My current work in progress is about a British thief. I’ve been working on this story since the last week of February–long before the lads came to stay with me.

As most of you know, one of the lads is from Birmingham. Brummie’s have a very distinct accent. One thing I noticed in particular is that thier long i sounds are “oi”. So, when Simon intorduced himself, it was “Soimon”. “Like” became “loike” and so on.

I decided that my British thief needed to be a Brummie. He’s very polished and speaks with a very clean accent. However, when he drinks a little too much, the Brummie comes out in him.

The best part of all this is, I found a “Brummie Translator” online. You can type in the sentence and it translates it in “Brummie Speak”. (It also translates into several other Dialects, such as Cockney Rhyme, Scottish, Scouse, etc. So, I’ll get to use this for my next book, too!)

For some fun, check it out. The British Dialect Translator

The lads are on their way to Memphis for the night. Tomorrow, Simon heads to (Northern)Arkansas with Nizzy and Bex and Grant has a 7.5 hour drive to Louisiana. Good luck with your new families fellas. Hope they rock.

I blogged serious this morning. I talked about the power and passion of words. I quoted Robert Burns. Everyone read my blog and thought, “Wow. Melissa Francis. She’s a serious and dedicated writer.”

But not tonight. Tonight it’s all about the beer. Tonight, everyone will read and think, “Wow. Melissa Francis. She likes beer.”

I didn’t do anything difficult or strenuous today. I just worked. I just did my job. That’s it. But sometimes, doing my job just makes me need a beer. And I’m writing tonight. I write better liquored up, don’t you? LOL

Apparently, I’m not the only one this week who needed a beer. It seems that one of the lads was off his daily allotment of Bud Light. (Yes. Bud Light. I don’t get it either–he’s a Scot for crying out loud!) It seems that the one day he didn’t fill up on his fermented beverage of choice, he got sick. Now personally, I think he got sick because he played soccer that day. I think his ass was tired (partying for 10 + days in a row will do that to ya) and I think he wore his ass out even more huffin’ up and down a soccer field full throttle. (Like he did here) Then as the grand finale to the game, he blew chunks. But he swears it’s because he needed a beer. Yup. He’s a Scot. Of course, I always thought whisky was the water of life…I’ve been proven wrong.

Fishdog and I discovered a new beer this week. We tried a multi-pack of Flying Dog beer. This 12 pack came equipped with the following beers:

• Flying Dog Pale Ale aka Doggie Style
• Old Scratch Amber Lager aka Gold Scratch
• Road Dog Porter
• Tire Bite Golden Ale
• Snake Dog IPA

I can give the thumbs up to Doggie Style (no comments from the peanut gallery necessary), Gold Scratch, Tire Bite and Snake Dog. Haven’t tried the porter yet, but it’s on my to do list.

Of course, the beer would be wasted on the lads. It has too much flavor.

I write because I love the power of words.

Words are amazing. Think about how just simple things like song lyrics, poems, or dialogue can affect you. How many times have you read a paragraph and felt your heart begin to hammer in your chest in reaction? What about that song that brings a lump to your throat or sends the blood roaring in your ears?

What about “forbidden” words like, Fuck, Twat, Cunt, Cock, Goddamn and Motherfucker.

Talk about evoking a reaction! Words are only as powerful as we allow them to be. And those words have been given tons of power. And that power is well deserved. It doesn’t matter if you approve of the words or not, it matters that you react to them.

One of the lads left us a Biography on Robert Burns as a thank you gift. (which was totally unnecessary, but totally appreciated.)I’ve been reading it and finding myself drawn to the man’s work–just as I was in college when I studied him (long-time-ago-way-back-when) . The man was a genius storyteller…poet…and what amazes me the most is how few words he used! And yet, when I read them, I’m completely drawn into whatever emotion he’s feeling.

I admire poets and lyricists who can create passion and evoke emotion and tell a story in so few words. But they have mastered their art. I’m just a fledgling. A wannabe with big dreams.

