Yeah, I know I promised a debrief on the SCBWI LA conference, but this does sort of relate. While at the conference my friend Su brought her kindle and I got to check it out. Pretty cool. I especially liked how one can change the font size - for someone like me who can't read small print without a magnification device, it is awesome.
While she was showing it to me and our friend, Libby, the three of us talked about how the kindle may change publishing forever. You can download a book for less than $10 versus an average of $17 for a new hardcover. It's lightweight - no breaking your back carrying a bunch of books with you.
But what about the illustrations of a picture book? The cover art? The smell of the paper? The feel of that book in your hands? There is something intimate about a book - curling up with it, just you and the characters, falling into the author's world - can you feel that way with the generic look and cold feel of a Kindle? I haven't tried it, so I can't answer that, but I do know that I hate reading books on my computer. I read it differently, more mechanically or something, than I do when I am holding the paper in my hands.
Video didn't kill the radio star; audio didn't kill the book when it became popular- nor did the penny press kill literary works as predicted when it brought literature to the masses. But, yeah, Kindle could kill the profits. Publishers may resort to only printing the classics, the proven sellers. Why spend the money to print a new release in hardcover when you can spend less and wait to see if it will be a seller on Amazon? And perhaps this will cause a re-kindling (pun intended) of the picture book industry when money once spent on hardcovers is freed up. (I mean, I don't care how cheap it is to publish work on the internet, no parent is going to let their baby drool all over a Kindle while reading a picture book, right?)
Let's look into the future for a moment though. Imagine the world of books has been diminished to the 'classics' and mass quantities of books downloaded onto mass quantities of Kindles.
Now imagine a mega virus has wiped out all that is Internet, machines have been trashed and discarded, life as we live it now has been destroyed.
Okay, now fast forward a century or two later, when someone like Tally from Scott Westerfield's Uglies is wandering the abandoned city streets of Old America. What will she find? An abundance of books like Moby Dick, The Odyssey, and The Scarlet Letter, perhaps The Outsiders and Good Night Moon - but none representing our time right now or our tomorrow. Whole generations of books will be gone forever. How sad that Tally won't be able to read the brilliance of today's and tomorrow's authors because their work is trapped inside a broken piece of plastic, accessible no more.
So, will the Kindle kill the publishing house? For the sake of our dystopian future, let's not let it. Let it be an industry tool, an industry advancement, but not an industry end.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Why Attend a Writer's Conference?
I leave Thursday for the SCBWI National conference in LA. Inevitably when I tell someone I am going to a Writer’s Conference, they ask “So do you bring your manuscript around and give it to agents and editors?” And when I say “No. In fact that is a sure-fire way not to get published,” the response is usually, “So, why go?”
Why? Because:
The first writer’s conference I attended was the 2000 Write on The Sound conference in Edmonds, WA. It wasn’t specifically children’s writing, but it did have sessions on YA and it was in Edmonds, where my sister lives, so it worked for me. Even though several of the sessions I sat in on were about writing I didn't necessarily plan on writing - memoirs, magazines, nonfiction - I learned a wealth of knowledge about the business and even more about the market. But the most significant thing I came away with were contacts - I met so many people, writers like me, that I could stay in touch with via email. This actually shocked me. This networking thing. I had always been (and still am!) the shy one – never speaking to someone until spoken to, afraid of social situations because I didn't know what to say – and yet, there I was talking to people about writing, my writing, and talking to them about their writing. So why go? BUSINESS and MARKET INFORMATION and NETWORKING.
I went the following year to the same conference – this time submitting a manuscript for critique. It was scary. It was one thing to have friends or classmates in workshop read it, but have an actual publishing professional read it and comment on it? YIKES!! The experience was amazing. My writing grew in leaps and bounds just from that one critique. As I started attending more conferences, I made it a point to always submit something; in my opinion, it is a wasted opportunity if you don't. You’ll never make it out there if you don’t let those who work out there read your stuff. So, why attend? CRITIQUES
That next year I also attended my first SCBWI National conference. It was February, 2002. Five months after September 11th; five months after the birth of my third child. I traveled all the way from Alaska, by myself. And it was NEW YORK CITY. It was hard to leave my newborn, hard to go to New York after the terrorists had devastated it, hard to go alone, but I had a completed manuscript I was ready to publish and I wanted to meet editors and agents. So I went. I listened to editors talk about what they liked, what they were looking for, what to do and not to do – and the best part was many of them were handing out “golden tickets” – the opportunity to submit to them as a conference attendee even though they were closed to unagented, and/or unsolicited submissions. So why attend? SUBMISSION OPPORTUNITIES.
