I learned English as an adult and the comma became my worst nightmare when I started writing.
Where it's needed and don't need it?
I rely on the editors to catch my mistakes, but I really should use my cheat-sheet more often. I bet my editor would have fewer headaches.
Let's see some more rules which are the authors' and editors' cause headache:
Irregular Verbs
The English language has quite a few surprises. The irregular verbs must be learned, simple as that.
Let's see the word: broadcast. You'd assume the past tense would be: broadcasted. But no, just to give you a headache, for this word a past tense doesn't exist.
So you have to say: "Yesterday ABC broadcast a new show."
The list of about 200 irregular verbs is so extensive that one blog post is not enough to list them.
It's versus Its
Normally, an apostrophe symbolizes possession.
"I took the dog's pillow."
But because apostrophes also usually replace omitted letters — like "don't" — the "it's" versus "its" decision gets complicated.
Use "its" as the possessive pronoun:
"I took its pillow."
For the shortened version of "it is" use the version with the apostrophe.
"It's sunny outside."
Nor versus Or
Use "nor" before the second or farther of two alternatives when "neither" introduces the first.
Think of it as "or" for negative sentences, and it's not optional.
"Neither Cathy nor I understand the new program." You can also use nor with a negative first clause or sentence including "not."
"Cathy didn't understand the program, nor did I."
Then versus Than
Use "then" when discussing time.
"We had dinner, and then we watched a movie."
Use "than" in comparisons.
"Episode three was far better than episode two."
Ending Sentences With Prepositions
First of all, don't do it — usually.
Yeah, easier said than done!
"My boss explained the new rules, which we had to abide by." sounds awful.
In most cases, you can just transpose the preposition to the beginning of the clause.
"My boss explained the new rules, by which we had to abide."
Or better yet, rephrase the sentence to avoid this problem:
"My boss explained the new rules."
I write fiction, children's books, and health related books.
During summer vacation, while Anna and her brother Ben along
with Bridget and her brother, Sam are participating in the Summer Reading Adventure
at the local library the town council announces that they are building low
income housing for the homeless. While the housing is being constructed a tent
community has been established on an old soccer field on the other side of a
haunted swamp. Sam is upset by this turn of events, but his anger is only
beginning.
In the meantime, unbeknownst to them, the girls befriend
Zoe, one of the homeless people living in the tents. The girls spend time
together tracking down clues supplied by the books they are borrowing from the
library that will eventually lead to a prize at the end of the Summer Reading
Adventure.
When Bridget and Sam’s grandfather dies in a tragic car
accident Sam’s anger increases it is discovered that Zoe’s father was the drunk
driver in the truck that crashed into grandfather’s car. The family lawyer
reveals in the will that the farm and house have been left to the community to
build low income housing for the homeless.
Sam’s anger reaches a boiling point and he directs it at Zoe
and hatches a plan to get back at the people he thinks are taking away
everything he holds dear.
Excerpt
“All right. Love you mom.” Zoe kissed her mom on the cheek
and ran back to the camp.
She found the
book on her cot in the tent and started to head back to the park. Passing the
swamp she noticed Morton the Morph, the yellow toad like creature and his small
blue pear shaped panngoes playing on the edge of the swamp. One of the panngoes
bounced into the swamp.
“Hey, you guys
shouldn’t go in there,” Zoe yelled.
“Oh don’t worry
about them. They’ll be fine, just a bunch of panngoes,” Morton answered as more
of the creatures bounced into the swamp.
Zoe heard some
dogs barking and one of the panngoes squealing. “One of them might be hurt.
Shouldn’t you go in there and check on them.” She heard another sound, children
talking and laughing. “Oh no someone’s coming. I have to hide. Mamma doesn’t
want me to talk to any strangers.” The swamp would be the best place to hide,
so she followed the panngoes into the swamp.
One of the bigger
ones had fallen in a hole and was calling out for the others to help him. Zoe
followed the sound of the crying.
****
Sam stomped
through the kitchen door of their two-story house. “Some animal dumped the
trash cans again. Why does it only happen on the days I have to take out the
trash?” He snarled as he grabbed a trash bag and a pair of rubber gloves.
