Showing posts with label Oz. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Oz. Show all posts

Tornado Terrors: Twisted Twisters, or Breaking Winds

This coming week is Severe Weather Preparedness Week. Here are some useful safety tips from actual experts: https://www.in.gov/dhs/get-prepared/nature-safety/severe-weather-preparedness/

 

 Some say the best advice you can give when it comes to tornadoes is to keep your insurance paid up and update your will.

I prefer preparation: At the beginning of March, dig a big hole in your back yard, then get into it while wearing a helmet and one of those "Red man" protective suits that a police dog can't penetrate. Then have the hole lined in concrete, and covered with an armored steel plate. The order is very important: Get in the hole before it's sealed off. You might want to bring in water, snacks, a portable toilet, a book to read, and, of course, a bottle of oxygen.

(I would suggest you take along my novel Storm Chaser. 'Cause--theme. Or at least The Wizard of Oz.)

"Say ... has anyone told that lady there's a tornado behind her?"


Then, wait until, say, November. Then winter is approaching but hurricane season is past, so you could move to the Gulf Coast. But, because tornado season down there is pretty much year round, you'll have to dig another hole and buy more concrete and steel. Vicious cycle, there.

 So, a quick review of weather terms. A severe thunderstorm watch means you might get severe thunderstorms. A severe thunderstorm warning means the light show has started. I don't get what's hard about that, but it still confuses people.

Similarly, a tornado watch means conditions are right for a tornado to form, and you should, you know, watch. In the novel The Wizard of Oz that's literal: Uncle Henry goes outside, watches, and announces, "There's a cyclone coming, Em ... I'll go look after the stock".

How exactly he plans to protect the stock remains unclear. But if there's one thing the movie Twister taught us, it's to to watch for low flying cows. Meanwhile, in the time it takes for Toto to hide under the bed and thus endanger Dorothy (man's best friend--hah), the cyclone is upon them and the next thing you know ... witch pancake.

Before you think you're safe from tornadoes, remember what one did to this chick. 


 

If Henry only had a radio, TV, alert scanner, or nearby siren, he might have had enough warning to look after the stock and see Em and Dorothy safely to the cellar. The witch would still get smooshed, so--happy ending for all. Except for the Scarecrow on his pole, and the rusted Tin Woodman, and the Winkies being terrorized by the other witch ... okay, bad example.

But hey, it was 1900. The point is, you don't have to literally watch anymore. You don't want to be under that cow when it drops in. Or a house.

Now, a tornado warning means that if you go outside, you will die.

Actually, a tornado or funnel cloud has been spotted in your area, so you may die. Over the years I've managed to take a few pictures of funnel clouds, which puts me firmly in the camp of people who are too dumb to metaphorically (and sometimes literally) come in out of the rain. There are now millions of photos and videos of tornadoes; is it worth having one of your own?

It is not.


Remember this easy rhyme: Red Sky In the Morning: You're Screwed.


 

What should you do if a tornado warning is declared? Go to a windowless interior room on the lowest level of your house. If you're in a building with no basement--what were you thinking? But lower is always better, anyway.

Windows are bad. Tornadoes, hurricanes, meteor strikes--people get cut up by glass during natural disasters. (I'm not kidding about the meteor strikes: just ask the people in Chelyabinsk, Russia.)

Old timers will tell you to crack a window to equalize pressure, or go to a specific corner of a room, but that's proven to be unhelpful. Besides, the tornado will take care of cracking all the windows. You're better off under a piece of sturdy furniture--Toto had the right idea--that you can hold onto. A small center room, such as a closet, or under a stairwell is good, and a bathtub might offer some protection.

Well, that can't be good.


So, let's review: Your safest location is in a bathtub that's in a closet under a stairwell in your basement. My bathroom is the size of a closet, so that's a start.