Coming back from that New York conference, however, I also realized that despite those golden tickets I held in my hand, my manuscript wasn’t ready to submit, mot yet. I had listened to what those editors were saying about common mistakes and I had committed most of them in my novel. Time to revise.
We moved to Michigan shortly after that and I found A WRITING COMMUNITY, something I hadn’t had in Alaska. (Alaska has a SCBWI, but in case all you in the lower 48 didn't realize, Alaska is a pretty big place. Very spread out. Hard to get together. Although they do try!) I found in the Michigan SCBWI an awesome group of writers who kept in contact through conferences, a very active list serv, summer schmoozes (thanks to Shutta Crum!), and various author support events like book launches. I attended my first Michigan conference, got hooked up with their list serv, and found a critique group – the same group I am with now, six years later. That again moved my writing up volumes.
So, to recap, why go to a writer’s conference if you can’t chase an editor into the elevator and sling your novel at her? For Business & Market Information, Networking, Critiques, Submission Opportunities, a Writing community, and let's not forget FUN!!
I promise to blog about what I took away from this conference, but it won't be until mid-August. The day after I get back from LA I will be heading on a quick vacation with my husband and kids to Cedar Point and Put-In Bay (okay, not sure if that's how you spell it; I can spell Koyukuk and Matanuska and Ninilchik, but not so sure about those Ohio names!)
Hope to see some of you in LA!!
Why? Because:
The first writer’s conference I attended was the 2000 Write on The Sound conference in Edmonds, WA. It wasn’t specifically children’s writing, but it did have sessions on YA and it was in Edmonds, where my sister lives, so it worked for me. Even though several of the sessions I sat in on were about writing I didn't necessarily plan on writing - memoirs, magazines, nonfiction - I learned a wealth of knowledge about the business and even more about the market. But the most significant thing I came away with were contacts - I met so many people, writers like me, that I could stay in touch with via email. This actually shocked me. This networking thing. I had always been (and still am!) the shy one – never speaking to someone until spoken to, afraid of social situations because I didn't know what to say – and yet, there I was talking to people about writing, my writing, and talking to them about their writing. So why go? BUSINESS and MARKET INFORMATION and NETWORKING.
I went the following year to the same conference – this time submitting a manuscript for critique. It was scary. It was one thing to have friends or classmates in workshop read it, but have an actual publishing professional read it and comment on it? YIKES!! The experience was amazing. My writing grew in leaps and bounds just from that one critique. As I started attending more conferences, I made it a point to always submit something; in my opinion, it is a wasted opportunity if you don't. You’ll never make it out there if you don’t let those who work out there read your stuff. So, why attend? CRITIQUES
That next year I also attended my first SCBWI National conference. It was February, 2002. Five months after September 11th; five months after the birth of my third child. I traveled all the way from Alaska, by myself. And it was NEW YORK CITY. It was hard to leave my newborn, hard to go to New York after the terrorists had devastated it, hard to go alone, but I had a completed manuscript I was ready to publish and I wanted to meet editors and agents. So I went. I listened to editors talk about what they liked, what they were looking for, what to do and not to do – and the best part was many of them were handing out “golden tickets” – the opportunity to submit to them as a conference attendee even though they were closed to unagented, and/or unsolicited submissions. So why attend? SUBMISSION OPPORTUNITIES.
Coming back from that New York conference, however, I also realized that despite those golden tickets I held in my hand, my manuscript wasn’t ready to submit, mot yet. I had listened to what those editors were saying about common mistakes and I had committed most of them in my novel. Time to revise.
