The Journey

As a stay-at-home mom who moonlights as a writer, I’ve experimented with various ways to make time to write. I’ve managed over two years to write three and a half novel-length manuscripts and three picture books. When I look at it that way, I have to say I’m proud. But here’s the disclaimer, in the form of a question:

How was the journey?

I’m sure you’ve heard the quip “It’s not the journey—it’s the destination.” And I’m guessing you’ll agree that when you’re looking for a paycheck, the destination becomes a little more important. Though I’ve yet to receive compensation for anything I’ve written, I’m right there with you.

But I’ve had a couple of experiences where the journey was so rocky I just about stopped writing altogether. A few months back, I spread myself too thin by, among other things, working on three manuscripts at once—two in revision and one first draft. I was extremely excited about each project, but my head was spinning with all the plot strands to rework, characters to make more dimensional, and endings to tighten up (or write at all). I managed to make myself physically sick.

Last June I started to work on a fourth manuscript, hoping to complete it with Camp NaNoWriMo (see previous post). The nausea picked up again, and I did not want a repeat attack. Writing—my creative outlet that I enjoy and crave—would have to lay low for a while. I just completed that manuscript, but barely.

Summer can feel over the top—there are way too many hikes to do, family trips to take, and honey-do-lists to complete.  So I’ve learned that it might not be the best time for me to write. Winter, when I can hunker down, turn inward, and actually have “work “ days, may just be a better time. This winter, I’m going to pace myself, work on one manuscript at a time, and generally try to make choices that don’t result in me screaming for more time to write or send me to bed to calm my frenetic mind. I do find it ironic that shorter days might be a more effective and rewarding time to write.

How do you make time to write? What pitfalls have you faced when working on—and balancing—multiple projects? Is there a time of year that suits your creative self?

Elephant, Piggie, and a Broken Heart

I just spent 13 hours driving from Jackson to Bend in one day. Car rides with my 3 year-old have suddenly become fun and bearable.

During one of my turns in the back seat (aka, the entertainment seat), we were reading Mo Willems’ Are You Ready To Play Outside? (in the Elephant and Piggie series). Whenever I read one of Willems’ books, especially the ones in this series, I marvel at how Willems is a master at writing age-appropriate inference. Often times, I will read a story to Karsten and feel the need to explain something that is inferred, but not specially mentioned or shown. But when I read Willems’ books, I hold back. Elephant and Piggie are drawn with such amazing body language, that kids can infer so much from their expressions. Then, the characters reinforce that inference with dialog. After many reads, during which I would tell Karsten what Piggie was feeling (based on the illustrations) and then have her tell us the same thing herself, I realized just how brilliant Willems is. He encourages kids to really observe the characters (shown in the minimalism of the illustrations) and then confirms their inference with natural (and funny) dialog. My husband is a kindergarten teacher and he agrees. Willems is a master.

Take two. We’re listening to some mix CD from a former student of my husband. Taio Cruz (I didn’t know who we was before this song) croons a peppy rap song, Break Your Heart. The song tells girls not to fall in love with Cruz, because he will break their hearts. Enter inference gone wrong.

After hearing the song, Karsten had this response:

“Breaking your heart sounds like a bad idea because it would take all your love away.”

Collective aawwww, right?

Karsten was visibly shaken. He didn’t want his heart to be broken. My husband had to convince him that we had so much love for him that his heart could never break. (How’s that for setting him up for teenage heartbreak?) When the song came on again later, Karsten thought that the singer was going to cut us all open and take our hearts out. It was getting worse with each listen.

It really struck me then how Karsten takes things so literally. (And how well he listens when I think he’s not. And how little I actually listen to song lyrics.) He’s a pretty emotionally sensitive child, and I realize I want to be aware of what I’m exposing him to. I’m not sure when it’s developmentally appropriate to understand the abstract meaning behind Cruz’s song, but for now, for a while really, I think it will be fine to stick with Mo Willems.

The Subjectivity of Art

Every writer who’s ever submitted a manuscript—of any kind—hopes that the receiving agent or editor will instantly fall in love the work.  And it happens. It must, we pre-published writers insist, because we know that the books we read were chosen. It just happens rarely.

