Lisa Writing Wild

Have you ever been pulled over by a police officer? What happened? Unfortunately, I've been pulled over quite a few times, and each time has been memorable in some way or another. The funniest was about seven years ago. My husband and I were living in an apartment complex in a semi-crappy neighborhood. Our apartment was way in the back, which was quiet, but also meant not visible from the road. Because of this my car had its windows smashed in two different times, with stuff stolen both times. The first time my brand new CD player was ripped out (my fault for not taking the cover off.) I was especially mad because it hadn't been completely paid for yet. Fast-forward a few weeks, I was coming home from work and was only 100 feet from our complex, when sirens came on right away. I pulled into our parking lot, excited. The officer came to my window. "Do you know why I pulled you over?" "Yes," I said, and started to get out of the car. "You foun

When I was nineteen, I worked for a well-known company selling eyeglasses. I didn't wear glasses and knew nothing about them. When I answered the help wanted ad for "frame stylist," I showed up expecting to be hanging up picture frames. Surprisingly, I was hired. My job was to help customers pick out glasses and sell them expensive lenses. I am a horrible sales person. Horrible. Most often I'd end up talking people out of buying the more expensive glasses, and get them into something cheaper, telling them the cheaper ones were just as good. We got paid a regular hourly salary plus commissions. Our commissions were based on certain lens "extras" that we sold. Specifically, there was a special Lens Package that sold for $40 (on top of the $100+ cost of the lenses), and we made a $10 commission on that package. I almost never sold those. I found it impossible. The package consisted of a tint (which was easy to sell because you can see it), scratch prot

I was seven the summer of 1977, when my dad told me Elvis Presley had died. For a young kid, I was actually pretty interested in music and felt bad about him dying. I asked how Elvis died and my dad told me he exploded because he ate too much. I believed him. What did I know, I was seven? A few days later my dad made us egg salad and olive sandwiches, my favorite. I ate my entire sandwich and asked for another one. He made it for me. I ate about half of it when suddenly I started to not feel so good. I ran to the bathroom and threw it all up. My dad came in and said I ate way too much. Couldn't he have told me that bit of information before he made me the second sandwich? I started crying hysterically and wouldn't stop. He asked why and I told him I was exploding like Elvis and about to die. He laughed. I cried and threw up some more. I didn't eat egg and olive again until I was 28 and my husband made me try it. Now I love it. But only one sandwich at a time

I'm still angry. Really angry that my mom died. It's going on eleven years, and while I don't expect to ever get over it, I'm sometimes surprised by what I feel inside. This should be the happiest time of my life. Instead I've been depressed and crying. We adopted our wonderful son in August, after fighting to keep him for over three years. And we just bought an amazing house. But all I can think of is that she should be here to celebrate all of this with me. Sometimes I feel like I want to act like a child and throw a complete fit, I'm so mad. I want to scream at people, punch girls with their mothers and stomp my feet until she comes back. After ten years if I hear our special song in a store I still have to leave. I can't handle it. Why couldn't she have died at 85 like she was supposed to? Why did it have to be at 50, where she missed out on so much of my life and her own? When she first died, I used to cry every day. Sometimes all day. I use

I figured out today that I've lived in 24 different homes in less than 40 years. It's actually not as many as I thought, but still too much moving around. I also went to six different schools, but that's not so bad considering the amount of times I've moved. We're scheduled to close on our new house (my 25th) next Wednesday. This is after ten long years of renting. I'm trying not to think about it too much, because the wait can drive one insane. Our tiny townhouse is about a quarter of the way packed. And if I could just stop shopping for the new house, we probably wouldn't be so cramped. I know I mentioned this in a previous post , but I think it deserves mentioning again. When my ex-husband and I split up over ten years ago, I left our house and basically started life over. My current husband and I started out in a tiny apartment, and have lived in various small places since then. When we first got together, I told him I wanted to own a house again

What makes you feel guilty? I always feel guilty when I close my bedroom door to write. My son almost always ends up crying because he's not with me (he's with my husband, though). I feel like I should be playing with him all day long. I also feel guilty when he wants to play and I'm either busy cleaning up, or trying to do something on the computer.