We moved to Michigan shortly after that and I found A WRITING COMMUNITY, something I hadn’t had in Alaska. (Alaska has a SCBWI, but in case all you in the lower 48 didn't realize, Alaska is a pretty big place. Very spread out. Hard to get together. Although they do try!) I found in the Michigan SCBWI an awesome group of writers who kept in contact through conferences, a very active list serv, summer schmoozes (thanks to Shutta Crum!), and various author support events like book launches. I attended my first Michigan conference, got hooked up with their list serv, and found a critique group – the same group I am with now, six years later. That again moved my writing up volumes.
So, to recap, why go to a writer’s conference if you can’t chase an editor into the elevator and sling your novel at her? For Business & Market Information, Networking, Critiques, Submission Opportunities, a Writing community, and let's not forget FUN!!
I promise to blog about what I took away from this conference, but it won't be until mid-August. The day after I get back from LA I will be heading on a quick vacation with my husband and kids to Cedar Point and Put-In Bay (okay, not sure if that's how you spell it; I can spell Koyukuk and Matanuska and Ninilchik, but not so sure about those Ohio names!)
Hope to see some of you in LA!!
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
You Can't Hide Those Writer-eyes
My 16 (and a half) year old daughter left this week for a ten day CSI:Forensic Science seminar at John Hopkins University. The ten day camp is her first experience with college life - living in a dorm, sharing a bathroom with three roommates she doesn't know, on her own with meal cards and room keys to keep track of, a schedule to keep, etc.
We flew with her to Baltimore to help her settle in to her dorm. I saw her excitement as she unpacked her things into her wardrobe closet and desk. I saw the apprehension when she realized there was only one toilet and shower to share between four girls. I saw the nervous fear as we kissed her good-bye and left her on her own. And, I hear the homesick, lonely edge in her voice when she calls. She's experiencing the social and emotional woes of a college freshman as a high school junior, and I can't do anything but tell her it will all be okay. It breaks my heart to know that I can't be there to help her or give her a hug.
But I am so using this in a future novel. What a great set-up for a mystery or coming-of-age plot, don't you think?
My writer-eyes see potential everywhere I go. I can't help it. So often I hear people say they have nothing to write about, and I can honestly say that is not a problem for me. Everyday life puts us into situations that can become part of a great plot later down the line. These experiences don't make a plot by themselves necessarily, but they can inspire a storyline, enhance a character or drive a plot in a new direction. All you have to do is take the time to observe them - and as an added bonus, observing them through your writer-eyes can also save your sanity - something I realized on my way to Baltimore.
While sitting in the Detroit airport waiting for our flight, I found myself getting very annoyed with my kids. We'd arrived way early, like two hours early (I wasn't sure how many people would be in that security line so I thought early was better) and they were already stir crazy from weeks of being together at home, let alone *TRYING* to behave in an airport terminal. As I sat there getting increasingly irritated by their behavior, I decided to take off that mom-hat and put on my writer-hat. This is how that hat-switch saved my sanity:
When my ten year old shoved three pieces of Hubba Bubba bubble gum into his mouth and then blew a bubble so big that when it popped, it connected his mouth to the food container he was holding with a thick pink string at least six inches long - I laughed rather than yelled.
And when he played the *Random game with me every time I asked him a question, I made random statements too. (*he and his younger sister play this by stating random things either in answer to a question or as an ongoing conversation. The point is to sound the most sincere, as if you actually make sense, while, saying some ludicrous, nonsensical thing, like "The elephant is pink." "Yeah, but I ate the frog." "Run to the hills." "Jack Frost is an amoeba", etc, etc.) As I played along, I started thinking, "I could use this . . . "
When I visited the restroom with my seven year old twenty-two times in 45 minutes (I assure you, that is no exaggeration) I tried to note things about the bathroom and those using it each time I visited. Like the five year old who informed his mother he would not eat any salad today because it gives him gas, or the woman who slid on a wet section of the floor and went careening, head first, into the toilet. That was rather scary, I have to admit, and as we made sure she was okay, I couldn't help thinking, "What if she had hit her head?" Which then led to "What if she'd hit her head and passed out and while she was passed out someone stole her purse and her boarding pass? And when she came to she had no memory of who she was or where she was going?" That scenario actually kept me going for quite a while.
