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If you missed my publishing news from my December post, it goes something like this:
Squeeeee! I have a book deal!!*
In the interim between the initial excitement and the editorial letter, there's a kind of a "did that really just happen" limbo. Luckily, I spent some of that time with family and friends but the following is a smattering of the (sometimes) bizarre reactions to my book news.
1. OMG! That's incredible! You've worked so hard for this!
The best reaction! Usually from the people who know how long I've been at this writing thing.
My response: Thanks! I know, pretty wild? Still wrapping my head around it.
2. How much is your nice, fat advance check?
Yes, people really do ask this question!
My response:
I get it, I do. Humans are curious creatures but um,
really?! 3.
You sneaky little devil! I didn't know you liked to write!This was at a family dinner with a cousin I rarely see so I'll cut her some slack but for some reason this made me feel odd. As if I sit at my computer, twirling my moustache and laughing maniacally while I write.
My response: Giggle. Blush. Mwahahahahaha...
4. What's the book about?
Okay, totally legit question.
My response:
5.
Will it be a movie?This question is asked with more frequency than I ever imagined, sometimes with genuine enthusiasm.
My response: Um, well, no. It's a book. And I'm pretty stoked about that!
The funny thing is, all these reactions brought up a few unexpected feelings of my own. The most heinous and surprising one being:
sheer terror. What had I done? Why not just perform naked karaoke to "Call Me Maybe" instead? My characters are my babies, and they will be "out there"...under scrutiny...possibly on Goodreads. Yikes.
And this got me thinking about #4. I think the real reason I don't have an elevator pitch is because I don't want a face-to-face snap judgement. What if the person replies, "oh, um, sounds good, please pass the blue sangria", or worse...no reaction at all.
Writing is such a fragile endeavor and mostly it's just you and the page with some idea of a phantom audience. It took a long time for me to share with others that I was even a writer in the first place (hence #3), I'm not sure why I thought I'd feel differently when I could finally say "My book comes out next year." Each new step brings its own set of fears.
So how about you Paper Waiters? How do you deal with bizarre reactions to your writing endeavors?
*I apologize if this is obnoxious. I've been squeeing an awful lot lately.
**the .gif reactions are inspired by the following awesome tumblr sites, check them out!
Title to Come,
Life in Publishing,
Life of a Dude in Publishing
“By believing passionately in something which still does not exist, we create it.”
You know, I just can’t quite get my head around that kind of mumbo-jumbo.
“The nonexistent is whatever we have not sufficiently desired.”
Who am I to refute such optimism? Neither am I able to promote it.
That said, just last week I began a talk by telling a personal story that seemed to prove the truth of that aphorism. I was speaking to an audience of writers and readers at our local library:
“Years ago, while I was living in an alternative community in Oregon, my girlfriend dumped me. Heartbroken, I begged off work, parked my sorry ass at a café and picked up a periodical that featured a commentary on a Buddhist sutra about “Loving Yourself”.
“‘Love Yourself: this can become the foundation of a radical transformation…’
“Under the circumstances, I was willing to consider the thesis. Love yourself. Hmm… I read on:
“‘Don’t be afraid of loving yourself. Love totally and you will be surprised: the day you can get rid of all self-condemnation, self-disrespect…will be a day of great blessing.’
“The more I read, the more I liked it. It seemed so do-able. Just, ‘love yourself’. I read it again and again. The day went by quickly with this dictum reverberating in my cranium like a mantra. ‘Love yourself, love yourself, love…’ My spirits lifted.
“By evening this sutra is circulating in my blood stream. Love yourself, of course! When I love myself to overflowing, there’s some for others. I am finally able to love others.
“Who can love others, who hates himself?
“Love yourself, love yourself, love yourself, love…
“I’m walking home in the dark feeling fine, as you can imagine. On any other night I would have detoured into the disco for an hour, but on this night I just looked in the window, careful not to disturb these insights about ‘loving yourself’. A woman appeared at my side and took my hand. I didn’t know her from Eve.
“‘What’s your name?’ she asked. I told her. ‘What’s yours?’ I said. She replied with one of those Sanskrit names everybody seemed to have back then.
“‘What’s it mean?” I asked.
“She said, ‘It means Love Yourself.’”
End of story.
I won’t speculate upon how I conjured Ms. LoveYourself out of thin air. Perhaps Nikos Kazantzakis is right when he says it’s a function of desire. Here’s the rest of what the author of Zorba the Greek had to say about manifesting what you want:
“The nonexistent is whatever we have not sufficiently desired—whatever we have not irrigated with our blood to such a degree that it becomes strong enough to stride across the somber threshold of nonexistence.”
Wow.
Desire “irrigated with our blood”, I hadn’t thought of that. Desire figures strongly in my story theory. Only the strongest desire takes the protagonist all the way. All the way to her own undoing. Which is her awakening.
