Category: LHA

I live a dull life and I like it that way. My evenings are the tamest imaginable. After dinner, I sit around and read, talk to BH, maybe watch a little football, or a movie we’ve rented from Netflix. BH and I sometimes take turns poking each other with forks in order to stay awake long enough to talk to one of the three magnificent daughters after 9 pm, so they won’t get charged for the cell phone minutes. Once we’re off the phone we crash. (In our defense, we wake up early.)

But the last two nights?

Hold on to your dentures, granny. We have been wild and crazy fools. There have been teachers and authors to meet!

There is an interesting debate about the merits (or lack of them) of membership in SCBWI (Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators) over at Fuse# 8 Production. (Thanks to Read Roger for the link.)

If you are a writer for kids/teens, read through the various arguments. They are interesting.

My opinion? I would not be published if it hadn’t been for SCBWI. Plain and simple.

I joined in 1992. I had some experience as a journalist and a burning desire to write for children, but no idea how to go about it. I went to the first conference organized by the SE PA regional chapter (and the dynamic duo of Sue Campbell Bartoletti and Lisa Rowe Fraustino) and started my slow learning curve. For years I attended conferences and slowly began to learn how to improve the quality of my writing, and how to submit my manuscripts and behave as a professional when my work was eventually published. Both of the editors that I now work with consistently were people I first met at SCBWI conferences. (They cheerfully rejected my work for years when it was sub-par.) SCBWI gave me the tools I needed to forge my dream of being an author into reality.

(Please note the time line for anyone who is looking for an overnight success: started writing: 1992. First picture book published: 1996. First picture book out of print: 1998. First novel published: 1999. Still working very, very hard to learn how to write better.)

I agree with the posters who point out that SCBWI doesn’t offer as much for published writers as for people new to the field, but I still keep paying my dues and feel deeply connected to the group. If you want to write for kids and teens, do yourself a favor and join today.

Other opinions?

Note to self: if the temperature is below 50 degrees, and the race is next to a lake, and the wind is blowing, wear tights under the shorts. Or better yet, your warm black leggings.

The race on Saturday went….. well, it was a lot like writing. First, I was apprehensive because of the cold. Second, the weather (see above). But BH was running with me, and I’ve been working on getting in shape for four months now, and not every race is going to be great, but you show up anyway, because at the very least, the discipline is good for you.

The Dog Who Always Beats Me wasn’t there, which bummed me out, but there were dozens of runners who I had never seen before, and I knew I would be entertained watching them pull away from me at lightning speed. So – boom it was 8 am and the Oswego Pumpkin 5K Race was on.

I clocked the first mile at a very decent pace. And then we started running against the wind. I kept repeating the same song over and over on my iPod: The Can-Can song from Moulin Rouge. Miles 2 & 3 were ungodly cold. I even shouted at the weather a couple of times. (Most of the runners were at the finish drinking hot chocolate at that point, so nobody heard me.)

So I was coughing, slow, freezing, lonely, …. and blissfully happy. Because I was doing it. I was working my body, dragging it up the hills, grinning like a fool. My time compared to anyone else’s was meaningless. My time compared to my other times meant even less. All that mattered was that in that moment, I ran, I sweated, I worked, I enjoyed the bliss. That’s how the writing goes for me, too. The ugly days, the days when I know I will throw out everything I wrote, are every bit as important as the magical days when the Muse takes over the keyboard. Because you can’t have one without the other, so you need to learn how to enjoy them all.

What I did NOT enjoy was the the cheeseball guy who was supposed to tell me to take a left into the tunnel so I could get to the finish line. He let me run straight by him. When I got to the next race volunteer, she directed me to take a right. I checked my time and questioned her – “Are you sure I’m supposed to go this way? I thought I’d be to the finish line by now.” “Oh,” she said. “That’s for people running the 5k. If you’re running the 21K, you take this right.” “But I AM RUNNING (OK, shuffling) THE 5K,” I gasped.

Long silence…. “Oh,” she finally said. “Then you want to turn around and run back to that cheeseball guy who will point you to the tunnel.”