In high school I dated the same guy from when I was 14-18. I went to all of his basketball games. Every one. And I hate basketball. Luckily I had my good friend, Angel, to sit with who watched her boyfriend play. Together we'd check out cute butts and laugh at our own stupid jokes. During a game, one of us (I'll blame Angel), brought a whistle. Thinking it would be funny, I blew it. Then entire gym froze. All of the players, coaches and spectators looked to the bleachers. It hit me very quickly that the refs blow whistles, too. Angel and I quickly looked around behind us like, "Who's the idiot who blew a whistle during a basketball game?" Luckily no one ever knew it was us. Except for our cute-butt boyfriends who we told later, I'm sure.

What lessons/rules did your parents instill in you when you were younger that you still remember (or tell your kids) today? I remember being five and getting ready to start kindergarten. My mom and grandma told me over and over not to talk to strangers, since I'd be mostly walking to school by myself (the 70s were a different time for sure). I even saved a letter my grandma wrote me the day before kindergarten started. At the end she put, "Remember, don't talk to strangers. Love, Nana." On my way home from school one day, a red Malibu pulled up next to me. It looked just like my Aunt Kathy's car (she lived with us at the time), but there was a man inside. "Hey, little girl," he said, leaning over the leather seats. I went up to the window. "Hop in, I'll give you a ride home," he said. "Is this Aunt Kathy's car?" I asked. "Yeah, yeah, it's Aunt Kathy's car," he said, trying to open the door for me.

What would happen if you got on an elevator full of people and introduced yourself to each one, shaking hands?

Switch genres with movie or book passage (example, Good Fellas as comedy, Steel Magnolias as action, etc.). This is a lot harder than it seems!

Thank you to Roxy for my awesomely  amazing Honest Scrap Award!  Please check out her blog! 10 Truths About Me: 1. Favorite song: Baba O'Reilly by The Who 2. Favorite movie: Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid 3. When someone asks a question and my answer is "so-so," I usually say "menza-menza-eechy-geech" instead. I may have gotten it from Mork. 4. One time I told my grandma that I wish a big occasion would hurry up and get here, and she told me I was going to wish my life away. I try to remember that and be patient. 5. Losing my mother was, by far, the worst thing that's ever happened to me. 6. When I spend too much on my Old Navy credit card and my husband gets the bill, I sometimes tell him I think it was for birthday/Christmas gifts for a friend. He must think I have a ton of friends with the amount I rack up. 7. I'm going to homeschool our kids. 8. I'm very disappointed my US Weekly didn't come today. How will I know

Tell me your favorite things. Here are some of mine: Yankee Candles Moleskine Notebooks, especially this one . Fuzzy socks My Emu slippers . My DVDs. My notebooks. My Pilot Pen I write with (obviously) Anything from Bath and Body Works My iPhone My Abercrombie sweatshirt I bought at a warehouse sale. The ridiculously cheap tote I got at The Christmas Tree Shop. Abbott's Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream in the summer. Flarp Stuffed Artichokes Bubble Yum Hair straighteners What are some of your favorites?

The absolute worst part about being a writer for me is grammar and punctuation. With every post I put up, every email I send and every story I write, I am waiting for someone to come back to me and say, "Seriously? How can a writer not know where to put commas?" Commas are my enemy. I have no clue where they go. I try to put them where I think would be a natural pause in a sentence, but I know I'm usually wrong. I basically toss them up in the air willy-nilly and let them land where they want. Can you recommend a grammar/punctuation book that is easy to understand? (I never took a "real" English class in high school, so I'm starting fresh). The Elements of Style is too...sterile for me. I need something I can easily grasp onto. I'd greatly appreciate any, suggestions. (<< that comma was a joke. See, at least I can joke about my ignorance)

When I was three, my dad and I were in the car going somewhere. This was in the early seventies when the cars were big and seatbelts weren't required. I remember jumping around the front seat while he drove. I must have been acting like a brat (surprise, I know) because he hit me. A few seconds later a cop pulled him over. My dad told me to sit down and be quiet. The cop leaned in and looked at me. "Is this your daddy?" he asked. "Yes," I said. He looked at my dad and back at me. "Did he tell you to say he was your Daddy?" he asked. I was only three, but I could tell something was up. I glared at my dad for a second, remembering the deserved smack I just got and thought about saying yes. "No," I said and he let us go. Turned out there was a guy in our area who had kidnapped a little girl my age, and when he saw my dad hit me, he thought it was me. I wonder what would have happened if I'd said he wasn't my daddy...