By building a protagonist with such a fatal desire, that’s how a writer loves his hero. That’s the writer’s obligation.
That’s what I wanted to talk to the audience about.
I almost forgot.
(The Buddhist commentary was by Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh.)
I was deep in a digital funk yesterday.
I’d created a Word document, which, after closing, I couldn’t reopen. The file extension was beyond the ability of my Word program to open. How the heck does that happen?
Two hour’s work down the e-drain.
With a debilitating feeling of being hard-done-by, I donned my trenchcoat and went for a walk in the fog.
A speech about “The Advantages of Adversity”, that’s what I’d lost. How ironic! All my first thoughts, my raw material, memories, facts, connections, a web of meaning—all vanished in the e-ether.
Fresh air usually revives me, but on this especially funky day, every step marched me deeper into despair. I’m going on a retreat, I thought. Deep country, unplugged, that’s what I need. Since I’m a digital idiot, this kind of funk overtakes me not infrequently. Uphill I trudged under a canopy of spruce into the foothills of Mordor, trudge, trudge, trudge…
I enjoy climbing. Peaked cap pulled down so that I can’t see the slope, I perceive the road as level. It’s a little mental trick that never fails to thrill me.
Unable to reference the incline, there is no hill, no hill working against me. My organizm is working harder to walk, yes, but there is no hill trying to defeat me, no antagonism, no psychology of struggle, just the indisputable facts of physics. It never fails, I feel quite unlike myself, as if I were on Jupiter under the influence of a more powerful gravity field.
Moving about on strange planets takes me out of myself.
Suddenly, a thought out of nowhere: “The rewrite will be better.”
Rewrites are always better.
What just happened? I knew immediately what had happened because I’ve been exploring it on this blog for years—our belief systems. Good things happen when our “B.S.” outlives its usefulness. My belief system (victim mentality) had been left behind at the bottom of the hill.
I didn’t need it on Jupiter.
Wow—self-pity was weighing on me like an evil spell, which is what belief systems are. They are strategies, structures, rules, biases, attitudes, fears, all the necessary limits by which we negotiate this gloriously superficial life on planet Earth. When I shed the B.S., I became available to the truth:
My rewrite will be better.
Fictional protagonists, same thing.
The best fictional characters are cursed with belief systems that are not so easily jettisoned. The degree to which they hold fast determines the intensity of the drama. Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca. Listen to him: “I stick my neck out for nobody.”
That’s the screenwriter telling us what every reader needs to know at the outset of a story—what’s the hero’s belief system?
With that pitiful attitude, Bogey’s trajectory is set. Events will conspire to undo his belief system. Bogey will eat his words or we’ll demand our money back.
Sure enough, the love of his life (Ingrid Bergman) shows up and ushers Bogey to the depths of self-loathing. Remember the scene where she pulls a gun on him to get the letters of transit to America. He says, “Go ahead, shoot. You’ll be doing me a favour.”
He doesn’t care if he lives or dies. Now he can jettison his belief system. What good is a belief system if you’re on death’s doormat? Ilsa notices him waking up, lightening up. Now she’s in his arms. Look at Bogey, he looks a little lost, but now it’s all flooding back, the noble guy he was at the start of the war. You can see it in his eyes. He’s catching a glimpse of the truth, who he really is.
He’s rewriting his script.
The rewrite will be better!
As we know, Bogey sticks his neck out as far as a neck can go. He shoots Major Strasser, sacrifices his one true love, orders her to escape Casablanca with her husband so together they might bolster the Resistance against Hitler.
And, look… there goes Bogart in his trenchcoat, walking into the fog, a living martyr.
Time for me now to man-up and rewrite this speech.
(Btw… what the heck is a “docx” file? Is it, like, some kind of curse?)
If you’ve read my eBook, Story Structure to Die for, you’ll remember how my near-miss in Hollywood launched me on a quest to discover…
How fiction REALLY works.
I was privileged to hear from Jack Lemmon and Eva Marie Saint (yes, this was a few years ago) that a screenplay of mine they had applauded nevertheless, unfortunately, devolved into melodrama.
[Melodrama: n. a drama characterized by extravagant action and emotion.]
It took me a while to understand that my “big finish” had distracted me. My protagonist lost track of his own story. Instead, he ran around trying to save everyone else. I thought it was a great Hollywood ending, extravagant, excessive, tearful, and indeed it bamboozled many judges on its way to emerging as one of eight finalists in a competition with over 4000 entries from 14 different countries.
But it didn’t fool judges Jack Lemmon and Eva Marie Saint.
Why? I failed to keep the focus on the protagonist when it was needed most. I rushed into Act III without nailing my hero to the cross. Sure, he was on his knees, but I let him get back on his feet because I was anxious to shove him headlong into a melodramatic conclusion.
