From Novel to the Big Screen: *Meh*

The blog hop topic this week is my "favorite movie made from a book". It would have been so much easier to write about favorite books that had been ruined by being made into a movie. I'm not generally a fan.

One of my earliest favorite movies is The Haunting (1963) based on The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson. It was a faithful adaptation as far as the technology of the day allowed. Now, 54 years later, I still consider it the scariest movie I've ever seen. I was thrilled when it was available on Amazon a few years ago.

Another favorite of my youth was the Conan series by Robert E. Howard, which appeared in the 1930's. Three movies have been made from it. I liked them all but have to admit the one with Jason Momoa as Conan is my favorite because, of course, Jason.

The movies from Salem's Lot and The Shining by Stephen King were also fairly effective. Usually, however, movies from books fail (in my opinion) because they choose actors who don't quite fit or change important factors. One example is a television show made from an urban fantasy series by Tanya Huff. The TV version turned my favorite male character into a very irritating young woman, and "updated" the vampire's career from romance novelist to graphic artist. The same is true for the Janet Evanovich movie based on her Stephanie Plum series. I don't know who those people were, but they were definitely not Stephanie, Morelli and Ranger.

The takeaway on this is that if you make a movie based on a vastly popular book, perhaps you need to put some thought into why it's so popular before you consider any changes.

Guest Author: Peyton Brittany Clarke

Join me in welcoming Peyton Brittany Clarke and her newest release, Bound to Them (Siren Menage Amour: Erotic Consensual Cowboy BDSM Menage a Trois Romance, M/M/F, HEA)

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Jake Hargate is a man with a past. Born into a rich and powerful political family in Massachusetts, they were all raised to believe one thing: protect the family's interests at all costs. After leaving that life behind, Jake finds love and happiness married to Max Krause, a Dom, and Ally Renjel, a submissive. Being Max's submissive gives Jake the security he needs, and topping Ally gives him the control he craves.

But when a political scandal threatens to ruin Jake's brother, a prominent governor who hopes to move up the political ladder, Jake is drawn into a dark world of vengeance he swore he'd never enter again. Jake's family gives him a choice: help them or risk the life he cherishes with Max and Ally.

Deciding to do whatever it takes to protect Max and Ally, Jake is drawn into a world of darkness. Will Max and Ally be able to rescue him, or will Jake be lost forever?

Note: This book contains double vaginal penetration.

A Siren Erotic Romance

STORY EXCERPT Lear went to his favorite chair and sat down. He leaned back, crossed one leg over the other, and tapped his fingers on his thigh. If Baldwin’s marriage fell apart, his own life would go to crap. Not only would he be out of a very cushy, well paying job but he’d also lose access to the best pussy he’d had in a long time and the child it produced.

It was better for everyone to keep everything moving forward as planned. And in order to do that they had to make sure the public kept believing that Baldwin and Eleanor were happy and very much in love despite the rumors. Problem was Phoebe Jones was determined to get to the bottom of this affair thing and ferret out the truth.

“Phoebe may be snooping around, but she doesn’t know anything yet.”

“Tell that to my press secretary,” Baldwin said dryly. “She’s been fielding calls from that woman every day. And we’re both tired of it.”

I bet you are. It’s probably because it’s interrupting your fuck sessions.

“Really? I thought you liked having a reporter on your ass day and night.” Lear grinned savoring the little jab. His brother was a namby-pamby, he needed to have a little dirt shoved in his face on occasion.

As Baldwin’s senior adviser, aka crisis manager, it was his job to watch Baldwin’s back at all times. When there was trouble, he handled it. Why this escaped Baldwin’s brain now irked him. “Fuck you too, Lear.”

“Whatever.” Lear checked his watch. He hoped he’d be able to get the airport early, so they could take off ahead of schedule. He reasoned it wouldn’t matter too much if he was late since he was using Baldwin’s private jet. “Are you done losing your mind? Because I have a job to do so back off and let me do it.”

He pulled the phone away from his ear while his brother yelled and ranted. He rolled his eyes as he waited for his brother’s caterwauling to end.

“Feel better?” Lear asked.

“For now, assuming you do your damn job,” Baldwin said. “How are you going to fix this?”

“Do you really want to know, or do you want to see the result?”

“Of course I want to know,” Baldwin snapped. “That’s why I’m talking to you.”

