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My first YA novel, Starting from Here, is still a little over a year from publication and not yet out in galley form. But in the last month, it's started to squeeze its way into the world.

For a writer like me, who keeps her writing projects very close to the vest, this has been especially daunting. I never share partial drafts with other people, and I'm extremely selective about who gets to read and critique the finished ones. For the most part, my friends and family have resigned themselves to the fact that they won't get to read SfH until Fall 2012, even though many of them have been hearing about it for years. (Gold stars for your patience!)

Then, with my last round of line edits, my editor asked me to give SfH to some LGBTQ teen readers for feedback. Does the book authentically reflect contemporary teens' experiences being out at school and so on?

For weeks, I put this off. I'd come this far; wasn't it a bit late to change anything now? Besides, while I know lots of kids through my job, I don't know any queer teens (that are out to me, at least). Etc. Finally, I had to face the truth: I was scared. More than scared: terrified.

Some writers of YA books claim they "didn't know they were writing a YA book." They wrote the book they wanted, and agents or editors decided it was YA. That's fine, but it's not true for me. All along, I have known I was writing a book for teens, especially teens like I was back in the early/mid-1990s. Figuring out that I wasn't straight. Looking for myself in books at the library and bookstore. Sometimes finding such books, more often not.

In other words, while I hope all sorts of readers will find and appreciate Starting from Here, young LGBTQ readers are the ones I especially hope to reach. Theirs are the experiences I wanted to echo as I wrote this story. And so, in a way, I value their opinions more than any other readers. If I struck out with them, where would that leave me?

Still, I want my book to be as good as I can make it before it goes to press, and sometimes that means opening the door to outside opinions, no matter how scary the prospect. So, I asked some friends to connect me with queer teens they knew, and my book's previous readership suddenly doubled in size.

When I received the initial responses in my email, I cried. After the first two, I stopped crying, but I was still overcome. Everyone I sent it to devoured it, reading it two days or less. These young women used words like "amazing" and "wonderful" and "this feels like my life." The characters felt real. One reader said she cried during a tough scene between the main character and her father. Another reader said she was left wanting to know what happened next, after the book ended.

I don't say these things to boast--not remotely. Instead, these comments leave me so humbled. It's so incredibly hard to be a teen, and it's even harder to be a queer teen battling social norms and homophobia, both internally and externally. That hasn't changed in the past 15 years. These young women told me a little about their personal stories, and they inspired me with their bravery, intelligence, and strength. For them to deem Starting from Here worthy of a new generation of young queer readers is an incredible honor to me.

As I struggle to write my next book, I find myself mired in self-doubt more than I would like. That hasn't changed. But even on the days when I don't have faith in myself, I now have faith in Starting from Here. And I can't wait for it to fly into the world next fall.

Sometimes (it's intermittent), American Idol is on in this house; a few weeks ago, while photographing that precarious icicle, I walked by the screen and snapped this photo. It's Simon, obviously, disagreeing with Ellen, while a singer who has just left her heart on the stage awaits some kind of verdict: Is she good? Does she have a future as an artist? Should she defer her dream, or hold on?

Who is the expert? Whose voice matters? To whom do we-who-are-striving listen to? These are age-old questions, and every artist faces them; each of us, no matter how experienced, wonders. Because while, in some ways, artists are defined by the work they've already done, most artists I know hold that the work they're doing now is the work that counts the most.

And yet: Artists are not going to please everyone. Artists don't have that power. Gangbusters action or poetry. Conservative or risky. Over-the-top hysterical or rather straight-up. The occult or contemporary realism. Life issues or gossip. Right now or in the future. Easy reading or a deliberate tangle. You can have some, but I can't think of a single book that contains them all, and because this is so, it is a tricky business to calculate: What counts the most, and will my work be among the counted?

I wouldn't want to live in a world in which every opinion is the same. I wouldn't want to be operating inside a single standard. I doubt that you would, either. So that what I've learned, in my dozen years of publishing books, is that knowing who you are, as an artist, counts for a whole lot, and locating those voices who can help you do better work—who ask questions you respect, who judge a book not by a pre-established coda but by its own ambitions, who care about artistry, if you, too, care about artistry, or who are experts at action, if that's your thing—counts for a whole lot, too.