I didn’t hold my protagonist back; I didn’t ride him all the way down to the kind of self-doubt where a change of worldview becomes the hero’s only option.
Where good becomes great.
Think of George Clooney in Up in the Air. Or better yet, Paul Giamatti in Sideways. The writer took that wine connoisseur to such depths of self-loathing that he chugalugs the contents of a winery’s wine-tasting spit-bucket.
There’s a man on the verge of freedom.
As for my protagonist, I released him into Act III too soon. He wasn’t yet a free man. He hadn’t yet turned his back on “who he was”. Act III is all about the new man.
Jack Lemmon and Eva Marie Saint must have been unconvinced that my protagonist had struggled sufficiently with the heroics of transformation.
As a result, they could agree that my story was “good”, but in the final analysis, it was a few essential beats short of “great”.
We’ve all watched films which, while “good”, were not memorable. When I’m deeply moved by a story, I’m often not immediately aware of how the writer did it. It takes some reflection. Almost always, I find the answer in the degree to which the hero takes care of business.
The business of his own salvation.
 |
| Peter Pan Illustration by Kathleen Atkins |
How do you enter the magical world of your young readers?
To get into the right mindset, I think back to how I felt as a child. I also get lots of ideas from my students (I teach elementary art).
But how do you tap into that world if you don’t interact with children on a daily basis?
One resource is
Edutopic’s list of winning student blogs by children ages 6-13. It’s a great way to research how today’s kids spend their time, what they care about, and what they find funny. (Notice how many of the blog titles include the word, ‘Awesome’.)
Another resource I love is the New York Times’ blog,
“Kids Draw the News.” On this site, children submit illustrations to accompany articles on current events. It’s a great way to discover how children view the world. Plus, their illustrations are a hoot!
What resources help you enter the world of young readers?
With the New Year just around the corner, resolutions for 2013 come to mind.
I resolve to write one picture book manuscript each month. How will I keep that resolution, you may ask?
Reading the daily
PiBoIdMo posts during November inspired me to do a little writing each day. Now I didn't say
good writing. I do have hope that the act of writing each day will eventually lead to good writing. Or even
really good writing. Or one day (gasp!) a published book!
Here’s to a creative 2013!
Do you have a New Year’s writing resolution?
I just got back from my local SCBWI meeting. It was wonderful!
Two local authors presented inspiring workshops. (Thanks Lisa L. Owens and Ben Clanton!) Before that there were fun and funny announcements from our wonderful regional advisors, and good news announcements. Always such a pleasure to hear!
Usually, people don't think of writing as something social. But, when this social component is there, it is such fun. Now that I live across the country from my amazing Paper Wait critique group, these wider community connections are essential.
Of course, there are many ways to find community. Like many writers, I find such wonderful community online. Especially at Verla Kay's Blueboards!
And in November there are even more opportunities for online community. Good luck to all those who are doing NaNoWriMo!
My writing challenge of choice is Picture Book Idea Month. It is such fun to read the blog posts Tara Lazar has been posting each day from a wonderfully talented group of authors and illustrators. (If you read only one (and I definitely advise reading more than one), you must read Day 9's post by Kelly Light. Incredible.)
I am definitely inspired from all this wonderful community! Must get back to writing!
What writing communities have you found? Do they leave you feeling inspired too?
| 50 Book Pledge | Book #53: The Time Keeper by Mitch Albom |
if it doesn’t come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don’t do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it for money or
fame,
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don’t do it.
if it’s hard work just thinking about doing it,
don’t do it.
if you’re trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.
if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.
if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you’re not ready.
don’t be like so many writers,
don’t be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don’t be dull and boring and
pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don’t add to that.
don’t do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don’t do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don’t do it.
when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.
there is no other way.
and there never was.
~ Charles Bukowski
In our village in Ireland this summer, a 58 foot fin whale swam into our harbor, settled in to a corner where shore meets pier and rested in shallow water. The chest-high cement wall along the pier overflowed with villagers craning their necks to see over and down towards the water below.
With her nose into the apex of cement walls, able to submerge just inches beneath the surface, she rose and blew, spraying seawater from her blowhole and puffing every few minutes. It was a fascinating spectacle. How often can you watch a whale, and see its face, with protruding gray balls for eyes, and a white horseshoe mouth bigger than my kitchen, up close, for hours on end?
Sadly, it was soon apparent that our whale friend was not well.
