Another Nora-nism

I can't help it. I love The New York Times and I really loved this story about Nora Ephron:

Hollywood Ending

"...In 1986, when a Newsweek cover put a metaphorical bullet through the single career women over 40, she refuted all by herself the fear that powerful women repel men, that funny girls go home to their cats, that having it all means enjoying it alone."

Thank you Nora!

Lauren

Nora Ephron: reading is everything

Nora Ephron died on Tuesday aged 71. I can't say I was a huge fan of her romantic comedies (it's not my genre, I'm too dark and serious, sorry Nora).

But I am a fan of her.

About reading, she said:

“Reading is everything. Reading makes me feel like I've accomplished something, learned something, become a better person. Reading makes me smarter. Reading gives me something to talk about later on. Reading is the unbelievably healthy way my attention deficit disorder medicates itself. Reading is escape, and the opposite of escape; it's a way to make contact with reality after a day of making things up, and it's a way of making contact with someone else's imagination after a day that's all too real. Reading is grist. Reading is bliss.”

Couldn't agree more.

Rest in peace Nora.

Lauren

Photo courtesy Google Images

Prompting you to save a life

Writers Digest writing prompt time again.

Will you save a life today?

Similar, yet different: homophones

 Another PR Daily gem.

Homophones mistreated

My favourite comment:
" My question is when will the word police ask us to stop using the word homophone because it is "hurtful." "

My favourite misused homophone:

There/their/they're

This also made me think: what is the difference between a word nerd and the word police?

That's a post for another time.

Lauren

Bad press: 10 signs your not doing it right

My bible, PR Daily released '10 signs of a horrendous press release' last week.

I want to share it because I think it applies not only to press or news releases but pretty much everything to do with writing.

Are you guilty of any of these?

Bad press release

I have been. But trust me, you quickly learn from your mistakes in this business.

Lauren

In an overcrowded market, who cares about me?

Memoirs. Confessions. Autobiographies.

They are like the Hyundai Getz of the writing world. They're everywhere and depreciate in value the minute you look at it.

Another memoir about addiction and depression, really?

I'm writing a memoir for someone else and I 'confess' I've often thought about writing one for myself.

But really, who would care? It seems country singer Shawn Colvin, who released her autobiography 'Diamond in the Rough' had similar thoughts.

I do love the way she put it to the New York Times recently:

'...chronicling her alcohol and depression came easy. The hard part was convincing herself that she should add another memoir to an already crowded market of confessional autobiographies.

“Who’s going to care?” Ms. Colvin said. “I’m not Obama. And my drinking career is a joke compared to Keith Richards’s. I had to get over that a little bit and just believe there were parts in there that are universal. When I encountered people in my life that were honest about the tough stuff — alcoholism or depression — it helped me enormously. I started to look at the book as something that might help people, instead of just what’s been interesting about my life.”

I've always maintained that everyone has a story. But whether it's worth publishing is another story in itself.

I am currently writing the 'life story' of a man called Bill. He is the grandfather of a friend of mine and has been living in my home town of Perth since 1937. Unforutnately he has been diagnosed with lung cancer and that prompted him and his family to record his life, the changes he's seen and the memories his family and friends have of him.

My own confession must come first: I did think 'Wow, he must have done something pretty amazing to warrant a life story.'

That was the objective writer and journalist in me. Always thinking about what will sell. Then I met him. Talked to him and saw pictures, read what his family had to say and all the memories and things that went into making his life.

And that was a story in itself. Maybe not to the whole world but at least to those who really matter: his loved ones.


Yours in word-nerdiness,

Lauren

Lucky dip book trip

Tuesday is the first meeting for Read Watch Talk book and movie club.

It's going to be lucky dip for the first book.

I've chosen mine and it's headed by Fifty Shades of Grey by E.L James. It's dark, twisted - my favourite genre. Oh, the point of a book club is to read things you wouldn't normally, isn't it?

Well, lucky my third choice was chosen at random from the Crow Books 'What we're reading' list

It's Japanese which I don't normally go for.

Until then, word nerds,

Lauren

In response to the Lipstick killer....

