Did My Class and I Rock NaNo?

QUICK NaNoWriMo Update for me and my four brave, brilliant 7th-graders:

Student 1 Wrote 18 pages of a brutal story that involved a broken home, an abusive father, and the hope found in a friend-who-could-maybe-be-more. This student read bits of her story to the other girls during lunch; they argued over who was their favorite character and pestered her to keep writing so they'd know what happened.
Then the student tore that story out of her book and started a new story.
Her guardian had read through it and didn't approve it. Her new story does not contain a broken home or an abusive father. All the favorite characters are gone.

Student 2 Wrote bits and scraps on backs and half-sheets for most of November. By the third week, she had about 6 pages all together. Organization knocked her out. So did setting--she didn't know how to write scenes about Washington D.C. when she'd never been there. We talked at length about writing herself into a corner. :) She picked up her pace during the last week by focusing on her characters, and she wrote about 9 more pages.

Student 3 Hated her story by the middle of the month. When I gave her permission to start over, she gleefully stomped on her old pages. She spent most of the fourth week glumly facing her new project, annoyed with how she kept ruining great ideas by writing boring set-up. This girl is an artist, so I showed her Maus--we had just finished a WWII-lit unit--and discussed graphic novels. What a bright face she had! It was like I had lifted a lead blanket off her shoulders.
She showed me pictures that she just worked on last night of a girl getting run over by a car. The student was glowing, proud of her bloody images and of grossing out Ms. Jessica. She's going to finish her story through December.

Student 4 Had 37 pages at the end of November and will write through December. She had started writing a horror story, but she realized she didn't need to embellish anything to tell a terrifying tale. She is writing her life story.
At first, she thought she had to modify it to keep it 'middle school appropriate.' I told her to be as honest as she wanted to be about what she's been through.

Me? I mean, does it really matter, compared to these girls? I think they're so cool, so brave, so fun, so strong. They inspire me. But, just to round it out--I wrote 18, 400 words. It was totally fun and diverting and sometimes awful and annoying. Like John Green says, NaNoWriMo gives a writer 1) discipline and 2) permission to suck. I think I picked up some discipline, and I definitely am all about being okay sucking.

So, YES, we absolutely rocked NaNoWriMo!

And now we're reading "Goblin Market" by Christina Rossetti and "Goblin Fruit" by Laini Taylor. Favorite. Unit. Ever. :)

NaNoWriMo Check-in 1

Seven days of writing have passed. How’d I do?

Total word count: 7355

Total I should have if shooting for 1667 a day: 11669

SO--

I present to you four frank reasons I’m not stressing about being behind:

#1:


Kate DiCamillo!

My copy of The Chronicles of Harris Burdick came in, and I have a NEW literary crush to add to my list of crushes. Kate DiCamillo’s contribution to this collection is knock-you-in-the-teeth poignant and hilarious. Love, love, love the Kate! How can one be gloomy when Kate’s “The Third-Floor Bedroom” exists?

#2

I found Elzabeth Fama’s blog last night (and commented on it ;)). She, a published author, speaks candidly of the pros and cons (and many more cons) of our yearly NaNo competition. I love her honesty. Her reminder that our goals this month are sort of ridiculous helps me laughingly accept that I may not make my goals—but the best goal is to write every day.

How haunting is Elizabeth's cover?

#3

I’m writing. This, all by itself, is just lovely. This *poofs* stressful thoughts of more and now and hurry away.

My idea that I’m fleshing out this November I had in February, but I didn’t get to it. I had too many shows to watch. :) Then in April, I heard editor Julie Scheina--one of two editors who brought us Beautiful Creatures--speak at an SCBWI luncheon. She enthusiastically shared one of her new books coming:

Jane, by April Lindner, is a modern retelling of Jane Eyre.

My story idea is a modern retelling, too! So I should have been writing in April! Retells are wanted by editors, she said! But I didn’t go for it. I had too many naps to take. I dipped into it a teensey bit, enough to say I was working on it, but that’s about it.

Our NaNo has me deep in my story each night. I’m loving the characters. I’m loving the places they take me. I’m loving the cashmere sweaters or silver nail polish I find them wearing. I’m writing, and it’s fun.

#4

I am, let's repeat, doing a retelling. This makes my life easier, yes? I'd argue yes, absolutely, it does. In addition to my six pages of notes, I have the hundreds of pages of story to follow. So when Elizabeth Fama points out that October should be novel-planning month and we should create pages of detailed outline with dialogue notes—I mean, I do, right? I have the whole book in front of me. I read it again in October and wrote out character notes and plot points to emphasize, but . . . Come on. I think having an already-written-masterpiece in my hands takes some of stress away. :)

So that's my reports, my friends! How are you doing? Week 2, here we come! :)

M. T. Anderson Charms Sheboygan

Beautiful lake-side Sheboygan hosted its second annual Children’s Book Festival on October 14-16. I drove 90 minutes east on Saturday, October 15, to join 3 dozen teens and adults listen to Matthew Tobin Anderson speak on the mythology of American landscape.