Muddy red water let everyone know that Fineena, (Irish for ‘beautiful child’, the name dubbed her by locals) was bleeding internally. No one, not the veterinarian, the whale specialist, nor the fishermen could help. This was real life, not a children’s story. Fineena lay ill for three days before dying, enduring tidal shifts which left her slick black skin half exposed above the water, scratched ragged from a gale-force storm which tossed her helplessly against the cement pier and rocky bottom. Simultaneously macabre and inspirational, from a writer’s point of view, I wonder where I should take this story. Children’s reactions were as varied as their accents. One teenage boy broke into tears. Others watched wide-eyed with obvious questions. Some just accepted it, with “That’s nature.” Can I use this emotive experience to write a happy picture book ending for Fineena? Can I use the powerful death scene I witnessed in a middle grade novel and how? Her behavior brings up so many questions and infinite story possibilities. Why did she choose our village as her final resting place? Why not the shallow creek where the seal colony lives, or another of the limitless, uninhabited coves nearby? Fineena swam past hundreds of boats with low keels, their thick-roped moorings stretching from the water’s surface to the bay floor, creating an underwater maze. How did she manage to cause no damage? Why was she so determined – was it something about the echo of human voices across the water? I wrote my initial impressions as the story unfolded. When I look back at that draft, I am struck by the richness of detail and emotion, and authenticity. The voice, using the point of view of the whale, is much more powerful than my remote efforts. So writers, you’ve heard it before: write it down, right away! Take copious notes. It matters. Readers will feel it. I don’t yet know what my final choice will be for the story, but it feels like a story worth sharing.
| 50 Book Pledge | Book #41: Canada by Richard Ford |
Every writer, without exception, is forced to confront their own insecurity. An internal fear that takes the form of a single debilitating statement: I’m not good enough. Like poison, these four words creep up every time you put pen to paper and make you question the merit of your words. If not dealt with, insecurity can not only sap your confidence but also kill your creativity. So, what do you do? You silence it.
Be warned that this does not happen overnight. Instead, you have to tackle it each and every day. The method you use is entirely up to you. Some writers like to read a quote, others write a phrase and, still others, like myself, recite a statement. The key here is repetition because the more you do this the stronger your belief will become. Slowly the fear will lose its strength leaving you with just your words. Yes, reaching this place of belief is difficult but once you do you’ll have conquered the greatest obstacle of all: Yourself.
When I woke up this morning, the first thing I did was knock on my son’s door. I knew he would have a hard time getting up for work. Last night he and a friend had gone to the midnight show of Batman.
I went downstairs. My husband had the TV on. And I saw what had happened at another theater halfway across the country. What had happened to other kids who just wanted to enjoy a movie.
Like everyone else in this county, I’ve been thinking about this tragedy all day. How unexpected it was. How incredibly, terribly sad and senseless. But, I still had to work. And work, for me, meant revising my novel.
As I sat at my keyboard, I thought about my characters, their problems and their emotions. While my plot lines don’t involve tragedies like those in Aurora, Colorado, my main goal as a writer is to connect with emotional truths. I think fiction is important like that. As a writer, it’s my job to create characters that allow my readers to feel emotions in deep and meaningful ways.
Writers like Jodi Picoult and Richard Russo have dealt with difficult subjects like school shootings. Patrick Ness left me in a big puddle when I finished A Monster Calls. These are works of fiction, but the emotional truths within the writer’s words lead us as readers to deeper human connections.
That is one reason why this writing job is hard. And why it is so important.
When I came across this article about writing rooms of famous men in the
Art of Manliness, I couldn’t resist a peek.
The article includes movie-worthy libraries and studies of authors as famous as Rudyard Kipling, William F. Buckley, Norman Mailer, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and a few other notable names. Roald Dahl’s space is such a welcome surprise, I have to share it with you. You can even explore his hut
here, through the Roald Dahl museum.
I envy book-walled studies-cum-libraries, finding them soothing and intriguing. Such a collection of classic novels, well-bound references, historical essays and philosophical tomes must confer greatness to a writer in their midst. Right?
I can't help comparing my own space to these (or to the beautiful layouts in the Pottery Barn catalogue for that matter). My shelves are not picturesque. My desk is less so, with works-in-progress competing for desk space with bills, magazines, school forms, etc. Roald Dahl’s unique space is an inspiration, and a reminder that less can be more. Rows and rows of books – not necessary. Sparse solitude worked wonders for him. I wouldn't call it 'manly', but then again, his hut certainly isn’t feminine, not that it matters. Mostly, his space was well-defined, and well-used. He was so focused on his work that he often kept the curtain closed. No distractions. Oh that my space was so conducive to productivity. Of all those wonderful writing rooms, I aspire to his. Which room do you aspire to? What about your office -- how do you see your writing space?
“We penetrated deeper and deeper into the heart of darkness…”
Joseph Conrad’s famous tale concerns an expedition up the Congo River. The mission: to repatriate a company agent. And with each bend in that jungle river, the protagonist’s belief system proves increasingly unreliable.
The Heart of Darkness…the perfect metaphor for the hero’s journey.
And the writer’s.
I don’t know about you, but I begin Page One with no idea how I’ll feel when the ordeal is over.
I don’t write to explain—I write to find out.
The narrator, Marlowe, is dispatched upriver to investigate a rogue ivory trader named Kurtz.