The message was written in coral lipstick. It reminded her of childhood summers spent by the pool, with her parents, at package deal resorts. Coral, the colour smudged on plastic wine glasses middle-aged women used too sip West Coast Wine Cooler.

There was no time for reminiscing now though. This message was for her and it meant finding her best friend before the police got any whiff of it. Yes, Rachel was in the hands of a violent killer but she was also a wanted woman herself.

Amanda moved closer to the mirror, Revlon number 143 she suspected. Curved, sloped writing spelled out what would happen if Amanda did not follow the instructions scrawled in front of her.

"Shit,,"Amanda said out loud to herself. A series of clues would lead her to Rachel. Amanda's heart began beating loudly and her palms became clammy. The cramped toilet cubicle felt even smaller as she tried to turn around and open the door. It wouldn't budge. Amanda screamed, these were precious seconds being wasted. She slammed her hip and shoulder into the wood and it burst open onto a dark and silent room.

There was another message on the window, this time it was written in glowing, neon pen . 'Put that on' it said. Amanda walked slowly over to a mannequin and lifted the red curly wig of its head and placed it on her own. Amanda always wanted to be a red head but not like this.

She reached up to adjust the wig and felt a small note fall out of the long strands. Amanda picked it up: go to the cafe on the corner of Main and High Street. Now.

It was dark outside and the streetlights were out, they had been for two years but tonight it seemed so much more obvious. Eventually the cafe lights glowed in the distance and it looked warm and welcoming but as she got closer anxiety gripped her throat, what would she find there? Who would she find there and what would they think of this hideous red wig?

Amanda reached the front door and slowly opened it. The smell of coffee hit her full in the face, burning her nostrils. As she walked in, she scanned the small room. It looked the same as it always did; old wooden chairs, silver espresso machine on the counter with ceramic cups on top. The cake fridge was full, the background music played and the fragrant candles burned brightly. Everything was normal, wasn't it?

One corner of the room was dark and in the chair sat the only other person in the cafe. It looked like a man, but she couldn't be sure. Slowly she took a step toward them. They looked up, it was  a man. He had a scar running diagonally across his face from chin to temple. Their eyes met, he smiled and closed the book he was reading. Amanda took a step back, he took one forward. Blood pounded through her ears, he began to talk but she couldn't hear. "Shit," she thought again, what if he's telling me where she is?

The man reached out his hand, it was smooth and cold looking. "Amanda," he said. "Come with me, I'll show you where she is."

"No. Who are you?" she asked.

"You know who I am," he replied calmly, his head dropping to one side. "Come on whippet, you know who I am."

"Whippet? How did you know I was called...?"

"Come on, you know."

"But the only person who called me that....oh my god, what is this? Who are you?"

　

The Diamond Queen

As I sit here and sip my Twinings English Breakfast and nibble on my biscuit I feel a pang of ... homesickness.

No I am not technically British. I've never even lived in England. I lived in Scotland instead. The Scots might not always like being part of the United Kingdom but they still have tea and biscuits every afternoon.

Most of yesterday was spent watching various documentaries on HM Queen Elizabeth and her 60 years on the throne. I have to say, it was one of the most enjoyable viewing experiences I have had in a long time.
It wasn't until seeing these documentaries that I really understood just how important she is or how much she has experienced in her time as Queen.

A lot of forward planning must have gone into this Diamond Jubilee, footage was being shot back in 2010.

Archive footage showed the Queen in some of her most human moments; at her beloved races, dancing with her sister and meeting with various Prime Ministers and dignitaries.

This is a big part of history and I am so glad I watched it. Yes, I wished I was there - grey skies and all.

A thought occurred to me - the next Diamond Jubilee should be William and I hope he gets there, I hope I do too.

A debate took place in my office this morning about the hullabaloo - "Aren't you angry that they spent all this money in the middle of a recession?" Australian man asked English woman.

She looked horrified. "No, I'm not."

Easy for her to say perhaps, seeing as she lives in Australia. Easy for him I suppose as his only experience of the UK recession has been through the media.

I butted in (as usual): "They need the celebration Australian man, after everything they have been through. They need something to be happy about."

And they do. And they should. Long live the Queen.

My tea's getting cold and Coronation Street is nearly on.....

Yours in word-nerdiness,
Lauren