I think I love to write dialogue because of how the conversation can command a scene. Sometimes it just takes one sentence from a character to nail home the entire scene. Weaving the right words together on paper is an artform, and some folks do it so well.

Maybe one day, I’ll succeed with the written word. God knows plenty of words and emotions swirl inside me daily. I just hope I can channel them into a story that will leave someone feeling–something. Anything.

I’ll leave you today with one of my favorite Burns poems. Thanks to Grant, for reminding me of why I loved him in college.

Love In The Guise Of Friendship
1788

Your friendship much can make me blest,
O why that bliss destroy!
Why urge the only, one request
You know I will deny!

Your thought, if Love must harbour there,
Conceal it in that thought;
Nor cause me from my bosom tear
The very friend I sought.

I write because I love the power of words.

Words are amazing. Think about how just simple things like song lyrics, poems, or dialogue can affect you. How many times have you read a paragraph and felt your heart begin to hammer in your chest in reaction? What about that song that brings a lump to your throat or sends the blood roaring in your ears?

What about “forbidden” words like, Fuck, Twat, Cunt, Cock, Goddamn and Motherfucker.

Talk about evoking a reaction! Words are only as powerful as we allow them to be. And those words have been given tons of power. And that power is well deserved. It doesn’t matter if you approve of the words or not, it matters that you react to them.

One of the lads left us a Biography on Robert Burns as a thank you gift. (which was totally unnecessary, but totally appreciated.)I’ve been reading it and finding myself drawn to the man’s work–just as I was in college when I studied him (long-time-ago-way-back-when) . The man was a genius storyteller…poet…and what amazes me the most is how few words he used! And yet, when I read them, I’m completely drawn into whatever emotion he’s feeling.

I admire poets and lyricists who can create passion and evoke emotion and tell a story in so few words. But they have mastered their art. I’m just a fledgling. A wannabe with big dreams.

I think I love to write dialogue because of how the conversation can command a scene. Sometimes it just takes one sentence from a character to nail home the entire scene. Weaving the right words together on paper is an artform, and some folks do it so well.

Maybe one day, I’ll succeed with the written word. God knows plenty of words and emotions swirl inside me daily. I just hope I can channel them into a story that will leave someone feeling–something. Anything.

I’ll leave you today with one of my favorite Burns poems. Thanks to Grant, for reminding me of why I loved him in college.

Love In The Guise Of Friendship
1788

Your friendship much can make me blest,
O why that bliss destroy!
Why urge the only, one request
You know I will deny!

Your thought, if Love must harbour there,
Conceal it in that thought;
Nor cause me from my bosom tear
The very friend I sought.

“He’s not the Messiah – he’s a very naughty boy.” Monty Python: The Life of Brian

I called Rader today. “Wanna go to the pool this afternoon or go play soccer after work?”

R: Play soccer with who?

Me: With me.

R: You?

Me: Yes. Me.

R: But you don’t play soccer.

Me: Sigh. Rader, I coached your team for the last 4 years. I can kick the ball around with you.

R: Yeah. But you’re not very good. Our team sucked.

Boy, that just makes a mom proud. Can you feel the love? Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Just for the record…the team only sucked 3 out of the 4 years I coached…

“He’s not the Messiah – he’s a very naughty boy.” Monty Python: The Life of Brian

I called Rader today. “Wanna go to the pool this afternoon or go play soccer after work?”

R: Play soccer with who?

Me: With me.

R: You?

Me: Yes. Me.

R: But you don’t play soccer.

Me: Sigh. Rader, I coached your team for the last 4 years. I can kick the ball around with you.

R: Yeah. But you’re not very good. Our team sucked.

Boy, that just makes a mom proud. Can you feel the love? Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Just for the record…the team only sucked 3 out of the 4 years I coached…

After a day of much needed rain, the sun shone bright this morning. And I woke up feeling great. Don’t you love it when that happens?

I got up, jumped in the shower, got dressed and came to work. Mark asked me before I left “You gonna walk this morning?”

Shit. I knew I forgot something. THAT’S why I set the alarm.

