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Like many New Jerseyans, our house took some direct hits from Irene and Lee. After living with a completely dry, finished basement for the last 12 years, this time, it flooded twice and then our ceiling leaked, and our finished basement became finished in the other sense of the word. As in, kaput. Granted, we didn't suffer one iota as much as the folks in the hardest hits parts of the state, like Cranford (see Eileen's post, below) or Paterson. My heart goes out to the people in those areas, and, considering the complete devastation of their homes and belongings, I can't really complain. Relatively speaking, losing our basement wasn't so bad.
Still, I lost something in the flood that, as a writer of children's books, makes me awfully sad. I lost most of my longstanding collection of children's books. I have...make that, had...hundreds, maybe thousands of books. I'd been collecting them for decades, since I was a kid. My own kids have added reams of new titles to that collection every year. Three days post-storm, I got home from being stranded in Colorado to find them soaking wet and soiled, ruined. I'm not talking about them being ruined by the clear, Poland Springs-kind of water, I'm talking about the brown, smelly, yucky kind. These books clearly had to be tossed.
So lately, I've been throwing out everything from Rick Riordan to Carolyn Keene. So long, Caps for Sale. Nice reading you, Polar Express. Unwind, Artemis Fowl, The Thief Lord, all gone.
It is a drag. On the other hand, ruined book collections can be rebuilt, for the most part. As for ruined homes and lives, it's not so easy. My thoughts turn to those folks now. I wish them all a speedy recovery, and lots of financial aid from FEMA!
Paper Waiters, did Irene and/or Lee affect any of you, too, from a children's book writer's perspective?
Greetings from Cape Cod. There's a bluebird sky, the beach is just across the way, and my head feels clearer than it has all year. It's a perfect time to write or just ideate, as my friend Josh calls it. Give me a notebook, a pen, and a beach chair--the Cape is my laptop-free zone--and I'm more productive as a writer than I am on too many days at home.
At home, between work and kid-rearing, life is so scheduled, so damn busy, I'm always fighting a necessary slew of distractions, just like you, I'll bet. But on vacation, I have the time, and feel the inner peace I need to really think. Frankly, I wish my entire life could be one long vacation, that I could live away from home. Then I'd be enviably productive and prolific, or so I like to think. But I guess that's impossible, an oxymoron.
When I get home, what I need to do is find a good go-to place, so I can keep this writing momentum going. I've never been able to do this. The local library is too noisy. Starbucks is too noisy. I practically need a vacuum-sealed environment, to shut everything out, and that's hard to find, especially in the New York-metro area. But where to go?
Hey, Papers Waiters, if anyone out there has found a good writing haven, could you please let me know? I'm not looking for the exact location--no hostile takeovers intended!--but a general idea that's not a lending library or an espresso bar.
For now, it's back to the beach, pen in hand. I hope you're all enjoying some sea air and big word counts this summer. Cheers.
In my June 17th post, Why the ___ Didn’t I Write That Book First?, about Adam Mansbach’s bestseller, Go the F___ to Sleep, I ended with the question, What kind of spinoffs would you guess are in the works?
Flipping through last week’s The New Yorker, I came across a hysterical cartoon by Barry Blitt that answered the same question. Did anyone else see it? If you have a subscription but missed the cartoon, it’s on page 40 of the July 4, 2011, issue. It’s also archived on the website.
Since I don’t have permission to reprint it, here’s the gist of it: The cartoon, titled “Not Suitable for Kids Books,” features mock book covers with titles like, “You’ll Never _________ Amount to Anything, Just Like Me,” What part of ___ ______ __________ _____ ______ don’t you understand?” and my favorite, “Why the _____can’t you be more like your brother?”
Check it out. It’s a guaranteed giggle, which seems a good idea on this maddeningly hot day. (It’s 90-something in New Jersey.) Cheers.
Because I’m an avowed Neil Gaiman groupie, Gale, my fellow Paper Waiter, clued me in on a recent war of words between Mr. Gaiman and Matt Dean, the Republican leader of the Minnesota House of Representatives, which was first reported in the Star Tribune, the Twin Cities local paper.
If you missed the story, Dean called Mr. Gaiman a “pencil-necked little weasel who stole $45,000 from the state of Minnesota,” for accepting that amount to give a four-hour lecture at a Minnesota library last year. The money, by the way, came from a state-funded arts fund that was about to expire, so it was a case of use it or lose it.
