BUTTERCUP

I hope you had a great Christmas. We did!

Let me introduce two new sources for quotes on writing craft and from fiction:

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Word Painting: A Guide to Writing More Descriptively by Rebecca McClanahan, Writer’s Digest Books, 1999

“When the editors of Writer’s Digest Books approached me about writing a book on description, I responded the way I respond to all new challenges: Yes. No. Well, I’ll think about it. Yes is the child in me, taking my seat on the roller coaster that will whiplash me into the tunnel, up the rickety mountain, around the next exhilarating loop. No is the adult, walking away from the ticket booth: What if the car derails? Who’s driving this train, anyway? Does my insurance cover roller coasters? Most writers, I suspect, hear both these voices, often simultaneously each time they put pen to paper. And I suspect that every book is a duet of opposing voices attempting some semblance of harmony.”

Right in the first paragraph of the introduction, McClanahan uses a wonderful metaphor. In my writing, I’m looking for the Dramamine.

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Description is not:

·         All that flowery stuff. It’s not tacked on.

·         Optional. Writing depends in part on its image-making power.

·         Just visual detail, but rooted in all the senses.

·         Begun on the page but in the observation of the writer.

·         A way to hide from the truth.

·         Always graceful.

·         Something that requires a bigger vocabulary.

·         A steroid or an additive to our writing.

·         A stand-alone element but is intertwined in the story.

I’ll share what description is next time.

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Our new fiction quotes are from a trilogy of young-adult novels:

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, Scholastic Press, 2008

When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My fingers stretch out, seeking Prim’s warmth but finding only the rough canvas cover of the mattress. She must have had bad dreams and climbed in with our mother. Of course, she did. This is the day of the reaping.

I don’t want to know what this “reaping” is. It sounds scary. But I’ve got to read on and find out.

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Sitting at Prim’s knees, guarding her, is the world’s ugliest cat. Mashed-in nose, half of one ear missing, eyes the color of rotting squash. Prim named him Buttercup, insisting that his muddy yellow coat matched the bright flower. He hates me. Or at least distrusts me. Even though it was years ago, I think he still remembers how I tried to drown him in a bucket when Prim brought him home.  Scrawny kitten, belly swollen with worms, crawling with fleas. The last thing I needed was another mouth to feed. But Prim begged so hard, cried even, I had to let him stay. It turned out okay. My mother got rid of the vermin and he’s a born mouser. Even catches the occasional rat. Sometimes, when I clean a kill, I feed Buttercup the entrails. He has stopped hissing at me.

Entrails. No hissing. This is the closest we will ever come to love.

This bit of internal thought, besides the good cat description, reveals the character’s pragmatism as well as her love of her sister.

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That’s all I have for today. Please join me for more on Friday.