“Sam, stop your
complaining and get it done. We’re supposed to be meeting Hunter and Anna to go
to the park for the Reading Club kick-off,” his sister, Bridget said.
“Yeah, I’d rather
head over to the Gullies Swamp soccer field for a quick game of soccer. I’m
sure Hunter would too. I’m too old for the reading club.”
“Well, you can’t
do that.” Sam’s dad said. “Didn’t you see today’s paper? They voted to take
that field on the other side of Gullies Swamp and turn it into a homeless
community while they build some low cost housing for the homeless.”
“Why the heck are
they doing that?” Sam said. “Where am I supposed to play soccer?”
“The high school
field is open and the new field at the park.” Bridget answered.
“But we always
play at the Gullies Swamp fields.”
“Well I think
those fields are creepy. You have to go past the haunted swamp.” Bridget said.
“It’s not
haunted.” Sam said.
“But you told
me…”Bridget said.
“Bridget, how
many times have I told you not to listen to your brother’s stories about the
swamp?” Mom said. “He does that just to scare you so you’ll stay away. Sam,
finish cleaning up the trash so you can take your sister to the library.”
Sam grabbed the
broom and stomped out the door slamming it behind him.
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In many religions, the spring equinox is an incredibly important time. It represents new light, new life, and new beginnings.
Trees and bushes that lost their leaves over the winter begin to grow new leaves again and also flower in spring. This happens because the temperature of the air and soil starts to warm up and the hours of daylight increase as the days get longer with the coming of spring.
My dad always had big gardens and big ideas about what to do with the things harvested from the garden. Along with what he grew in the garden he also liked to find unique ways to make use of other things in nature. So, keeping that in mind, one Easter when I was growing up, not sure how old I was my dad decided he wanted to try his hand at making wine. He didn’t plan on making your regular grape wine, although we did grow grapes. Instead he chose something that one might not normally consider a normal thing that was harvested from a garden. No, he wanted to make Dandelion wine.
So, the afternoon of that Easter Sunday rolls around. We had gone to mass in the morning and collected our Easter baskets. I’m not sure if my grandparents had already arrived or if we were still waiting for them, but Dad decided it was the best time to pick the dandelions. So, he sent us girls out to go up the dirt road that we lived on and pick all the dandelions we could find. Not an activity my sisters and I particularly relished doing, but you didn’t question Dad. We changed out of our Easter best and loaded with buckets set out to pick the dandelions. Not sure how long we were out there, but we did get quite a few dandelions.
A few days later the time had come for Dad to make his wine. I don’t remember the process; I just remember the bottles of wine fermenting in our basement. Then one evening as we were all settling down for a relaxing evening, we heard a loud “POP” coming from the basement. This was followed by several more pops. When we went to the basement to figure out what was happening, we discovered that the bottles of Dandelion wine had exploded.
So, after all of our hard work picking those lovely flowers, I don’t think anyone ever got to drink the resulting wine.
RICE PIE:
A Rhode Islander’s Recipe to Celebrate an Italian Easter Tradition
Rice pie (torta di riso), is an Italian dessert consisting of eggs, rice, ricotta cheese, and citrus. After baking, it becomes a bottom layer of chewy rice topped with a separate layer of creamy custard.
In 1524, Italian navigator Giovanni da Verrazano was the first European to visit any part of Rhode Island. He came to what is now Block Island and named it “Luisa” after Louise of Savoy, Queen mother of France. Due to a mistake in surveying the land, the original name didn’t stick. Since one of the six largest ancestry groups in the state is that of the Italians, eating rice pie is a celebratory Easter tradition which has stuck.
My maternal grandmother who emigrated from Naples, Italy to Rhode Island made her “crustless” rice pies from memory, as does my mother who finally scribbled the recipe on a card for posterity. I have merely reduced the ingredients from the original recipe to yield one pie rather than six, though this dessert is irresistible and begs indulgence throughout the year.
