Category Archives: Joanna

One and A Half Yards of Fleece

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This past weekend I experienced a rare and somewhat bewildering burst of inspiration. If this burst had had anything to do with writing, I might feel surer about it, excited to run with it. Because isn’t that where I want to direct my creativity? To my manuscripts in revision and to the new ideas swirling in my head? Instead, here are the outcomes of this inspired rampage:

One fleece sweatshirt.Two fleece hats. One cardboard dinosaur head. One dinosaur tail. One pair very baggy pants with a drawstring. One pair mittens. A host of cloth sandwich bags.

That’s right. I crafted.

All weekend, basically. I sewed and cut and measured and sewed again. I glued and taped. I cursed my inability to plan ahead and started over. It began with my son’s Halloween costume. (Obviously, he’s being a T-Rex). It ended with a headband for myself made with scrap fleece. Oh, and I finally hemmed those pants that were dragging in the mud.

What makes this all so monumental is that I don’t craft. I don’t sew. I don’t—and didn’t—use patterns. Yet somehow I managed to CREATE all these things from scratch.

In two words: LOVED IT.

I don’t really *make* that many things. Things you can hold. Every once in a while I experiment with something in the kitchen. But by now I’ve chosen my easy-to-bake artisan breads, so there’s not that much enjoyment from the experimentation (oh, but the eating…). Writing itself is a drawn out, abstract process. I probably won’t feel complete in the way I do now until a book is published, in my hands, being held in the same way I can hold the mittens I just sewed.

Creating tangible things is such an important process for me, but one I haven’t really embraced for a long time. I used to paint, but my paints and brushes have been in some kind of cryogenic deep freeze since I started writing. I don’t know if I’ll take them out, or just keep on this sewing kick. But the pride I felt at having made something concrete was so overwhelming it made me realize I wasn’t meeting all of my creative needs. I’m predicting that attending to both the abstract and non-abstract sides of my artistic self will better serve my writing, though I’m not precisely sure how to detect or measure that influence.

What have you discovered about different forms of the creative process? Do you experiment with both abstract and tangible forms of creation? What have you made with fabric scraps lately?

(Also, email me if you want those bread recipes. The dino costume you can figure out on your own like I did…)

Making My Story Matter: A Second Look at Revision

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A few posts ago, I wrote about revisioning my novel, a la Cheryl Klein. Now I’m back at it, with another book – Writing A Book That Makes A Difference by Philip Gerard.

I admit it – I’ve had this book for well over a year and haven’t even cracked it open enough to skim more than a page or two. At first glance, it’s dense – altogether different from Cheryl Klein’s light, but informative transcribed speeches. But on closer inspection, this is a winner. I suppose it’s important to know why I even picked the book back up, after many failed attempts. Last winter, an agent requested a full manuscript read of a YA novel I’m working on. She liked some bits, but overall said the book wasn’t about much. Those are my words (she was very polite) but it got me thinking. I knew the book was about more, but after the teeniest bit of scrutiny, I had to agree with her. But what to do?

I underwent a big revision, after a random and fortuitous email sparked an idea, an idea that raised the stakes in the book. At this point, I knew I wanted the book to *be* something, at least in my eyes. Not just a bittersweet coming of age story (which it still is). I wanted my book to make a difference. Or at least read like it did. So I picked up Gerard’s book.

Yes, I’ve skimmed a bit, but the book isn’t as dense as I’d first thought. And there’ve been lots of great tidbits including:

– Have each character “present different facets [of an issue] in their actions and words”. Gerard is referring to novels affected by didacticism. Using characters in this way helps alleviate preachiness. Though my story isn’t driven directly by an “issue,” this approach has helped me flesh out the sidekicks in such a way that they now (hopefully) aid my protagonist in reflecting on what’s challenging her. Duh, right?

-A quote from John Steinbeck, included in the book: “A chapter should be a perfect cell in the whole book and should almost be able to stand alone. If this is done then the breaks we call chapters are not arbitrary but rather articulations which allow free movement of the story.” Wow. For some reason, this struck me something fierce. Mostly in that I’ve never quite reached that level of revision, and I mean that in the best of ways. Yes, I’ve reworded and rearranged and cut and inserted and and and, but this one quote raised my goals to heavenly heights. Could each chapter in my novel almost stand alone? Not yet.

