the availability of the basic necessities of life. For one reason or another, I shelved the idea. That was until I discovered C. J. Box and his Joe Pickett novels. They have me seriously considering moving to Wyoming again. My husband isn’t completely against the idea, but wonders about the winters.

All that aside, I find Box to be a compelling writer. His characters are like real people. His descriptions of the localities are lyrical. You can sense his reverence for his home state and all that it has to offer in the way he writes about it.

I bought one of his novels at our local Costco. Checking out, the cashier told me I was really going to like it and that there were very many books before the one I was buying. I reserved my judgment until I read it. I was instantly converted. And very happy that there were many more.

Joe Pickett is a game warden for the state of Wyoming. More often than not, his sense of what is right and what is wrong gets him into trouble. And it’s not necessarily trouble related to his regular job. He gets involved in solving all sorts of crimes and problems.

Joe Pickett is the kind of guy you want on your side and not the other way around. He’s at his best doing his job in the wilds of Wyoming and a bit inept in social situations, which just increases his charm. In many ways, Joe is the quintessential cowboy of the old west; polite, quiet, competent, and a good hand on the ranch. 

I now own all but the most recent novel. I could review a single novel in the series, but I’m not sure I could do it justice as a singleton. It really is more of a serial than a series with each new novel building on where the last one left off. Box immerses you in the lives of Joe Pickett and his family.

I can highly recommend them all. Box blends good description with great action scenes. He balances peril and danger with depictions of family life. These people could be your neighbors.

Box writes about his characters with dignity. He makes them so real that you are sure that if you were to visit Saddlestring, Wyoming, you would see Joe walking down the street with his Stetson firmly clamped on his head and a determined-to-set-things-right look on his face.

If you haven’t read any of C. J. Box’s Joe Pickett novels, try one, any one. I’m sure you will be delighted.

Five Things I Look for in a Good Read

Copyright Dianne Lehmann

It doesn’t really matter where I’m reading what. It can be on my desktop PC from the Internet, in a magazine, or a paper book (I still don’t own a tablet, iPad, Nook or Kindle but my husband does). To get my interest and keep my interest the article, poem, story, or book has to have something. It doesn’t always have to have a lot of something, but it does have to have at least one thing that grabs me and holds my interest. It can be as simple as that I like the author and just want to see what the author has to say. Or the premise of the story interests me. Or it speaks to one of my pet peeves. I have many. And who doesn’t like commiserating with a like mind?

But in general, and especially when I am reading something by an author with whom I am totally unfamiliar, there are probably five factors that will get me reading and keep me reading.

Opening Remarks and First Paragraphs

The first couple of lines or the first paragraph has to grab my interest. This is truer of a work of fiction than an opinion piece or educational article. In those cases, I am more apt to give it a few paragraphs to make its point and get my interest. But generally, if it doesn’t hook me right off, then it’s probably a lost cause.

In an article, the first few lines should set the tone for what follows and give some indication of where it will all end up. As a corollary, the last few lines should reiterate the opening remarks. In this way, one knows that the author has had a specific point to make, worked her/his way through it in a relatively logical fashion, and come to a conclusion. Basically, that’s Writing 101.

Blogs can often have a tendency to ramble and end up somewhere totally removed from where they began. There is nothing wrong with that in a personal blog. A DIY or instructional blog might be a different case. But an article or short story, in my opinion, should be cohesive and have a point. And it should make that point well.

Grammar and Punctuation

I’ll be quite blunt. Bad grammar and bad use of punctuation put me right off. There is a difference between being judging and being judgmental and in this case I’ll admit that I am being judgmental. Not paying attention to using good grammar and good punctuation seems to me to be lazy and inconsiderate. I do, however, make allowances for authors for whom English is a second language.

Good punctuation helps to foster good understanding of what is written. Periods end thoughts so that we can move on to the next one. Commas separate phrases so that we get pauses that help us to organize our thoughts. Semi-colons connect related issues that might not stand well on their own. Word order can confound or astound. Good grammar and punctuation just simply make reading the piece effortless and more enjoyable.

Spelling

I have much the same to say about spelling as grammar and punctuation. Ooh, I am so critical.