We gathered at 1:00 at Sheboygan’s Mead Public Library. It’s a wide-windowed library, one clearly well-loved and well-funded. The third floor holds the children’s library as well as the Maas Teen Learning Center, a long conference-like room wrapped in aqua and cobalt blue. I studied the orange, green, and maize squares of the carpet while eavesdropping as a volunteer encouraged Anderson to order something to eat between sessions. He responded with gentle embarrassment, asking her often “Really?” and then joking of needing a filet mignon, medium-rare.

His voice, by the way, is as rich as James Spader’s. Think Steff in “Pretty in Pink.” Yet he’s funny and disarming. My god, it’s like he’s Duckie and Steff rolled into one—how’s a girl to learn anything when confronted with such a package? Especially when the package is wearing salmon-colored All Stars.

He began his 30-minute talk, and I did my best to pay attention. I was distracted by visions of my parents NOT having moved from Massachusetts when I was a baby. Then Anderson and I could have been next-door neighbors. We could have biked to the Carnegie-era brick library together and whispered among the pages of Conan the Barbarian, writing fake names in the yellowed check-out cards.

Clearly, I’m crushing on the M. T. Where is his fan page? I looked. Couldn’t find one. Seriously? No one is tracking his tours? What he had for lunch? (It was a ham sandwich.) Come on, cyber world. Start obsessing about quality, will you? There’s quality here, wearing pinkly-orange Chucks.

Okay—back to the conference room. Anderson began with a humble note that he’d had only one connection to Wisconsin—he had met our Butter Queen at a friend’s wedding. “I had expected her to be a greasier, more gelatinous creature,” he quipped, “but she was quite a lovely person.”

Landscape was his topic—our own rugged, revised American landscape. His devotion to landscape developed as a child reading adventure stories and histories that recorded folks doing on paper what largely is lost in the lives of the modern American: discovering vast, howling wildernesses. He was enraptured by the romance of geography and the mood of space.

How right and yet how surprising for me to consider America full of romance and mood. I fall into the spell—as he notes many writers do—of the magic of medieval Europe, of its henges and moors, its castles and lochs. But America is rich with its own witchery and lore. To that end, Anderson makes a point of collecting local ghost stories. Not only do they detail new, often private locations, but they poignantly display what he describes as the poetry of American emptiness—that loneliness that comes with night time walks in wide meadows and deep forests. The tellers of these tales, he says, are often more entertaining than the ghosts, themselves.

I have learned that author Linda Godfrey collected Wisconsin’s monster stories and is sharing them at the Neenah Library in a couple of weeks. My middle schoolers and I will be in the front row. How perfect an opportunity to experience local ghost stories with newly-opened minds. We will hear not only about UFO sightings and haunted locales, but we will hopefully see the landscape of our own state unfold ornately before us.

His presentation included layers of tales about a small settlement named Dog Town in Massachusetts. I suppose it would be rude for me to reproduce his notes, right? In brief, he showed pictures of the current location and told stories of the town from the 17th, 18th, 19th, and 20th centuries. The stories built up: what did happen, what happened in reaction to what happened, what happened on top of that, and then Anderson’s own jokey bits added on top of that—all of the area’s history of sadness, all of the magic of human involvement and connection, and all of the loneliness of the trees and boulders that carry centuries of secrets—these things together build landscape.

Landscape should be a more emotionally potent force in our stories than even our characters.

Now are we all in love? Because we should be. A Harvard-educated, National Book Award-winning author just shared brilliant stuff that will change our books forever, and he did it with generosity of spirit and maybe even a twinkle in his eye.

During Q & A time, an enthusiastic teen asked how in the world Anderson wrote in such varying voices. Particularly, Whales on Stilts contrasts with the sober tone of The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing. Anderson revealed that he actually wrote those books simultaneously. Researching his 18th century story thrust him deep into that odd, stylized, gracious tone that referred to breeches, not pants, and required specific buckles on each shoe. Giving himself a holiday, he created the Pals in Peril series. Taking three or four weeks to write Whales on Stilts, he got his irreverence out, and he was ready to revisit Octavian’s sobriety.

His books were piled for purchase in the children’s library, and I picked up both Octavian Nothing and the latest Pals in Peril. I stood between a group of four teens, each holding a copy of Feed, and an area teacher carrying two or three plastic bags bulging with books. I thought it was fantastic how he so clearly delights readers of all ages.




This is M.T. Anderson NOT in Sheboygan. I have no pictures of him in Sheboygan because I was a bit too shy. But look at the socks. And read his books and website. And fall in love as you should and must.

Poetry Workshop with Ellen Kort

On Saturday, October 8, I was sitting with three dozen poets listening to the great, gentle Ellen Kort share her wisdom,

Kort was Wisconsin's first poet laureate serving 2000-2004, with Denise Sweet following her from 2004-2008. An interesting bit of dark triva: Governor Scott Walker terminated the position of poet laureate in February of this year, ending the term of our third laureate, Bruce Dethlefsen. Dethlefsen, along with the Wisconsin Poet Laureate Commission, is seeking to sustain the role through non-profit support.

