Very Expressive

During the course of a conversation, how many different expression can evolve over a face?

"I have a warrant for your arrest," the Barney Fife look-a-like cop said in a voice as flat as a Texas highway.

Paul couldn't figure out if this was a joke or a bad imitation of Sergeant Friday. There lacked a tell-tale twinkle in his eye, but his mouth twitched, though it might have been nothing more than a facial tick.

"Very funny," Paul said. "Who put you up to this?"

Barney's eyes widened and his head tilted slightly. Was that surprise or did Paul make the guy?"

"I can assure you, sir, this is no joke."

Paul began to feel uneasy as one by one his brain recounted possible offenses. Though still, a tenseness radiated from the cop's body. One wrong move, Paul thought, and he's all over me.

Barney's eyes hardened and his mouth set in a grim line as his hand began to move toward the handcuffs attached to his belt.

He's going to cuff me. Paul stepped back impulsively. The cop's hand froze over his gun. Sweat beaded on Paul's forehead. The cop's eyes narrowed.

In a flash, Barney grabbed the gun, pointed it at Paul's chest and pulled the trigger.

Paul's heart leaped into his throat as he watched Barney's finger squeeze the trigger, watched the barrel as in a horrifying second the bullet flew out of the gun. But it wasn't a bullet, it was a rod. Hanging from the rod a piece of paper uncoiled and for a second Paul stared in disbelief as he read the words, "Happy Birthday, Paul. Love Mom."

This is poor example of facial expressions with a little body language. I began to wonder how many facial expressions there were and how many we use in the course of a conversation.

Surprise and shock can be written in a number of ways. Wide eyes, pursed lips, open mouth, not to mention the sudden intake of air, hands over mouth. Even without the body language, a person's face can easily be read.

Anger, rage, disapproval are portrayed in the forehead as a frown, the mouth turned down, teeth clenched together, eyes narrowed or sharp. We as authors get to change a person's eye color and cause them to flash. How cool is that?

There are many facial expression. From a life time of experience we're able look into a person's face and perceive their feelings. As writers, it's our job to draw on the reader's experiences and engage their emotions in empathy with our characters. When I find myself in a rut, I sit back and live in the moment I'm trying to write. Sometimes it works.

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The Dash

I was at a wonderful funeral service, if that can be said about funerals. This poem was read and I loved it so much, I want to share it with you.

The Dash Poem - by Linda Ellis

I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning to the end
He noted that first came the date of her birth
And spoke the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years
For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth.
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.
For it matters not how much we own;
The cars, the house, the cash,
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.
So think about this long and hard.
Are there things you’d like to change?
For you never know how much time is left,
That can still be rearranged.
If we could just slow down enough
To consider what’s true and real
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.
And be less quick to anger,
And show appreciation more
And love the people in our lives
Like we’ve never loved before.
If we treat each other with respect,
And more often wear a smile
Remembering that this special dash
Might only last a little while.
So, when your eulogy is being read
With your life’s actions to rehash
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent your dash?
©1996 Linda Ellis

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Who Knew

I'd be 61% done with my book. That's just been in the last month. It came from under half done, to over half done. I have to admit, though, I'm actually rewriting already written chapters, but what the heck. It's all the same to me. The finish line is almost in sight.

You know when you think you've written a good scene? When it makes you feel good. When everything seems to be in place and when you think, come rewrite, there won't be a need to rewrite the good scenes. That's a sign that you're almost there. I'm feeling good about it and I thank you, my readers. It's all your fault, er, doing.

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Over-ripe sense of fair play

I have exaggerated sense of fair play. When people are acting juvenile, and selfish, my system hurts. I think the only grown-ups in the world are those not crapping on society, you know, like the government. That said, I'm going to bury myself in fantasy.

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What do I care?

I have stopped caring if my book gets published. What freedom. It's like a weight being lifted off my shoulders. All I want to do is write my stories. I was too busy worrying whether this sentence was interesting enough, or clever enough. Now I write for myself.

Let's face it, not everyone will get published. I don't think it is because of skill, or lack there of. If you practice anything long and often enough, you get better at it. But when you take your eyes off the lofty prize, you are free to explore and move beyond what might or might not be accepted. For me, at lease, this novel is moving again. I'm not letting things jam me up. Maybe after the third rewrite, but for now, I'M FREE.

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Writers are the Best People

I'm ashamed of myself. I wrote the last post and didn't get back to it until now. I've read the comments and realized what a wonderful world we live in when people can give such sincere care to someone they don't know. I've been uplifted by your comments and nearly in tears. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. I think the best people in the world are writers. What an inspiration you have been to me.

The good news is, I'm writing again and loving it. I'm 52% done with my novel and it's falling into place nicely. I look outside and see the brilliant yellow leaves and think, by the time they grow green again, I hope to have it done.

Thank you all so much.

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Stop Obsessing

I've been so caught up in what's going on in the world, I haven't had time to blog. With the state of the country, the Congress running amok on health care, our economy being flushed, and our troops being all but ignored, I haven't been able to concentrate on my writing. Every time I plan to sit down and work on my novel, I can't resist the impulse to go out and see what's going on in the world. I'm obsessed. It happens to me every now and again. No, that's not true, it's a state of mind for me.

But, I swear, tomorrow I'll work on my book for, at least, two hours first thing. The world can just fall apart, I'll be working on my writing. Really.

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