A smart politician would have said no, preferring to keep his hands clean, but not Baldwin. He was too controlling for his own good. In forty-two years, Baldwin had not changed one bit. He was still as high-handed as ever despite the everyman persona he showed to the public. His arrogant and dictatorial manner was legendary among his staffers and the servants that kept his house in tip top shape.

Lear knew Baldwin thought of him as just another lackey to do his bidding and not a partner in his bid for the White House. If there weren’t bigger things at stake, he would have dropped Baldwin a long time ago, leaving the asshole and his lofty political ambitions far behind.

“I’m going to use Dalcourt,” Lear said.

“What about him?” Baldwin asked.

“He’ll get that reporter and anyone else she’s alerted off of your back,” Lear said. “They’ll be too busy tearing apart his life to even think about you or your...friend.”

“Dalcourt is your big solution? I knew I should have went with Smith.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Lear asked.

“It means it’s a stupid idea. He’s not going to roll over and play dead for you,” Baldwin said.

“Yes he will,” Lear said. My talent is wasted working for him. “Why?”

“Because he will. God, man you are infuriating. Father always said you had the brain of an ox.”

“I won’t say what he said about you. Mostly because it will piss you off too much and I still need your help.”

Lear sighed. “My God you are a pain in the ass.”

“Are you just going to give that reporter Dalcourt’s name and address and hope for the best?” His tone walked the line between bitterness and incredulity.

“No. A little birdie is going to tell her that I’m leaving town and that it has something to do with this affair thing. Naturally she’ll follow me, I’ll get her to meet me and then I’ll dangle our little brother in her face. The story will be so juicy she’ll have to bite.”

“Why don’t you do that here?” Baldwin asked. “Dalcourt doesn’t live here. He lives in some dinky town in Wyoming called Wildsage. And I’m luring her to Wyoming to make sure she does her job and latches on to him, there. I can’t risk her getting distracted by you and your antics.”

“What if she refuses to bite and decides to return here?” Baldwin asked. The uncharacteristic fear in his voice was unnerving.

“She won’t. If you knew what I know about Dalcourt, you’d be drooling over this too,” Lear said.

“Finding dirt on Dalcourt is damn near impossible. He’s too shadowy,” Baldwin said. “You have got to tell me what you have on him.”

“I can’t. I’ve already said too much. The less you know about this the better it is for you and me.”

Baldwin laughed even louder. “You think that little pipsqueak scares me?”

“I didn’t say that. It’s my job to make sure your name stays out of these things and that’s what I’m doing.”

“Okay, okay.” Baldwin fell silent. “Once he finds out you that you’ve fucked him, he’s g oing to be pissed.”

“He won’t find out unless you tell him,” Lear said.

“I’m not going to tell him. But he will find out nevertheless. Doing that sort of thing was his job remember?”

“Okay so what if he does,” Lear said.

“You just need to be prepared.”

“I am because I know how to get him where he hurts,” Lear said.

“What if he manages to get that reporter off his trail?”

“He’ll have no choice but to do what I say if he knows what’s best for him,” Lear said.

“You’re a killer Lear, you know that don’t you.”

“That’s why you have me on your team,” Lear replied.

“Dal court’s our brother, why would you even think about doing that to him?” Baldwin asked.

We all have to make sacrifices for the family and it’s time he made his. “Don’t worry about it. I have to go or else I’ll miss my flight. I’ll talk to you later.”

Lear ended the call and glanced at his luggage beside the front door. He checked his watch. He had just enough time to get to the airport, to check in and head to the bar for a drink. He needed a few drinks before he dealt with his younger brother.

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My Life: Laughing Out Loud

I've been known to embarrass myself by breaking into laughter at inappropriate moments. Who doesn't enjoy laughing? I have laughed so hard at movies that my sides hurt. In fact, I have laughed through movies that apparently the rest of the audience did not find funny, like Tremors. Anything by Kevin Hart is sure to be a hit. I love Katt Williams even though his specials are bleeped so much it can be hard to follow his stories. Offbeat humor is one of the things that make my favorite books just that-favorites. Having read Smoke and Mirrors (Tanya Huff) at least 20 times, I still occasionally laugh out loud.

Those things are typical sources of laughter. After all, they are designed to be funny. But my day-to-day life is hilarious.

My dog, Toby, brightens even dreary days. He came to my partner and me in November when my elderly aunt died. He is 13 pounds of insecurity, exacerbated by my other dogs that weigh in at 40-50 pounds, one with her own anxiety issues.