We didn't meditate on politics together, however; we jumped right into poetry exercises. Kort's first admonishment for us was to Love Ourselves in our poems. "Don't beat yourself up," she said, "no matter where you are."

Our first task, then, was to write a poem called "Autobiography." Her challenge was for us, along with being kind with ourselves, to write as fast as we could without thinking about what came out.

We shared the resulting "spillings" as we felt moved. Part of mine reads,

I am not what you think I am.
Wide eyes suggest a cartoon-watching
cocoa-puff munching, mall-loving, hair-curling--
Okay, I do curl my hair. My spirit curls
iron, though, ripped
with muscles, reps upon reps I heave,
working out with weights of patience,
of self-sacrifice
of watching others,
and of listening.
I am leathered skin, long exposed
I am feet crusted with mud
I am callouses
and I am sweat running down a ropish neck
I am the creases between eyebrows when no guiding star is found,
and I am the start of a smile
as an evening breeze startles the wanderer
with its cooling hand.

Sharing our spillings brought the group close--some stumbled as they read their scribbles, others read strong, tight pieces that felt fully-formed.

We were all encouraged to start with spills. That's how most of Korts poems begin, she confided. She said she thinks to herself, "Oh, I should write about that," and she spills. What a good reminder for us future NaNoers, yes? Just spill.

Next, we were encouraged to think about where we are in our family. She read her poems "Seeing Is Believing" and "Drumming," and then"First Ties: The Father in the Mirror" by Bill Meissner. Here is a portion of Meissner's beautifully captured image:

Nothing to a tie, he said.
For those few seconds, his big arms were my arms--
I watched his thick fingers
working the tie,
each time a little
too short or too long.
He leaned his face alongside mine,
And I smelled a sharp scent of Old Spice, heard the hiss of sighs
through his nose, like a car tire losing air,
as he focused on the broad, wrinkled pillar
that would not tie.
Arms that hadn't surrounded me for years
now wrapped me like ribbons. I couldn't pull away
from the rough kiss of whiskers
against my smooth cheek.

The last exercise was the most difficult for me to participate in, but the most enjoyable to listen to. Kort read three poems, each personifying an abstract noun. She had Commitment wearing sensible shoes; Pleasure was underestimated--laughing too loud and drinking too much; and Imagination--oh, what was she like? I think she wore yellow.

We were asked to choose an abstract noun and personify it, and boy, my brain just shut down. I tried giving Truth an irridescent coat that winked new shades as one walked near him. I let Criticism feel tired, wearing sweatpants, looking expectantly out the window for someone who never comes. I couldn't make it work. But my classmates! They blew me away! Modesty wore sweeping skirts and never asked questions, but a silver toe ring and an emerald pendant flashed at a careful watcher. Curiosity was a three-year-old, sleeping nightly on a soft pillow of no judgment. Betrayal met a girlfriend for coffee, warmed her into confiding, and then stabbed her friend's back while hugging her goodbye. Certainty mowed his yard at right angles and wakes late at night but won't talk about it. Contradiction was that uncle--not the favorite one--who started fights at family dinners. They were so fantastic. How I wish we could get a compilation of those poems--a little keepsake from sharing a bright blue October morning with some gifted writers.

Some last words of wisdom that Kort shared were
Don't justify what you write to yourself or to others.
Do not whine about not having time or energy.
Do not repeat a line at the end in attempt to add weight or significance. Let the verbs and nouns you've used throughout the poem do that work.
And do not undercut a fine poem with a last line of humor. Good funny poems are a joy; but tacking a joke on the end of serious poem rarely works.

What a morning of wisdom! Thank you so much, Ellen Kort, for passing your knowledge and experience on to us. And thank you to the FVUUF for hosting the workshop. It was a truly inspiring morning.

I'll end with a poem by Ellen Kort.

Argument

She didn't talk to him
for an entire day
lost herself in a book
to avoid looking at him
and when he asked why
she told him to leave her alone

He slammed the cupboard doors
flipped through the TV channels
looking for football wrestling
NASCAR He turned the volume up
hoping she'd come downstairs
so he could tell her
he was pissed really pissed

She took the dog for a walk
He fell asleep in the chair
She took a long hot bath
He smoked a cigarette
She made herself a salad
He friend a hamburger
They moved in and out
of the kitchen careful
not to brush against each other
She ate at the table a candle
burning in the center
He at in the living room
by the light of the television

And the anger was delicious

Shush, Slush. Hush.

I've been thinking about Laura Miller's article on the slush pile today. The Salon article, which is entitled, "When Anyone Can Be a Published Author," has the tagline, "How do you find something good to read in a brave new self-published world?"

At first I thought the article simply showed what an absolutely fan-glorious-tastic world we new writers are entering. Miller writes, "Aspiring authors have never had more or better options for self-publishing the manuscripts currently gathering dust in their desk drawers or sleeping in seldom-visited corners of their hard drives. Writers can upload their works to services run by Amazon, Apple and (soon) Barnes and Noble, transforming them into e-books that are instantly available in high-profile online stores."

