Fact versus Fiction

“The difference between fact and fiction is that fiction must be believable.”–Mark Twain

Have you ever noticed that we suspend our beliefs for the sake of entertainment?  Don’t think so?  How much murder and mayhem do you think happens in Las Vegas?  And how often do police anywhere catch the criminal within an hour?  But we’re willing to believe it will happen week after week so that we can be entertained.  (By the way, CSI: Crime Scene Investigation has been on the air since 2000.  That’s a lot of Vegas crime solved in less than sixty minutes!)

Still not convinced?  Do you know how long the Korean War lasted?  Three years.  Do you know how long the television series M.A.S.H. lasted?  11 years.

However, what if I told you that in 2003, twenty-four people died from inhaling popcorn fumes?  Admit it, you wouldn’t believe me.  According to “Final Exits: The Illustrated Encyclopedia of How We Die” by Michael Largo, it’s true.

And it’s still not believable.

I think Mark Twain was on to something when he said the quote above.  I imagine he was struggling with the description of some bend in the Missouri River and he wanted to write it the way he really saw it.  Then he realized no one would believe that.

Believability isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, though.  That spark of wonder so often seen in a child’s eye gets lost when “truth” is discovered.  How different does a child look at snowfall?  They see a new world where an adult sees hours of shoveling.

As the seasons start to change, let’s look for a little more wonder in the world.  I’ll bet we learn things about ourselves we never would have imagined.

Oh, and grab a few works of amazing fiction while you’re at it.  (Might I suggest my fellow Second Wind authors?)  You may find that the things you see in the “real world” are more difficult to believe than the novels.

Blessings!
Nichole

P.S.  I’d like to take a moment to thank those who either “gave some” or “gave all” on this Memorial Day. You—and your families—have my eternal gratitude.

N

Writing lessons from honeybees

I learned a lot about writing the past few days.  No, I didn’t attend a conference or seminar.  I stayed home and harvested the bee hive.

Yes, I said bee hive.

Yes, we have honey bees.

Yes, I’ve been stung.

No, I had no idea what I was doing when we got the hive.  Honestly, I’m still guessing a little.

About 18 months ago, my husband and I decided to get a bee hive.  “It would be fun,” I said.  “It’s not too much extra work,” he claimed.  And so we did.  We’ve had the hive about a year now, after getting it last spring.  Turns out we were supposed to harvest the honey last August.  Oops.

Partly we were afraid the bees would go hungry if we had a traditional South Dakota winter.  We didn’t.  They didn’t.

For two weeks, hubby and I pondered the question of should we or shouldn’t we.  Do we leave them alone?  Do we harvest a little to encourage them to make more?

We opted to try and harvest a little.

Hubby “suited up” and removed the top box of the four that make up the hive.  After smoking the bees to calm them down, he carried the box away so we could start to extract the honey.

Using a kitchen knife, we then started tentatively scraping the honeycomb off the frames.  Neither of us wanted to break the frame and we had no idea how resilient the the frames or the honeycombs were.  As the knife sliced into the wax, pure, raw honey began to ooze out into the pan.  It started slowly, but sped up as we got the hang of what we were doing.  More than once we had to stop to clean off the knife, giving us a sharper edge as we continued.

After scraping all 10 frames in the box, we had a LOT of honey.  I began scooping it into jars.  The jars were nice, but there seemed to be “stuff” floating in the honey.  It wasn’t clear and smooth like what you find at a grocery store.  By this time, though, it was getting late and we really weren’t sure what to do, so we let the jars sit.

The next day, after some research on the Internet, we decided the honey needed to be strained.  So we strained it.  Slowly and methodically, we poured the “first jars” through a nylon strainer, collecting the pure honey in more jars.  The process took hours.  And hours.  And hours.  (I think we averaged about one hour per pint of honey.)

Eventually, we were finished.  We had honey!  We didn’t do it right and experienced bee keepers are probably laughing like crazy.  But we have jars of golden liquid that tastes sweeter than anything I’ve had from a store.