Perhaps the most striking thing about reading Gerard’s book was realizing how I just hadn’t been ready to approach my novel in this way. I knew the people, but only vaguely. But my last revision helped me get to the place that I was even ready to delve into a book like Gerard’s, a book about meaning, a literary book (egads!). Now that I know why my characters matter (at least in my head), about why they as individuals will each make a specific difference in the story, my mental revision feels like it’s been expanded exponentially. Of course, now I have to actually do the revision.

With a big thank you to Philip Gerard.  His book made a difference.

Goal! – Sports in YA Lit.

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Let me be frank. I am not a sporty person. Yes, I love the Olympics. Yes, I watched horse racing as an eighth-grader, even reruns. Yes, I did train for a triathlon once. But would I ever have anticipated reading and enjoying a novel with a sports theme so strong it constitutes its own character? In two letters, no.

But I love Chris Crutcher. And every one of his books — the ones I’ve read at this point — are sports books.

I first heard about Mr. Crutcher at the SCBWI NYC Winter 2012 Conference. He was a key note speaker, and man did he ever rock. He talked about the importance of using humor in order to write about grief. The audience was laughing and crying, almost simultaneously, as he pulled us down to the darkest depths of an emotional experience, only to lift us up through some unexpected, humorous twist. I’ve since read a good handful of his books, and each has provided me with the same wondrous blend of dark and light. Crutcher is a master, that’s for sure.

And he loves sports. Whether it’s swimming, cross-country, football, or basketball, Crutcher’s ability to develop sports into a character of its own is pretty remarkable, and that’s coming from someone who is not a sporty person. At times, his blow by blow narration of sporting events can be overwhelming for non-sporty people. Truthfully, I have to tune some of it out. That’s because I have no idea about layups and sweeps and off-sides. Even so, Crutcher uses sports to showcase his characters and their personalities, and even a non-sporty like me can understand the positive influence that sports can have on a person, in this case a teenager.

My favorite book so far was Stotan! This book is about four boys — the only members of their high school swim team. Being a swimmer, or should I say someone who enjoys a lap swim now and then, I could relate to this one a bit more. The boys enlist in a training exercise put on by their coach, and it’s a b&#$^ of an exercise. Somehow, even though I’ve never swum for four hours straight, doing sprints and pyramids and crab-crawls on the rough poolside, I understood how the boys were going to be stronger because of this challenge, more able to withstand the grief that Crutcher puts them through.

If you like sports and you also like YA novels, I highly recommend Crutcher’s books. If you like see protagonists face the gritty grief of real life and come out of the water still breathing, then read his books.

Cut Away!

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I’ve recently had some major aha moments during the revision process of a manuscript I first wrote two years ago. After a round of rejections, including one that gave me the smallest smidgen of feedback, I couldn’t quite figure out what the story needed. I knew the stakes needed to be raised – that the story needed to be about more than just the romance. And while it was hard to hear the agent’s feedback, I think I’d always known that the story was about more. But maybe this awareness was just on some majorly deep, subconscious level. 🙂 In order to move forward with the manuscript, I needed to figure out what that “more” was.

I struggled with this for a while, until I received a mass email from a non-profit group I’ve supported a few times over the years. My mouth fell open. Just like that I’d found my “more”. I knew what the story needed, and my next wave of revisions was off.

Now I’m finding that so much of what had seemed so critical to the first draft of this story – and even to the second and third drafts – really didn’t matter so much in this new revision. Cut. Cut. Cut. I don’t think I would’ve seen these scenes for what they were – superfluous, fat, filler – without this new vision of what the story was really about. It felt so freeing to drop these scenes, which I am still in love with, into my “graveyard” file. Maybe they’ll find life again in another story someday. (On that note, if I end up pulling them out the graveyard someday, does that mean they’ll have to be in a zombie novel? Hope not…)

I’d always heard about people dropping major scenes, really rewriting, but I guess I’d never truly experienced it before. I suppose I’m lucky the trimming was voluntary and self-driven. Without those scenes, the manuscript will come together in a way I expect to be fresh. I’ll let you know.

You never know what will inspire re-visioning or a major trim session. But my wish is that, if you’re stuck, that you find your “more” to help you on your way.

 

The Beast That Is Revision

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Last year, when Katie and I attended the SCBWI NYC Winter Conference, we both attended sessions with Cheryl Klein, an editor with Arthur A. Levine Books (a Scholastic imprint). Ms. Klein guided each session through the steps of re-visioning your manuscript. Afterwards, Katie and I commented that this session was especially helpful because it was so specific — we left armed with a to-do lists of exercises that would help us evaluate our stories, find their essences, and move forward towards making them shine. I came home from New York energized and ready to edit.