WOOO-HOOO!
;)

It can't be that easy, right? Of course not. Miller takes this dizzingly-delicious view of the future writing world and looks through the perspective of the reader.

The reader. Bah. Who cares about the reader? ;)

Oh, wait. I'm totally a reader. Just finished The Sugar Queen (glittery gold star for magical realism!) Have revisited the old Anne of Green Gables series this summer for a little comfort, a little familiarity. Am tearing through Ash so I can write Malinda Lo a thick, oozy fan letter. I love, super-love, triple-scoop love reading.

So what does the future look like for me, the reader? Not so brilliant.

What tired editors and over-worked junior editors do is suffer through slush piles. They read thousands--thousands!--of unsolicited manuscripts a year to hunt for that one lost jewel of a tight, witty, relevant novel. Miller paints a bleak, albeit hilarious, picture:

"It seriously messes with your head to read slush. Being bombarded with inept prose, shoddy ideas, incoherent grammar, boring plots and insubstantial characters -- not to mention ton after metric ton of clichés -- for hours on end induces a state of existential despair that's almost impossible to communicate to anyone who hasn't been there themselves. . . . Instead of picking up every new manuscript with an open mind and a tiny nibbling hope, you learn to expect the worst. Because almost every time, the worst is exactly what you'll get. In other words, it's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it, and if the prophecies of a post-publishing world come true, it looks, gentle readers, as if that dirty job will soon be yours. Also, no one will pay you for it."

I am fascinated and horrified by this. Fascinated because it will be so interesting to watch slow, subtle changes: what determines 'good' in popular fiction, what 'bad' writing will do to good writers, and how the languages of readers, writers, critics, and publishing may muddle so Babel-badly that understanding among them will disappear.

I am horrified by this idea, really, because it reminds me that I am just slush. Slush! One of hundreds of thousands of unsolicited manuscripts, of red-eyed, chipped-nailed dreamers begging the gods and unseen, exhausted editors for my one chance at immortality. It is such a sad idea that I doubt my little story. My little, torn, shorn story that isn't ready for anyone's eyes yet--I look at it and wonder if it could ever rise above the slush pile. How do you keep going when the terrors and bogeymen of Cliches, of Boring Plots and Shoddy Ideas loom and leap and lurk? What gives you confidence when the slush doesn't hush?

Is This Week 1? and Writery Treats

This week was peppered with writery treats. One brought snuggish sighs, one giggles, and one barbaric yawps.

First, I finished Beautiful Creatures by Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl. It's a rain-drenched, small-town mystery well over 500 pages, offering some terrific stuff for readers and writers: gorgeous southern setting, a newness to the old (and fading) tale of supernaturally-crossed love. Heart-melting bad-guy-making-good-choices with the drawl and self-possession of Val Kilmer's Doc Holliday in Tombstone (love, love!). Also, great lessons on character. Most of them--protagonist Ethan, his green-eyed mystery girl, Ethan's recluse father, bff/goofball Link, razor-sharp town librarian--are relatable and consistent with unique p.o.v's delivered in strong dialogue. Not perfect (what is?), but captivating. Fantastic with ginger tea and chocolates! ;)

Speaking of good writing, Salon's Laura Miller posted an amusing article on bad writing today. In her article, she included a link to a story about the Inklings--that group of smarty-smarts like C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkein who would gather to read and discuss their writing. Well, the Inklings would gather and challenge one another to read from a certain novel, Irene Iddesleigh, by Amanda McKittrick Ros. The challenge was to read as far into the novel as one could without laughing. How mean! And how hilarious! Imagine those dusty, brilliant, tweeded professors with pink cheeks and glittering eyes, stifling their laughter. According to the linked article, Ros has earned the title "The Greatest Bad Writer Who Ever Lived." Isn't that provocative? Don't you want to read her books just to find out? I see one of her novels is available on Amazon for $250. :( What a loss. Don't you think we could learn so much to read the worst writing ever?) How I would love to play the Inklings' game.

Last, I found a new writer to love this week. Has anyone read Malinda Lo's Ash? I haven't yet, but I saw it was on UW-Madison's recommended reading for 2010, so I looked Lo up. And she is fierce! Unapologetic! Have I been worrying about the pull and suck of blogging? Malinda has a list of thoughtful blogging policies. Have I been stressing out about how to review the YA books I've been reading (Struts and Frets, A Kiss in Time) that haven't thrilled me? Malinda declares that reviews are useful for readers, but not at all for writers, and she "refuse[s] to be drawn into the psychosis-inducing vortex of Amazon/Goodreads/Google doom that befalls many writers!" Check her out if you need some strong talk. She has great tidbits on writing books and publishing as well.

So, speaking of writing books . . . who out there is writing a book? Who wrote a scene that surprised you? Who watched a character make a choice you had no idea was coming? Who wrote something on page 112 that is going to change everything that character did in the previous 111 pages? :) This is our glory, yes? Our delight. I got out 3300 words this week. I wanted more, but I'm shirking a scene.