As did the dark hotel we arrived at when we finally got to Baltimore. We arrived around seven that night in the middle of a thunderstorm. After trying to contact the hotel's free airport shuttle by phone for almost an hour while standing outside in the rain with very agitated, restless children, I decided to scratch the shuttle and grab a cab. I was glad I did. The power was out at the hotel. Ever check into a pitch dark hotel? It's a very eerie feeling.
The staff was standing around with glow-sticks and flashlights. Several patrons stood huddled in the lobby. Since it was now almost nine pm, I asked if there was any way we could check in. I was told they could put us in a room, but we would have no keys until the electricity came back on (the van driver let us in with a master key) and would have to take the stairs (very dark, service stairwell, led by the key master aka van driver). So armed only with a glow-stick to light the way, we did just that. I sat in the pitch black hotel room with my three kids and our little glow-stick (my husband was meeting us the next day) for the next hour, waiting for the power to be restored. It was a freaky, scary hour, but the whole time my mind was spinning with ways to make that part of a story.
The point I am hoping to make here is: when you are in need of inspiration or are stuck with an area of your plot and unsure how to proceed - drop your hat, arm yourself with the question, "What if?" and step out of your box. You may be surprised what you find lurking around you when you let yourself view life through your writer-eyes.
We flew with her to Baltimore to help her settle in to her dorm. I saw her excitement as she unpacked her things into her wardrobe closet and desk. I saw the apprehension when she realized there was only one toilet and shower to share between four girls. I saw the nervous fear as we kissed her good-bye and left her on her own. And, I hear the homesick, lonely edge in her voice when she calls. She's experiencing the social and emotional woes of a college freshman as a high school junior, and I can't do anything but tell her it will all be okay. It breaks my heart to know that I can't be there to help her or give her a hug.
But I am so using this in a future novel. What a great set-up for a mystery or coming-of-age plot, don't you think?
My writer-eyes see potential everywhere I go. I can't help it. So often I hear people say they have nothing to write about, and I can honestly say that is not a problem for me. Everyday life puts us into situations that can become part of a great plot later down the line. These experiences don't make a plot by themselves necessarily, but they can inspire a storyline, enhance a character or drive a plot in a new direction. All you have to do is take the time to observe them - and as an added bonus, observing them through your writer-eyes can also save your sanity - something I realized on my way to Baltimore.
While sitting in the Detroit airport waiting for our flight, I found myself getting very annoyed with my kids. We'd arrived way early, like two hours early (I wasn't sure how many people would be in that security line so I thought early was better) and they were already stir crazy from weeks of being together at home, let alone *TRYING* to behave in an airport terminal. As I sat there getting increasingly irritated by their behavior, I decided to take off that mom-hat and put on my writer-hat. This is how that hat-switch saved my sanity:
When my ten year old shoved three pieces of Hubba Bubba bubble gum into his mouth and then blew a bubble so big that when it popped, it connected his mouth to the food container he was holding with a thick pink string at least six inches long - I laughed rather than yelled.
And when he played the *Random game with me every time I asked him a question, I made random statements too. (*he and his younger sister play this by stating random things either in answer to a question or as an ongoing conversation. The point is to sound the most sincere, as if you actually make sense, while, saying some ludicrous, nonsensical thing, like "The elephant is pink." "Yeah, but I ate the frog." "Run to the hills." "Jack Frost is an amoeba", etc, etc.) As I played along, I started thinking, "I could use this . . . "
When I visited the restroom with my seven year old twenty-two times in 45 minutes (I assure you, that is no exaggeration) I tried to note things about the bathroom and those using it each time I visited. Like the five year old who informed his mother he would not eat any salad today because it gives him gas, or the woman who slid on a wet section of the floor and went careening, head first, into the toilet. That was rather scary, I have to admit, and as we made sure she was okay, I couldn't help thinking, "What if she had hit her head?" Which then led to "What if she'd hit her head and passed out and while she was passed out someone stole her purse and her boarding pass? And when she came to she had no memory of who she was or where she was going?" That scenario actually kept me going for quite a while.