As Mr. Gaiman clarified in his elegantly written and wonderfully titled blog post, “The Opinions of a Pencil-necked Weasel-thief,” the fee he received was actually $33,600; the money went to two charities (“a sexual abuse one and a library/author one”); and he only charges such a high fee to dissuade people from asking him to speak—not surprisingly, he says he gets a lot of requests—so he can focus on what he’s supposed to do—write.
Mr. Gaiman added that he doesn’t like being called a thief, but he likes “pencil-necked weasel” because “It has the word "pencil" in it. Pencils are good things. You can draw or write things with pencils.”
I just love his pencil defense. As for his neck, I happen to think Mr. Gaiman has one of the nicest necks I’ve ever seen on a children’s book author. And that lovely British accent. Sigh. After hearing him read from The Graveyard Book, at an author series in NYC, I’m convinced he could read from an air conditioner installation manual and make it sound like Keats.
But I digress. So tell me, are you Team Dean or Team Neil? (In the interest of full disclosure, Dean later apologized.)
Another question: Which other children’s book authors do you think are wonderful speakers? Richard Peck and Joan Bauer, both of whom reduced me to tears, are on my list. Like Neil Gaiman, I think they are totally worth the money, be it a speaking fee and/or the price of admission.
p.s. Event alert: While we’re on the topic of author talks, if you live in the NYC area, some top YA authors, including Ally Condie and Scott Westerfeld, will be speaking about “Writing for Teens Today” at the New York Public Library’s Mulberry Street Branch, on Wednesday, May 25, 2011, at 5:30 p.m. Here’s the link.
Here’s a question for those of you who are familiar with the, um, challenging process of querying agents: What do you think about agents’ “no-response rejections,” which seem to have grown in popularity over the years?
Do you think they’re a necessary evil, given how bogged down agents can get with unsolicited queries? Or do you think this don’t-sell-don’t-tell policy is unfair to writers, who, after hearing only crickets for weeks or months, may be left wondering if agents even received and/or read their e-queries to begin with? Who knows? Maybe they got lost in cyberspace or the spamosphere (the queries, that is, not the agents)?
For those of you who aren’t familiar with this particular type of rejection (lucky you), here’s the gist. According to some agents’ submissions guidelines, if you haven’t heard back within a certain period of time after querying them, say eight weeks, you should take it to mean they’re not interested in seeing a submission from you. Once that amount of time passes, you should go straight to your agent query list, maybe on querytracker.com, and select the “query closed/no response” box. Done. Grr.
But here’s what troubles me. Recently, I caught a few posts from agents, some of whom follow the no-response/rejection policy, which gave me pause. In one post, an on-line interview with an agent, the agent invited anyone who’d e-queried him but never heard back during a certain time period the prior year to resubmit. He bravely admitted he’d been so bogged down, he’d fallen hopelessly behind, and had been unable to get to all the e-queries he’d received during that time. Now that he was finally caught up, he wanted to give those queriers a second chance. I just hope they caught this interview, or read it elsewhere, so they knew about it.
Another agent recently blogged that he’d been having computer problems so if writers hadn’t heard back within two weeks of querying to feel free to re-query. I hope his queriers caught his post, too.
Because electronic and human blips like these happen from time to time, does anyone wish that agents would ban the non-response policy, and respond to every query with at least a form rejection, if only to make the rejection official? Or is this simply asking too much of them?
Now, before anyone jumps down my throat, let me clarify: I’m not taking a particular side. Frankly, I’m torn about this issue. I would, however, love to hear what our Paper Wait readers think.
Before I close, a little anecdote. A few years ago, I attended an NJ-SCBWI conference. During the agent panel portion of the morning, after giving their submission wish lists, most agents added that they would only respond to queries if they were interested. The last agent, however, gave her list then added, “Oh, and we respond to every query we receive.”
The entire room broke into applause.
I’m a Neil Gaiman groupie, so I was delighted to find his 8 rules for writing fiction in a recent Gotham Writers Workshop newsletter, reprinted from an article in The Guardian.
Here’s how Gotham ran it:
Neil Gaiman: 8 Good Writing Practices
Neil Gaiman has become so popular he is often considered the “rock star” of the literary world. He trades mostly in science fiction and fantasy in a variety of forms—novels, children’s books, graphic novels, comic books, and film. Among his trend-setting works: Coraline, The Graveyard Book and The Sandman series. He takes readers, of all ages, to the very edge of imagination.