I'll tell you a secret: I think I need to drink a little too much to write a certain scene. Is that a cop out, do you think? Too naughty? Too irresponsible? But I'm not channeling my inner Hemingway; I'm channeling my inner Bridget Jones. :) In Fielding's second novel (nothing like the movie!), Bridget writes Christmas cards while polishing off a bottle of wine. You can imagine, her letters get more and more revealing. I want to write a scene that sounds something like Bridget writing a Christmas letter to her boss, ending with (something like--I'm paraphrasing!), "and I love you not just as a boss but as a man."

What do you think? Should we all get a little shliquored, write, and then share what came out? Could be totally fuu-uun (needly sing-song). ;) Oh, man. What would Kay Ryan say?

:)

One More Round?

High fives, my friends! Clinks of crystal goblets glittering with champagne! Noogies, hugs, fist-pumps (and/or fist-bumps), and cheers led by team captain, Jennie! What an extraordinary achievement: to have committed to writing for a month, and to share that month's ups and downs together. So brave! So vulnerable! So awesome! I couldn't be more delighted to be among you all. What a treat to have traveled this road with you.
We each came into this venture at different spots of our novels: jldy, just beginning a long-loved story; DM giving fresh eyes to a story you've been working on (and living out in your imagination) for three years. Jennie, in the delicious throes of following a story that you had developed well but that was twisting its own plot, and I was pushing through a story I had started in November but really hadn't devoted time to until Laini Taylor called for a mini-nano in March.

So where did we end up? Did we meet any personal goals? Or was this month really just about developing: developing both our stories and ourselves?

I don't think I could list all the lessons and blessings I gathered through this experience.

You three are enormous blessings. (With the door always open for new writers. We're a friendly bunch; come join us!)

I learned that most of us have "the sky was purple" moments, and I also (humbly!) learned that it's probably better that the sky was purple rather than "the amethyst twilight kissed the tips of the quivering aspen while the June breezes slipped in and out of Carla's red curls, blah, blah, blah."


This lesson is due to a fantastic essay on how important it is to write like we talk. Author Timothy Hallinan shares this fantastic piece of advice: Read it [your story] aloud to someone you like and trust – someone like your ideal reader. It's amazing how the better pieces of writing zip right by when you're reading your work to someone, and how the less-good patches seem to take longer to get through. You can actually feel the energy – both yours and your listener's – flag when the over-written material makes its appearance. Circle or underline those passages and keep reading. You'll come back to them during your next writing session.

Note to self: NO OVERWRITING

I also learned to stop taking my issues out on the NaNo. Poor NaNo. I gave it a hard time last week. :) To make up, I'll share this wildly successful NaNo story:

Stephanie Perkins wrote a novel during the 2007 NaNo WriMo. She cleaned it up, sent it to an agent, sold it to an editor, cleaned it up a bazillion times more, and her novel Anna and the French Kiss is coming out this winter. Hurray Stephanie!! Bravo for drive and resilience and creativity and--lest I forget to say it--hurray for the NaNo that brought you and Anna together! :) (Seriously, click on her name and then scroll down a little in her blog. She lists the events of the whole whirlwindish ride. Totally inspiring.)

So are we going to go again? One more ride on the roller coaster? Are we up to sharing out ups, and down with sharing our downs?

I'm totally in.

In March, I wrote 14,000 words; in April, 9400. I would love to finish the bare-bones of this story in May--another 7,000? And then start revising.

What do you say?

It's within view, guys! :) Can we make it through the poppies? Will weariness overtake us?

Week 3: SCBWI and the Fab Four

Two years ago, I went to a book signing to meet Thomas Maltman. He was a teacher at Silver Lake College where I had started taking grad courses. Strange as it sounds, Tom was my advisor, but we had never met. Our schedules constantly conflicted. Luckily, my husband and I had a little time to chat with Tom that Thursday night at Conkey's Bookstore in Appleton. We asked him about his writing, and asked for his autograph, and then I shyly mentioned I had written a story. He asked me about it, and I blundered through a hazy explanation. He said it sounded interesting and that I could send it to him if I wanted.

Okay. Is it clear that Thomas Maltman is a good, good person? Because, who does that? Who takes interest in a stranger's obviously amateur work and asks to see it? Almost no one. Beautiful Thomas Maltman and his lovely, haunting book, The Night Birds.

Nervously, I emailed my story to him. He emailed back with kind words, saying the story was Grimmish--high praise!--and he passed it on to an editor friend of his.

His editor friend, Nick Healy, from Compass Point Books/Picture Window Books, wrote six months later. He said the writing was strong and fresh and the plot was original. His publishing house didn't work with fantasy picture books, unfortunately. His best suggestion was for me to connect myself with SCBWI, the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators.

Is it also clear that Nick Healy is a good, good person? Because, how many manuscripts do editors page through? Not only to read my story but to respond personally to me, an utterly untrained, unagented novice, was a gracious gesture.

I had never heard of SCBWI. Having no real sense of what good it could do, I signed up February 2009, paid the dues, and received a membership card. Then I had a baby. :)

This tale is my twisty-turny homage to two kind strangers who helped me find my way to Milwaukee last Saturday to listen to editor Molly O'Neill speak at the SCBWI-Wisconsin chapter's Spring Luncheon. Saturday's event was my first real introduction into the world of children's book writers. Guys, it was fantastic! What I got out of it the most was, we--all four of us--can absolutely do this. This is a world we belong in!