Ingredients
9 eggs
1 ½ cups white sugar
1 (32 oz.) ricotta cheese (may use skim, fat free, or reduced fat)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 cups light cream
1 cup cooked white rice (River for starchy consistency)
1 (15 ounce) can, crushed pineapple—drained; or the juice of two
squeezed lemons with lemon zest (depending on your flavor preference for pineapple or lemon)
¼ teaspoon cinnamon for dusting the top of the pie before placing in oven
Directions
1. Beat eggs in large mixing bowl. Add sugar, mixing well. Stir in ricotta and vanilla until smooth. Add cream and stir. Fold in cooked rice and either crushed pineapples or lemon juice/zest.
2. Pour mixture into a Crisco greased, lightly floured 9 ½ by 13 ½ in. Pyrex dish. Sprinkle cinnamon on top.
3. Bake at 325 degrees F for one hour—top should be golden brown; toothpick test. Refrigerate until thoroughly cooled. Tastes best served at room temperature right from its baking dish.
Though pastry chefs at Italian bakeries rise to the occasion to follow their own tried and true recipes for baking rice pies, you might want to establish your own family tradition in the kitchen. Generations of Italian-Americans who settled in Rhode Island have done just that by whisking ingredients for a recipe celebrating a family who sticks together.
Fourteen years of food rationing in Britain officially ended at midnight on 4 July 1954. With the restriction on the sale and purchase of meat and bacon finally lifted, the British people could once again enjoy meat and two veg for Sunday lunch.
Only, they couldn’t. Money was scarce, and the meat in the shops was too expensive for most families. The rich could eat well, the rest of the population survived on anything they could.
But what has this got to do with Easter?
I didn’t eat a bar of chocolate until I was eleven years old and I guess it was a few years later before I was given a nicely wrapped chocolate egg to enjoy. Kids like me didn’t know any better, and why should we? What you didn’t know, didn’t affect you.
The Easter bunny never existed for my sister and I. We didn’t have a television set and thus knew little about the Easter holidays. All the family went to church but on looking back, the preaching flew over our heads. However, I always remember eating fresh meat over the Easter period.
It was many years later before I eventually found out why we had kept so many lovely bunny rabbits in our garden.
The locsolkodás (sprinkling) is a unique Hungarian tradition which dates back to centuries.
Although it's a symbol of fertilization and the start of new life, it's also a form of fun socialization and strengthening of family bond and friendship.
On Monday, young boys and teenagers get together with their friends and hide with bucketful of water behind trees and bushes. Girls walk the streets in groups and pretend to be surprised and squeal with delight when the boys douse them with water from head to toe. The girls reward them with painted eggs.
Easter Tuesday it's the girls' turn to ensure the future fertility of boys by saturating them with water, and yes, boys
Men visit all the women in their families, friends, and neighbors. At each stop, they recite a short locsolóvers (sprinkling poem) and sprinkle perfume or scented water on the hair of the women.
The men must recite a poem, either traditional or ones they come up with such as:
I was walking in a green forest,
and saw a blue violet.
It had started to wilt,
may I sprinkle it?
The women offer them a few bite from the traditional Hungarian breakfast plate and pálinka (strong brandy).
Refusing pálinka is impolite, so you can imagine how drunk the men get by the time they finish visiting every woman they know.
The traditional Hungarian Easter breakfast is rich to begin with but made even richer with the dual purpose palate cleanser/dessert, the sweet cheese.
Growing up we never had ice-water or soda on the table, it was not (and still not) part of the Hungarian diet to mix warm food with icy drinks. If the food called for a drink such as breakfast, we had hot tea, coffee, or hot chocolate, but never cold milk.
Other nations use neutral flavor ice-cream to cleanse the palate between dishes, we had a bite of sweet-cheese between ham and sausage to neutralize the taste and cleanse the palate. But for kids, this was a very tasty breakfast treat.
Ingredients:
1 quart milk
10 eggs
vanilla
1.5 cups sugar
salt to taste
Watch the video to see how it's made:
I love to read. I will try just about any genre and mainly review only Indie books. I figure Anne Rice and Stephen King can take care of themselves. That being said, I offer you a few books that I highly recommend.