8 Good Writing Practices
1. Write.
2. Put one word after another. Find the right word, put it down.
3. Finish what you're writing. Whatever you have to do to finish it, finish it.
4. Put it aside. Read it pretending you’ve never read it before. Show it to friends whose opinion you respect and who like the kind of thing that this is.
5. Remember: when people tell you something’s wrong or doesn’t work for them, they are almost always right. When they tell you exactly what they think is wrong and how to fix it, they are almost always wrong.
6. Fix it. Remember that, sooner or later, before it ever reaches perfection, you will have to let it go and move on and start to write the next thing. Perfection is like chasing the horizon. Keep moving.
7. Laugh at your own jokes.
8. The main rule of writing is that if you do it with enough assurance and confidence, you’re allowed to do whatever you like. (That may be a rule for life as well as for writing. But it’s definitely true for writing.) So write your story as it needs to be written. Write it honestly, and tell it as best you can. I'm not sure that there are any other rules. Not ones that matter.
I was particularly struck by item 5, since it relates to good critiquing practices. At first, I thought Mr. Gaiman was spot on: If you tell a writer exactly how to fix something, you’re imposing your vision on his or her story. Not good.
But after rereading the item, I wasn’t so sure I agreed with him. I mean, if you’re a seasoned critiquer, who knows a WIP well, and has a perfectly brilliant solution for a completely stuck writer, whom you may also know well, why not offer it up? It’s up to the writer to decide whether or not to run with it and make it his or her own. He or she might even hug you in gratitude. Or better yet, buy you a margarita.
Fellow critiquers (and writers), what do you think? Oh, and if there’s another item that struck you, which one was it and why?
p.s. To see the complete article from The Guardian, which includes wonderful rules for writing from a dozen or so famous writers, click on the link above.
In my day job as a writing professor, I happened upon an old interview with Leslie Marmon Silko (b. 1948), the wonderful, Native American author of novels, short stories, essays, poetry, and more. When the interviewer asked her, “Who do you consider to be your audience? Who are you writing for?” I was struck by Silko’s response:
“I've never thought too much about an audience per se. When I first started writing, I wasn't sure that anyone would want to read or listen to the work that I did. I didn't think about it at first. In a way, it's good not to think about an audience. If you start thinking about the audience, it can inhibit what you do. When I was younger, there was concern about what will Grandma think, or what will Mama say or something like this, and that in a sense is being concerned about audience and can really inhibit a writer. Initially, I guess I assumed that I wouldn’t have to worry about an audience because there would not be an audience.”
Man, I envy her. Not having to think about an audience sounds so…freeing. As a middle-grade writer, there isn’t a moment when I don’t think about my (hopeful) audience. What would Joe sixth-grader think of this word? This phrase? This plot point? What will keep him turning pages instead of turning on his DSi? I can’t see him, smell him, or hear him, but Joe’s always here, peering over my shoulder, critiquing me whenever I’m BIC HOK TAM (Butt In Chair, Hands On Keyboard, Typing Away Madly). Frankly, Joe can be a real pain in the a--.
I can help but wonder: Are my overriding concerns about what Joe (and Jenny) reader would think squelching my creativity, making my writing seem less organic? Fellow children’s book writers, what do you think? Do you ever feel like you're too concerned about your young audience, to the point where it inhibits you and hurts your writing? Does it ever make you want to run for the relative freedom of the adult market? Is that a misnomer? Talk to me.
It seems “mixing” is the new word for plagiarism. Last month, the media had a field day when the news broke that Helene Hegemann, the 17-year-old “wunderkind” German author of the best-selling debut novel, Axolotl Roadkill, had lifted entire pages from some lesser-known writer’s blog and book.
Hegemann said she didn’t do anything wrong, she was just “mixing.” As one of her very own characters in her book asked, “Who cares where I get things from? All that matters is what I do with them.” (By the way, I got this quote from a magazine article, not from actually reading the book, if anyone cares.)
I must say I admire Hegemann’s chutzpah. I mean, it takes guts to seize someone else’s words and lay claim to them as your own. It’s kind of like literary eminent domain.
I, on the other hand, stink at mixology. I can’t even lift an adjective from another author’s book without feeling guilty. Once, when I was struggling to describe a futuristic computer in my WIP, I happened upon the perfect compound adjective in one of Eoin Colfer’s books, so I stuck it in my manuscript. But every time I reread the words “wafer-thin computer” in my own work, it dogged me. I still thought the description was perfect, but it never felt like mine, so I took it out.