Molly O'Neill is passionate about books. She spoke frankly on how we can write a story that makes editors fall in love. She also explained an editor's journey, from loving a story, to considering seriously who else would love it, to talking about it constantly to her peers and colleagues. She shared an honest fact: if she loves a story, but can't see how it could sell well, she won't sign that author on because she would be doing a disservice to that author. Creating a bad sales record actually hurts an author in future endeavors. Interesting, isn't it? As we write our first drafts, we (I) just dream of getting a contract. Sales--marketing, publicity, awards, book lists--are vital. We need to reach for them, somehow, too. But without looking like we are. Right? Maybe even without telling ourselves we are. Hmm. Wouldn't you love to hear what published authors think about this issue?

SCBWI offers its members tons of support. Critiqe groups and listserv chat-groups. Workshops throughout the year as well as regional seminars and retreats. Editors, agents, and published writers are invited to speak. I heard a handful of success tales about how members met agents and editors at society events who bought their stories. In fact, those who attended the luncheon get to send Molly one manuscript this year. I'm crossing all my fingers that my story can be one she'll fall in love with. :)

So. How did I do this week? My goal was 6000 words. I wrote 1900. Yowza.

But I brainstormed more this morning, and I've got a good feeling. I expanded the setting: more space, more time. I'm jumping into week 4 with another goal of 6000 and a determination to meet it. Crazy-congratulations to Jennie for exceeding her 6000 words last week! Bravo!! Your enthusiasm for your story, the love-affair you have with your characters, is truly inspirational. :)

DM, how's chapter 14? And is chapter 15 outlined and ready to go? jldy, how are you doing? You've got some foundations set, and now you're slowly building, right? Tell us how you power through.

What secret did you learn about yourself this week? Better yet, what did you learn about a character? I learned a character really likes "The Wizard of Oz." How cool of her! I had no idea before last Tuesday when she started talking about playing "Dark Side of the Moon" while watching the movie.

My character's obssession with Oz makes me think of us a little bit. The Technicolor Fab Four, skipping down our yellow brick road toward the Emerald Publishing House. We can help each other along the way: put out fires, wake each other when we get poppy-sleepy, and oil each other's creaky joints. :) What do you think?

Weee're off! Week 4, here we come!

Wisconsin Loves James DeVita

Or at least, I do.

Which is not to say that my report on his visit to Neenah last Wednesday for our annual Fox Cities Book Festival will be more detailed than my report on Gennifer Choldenko. In fact, I have less to share. I didn't notice a food table, and I didn't notice what he was wearing, and I didn't take time to count the attendants. I just watched and listened and tried desperately not to reveal the giddily-manic-high-school-fan waving frantically inside me.

James began his talk explaining how teachers and librarians played key roles in his pursuing a writing career. Posted by his computer is a note from his 6th grade teacher encouraging him to keep at it. And libraries are where he learned everything about the writing world--how to write a children's book, how to write a query letter, how to submit manuscripts, and then, what to do when his manuscript's been rejected.

I couldn't help but be encouraged to hear how he succeeded publishing Blue and The Silenced in this quiet, persistent way. I can appreciate that an author doesn't necessarily need to be polished and grooomed for the publishing world in order to get published.

He shared then how it actually took him until age 30 to ever show anyone his writing. It took him that long to get the nerve, he said. "I write fat and fast," he said. "It's kind of sloppy at first, and I've come to accept that. Just getting ideas out--it's rough, and bad, and humble. It took me years to be brave about being bad in front of my peers."

He recommended Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott as wonderfully funny and really useful for new writers. He confessed he had a literary crush on Anne. She visited Madison where she has a huge band of followers, and he stood in line with a hundred people to meet her. He said he was a mess--his voice went up three octives, he was hot, mumbling, and altogether lame. She, of course, was gracious and lovely. :)

He talked next about the origins of his new book. The idea for his recent YA novel, The Silenced, first came in the late 90s when a school asked him to write a play about youth violence. James had made his career as an actor, training in New York and UW Milwaukee, working as a classical actor at the American Players Theater in Spring Green, WI. As he researched for his play on bullying and violence, he queried thousands of kids. He found that students wanted to talk less about bullying and more about what the schools were doing to maintain safety (this is when talk about arming teachers and profiling students was in effect). Students were buzzing over the issue of how much of our lives are we willing to give up for our own safety?

Around the same time, James was writing another play, The Rose of Treason, an inspiring story of German WWII protester Sophie Scholl. Twenty-one year-old Sophie and her university friends were the first to resist the Nazis. They would type up leaflets describing Nazi activity and pass the papers out covertly at movie theaters, drop them in doorways, mail them from out of town--all in an effort to inform and move Germans who didn't know or didn't want to know what was happening.

Here James shared something extremely interesting. He said that he writes about things that bug him, things he doesn't understand. "I write the questions. I want to think I would be a good man and help my neighbor. But then, they [totalitarian regime] would come and take my two children. So would I? I want to ask these questions. I don't know."