So how is tending a bee hive like writing a novel?

1.  When I tell people I have a book published and am working on the next, I get the same reaction as when they learn we have a bee hive on our property: a little amazement, a little awe, and a barrel of questions.
2. Much like how we didn’t harvest last August for fear that the bees would go hungry, I sometimes find myself not writing for fear that the words will be “less than stellar.”  I know I should sit down and at least put SOMETHING on the page, but sometimes fear gets the best of the me.
3. A bee suit, a knife, a huge pan.  These tools were necessary for us to extract the honey.  An idea, time, paper and a pen.  These tools are the minimum to get the story told.  Just like an actual honey extractor would have been nice, other writing tools are also nice.  But not necessary.  And not an excuse for procrastinating, either.
4. You’ve got to clear out the distractions.  The smoker calmed the bees.  If I have a lot of things going on around the house (the phone ringing off the hook, or even the television or radio on too loudly) I won’t sit down and write. Then again, distractions can be like that knife covered in honey.  After awhile, there’s just so much “junk” it’s hard to get through to do what you need to.  Wipe it off.  Find that sharper edge and press on.
5. Straining honey is a lot like editing.  Letting it sit for awhile isn’t always a bad thing, the time away can help you see what needs to go.  Having a third party—a strainer—helps to clear out the unnecessary things that weigh down the writing.  And it can take a long time.  Writing isn’t a quick process, at least not for me.
6. We fully admit that we didn’t know what we were doing.  I know we could have done things easier, better, more efficiently.  But it worked.  And we are going to learn from our mistakes.  Next time will be better because we’ve grown as beekeepers.  Just like writing.  My writing style may not be the way you would do it, but it works for me.  Different isn’t always wrong, you know.
7. There’s a finished product.  The honey we harvested is sweet.  And that feeling of having a completed book, yeah, that’s pretty sweet, too.
8. The process doesn’t stop.  Just because we’ve harvested the honey doesn’t meant we’re done.  Those honey bees are busy making more and this time we have a slightly better idea how to harvest next time.  To compare that to writing, I’m working on the next book.  And I’m taking notes for the third.  Hopefully, that will keep me busy and get more words on paper.
9. Don’t forget to clean up!  I have no idea how this happened, but by the time we were done harvesting honey, everything was sticky.  Things in rooms we didn’t even GO INTO had honey or beeswax on them.  For me, working on a novel is similar.  Ideas travel everywhere and things I didn’t expect sometimes have a way of being “covered” by the story.
10. Finally, I think the biggest reminder those honeybees gave me was to not be afraid to try.  If we hadn’t tried our hand at beekeeping, we never would have harvested all that honey.  If you don’t try to put those words out there, you will never be an author.  Sure, you’re going to make mistakes and you’re going to wish you had done things differently, but you learn and you get better and that’s a pretty “sweet” lesson.

Nichole

Hello, Spring. Goodbye, books.

There are a lot of books in my house.  There’s everything from encyclopedias (two sets) to best sellers.  College text books to Little Golden Books.  Craft books to vampire books.  I’m sure you get the idea.

With all these books comes a lack of bookshelves.

Recently, I was made painfully aware of how many books we truly do have around this house when my youngest daughter moved out and my husband and I converted her old room into a craft room.  (Finally, I no longer have to sew on the kitchen table!)  She took boxes of books with her.  There were cases of them left in her old room.

As I helped her move, I found books I knew I couldn’t let her part with.  Okay, books I couldn’t part with.  Those we packaged up for storage.  Others had outlived their usefulness.  At least in my house.

That left us with the problem of what to do with them.  I couldn’t throw them out.  Some of the books I was able to find new homes for with friends or family.  But not all of them.

Until now.

Here in the beautiful Black Hills of South Dakota, one amazing woman takes in those “gently used” publications and finds them new homes.  In two months she collects more than 7,000 books and donates them throughout the year to families at state health clinics, hospitals, and shelters. (Check out the newspaper article.)