And who is this mysterious Kurtz? We don’t learn much about him. That’s okay because Kurtz is only the goal.
Only the goal?
The goal sets the quest in motion. The goal is the hero’s excuse for getting out of bed in the morning. But the quest is…
The hero’s journey to the truth about himself.
Up the Congo, Marlowe finds “truth stripped of its cloak of time.” Losing his cultural and moral coordinates, Marlowe must…
“meet that truth with his own true self—with his own inborn strength. Principles won’t do.”
Up the Congo, the narrator’s conventional scruples are exposed as mere “acquisitions”. He likens his principles to…“clothes, pretty rags—rags that would fly off at the first good shake.”
Marlowe’s precious belief systems are…
“Incidents of the surface, the reality—the reality, I tell you—fades. The inner truth is hidden—luckily, luckily.”
Lucky, yes, because the underlying reality is shocking.
“We are accustomed to look upon the shackled form of a conquered monster [European society], but there—the
A poet dies.
Is it dust to dust and that’s it? Or is there such a thing as a lasting legacy? What can we learn in the aftermath of an art-committed life?
Does a life have meaning?
Andy Suknaski grew up in Sitting Bull country in southern Saskatchewan. He remained there, in his shack, working at his kitchen table, writing drafts on brown Safeway bags:
…this is my right
to chronicle the meaning of these vast plains
in a geography of blood
and failure
making them live.
Suknaski’s Wood Mountain Poems has been described as a “timeless classic of Canadian literature”.
The memorial service meant a 1500 mile journey to Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, but never mind. Nor am I a poet, but never mind that, either. I would forever regret missing the celebration of this beloved artist’s life.
“He spoke of himself in the lower case.”
“He always spoke of eternal things,”
A dozen people stood up at Suknaski’s memorial to savour his memory. A portrait emerged of a loner, fierce and sincere, demanding but above all, generous.
Meeting Andy, he’d enquire, “What are you reading? What are you writing?” He cut to the chase. He would examine you over his tinted aviator glasses. I’d had the pleasure, myself.
Years ago, I shot a National Film Board documentary about Suknaski. I remember that stare. Yikes! No, he wasn’t finding faults, it was worse than that! Andy was looking for the best.
He seemed to be taking responsibility for the enlightenment of those he lived among.
“Knowing Andy, I got a sense of what it was like to live the life of a poet.”
Sukna
Hit Lit: Cracking the Code of the 20th Century’s Biggest Bestsellers, by James W. Hall, performs a group autopsy on the biggest blockbusters of the last century.
From Gone with the Wind to The Da Vinci Code, a dozen mega-novels reveal their common story elements:
- The heroes are mavericks.
- Forget about characters’ interior dialogue.
- The novels all contain a secret society…
- And a clock ticking down to disaster.
- An extreme sexual act of some kind, etc., etc….
I’ve tacked the list to my wall. And as I begin my new blockbuster novel…something’s wrong. It’s false start after false start. These tips are short-circuiting the inspiration that normally gives my story its unique shape.
Writing manuals — do they really help?
When I published my own writing manifesto, Story Structure to Die for, I doubted its efficacy for the same reason. My super-simple story overview reduces the dramatic thrust to its most basic idea…and yet…
Writing to formula is no way to proceed.
James A. Hall agrees. In a “Bonus Chapter”, Hall warns writers against forgetting their “honest passion”. Knowing the rules of fiction is not enough. In Hall’s own experience…
“I had to figure out how each [rule] expressed a deeply rooted emotion of my own.” Hall quotes the American poet, Robert Frost:
“No tears for the writer, no tears for the reader.”
In other words, says Hall, “It had to matter to me before it could matter to anyone else.”
So, regarding all these “how-to” writing manuals, here’s MY ADVICE TO MYSELF:
As a queen sits down, knowing that a chair will be there,
Or a general raises his hand and is given field glasses,
Step off assuredly into the blank of your mind.
Something will come to you.
~ Richard Wilbur (quoted in an interview with novelist, Anne Tyler, in the guardian)
6:30 a.m.
This morning I awake to a new schedule—START NOVEL.
No shower, no coffee, don’t even get dressed. Don’t clean up the desk. No email, no surfing blogs, no Facebook or Twitter. No opening the snail mail, no Globe and Mail. No logging on to the Internet, period.
I have a speech to write—forget it. Another blog post—not now. Another eBook in the works—later! Just man up to the blank screen, PJ, and thrill to the experience of not knowing what’s going to happen.
6:37 a.m.
I resist rereading The Guardian interview that sits on my desk. American novelist, Anne Tyler (The Accidental Tourist), discusses waiting for our muse—big mistake:
“[I] just go to my room and plug away. It doesn’t take very long for most writers to realize that if you wait until the day you are inspired and feel like writing you’ll never do it at all.”