A lonely woman wins a trip for two to a romantic destination. She approaches a complete stranger and offers him the other half of the prize. The Writer's Book of Matches

Who are the authors whose every book you have read? Judy Blume Sidney Sheldon Janet Evanovich (I can't read too many of hers close together because they're all the same, if you know what I mean) Sarah Dessen (I'm working my way through hers) Ellen Hopkins (working my way through hers, too) Jackie Collins (I used to love those trashy novels) I know there are more, I just can't think of them....

...on behalf of..never receiving an award before. *bows graciously* A big THANK YOU to Crystal Cook for giving me this award. Stop by her blog and check out her beautiful paintings! Now I'm supposed to write seven things about myself, which won't be easy considering I just did twelve things yesterday . But I'm sure I can come up with something awkward and embarrassing.  1. At least once I day I hear the loving words, "Come wipe me," from my four year old. 2. I had bells palsy twice. And it sucked both times. 3. I was thisclose to having my eye sewn shut from it because my cornea became cracked and dry. The doctor told me to try one more thing before he got out his sewing kit: put Saran Wrap on my eye at night to trap moisture in. It worked. And I thank God! 4.  I once accidentally told a girl she was adopted. 5. One time before I let the cable guy in when I was home alone, I sprayed my mace to make sure it worked. We both walked into it and cou

How can I be turning 40 in less than a month, when I feel like I'm the same awkward 17 year old I once was? I still give my girl friends guy advice. And I still give my guy friends girl advice. I still love gossip magazines and seeing what everyone is wearing. I'm still rebellious enough to not give in and wear Uggs like everyone else (even though I think they're cute). I still laugh when someone farts (now mostly at my four year old son). And I really laugh when someone falls down. I would still secretly like to collect stickers. Especially the puffy ones. I still love playing the MASH game. I have a strong urge, after I finish growing my hair really, really long, to cut it super short and dye it hot pink. I still paint my nails crazy colors, only now I paint my son's too (hey, he asks). Maybe it's not that I still feel 17. Maybe I'm just an immature 40 year old. Hmm....

1. I hate raisins. The remind me of big, fat black ants and it grosses me out to bite into one. 2. When I sleep I cover my ear with my hair so spiders won't crawl inside. 3. If I'm shopping and I find something (shirt, notebook, etc.) that I absolutely love but it comes in lots of colors, I won't be able to decide and I won't buy it at all. 4. When I was 22 I drank too much a guy's house and while he was in the shower, I held his dirty dishes up in the air while I threw up in his kitchen sink. (He never knew. Although when he offered me shrimp cocktail and waved it in front of my face a few minutes later, I threw up all over his couch). 5. I cry at almost every episode of American Idol because of the sob stories and also, I'm happy they're trying so hard to achieve their dream. 6. I once filled out tons of mail-in-order forms from magazines and had them sent to someone's house who deserved so much more than that. 7. I've made dinner and

A boy selling raffle tickets door to door stumbles upon a crime scene. The Writer's Book of Matches

I try to write my posts ahead of time. Sometimes I have four or five saved up, so every morning I just pick one and publish away.  But since we're going to be moving soon, I thought I'd try something different in case I can't post a daily blog post every day for a while. Unfortunately our move isn't like a normal one. We're packing and moving our boxes ourselves over a two week period after we close on the house. Then on March 20th the moving company will come for the big things. Since I've met (and continue to meet) amazing people on here, I thought I start a Getting to Know You post every day. I'll post a question, you answer and we'll get to know one another better. Simple.  Feel free to copy any question I post and add to your site (a link back would be appreciated:) Here we go. Taken from 4.000 Questions for Getting to Know Anyone and Everyone Have you ever picked up hitchhikers? What happened? I recently picked up an old man who was w