Actually, your safest location would be in the states of Alaska, Rhode Island, or Vermont, which each average less than one tornado a year. But we're in the Midwest, under the tourism-attracting nickname of "Tornado Alley". Indiana ranks #14 in states for the number of tornadoes. I suspect, if adjusted for square miles, our rank would be higher.

Okay, I just checked. When it comes to tornadoes per 10,000 square miles, Indiana ranks three. When it comes to killer tornadoes we're eight, and when it comes to the total length of a tornado path we're also eight. So there you go. Be afraid. It's only smart. And train your dog to go straight to the storm cellar.

Now, since tornado safety is really a serious subject, here are a couple of links to websites that treat things way more seriously than I do:

http://www.tornadoproject.com/safety/safety.htm

http://www.redcross.org/get-help/how-to-prepare-for-emergencies/types-of-emergencies/tornado#Before

 

 

Remember: As long as you have a flashlight, reading is weather resistant.

 

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Crunching Letters to Synopsis Satisfaction

 I'm continually surprised that editors and agents in the publishing industry expect novelists to write short stuff, like query letters, outlines, and synopsis ... synopsis's ... synopsi? Just a sec.

(Huh. It's synopses. Who knew?)

Asking a novelist to write short is like asking a politician to spend less money; asking the Wicked Witch to be less cackle, um, cackle-y; asking me to skip dessert. My novel manuscripts tend to be short, but that doesn't make me freak out any less when I have to reduce it to a 1,000 word synopsis. My latest manuscript is 82,000 words: It's like taking a full size pickup truck and reducing it to Matchbox size with your bare hands.

Hey, I have this one! Wouldn't want to build the real thing from scratch.

Now imagine someone trying to write a synopsis for one of George R.R. Martin's Song of Ice and Fire books, which are so big they're registered as lethal weapons. Seriously, even putting it on your Kindle adds two pounds. When I tried to read the newest one on the couch, I broke my hip. And the couch. Of course, no one would ask him to write a synopsis. In fact, he probably has an assistant that does nothing but write synopses ... seses ....

In theory the best way to write a synopsis is to write one paragraph for each chapter, then trim where necessary, as if it isn't going to be necessary. I tried other tactics. For instance, removing every "the"; putting into the synopsis only the third and fifteenth word of every page; and hiring George R.R. Martin's synopsis writer. None worked. (You wouldn't believe what that guy charges.)

So I looked the manuscript over again. While Martin's books are high fantasy, my newest story is apparently low fantasy, and yes, I'm aware of the possible jokes. That means it's set in our real world, but magical elements intrude into it; the best known example would probably by the Harry Potter series.

How low can you go? Well, you could have an entire school full of kids who could turn their parents into warthogs, for instance.

 

My story, The Source Emerald, is about a young FBI agent on her first assignment, who tries to track down possible gem smugglers in upstate New York. Magic ... intrudes.

All I had to do is boil down her personality, the plot, the stakes, and the major supporting characters into 800-1000 words, or less than two pages. Or shorter, depending on who you ask. Oh, and in your own unique voice ... with plot twists ... and the ending ... I'm going to go lay down, now.

Okay, I'm back. Almost all authors hate writing a synopsis, and those who like it almost always turn out to be heavily addicted to something and/or certifiably insane. I don't have the exact statistics on that. All I know is that on my first whack at it, I spent half a page describing why my main character, Lilly, absolutely doesn't believe the little girl she encounters is Dorothy Gale, made famous in the Oz books. I had to reduce that to, like, four words.

"Dorothy is brunette, and a teenager, and not a princess, and it was all a dream, anyway. Stop pulling my leg--I've seen the movie."

In the final version the whole thing boiled down to: "Lilly doubts Dorothy's story."

It took me three days to come up with that sentence.

In reality I got the whole synopsis done in "just" a few days, not counting my nightmares of being chased by an editor with a sharp red pen. My first version was about 3,500 words, which really wasn't too shabby. My second was around 1,500--I was slashing words like a horror movie villain.