I know that! That’s why I’m here confronting the blank “page”, so to speak. Perhaps I should write it in longhand, on paper, as Anne Tyler does. I’ll need a smoother pen, one of those ‘gel’ jobs. Do they even sell pads of paper anymore? You know, those yellow, legal-sized…
6:43 a.m.
I pick at some crud lodged under the “L” key. I overturn the laptop and blow the lint loose.
6:45 a.m.
The blank screen again. That sinking feeling. I’m reminded of something Eckhart Tolle said. E.T. and the Dalai Lama were on stage at Vancouver’s Peace Summit (2009). Herr Tolle was riffing about—of all things—Soccer. About the penalty kick.
Years ago, I won a “24-hour One-Act Play competition”. Later, I wrote a feature screenplay over a long weekend with two buddies. The 3-day novel competition, I’ve survived that twice. Now it’s time for…
Inkubate’s first annual LITERARY BLOCKBUSTER CHALLENGE!
According to Inkubate, a “literary blockbuster” is a novel that “explores the eternal philosophical questions and grabs and holds the reader’s attention from the first page.”
It’s a book that “…joins the psycho-sociological themes of Mrs. Dalloway with the page-turning suspense of The Godfather.”
(Should the twain even be encouraged to meet?)
“How about merging James Joyce’s psychologically complex characterization with a Stephen King plot?”
Inkubate thinks it’s possible. They’re a brand new eTeam aiming to present writers’ work to publishers and agents. “We’re working hard to create a place that writers, publishers and agents will love.” The love-in will begin when the literary blockbusters start pouring in.
The deadline is December 15, 2012. No entry fee. It’s all about the challenge:
“Write a thought-provoking literary novel that’s also a page-turner. We invite you to combine the goals of serious literature (thematic depth and high-level craft) with the bestselling formulas of the mega-blockbusters.”
Easier said than done! The beginning especially. The first page sets the all-important tone.
HOW TO BEGIN?
With a death in the first paragraph? A body washes up on the beach. A dead man in Business Class, unlit cigar hanging from his lip. Good. At the same time we need to glimpse the protagonist’s interior, a constellation of neuroses and lies which render him unreliable as a narrator and which promise mystery and irony and sex and which, most of all, portends a theme at least as large as the collapse of civilization.
And then in the second paragraph…
This may be the greatest literary challenge ever. Are you up for it? There’s no shame in asking for help, which I’m doing right now:
- How do we begin to understand this hybrid genre? Insights anyone? How do we meld the “literary” and “blockbuster” genres without mocking both?
- What authors should we emulate? J
You never forget your first...car. Well, my son's first car is officially a goner. Purchased new by my mom in 1996, it was passed down first to my sister, next to my older son, and then to my younger son. We had so hoped it would last until he leaves for college in late August, but poor old Chrystal succumbed to a deadly mix of oil and antifreeze.
This got me thinking about what cars mean to boys. How cars mean way more than transportation. They mean freedom.
So I decided to give a car to a favorite boy of mine. Not my son. I adore the kid, but he'll have to share my Prius for the next four months. Nope. I'm giving a car to my main character.
One of my favorite books with a car as an important player is John Green's PAPER TOWNS. Quentin drives a lot. Unfortunately, he drive his mom's minivan. (Full disclosure, we have one of those, too.) And the scene where his parents finally give him a car of his own is laugh out loud funny.
So for funsies, I'm giving my MC his own set of wheels. Now he can get around, get out of town, get into and out of more trouble than before.My first car was a station wagon -- about as cool as a minivan in those days. But I loved it. Loved driving. Loved loading up the back seat with more friends than I should have and cruising about.
Remember your first car?
In my last post I suggested that it might be “easier to juggle giraffes than to sell a rhyming picture book manuscript” (see “
Giraffe Juggling”). That’s still true, but at the moment, I feel like I’ve caught a giraffe and am bracing myself for the toss.
The latest critique of my rhyming PB manuscript left me stymied by a new question: “Have you thought about where you might submit this?” Submit? Really?
Immersed in meter, plot and my thesaurus, I had resolved not to consider next steps. I consulted the wonderful resources you readers suggested (thank you!), and revised, revised, revised. And, surprise -- the manuscript earned a thumbs up from my critique partners.
I am thrilled to see light at the end of the revision tunnel. Admittedly, the manuscript is needs tweaks, but they feel manageable. Today, my efforts to hone this craft made a difference and lifted me to a new level of confidence. I’m not juggling yet, but at least the giraffe is within my grasp. I know this is just the beginning of a confidence-deflating process (ah, rejections) but still, I'm looking forward to launching that giraffe skyward. So this is my way of encouraging all you frustrated writers out there: Keep at it! You can catch a giraffe too.
“Every book has an intrinsic impossibility.” ~ Annie Dillard.
I don’t mean to ruin your day. Quite the opposite.