As did the dark hotel we arrived at when we finally got to Baltimore. We arrived around seven that night in the middle of a thunderstorm. After trying to contact the hotel's free airport shuttle by phone for almost an hour while standing outside in the rain with very agitated, restless children, I decided to scratch the shuttle and grab a cab. I was glad I did. The power was out at the hotel. Ever check into a pitch dark hotel? It's a very eerie feeling.
The staff was standing around with glow-sticks and flashlights. Several patrons stood huddled in the lobby. Since it was now almost nine pm, I asked if there was any way we could check in. I was told they could put us in a room, but we would have no keys until the electricity came back on (the van driver let us in with a master key) and would have to take the stairs (very dark, service stairwell, led by the key master aka van driver). So armed only with a glow-stick to light the way, we did just that. I sat in the pitch black hotel room with my three kids and our little glow-stick (my husband was meeting us the next day) for the next hour, waiting for the power to be restored. It was a freaky, scary hour, but the whole time my mind was spinning with ways to make that part of a story.
The point I am hoping to make here is: when you are in need of inspiration or are stuck with an area of your plot and unsure how to proceed - drop your hat, arm yourself with the question, "What if?" and step out of your box. You may be surprised what you find lurking around you when you let yourself view life through your writer-eyes.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Yes, I'm a Pathetic Blogger or Summer Sucks for Mom's Who Write
Okay, yes. I see that my last post was May 20th. Today is July 11 - what is that, like 52 days ago? I admit it. I suck. I'm pathetic. Whip me now. Throw wet towels and whip cream pies at me. I have no business saying I have a blog when there is no blogging going on.
Can you forgive me?
Can you forgive me?
I have no legit excuse except that life has continued to happen and I have been way behind in everything - writing and blogging included. I am still trying to figure out how people who work outside of their homes get the housework done since I work IN my home and can't seem to find time to get it clean, let alone find the time to write, read and blog!
Summer seems to be when I find the most inspiration for my writing, and yet it is the busiest time of my year with the kids home and I can't seem to find the time to work on those inspirational thoughts.
Anyway, I thought I would write a quick blog-apology and leave you all with a photo of author Jacqui Robbins at her July 7 launch party for TWO OF A KIND. My daughter bought the first copy sold and was all smiles.
I promise to be less of a stranger this summer!
Happy writing!
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Musings of Second Graders
Often at conferences, I hear writers say that if you want to make your characters' dialogue authentic, you should eavesdrop on conversations of kids and teens. I have also heard writers complain that they don't have access to kids and teens and find this hard to do. I guess I am lucky in that regard; I have a constant feed from three distinct age groups: 16, 10, and 7.
So, for those less fortunate than I, I thought I'd share some random things I heard yesterday while traveling to and from Jackson on a field trip with my second grade daughter's class:
**Please note, they were studying colonial times and were all dressed in 1800 garb, so keep that in mind if some does not make sense.
BOY 1: I would not be a girl, that bonnet would mess up my hair.
BOY 2: My hair would be CRAZY! (messes up hair)
BOY 1: (giggles) No, like this. (messes up his hair)
BOY1: If both my arms were cut off, I could get robot arms.
BOY 2: Robot, Robot.
BOY 1: And I would have lollipops come out of my elbows.
BOY 2: I'd have water guns in mine. (Burps then giggles)
BOY 1: (giggles at burp also)
BOY2: I like to burp.
BOY 1: I like to fart.
(giggles from both)
BOY 2: I'd have fart gas come out of my arms.
GIRL 1: Gross! Did you hear what he said? He wants farts to come out of his arms!
GIRL 2: Ewww!
BOY 1: (annoyed, corrective tone) Out of his robot arms!
BOY 2: Yeah, so I could stink you up!
GIRLS:Ewww!
BOY 1: My stomach is eating itself! Are we there? (looks in lunch)Mmm, beef jerky. (to BOY 2) Do you have Dragon Ball-Z? Or Ben 10?
BOY 2: For DS?
BOY 1: PSP is way better than DS. You can download movies, go on the internet, wi-fi.
BOY 2: DS can do wi-fi.
BOY 1: But it can't download movies.
