Who Doesn't Love a Misplaced Modifier? by Karla Stover

bwlauthors.blogspot.com karla stover  


Trust me; I am not a writer snob. One of my critique groups, once, broke up  when I referred to a bunch of trees as a corpse rather than copse. And since I make mistakes, I give myself permission to enjoy an internal tee hee at those of others. In the May 27, 2017, a staffer for The News Tribune, our local newspaper wrote the  following:


Ferries cost $13 for car and passenger, $7 for bike and rider. Free for kids. They run on the hour.

     I, for one, prefer an hour with no running kids.

     In Mary Poppins, Mr. Dawes Sr. director of London's main financial center says:

"I know a man with a wooden leg called Smith."

     Did the non-wooden leg not rate a name?
 
     "A misplaced modifier is a word, phrase, or clause that is improperly separated from the word it modified or describes."

     Here's one I found in a book discussing English schools:

"Bedford School was another [public school]; endowed by the Harper Trust, which kept its fees
low . . ."

Further reading explained it was the school, not the trust which kept the fees low."

When Go Set a Watchman, the original To Kill a Mockingbird came out, it seemed to fade fast. However, the edited version remains a classic. An article on www.telegraph.co.uk says Tay HoHoff, an editor at the firm, J.B. Lippincott, would not have published the book in its original version. In fact, it was HoHoff who advised Lee to scrap the original version of Scout visiting her father as an adult and instead tell the story from a child's point of view. The rewrite process took three years. It also says, "The differences between the two books call into question how much of To Kill A Mockingbird was written by Lee, and how much was shaped by Hohoff."

Which brings us back to the point I'm trying to make: Publishers no longer have the time or wherewithal to spend three years molding a book. It is up to we the writers.  The website, www.writingcommons.org suggests authors  do the following:

1.  place the modifier as close as possible to which is being modified.
2.  place adjectives in front of the noun, adverbs in front or directly behind or at the beginning or end of the sentence.
3. words such as almost, even, just, nearly, only, or simply go in front of the word (or words) being modified.
4.  do not put the modifier between the word, "to" and the verb. It creates a split infinitive. "To quickly move" should be "To move quickly."

The same article suggest circling the modifier and drawing an arrow to the word it modifies and read the sentence aloud.


     Of course, we could imitate Ernest Hemingway's style, i.e. use plain grammar and "easily accessible language" in "short, rhythmic sentences that avoid reflection, skip the adjectives, and concentrate on the action. and avoid adjectives where ever possible, but where's the fun in that?

     These faux pas are everywhere, from Groucho Marx--One morning shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he got into my pajamas I'll never know,"  to street signs, "Caution Pedestrians Slippery When wet."

     It's best to soldier on, I think, and if we misplace a modifier, well, it will be someone else's tee hee.

Do you see them?

There has been a lot of media coverage lately about bees. How they are on the decline. If you like to eat anything the least bit healthy, you need bees. The collect the nectar and pollen from flowers. This is used to feed their colony. As they collect they pollinate. The nectar eventually turns into honey. 

I live in rural Ontario. Our property is bursting with flowers and trees. Enough trees, we rarely use our air conditioner. Even on the hottest days, we sleep with our windows open at night, allowing a beautiful breeze into our bedroom. 

Spring is beautiful around here. The trees and perennials are coming to life after the winter. We have a cherry tree on the property that the birds love. We were outside in mid May, doing some yard work. My husband was working a short distance from me, close to that tree. 

"Heather. Come here. Listen."

As I walked toward him, I heard the buzz. A small orchestra could have been suspended in the air. I looked up at the white blossom filled cherry tree. Honeybees surrounded every branch of the vibrant tree, buzzing around those blossoms. What a gorgeous sight, and sound. 

I just smiled.

The joys of living in rural Ontario. I buy my honey and honey products from a local bee keeper. I support our local famers and buy pure Canadian maple syrup from a 'Sugar Shake.' We can watch them tap the trees.

An interesting little fact. Bees don't sleep. They have a short life span, around thirty days. They work the entire time. Keep the bees alive and healthy. We need them. 

If you're able, buy wild flower seeds and plant them. The honeybees will thank you. 

Home Town Inspiration by June Gadsby

June Gadsby Author Page

HOME TOWN INSPIRATION:  It’s amazing how places and the people who reside in them inspire you as a writer. I haven’t lived in many places, but have travelled quite extensively and the countries I’ve visited invariably end up as the background to my stories. 