A recent rejection letter I received—which BTW was kind, professional, and supportive, even without anything specific to my submission—claimed that the agent was very picky about the work he chooses to represent and will only select manuscripts he can support 100%. Sounds fair. Shoot, sounds like what I would want—either as a writer or an agent. He went on to say that the business is subjective, and that he hoped my project would find an agent who would love it 100%.  Not only fair, it also implied that an agent might currently exist who will love my manuscript, even as it had been rejected thus far.

This got me to thinking about subjectivity. And realizing that I am being unfair in directing my frustration at agents. Come on, I think. Won’t one of you just love my story already? This kind of thinking is unfair because as I reader I can be just as picky.

On my Goodreads account, I rate the novels I’ve read, though I rarely give a review (just not enough time right now). I went back and checked the novels I’d given 5 stars to. 12 out of 165. That’s just 7%. Not very many.

Ratings are a funny thing. For example, I enjoy Cassandra Clare’s books—they often get 4 stars—but find her overuse of semicolons can be tedious at times. Still, she’s got enigmatic characters and great plot twists. I also lovelovelove John Green’s books, all of which have also gotten at least 4 stars (The only one to get 5 was his latest, and a must read, The Fault in Our Stars). Green’s books are intelligent, provocative, and hilarious. Very different from Clare’s (who writes fantasy). How do they both get the same rating? I guess I’m reading them for different reasons, and enjoying them for an even different set reasons. So I’m not sure I can compare them on the same plane. Or at the very least, it is a hard thing to do.

Recently, Katie recommended a book to me. I read it, and found it hard to get into. I ended up skimmed a lot towards the end. Just a week ago, I returned The Book Thief, by Markus Zuzak to the library. Unread. Just couldn’t finish it. Yes, it seemed original and the subject matter interesting. But I just didn’t like it. <Shrug.> I’m just as picky as the agents are.

Now I want to get published like the rest of you (so agents, pick me!), but I now have  a deeper appreciation for what agents are facing when the onslaught of manuscripts downloads into their email system.

Art is a personal, subjective thing. This quality can make it emotional, vulnerable and terrifying. But the same quality is what makes it beautiful. And that’s why I’m still writing.

Camp NaNoWriMo

Camp NaNoWriMo isn’t your ordinary summer camp. There’s no capture the flag (the last time I played the game, my braces ended up going through my bottom lip); no bug juice or grilled cheese made with Kraft singles; no saggy bunk beds or outhouses (yes, my summer camp did have an outhouse!). In other words, Camp NaNoWriMo has none of the good stuff. Just kidding!

Last November, I participated in National Novel Writing Month (aka NaNoWriMo). Basically, a bunch of people (256,618 to be precise) get together as an online motivational writing group to each write their own 50,000 word novel. Many people aim for much higher word counts. Me, I squeaked by with just under 51,000. But I did it! Along 36,843 other people, I was a NaNoWriMo winner.

Basically, I completed the first draft of a young adult novel that I am now actively revising with the help of my critique group. The process of cranking out 50,000 words in 20 days (yes, I finished early) was fascinating. I woke up early and wrote for 30 minutes. If my son played by himself, I spit out another 350 words. When he napped, man, I could sometimes get in 1500. And of course I wrote into the night. I sent daily email updates to family and friends, and the accountability (and some good whip cracking) kept me going. I loved having the deadline and luckily my story flowed out. Of course, now comes the hard part. Revision.

But I’m putting that project aside so I can do Camp NaNoWriMo, a slimmed-down, summer version of the November event. I’ll still post my word count online, but I’m not planning on being as aggressive. (I’m writing this blog now, for example. Last November, I barely spoke to my family). The way I see it, there’s no point in not trying to complete a first draft. So, today as my sick son took his nap at 8:15 am (!!!), I typed out the first 879 words of my new, untitled WIP. Now, last November I managed over 3000 on my first day, so I’ll have to be okay with a slower pace.