As you begin your Spring Cleaning, be on the lookout for those books that don’t fit in your home anymore.  Even if there is no Readiatrics program in your area, there is probably a community health center, a hospital, a homeless shelter.  Pass those books on.

Not only are you helping to instill a love of reading in the next generation, you’re making room on your own bookshelves for more, well, books.

Nichole

How does Nichole blog? Good question!

I blog here on the 28th of every month.  That means from the 29th of one month until the 20th of the next, I have a million (well, maybe a dozen) absolutely amazing (or at least pretty good) ideas about what to post.  Starting around the 20th, though, I got nothing.  Not one of those ideas even stick around.  And any ideas I do get–or remember–don’t last as long as a box of chocolate.

So, on the morning of the 28th of the month,  I go trolling for ideas.  Waiting for inspiration to strike.    Wondering at each and every blog I stop at if this will be the one.  The great idea I could write about.   Usually, the answer is no.

It’s not that there aren’t some great and wonderful ideas out there, it’s that I couldn’t write a post any better.  And so I sit.  Staring at the computer screen.  Wondering what to write.

Right about then is when I usually get the brilliant idea that someone should write a book of blog topic ideas.  It would probably be a best seller.  Then I remember I can’t currently think of one blog topic, let alone enough to write an entire book.

Often, by this point in the process, the sun is coming up and my first cup of coffee is all but gone.  I take a few minutes to refill the coffee cup and admire the colors streaking across the South Dakota sky.  Amazingly, this is usually about the time my dog needs to go out.  This, of course, requires lots of barking.  Barking at rabbits.  Barking at  the cows out in the field.  Barking at the deer.  Barking because he can.  It’s what dogs do, right?

Finally, I make my way back into my office.  Dang!  I still need to write that blog post!  I start typing.

I delete whatever I just wrote.

I start a different topic.

I decide that whatever I just wrote is ridiculous and boring, so it gets deleted.

Finally, I decide that only by stepping away from the computer will I come up with a blog topic.  I convince myself that by the time I get ready for the day, I’ll have a brilliant idea and the words will pour forth from my fingertips.

By the time I finally get back to the computer, I have . . . nothing.

Fed up with myself and getting anxious about finishing my monthly post, I take the next idea that pops into my head and run with it.  (In the spirit of full disclosure,  I also spend the next hour or so wondering what ever made me think I could write and promising myself I will start working on next month’s blog post tomorrow.)

Eventually, I have 500 or so words that don’t completely embarrass me.   I read the post one more time.  I struggle with wondering who (besides my mother) is going to read it.  I decide that whatever I’ve written is as good as I’ve got for today.  Time for more coffee.

I hit “publish” and promise myself that I really will start next month’s blog post in a few hours.  Just as soon as I have an idea about what to write.

Nichole, who will gladly accept your blogging suggestions

Illusions of Grandeur

Note:  Hope you enjoy this short piece I wrote as an exercise for my local writers group.  NRB

I have no illusions of grandeur.  I am amazing.  Now if only these creatures, my servants, would realize this.  These beings inhabit my home and hand out orders, expecting me to come to them or to acknowledge their measly existance.  They don’t know.  They have no idea the force and power they are playing with.

I have three servants – slaves, really, if you want to know the truth of the matter – two female and a male. The slaves, like all of their kind, are definitely beneath my station in life, but are a necessity.  They are an insubordinate bunch and I don’t care for them.  They would not be here except my condition requires I have some assistance in certain matters.  If I were to be completely honest with you, though, I could do without the male.  I don’t care for him.  I regurgitate on the floor to show my disgust with him.  When I acknowledge him at all, that is.  I try to busy myself with my grooming regiment when he is looking as a sign of just how unimportant he really is in my existence.

The two females are more interesting to me.  The young one is my personal chef, preparing the moist food for my delicate pallet.  The older woman is my housekeeper.  I have no illusions of grandeur.  I know these creatures have no other purpose than to cater to me.  Is that not evident?

