Where to Start?

"The first sentence is always the most difficult."

That's the post I saw on Twitter from my blogger-friend, Ashley.  Her statement is true: the first sentence is the most difficult to write. It's also the most important.

Katie: I never write it first.
Ashley: What do you write first? I tried the last chapter one time. Failed miserably.
Katie: Somewhere. Usually towards the beginning.

This conversation made me ponder my own writing habits and wonder about yours.  So, in the spirit of National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo): where do you start when you're writing?

It doesn't necessarily have to be a novel.  It could be a blog post, a poem, or a song.  Where do you start?

Like I told Ashley, I start somewhere towards the beginning but not usually the first line.  The first line is probably the most important line of the novel (or post).  I've heard of people who collect first lines.  The first line is vital, so why start with something so important?

I start later. I have a temporary first line, write the brunt of the piece, and then adjust the first line to be the stunning opening line it should be.  I don't think I write good first lines (except in that one post from Philly last November; that was a killer first line, if I may say so).

I like backstory.  I like to set the scene.  I don't like to jump right in and make the reader try to tread water while he/she is figuring out how deep the lake is and who else is in it.  I write like I think sharks should come with big huge arrows in the sky pointing to them.  But, I have been told that the first line is an awful place for backstory.  What are your thoughts?

Ashley mentioned she tried starting at the end once.  That's what I have in my NaNoWriMo novel: the beginning (sans opening line) and the end.  Now I'm sitting here like a child on Christmas as my parents open their gifts from me and I'm telling them what it is before the paper is off.

I'll ask it again: where do you start?  And why?

I guess it doesn't matter much as long as you start somewhere.

Happy writing,
<>< Katie

Futbol Confusion

This is an old note I wrote after attending a US vs. Costa Rica soccer game in Costa Rica.  It was scarier than going to a Flyers game in Philly.  But we all lived to tell the tale.
<>< Katie

I went to a football game today. Except there was no pig skin. No quarterback. The players actually used their feet. I was shocked!

On the way to the game we saw a brawl. Everyone on the bus was yelling, "Fight! Fight! Fight!" And when the two men fell, I screamed, "Let's see some blood on that ice!"

On the street outside the stadium, the bus of American soccer players was warmly welcomed by police on horseback and one-finger waves from the crowd.

When we arrived at the game, we had a pat-down search where they confiscated cosas commencing with the letter "C": cameras, cell phones, chap-stick, and coins. I found this behavior quite strange.

I was surprised they hadn't closed the roof due to the impending rain, but the rain held off and the roof remained open.

Our seats were prefect to watch the players fly and see the quaffle at all times. Although we were definitely within hitting range from the bludgers. Who are those little insects down there walking along the grass?

We sang two national anthems. When the second started, I smiled and said, "Oh, Canada" before searching in vain to find their flag.

The game began, and the ball was kicked high into the air. "Get up! Get up! Get outta here! Gone!" As it rose, I yelled, "Fore!" for safety. Once it hit the net, I said, "Let!" When it went over, I knew there would be a five-minute major penalty for Delay of Game. Luckily, I had kept my eyes on it the whole time and was in no danger of being hit (by anything except those bloody bludgers). Eventually, the ball returned magically from the stands. That's not supposed to happen; it was your team that did it!

The ball was definitely touched more than three times. Once it crossed the entire court and the ref failed to call icing. Another time the player took it over-and-back, and my Fang Fingers were ready! During a tough call, I don't know why they didn't consult the experts in Toronto to review the play again. They didn't even take a TV time-out. The play clock continued while they exchanged yellow Christmas cards.

Shots on goal were few and far between. The goalie even ventured far from his net to retrieve the ball, but I screamed at him, "Get back in your net, Vokoun!" When the ball went in the gutter, I offered to give them a second serve, but I was benched. One man patted the top of his head, clearly needing to tie his shoe, but the play-clock never stopped. Although, the one and only intermission was cut short by five minutes.

In the last two minutes, we should have pulled our goalie. At the end, the red, white, and blue was victorious. After all, the lowest score wins, and they had three while we only had one!

