There comes a time when virtual commiseration, applause, counsel and butt-kicking isn’t enough. And so my online critique group, the YAckers, meets in person about once a year.
We live in all parts of the country, and so we vary the meeting place. We try to go where the weather suits the clothes we wish we were wearing, with things to do and see when we can no longer squint at the screen and printed page. Ever since certain noisy people got scolded by hotel security in Wilkes-Barre, PA, we try to rent a house or B&B so we have a place to ourselves. We’ve been to Park City Utah, rural Pennsylvania, and San Antonio. And this year we chose Memphis, TN, where we rented the Lake House, a large house on a small lake in Cordova, TN.
At first, I was cool to the idea of Memphis. After a long winter and cold, rainy, snowy spring, I was ready for beach time. As far as I know, Memphis doesn’t have a beach. But as I read about the city, I was intrigued. There’s a lot of history there, much of it important to me. And music—the kind of throbbing rhythm and blues that gets your body moving in unanticipated ways. Finally, Memphis is warm and blooming in April, a cruel month where I come from.
More importantly, I was just beginning to realize that one of the characters in my current work in progress is FROM Memphis. Who knew?
It was a quick visit—a long weekend, really, and we had four novels to review. We knew we had to prioritize, to focus on good music, good food, and the celebration of a fallen hero.
We visited Graceland, because the Elvis Presley story is fascinating and that man could sing. We ate at the Rendezvous and Gus’s Fried Chicken. We had dinner stage-side at B.B. King’s Blues Club. Afterward, we walked down Beale Street, past narrow alleys spilling music into the street, past signs that said, “drinks to go.” I collected sights, sounds, and memories.
And, of course, we visited the National Civil Rights Museum.
The Civil Rights Museum is located at the Lorraine Motel, where Martin Luther King was assassinated in the bloody year of 1968. King had come to Memphis to support striking sanitation workers. The motel rooms have been restored to that period. A wreath marks the spot on the balcony of the motel where he fell, and you can see where somebody replaced the bloodstained concrete. Displays follow the history of the movement to the present day—including the bus boycotts, the Freedom R
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By: Cinda Williams Chima,
on 3/4/2010
Blog: Cinda Williams Chima (Login to Add to MyJacketFlap)
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So last month I went to San Antonio for a writing retreat with six members of my YA writer critique group (writers Debby Garfinkle, Jody Feldman, Martha Peaslee Levine, Kate Tuthill, and Mary Beth Miller.) The group is called YAckers—which says a lot about what we do when we get together. We meet online mostly, but try to meet in person at least once each year. It is a gathering of Literary Goddesses in search of the muse, and involves prodigious eating, drinking, visiting, sightseeing, shopping, whining, bragging, and, yes, some writing and critiquing.
We stayed in a bed and breakfast (Alamo Street Victorian Inn) and had the whole place to ourselves most of the time, except for the owners and a handyman named Paul who buzzed around us like a yellow jacket at a late summer
picnic.
Novelists have special challenges when it comes to seeking effective critique. Many critique groups read a chapter a month. I belong to a couple of those. They are great resources, but we never get even halfway through one of my novels in a year’s time.
Also, it’s an odd way to read a novel. There’s no opportunity to enter the dream of fiction, and it’s easy to forget what’s going on, month to month. If your readers can’t remember who Jason is, is it because you didn’t do your job as a writer, or because it’s been two months since Chapter 3?
Each chapter can work perfectly well, but the entire story arc may be flawed, the characters erratic and inconsistent, and the ending unsatisfying. If nobody ever reads more than a few chapters, you’ll never know.
So for our retreats, we submit novel-length works to the group ahead of time, and spend several hours discussing each piece submitted. The Goddesses are smart, savvy, experienced readers who work in unrelated genres. And I came away from my personal critique session saying, “Why didn’t I see that? Of course!!”
One of Many YAckers Food Opportunities at Boudreau's
It’s a safe environment in which to vent, seek wisdom, and ask the “Am I crazy?” questions. What happens in San Antonio stays in San Antonio.On the shopping front, we are very good at encouraging each other’s vices. Martha bought jewelry, Debby and Jody bought art. I found a nifty silver wrist cuff in a shop at LaVillita. When I showed it to my fellow YACkers, they said, “You have to buy two!!” You see, there’s a character named Cuffs in my current fantasy series who wears magical silver bracelets on his wrists.
Author appearances!! School visits!! Tax deductible!! they said. And, You know you want to.
So nothing would do but I went back into the store and bought a second cuff (and
1 Comments on Goddesses Meet in San Antonio, last added: 3/5/2010
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Oh to be back in San Antonio, specifically Boudreau's! I wonder if they export their guacamole ....
Kate