Toby's feet never touch the ground except, well, the ground when we go out. Otherwise he moves from sofa to chair to bed, which keep him at more or less eye level with the girls. Because they are all so sensitive, I have to treat them exactly the same. Toby came with a bed, our girls had to have beds like his. He had a coat because he’s tiny and he freezes; they had to have coats. Chloe gets medicine for a couple of issues so Molly and Toby get fake pills so they don't feel left out. You see the amusement. I’m sure our dog sitters think we’re nuts.

In the past week, Toby has surprised us with something. He can bark.

Scream and shriek might be more accurate.

For 6 months he’s kept his vocal hysterics to himself but I suppose he now feels completely at home. His screams can be heard all over the neighborhood. That is not an exaggeration; neighbors have asked about him. It starts when our car pulls into the driveway. The fact that we are outside in plain view is the only defense we have against claims of abuse. The screeches continue until we are in the house and they are replaced by leaps and digging at our clothes.

I know that it probably irritates the neighbors, especially when we get home in the wee hours of the morning, but he always makes me laugh. How can you not love something that is so happy to even hear you that he can’t contain his joy in a regular bark?

Do you have something you laugh about even though you probably shouldn't?

Little Glimpses, Big Inspiration

I have far more ideas for stories written in my notebook than I will ever have time to write. Some are favorites for me to think about as I fall asleep or as I'm driving. I've tried to bring them into being a few times but so far it's not worked. They're fun but dont have enough conflict to move a story. The characters are my playmates, like the imaginary friends we have as children. Inspiration comes from many places, anything that raises a question of why, who, what, where, or how. It could be a snippet of song or a glimpse of an image from a movie, TV program, or an interesting or beautiful photograph. I usually say that music is my biggest inspiration because most of my ideas come from songs.

But not always. Once, while on vacation, I noted four boys crossing the street and something about them caught my attention--they were all dressed in white, but not in a uniform way. The image was incorporated into a story a few months later. Another story and character came from a T-shirt on someone walking across a bridge. It became a hobby to find a t-shirt for every occasion for that character.

I try to make a note of things that catch my attention for whatever reason. I never know when they might come in handy.The inspiration for my current work in progress came from the punchline of a joke: You're special just like everyone else. I wondered what would happen if young supernatural creatures, feeling alone and different, met other types of creatures feeling the same.

It's morphed into a story totally different from how it started. The original main character had no real arc other than dealing with his parents. Eventually, I changed the main character and made him older, which allowed a more interesting story arc. I kept my notes from the first version, however. Who knows when those ideas may be needed.

My Writing Journey

Writing isn't always a linear journey for me. There are fits and starts, good days and bad. Sometimes I write the story chronologically. Other stories come in seemingly haphazard segments, as my focus drifts from one disjointed scene to the next. My most productive days happen when something specific inspires me, usually a song, or photograph, or something that embeds in my subconscious. The part that seems to be unusual is that I start with how the story will end—I often envision the final scene.. Then it’s simply a matter of learning what must happen to get my people to that moment.

My biggest obstacle is often the backstory. Not because I can’t think of one, but because sometimes I become so immersed in the backstory that it becomes more interesting than the original. I can spend way too much time playing with how people became the people they are.

By now you’ve realized I'm a plotter. The thought of embarking on my story quest without a map makes me physically ill. There is, however, a downside. Sometimes I lose interest in the story if the outline is too detailed, or if I've sat with it too long. To stave off boredom, I then start adding things that are fun to write but not always needed for the story.

I enjoy the planning stages. That's an issue for me too. Making notes, finding pictures to represent my characters, looking at blueprints for houses and apartments, filling out my sticky notes and 3x5 cards all make me feel productive without actually being productive and finishing the book.

Eventually I have to sit down to write. So I sit. And sit, staring at a blank page and eventually seeing the scene in my mind as if watching a movie. Writing becomes describing what I see. Sometimes the finished product is barely more than a sketch that needs major work to be complete and usable. But once in a while everything falls into place, and I have a strong scene that only needs minor changes.

Those are the good days.

My Not-So-Guilty Pleasures #MFRWAuthor

We all have guilty pleasures, although I’m not sure guilty is the correct word. The things that I really feel guilty about are not things that give me pleasure. Things like buying clothes that I rarely wear, or books that I never read do make me feel guilt, but the pleasure component isn’t there.