I was too tired to slap anyone, so off I ran. The detour turned a 5K into a 6K, but I needed the exercise, so it was all good.

Detours help you learn what you’re made of, on the page or on the road.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MEREDITH!!!

I’m fighting something germy today. Head is filling with barbed wire, throat with slugs, body is bruised as if a hit squad of ghosts beat on me all night long with tennis racquets. I’m supposed to run a race on Saturday, so this is not allowed to happen.

I’m almost through the final plot overhaul of my WIP. If I don’t pass out from an overdose of tea, I should finish plowing through the last quarter today. This is an extremely detailed outline – about 120 pages long. I guess it’s a cross between an outline and a first draft. I don’t write my YA novels this way, but this is a historical middle grade, and I had to make sure that the story lines of the personal story of the main character and the historical events mesh perfectly.

The mailbag is bulging, so I must start dealing with it again. And this is a totally excellent question, so here goes.

A. F. writes: I’ve just made the decision to face my fears and actually tackle a novel. It’s been my secret wish since I was a little girl, but it’s
the one thing I’ve been scared to try. But as Mr. Freeman says, “Fear is a great place to begin art,” so here I go.

My question is this: How do you thwart self-consciousness when writing prose? All of the fiction I’ve attempted has either been over-thought that it’s dead on
the page, or so naked that it’s all but unreadable. I want to tame the latter to defeat the former, but I feel like the words that I write are judging me. I’ve outlined the crap out of the story I want to write, so it’s already over-thought, and I’ve only written a few pages and it’s already trying too hard to be Literary. Does that make sense?

It makes total sense to me. The danger in being a sensitive, well-read, thoughtful, intelligent person who wants to write a novel is that you are sensitive, well-read, thoughtful, and intelligent. My guess is that as you write, the gremlins in your mind start yelling at you, laughing at you, and saying nasty, spiteful things about your prose, your ambition, and your passion until you are ready to flee the keyboard in tears and get a job at the local widget factory or office pod. Am I write? I mean, right?

You have a form of Writer’s Block. You have Imploding Expectations Writer’s Block, which is a truly sucky variation of the beast.

I will quote She Who Is Wise, Anne LaMott, on this one: “… awareness is learning to keep yourself company. And then learn to be more compassionate company, as if you were somebody you are fond of and wish to encourage. I doubt that you would read a close friend’s early efforts and, in his or her presence, roll your eyes and snicker. I doubt that you would pantomime sticking your finger down your throat. I think you might say something along the lines of “Good for you. We can work out some of the problems later, but for now, full steam ahead!”” (p. 31, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life. The chapter is called “Perfectionism.”)

Here’s the deal – nobody writes great stuff in a first draft. And if there is someone out there who does, she can’t be my friend. I write crap in the first draft. A LOT of it. And the second. And the third. And usually by the fourth draft, I start to get a clue, to understand the character deeply, to be able to hold all of the narrative threads in my head at the same time. Writing is not magic. Writing is work and it always takes us longer and is always harder than we want it to be. Take control over those gremlins. Use their power to write strongly-worded letters to politicians. But do not allow them to beat you up anymore. It’s a draft. It’s only a draft. You will make it better later.

One more idea: label this draft the Over-Thought, Literary Draft. There is nothing wrong with that. Write out a note to self, that when you revise, you’ll take out all the pretentious stuff to uncover the story underneath. Then write it. And be gentle on yourself, please. The world is harsh place. Your writing can be a place of serenity, humor, and kindness. You can do this work.

BH and I had a date last night. We went to see An Inconvenient Truth. I tend to be suspicious of politicians and am as cynical as they come, but this shot me through the heart. Go see this movie. Ask for the DVD for a present. Start talking about what you can do to make our world healthier. (The movie was shown as part of the Oswego Film Group series. If you live up here, check them out, too.)

Looking for more great quotes about the freedom to read and the dangers of book banning? Check out today’s Shelf Life column.

Now I will go ask BH to construct a sling for my head, which feels like it’s the size of a weather balloon and is wobbling on my neck in an alarming manner.