In the grand scheme of mixing, it was a minor infraction. It’s not like I’d inserted, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” Who would have even noticed? And even if anyone had, would it have really mattered?
I mean, maybe mixing’s not such a big deal. Let’s face it, plenty of people do it. Musicians and DJ’s remix music all the time. In literature, scenes are stolen and plots are lifted. “Thinly veiled” is nothing new. When I was a magazine editrix, the joke at planning meetings was that we’d create an upcoming issue by throwing an old issue down the stairs, shuffling the pages back together, and sticking on a new cover. (No, we never really did it; not consciously, anyway.)
As Hegemann said, “there is no such thing as originality anyway, just authenticity.” (I lifted that quote from the NYTimes, by the way. On the other hand, since I’m revealing my source, it’s not really “lifting,” is it?)
So tell me, dear readers, what do you think about mixing? Have you ever done it in your own WIPs? How much mixing is too much? As for Hegemann, should the first edition of her book have been recalled? (In the second edition, she finally credited her source, under duress, I’d guess.) Should she pay the poor remixed blogger/author a percentage of royalties? Or, in this cut-and-paste age, is anything fair game for mixing?
Including, perhaps, this blog post.
I’m still in submission mode--querying agents; sending requested partials or fulls; receiving helpful or form rejections; sometimes hearing nothing more than crickets. Along the way, I’ve realized how inefficient the whole darn process can be; as I see it, anyway. Querying multiple agents can be nothing more than a time-sucking duplication of effort for writers like me. And for agents, sending countless rejections is just another royal waste of time and effort. There must be a way to streamline the process, for all involved.
Which got me thinking. Why isn’t there some type of networking site, a la LinkedIn or Facebook, specifically for writers/authors and agents, so they can hook up?
As I see it, every writer could have his or her own page, with a photo. (Heck, if you look like the next top model, it couldn’t hurt your odds of being picked up...by an agent, I mean.) On the rest of your page, you could upload your manuscript’s (or manuscripts’) logline, query letter, first page, partial, and full manuscript, as separate links, for agents to click on as desired.
Agents would find you through a key word search. Suppose Agent X was desperate for a manuscript with the following specs: a high-concept, middle-grade fantasy about a boy protagonist who morphs into a dung beetle at night, but only when his mom attends PTA meetings, and his dad plays bocce ball. He or she would simply type in the search words, et voila, find the lone three writers worldwide--you included, woo hoo!--with the exact same key words on their networking pages.
Agent X would then request a page viewing from you, the writer/author. If granted, Agent X could view as many of your links as desired, and either reject your logline, query, ms., etc., or offer representation--yippee!--by clicking on the appropriate box. Of course, you’d be notified immediately by e-mail, and given the opportunity to accept or reject the offer of representation, say, within two days.
Writers could search for their perfect agents the same way. They could even set up the terms of what types of agents they'd like to include in their search terms, for example, include only agents from New York City. Agents would also have the option to block certain writers or types of writers from contacting them, due to, say, a prior rejection or other mismatch situation.
Of course, a small fee would be required to participate. But it would be well worth the savings in time and effort for writers/authors and agents alike.
So, gentle readers, what do you think? And what other elements would you like to see added to the site?
A wonderful agent from a top New York agency called me the other day.
Nope, it wasn’t “the call.” I’ve never queried this agent. He doesn’t even know I’m shopping a manuscript. In fact, his phone call had absolutely nothing to do with publishing. So why the call?
His young son and mine happen to be budding bff’s and we were simply setting up their next playdate. (Got you to take the jump, though, didn’t I? Heheh.)
This brings me to my quandary. Should I spill the beans? Tell him I’m in the hunt for an agent? Ask him if he’d be willing to take a look at my unbelievably [insert hyperbolic adjective here] manuscript? What if he said, “Sure, send me the full,” then passed? Um, can you spell “awkward”?
Fearing this, should he be off-limits, a Query Don’t? You know, just my kid's friend’s dad; someone to talk Little League with; filed under: Don’t mix business with parenting?
I confess, I tend to shy away from using my industry contacts, this one included. I’m just a whole lot more comfortable cold querying editors and agents—-whatever the outcome. This is why I was heartened to read agent Nathan Bransford’s recent post saying that 62 percent of the first-time authors he polled landed their agents through cold querying. On the other hand, I also know how contacts can open doors in any industry.