But there is one place that turns up more than most and that is the little mining town where I was born. Felling is perched high on the banks overlooking the River Tyne in north-east England. As a child, I would stare out over the wide valley below and wonder what kind of world was out there, and this memory inspired the beginning of my latest novel, “Rosa”. My world, at that time, was a small miner’s cottage, where my ancestors had lived since the street was built in 1901 over an old, disused pit. I lived there with my grandparents [my grandfather was one of a long line of miners], my mother, my aunt and, sometimes, her sailor husband, who was something of a rover, but such a character that you couldn’t help be fond of him. 

The street and part of my grandparent’s house sloped because of the ground sinking. It was condemned just before the second world war, but was still standing many years later. I was eleven when we moved into new housing a few miles away, but I paid a nostalgic visit to the town when I was in my thirties and there was my street – George Street – in process of being demolished. And the end wall that was visible was highly recognisable as the room at No. 15, in which I entered this world to the sound of the All-Clear siren. The floral wallpaper had never been changed.

My name is June, but I was born in January, so it was something of a joke, especially when Bing Crosby came out with the song: “It’s June in January”. And that’s how I became known. Our milkman used to greet me, singing ‘my’ song. I still get a tingle of nostalgia when I hear that song and think: “Oh, they’re playing my tune!”

Moving forward too many years, when my life took twists and turns that some people would find hard to believe, I was no longer living in the north-east of England, but in south-west France, where my husband and I have been for 26 years. No longer working full-time, looking after two of three step-children and two houses, I could now devote all my time to my passion of writing.  While doing some research for the book I was writing [When Tomorrow Comes], I came across a Facebook site for my birth town of Felling. Although much changed from the town I knew and for which I carried a warm spot in my heart, the Felling residents welcomed me with open arms. Some of them even remembered me from my school days.

Although advertising was not allowed, it soon came out that I was a published writer and the founder of the group, who has read all my books, christened me as “Felling’s own Catherine Cookson”.  Catherine, whom I knew personally, was born only a few miles from Felling and we had a lot in common.  It was quite an accolade, but I could never attain the same fame as she has and, I must say, that my books are quite different in many respects. However, she did inspire me to write my first saga, “Rosa” – originally titled “Where The Wind Blows” long before I was published.

Now, I have a growing band of readers from Felling and the surrounding areas, who are supporting me. Who would have thought that the working-class miner’s granddaughter would have her stories in print? My family, if they were still alive, wouldn’t. But I think I always knew that the dream of ‘June in January’ was just waiting to be realised – and it was, even though it took half a century to achieve.

Rosa by June Gadsby	The Jealous Land by June Gadsby	Voices of the Morning by June Gadsby
When Tomorrow Comes by June Gadsby	The Raging Spirit by June Gadsby	The Ironmaster by June Gadsby
To The Ends of the Earth by June Gadsby	Glory Girls:FA... by June Gadsby	The Real Thing by June Gadsby

Ramblin' by Gail Roughton

Because evil never dies. It just--waits.

Some small amount of attention, more than normal anyway, has been focused on my little ol' home town of Macon, Georgia this past week.  Macon's never going to give Hollywood or Nashville or New York an inferiority complex, but in its own humble way, it's made a few small contributions to the world of entertainment. If you take a ramble through the city's trivia facts, you'll find the Fifth Street Bridge's formal name, The Otis Redding Bridge, is entirely appropriate seein' as how (Sittin' on) The Dock of the Bay was inspired by said bridge and the hours Otis Redding spent fishing from it. Or so the story goes in Macon, anyway. He got a hand up from another Macon native by the name of Little Richard.  Lena Horne lived in Macon during a few years of her childhood. Jason Aldean was born and raised in Macon, and shot the video of Gonna Know We Were Here in downtown Macon and at his alma mater, Windsor Academy, using Windsor Academy students as his extras. Bet those kids are never goin' to forget that, don't you?

It's been a popular movie location over the past ten to fifteen years, and its vintage Minor League Ballpark, Luther Williams Field, helped with that for at least three movies, same being The Bingo Long Traveling All-Stars and Motor Kings, Trouble with the Curve (okay, it wasn't big box office but it was Clint Eastwood, baby) and 42. It's very fitting Hollywood loves that ballpark, because it's figured in Major League Baseball history in its own right as the home of the Macon Peaches, farm team for the Cincinnati Reds. As such, it launched Pete Rose, Tony Perez, Lee May and Tommy Helms into the Majors. The Atlanta Braves organization took over and the park became home to the Macon Braves farm team, launching the careers of Chipper Jones, Andruw Jones, Rafael Furcal, Tony Graffannio, John Smoltz and Marcus Giles. But the Park hasn't been the only draw for Hollywood and we've hosted quite a few other movies, including John Huston's Wise Blood, The Rose and the Jackal (notable for featuring Christopher Reeves before his accident), The Need for Speed and The Fifth Wave. 