To be honest, it’s taken me some time to get to some of Ms. Klein’s list. You know, life happened. I wrote a new manuscript (who needs revision when you’re finding the words for the first time?). My son stopped daycare for the summer (bye-bye writing days). We were on the road for four weeks (why don’t we live in Canada?).

But now I’ve picked up Ms. Klein’s book, and I’m raring to go. Her book, Second Sight: An Editor’s Guide to Writing, Revisions, & Publishing Books for Children and Young Adults, is a collection of talks and reflections. After first skimming the book and now starting it from the beginning, I know there will be some great kernels of advice — some repeats from the conference, and others new.

My favorite tidbit from the first chapter is about emotion. A good book, Klein says, “creates a deliberate emotion.” This, I think, is something that gets developed mostly in revision. Deliberate emotion. When I’m writing a first draft, I just plow through, to get something workable onto the page. Then, in revision, I can question what emotion I’m striving for, look at each sentence or word (if I’m having a good day) to see if it works.

The biggest challenge for me will be figuring out where to start and how to follow through with her suggestions. With three manuscripts in revision, it can be difficult to give each one enough time before my mind wanders into plot development of another. Yes, that can help keep each story fresh, but sometimes I can let one burn, so to speak, while stirring another.  And at this point, I’m very good at making a beast of a to-do list of plot holes to develop, characters to strengthen, and new chapters to write. It’s finding a methodical way to take down said beast that tricks me.

What about you? Have you found resources for revision that inspire you? How do you keep revision on track and in hand?

You can find more information about Cheryl Klein and her book here.

 

To MFA or not to MFA

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How many of you have considered this question?

Graduate school has been circling the depths of my mind for close to thirteen years. Back then, I was trying to decide between studying geology or entomology. What a different ride it would have been had I chosen either of those subjects. But I didn’t, nor did I choose to go to divinity school or get my teaching certificate a few years later. No doubt, any of those paths would have proven exciting, inspiring, and enriching, but it’s water under the bridge now.

After two years of serious writing, graduate school has surfaced again. Should I get an MFA in writing? Specifically, writing for children and young adults?

So I’ve asked myself what I would get out of an MFA, and if I could get those same skills through a less expensive route. Probably the most important aspect of an MFA program – for me anyway – is the mentorship. My critique group (do we need a fancy name?) is an invaluable resource to me, and in no way am I going to let that go. But having a mentor whose sole purpose (among having many other sole purposes!) is to teach me the craft of writing sounds amazing. Reading and analyzing the books I’m already reading to improve my understanding of what makes a good story – yea! And the residencies – ten full days of workshops and readings followed by painfully short nights – well, they sound great, too. At least, they do right now…

Well, as of 10:13 this morning, I officially put my name in. Hence the delay in this post – I spent the better part of this past week writing and rewriting my personal and critical essays. Now they’re off. And of course, now I have to get in.

What’s been your experience with To MFA or Not to MFA? Why or why not? After deciding, yes or no, what’s your opinion now?

 

Ah, the Internet

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Do you remember when there was no Internet?

Part of me enjoys asking that kind of question. Sure, it dates me. It dates all of us, depending on how you answer it. And at the risk of sounding romantic, I miss that simple world, before telnet (first user group and email I used), before Netscape (my first browser), and certainly before Google (my current search engine).

I started writing two years ago, well after our computer became an electronic family member.  And I’ve been curious lately as to how different the process of writing, and finding an agent, and generally trying to make a living out of this art would be if I had started this ten years ago.

I couldn’t just pop over to Wikipedia and check on some fact about 17th century Suriname nor could I learn of new agents and their interests so promptly. Often times I am thankful that this abstract web of connections exists—it can be very helpful.

But I wonder:

Does the Internet suck my energy?

Many writers could no doubt claim the Internet or something that they read online to be the inspiration for their amazing debut novel coming next fall.  Accomplished writers might say the same for the success of their 15th manuscript. But what is the flip side to having something amounting to an edgeless universe as a distraction?

I admit that when I’m writing I will occasionally (wink, wink) check email or Facebook or YouTube or whatever, really. Is that better than staring at the point where the wall hits the ceiling in search of inspiration? I don’t think so. More often than not, it pulls me away from my characters and their stories. But I haven’t found a way yet to work around this. Anyone have a typewriter they can lend me?

Have you been a writer since the Internet became ubiquitous? How did that shift affect your writing and career? Do you have tips on how to effectively turn off access to this kind of distraction?

The Journey

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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

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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

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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.