Because of them, I am able to lead the life I desire.  A lazy life, true, but it is the life I was destined for.  Sleeping when I want, not having to work, roaming around whenever and wherever my soul desires.  I have a distant cousin who roams the plains of Africa.  A more exciting life, I know, but much more difficult I am sure.  Now, don’t get me wrong; I have very few complaints about how my life has turned out.  No regrets, I say.  Why should I have regrets when there is nothing I can do about yesterday?  Move on, that’s my motto.

Although, there is something to be said for knowing your past and knowing where you come from.  Personally, I come from royalty.  My ancestors were worshiped.  I am not far removed, in the grand scheme of things, from my African cousins.  More civilized, yes, but I have no problems with that.  I am almost certain those cousins have no servants to see to their every whim, their every desire.  I know my cousins do not have the luxuries I have been afforded.

I have no illusions of grandeur.  Like those who have gone before me, I am a mighty hunter and occasionally leave my decapitated prey where it will be noticed.  You should see the look on the older female servant’s face when I present the evidence of my prowess.  Just thinking about it causes me to grin.

I don’t grin often.  Even I would admit I am usually cruel.  My servants know this.  Manners are something for the weak and less privileged.  I have been known to attack people and things for reasons best known only unto myself.  It keeps everyone around me on their toes, while reminding them of their place in society.

So, you see, I have no illusions of grandeur.  I, like all my feline brothers and sisters, am amazing.

A magical time of the year

There is something magical about this time of year.

Here in the Black Hills of South Dakota temperatures are often near zero and only the most avid skiers and snowboards are glad to hear the weatherman’s predictions of more white stuff.  (Thankfully, however, this has been a pretty mild winter so far–snow fall hasn’t been bad and temperatures are fluctuating between 20 and 40 degrees Fahrenheit.  Down right warm for a South Dakota winter.)

Add in Christmas and the promises of a new year and the world just seems happier and more magical.  Maybe it’s the time with family.  Perhaps it’s the holiday parties, times when people make an extra effort to get together with those they care about.  It could even be the gifts–the time and effort we spend in trying to select something perfect for someone we appreciate.

By Spring, however, the magical feeling of this time of year is usually gone.  To me, that’s a little strange.  Spring is magical in it’s own right.  Flowers start to bloom.  The grass is beginning to grow.  It’s just as much a time of new beginnings as the turning of the calendar.

Then again, Summer has it’s own magic.  Family vacations and kids out of school combine to make memories that can last a lifetime.  Summer can build bridges in ways that no other time of year can.

Of course, Fall isn’t to be left out.  The changing leaves and smell of bonfires can start magic.

Hmmm.  Maybe this time of year isn’t so magical after all.  Maybe we are just looking for magic a little harder now then we do in, say, August.

Magic should never be looked over or forgotten.  I’m as guilty as the next person of getting so busy that I miss the magic around me.  This year, in particular, I’ve had some trouble finding magic as my baby spread her wings and left the nest.  It was easier to remember the past than to appreciate the present.

In 2012, however, I am going to strive to find the magic.  The magic in the little things as well as the big things.  My wish is that you, too, find the magic in the day-to-day.

May you have a happy and prosperous New Year full of magic!

Nichole

One more post on thankfulness

This week was Thanksgiving in the United States and social media was ripe with posts about what people have been thankful for.  I managed to avoid posting my own list because, well, I couldn’t imagine having to select just one thing to be thankful for.  So, here is a short list of things—in no particular order—which I’m thankful for not just during this season, but all year long.

1.  Family.  I’m thankful for my husband and my two amazing daughters.  I’m also thankful for my parents and my sister who are all there when I need to bounce ideas around or just to remind me of my own self-worth.  I’m also thankful for the family I’ve chosen (often referred to by others as friends) who are there to support me in all kinds of day-to-day events.

2. Home and job.  As the South Dakota winter starts to rear it’s head, I’m thankful for the walls that surround me and keep the vicious, howling winds out.  I’m also thankful for my day job which affords me the opportunity to spend my free-time writing and knitting and sewing and pursuing all kinds of creative outlets.

