Cut it out!!
When I was a kid, my mom used to say those words all the time. And depending on exactly how bad “it” was, she would often scream it versus say it. And she wasn’t talking about getting a pair of scissors and making paper dolls, either. These were the last three words she used before she came storming into a room, or turned around to the backseat of the car, and started dealing out punishment.
While you may not believe me, ninety-nine percent of the time, she wasn’t talking to me. Nope. I was a good kid, the only girl, and quiet. I mostly lived in my head, telling myself stories. I didn’t have any idea I wanted to be a writer, but man, I wrote books in my head. Most of those books were about a girl and some really cute guy, a good kisser, of course. And oh, yeah, the girl didn’t have brothers.
You see, it was my two brothers who got those words tossed at them regularly by my mom. Not that I didn’t have to hear them. Mom and Dad were smart. I don’t know if they made me this way, or if I was born this way, but I’m a buffer, a person who, when caught in the middle of a conflict, feels compelled to solve the conflict.
My parents would put me in charge of my brothers, and if there were seats involved, I was always in the middle. Like a weather forecaster, I would predict disasters. “You’re gonna make Mom mad, and she’s going to ground you.” Or, “Mom’s going to send Daddy in to talk to you two.” When Daddy was sent in, it was never good.
Sometimes, I was even pushed to the point that I used those three words myself. “Cut it out!” I’d yell at my brothers. Seriously, have you ever been in the backseat between two juvenile delinquents who liked to jab each other, or play paper, rock and scissors and the winner would hurt the loser and then the loser would get mad and go after the winner? Do you know how many times, I had to crawl out between a fight? If their antics didn’t involve violence, then it was usually worse.
They called them barking spiders. The game was to see whose spider could bark the loudest. Or whose spider could get the car windows rolled down the quickest. When spiders weren’t involved, they would burp. Or make barking noises with their armpits. Once, my oldest brother got his hands on what he called a liquid fart. It was some chemical in a little bottle and he would bring it on car rides and occasionally open the top and release the odor in the air.
But there was that one time when my younger brother wanted the liquid fart, but my older brother wouldn’t give it to him. So, younger brother decided to just take it. So there I am, in the backseat between my two brothers fighting over liquid fart. And it happened. They spilled it, all over the car and all over me. I was wearing a citrus-scented perfume. All day I smelled like a citrus fart. And for months, that backseat was not a pleasant place to be.
Recently, when thinking about days gone by, I realized something. Even though I didn’t know I was going to become a writer, my childhood was a training ground for my career as a novelist. I not only forecast bad things to come, I’ve matured and now I make them happen in my books. Then when things start really getting bad, I’m a conflict buffer. I have to get in the middle of my characters’ conflict and help them solve problems. Sometimes, I just have to get out of their way and let them solve their own problems. And sometimes I’m the one who yells, “Cut it out!” In “Don’t Mess With Texas”, my next humorous romantic suspense that I just finished, those three words came into play. Not to stop conflict. It was my internal editor screaming that my book was too long. Only she didn’t speak up until too late.
You see, I’m what writers call a pantser. I don’t plot, I don’t plan, most of the times I only have a vague idea of what’s going to happen on the next page. I just write, and write, until the book ends. Amazingly, most of the time, my internal editor is on duty, even though I don’t know it, and when I finally write those last words, I glance up at the word count and while I’m always over what I should be, it isn’t so bad that my editor has more than a mild heart attack. But this time, when I ended the book, I looked up and I had a heart attack. Not a mild one, either. And immediately, my internal editor, who’d obviously had been sleeping on the job, suddenly pops in and starts screaming…”Cut it out!”
So that’s what I’m doing this week. Cutting it out. Not scenes. I almost refuse to cut out an entire scene. I’m such a linear writer, that if I put something in the book and try to take it out, it creates a butterfly effect. So I cut out words and find unnecessary sentences.
So, if my childhood was my training ground, you might be wondering how I work in the barking spiders. Well, if you’ve read my books, you’ve probably noted that on occasion, I use what some people refer to as potty humor. (My non-fiction writing partner Faye Hughes refers to it as Alabama humor, although I don’t know what she’s talking about. You see, she’s from Mississippi.) Personally, I like to say that I write books about real men, who are nothing more than boys, just like my two brothers. And this book is no exception. My hero owns an English bulldog and they aren’t known for having great intestinal tracks. And let’s just say those spiders bark at some very inopportune times.
So, what about you guys? What have you been doing? Do you have some childhood memory to share? Brothers you want to complain about? Or if you are a writer, do you have problems with word count? Come on, share a little. I told you about my brothers and their barking spiders.
will become a television series (although it's FAR from definite) and I’m being asked to make some real changes. Turns out real changes are much more daunting than theoretical ones. Go figure. Every time I’m asked to make a change a little voice in my head starts stammering, “But, but, but, that’s not the way it goes!” Fortunately most of these suggestions are delivered via email so I can scream, stomp my feet and pout in the privacy of my own home before writing up a very calm and politic email response. 
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