So I ask you, gentle readers, am I crazy? Is any potential contact fair game, no matter the relationship? And do you take full advantage of your contacts—-or prefer going cold like me?
My fellow Paper Waiters and I put our heads together and came up with these top tips that have helped keep our critique group running smoothly for the past 12 years.
1. Go positive before going negative. Any critique should begin with positive words about what worked and what the critiquer especially liked. Present praise before you make revision suggestions or comment about what you think needs improvement.
2. Show respect for a person's work. Giving a critique is not supposed to be hurtful but helpful. Treat it as you would treat your own work.
3. The writer should stay silent during the critiques. Don't openly defend your work as it's being critiqued, wait until you've heard everything until responding and asking questions. It takes a lot of time to give a proper critique and whether you agree with it or not, you should at least give the critiquer the chance to get their point across.
4. Members should be expected to produce material to critique on a timely basis. This may mean submitting an earlier work or a short piece if a current, long manuscript is not critique-ready. There should be at least one piece per hour of the session, unless the piece is an entire or partial novel. Having material to critique keeps group members on their toes and producing.
5. Authors should ask for specific points to be mentioned in the critique. If they don't want specific feedback, critiquers should follow the basic points: Plot, character, setting and description, and point of view. Critiques should be limited to ten minutes per person, with time left for the author to ask questions or explain objectives and for critiquers to elaborate or disagree with other critiquers.
6. Critiques should be given to the writer in a timely fashion. It is expected that critique group members will occasionally miss meetings, but every effort should be made to get the critiques to the writer in a timely manner. Even if you have to pay to snail mail it, it's your responsibility to get it to the author.
7. Take the critiques of your work home and review them the same day, if possible. Rereading and rethinking all of the notes you've received will give you a clear idea of the ones that really stand out, and will crystallize for you what work needs to be done.
8. Make sure your fellow critique group members know the genre you're writing in well. It's no fun to be part of a group with people who write mostly for adults, who listen to your children's writing and say only, "How cute." Ugh! What an insult! Also, you need to be able to trust that your critique group members are leading you in a more publishable direction with their critiques.
9. If you have a bunch of critique group members who are always telling you that everything you write is perfect, RUN! While it may be possible that your first drafts are perfect, this is highly unlikely. You really want to surround yourself with critique group members who know how to give substantive critiques that let you know where your manuscript can be improved. This is a very good thing once you develop a tough enough skin to take it!
10. Make a master containing all of your critique group member’s comments before you start revising your manuscript. When you get ten critiqued copies of your work, some comments are bound to contradict each other. Or you could make a deletion or change based on reading one member’s critique, only to find a better suggestion for improvement from another member. To streamline the revision process—and keep your sanity!—make a master copy with everyone’s corrections, color-coded by member, before you revise, so you can see everyone’s comments at once when you dive into your next draft.
Paper Waiters, do any other top tips come to mind? Blogging buddies, what are your critique group's top tips? We'd love to hear about them.
I was lucky enough to take a magazine pitching class with Kristen Kemp, the author of 13 MG and YA books, who also happens to live in my town. Kristen’s seven novels include Breakfast at Bloomingdale's; The Dating Diaries; I Will Survive; and Genny in a Bottle, a four-book series. Among her six non-fiction books are Strut Your Stuff; Who Are You Really?; 2 Grrrls Guide to Friendship; and 2 Grrrls Guide to Style. Busy as she is with her writing, Kristen was nice enough to do this interview. Thanks, Kristen!
1. You published your first non-fiction book, Jewel: Pieces of a Dream (Simon & Schuster, 1998), only two years after graduating from Indiana University. How did you land the sale? Was it your first manuscript?
Oh boy. I was working as an associate editor at a teen magazine called Twist. I was really enjoying entertainment writing at that time. I had written a story for the magazine called “20 Things You've Never Heard About Jewel.” I loved Jewel, and I did tons of research. I kept telling the entertainment editor, Marc Malkin (way before his gig on The Insider), useless facts that fascinated me. He said, "You should sell one of those quickie books." I wrote up a proposal, sent it to YA book editors, and it got snapped up. I was thrilled because this silly little book gave me the in with editors I was looking for. I wanted to write fiction.
2. Tell us about the day you found out you sold your first novel, Genny in a Bottle, a four-part series, to Scholastic in 2001.
I honestly do not remember. I chalk it up to aging. I can just say that I was thrilled and then terrified. After I got this four-book deal, I had enough money to quit my job at Cosmopolitan magazine. I was associate editor there. Again, I was thrilled and then terrified.