Glaring spelling errors, just as errors of grammar and punctuation, take me right outside of what I am reading. Suddenly, I am no longer immersed in the topic or story. Instead, I am trying to “fix” what is wrong. Sometimes it cannot be fixed and I cannot understand what is written. If it is an article (the medium does not matter), I will very likely drop it at that point. If it is within a fiction novel, I will usually continue with the hope that all will become clear at some point. But I’m not always happy about it.

There are so many either cheap or free spell checking programs out there that I really can’t see the reason for spelling errors to persist. Of course, someone will come along and find one in this. As good as the spell checkers are, syntax and homophones and homonyms are still beyond most of them. Where is artificial intelligence when you need it? Nothing really substitutes for a good proof reader. And as I have learned, it isn’t always the person who wrote the piece.

Content

I won’t go as far to say that content trumps all the other considerations, but sometimes it comes close. At least for me it does. I’ve read and enjoyed novels that my husband has put down because they were so poorly written. And he’s done the same. His tastes are pretty general as are mine, but he tends to like action/adventure novels more than I do. I tend to like science fiction and fantasy novels more than he does. I’ll excuse a lot if I like the story or the topic.

But basically, without a good story or premise or topic, you really don’t have much to go on. The characters need to be engaging as well. The author needs to create understandable characters with whom the reader can relate. Or at least empathize.

Craftsmanship

Writing well isn’t just about the mechanics of writing or having a good plot. It’s also about the art. Good chefs everywhere have always known this. It doesn’t matter how wonderful something tastes. If it doesn’t look appealing, no one will ever even try it. Presentation is everything. And that is where craftsmanship comes into play.

How a writer strings the words together, how they build mental pictures of events and characters is a very important aspect. Also, when crafting an opinion piece, if your prose falls flat or if you string words together with little regard, you are not likely to get many people sticking it out to the end and your point will be lost.

For me, craftsmanship is all about making it fun to read. Of course, I leave out of this discussion the things I read in order to educate myself about something. In those cases, I have the desire to learn something and as long as I can get the facts, I don’t always care how they are presented. But there have been a few educational articles that I have read that were extremely entertaining. I consider that a bonus.

When I started this, I wasn’t sure I could come up with five things. But I did end up with five things that I think make for a good read. Not four and not six … five. And thus I have stayed true to my title and come back around to my opening remarks. How about that for Writing 101?

There’s Nothing to Figure Out

For the most part, I spend my days with people very near to my own age. I do get the opportunity now and then to spend some time with people considerably younger than me. I’m not talking about ten year olds. I’ve reached an age where I think thirty is pretty darn young. Oh my!

I know a couple of twenty somethings. Their priorities sometimes amaze me. Although not too much. I was young once. Yes. Really.

They make me reflect upon my younger years and what I thought was important and not important. Okay. When I was younger, I thought every darn thing was IMPORTANT. But chief among them was figuring out life.

The older people I knew when I was younger seemed to have it all so perfectly together. They knew where they had come from and they seemed to know where they were going. They had figured out what works and what doesn’t, or so it seemed.

It didn’t help that I was socially inept (still am to a certain extent but it doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it once did) and basically so darn shy that I’d break out in a sweat at the mere thought of going to a party or having to call someone on the telephone. The older people I knew would just pick up the phone and dial. And parties were a no-brainer for them. They knew what to do, what to say, what to wear and all the rest. These days, speaking from experience, it wasn’t so much that they had it all together as they had done these things a thousand times. Experience will often stand in for wisdom. And doing something over and over again can make it look easy.

So I look at the young people I know today and I’d like to tell them not to worry. Because I see them worrying. They worry about what to wear, how to do their hair, and do they have the right cell phone. They place a great deal of importance in what other people think of them. I can see the wheels turning as they try to figure it all out and get it all right.

But the thing is, there is nothing to figure out and you’ll never get it all right anyway. All you can ever do is the best that you can do and hope that it is good enough. Please don’t think this is a pessimistic point of view, because for me it isn’t. It’s liberating. Life is life. It’s what it is and nothing more. Sitting around and trying to figure it out won’t get you there. You just have to go out and live it.