I tend to think of guilty pleasures as things other people look at askance or tease me about, but that I’m going to continue to do anyway.

In no particular order, here are my top seven guilty pleasures:

Gorgeous men I can discover gorgeous men in many places, such as  TV, movies, and WWE. The men for whom I obsess tend to have traits in common--long hair, facial hair, and often they're unusually tall. Consider Jason Momoa, Roman Reigns, and Steven Strait. Interestingly, if you line these guys up side by side, they'd pretty much look like brothers. Of course, my longstanding love was--is--Prince. He was the exception to the rule, "unusually tall". Then again, he was the exception to all the rules.

Weird TV I am teased quite a bit about watching WWE. I also can’t seem to pass up miscellaneous documentaries, programs explaining conspiracy theories, ghosts, hauntings, aliens, and ancient civilizations.

Journals If I never bought another journal and wrote pages and pages every day, I would still never run out. My family refuses to add to the collection at gift giving time, so I'm forced to buy any new ones I want.

Re-reading my old favorite books. There are books by favorite authors that I have practically memorized and I still read them over and over again. This wouldn’t be too bad if I added new books to the list. That's one of my goals for 2017.

McDonald’s cones.  I'm allergic to dairy products but McDonald’s cones are purely chemical.  I can eat this frozen treats with no problems at all.

Hats I can’t seem to pass them up even though I rarely wear them. I have a huge collection of fedoras in various colors, patterns, and materials. I’m also attracted to steam punk hats because of all the accessories hanging from them. I’ve yet to find one with goggles that's small enough to fit my head. Usually they slide over my ears and cover half my face. At the last ComicCon I attended, I found a woman who has agreed to make one for me.

Expensive magazines I love magazines like Bella Grace, Daphne’s Diary, Breathe, and all the Somerset lines. These do have a degree of guilt because many of the craft magazines are expensive  and I never get around to doing the craft.

As far as the guilty pleasures go, mine are pretty mundane. I’m sure yours are much more interesting. Why dont you tell me about them?

I Love Words. Except These.

I probably need to cover myself up front by saying that I know lots of people who use words that make me grind my teeth or roll my eyes. I still respect them in the morning.

Words I find distasteful seem to fall into three categories. There are the profane words that polite society seems to frown upon. There are bodily function words. And there are words used incorrectly or simply made up. After I made my list I asked my writing group what their ick-factor words were. Although we had some dislikes in common, our differences surprised me.

My own absolutely-will-not-say words fall into the bodily function category. I didn't realize this until a fellow writer pointed it out. Being a biology research scientist, these words don't bother her at all while they're even hard for me to make myself write. For the sake of the blog, I'll do it: Fart, snot, and puke. Once, I stopped reading a book by one of my favorite authors when farting became a large part of the story.

Two words that I hear way more often than I should are orientate and conversate. I will say these words only as punchlines to jokes. A colleague offered the word confusement as her pet peeve.

Misused words make the list, too. A huge irritant is the use of less when fewer is the appropriate word. One writer-friend hates sentences that begin with so. I cringe when I am asked if I am done. Unless you're talking about meatloaf, the question is "Are you finished?" Another friend hates the phrase all y'all.

I'm from Virginia. I understand that idiom completely. And I loved it when Prince used it in a song. Y'all didn't know he was southern, did you?

Through my friends I learned there are words that some people dislike for no apparent reason, like moist, ooze, cannibalism or space cadet. The collection of words that drew the biggest groans? The feels, adulting, squee, bae. These made up words seem cute, but in reality cause massive eye rolls from  readers/listeners.

If you are interested in seeing how new words spread across the country, check out these links. Then let me know what words make you cringe.

Here's how new words spread across America.

Here's just the video.

By Any Other Name

I have a habit of giving multiple names to people, pets, and books. Granted, I start out with perfectly acceptable names, but they tend to morph into whatever strikes my fancy at any given time or circumstance.

For example, we adopted a cute little dog named Muffin. We were told she was 19 months old and full grown at 25 pounds. We didn't think she looked like a Muffin so we changed her name to Molly. When she started to get a bit chubby she became Molly Muffintop, which morphed into Milenko and then The Grest Milenko (said in the sing song voice of Insane Clown Posse). Later, when she topped 50 pounds and started jerking on her lead and popping one of my ribs,  she became Tank.