I strongly encourage you to experiment with one of these events. They are free to participate in, you get some great discounts on all sorts of writing related things/services, and it’s just darn cool to say that I wrote a novel (albeit a bad one) in a month. Camp NaNoWriMo has two sessions–June and August.  What respectable camp would have only one? And of course, you can join NaNoWriMo in November.

Hope to see you there!

The Lesson of Mulberry Street

27. Maybe 28.

That’s how many times Theodor Geisel’s first book, And to Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street, was rejected before ultimately being picked up by Vanguard. Geisel is better known as Dr. Seuss.

My childhood memories long gone, I have read Seuss’s books countless times as an adult. The Lorax was a staple in my work as an environmental educator. And now my son has started to enjoy Seuss’s early wordplay books such as Hop on Pop and Green Eggs and Ham. It’s hard to imagine that at one point his brilliance was rejected. 27 times. At least.

Rejection is on my mind these days. Or perhaps a better word to use is declination. That was recommended to me as a kinder word for what amounts to someone saying, “You’re not good enough.”

Yes, that’s harsh. But who among you hasn’t felt exactly that?

Try as I might, a tiny voice—negative and persistent—whispers in my ear each time I’ve sent my manuscript out. Of course, another voice—encouraging and hopeful—is also whispering, but you can guess which one maintains a slight edge.

As a writer, I’m a neophyte. I started writing two years ago, am pre-published—another nicety I learned at a conference—and have only sent out my manuscript 15 times, all within the past four months. I’ve gotten 10 rejections. Dr. Seuss claims he almost burned that first manuscript, and I can relate to the urge. But I’m holding on.

At the NYC conference of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI), Jane Yolen admitted that she herself had a desk full of manuscripts that had been repeatedly rejected. If you’re not familiar with her work, rectify that immediately! She’s written over 300 books, including the popular picture books Owl Moon and How Do Dinosaurs Say Goodnight? As with Seuss, it’s hard to imagine someone that prolific and successful ever having their work rejected. On her webpage, Yolen admits, “A writer never gets used to rejections.” I suppose that’s true, though I’ll have to stick with this much longer to appreciate Yolen’s experience.

I’m not sure how she deals with it. As for me, my current critique group is one of the main reasons I’m still writing. (If not, THE.) Sure, my parents and husband are ardent supporters, but that’s kind of written into their contracts, isn’t it? For now, I trust that my critiquers will tell me to shelve a project when I’ve worked it as much as I can or when more opportunities to keep revising remain. Luckily, I still have a bank of stories that I’m yearning to write and share.  I am learning to write just for me, and oh how slow the learning curve is, but if I can allow my love of storytelling to drive my writing, then I will write until my story bank is dried up.

And so I carrying on, like Dr. Seuss did, not fully trusting that I’ll find that right agent, but hoping, deeply hoping to find a match for my manuscript and my career.

How do you keep going in the face of rejection? What are your criteria for putting a project aside? How do know when to make a work extinct versus dormant?

-Joanna

Writing Tip #4,982 – Read the newspaper

Last January, Katie and I attended the NYC conference of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators. As anyone who’s ever been to a conference of 1200+ people can imagine, it was a weekend of contagious energy, slightly numb rear-ends, and spinning minds. No doubt Katie and I could both write endlessly about all the things we thought about at the conference and have discovered since. Today I’d like to talk about ideas and where to find them.

Surely, lots of ideas come from our own experiences or people watching or imagining what-if situations. But Regina Brooks of Serendipity Literary Agency gave me a new idea (though it may be old hat to you). She suggested writing about a current news headline from a child’s perspective. Now I scour the paper for ideas and have a clipping file.

Here’s a sampling from today’s Jackson Hole Daily, a local paper in my hometown:

Latin Resource Center rings in Cinco de Mayo

How ‘endocrine disrupter’ chemicals negatively affect us

4 students killed at Syrian university

Pepsi revives Michael Jackson promotion

and my personal favorite,

Inmates take on cats as pet project

What a range of topics — some political and disturbing, others emotional and heartfelt. And don’t forget, humorous. Think of all the places you could run with any of those headlines. Endocrine disruption could be sci-fi or dystopian. Pepsi and Michael Jackson might inspire a dance-off for a middle grade novel. A dual language book about a community Cinco de Mayo celebration would be fun as well as informative.