But more than anything, Macon was the hub of Southern Rock during the 1970's  and Phil Walden's Capricorn Records operated on Cotton Avenue, recording albums by several Southern Rock bands like Wet Willie and The Marshall Tucker Band. But the band who became legend in Macon, Georgia was, hands down, The Allman Brothers Band.

Duane Allman died in a motorcycle crash on Hillcrest Avenue in 1971, and was buried in Rose Hill Cemetery, a Macon historical landmark of some note.  Less than thirteen months later, and within three blocks of the spot where Duane Allman died, the band's bassist Berry Oakley died in another motorcycle crash. He was buried beside Duane Allman in Rose Hill Cemetery. Now, I never personally attended, mind you, and so claim no personal knowledge, but stories are there were quite a few parties held at those graves in Rose Hill by some of band's fans. The band kept going until 1979, but trust me, the legends never died. Especially in Macon. 

And this past week, with the death of Gregg Allman at age 69 of liver cancer, the press descended on Macon, Georgia and Rose Hill Cemetery, where Gregg Allman was buried beside his brother. The funeral and burial were private but a pretty big crowd gathered on the hill overlooking the Allman graves to watch. And of course there were complaints among the hard-core Allman Brothers fans that Gregg's ex-wife Cher, in attendance at the funeral, took too much attention away from Gregg. (Duh! After all, Cher is Cher, people!) Be that as it may, the lyrics of the band's songs will always be part of the back beat of the memories that play in my mind whenever I think of my late teens and early twenties. "Got one morrre silver dollarrrr...but I'm not gonna let them catch me, no, not gonna let 'em catch...the midnight... riderrrrrr...." , "Lord, I was born a ramblin' mannnn...tryin' to make a livin' and doin'... the best I can...."  Happy rambles, guys. Happy rambles. And many midnight rides. To paraphrase the song, Rose Hill's got a hell of a band. 

I also have a special place in my heart for Rose Hill Cemetery. It opened in 1840 and was designed by Simri Rose for the express purpose of being a place to visit and gather for the people of Macon.  And seein' as how it's a cemetery, it also fed the imaginations of quite a few kids throughout the years. I don't know if one particular urban legend concerning Rose Hill is even an urban legend. It well might have been just a campfire story spun by my own admittedly peculiar group of friends.  I mean, we used to read palms and cast horoscopes. Be that as it may, one story we used to scare each other with involved a body buried in Rose Hill with a stake through the heart. So it follows as the night the day that when I got this crazy idea for a short satire involving a vampire about to be evicted from his mausoleum, I immediately set same in Rose Hill Cemetery.  Somewhere along the way, that short satire turned into a Southern Gothic family saga spanning a century in time. It ceased to be funny and damn sure ceased to be short, but the location of my vampire's mausoleum never changed. Well, the name did, my fictional cemetery became Rose Arbor Cemetery 'cause I didn't want to ruffle any historical society feathers.  But the inspiration? Oh, no, that remained the same. And in fact, the historical Rose Hill Cemetery holds semi-annual guided rambles through the grounds. They call them, appropriately enough, "Rose Hill Rambles". 

So if the mood should strike you and you'd like to ramble through Rose Hill, er, excuse me, Rose Arbor Cemetery under the moonlight some dark night, it's right there waiting for you, right inside the pages of The Color of Seven.  Where evil never dies. It just--waits.

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Marriage in the reign of Queen Anne Stuart 1702-1714

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Tangled  Love

By Rosemary Morris

I have written three historical romances, with strong themes set in the reign of Queen Anne Stuart and am writing a series of articles about life in the early 18^th century.

Marriage in the reign of Queen Anne Stuart 1702-1714

Part Two

Marriage Act of Queen Anne 1712

Defrocked clergymen, dishonest clergymen and even laymen posing as clergymen conducted hole-in-the-corner marriages at the Fleet Prison, Queens Bench, in taverns and elsewhere.

To discourage clandestine marriages the Marriage Act of Queen Anne received Royal Assent on the 22^nd May, 1712 and was renewed in on the 24^th, June. The Act stated that the penalty for conducting an illegal marriage service would be one hundred pounds. Half of the penalty would be given to the informer and, ‘if any gaoler or keeper of any prison should be privy to, or knowingly permit any marriage to be solemnized in his said prison, before publication of the banns, or licence obtained as aforesaid, he shall for every such offence forfeit the sum of one hundred pounds to be recovered and distributed as aforesaid.” On top of this there was a five-shilling fee for every marriage licence, or marriage certificate.

This law made it easy to marry. A couple could go for a walk in the country and pop into a church and get married. Sion Chapel in Hampstead placed an advertisement in The Postboy from April the 18^th to the 20^th. “As there are many weddings at Sion Chapel, Hampstead, five Shillings only is required for all the Church fees for any Couple that are married there, provided they bring with them a licence or Certificate, according to the Act of Parliament.”