​That is the same route my titles usually take. It starts with what we think the story will be. House of the Rising Son started out life as "Beautiful Strange" which captured the essence of our main character. Then one day my partner and I were cooking. She'd opened a can of pineapple and I cautioned her to be careful because the can seemed to be sticky on the rim.  Boom! We both knew that had to be the books true title-- "Sticky on the Rim". The two main characters were trying to break free from their families' expectations so they could live the lives they wanted, but each time they were close to breaking free something kept them from taking the last step. Seemed  logical to me. The publisher didn't agree, and the title became House of the Rising Son.

The series carries the same name as my blog--Living After Midnight. When my partner and I first started writing stories together, we both held full time jobs and had other responsibilities. Writing took place at the end of the day after everything else was finished. Late night phone calls helped us flesh out what we were writing. It became our truth that we were existing during the rest of the day but truly living after midnight.

My two current works in progress have already had two names each. I wonder what turns life will take, and what additional names we'll uncover.

Music Fuels Me #MFRWAuthor

Music effects us on a physical level as well as emotional. Our breath quickens, heart rate increases in response to some types of music. Music can calm those same functions. It's logical that listening to music which enhances emotional responses in writers helps them express those feelings in their writing. ​We may not ever be lucky enough to find a song that inspires us to write a blockbuster movie, as Bon Jovi's Slippery When Wet did for Young Guns II, but we can hope that it spices up what we do write. There is so much music available that it would be impossible to NOT find a song that elicits the feeling we're trying to put on the page.

​Music helps me get "into the zone" when I write. It can almost be a trancelike state when the writing is going well. And sometimes when I would rather do anything than write, a good song can call me to where I need to be. But it has to be the right music.

​My go to music is Liquid Silk by Marina Raye, Wave by Beck, or Elephant Box by Ingrid Chavez. They help me relax. I never listen to the radio so am hopelessly out of touch with the top popular songs.

I find music on TV programs or in movies.

​My fight scene, or intense scenes, work well with many of the entrance themes used by WWE wrestlers. Live in Fear, Voices, The Truth, Black and Blue, Catch Your Breath, and This is War. Any doubt you might have about the quality of this music can be easily erased when the music hits and the crowd erupts.

Drift from Pacific Rim and Young and Beautiful from Great Gatsby are two of the songs on my playlist. I would love to have a song out of Twilight that isn't for sale as far as I can tell, and I have searched for the theme to Blood Ties without any success. Way Down We Go from Lucifer joined music from Empire and Sons of Anarchy. i recently bought Silent Lucidity again as well as Misguided Angel by the Cowboy Junkies. Both were bought because they were on one show or another and I was reminded how much I liked them.

The common denominator for all of these songs is that they move me, cause me to feel a strong emotion. In turn, this emotion sparks and fuels my writing. What songs fuel you?

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My Hobbies Aren't What They Used to Be #MFRWAuthor

Writing is a time-intensive endeavor. From dreaming up stories to staying connected to those who enjoy my work, hours and hours are consumed bringing my characters to life.

When I’m not writing, much of my time is taken up by my dogs and with cleaning my house. These are not hobbies, of course. The word “hobby” suggests something fun. Let’s be honest: There is nothing fun about doing household tasks. Chores are dull and repetitive. You clean the kitchen one day and the next day you have to do it all over again.

On the other hand, I love my dogs very much, and they fill my heart with joy—most of the time. Maybe you would need to see the three-ring-circus that is the care and feeding of my needy pooches to understand why it's so all-consuming and not consistently enjoyable.

In the past, when writing was something I did for sheer enjoyment, I had lots of hobbies. I did needlework and crocheted. I gardened. I made presents for family and friends. I even did a little scrapbooking. Sadly, all of those activities require a time commitment that I no longer have. I still buy the Stampington magazines and crafting products, and PLAN the projects I will do "next Christmas", but mostly I just look at the pictures and wish I had more time.

Now when I have time to sit down and do nothing for brief periods, television seems to be my activity of choice. There are a few special shows I record. I watch when I have free time, such as Supernatural (#TeamDeanforever), Lucifer (#sexymf), Magicians (hate the main characters but #lovemesomeEliott), Grimm (#nothingwithoutMonroe), and new to the roster, Riverdale (#hookedandnotsurewhy). These programs lend themselves to binge watching when I my brain is fried from the daily grind. Other shows, like Netflix’s The Fall are so intense that I can only watch one episode at a time. I then have to spend any remaining free moments finding something (anything) lighthearted to view.