You can't please the world. You can always get better.

Introduced first in 2007, authors debuting children’s books have formed a cooperative effort to market their novels. Last year, I featured many of the stories of how the 2k8 Novels Were Revised. This is part of the ongoing stories from the Class of 2k9 authors and how they went about revising their novels.

Learning to Love Novel Revisions Takes Time

by Sydney Salter

My Big Nose And Other Natural Disasters (HM Harcourt/Graphia, April 6, 2009).

Nasty chore. I used to think of novel revision as a nasty chore, kind of like laundry or washing dishes. I vividly remember taking my first manuscript to my writing group. I knew they would love it. This was my first novel, and it was going to be snapped up by a publisher, win many glorious awards for novels, and I’d become rich and famous—in mere months (okay, you can stop laughing now).

Imagine my shock when I returned the next week—and learned that they had suggestions. For improvement! They thought my novel started out kind of slow. They thought one thread of the novel was amore interesting than the other. Heart pounding, cheeks flushed, I defended myself mightily, explaining why I didn’t really need to take their suggestions, didn’t need to revise. They just didn’t get my novel. And maybe they weren’t quite as intelligent as I’d thought they were?

I submitted the novel. I collected rejections—mostly form letters. On the fifth form letter an editor scrawled, “Promising, but Kat’s voice could be stronger.” I focused on the promising part, not knowing how to revise to make the voice stronger. I simply didn’t have the writing skills to do that yet.

I wrote new novels. I attended conferences and workshops; I learned that nothing in book publishing takes mere months. And I learned to take criticism on my novels. Sure my heart still pounded, my cheeks still flushed, but I took extensive notes and asked clarifying questions. I stopped defending myself and my book. I really listened to critiques.

I actually looked forward to using the advice to improve my novels. Was this [whispers] revision?

I wrote my fourth book during National Novel Writing Month, but before revising it, I decided to return to that first story. I finally understood voice. I even took another look at those initial revision comments made by my writing group. How I loved returning to those familiar characters! I finally knew how to make the book better.

My fourth novel, My Big Nose And Other Natural Disasters, caught an agent’s attention. But he had a few notes for revision. No problem—my patient (and did I mention intelligent?) writing group had taught me how to take criticism! I worked hard on the revisions.

Sale #1. And the book sold quickly.

Sale #2! A few months—and revisions—later, my agent also sold that very first novel, Jungle Crossing, but only because I had learned to appreciate, okay, maybe even love, revising. Now if only I could learn to love laundry and dishwashing . . .

Jungle Crossing (HM Harcourt, September 28, 2009)

Post from: Revision Notes Revise Your Novel! Copyright 2009. Darcy Pattison. All Rights Reserved.

Related posts:

1. Are you Still Submitting Before Revising?
2. Laurel Snyder: Class of 2k8
3. Deborah Lytton: 2k9

Everyone loves well-written reviews of bad movies, right? Few things are funnier. And a review of practically anything will do, so long as someone is being witty at its expense. The best one I’d read recently was actually about a phone — David Pogue’s review of the Blackberry Storm in the New York Times (he [...]

I should have linked to this over the long weekend, but I forgot. Sorry, but...

Bat Segundo returns! Check out more thoughtful podcasts featuring everybody from novelist and editor Ed Park to cartoonist Mort Walker.

Next, the Harper's book blog strikes again, archiving the 85,000-most-meaningful-words of criticism all published in the last three weeks. Wyatt Mason makes the best argument against critics (like Cynthia Ozick and Laura Miller) who think that literary thought is withering on the digital vine--he actually does the math and links to under-appreciated essays.  Here's his sad conclusion:

"I would insist, to anyone who might take the time to read the variously rigorous and intelligent essays below—not to say the mass of them that accumulates over a year, year in and out—that the 'mass of critics' can not be said to have been gauged, much less mulled, with great thoroughness."

What happens when three women band together to share their literary adventures? Things get purple. Last week I discovered Purple Hearts and quickly subscribed for literary tips, publishing secrets, supportive community and thoughtful link round-ups. 