This book is awesome! I have not had this much fun reading a book in a long time! I sure hope I remember all the rules when I die, so I will have a head start to getting my permit! Excellently edited and well written! The way it is set up is perfect! I liked the list of choices of types of haunts, where to take vacations, laughing as I turned each page! What a unique and delightful book!
I was drawn into this story quickly! I loved the way the author weaved her tale of a haunted house and a voodoo curse. The descriptions of the area involved reminded me of when I drove through Louisiana, spooky in itself! The characters were easy to relate to and the situation was almost believable. Great story!
Elsie and her family are Illinois Yankee transplants in Tennessee. Elsie's way of facing problems is to run, literally. Her mother works cleaning houses while her father is trying to grow peppers. Elsie is an artist and is finally going to exhibit her work at the fair. Thanks to her best friend, she is starting to get some attention but her father's tumor sends him into a seizure. A young man, Tyler Vaughn, comes to the rescue and helps get medical attention. This chance encounter leads to sparks between the two. Tyler, it turns out is the grandson of the richest woman her mother works for, and that lady hates Elsie. Tyler and Elsie are drawn to each other, but Elsie is worried their relationship will cost her mother her job. The tension of young love with the back story of prejudice and the impending death of her father is palpable. This story is amazingly well written. I will not give any more info because I hate knowing how books end, it runs the fun of reading. This book is well worth buying. The characters are well developed, the plot is full of twists and unexpected results. Kudos! I can't wait to see more from this author.
When you hear someone has an addiction, perfume is not really where your mind goes. Well, Carla is definitely addicted to it. It is a constant in her life and her crutch as she faces her midlife crisis. A new neighbor and an accident brings the past forward and Carla faces it head on. The style this is written in reminds me of a diary, like I am reading Carla's private thoughts. The details about the different perfumes would have annoyed me had it not been for assuming this perspective. When you talk to yourself, you really don't care if you are exciting. I was invested in Carla and was hoping her travels led her to happiness. Not saying if it did but... I did feel that the end of the book was suddenly rushed, like there was a time limit to finish the book. It is the reason for the 4 stars I would say 4.5 but that is not an option. I hope Eva continues to write.
This is a captivating storyline. Dani is finally a full-time teacher. She lives with Zack who makes her feel special and safe. In her youth, her family life was very abusive. Her father, who died, was cruel to both her and her mom. Despite his death, Dani still holds on to the anger. As she went to ready her class for the start of the year, she finds herself being followed by a murder of crows. Crows carry the soul to final peace, are they here for help with her father's soul? Her 3 of her students she feels she must save. Can she save them if it means forgiving her father? What is the strange new religion her mother and aunt are showing her? What sacrifice is she willing to make to save the children and herself? Captivating!
This has
been the first series I have written in my short career of writing. At the
moment I have published the first two books of what is supposed to be a trilogy,
and quite soon I will be able to publish
the final book.
So let’s start
with the first one. Just like many times it happens, this was not supposed to
be a series, rather it was just a way to experiment something new; a novella.
I found it
quite challenging because I had to squeeze in a short amount of pages what I
generally describe in a full novel.
As I was
going to finish and making it ready for the editor, something strange happened,
I wanted to know more about the story, and
the characters got better ideas. It was then when I thought that since I was
experimenting a novella, I could have also experimented a series, and so I
modified it in a way to create the premises for a second book, at least.
But let’s
talk about the story.
The first
book is about a young man, Ethan Jackson, who had his life ruined by a
compulsive lying disorder. He believes, and
he wishes to tell the truth, but his brain
is messing up facts and people when he tries to remember it.
He will seek
for help at the studio of Dr. Wright, a psychiatrist who seems very interested
in Ethan’s problem and offers him a very unusual therapy: traveling the world
and keep records on a diary.
Everything
seems to go as smooth as velvet when in
the middle of the treatment, he finds himself in Georgia, he is accused of
murder. As usual, the embassy helps him find
a lawyer, and his family and friends will offer moral sustain. However, Ethan
is sure he would never kill anyone, but he cannot remember anything about the
previous night. Everything he remembers is that he was with the girl who had
been murdered the night before.