BOY 2: What movies?
BOY 1: Any.
BOY 2: Which ones?
BOY 1: Any I want.
BOY 2: Like what?
BOY 1: I don't know. I'm not allowed. Ugh, my stomach is eating itself again! When will we be there?
GIRL 1: Hey, **(Boy 1 name withheld) are you in love with **(name of girl withheld)?
BOY 1: No! Why do you help her chase me?
GIRL 1 (ignores Boy 1 and says to Girl 2): He is in love with her.
BOY 1: My stomach ate itself five times. I will die! This museum will kill me. Why can't we go fishing?
That concludes my quick peak into the dialogue of second graders for now. This is only a ten minute snip-it of the non-stop conversation that occurred in the 45 minutes it took to drive there. I could write the entire thing, but I won't! And I assure you, Boy 1 did not die, nor was his stomach actually eating itself!
So, for those less fortunate than I, I thought I'd share some random things I heard yesterday while traveling to and from Jackson on a field trip with my second grade daughter's class:
**Please note, they were studying colonial times and were all dressed in 1800 garb, so keep that in mind if some does not make sense.
BOY 1: I would not be a girl, that bonnet would mess up my hair.
BOY 2: My hair would be CRAZY! (messes up hair)
BOY 1: (giggles) No, like this. (messes up his hair)
BOY 2: Robot, Robot.
BOY 1: And I would have lollipops come out of my elbows.
BOY 2: I'd have water guns in mine. (Burps then giggles)
BOY 1: (giggles at burp also)
BOY2: I like to burp.
BOY 1: I like to fart.
(giggles from both)
GIRL 1: Gross! Did you hear what he said? He wants farts to come out of his arms!
GIRL 2: Ewww!
BOY 1: (annoyed, corrective tone) Out of his robot arms!
BOY 2: Yeah, so I could stink you up!
GIRLS:
BOY 1: My stomach is eating itself! Are we there? (looks in lunch)
BOY 2: For DS?
BOY 1: PSP is way better than DS. You can download movies, go on the internet, wi-fi.
BOY 2: DS can do wi-fi.
BOY 1: But it can't download movies.
BOY 2: What movies?
BOY 1: Any.
BOY 2: Which ones?
BOY 1: Any I want.
BOY 2: Like what?
BOY 1: I don't know. I'm not allowed. Ugh, my stomach is eating itself again! When will we be there?
GIRL 1: Hey, **(Boy 1 name withheld) are you in love with **(name of girl withheld)?
BOY 1: No! Why do you help her chase me?
GIRL 1 (ignores Boy 1 and says to Girl 2): He is in love with her.
BOY 1: My stomach ate itself five times. I will die! This museum will kill me. Why can't we go fishing?
That concludes my quick peak into the dialogue of second graders for now. This is only a ten minute snip-it of the non-stop conversation that occurred in the 45 minutes it took to drive there. I could write the entire thing, but I won't! And I assure you, Boy 1 did not die, nor was his stomach actually eating itself!
Friday, May 15, 2009
Newberry According to My 10 year old
My 10 year old son was reading The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin in his Lit Circle at school. As it is one of those books that I hear about all the time, have been meaning to read, but have never actually read (yes, I know, even after getting my MA in Children's Lit I am not fully literate in the 'classics' of children's books!), I was interested to hear what he had to say about it.
After the first few pages, he complained that it was boring. I thought, okay, he's reading it and the fifth Percy Jackson book at the same time. Hard to compete with Rick Riordan, Newberry medal or not. But as he continued reading it, his dislike grew. I have never had to force my son to read anything (well, okay, that's not true. In first grade he wouldn't read any of the fiction stories his teacher gave him - he only read non-fiction - so I did force him to read a Magic Tree House book to get him into some fiction that had non-fiction elements, and I boast, it worked!) but I had to make him sit down and read The Westing Game, even threatened to (gasp!) take away Percy Jackson if he didn't.
When he'd finally finished, I asked him "So, what was it about?"
His answer: "I don't even know. It was so boring, Mom. You would fall asleep. I bet everyone fell asleep reading it. They probably said 'hey this book is boring. It put me to sleep. Let's give it a Newberry. ' They give all the boring books Newberrys."
