Kirstin Cronn-Mills

Call it work avoidance, and this will make you laugh your ass off, but today I am grateful for Saturday Night Fever. More specifically, Tony Manero. He practically glows with testosterone, and holy god, the man can dance.

I first saw Saturday Night Fever on television when I was eight or nine, and looking at Tony Manero was the first time I felt the “wow, I need me some of that!” feeling that grown-ups call desire. Seriously–who *wouldn’t* be smitten with a hot working class Italian man from Brooklyn who can dance his ass off? For this grade-school girl from Central Nowhere, he represented the complete opposite of everything I knew. And that’s attractive enough. But still . . . that smile. Pretty sexy, no?

I think this is also where my secret desire to become a dancer comes from. I wanted to be Tony’s dance partner, define “dance” as you will. And, a corollary gratitude: I am grateful for disco.

I know (gasp, gasp), I said disco. But it’s great. And so is he.

Today I am grateful for Stephen King. I don’t write horror, but man oh man, he’s the master of characters, and I want to be like him when I grow up. You’d know if a Stephen King character came and knocked on your door. Name any of the biggies–Jack Torrance, Annie Wilkes, Randall Flagg (a personal fave), and I’m NOT talking about their movie counterparts, I’m talking about their purest book forms–and you’d know who it was as soon as you answered the door.

I started reading Steve King (as he calls himself) when I was WAAAAY too young to be reading it. Like under 10. So I grasped nothing but the basic storylines: lots of blood, lots of bad things. But WOW, did I absorb things I had no idea I absorbed, stuff about love and sex and death and human interaction. I’m finding that out now, as I revisit his early stuff. These days I’m absorbing King in audiobook form, and it’s teaching me something about how he shapes books, characters, and story structure. I also love King’s casual, irreverent voice and tone. He’s my kind of guy, and that was something I knew when I was 10–I knew I could talk with him, and he’d tell me what I needed to know. He could be why my own books are slightly (!) irreverent and casual. Plus, Steve King has written good stuff, and he’s written shit, and he admits to both. I like that in a writer. I’m partial to his early works, but there are good ones later on, too.

As I listen to him, I’m also thinking a lot about Flux’s statement that “young adult is a point of view, not a reading level” (a brilliant statement if there ever was one). Case in point: Carrie. Almost all the protagonists/antagonists are high school students, but are they thinking in high school ways? No. They’re making very adult decisions and having adult thoughts, because they’re being “watched” by an adult narrator (it’s 3rd person). Even though it’s YA characters, it’s not a YA point of view. Interesting stuff.

Hail Mary, full of grace, let me win this stock car race. Thank you, Steve King, for your words and your voice. Sometimes I can’t read you, because the gore or the plague or the sadness is too real, now that I’m a grown-up and I understand you, but I still love you.

I am sorry, but I just cannot resist. In 10 years, you’ll get the same things–provided we have blogs, of course. But seriously, this show was all we had, and it gets stuck in your head. Like STUCK.

“Some and none”–not the best quality, but still hilarious and wonderful.

“Fat cat sat hat”–same monster dude, but better quality and maybe even sillier.

And seriously, how could I forget this one? “Mah na mah na”! A different version than I remember, but it still works.

One for my brother Chris: “Ladybug’s Picnic”. “Imagining shapes,” in the first post, is for my other brother, Kjell, who is a square. He will come after me if he ever reads that statement. But also for Kjell: “Everybody Eats” and “Everybody Sleeps.”

One for my dad: “The Alligator King”

One for my son: “Put Down the Duckie”

And one more for all you opera fans: “Orange Carmen.”

You are kind to indulge me.

This one is obvious: today (every day) I am grateful for Sesame Street!

40 years ago today, the first Sesame Street episode aired. I am almost the same age as my favorite street, and when I was a munchkin in Central Nowhere, purple monsters and brown-skinned people were NOT people in my neighborhood. But I totally thought they were, and said thought has served me well in the rest of my life. I seriously credit my interest in cultural diversity to them. And, just to prove my Street cred: I remember Mr. Looper (“Hoopah, Hoopah”), David, and when nobody knew about Mr. Snuffalupagus.