In case you haven't noticed from previous When I Was Little posts, I was a brat as a kid. I have one (or two) cousins who called me a monster. That might be going a little far, but...maybe not. I spent a ton of time at my paternal grandma's house when I was a kid. We were super close because when I was born my dad was in Vietnam. I didn't see him until I was 11 months old, and my mom spent most of her (our) time at my grandma's. During one weekend I spent there when I was five, she bought me my first bike. My Uncle Joey (who I thought was incredibly old, but was more like 22) offered to put plastic flourescent straw-like things on my spokes. I was going to look so cool. If I could have just kept my mouth shut. I'm not sure what took him so long, but I'm sure I didn't help any. I asked him over and over when he was going to finish. He obviously got sick of me asking and finally told me to shut up. I told him, "You shut up!" and I spit ri

Abracadabra (Taken from The Writer's Book of Matches ) Parents look on in horror as a magician's trick goes horribly awry during a child's birthday party.

Top 10 Non-Writing Activities (from Musings of a Writer Chick Living in Paradise ) The biggest thing I have in common with my followers (that sounds funny) is that we're all writers. But I was thinking I'd like to share the things that I like to do that are not related to writing. And then I'd love to hear yours. My top 10 favorite non-writing things to do these days: 10) Listen to podcasts while I do my day job (cleaning houses). Although most of them are writing related, I do listen to a local radio show I love, The Break Room . 9) Lately I love checking out all of the fabulous writing blogs I've found. 8) Playing Xbox Lego Indiana Jones (or anything else) with my four year old son. 7) Taking a hot shower where I get lots of great writing ideas . 6) My husband and I just finished watching all seven seasons of Two and a Half Men, and I bought myself him the first season for Valentine's Day so we can start over. Love that show! 5) Having playd

I'm new to blogging. When I started a few months ago, my post subjects were all over the place. Even I found them boring. Then I remembered the gift I gave my mom for her 50th birthday, her last. For some reason I remember many, many stories of things that happened to me when I was little. I remember more than anyone else in my family. Although, it was the seventies so maybe there's a reason they don't remember... Whenever I was around my family and I started a sentence with, "When I was little..." people would actually get up from the table and leave. I don't know if it's because they'd heard them all before, or if they knew once I started with a story I'd roll right on to the next one, and the one after that. My mom was the one person who loved to hear any story I told from when I was little. I spent six months writing down every single thing I could remember from when I was little. I typed it up and put it into a scrapbook for her birthda

I went to #30 school for first grade. Every morning I walked by myself down Otis Street to the school. There were always a bunch of kids outside the door waiting to get in. The older mature (10 years old) security guards wore their safety belts guarding the doors. No one was getting past them until it was time to go in. One morning when I got to the doors there was no one there. Not one kid was outside. I was super late. Or so I thought. I ran through the doors and down to my first grade classroom. It was completely empty. I wasn't late, I was early. Instead of going back outside to wait for other kids to show up, like a normal person, I decided to climb into the coat closet and sit on the floor and wait. I don't know how long I waited in the dark on the floor, but eventually I heard kids coming into the room. I nonchalantly slid the closet door open, stepped out, hung up my coat and sat down. If I looked suspicious, no one ever said anything.

Unemployment, Here I Come! You're a well-known DJ at the number one radio station in your city. Right now you have yourself barricaded in the room and you're playing the same song over and over. What song is it and why did you lock yourself in there?