With his
freedom and sanity at stake, the truth seems to be further from Ethan’s grasp
than ever. But then, if he wants to keep his freedom, perhaps lies are all he
can depend on.
Excerpt:
I was
agitated the whole night, and when someone knocked at my door the next morning,
at 11:30 A.M., I felt like they drove over me with a truck.
It took me
what it seemed an eternity to stand up on my feet, as whoever was on the other
side of the door, knocking, already became my enemy number one.
“I am
coming. Please, a bit of patience,” I said as I was dressing up.
I opened
the door, and a man with two officers asked me if they could come in.
“Yes, of
course. I just woke up, so it is a bit messy,” I said, welcoming them in.
“We are
sorry for this inconvenience, I am Detective Giorgi Bochorishvili, and those
are Officers Esadze and Kazbegi,” he said, coming in.
“I don’t
understand. Is there anything wrong?” I asked, still wondering about that
visit.
“You can
say so. Between yesterday evening and this morning, a woman has been killed in
this hotel,” he said, taking out a picture. “Have you ever seen her?”
I took the
picture in my hand and looked at it carefully. She looked familiar, but my mind
was still foggy.
“I don’t
think so. I am not sure, though. Maybe I have seen her in this hotel,” I
replied. “Is she a guest?”
“Not
really. She is an escort and used to go around telling people that she works for
this hotel - which is not true - offering a safe sexual service,” he explained
as the other two officers looked around.
“A murder…”
I mumbled to myself, trying to recall whatever happened the evening before,
knowing anyway that my brain would have messed up some, if not all, the details. However, something I was sure about
was that I hadn’t killed anyone, nor had I heard anything coming from the
corridors.
If there had been a murder, the assassin must
have been very cautious in not making any noise, I considered.
“Is there
anyone else you are sharing this room with?” asked the Detective.
“No, I am
alone.”
“Could you
explain this, then?” he said, grabbing a lipstick from the floor. “It doesn’t
seem to be your shade.”
I stared at
it, not knowing what I should say.
“So?” he
pursued.
“I don’t
know. I don’t remember.”
“Let’s put
it this way,” he started to say, “I am not here to put someone in jail for
having sex with a prostitute, but to nail a killer. Are you telling me the
truth when you say you haven’t seen this woman?”
I’m going to continue my Author series with Natalie Babbitt.
Until recently I must admit I had never heard of Ms. Babbitt. That is a sad
thing, because recently when I heard about one of her books Tuck Everlasting, I was surprised that I
hadn’t heard about her. So I went out and found a used copy of her book and
purchased it. I have yet to start reading it because my TBR pile is quite high.
I did however read the back cover blurb and realized it was a book I wanted to
read and an author I wanted to know more about.
Natalie Zane Moore was born July 28, 1932 in Dayton, Ohio.
She went to school in Cleveland and later Smith College in Northampton
Massachusetts and Kirkland College in Clinton, Oneida County, New York. She
married Samuel Babbitt and they lived in New Haven Connecticut where they had
three children.
Her first journey into the writing and illustrating world, The Forty Ninth Magician, a picture
book, was a collaboration with her husband.
After this book was published her husband became too busy to collaborate, so he
encouraged her to continue writing and illustrating. She wrote two short books
in verse before moving onto children’s novels.
In 1970 she published Knee-Knock
Rise and was awarded a Newbury Honor in 1971.
After that she went onto write many children’s novels including Tuck Everlasting in 1975, named ALA
Notable book,
and The Eyes of the
Amaryllis in 1977 and many others.
Both Tuck
Everlasting and The Eyes of the
Amaryllis were adapted as movies. Tuck
Everlasting was also adapted as a Broadway musical.
Along with being a writer she was also an illustrator.
Valerie Worth wrote Small Poems along
with a couple of others which she asked Babbitt to illustrate.
In 2016 Babbitt was diagnosed with lung cancer and died at
her home in Hamden, Connecticut on October 31, 2016. So even though her body
was not immortal her works drink from the spring of immortality and leave a
lasting legacy for children across the world.
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