3. After the sale, were you able to make a living as a writer? If not, what did you do to pay the rent?
Absolutely. I only made around $30K per year at my full-time magazine editing jobs. I started bringing in $2K to $3K per magazine story I did on the side. At that time, my books were about $7K to $10K a piece. I found I could put together $30K fairly easily. I lived in Hoboken, New Jersey, and then I found another cute and cheap place in Jersey City. I definitely made the rent.
4. You're 35 years old and already have 13 books under your belt. What's your secret to being so prolific at such a young age?
I wouldn't say I'm prolific at all. I just get excited about ideas and get to work on them. I've taught a lot of YA students as well. The one issue I see that keeps people from succeeding and selling their work is that writers don't finish what they started. I cannot think of a project I didn't finish, for better or worse.
5. Almost all your books were published by Scholastic. Why is that? Are you under contract with the publisher?
My editor is David Levithan. Now he's prolific as an editor and a YA writer. He's a friend of mine who became my editor. He has a reputation in the industry for not letting his writers go. That's been the case with me. He likes my ideas, and he buys them, even outbidding other publishers.
6. Do you or have you ever belonged to a critique group? If so, did you find it helpful?
Yes, I have. It is very helpful. It keeps me on deadline and gives me amazing feedback. The one thing about critique groups, though, is that I sometimes get bogged down by the work I have to do. I try to just pick out the top 3 bits of advice, make a few changes, but most importantly, keep moving forward in my writing.
7. You wrote most of your books before your 3-year-old twin daughters and 1-year-old son were born. How has raising a family impacted your writing?
I had so much more time. That's the biggest difference. I didn't sleep a whole lot until the last six months. Not sleeping really hurt my ability to plot and think creatively. It's getting better now. It's just a matter of finding time for my YA writing. We all have challenges to our writing.
8. Do you have an agent now? Did you have an agent when you wrote your books or did you submit on your own?
I do have an agent now, Dorian Karchmar at William Morris.
9. What do you love most about writing books for children?
My teen years were so hard. I don't know why this is, but I love to relive them. In my writing, I can make all the wrongs of my teens right. It's such an impressionable, emotional time. It's very special. It's also very difficult. I like dwelling on it.
10. What's the most challenging aspect of writing books for children?
Hmmm. Probably finding good topics that haven't been covered before in teen novels. Fresh, interesting, fun books with great characters are key.
11. What's your typical writing routine?
When I'm on deadline with a novel, I have page counts that I have to hit each day. If the manuscript is due in eight months, I might need to write five pages four days a week. I really stick to that schedule, and the book somehow does get done.
12. Do you have any books in the pipeline now?
My last book, Breakfast at Bloomingdale's, is coming out this fall in paperback with a fantastic new cover. I'm currently working on a nonfiction proposal about a woman who has become a wonderful friend of mine. We are the same age and both from the Midwest. But when she was 18, she shot her sexually abusive father to death to keep him from raping her little sister. She went to prison for life without parole. Just last January, she was granted clemency and released. I'm co-authoring her memoir--it's heartbreaking, inspiring and setting me on a wild emotional roller coaster. But I think this is a story she has to tell. I wrote about her a few years ago for Glamour, and we recently went on Nancy Grace together.
13. Do you have any general advice for children's book writers seeking agents?
Write a short, snappy, one-page query letter. Blow them away with the title and the hook of your story. Every teenage story these days needs a fresh gimmick of sorts. Breakfast at Bloomingdale's had all of those things.
14. What are your favorite new MG and YA books?
Suzi Clue (a former student wrote it), Violet on the Runway, What I Saw and How I Lied. There are so many absolutely amazing ones. I also loved Nick and Nora's Infinite Playlist--the book and the movie.
15. What's the best piece of advice you ever got as a writer?
Quit.
16. What's your best piece of advice for aspiring children's book authors?
Write stories that you love and know. A book idea has to really get you excited and keep you up at night. That's a clue to you that you need to write it.
If you’ve ever had the same manuscript critiqued by multiple agents and editors at conferences and received wildly different feedback from each one, raise your hand. (Wow. I see lots of virtual hands going up.)
Now, if you’ve ever had the same manuscript accidentally critiqued twice by the same agent or editor and received wildly different feedback from him or her, raise your hand. (Mine just went up.)