3. Technology.  I admit I’m a bit of a technology junkie.  I love how technology makes things easier for people.  I know there are downsides to it, like dependance on electricity or people who can’t stay off their phones while their driving.  But it makes communicating with the rest of the world so much easier.  I’ve managed to maintain friendships I made while in the military and I’ve gotten to Skype with my niece and nephew who live a few states away.  I couldn’t have that level of connection with them without technology!

4. National Novel Writers Month.  No, I didn’t make the goal of 50,000 words in November.  I did, however, write.  Everyday.  For at least a few hours.  I had been out of the habit and I’m thankful for the opportunity to get back to doing what I love.

5. Second Wind Publishing. They published Ghost Mountain, taking a chance on an unknown author who was writing about the paranormal in the Black Hills.  I will be forever grateful to them. They’ve allowed me to live my dream of being an author.  Gotta love that!

There you have it.  A short list of things I am thankful for.  And, while I really enjoyed reading those “30 Days of Thankful” type posts people have been adding to various social media sites, I think the world would be a little better if people didn’t try to consolidate all their thanks into a day or a month.  Let’s try to be thankful everyday.  The world just might be a better place!

Blessings!

Nichole

 

 

 

Of chocolate pie and novel writing

In three days, I will join the thousands of slightly crazy people who participate in National Novel Writing Month, known as NaNoWriMo.  For those unaware of the event, the goal is to write 50,000 words in the month of November.  That’s right, 50,000 words in 30 days with one major U.S. holiday, a few weekends, a day job, and a family that expects to eat and wear clean clothing during the month.

This isn’t my first time.  I’ve participated in NaNoWriMo annually since 2005.  I haven’t won every year.  Sometimes I let life get in my way.  Some years I was just plain too lazy to plant my butt in the chair and crank out some words every day.  But I’ve learned something new every year.

The very first thing I learned was that NaNoWriMo is a lot like my great-grandmother’s chocolate meringue pie.  It takes a lot of work to make it look that good, and it’s much too rich to handle in one sitting.  Plus, it goes much faster (and tastes better!) when you have all the necessary ingredients.

Both “recipes” need certain items to create the desired result.  It’s pretty self-explanatory that you would need ingredients for a chocolate pie.  You need a pie crust, eggs, and some chocolate squares.  Ingredients for a novel would include plot, character development, setting.  You also need tools for both.  The chocolate pie requires an oven, a pie plate, and a mixer.  To complete the novel, you need paper, pens or pencils, and a word processing program.  Both also need time: time in the oven to bake, or time in the chair to write.

All of those things are standard.  Whichever of my siblings or cousins are making that pie, we need to use those same things.  The same number of eggs, the same amount of chocolate.  Whoever is writing a novel needs those tools to get the words out.  However, there are other tools and ingredients which vary from person to person.  In the case of the pie, I end up using more cream of tarter than my lower-elevation relatives.  Numerous authors have other tools they use to inspire themselves.  I use a specific “writing” candle and music that sets the tone for the scene.  I also use a huge dry erase board and sticky notes.

My process to make the chocolate pie is a little different than that of my relatives.  Shoot, some of them would even rather make the pumpkin pie, a phenomenon I will never understand.  My process to write is different than that of my author friends.  And that’s okay, too.  We write different things, so it’s only logical that we would get there in different ways.

Time is important to both processes.  The pie needs time to cook, both in the double broiler and the oven.  A novel needs the author to take the time to put those words out there.  As one of my friends put it, “This is an exercise in turning off your internal editor.”

One final similarity between a rich, decadent chocolate meringue pie and National Novel Writing Month: pieces.  No one could eat that pie in one sitting.  It’s too much.  At the same time, I can’t imagine anyone writing 50,000 words at once.  However, one piece of pie at a time will take a few days and allow you to savor it.  And 1,667 words each day will get that novel written in a month.  One piece isn’t much, but persistence will take the cake, er, pie.

So do it.  Divide that pie.  Write a few words every day.  Eventually the pie will be gone and the novel finished.  Both are extremely satisfying…

Blessings!