The recent news of student deaths in Syria is both shocking and severe, and I apologize if the inclusion of that headline seems to cross some invisible line. But to say that kids — albeit older young adults — wouldn’t be able to handle such a topic would do those readers a disservice. Writing about emotionally and intellectually charged books can be done tastefully and without judgement. Take, for example, Between Shades of Gray by Ruta Sepetys. The book details a teen’s journey during Stalin’s forced relocation of Lithuanians during World War II. Ms. Sepetys’s story is heartbreaking, but so important and eye-opening. So, do not be afraid.

I encourage you to experiment with headlines – for your writing, teaching, or whatever else you do. As for the headlines above, they’re fair game. Let’s see what you can come up with.

I’ve found that I love scouring the paper (and yes, it’s actual paper and not internews, and  yes, I do read the articles) and my clipping file is overflowing. So I say, Thank you, Regina!, and hope that someday I might do one of those headlines justice.

-Joanna

 

Unearthly and Ashfall: A Comparison of YA Themes

I read a lot of young adult fiction, from contemporary coming of age stories to urban fantasy. Very fun stuff. Some of it makes me cry (most notably John Green’s recent work, The Fault in Our Stars) and some has me in stitches (what can I say, The Fault in Our Stars). A good number of current YA novels tackle a dystopian/post-apocalyptic future or fantastical present. I’m going to compare the two I’m reading now.

Unearthly, by Cynthia Hand, tells the story of an angelblood. Clara Gardner is a quarter angel (on her mother’s side). One element to this story I found refreshing was that Clara knows her family secret from the beginning. Every angelblood has a purpose, a task they must complete, and Clara is just waiting to discover what her purpose is. Ashfall, by Mike Mullin, is a post-apocalyptic tale of what might happen if the Yellowstone supervolcano erupted. Alex Halprin is home alone when his house is struck by chunks of volcanic rock erupted from the Yellowstone Caldera almost two states away. His family isn’t with him — they’re east, and hopefully safe — and the book follows him as he tries to find them. Both books are the first in a series.

I’m enjoying both stories, and I’d gladly recommend them to any one who likes YA, but this isn’t really a book review.

What interests me is, how do I respond as a reader to these two very different possible futures?

Unearthly awakens the part of me that wants to believe in something other. Meaning the part of me that loves fairies, waterhorses, LOTR, and such. Could I be an angelblood? I know it sounds hokey or ridiculous or insane. Rationally, I know  my parents weren’t angels (no offense, Mom). But doesn’t each one of us fantasize about being special in some way? I certainly did as a teen, and I still do now. So, Unearthly takes me to a place where that could be possible, in a hopeful sort of way.

Quite the opposite with Ashfall. I live in Jackson, WY. According to an interpretive park ranger I asked on a recent Yellowstone visit, if the Yellowstone supervolcano erupted, I would be dead before I was even aware of it. The future of Ashfall seems more plausible, real, even though it’s unlikely that the volcano will erupt while humans are still on Earth. And this kind of story affects me in some kind of visceral way. What would I do in the event of a natural disaster? Or war? Would I be one of the survivors? Honestly, with how griped I am reading this story, I hope I never have to answer that question.

In thinking about this comparison, I realize that I read both types of books for separate reasons. I like to slip away into other worlds or possibilities, and at the same time my (more) rational mind likes to flirt with tangents of our current reality. Lucky for me, a plethora of books offering me both experiences is out there.

What kind of stories do you like to read? Do you want to be an angelblood? Would you survive the supervolcano?

Without Pen and Paper

I recently read that the writing process takes place all the time, not just in front of a computer or with pen in hand. And of course, I wondered if this was true for me. I covet my time with a notebook or at the keyboard, because that is when the ideas get recorded and fleshed out. And I’d gripe about all the time I wanted to spend that way but couldn’t because life — parenting, cooking, etc. — kept getting in the way. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I am often writing without any physical tools.