Here’s the gist of what happened:
Critique session 1: I sat down with Editor X for my conference critique. Editor X first apologized. She got sidetracked and wasn’t able to read my manuscript before we met. Would I mind if she read it now? Um, no. After some deft speed reading, she gave the manuscript a mixed review. She had problems with the plot. The characters could be stronger. Maybe it would work better as two books instead of one. Oh brother.
Critique session 2: A few conferences later, I was accidentally paired with Editor X again for a critique of the exact same manuscript (with a few minor changes). Of all the dirty, rotten luck. I braced for round 2.
To my surprise, Editor X gave the same manuscript--she’d read it in advance this time—a completely different critique. A glowing critique. Heck, one of the best darn critiques I ever got. This time, Editor X said the plot was intriguing. The characters were strong. The book worked. If I cut 50 manuscript pages, it would probably get published. Yahoo!
Why was Editor X’s second critique so different from the first? Was it because she was better prepared? Less rushed? Had she just downed a triple latte?
Who knows? But it reminded me of something I tend to forget. Editors and agents are people too. They have good days and bad days. Rushed days and slow days. Sometimes, the difference between a good critique and a bad one is beyond your control. All you can do is keep believing in yourself and keep writing.
And it probably wouldn’t hurt to bring an extra cup of Starbucks to your next critique either.
It took me less than a year to write the first draft of a middle-grade manuscript. Revising it, on the other hand, is taking years. The book is now entering its tenth draft, thanks to several rounds of critiques from editors, agents, and this group. Since I started the first draft, the cows have come home, had calves, and raised them too.
What the Dr. Seuss is taking me so long to finish? Part of it is the time needed to make revisions. Part of it is because I'm working in stops and starts.
I try to blame the latter on the two major time-eaters in my life. First, my two young boys, both of whom are cling-ons. Second, my husband’s recent lay-off, which caused me to freelance again, eating up most of my work time.
But who am I to complain about a time-squeeze? Stephenie Meyer has three mom-thirsty spawn, and she’s as prolific at publishing as she is at procreating. Louise Erdrich, author of 20-plus books, had seven, until one tragically died, leaving six. And J.K. Rowling wrote H.P. 1 on napkins in a café while her infant daughter napped in her carriage.
Oh, pooh on them.
Hoping to cheer myself up, I searched for examples of how long it took famous authors to finish their books. Some, needless to say, made me feel better than others.
*Stephen King (writing as Richard Bachman), The Running Man, three days
*Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451, nine days
*Barbara Park, Junie B. Jones, five to six weeks
*Stephenie Meyer, Twilight, a few months
*J.K. Rowling, H.P. 7, two years
*Margaret Mitchell, Gone With the Wind, 6 years
*Joni Sensel, Bears Barge In (a pb), 8 years
*Louise Erdrich, The Plague of Doves, 20 years
But my absolute favorite example is how long it took Neil Gaiman to write The Graveyard Book, this year's Newbery winner. In a post-win interview, Gaiman revealed that he started writing it more than 20 years ago. “I read the first page and I thought ‘This is a better idea than I am a writer. So I will put the idea away until I’m a better writer,’” he said. More than two decades later, after many stops and starts, he finally finished it. Worth the wait, doncha think?
I guess the answer to my question is, there is no answer. Some people work fast, some slow. Life gets in the way. Motivation comes and goes. Talent increases. Timing is important.
I read this quote somewhere and it spoke to me: "A novel will take as long as it needs. Give it room and keep writing."
On a whim, I entered agent Nathan Bransford’s First Paragraph Challenge contest last week. The rules sounded simple enough. Post the first paragraph of my W.I.P. in the comments box of the contest thread. Mr. B would be the sole judge. The grand prize? A partial critique, query critique, or 15-minute phone conversation.
Why not?
By the time I got around to posting, there were already 965 entries. Hmm. The odds of winning were pretty small. Should I still enter?
Why not?
Hundreds more entries followed. By the time the contest was officially closed, a whopping 1,364 entries has been posted. There was mine, sandwiched somewhere in the lower middle. Don’t blink, Mr. B, or you’ll miss it.
To keep a short story short, I didn’t win. Hmm. Didn’t win last year’s Highlights contest either (along with about 1,500 other losers.) And I didn’t win the handful of other contests I’ve entered over the years. (I did win a journalism writing contest once, but it wasn’t children’s fiction, so it doesn’t count.)
Which makes me wonder: With such small odds, why do I bother entering?