Alison at ShelfTalker has a post with lots of juicy comments about books loved by everyone but you.

I'm usually reluctant to dish out criticism online. In the past, a few too many random people have taken my criticism of a freakin' book as cause to insult me personally, and that hurts my feelings more than I want to admit. (Yes, I am thin-skinned; sue me; just don't pick on me!)

Second, I'm afraid that someday I'll meet the authors and they'll hate my guts because I was vocal about hating their book. And I know it could happen, because I've already met very cool authors of books I couldn't stand. (If you're reading this, there's a 99.99% chance it was not you.)

Third, life's too short to accentuate the negative. Since I'm not a professional critic, I'd rather save my scathing remarks for late night literary conversations with friends. It's more fun that way.

I suppose I ought not to be shy about criticizing books by people who are bestselling authors or dead, because neither gives a fig what I think. And I will say that I share the opinions of several commenters on the ShelfTalker post. However, my fourth reason for not posting about books I hate (and I will have to break my own rule to give it) is this:

Hands down, the worst book I have read in my entire life is The Celestine Prophecy, by James Redfield. It is a literary black hole. It is Absolute Zero. It is the most clumsily written, ridiculously plotted piece of pseudo-spiritual dogmatic hooey ever to hit the mainstream—much less hit the bestseller list. It's hard to complain about any other, knowing it is still out there, lurking in libraries and bookstores and people's bookshelves at home, waiting for someone to open the cover. I challenge anyone to name worse.

So, you’ve mastered your anxiety and have placed your manuscript into the crittery waters of a new critique group. You wait, compulsively checking your inbox for the feedback to roll in. You’re excited, but a little scared, too. Will they laugh-out-loud where they’re supposed to, weep at the sheer brilliance of a certain plot twist, get sucked in by your vivid description? Ping. In comes a

I'm taking time over a few posts to discuss novel writing. This week I'm going to talk about confidence in your unique vision. Alexander Pope, an English poet, wrote a famous verse: Essay on Critique. He understood the artifice of criticism. I really think that authors will just hand over too much power to others. We all want approval and blessing. For that approval and blessing, we will throw away our vision for an offhand comment by a supposed expert.

I think to write a really good novel you have to be willing to be a fool. Like Pope shared in his poem, you have to rush into a place where angels dare not tread. You have to be sooo hopeful -- bursting with hope. There is an agony to creating books, and you will have to embrace that agony if you wish to write a book that will stir the hearts of readers. It’s really painful to write a novel. And after you managed to spin out the first draft, it’s painful to hear critique of that novel.

What are you to do? Always remember the first audience of your work is you.
Write the story you want to read, and when searching for critiques, find people who share your passion for your work. I really wouldn’t take advice from someone who didn’t care deeply about my work. I want to passion on every level of my work, and people that are weighing in on my work need to be invested. So many writers want an editor of a major publishing house to look at their work. They fork over piles of cash at conferences to have a disinterested soul cast tired eyes on their words.Is this really all that helpful?

But we want to sell work! Well, if no one but your critique group shows any passion for your work, be happy you have a critique group and keep working. I firmly believe you gift will make a place for you. I think that it is useful to give yourself freedom to not listen to the popular opinions of the hour. We tend to chain ourselves with ideas of what the market wants, or the blinding hope that a publisher will be interested in this work if we will rip out half the plot and recast all the main characters.

In the end you, you must write your heart out. Write the story that burns within you. Don’t let all outside voices stop you. If you fail, let it be when you are “daring greatly.”

Think about this quote and then fearless follow your vision:

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is not effort without error and shortcomings; but who does actually strive to do the deed; who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.


Theodore Roosevelt

As when Elaine Magliaro of Wild Rose Reader emails to tell me that she's written an Acrostic Poem for me... How totally cool is that?


(An acrostic (from the late Greek akróstichon, from ákros, "extreme", and stíchos, "verse") is a poem or other piece of writing in an alphabetic script, in which the first letter, syllable or word of each verse, paragraph or other recurring feature in the text, spells out another message.

And how I wish it were true that my personal physician was the Doctor from Doctor Who !)