So, it’s to the gym tonight. This will be the first workout in a while. I’m down 22lbs (almost 2 stone, Grant) and though I’m proud of that…if I don’t get this tub of lard back on the elliptical, and hit the weights again, I’m gonna find the tub expanding again at twice the speed of light.

Did you know that 14 lbs equals 1 stone? I always thought it was 10 lbs. Nope. It’s 14. Isn’t that just interesting?

I’ve been thinking about the late 80s and the early 90s alot lately. I’m feeling a retro-blog coming on. Especially if I can find some pics of me with the big hair and short skirts. I may have packed them all away in a “to-be-opened-never” vault–but if I can find some, I’ll scan them and post them.

My trip to Atlanta and the RWA National Conference is 2.5 weeks away! Where has the time gone? I swear it was just Christmas.

I heard from the lads and both are doing well and having a good time with their week off. They’ll get their assignments on Sunday and next week, some other lucky family will get to spoil them.

After a day of much needed rain, the sun shone bright this morning. And I woke up feeling great. Don’t you love it when that happens?

I got up, jumped in the shower, got dressed and came to work. Mark asked me before I left “You gonna walk this morning?”

Shit. I knew I forgot something. THAT’S why I set the alarm.

So, it’s to the gym tonight. This will be the first workout in a while. I’m down 22lbs (almost 2 stone, Grant) and though I’m proud of that…if I don’t get this tub of lard back on the elliptical, and hit the weights again, I’m gonna find the tub expanding again at twice the speed of light.

Did you know that 14 lbs equals 1 stone? I always thought it was 10 lbs. Nope. It’s 14. Isn’t that just interesting?

I’ve been thinking about the late 80s and the early 90s alot lately. I’m feeling a retro-blog coming on. Especially if I can find some pics of me with the big hair and short skirts. I may have packed them all away in a “to-be-opened-never” vault–but if I can find some, I’ll scan them and post them.

My trip to Atlanta and the RWA National Conference is 2.5 weeks away! Where has the time gone? I swear it was just Christmas.

I heard from the lads and both are doing well and having a good time with their week off. They’ll get their assignments on Sunday and next week, some other lucky family will get to spoil them.

Sometimes I hate having an extra day or two off work because it just makes coming back that much more difficult.

I have a lot on my plate today and really need to get with it–but I have the attention span of a midge on crack right now, so I think I’ll blog again.

Hmmm. It seems all I’ve talked about lately are the lads. It’s probably time for me to move on, however, I’m not quite ready yet. I think Fishdog thinks I’ve lost my head, but he’s too smart a man to tell me that.

One thing that amazed me about the lads’ visit was their genuine joy or amazement in discovering something new.

Like getting bitten by a mosquito for the very first time. “Mum! I didn’t feel it land and then it stung me and now look!” And I look to see the familiar little swollen bump on Grant’s arm. Not five minutes later, Simon runs up, “Mum! Make it go away! It hurts!” and sure enough, there’s that familiar red bump on his leg.

They were amazed.

But when we took them by the Ole Miss football stadium that’s when I saw true joy and amazement. Their professional soccer stadiums aren’t half as nice as our mediocre (but wealthy) college football stadiums. Hell, Ole Miss’ practice field is nicer than the pitch their national teams play on.

And they both kept saying: “All this for just 5 games a year?”

Yeah. And honestly, isn’t that a little sad?

Americans are a spoiled lot. I’ve known this all along, but sometimes it takes something so small as the comparison of stadiums to remind me.

It’s cloudy here today–which is good, we really need the rain. Of course, the grass in my yard is brown and ugly again; but the grass in my flowerbed is flourishing. AGAIN.

I have been thinking about my story a lot lately. I’ve been on a dry spell with writing–this happens sometimes–but I’ve never let the story go too far away from my head. It’s time to hit the keyboard running again. I miss my British thief…and since I also miss Simon and Grant…I can just use them as inspiration….if only I understood half of what they said.

Nine times out of ten, this is what I heard: “Humina-humina-humina, bonny lassie.” or “Humina -humina-humina, Mum.”

I bet I can use that in my book though…