I went to a football game today. I prefer to call it soccer, but either way I understand all of the rules.

A Rapid Turn of Events

Last Friday when we got in the van on our way to Philadelphia, Lori was a bit groggy from her midnight shopping trip.  She talked about seeing a man from her church, Mark.  His pregnant wife Beth was two days overdue at the time.  Obviously she couldn't go shopping, so she sent him out with a huge list of items to get Black Friday shopping.

"Wouldn't it be funny if he went home ready to take a nice long nap and she went into labor?" Lori said.

God thought it would be funny, too.  By the time we were in the Wells Fargo Center enjoying our intense hockey experience, Beth had gone into labor.

After the game, we got back in the van and Mr. Steve said, "God said we can come to Him in the good and in the bad.  Today we need to go before Him in the bad."

I thought he was referring to the recent devastating Flyers' loss in the third round of the shoot out.

No, Beth had delivered the baby and there were complications.  We didn't have a lot of information.  Neither did Beth.  But the baby had been transferred to a different hospital, and the prayer chain notified.

So pray we did.  Right there in the middle of a traffic jam in Philadelphia.  We said we wanted healing for Mark and Beth's youngster.  We didn't even know if it was a girl or a boy.  We didn't know what was wrong.  But we knew God knew.  We knew God cared. We knew God could heal the baby, if it was His will.

It was His will.  But He healed the baby in the way we weren't hoping for.  By the time we made it home after a cheese steak, Mark and Beth's son was being held safely in the arms of his Heavenly Father.

Do me a favor and take a minute to pray for Mark and Beth and other families that have lost children.  I cannot fathom such a joyous occasion turning so devastating so quickly.

Do me another favor and let me know how I can best pray for you.

Thanks, friends.

<>< Katie

A Cultural Experience

It was 6 o'clock on Black Friday, and I was standing in a line that wrapped around the outside of the building.  Every single one of us wanted the same thing.

Except it was 6pm, the crowd was angry after a hard loss, and I was about to spend $8.50 on a two-word order.  "Provolone witout."

I wasn't sure if I would like a cheese steak.  They look gross.  I've never been brave enough to try them, but this was a weekend of new food.  Crab, lobster, pierogies, shoo fly pie, scrapple, potato filling, Wilbur buds, and cheese steak included.

Mr. Steve: Do you like steak?
Katie: Yes.
Mr. Steve: Do you like cheese?
Katie: Yes.
Mr. Steve: Do you like rolls?
Katie: Yes.
Mr. Steve: Then you probably won't like a Philly cheese steak.

We didn't have time to do all of the touristy things on my first trip to Philadelphia, but our Philly-native tour guide took us to Pat's, Little Italy, and the Wells Fargo Center.

When it comes to hockey, the City of Brotherly Love does not live up to its name.  I've been to professional hockey games in four different cities: Chicago, Nashville, Raleigh, and Philadelphia.  For every game, the away team won, but never has a crowd shouted so many obscenities at the ice as they did in Philly.

I knew I was at a different hockey game from the very beginning when the players for the opposing team, the Calgary Flames, were announced.  After each name, I am used to the crowd shouting, "Who cares?"  Not Flyers fans.  No, they shout, "Sucks."  If the word "Sucks" is accepted in hockey, might as well use it in every viable opportunity, eh?

Who would have through that this family-friend sport in the city of brotherly love would have been so... well, unloving.  The crowd of almost 20,000 breathed, cheered, and booed collectively.  As the game progressed, the more entertaining the fans became.  If I hadn't been glued to the ice for every shot of the shootout, I would have been entertained by the lone nuts, the orange chaos, and man with the "Insert here" sign.

I was so glad I was wearing a the jersey of a Western Conference team, the Nashville Predators, rather than another Eastern team.  I might have gotten cussed out (like I did in Chicago) for supporting the opponent.

I do know that if God ever moves me to Pennsylvania, I'm going to have to give up hockey.  There will be no rooting for my Predators in the Wells Fargo Center.

I might need a cheese steak and some Wilbur buds to sulk.

<>< Katie