And then--finally--920 beautiful, short, on-point words. That's it. If you want a shorter synopsis from me, I'll just cut from the bottom and you'll never know the ending, pal! (Or lady, since most of the agents and editors I've queried have been female.)

But I did it. I'm relieved, and proud, and surprised, but mostly relieved.

Now I have to write a query letter.

Hm ... or maybe I should tackle a short story. What do you think?


 
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This week's newsletter covers the summer doldrums, wet dogs, and Oz

 This month's newsletter is out and about:

https://mailchi.mp/a19474764019/the-summer-doldrums-and-an-oz-connection

What's the Oz connection, you ask? Well, it has nothing to do with Australia or prison TV shows. Otherwise it's just a little thing, but you have to read it to find out. *insert evil laughter here*

(Yes, I'm aware there are a couple of typos in it--but I can't edit them once it's out. *sigh*)


https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcToSni1r4cVBpdnyFExh00zByRIpj4OAavsFyHqiB-uD41jWvEM8n31PD9zh8if49kIukg&usqp=CAU


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A Tin Tenth Anniversary

 It's our tenth wedding anniversary!

And I'm working. Twelve hour shifts. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.

It's a massive case of epic fail, and I can only say I was going to take the weekend off, but things happened (to other people, this time). Our actual celebration is going to be in a couple of weeks, when I did manage to get the weekend off. I have big plans!

I have no plans. Who am I kidding?

Oh, I did a little thinking ahead. I looked up what the traditional gift was for a tenth anniversary, and I found the traditional gift was, traditionally, tin or aluminum.

Huh?

Well, I could buy her an aluminum mobile home, but it would just get sucked up by a tornado sometime in May. But thinking of tornadoes reminded me of someone I know who might have advice on the subject:

That's him. His name is Nick Chopper, but ever since a series of rather horrendous accidents, during which his body was replaced, bit by bit, by metal, he goes by The Tin Woodman. He's had a lot of adventures since then, but now he lives in the Winkie Country of Oz, where he built a castle made completely out of tin.

What I'm saying is, he knows a lot about tin. Aluminum, maybe not.

"Hey, Nick", I said. "Can I ax you a question?"

Nick smiled, kind of, which made his face squeak a little. "I'm afraid my friend the Scarecrow beat you to that joke. Several times."

Just my luck. I outlined my problem: upcoming tenth anniversary, stereotypical helpless male, so on. "Can you give me any advice on gifts?"

"Well, you could have her nickel plated."

"I what?"

We were speaking by Magic Picture (long story), so I could only see his upper half, but I had the feeling he was crossed his legs. Can tin do that? "I had myself nickle plated some time ago. It helps preserve my body, especially the joints. They're made of steel, you know."

"Oh. That explains--"

"The rusting, exactly." Nick leaned forward. "Between you and me, I'm only tin coated. Don't tell."

"Oh, of course. But Emily wouldn't want to be nickel plated, being, as you might say, a meat person."

Beowulf takes exception to the term "meat person". He prefers "mom".


"I see your point. Maybe you could make her a tin suit of armor? It wouldn't stand up in a real battle, but it would move people out of her path when she's shopping."

"She wouldn't like the noise."

"How about giving her an extra heart? You probably have all sorts of hearts just laying around, in the outside world."

"Well, there are plenty that don't get used out here. Let me think it over. Meanwhile, remind Dorothy she still owes me ten bucks for that book I sent her ... and $923.50 for shipping."

I'm not too worried about the present, because ten years ago today Emily signed a document promising not to make fun of me and/or cause any permanent harm. In public.


Later I talked to some other people from Oz, and the prevailing opinion was that I should get her an emerald studded ball gown. See, they don't use money in Oz, plus they have a lot of emeralds. And they throw a lot of dances. But I think that might be as bit out of my price range.

I did finally find her a gift, something I think she'll appreciate, something that--I'm not going to identify. I'm no dummy.

Well, not usually.


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