The Curious Marriage of a Bride in her Smock

Entry in a parish register. “John Bridmore and Anne Sellwood was married in her Smock, without any clothes or head gear on.’

This was not unusual. The purpose was to absolve the husband from paying any debts his wife might have owed before her marriage. This belief seems to have been caused by misinterpretation of the law as it was laid down that ‘the husband is liable for the wife’s debts because he acquires an absolute interest in the personal estate of the wife,’ etc. From this an ignorant person might conclude that if his wife had no estate whatsoever he could not be liable for her debts.

Physical Chastisement

Some so-called gentlemen sometimes beat their wives. In The Spectatior, even the gallant Sir Richard Steele wrote that he could not deny there were ‘perverse Jades that fall to Men’s Lots, with whom it requires more than common Proficiency in Philosophy to be able to live. When these are joined to men of warm Spirits, without Temper or Learning, they are frequently corrected with Stripes; but one of our famous Lawyers is of the opinion, that this ought to be used sparingly.’

Today, we can only look back and pity abused wives and hen-pecked husbands who could not apply for a legal separation or get divorced.

Novels by Rosemary Morris available as e-publications and paper backs.

Early 18^th century novels: Tangled Love, Far Beyond Rubies and The Captain and The Countess

Regency novels: False Pretences and Sunday’s Child, Monday’s Child and Tuesday’s Child. Heroines born on different days of the week.

Mediaeval Novel, Yvonne, Lady of Cassio, The Lovages of Cassio, Book One, set in the turbulent reign of Edward II

www.rosemarymorris.co.uk   

http://bookswelove.net/authors/morris-rosemary/

Disasters Lead to Children by Katherine Pym

Available July 1st

Pre-Order Here

One of the sources for my 17^th century novels is Pepys’ diary. He wrote of his daily existence for the period of 10 years, from 1660-1669. His thoughts of what he saw include the king’s restoration and his coronation, which Pepys missed due to having to use the facilities, but he was in the nose bleed section and couldn’t see a lot anyway. He fitted the naval fleet for the 2^nd Anglo/Dutch War and other journeys. He was in and about London during the plague and watched the great fire burn most of London’s inner city to the ground.

Samuel Pepys (older)

I’ve seen comments that Pepys was a pervert because he was unfaithful to his wife, but more importantly, he was insatiable during the plague. 

I don’t want to defend Pepys’ actions, and I don’t approve of them, but after seeing hurricane Ike in full swing where everything in its path was lost, the philosophical of going through a crisis such this will bring a response to human survival. 

No one remembers Hurricane Ike (Sept 2008) because on the heels of its fury and destruction, the stock market crashed. Banks closed. The car industry’s back broke and all but Ford’s CEO’s begged the US Government for a bailout. 

Hurricane Ike

Ike had made a swath of destruction that almost equaled Katrina. Bolivar Island, near Galveston was all but flattened. The storm battered Galveston Bay and produced storm surges. They swept ashore, engulfing houses and sweeping them off their foundations. Bodies are still missing. 

I have a friend who had fled Ike as so many fled the plague in 1665. Thousands died of the pestilence. As Pepys went about Navy business, he saw death on all sides: 

“14 Sept 1665 – My meeting of a dead corpse of the plague, carried to be buried at noonday... –to see a person sick of the sores carried close by me... my finding the Angel Tavern at the lower end of Tower Hill shut up; and more than that, the alehouses at the Tower Stairs: and more than that, that the person was then dying of the plague when I was last there, a little while ago at night, to write a short letter there, and I overheard the mistress of the house sadly saying to her husband somebody was very ill, but did not think it was of the plague – to hear that poor Payne my waterman hath buried a child and is dying himself – to hear that a laborer I sent... to know how they did there is dead of the plague...”

Hauling away the dead

After seeing this, Pepys found hilarity with others who still lived. He drank and cavorted. He had sex with as many women as would have him. It seems, whether or not he understood it, his natural inclination was to continue the species as a virulent pestilence tried to end it. If he weren’t sterile, several Pepys’ babies would have been born 9 months later. 

In the aftermath of Ike, fishing boats, and yachts were strewn along the highway. Houses were in shreds. Families slept in their cars and tried to contact FEMA in the middle of the night. 

Men and women found each other and had sex. 9 months later, more than the usual babies were born. Catastrophes, horrible as they are, seem to keep our species alive and well. As everyone dies around them, they come together and attempt to preserve the human race. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

Many thanks to:

The Diary of Samuel Pepys, VI, 1665 Edited by Robert Latham & William Matthews, HarperCollins, UK 1995

Wikicommons, Public Domain, the Houston Chronicle, & www.gettyimages.com