I think this is fascinating, and really appealing as a reader. I love that he doesn't offer the reader a didactic morality tale; he doesn't craft and manipulate in the worst way writers can--puffed with propaganda or trite lessons (think Richard Paul Evans). I live that he explores, and we join him. I think that method of storytelling shares a lot of the responsibility of the story with the reader, and it offers the reader a great deal of respect.

Next in the program, James read what was one of my favorite scenes in the story, when the students' art class is stripped of all projects, the windows are painted over, and students are drilled by Mr. Greengritch (a sizzling antagonist) to embrace the body and deny the individual. "You see people, you live like you're all so different and unique, like you're all so special. Well, you're not! Mommy and Daddy lied. And starting now, this facility will no longer tolerate any differences whatsoever." Chilling stuff.

The last portion of James' presentation was Q&A. I asked him to share his writing process, and if large amounts of coffee were involved. He laughed and said yes, he poured about seven cups of coffee (leaving one for his wife so she wouldn't kill him) into a big green mug and walked out back to his writing studio. Leaving home was important, he said, to step away from the daily routine. Then, his first job is shutting off the 'screaming monkeys,' the voices in his head that criticize and nag. "I just shut that off and tell myself to write one sentence. Then another. I say 'Shut up and write,' I actually do that. When I'm on a roll, I don't hear them."

His process is similar to Timothy Hallinan 's suggested steps to writing: he starts the day by reviewing what he wrote the day before. That way, by the time he hits the blank page, he's on a writing roll. He reminded us new writers that writing is like driving in the dark with your headlights on: you can only see what's directly in front of you. But if you drive a little farther, you'll see a little farther. If you stay still, you won't see new terrain. So stay in your chair, if nothing else. And try to drive your story a little bit farther.

Brilliant stuff. Thank you so much, James DeVita! And many thanks to the board of the Fox Cities Book Festival for coordinating such a stellar event.

Week 2 Check-in Time

Happy Wednesday morning, fellow writers!

How did you do? How are you feeling?

This week, I came to accept something about my writing style: I don't formally outline. I don't story map. This is my dirty little secret that I'd love to chat about with you, my circle of writing friends.

To serve as my story compass, I have about 200 words of an idea I came up with in November. As I read and reread that short paragraph each morning, I imagine how my characters will somehow embody this idea. I write a sentence or two, like Get her to the bathroom, or picks a rose then meets friends at fountain, and that instruction serves as a goal post for the day's writing. Laini Taylor talks about how sometimes writing feels like you're whacking through thick jungle overgrowth, and I've come to terms that my storytelling is VERY jungle-whacky.





I wonder how you approach storytelling. I have the inside skinny on the DMs style--you've got the whole story in your head, right? I can't tell you how this boggles my mind. To sit down and know of course this fellow is going here, of course this plot twist will arrive there. You should tell us more about this. It seems an enormously precious gift that you should share. :)

My original goal this week was 1500 words, then I upped it to 6000. I wrote 4500. Week 3's goal will be 6000. I'd really love to plough to the end of my story by April 30 so I can start from the beginning and weed, prune, and graft. You know, move from my exploratory 'zero' draft to draft 1. :)

p.s. This is totally snooty, but I read a post on Open Salon this morning, one that lamented the writer's plight--primarily, being surrounded by wannabe, bloggy writers--and advised us all that if we are happy doing anything else, please, please don't be a writer. I just want to say I think this is nonsense. I think anyone who wants to write should write. I've read so often that shtick, "Writing is so hard; if you're happy teaching, teach. If you're happy laying brick, lay brick. Leave the writing for the writers; only we know how tedious and back-breaking it truly is." Non. Sense. Writing is not exclusive. Only an exclusive group will earn fame and fortune, but the telling of stories, the airing of views, the relating of facts and finds--that's open to everyone.

Week 1 Check-in Time

Hello! A couple of us have decided to band together and write our way through April. The first full week of April has passed--it's time to report. How are you doing?

I'll admit that this week was a great one--but for so many other things than writing. The sun was out, so Clara and I took many walks in her wagon. We played in the park altogether. Easter and family and a birthday party ruled the weekend. In short, I let many loves fill up the week, and my story-love suffered. I wrote 450 words. That's it. They're interesting words, but they are so few.

Last month, when I was struggling with my story, Laini Taylor recommended the book Page after Page by Heather Sellers. It came in the mail yesterday, and I've enjoyed reading it. Sellers meditates a lot on the resistance we put up as soon as we start a New Great Thing:

"I will write. In our minds we say: I'll incorporate more writing, better writing, into my life. Then when it comes down to doing the new thing, we say no. In so many ways, big and small, we say no. Can't do it. The thing we want seems good in our head; the reality of practicing it feels very different.
We tend to sketch out how things should be and then they play out quite differently. We don't like that. I want to learn to write. But not this way. I want to learn the new thing. Not in this way.
That's how it was, exactly, for me. I wanted to learn some more yoga techniques. I signed up for class and paid in advance. I bought a new sticky mat, and another book on yoga, and I went to my first class. I sat cross-legged. I wanted to learn yoga. But not from that teacher who was chubby and odd and not very good. . .
Whenever you take a class or buy a book or start a new endeavor, it won't be how you expect. You have to figure out how to learn from that class. That book. That particular endeavor. You have to let it teach you. Resistance is our way of shutting down fear."