So, my favorite skit of all time: imagining shapes. This was Jim Henson’s *3rd* shape-imagining skit, but the first one on Sesame. Look up the other two on YouTube. You have to wait a bit for the payoff, but it’s there. Imagine on, baby . . .

A couple existential/mystical pieces: the letter I, and the letter N, both in the same clip. I still puzzle over these. Deep, baby. Deep.

The coolest badass musician on the planet showing off on Sesame Street: my man Stevie. 70s funk at its finest.

I could go on and on and on (just ask my brothers), but I won’t. Suffice it to say that I adore Sesame Street. And I adore all the people who put this stuff on YouTube, so I can continue my love.

Do you know what a square is? I know WHO a square is! And the wind is very still for the lowercase N.

Let me say this very clearly: today I am grateful for details. You know why? DETAILS MATTER.

Some of my students are notoriously I-could-give-a-fig about details, and it makes me NUTS. So are, for that matter, lots of people in our culture. Hey, as long as I get the big stuff right, what’s the problem? They’re just small chunks. Details don’t matter.

But let me ask you: who’s to define what the “big stuff” is and what’s not?

I cannot even tell you how many times my name has been misspelled in the last six months–book-related and otherwise. That matters to me, I must tell you. To other people, it’s a detail. Think about details in a book, friends: it’s kind of a big detail that we know Edward can’t be in the sunlight, yes? But what about knowing how hard and cold his chest is, and, despite this fact, Bella likes to snuggle with him? That small detail, to my eyes, is almost more important, because it gives us clues to understanding Bella.

Yes, I’ve heard it again and again: don’t sweat the details. Well, the devil is in the details. And you should sweat the small stuff.

In my current work in progress, I’m figuring out details for characters. Hair color, clothes, that kind of stuff. But also small details like how Ray bounces from foot to foot while he talks, because he’s really just kinetic energy contained in a body. Small stuff like Callie’s dark circles under her eyes, because sleeping brings her nightmares.

I’ll say it again: DETAILS MATTER. Sweat the small stuff. Get it right. It matters to the story. And to life.

Today I am grateful for agents (well, every day I’m grateful for agents, especially mine, but today I’m writing about it). I can hear you now: “but your post said mad scientists!?!” I use the label with the utmost, utmost respect, and I’d bet, once you think about it, the label will seem appropriate. Plus, it was just Halloween, so “mad scientists” is more fun than “agents”.

But consider this scenario: once you’ve matched yourselves up, you come to your brand-new agent with a book, one you think is finished. And the agent says, “Wait! I have an idea!” And then s/he helps you slice and rearrange and chop and sew and come up with a brand-new creation. And you say, “Wow! Much better!” And then your agent takes your new monster out to make friends with editors. At least that’s how it’s been for me. I could never have imagined the shape or scope of my current book without my agent’s mad scientist genius.

Maybe your agent is not a let-me-help-you-invent-a-new-creature type of agent. However, I bet your agent is out there working the phones and electrons, trying to get you a book deal. There’s some mad science to a book deal, isn’t there?

Along with being grateful to my own agent, whom I love, and to two more kind and generous people who’ve helped us out recently, I’m grateful to agents as a whole. Every agent I’ve encountered, in person or on the web, has taught me something. There are some fantastic agent blogs out there, and sometimes whole agencies, like Dystel and Goderich, blog together. Agents contribute a heap of help to the online writing world. We are lucky people.

I also know there are people with bad agent stories out there. But I’ve found those stories fewer and farther between than the stories about kind, generous, and helpful agents. I even crashed one agent’s computer–and he still read my sample pages. Totally above and beyond, ladies and gentlemen! It’s a hard job, and they do it well.

