By
Dee S. Knight (Guest Blogger)
Erotic
romance author and children’s books? Um…not really
All
right, I admit to being the last person—an erotic romance
author—you would look to for information on children's books. And I
don't want to talk about children's books, per se. I was
struck, however, about a book I read about in the Virginian-Pilot
newspaper a few years ago, and with the author. I took notes, as
you’ll see.
At
the time, I had moved back to the land of my elementary and high
school years, the Tidewater area of Virginia. As you might know, this
part of The Old Dominion is a hotbed of most things military. There
is a huge naval port, an air force base, a naval air station,
a marine base, and an army post, all in the Hampton, Norfolk,
Virginia Beach area. That means young, handsome, virile men in
uniform (and out) all over the dang place. Whew! (fanning self)
But
that's a blog for another day.
Wherever
there are military men and women, there are wives and husbands,
brothers and sisters, and parents leaving their families, often for
extended periods of time. That means there are missed holidays,
anniversaries, birthdays, recitals, and ballgames. Being a member of
a military family is hard duty, and frequently hard to understand,
especially for the youngsters. I know what I'm talking about, having
grown up in a Navy family with a father who was a "ship-board
rate," meaning his job forced him to work on board a ship rather
than on shore. Most years, his duty took him to the Mediterranean
region and other places, an average nine months out of each year.
Now, fathers and moms can be gone a year or more if they're deployed
to, or in support of, the conflict areas of the world.
So,
when I learned of then Lieutenant Commander Ross H. Mackenzie, a Navy
father, I was intrigued. He wrote My Sailor Dad* to try
to explain to his 8-year old son what he did and why it's important.
I noticed the announcement about the book for two reasons. First, I
thought it was brilliant idea and long overdue. Second, the article
told of the (now retired) Lieutenant Commander’s visit to a local
elementary school to talk about writing. It struck me that as
writers, we sometimes make the simplest exercises hard. Editing and
brainstorming aren’t rocket science but we sometimes get so tied up
over them that we make them harder than they should be.
Mr.
Mackenzie talked to a group of children about a dragon. Through a
series of questions, he guided them in describing the dragon's color,
size and activities. He was a huge, yellow, fire-breathing creature
with big teeth who liked to eat up little girls. (Sounds like some of
my dates from U.Virginia back in the day.) But, Mackenzie asked, what
if such a dragon scared some young readers? On the spot, the kids
changed the character to a small, purple dragon who blew smoke puffs
and lived in a shoebox in the closet.
In
that instant, those children learned to question their first
inclinations, to brainstorm new ideas, and to edit what they had
already decided on. A classroom teacher probably would need half a
week to teach what the father cum author illustrated in one
assembly. We all need to remember the same lessons.
Does
our character description match what we want her/him to be in the
story? Or do we want to change the character to fit a description we
have in mind, one that better suits the audience we're addressing and
the goals we set for the story?
Have
we sufficiently thought through the process of who and what our
character is? Planning is not always a four-letter word. Characters
are more than how they look. What habits does the character have?
Piercings? Tatoos? Overbite? How have any of those things made the
character when he/she is?
Do
we let the threat (or dread) of editing stop us from making changes
that would better suit our characters? If so, don’t!
Did
Mr. Mackenzie ask the children what kind of car the dragon drove? Of
course not. Dragons don’t drive (everyone knows that). Cars weren’t
necessary to the story. Often, we write things unnecessary to our
stories. Cut those parts out, no matter how much you might like them.
As
thrilled as I was to read about this book, I was sad to see that it
took more than two years for Mackenzie to find a publishing home. In
this day of far-away wars, long deployments and almost all of us
knowing someone affected by administration and DoD decisions, books
of this sort are great for military families and (maybe
especially) those not associated with the service. Mr.
Mackenzie has since written several other books, including My
Soldier Dad. I wish him continued success and thank him for his
service.
For
myself, I have my own take on a book about the Navy, and it’s not a
book for children, though reading it with a significant other might
lead to children if you aren’t careful! Naval Maneuvers
is three novellas characterized by naval terms: “Weighing Anchor”
(moving on in life to a new love), “Dropping Anchor” (settling in
safe harbor with the one you love), and “Anchor Home” (smooth
sailing with a second chance at love).
This
is from “Weighing Anchor.”
"And
what is your name, pretty?" Mel Crandall addressed the dinosaur
bones in an undertone, bending nearly to face level. The skeleton
displayed an open mouth and rows of fierce, sharp teeth.
"Roger,"
a man standing next to her said in a low voice. Startled, she looked
up. Up being the operative word. She stood a decent five feet
ten inches, and he beat her by a good half foot. She studied him. He
ignored her.
The
guy had a solid profile, strong chin, chiseled cheekbones, and a
straight back with muscular shoulders. Short brown hair. He wore
glasses and stared straight ahead, but glasses couldn't disguise the
laugh lines that radiated from the corners of his eyes. His posture
was near perfect and he was not overweight, as evidenced by the trim
fit of his jeans and red polo shirt that clung enough to give
evidence of a low body/mass index number.