It seems clear I've resisted my stories this week. I'm trying to hush my mind to hear why. And I think, for me, the reasons are common ones: I'm afraid the story on paper won't look like the story in my head. And I don't really know what's going to happen. Two big fears that keep me from the computer and usher me outside in the April sun with my baby.

So my goal for Week 2? 1500 words, and facing my fears. Letting the stuff on paper be what it is. And--the bigger of the two fears--facing the unknown with my characters and letting them guide me on the honest plot path.

How did you do this week? What did you learn? And what are your goals for Week 2? Jo and Jay, I look forward to hearing from you!

April Is a Month for Writers

What a delicious month for writers April seems to be! It’s as if poets and editors, authors and illustrators pop up with the daffodils and remind us with a shake of their golden heads what a brilliant community we share.

First, of course, we celebrate National Poetry Month. I know folks celebrate in multitudes of ways. I’m pulling out my Poetry Speaks collection to listen to the greats read their work. (Favorite? By far, Yeats’ dreamy Lake Isle of Innisfree) Check out 30 Ways to Celebrate from Poets.org for ideas on how to join in the revelry.

Next we welcome authors and illustrators to Northeast Wisconsin for our 3rd annual Fox Cities Book Festival. I am especially looking forward to the YA writers this year, Gennifer Choldenko and James DeVita.

I hope I attend both of their sessions. I hope I don’t clam up and crawl into bed and pretend I’m sick when I should be heading out the door to hear them at the Neenah Library. The truth is I’m star-struck by both. Gennifer has this delightfully successful life that I yearn for.

Need I say more? :)

Jimmy, well, he is and will always be Jimmy DeVita, heartthrob of Spring Green’s American Players Theater. I’ve seen him play Dromio, Romeo, Angelo, Benedick, Antonio . . . and finally, after 16 years, I’ll have a chance to see him as himself. The idea is daunting. But his books Blue and The Silenced are so intriguing that I think attending his talk will be worth the butterflies.

April also invites members and non-members alike to attend the SCBWI-WI Spring Luncheon. Molly O’Neill, assistant editor at Katherine Tegen Books, will be speaking. I’ve been reading her blog, and I can’t wait to meet her. She seems both whimsical (watching elephants march through NYC at midnight? How charming is that?) and fiercely--gosh, what's the word? Determined? Capable? Grounded? No matter what, I'm looking forward to learning from her. I hope to meet her, too. Any tips from scbwi members for a newbie attending her first local conference?

And of course, April will welcome all of us writing our zero drafts with Laini Taylor to continue the work we started in March. One or two amazing souls completed their projects, but the majority of us have much left to write. I can't say what an encouragement this group of women has been to me. Knowing I have to post a number count each Wednesday with them has goaded me to the computer like no other motivation has. I consider myself dizzyingly lucky to play on the same team with them all.

Really More of a Sprinter . . .

I've never run a marathon. I did a 5k ten years ago, and you know, how could I not be proud of the gold medal that I (and 15 others) received that bright Saturday? However, I'm usually really ready to be done moving after two miles. Going the distance? Meh. Not so much my thing. I'm more into snacks. Watching snow fall. Smelling pretty soaps.

Honestly, coming to terms with my lack of stamina is oozing out this week more than ever before. The scoop is that not only do I love reading YA fiction, I seriously want to put out some stories of my own. So I signed up with Laini Taylor and two dozen strong-willed writers to pound out a rough draft of my current work-in-progress by the end of the month. (Check it out and join the fun! www.growwings.blogspot.com )To accomplish this goal, I genuinely need to write 1100 words a day. We've all been at it for five days now, and I am flat-out, nose-to-the-ground exhausted.

Who knew writing took this much work? :)

My brain hurts. My eyes hurt. My ears hurt--straining to hear the conversations, the background noises, the scratches, the breaths that my characters hear.

So, okay, I get it. You can't be a sprinter and hope to win a marathon. Writing 200 words a day between baby cries and laundry cycles wasn't getting a book written; it was just fanning the dream of the someday, the I hope to be. At best, I could hope for a plastic medal on a nylon ribbon at the end of the Door County Fun Run.

I saw Billy Collins many years ago at a poetry reading. He told a story about how a man asked him his vocation, and Billy said, "I'm a poet." The man nodded enthusiastically, gestured toward the young girl next to him, and said, "Oh, my daughter writes poetry."
Billy told us that he wished, later, that the conversation had continued; that he could have asked the man, "Oh, and what do you do?" and the man would have said, "I'm a banker." Then Billy could have gestured to the toddler next to him and have said, "Oh, my son plays with loose change."

I've been playing with loose change and calling myself a banker.


What an excellent and awful lesson to learn. :)