First, the winner of the fortune contest is Angelique! Her winning fortune: Take a minute to notice a child. It might help awaken the one inside you. Yay, Angelique! A copy of JAKE RILEY is on its way to you.

Today’s gratitude may be slightly unusual, but today I am grateful for profanity. To be clear, I don’t mean insults–words you hurl at each other to hurt–and it only goes for particular audiences. Gotta be audience-conscious. But I love profanity when it’s hurled at things you can’t hurt–crabby computers or books dropped in the parking lot or cancer, in cross-stitch. Morgan loves profanity, and Gabe is a friend of it. The three of us are fans of the F-bomb, yes, but also words like “batshit”. I love “batshit”.

If you want a longer list of profanity I’m grateful for, I can send it to you. “Asshole” is the most equal-opportunity curse word, because we all have one, so we can all be one. But now we’re getting into insults.

And no, I don’t like profanity because I am out of more creative alternatives. My vocab skills are way too mad, so I can always find something else to say.

I just like it. And I’m grateful. So there.

Blog friends, I’m trying something new.

November, of course (in America), leads us down the path to many things: snow and ice, below zero temps (in MN), gifties, much holiday feasting, weight gain, and CHRISTMAS BREAK, IN WHICH I GET TO WRITE A LOT, alternated with skiing with my son. All of that aside, November also leads to Thanksgiving, a time when we’re ostensibly supposed to be thankful for things. Some folks don’t care. I do.

I know gratitude is embarrassing if it’s gushing and weird, so I’ll keep it simple. I won’t bore you with some of the personal stuff, probably just the writing world stuff, but who knows?

ALERT: I also know gratitude is uncool. I have to turn in my hipster cred (what hipster cred?) if I’m gushing like your grandmother over all our myriad blessings, praise be to above, yadda yadda yadda. So I’m going to try to retain some snark.

To wit: today I am grateful for snark, most especially Miss Snark (may she be at peace and drinking cocktails somewhere, read the archives for fantastic help, that’s Killer Yapp gracing us with his photo) and The Rejectionist, who I would kiss if I ever met him/her, because s/he is so fscking funny, most especially the Karl Lagerfeld post and/or the Rachel Zoe post.

Feel free to post snarky gratitude in the comments, for whatever snark you’re a fan of.

Are you getting tired of alliteration? I think I am. :

So Janet Reid posted this musical link (if you don’t read her, you need to), and it’s brilliant. Like flat-out, like Bobby McFerrin is cooler than cool, like humans are the bomb instead of bomb-makers (oooh, peacenik coming out). Plus, it makes me want to go back to music theory class. Music is a neglected part of my life, aside from listening to it. I used to speak it quite fluently.

Sigh. So much to do in the world! Write, read, teach, watch my kid grow, kiss my spouse, talk to you . . . never enough time.

Happy Saturday, friends. Enjoy the Robin Williams improv in that second link.

Peace OUT! And HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

In whatever I’m writing, characters are always driving the bus. If I don’t have a handle on my character, nothing goes very far. Names are one of the ways I get in touch with my character–a name says a lot, of course. Mystery Manuscript (my work in progress, hereafter referred to as MM or WIP) has two alternating points of view/characters, and both are named, but one character is proving veeeery elusive right now. It’s making things hard.

In the interest of learning more about YOUR favorite characters, I thought I’d post a couple of my favorite character names.

Minty Fresh–a side character in two of Christopher Moore’s books, COYOTE BLUE and A DIRTY JOB, one of my fave books of ever. He’s not what you’d think.

Stanley Yelnats–probably the best character name ever, because it’s so simple but so clever, from Louis Sachar’s HOLES. Stanley’s one dedicated kid.

Dwight Schrute–from THE OFFICE–I’m not sure why, but his name just sums him up for me.

Furious Styles–Laurence Fishburne’s character from BOYS N THE HOOD, John Singleton’s 1991 debut film. If you haven’t seen it, get thee to your Netflix queue! It’s incredible (and there are heaps of stars in it).

So who are *your* favorite charcters?