Let me tell you something about male writers. We hate describing people. We know three colors outside of primary and hair is either blond, red, or brunette. I should keep a box of Crayolas next to my desk just so I can have a color besides pink to describe a blouse. Oh, by the way, I can identify a blouse, slacks, and maybe an evening gown. After that I get lost. Although I learned what seersucker is not long ago. It has nothing to do with guys like me who pounce on every Craftsman tool sale in the Sunday ads.
And then there’s flowers. I can handle roses, impatiens, morning glorys, mums if I think real hard. Next to my box of crayons, I need a Bordine’s catalog (that’s a nursery for those of you who live outside of Michigan). Weeds are even worse, because nobody sends us a weed catalog and not too many people are interested in writing about them. I have a bumper crop of dandelions in my yard each year, so those are easy. I’ve also learned to correctly identify Queen Anne’s Lace. That’s an important one, because if you write a passage with Queen Anne’s Lace as part of the scenery description, you sound really smart. Now ragweed, the one that causes me to awaken entire villages with my sneezing every Labor Day, I can’t identify. I know it’s there somewhere, because it’s keeping me awake, but I’m not sure what it looks like. I certainly don’t want to get a closer look either.
Dineen and I were having a IM conversation, actually more of a ping-pong of words, involving eye colors. All my characters have icy blue or emerald green eyes. We combined my vast knowledge of flowers and came up with morning glory blue. So now I have two choices for blue eyes. We’re still working on green.
This is the best I’ve got for a Monday morning. I’ll get something more interesting up here tomorrow.