As a reader, I’m drawn to the impossible dilemma. As a writer, I’m pumped by the prospect of accomplishing the impossible. In her little book, “The Writing Life”, Ms. Dillard suggests that every novelist asks two questions: Can it be done? and Can I do it?
The appropriate answer is ‘no’.
At the level of “story”, it’s the hero who confronts the impossible. The powers of antagonism compel us if they appear insurmountable. Writers generally understand this. But Dillard is more concerned with a worse impossibility facing the writer.
The problem of story structure:
“…it is insoluble,” says Dillard, “it is why no one can ever write this book.”
Ernest Hemingway acknowledged that “writing well is impossibly difficult.” His advice for the would-be writer was to “go out and hang himself”. Then…
“…he should be cut down without mercy and forced by his own self to write as well as he can for the rest of his life. At least he will have the story of the hanging to commence with.”
Launching a tale is rarely the writer’s problem. But soon the plot sags for want of a protagonist with momentum—to say nothing of her reaching a meaningful conclusion. The writer swears that the original idea literally oozed meaning.
So, what went wrong?
In her beloved little book, Dillard suggests that the writer typically discovers the “structural defect” and then “wishes he had never noticed”.
“He finds ways to minimize the difficulty; he strengthens other virtues; he cantilevers the whole narrative out into thin air, and it holds. And if it can be done, he can do it, and only he.”
Dillard loves the notion of the writer doggedly intuiting his way toward
As I revise my rhyming picture book manuscript, advice on writing echoes in my thoughts: “Don’t do it. The rhyme has to be perfect. You have a better chance of juggling giraffes than selling a rhyming manuscript.”
Yet it attracts me. I love to read rhymes aloud, from Dr. Seuss to Mother Goose. Rhymes are texts I remember, from
Good Night Moon to
The Gruffalo. My feet tap and my head bops when I read
Barnyard Dance or
Jazz Baby. My kids don’t think of Shel Silverstein’s books as poetry, they think of them as fun. Good rhyme is timeless.
And despite the alarm bells, good rhyme is good business.
And there’s the rub: can I write a
good rhyme?
I can, at least, try. And I can’t help myself – it is fun. Some of the mechanical details are lost in my high school memory fog: poetic rules for slants, accents, structure and form. Any suggestions on favorite poetic resources would be appreciated.
I read my stanzas aloud and I know that the rhyme must flow as naturally as dialogue, it must not be forced, and each verse must serve the purpose of the story, moving the plot forward. Knowing however is not always the same as doing. I’m going to try anyway. If anyone has any good tips on giraffe juggling, that would be appreciated. What resources do you use to help you hone this irresistible craft? Do you have any success stories about juggling giraffes (ok, or writing)?
If you risked downloading my eBook, “Story Structure to Die for”, you’re not alone. Almost a thousand writers have e-grabbed their free copy this week.
I’m gratified to hear back from people I don’t know, people who owe me nothing and yet have taken a moment to leave words of thanks:
“It’s truly a wonderful gift, and anyone who reads it should consider themselves lucky indeed.”
Writers never know!
We don’t how far our words might travel; neither do we know if those words make sense; if the ideas add up. Part of this eBook experiment has been to float this theory of structure out there to see if it sinks. Maybe I’ve been deluding myself.
“Thank you for this amazing book, ‘Story Structure to Die For’…it most certainly is. I feel like I have been given the keys to the kingdom! Thank you and thank you again!!”
“The keys to the kingdom.” Wow. I want to thank that commenter for putting it so poetically. I might have said something about a key to “understanding how fiction works”. I have to be careful not to oversell this thing. But I welcome all the embellishments that come my way beause a writer never knows if his concepts are unlocking any doors.
“What an encouraging, simplified method to writing a story—a good story, an award winning one!”
Those are original exc!amation marks, I swear. I didn’t add them. A writer never knows if his love for stories is being transmitted one heart to another. So it’s a joy to see the excitement radiating back.
“I am very excited. I am lucky to have read it, and it made me think.”
A writer sits alone in his writing hut—how is he or she to know?
I was fortunate this week to have been a guest blogger on a popular writers blog called The Write Practice. I presented my super-simple overview to the readers of that popular blog and spent the day fielding comments. It proved an excellent way for me to find out how I was doing.
Readers of the blog, writers in their own right, sought advice on problems of structure with their own works-in-progress. A week later, we’re still e-chatting. Who would’ve thought?
I was surprised to find myself in tears at a local sidewalk café. It was embarrassing because we were supposed to be having an intellectual discussion. From whence those tears? Well, I’ll tell you.
We were discussing story structure, this first-time novelist and I: “Your protagonist IS your story,” that sort of thing. “Your character doesn’t wander around the plot, no, he or she IS the plot.”