I used to be so afraid of writing something horrible, that I wouldn't write anything at all. I'd have a half-hour or so to myself and instead of getting as much down as I could, I'd type, delete, retype and delete again. I had to have perfect sentences formed from perfect ideas. It didn't work. It took me years to finally learn to just write anything. Even if it's crap (and it usually is first time around). But I'm finally OK with writing a crappy first draft. If it's still crap when I'm done, well, that's another problem all together. I used to think, What if I died tomorrow and my family found this notebook full of god-awful first drafts? They'd think I was a terrible writer! If I can write only awesome sentences, they'll realize what talent I had and be sorry they didn't take more interest in my amazing stories... or something like that. Anyway, now when I start writing a story (whether it's a novel or a screenplay) I just

Gender Bender (from The Write-Brain Workbook) If you are a female, write as if you are a retired male New York police officer who lives with ten cats. If you are male, write as if you are a retired female receptionist from New York who lives with twenty cats. Start with: I remember that day in July when it hailed...

If you suddenly realize your kid being quiet is too good to be true, it probably is. Two years ago, when Joey was two, we suddenly realized he wasn't downstairs with us. And he was being very quiet. I called upstairs for him. "Buddy, what are you doing?" No answer. A few seconds later he emerged from our bedroom. I sat back down feeling better that he was coming downstairs. He walked into the living room. "What were you doing up there?" I asked. He didn't say anything. He couldn't. His mouth was full, and I mean full , of staples. We jumped up and got him to spit them out. I was absolutely paranoid that he had swallowed some and they were going to tear up his heart or stomach, or something in there. He ended up being fine, but we kept that little story to ourselves. No sense alarming foster care that we feed our kids staples.

I love writing prompts. Even if I don't finish the story I start, it sometimes gives me ideas for a current WIP. Every day I'll post a writing prompt along with my normal blog post. Feel free to put your results in the comments section each day. I'd love to read what you come up with. Writing Prompt #1 Your parents are insisting you participate in a professional family Christmas photo to be sent out. You hate the idea. Just as the photographer is about to snap you shove an Oreo cookie in your mouth and smile your biggest toothy smile. What happens when your mother gets the proofs?

For years I carried around a small notebook to jot down ideas when they came to me. I still do that but now I transfer them to my Idea Box for easy organized access. If something catches my attention I'll write it down on something (notebook, napkin, index card, my hand) and later tranfer it to an index card for the box. If it's something I overheard, I'll write it down on the card. If it's an article or photo I find, I'll cut it out and tape it to a card. This morning while putting laundry away I had the country music station on. I almost never listen to country, but for some reason that's what it was set at. You know how country songs always tell a sad sappy story? I heard one that immediately gave me an idea for my current WIP (work in progress). I quickly jotted my idea down in the notebook I'm using for that story. (If the idea wouldn't work for my WIP, I would have written it on an index card and put it in the Idea Box). Whenever I'm pl

When I was seven my parents rented out our house in the city, and we moved to Newark, NY to manage a motel. I think we stayed for about six months. I never finished first grade in the city, and we left halfway through second grade to come back home. So we basically lived there for the summer and fall. The motel was on a busy highway and there wasn't much for my brother, who was 3 1/2, and I to do. There was a grocery store next to the motel, but you had to cut through tall weeds to get there. One day my mom walked with my brother and I to the store. As we were getting ready to check out I spotted Tiny Size Chicklets. I loved them. I wanted them. I had to have them. "Mom, Charlie wants this gum." I figured if I said it was for him she might say yes. "He doesn't need gum," she said. While she turned around to pay, I folded the packet of gum up and shoved it in Charlie's back pocket. He didn't have a clue what was happening. We walked al

I know I am in the minority here, but I don't see what all the fuss is about with Twitter. Facebook is addicting and social enough, do we really need to know what people are doing all day long? I don't get it. Ok, so now that I got that out of the way, I have something to confess. Ready? I can't figure Twitter out. Not online and not on my iPhone. So instead of wondering if I'm too old, dumb or girly, I'm going to just say Twitter is overreated. There. Now I don't need an excuse.

The other day at the library while Joey was pulling out yet another Wiggles dvd, I found The Electric Company seasons 1-3. I wasn't sure if he was going to like it, but it turns out he loves it. Joey's always interested in things I liked and did when I was his age. I was surprised to see Morgan Freeman and Bill Cosby on there. They must have been in their early twenties. I still remember the theme song and some of the word games. Maybe this will help Joey with his letters and numbers. I'll try anything at this point.