My most enduring pastime is researching whatever grabs my imagination. I’ll hear or see something that takes me down a rabbit hole by way of the Internet, library, or bookstore. This month I've researched H.H.Holmes, one of the first documented American serial killers, Admiral Byrd (the explorer) and Operation High Jump, Byrd’s invasion of Antarctica, now speculated to be UFO war. I am currently nursing a fledgling interest in genealogy. It began when my mother had her DNA tested and found, much to her surprise, that despite being raised as one ethnicity, she, in fact, has 0% of that DNA. Which means I, too, am not who I believed myself to be.

It's disquieting to learn you are not who or what you think you are. Since being one’s authentic self is the theme of most of my stories, this discovery offers interesting ideas for further writing. It seems I may have a new hobby I must play with for a while. What are your current hobbies? Check out these other fabulous blogs!

They love you anyway: Best Friends #MFRWAuthor

“Best friend” is an interesting, complex concept. It seems to have a variety of meanings, depending on who you're asking and the context.. To make it even more complicated, our understanding of  “best friend” changes with each stage of development—at least in my observation. When you’re five, your best friend is the kid you see most often. When you’re a teenaged girl, it’s the person you giggle with. And when you’re middle-aged, it’s the person who simply understands you the most—and loves you despite yourself. As a teen, my best friend and I shared a love of The Rolling Stones. We didn’t have access to concerts, but we spent time together listening to albums, hunting down the latest magazines with even the tiniest snippet of information and pictures. Oh, the pictures. The cooler and sexier the better. Mic Jaggar did not disappoint.

Our love of music didn’t end with Mic and the gang. We also got into the local music scene, going to clubs headlined by acts from across the region. We spent every free minute together. I thought we would always be friends, but it wasn’t meant to be. As time went on our interests changed. We saw less and less of each other. In tenth grade boys entered the picture, and we drifted apart for good. That relationship marked the last “best friend” in my life for many, many years.

​When I met my current best friend, it was for a similar reason--lust, I mean, love of a popular rock star. The one and only Prince. She and I started as pen-pals, and met for the first time at one of his concerts in 1993. Although we lived 900 miles apart we kept writing. We also managed to visit frequently and attend dozens of his concerts together.

About twelve years ago, life took an interesting turn and brought me to New England. She’d recently moved here too. Distance isn't an issue anymore. We’re able to share a wider variety of interests. We've tried ski lodges, Niagara Falls, comic cons, shows like Supernaturalists, Cirque du Soleil, and I've even dragged her to WWE wrestling matches. We try new things, and encourage each other to be braver than we would be alone.

Besides our common interests, she is my confidant. She’s gives me a kick in the ass when the pity parties go on too long, and she is a safe shoulder to cry on. When I need help because my back is hurting, or because I again bought something that I can’t assemble alone (or given my tendency to put things together backwards or inside out, shouldn’t), she’s right there. I don’t even have to ask. She accepts me for who I am, with all my quirks and flaws that other people have tried to change.

Because she knows me so well, she understands it wouldn’t work anyway.

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Comma Compulsion #MFRWAuthor #bloghop

My name is Trevann Rogers and I have comma issues. There I said it. My challenges can  be summed up in one word. Commas. Moreover, I'm an afficionado  of the Shatner Comma as well as the Oxford comma.

With the first, it just makes sense to me that there should be a comma where I want the reader to pause. That pause can totally change the meaning of a sentence. It's really the only way to show inflection.The second is obvious as Eats Leaves and Shoots so aptly shows.

Despite owning several books dealing with grammar, and usually reading about commas several times during the editing process, I still seem to get them wrong. Fortunately, my editor still treats me kindly. Like I'm that quirky, outlandishly dressed second cousin who means well but never manages to hit the mark in terms of basic fashion.

I also have a penchant for leaving partial sentences when I rewrite a passage. Most of the time I catch them on the second go-round, but not always. I also do the opposite and leave out a crucial word when I change a sentence. I am an equal opportunity rewrite mangler. Except for commas most of my editing mistakes are carelessness. Since I know what I want to say, my mind fills in whatever should be there.

Fortunately, I'm lucky to belong to a writing group whose members excel at punctuation and haven't yet grown tired of catching those mistakes. With their help, I might have a chance at learning the comma rule. Then again, maybe, I won't.

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