Nichole

Nichole R. Bennett is the author of Ghost Mountain and a huge fan of chocolate in just about any form.

Writing what you know

One of the first things a would-be-author is told is to “write what you know.”  I would like to go on record as saying that’s ridiculous.

Don’t misunderstand me.  There are some things an author must know.  For instance, I find it very difficult to write from a man’s perspective.  I’m not a man.  I doubt I ever will be.  I find it much easier to write from a woman’s perspective since that’s the one I’m the most familiar with.  It’s how I think, therefore easier for me to write.

In Ghost Mountain, I try to describe Devils Tower in a way that the monolith comes to life for people who have never seen it.  That required some research and a few trips to Hulett, Wyoming.  The victim in the book is shot and I try to describe the smell and the sound, even the feel of pulling the trigger.

I’ve never actually shot the type of weapon described, however.  I’ve also never used a plastic bottle as a silencer.  By asking questions of people in law enforcement and people who know a lot more about handguns than I do.  They say it can work.  I believe them.

I’ve never had a murderer call me up, so I don’t know what kind of fear that would inspire.  But I can imagine.

And that’s where the fun part happens.  In my mundane existence, I’m an empty-nester who is trying to adjust to my baby growing up and heading to college.  I’m a web designer who works out of my home in the country.  There’s not much excitement in my day-to-day world.  If I only wrote about what I knew, there wouldn’t be much there.

So my advice to anyone trying to write is this: Write what you’re comfortable with and research the rest.  What you can’t research, make convincing within the world you’ve created.  You’ll have a great story.

Nichole

Why paranormal?

par·a·nor·mal

adjective

of or pertaining to the claimed occurrence of an event or perception without scientific explanation, as psychokinesis, extrasensory perception, or other purportedly supernatural phenomena. (Source: Dictionary.com)

Have you ever had that feeling of de’ja vu? Or been a witness to what can only be described as a miracle? I have. It’s an amazing feeling. A little comforting, a little spooky. There’s a lot more to the paranormal, though, than that feeling of de’ja vu. There’s ghosts and spirit guides and angels. There’s ESP and auras and dream interpretation. There’s Numerology and Tarot and Astrology. Well, you get the idea. The world is full of things are just unexplained. And that’s paranormal.

So why do I write about it? The best, shortest answer I have for that is “because.”

As a mom, I hate that answer. I truly do. However, that’s the best answer I have.

I like ghosts. I believe they exist. I know they exist. I’ve seen them. I’ve talked to them. Some of them have even talked back.

Some people may think that’s a little nuts. Some might want to get me fitted for a nice white jacket, or get me started on the latest anti-psychotic medication. That’s why I don’t usually discuss my experiences with the paranormal. But in fiction it’s fine. I can write about it whatever and chalk it up to an over-active imagination. Right?

Why I write is harder to explain. I’ve heard it said that a true writer can’t not write. I’m not sure I believe that. Some days it would be a lot easier to play computer games or even fold the laundry than stare at a blank computer screen trying to come up with the next scene. But I try anyway. I enjoy it. I’ve written my entire life. As a child, I published a small newspaper about the events in my neighborhood. Each press run was one copy, done on leftover school paper with crayon-drawing images that I pretended were photos. As I grew up, I went to college to be a journalist. I joined the Air Force to be a public affairs specialist (any other DINFOS-trained-killers out there?) and to pay for the rest of my college eduction. Now I spend my days writing fiction. Of course, there is that possibility that I wrote fiction in the military, too, but let’s not go there.

I’m diligently working on a sequel to Ghost Mountain. This one also takes place in the Black Hills of South Dakota. Bear Butte this time.

I’m also toying around with another series. I have some of the preliminaries done, but am having trouble finding the perfect “paranormal” aspect to include. I’m open to suggestions there.

What I’d really like, however, is to hear your tales of the unexplained. Have you been touched by the paranormal? Do you have “gifts” that are tough to explain?

Hope to hear from you soon!

Nichole