When I was about seven I used to sleep over my grandma's house all the time. Things weren't too calm at my house, so going to hers was a welcome escape. We had a special relationship and were very close. She told me secrets that you should never tell a seven year old. But I loved every minute of being with her. One day while I was playing outside, this gorgeous guy came up to me (yes, I was boy crazy even at seven). I knew who he was as soon as I laid eyes on him. John Travolta. I would know that Sweathog anywhere. After all, I had his poster on my bedroom wall. His hair was combed back perfectly, his arms bulged from his white rolled up tshirt. He looked amazing. And he was talking to me. He asked if I knew who he was, and I said, "Vinnie Barbarino." We talked for a while and he told me that he was flying back to California to tape Welcome Back Kotter, so I might not see him for a while. He said he'd try to wave to me while taping. He made me pro

Last night while I was watching Joey dip his scrambled eggs in cinnamon, my dad called. He talked to me for a minute then asked to talk to Mike about going to a hockey game. I didn't think anything was up until I heard Mike start to whisper. I tiptoed into the hallway, but Mike saw me, covered the phone and asked what I was doing. I said, "Nothing," and went back to watching Joey now dip his Doritos in cinnamon (don't ask, I'm not a cook and I had to make dinner). It suddenly dawned on me that they could be talking whispering about my 40th birthday coming up in March. Mike keeps asking me what I want to do for it and I keep telling him I don't care. (It's not up to me to plan anything, right?) We're going to be moving into our new house sometime in March, but we don't have our closing date yet. My birthday is on the 20th, right smack dab in the middle of everything. Now on top of having to pack everything and organize a move, I have to mak

I'm tired. And grouchy. Really grouchy if you ask Mike. I haven't had any sugar, so it's not that. But I am consistantly woken up every night by Joey for any number of mundane reasons. I snapped at Joey a lot today and I feel bad. He really is a good boy. But when I'm tired all I hear is the constant whine in his voice when he says, "I want juice (Indiana Jones, to go poopy, my blankey, apples and cinnamon, milk, more juice)." You get the idea.  I drill manners into him all day long, so the "I want" thing drives me nuts. When I was little we used to sing this little song: "1,2,3,4,5 Lisa Ciurca don't take no jive, 6,7,8,9,10 gonna back it up and say it again." (What can I say? It was the 70s.) I took Joey to Bed Bath and Beyond today to buy some curtains for the new house. He was literally hanging on me and pulling on my coat. He wanted to be carried and was whining (a.k.a. driving me nutso). I finally had to leave the

I finally finished reading The Help  the other night. One of our customers gave it to me to read a while ago, and I kept trying to get into it but couldn't. The dialect of one of the main characters was annoying at first, but I pushed through reading for a few chapters and couldn't put it down. I discovered the coolest thing with this book. I've been working on notes for a YA novel for a few weeks now. I have three main characters and wanted to write all of them in first person. I didn't know how to do this without it being confusing to the reader. The author of The Help did this seamlessly with her three characters. Every chapter was a different character throughout the book. They all had distinct voices, accents and personalitlies that made it easy to tell them apart even if I didn't know whose chapter it was. This is the first book I've read with three main characters, and it came along at just the right time.

One of the hardest parts of parenting is when your kid is sick. It's not the puking-pooping-snot-nosed part I have a problem with, it's the feverish-lathargic-can't keep their eyes open part. He just wants to lay around and keep his eyes closed. His fever is gone and I got him to eat a little cereal and drink some juice, but I can't get him out of bed. I'm assuming he's just still weak from not eating at all yesterday, and just needs to rest today. *If this post in any way alarms you and you can't believe how stupid I am for not rushing him to emergency immediately, please feel free to let me know and slap me upside the head. Just got a call from Mike saying he's approved for the mortgage! (We did it in Mike's name so when/if we sell we can buy our next house in my name as a first time homebuyer. Even though I've owned a house before, if you don't own one for three years you're considered a first time buyer again.) This is so exciting