Here’s one reason: I need the dose of reality. With Mr. B’s contest, seeing the other entries reminded me that there are lots of damn good manuscripts out there, all vying for an editor or agent’s attention, so I’d better have a damn good one too if I’m going to compete. I also critiqued the winning entries, pondering why they might have won and I didn’t.
Writing contests force me to leave the happy bubble where I work and come face to face—virtually anyway—with the competition. So much talent. So many writers. Sigh. It shocks me into working even harder on my W.I.P. My book is better for it.
So I guess, in their own annoying way, contests help me grow as a writer. And who knows, one day I might even win one.
How about you? Do you enter contests too? Have you ever won one? What was that like? If not, why do you enter them? Note: Every commenter is a guaranteed winner.
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I'm so sorry to hear about the loss of your books! The first time our basement flooded, during a hurricane a year ago, all of my son's wooden trains were destroyed. For some reason I found this more devastating than the destruction of our carpeting, the hours of cleanup we had to attempt on our own, or the financial burden of re-flooring our basement.
I live south of Baltimore, along the Chesapeake Bay. We were hit hard by Irene, and the basement indeed leaked. We lost more toys, but it wasn't too bad. We told each other that we were lucky.
Then, on September 6, when I was 37 weeks pregnant, my husband took me to the hospital because I'd been having terrible headaches. They did bloodwork and decided to deliver the baby immediately, because I have a history of preeclampsia. (I'll spare you the details.) My baby was born healthy and perfect, and my husband was able to spend the night with me in the hospital.
Then, the next day, Lee hit. The following morning, my husband woke up to a MORE flooded basement than we'd encountered during Irene. He spent four days sucking water up in a shop vac -- just to have MORE water pour into the house a few hours later, as another band of storms came through. After witnessing the birth of his third son, my husband didn't get to see him for another four days, when I was released from the hospital.
And I had to bring a newborn baby into a house that reeked of mildew.
My husband and my father-in-law spent the entire weekend cleaning out what was left in the basement, scrubbing walls, sucking up water, and spreading baking soda everywhere. The basement is finally clean. The stench is gone.
I still think we're lucky. We have each other, we have our health, we have a perfect newborn son.
But I'm pretty damn sick of rain. :-)
I had no power, no phone, no internet -- ranging from two days for power to five days for phone/internet.
And I had my sister staying with me.
So it definitely bit into my writing time, when I so much wanted to write.
But -- and I totally mean this -- I can't complain.
We were lucky. We had a finished basement too -- now kaput as you say. Because the power had been out for so long, we checked and found the carpet floating at 5 a.m. In a panic we ferried things upstairs, and were able to save the important stuff, like old photo albums (including our wedding -- very pre-digital!) that I had stacked on the floor.
I'm so sorry about your books -- I also have an extensive collection of children's books and it would be heartbreaking to lose them.
Mostly I lost a week of potential writing time cleaning up. But I did get to know to my neighbors little better, as we all stood outside, waiting our turn for the fire department to pump us out, and sharing news about available generators, mildew strategies, etc. And the basement is certainly less cluttered. In the best light, I hope I have gained some insight into a difficult situation that I can use my writing.
Still praying and wishing the best to everyone who was seriously affected.
Hi Brigid: Wow, what a story. First, congrats on your new baby boy! Second, we have something in common. My first son was born right after Tropical Storm Floyd hit, 12 years ago, so I brought him home to a flood-ravaged house, too. Makes for twice the fun, don't it?
J.A.: Welcome back to the blogosphere. I'm glad to hear you're up and running again. You're not the only Paper Waiter who lost power--maybe that's why they haven't posted lately!
Julie: I love how you see the bright side of the storm. I, on the other hand, know my neighbors all too well already.
Best to all, and happy cleanup!
We spent Irene in a 90 yr. old cottage/house on the ocean in Maine. During the height of the storm, the house creaked, groaned and seemed to shift in an alarming manner, but it came through okay. The surf was pretty amazing. I concentrated on doing a puzzle - too nervous and scared to read. Who knows? Maybe the experience stirred my emotions enough to set me off on a writing binge days later.
At home, we were incredibly lucky - our neighbors checked our (unfinished) basement almost daily and all we had were small puddles around the edges in spite of four days without power and the sump pump not working.
I did lose a couple of expensive perennials I had just planted, they were drowned, but that's nothing compared to the loss of precious childhood possessions and facing a nasty, smelly clean-up.