On a recent trip to Southern Utah, a completely new idea came to me while I was hiking. Looking back, I can’t even recall what ignited the spark of this story. Regardless, the idea spun around in my head while we are hiking desert trails and making s’mores and driving across the open, stark country. Today is Paul Theroux’s birthday; he is a well-known travel writer. He said, and I’m paraphrasing here, that writers should leave home in order to write. I think he was implying that travel allowed writers an escape from the pressures of writing (representation, finances, publication, etc.) but I also think that travel can help spark new ideas, even when a writer isn’t looking for one. And there I was, hiking through slot canyons with my toddler, ruminating on this new idea, feeling the characters come to life, testing out the voice, and realizing all the nuance this story would require.

Rumination is a good word for it. Because I am chewing and rechewing an idea to test its viability (in my eyes, of course). Each time I revisit it, some new twist or realization comes with it, and it becomes increasingly digestible as a story. Okay, enough with the ruminant metaphor.

The point is that knowing that the writing process is ongoing, can occur without a computer, has freed me from the trap of not having enough time. Of course, I’ll never have enough time to write. I always seem to want more, especially as more  and more ideas form in my head. But I can work on them anytime — in the car, on a bike ride, at the grocery store. This flexibility becomes crucial at some point, because then when I come back to the keyboard or pen, the ideas flow freely and I spend considerably less time staring at the pushpin holes scarring the wall. And truthfully, few of my stories have come to me while I was sitting at the computer. Most have come while I was doing something else, forcing me to silently repeat the plot or opening lines so that I wouldn’t forget them before getting to a computer.

Do you write in your head or do you pull from your subconscious while typing away? How does time away from your life — through travel — affect your writing?

Why I Write

Many writers these days reveal that writing was their childhood dream. I always wanted to be a writer. That’s not true for me, at least I have no distinct memory of it. I wanted to be a park ranger or maybe a surgeon. Let’s skip the surgical dream, since it never came true. But I did become an interpretive park ranger in Yosemite National Park, and recently I’ve noticed how similar that job is to the one I’m aspiring to now. I found a thought provoking quote from science fiction writer Brian Aldiss that helped me see the connection between my two lives.

There are two kinds of writer: those that make you think, and those that make you wonder.

– Brian Aldiss

In my previous career as an interpretive ranger, my goal was to make people think and to make them wonder. Connecting people to the cultural and natural history of national parks meant asking people to reflect on what it means to be human, how humans fit into the bigger world around us, and just how remarkable that world is. When I was a ranger, visitors joined my walks or snuggled close to my campfires, to hear what I had to say about the park. The commitment on their part was short–maybe an hour or two. Mostly, I addressed a choir of already loyal nature lovers and park supporters (you know who you are). And hopefully, they came away thinking and wondering, or at least having enjoyed a good crepuscular howl at the moon.

As a writer, I strive for the same goal. But the parameters are different.  Rather than using inspirational scenery to draw people in, I must develop abstract landscapes through the written word. It’s a different experience, and in many ways significantly more difficult, than my previous work. In Yosemite, I relied on an existing history, raw material if you will, to draw inspiration from and only had to find the magic within the material before me–cultural stories and natural events–in order to pull people in and inspire them. Now, I spend time crafting an entirely new world–even if the story has a contemporary setting. Most days I’m writing at the computer and very often in my head, mulling over scenes and characters and storylines, and I spend an awful lot of time staring at certain points on my wall in search of inspiration. How I miss the glorious days of a life spent outside! But I love the process of pulling something out of nothing, or at least out of less. And, of course, I love seeing how close I can come to inspiring reflection and wonder with my writing.

Come to think of it, I read books for the same reasons. To think and wonder.

Why do you?

While you consider this, I’m going outside. My new work-in-progress, Momentum, is a based in a ski town. The snow is melting fast and I could use a bit more snowy inspiration. Guess I’m not stuck inside or without raw material after all.

-Joanna