I was using Good Will Hunting as an example. The story develops to where young Will struggles against the urge to deploy what’s left of the belief system he’s been living by (self-destructively so). A belief system which, by this point in the story, is in shreds.
Will (Matt Damon) is meeting with his psychiatrist (Robin Williams), remember? The shrink would appear to be the only friend Will has left. If Will stomps out on him, Will misses the only chance he’ll ever get to heal himself.
Sean sees an opportunity to get Will to accept that his childhood of abuse was no fault of his own. Problem is, Will has his black-belt in humiliating anyone who shows affection for him. Will has begun to see how counter-productive his defense mechanisms are, but you can’t just willy-nilly drop who you are.
But you have to.
The rational mind considers it impossible, but Will is starting to hate that mind of his.
The story has arrived where every good story must—at the moment that swallows up everything that has come before it.
“There’s a hole in my story, and everything’s flowing into it!” (I love saying that.)
Here at the “Act II crisis”, every scene proves to have been in service of this moment.
This is the essence of story structure—scenes serving meaning.
And there I was, caught in the heart of the story, living Will’s anguish at not knowing who he is in that moment. If he hangs on for a few more heartbeats, he will be cured.
It’s not sadness, no, not at all. Will’s tears (my tears, damn!) have become a release of all his pain and s
As I near the finish line of my WIP, I'm beginning to think about my next novel. Several ideas are fighting to be next in line, but today, one of them took the lead. I was in the mood.
Let me go back a few years. I had an idea for a middle grade ghost story set at the beach. I did some preliminary research, knew my two protagonists, and knew who my ghost would be.
But now I also want to write a book about a kid in high school band -- I've got the plot structure for that one, but no plot yet. I've got the beginning of a YA about a theater kid that I want to get back to, and a YA mystery begging to be solved.
So what happened today to make that MG jump to the front of the pack?
Well, I went for a walk on the boardwalk in Ocean City, NJ. I've walked that boardwalk countless times. My husband was born and raised there and my in-laws still live there. But today was different.
Today was...moody.
The sky was overcast, but the sun was breaking through in shafts of light right where the waves break. Sea Isle City, seen from a distance curving out and into the ocean, was shrouded in mist. The boardwalk was deserted. I was alone.
And more than anything, I wanted to write about it. I was in the mood.
I think my in-laws will see a lot of me this summer.
I'll share a photo when I get home to my own computer. Can't download from my phone on the one I'm using.
So does anyone else care to join me in a summer WIP? Plan it now and fast draft throughout the summer months? Come on in! The water's fine!
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I'm still squeeing for you, Robin! And I hope you'll continue to share your insights about the whole process. I can't wait to read every word.
As for me, I rarely tell anyone I write. I used to, but no more. I hate the same set of questions. And you all know what they are.
So in casual conversation, mums the word. Even my husband has learned that. He's hears the same questions too many times.
But I do love to talk writing and process with people who understand or who are genuinely curious.
Judy, Thanks! I was really thrown by the questions/comments that people had. It's very scary putting yourself out there and saying "Yes, I write".
I know exactly the questions you are talking about too!!
And ditto for talking about the writing process. I LOVE that :)
Congrats again, Robin! It's just such great news. I have had some odd reactions to my role as writer too. I don't think people even realize how they come off, half the time. I remember shortly after I graduated college, one of my uncles asked me what I wanted to do and when he heard the answer, he said lightly "Oh, another unpublished writer!" Oh, how it stung! Well,, some years passed and I published some magazine articles and came back to him proudly saying, "Not another unpublished writer anymore!" Well, he had forgotten all about what he said and when he heard it repeated back to him he was mortified. He isn't a bad guy, he simply didn't realize how it sounded at the time. But it stayed with me for years.
Robin,
I have often heard children's writers say that they aren't considered "real writers" unless they write for adults. Now, I guess having a movie made from your book is the new test of your worth. Ouch! Well, I think it's terrific that you have a book coming out. People mean well--keep that in mind. Hopefully, they'll buy a copy.
Love this post, Robin! And congrats again!
I think the question that got the oddest reactions for me is-- when is it coming out? In publishing time, my book came out pretty quickly, but for the rest of the world it seemed really slow. Friends celebrated my good news and then they wanted to see my book in a book store... soon! I would explain that there's a lot that needs to happen to get my book ready-- including time for the illustrator to make all his incredible illustrations. But often, I got the sense that they slightly doubted that my book was real if it was taking this long. :o)
p.s. Their apparent doubts that it was real reinforced my own doubts that it was real, 'cause I could hardly believe it myself. :o)
You deserve a long, loud squee!! And as for the questions and comments, just chalk them up to well-meaning ignorance. I imagine lawyers and doctors get some irritating/funny comments also.
Thanks, ladies! Glad to know I'm not alone with odd questions being tossed my way!!
The only think that really threw me was the advance question...but like you said, most people are well meaning and eager to say congrats!!