As
a doctor, she immediately noticed body characteristics before actual
looks. But with this guy, examination in lieu of admiration was hard.
Men were often put off by the fact that she paid attention to whether
they looked sallow or flushed, or if their hands were cold or warm
before she "saw" them. She noticed if a man's eyes were
dilated or glittered with fever before she registered eye color.
Dates started with mini examinations before she relaxed enough to
enjoy personalities, but that's just the way she was. Men had to take
it or leave it. Sadly, most left it. Which was why she talked to
dinosaurs at the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History all on her
own.
Mel
moved on to the next exhibit, a shorter built specimen but still tall
and with a nasty spiked tail. "I wonder what you looked like,"
she murmured. "What color were you, what did you eat, and what's
your name?" She bent to read the exhibit information.
"Gray.
Grass."
That
same guy had followed her. Rather than having a strong profile, she
was beginning to think he was a weirdo.
"Annnd,
roger."
Quickly,
Mel moved to the next exhibit. "And you are–"
"Roger."
He
stood beside her again! Mel started to look for a museum guard but
saw none. Great. Planting her hands on her hips, she turned to him.
"Stop following me," she said loudly enough that people in
the general area turned to see what was happening.
The
guy said, "Hold it."
Hold
it? Hold it, as in "Wait a minute, little lady?" She
opened her mouth to lay into him when he turned and removed his
glasses, showing the richest, most chocolatey brown eyes she'd ever
seen. The words stuck in her mouth.
"I'm
sorry, what?"
In
a lower voice she said, "You're following me from exhibit to
exhibit and talking to me. I want you to stop."
"I
didn't realize…" He wiggled the glasses at her. "I'm
working here and I'm afraid I didn't notice you."
Well.
What was worse, that he was a pervert following her place to place,
or that he wasn't a perv and hadn't even noticed her?
His
brow furrowed while he studied her. "Yes. Yes." Then he
shook his head. "Roger."
Again
with that Roger.
"Gotta
go. Later." Then he smiled at her. "Just a minute, okay?"
He folded the glasses and put them first in a protective case.
Squatting, he placed a briefcase on the floor and opened it. He
stored the glass case inside a pocket. Then he removed something from
his right ear—an earbud?—protected it and also put it in the
case.
Mel
watched all of this with curiosity. He expected her to wait for him?
What arrogance. And yet, wait she did. When he stood, holding the
case in his left hand and smiled once more, her heart stuttered. The
guy was drop dead gorgeous—at least to her understanding of the
word. Normally, she appreciated the male form, mostly from a medical
viewpoint. This man she enjoyed with pure pleasure.
And
good God. He hadn't been talking to her, he'd been talking to whoever
was on the other end of that earbud. Embarrassment flooded her.
"I'm
sorry," she said. "I thought you were…" She slid her
hand between the two of them and then to the exhibits.
"No,"
he said. "I apologize. I shouldn't be testing this stuff
around people. The last time I did it a kid thought I was calling him
Roger." His voice had a soft drawl to it. Western Virginia or
North Carolina, maybe? Somewhere in the mountains. It felt
like a cool stream as it ran over a body hot and tired from hiking:
refreshing and invigorating, at the same time soothing and relaxing.
She wanted him to talk more.
Stop
that! She laughed. "I thought you were naming each
dinosaur." He smiled and dimples indented his cheeks. His eyes
crinkled and Mel's breath caught. This guy should come with a warning
label. Approach with caution. Could bring on lustful
intentions and ultimately, broken hearts. Take only in small doses
and in public places.
He
held out his hand. "David Stimson."
She
took it gingerly, half expecting lightning to bolt between them.
Nope. Nothing. So much for romance novels. He had a nice hand, large
and warm with healthy pink nails, and she grasped it firmly. "Melissa
Crandall."
"Nice
to meet you. Do you mind if I wander along with you?" Grasping
the briefcase with his left hand, he deftly moved to the left of her.
"No,
please. It's a free country." She walked to the next dinosaur
re-creation. "And this one is…" She half waited for his
pronouncement.
"Not
Roger," he said, stopping her heart with that killer smile
again. He leaned over to read the information. "Torosaurus
latus. It says here that these bones were dug up in North Dakota,
but that the Torosaurus roamed from Canada to Texas, and that he had
the biggest head of any land mammal."
"Well,
I guess that's something to be proud of," Mel responded.
David laughed and she found herself smiling back. When she moved to
the next exhibit, he strolled along with her.
He
pointed to the next specimen. "Poor guy. Starved to death."
"Oh,
yeah? How do you know?"
"Can't
you tell? He's all bones."
You
could win a free ebook copy of Naval Maneuvers. Just leave me a
comment with your email!
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Author
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Find
out more about Dee on her website. And contact her at
dsknight [at] deesknight [dot] com.
Author
Links
*"Children's
book explains Navy life" Lia Russell, Virginian-Pilot
Currents, January 24, 2010