I quickly pointed out that Neil Gaiman's The Graveyard Book won it this year, which my son enjoyed. But, I had to laugh at his comment because I'd heard it before. My oldest daughter had said basically the same thing when she was in fifth grade. She was assigned Scott O'Dell's Island of the Blue Dolphins and hated it. In fact, after that book, she wouldn't touch another that had that pretty gold seal on it. To her, Newberry award = boring.
Before I continue, let me say that I am not putting down any Newberry book. I am not saying The Westing Game, Island of the Blue Dolphins, or any other Newberry winner is boring. That being said, I bet if we had children doing the choosing, the winners would be vastly different.
It sort of comes down to that age-old argument of literary versus commercial, reading for education versus reading for pleasure, writing to enlighten versus writing to appease the masses. Children's books, although written for children, are not published, purchased, or awarded prizes by children. As parents, we try to oversee everything that our children put into their bodies and minds, and literature is no exception. Let them have that cookie (Goosebumps), but make sure they balance it out with some vegis (Old Yeller), right?
As an author that tends to write more on the cookie-side than the vegi-side of the spectrum, I would be a hypocrit if I fed my children only vegis. Too many kids HATE reading because they aren't allowed the cookies. Where is the fun in reading if you don't read what you enjoy?
But, the teacher-mom in me also sees the value in reading the vegis. I have a great many vegis I love - my BA is in English after all, which would have been torturous if I hadn't enjoyed reading all those classics. And for that reason, we have well-meaning adults rather than children choosing the Newberry and other literary prizes. Recently, those choices have come to reflect more of what kids are enjoying than what adults think they should be enjoying - which is how it should be - so I truly commend those who sit on the committees and make the tough choices.
I tried to tell my son all this, even launching into a history of the penny-press and the whole bad rep novels had when they first were introduced to the masses. I was met with glazed over eyes. I think that must be how The Westing Game felt when he was holding it in his hands. So I ended my lecture with a simple, "Everyone has different tastes. Your sister loves fairy books and you can't stand them, right?"
This was met with a grin and a nod and then he asked, "How many fairy books have won a Newberry? (groan) I hope we don't have to read them next." :)
After the first few pages, he complained that it was boring. I thought, okay, he's reading it and the fifth Percy Jackson book at the same time. Hard to compete with Rick Riordan, Newberry medal or not. But as he continued reading it, his dislike grew. I have never had to force my son to read anything (well, okay, that's not true. In first grade he wouldn't read any of the fiction stories his teacher gave him - he only read non-fiction - so I did force him to read a Magic Tree House book to get him into some fiction that had non-fiction elements, and I boast, it worked!) but I had to make him sit down and read The Westing Game, even threatened to (gasp!) take away Percy Jackson if he didn't.
When he'd finally finished, I asked him "So, what was it about?"
His answer: "I don't even know. It was so boring, Mom. You would fall asleep. I bet everyone fell asleep reading it. They probably said 'hey this book is boring. It put me to sleep. Let's give it a Newberry. ' They give all the boring books Newberrys."
I quickly pointed out that Neil Gaiman's The Graveyard Book won it this year, which my son enjoyed. But, I had to laugh at his comment because I'd heard it before. My oldest daughter had said basically the same thing when she was in fifth grade. She was assigned Scott O'Dell's Island of the Blue Dolphins and hated it. In fact, after that book, she wouldn't touch another that had that pretty gold seal on it. To her, Newberry award = boring.
Before I continue, let me say that I am not putting down any Newberry book. I am not saying The Westing Game, Island of the Blue Dolphins, or any other Newberry winner is boring. That being said, I bet if we had children doing the choosing, the winners would be vastly different.
It sort of comes down to that age-old argument of literary versus commercial, reading for education versus reading for pleasure, writing to enlighten versus writing to appease the masses. Children's books, although written for children, are not published, purchased, or awarded prizes by children. As parents, we try to oversee everything that our children put into their bodies and minds, and literature is no exception. Let them have that cookie (Goosebumps), but make sure they balance it out with some vegis (Old Yeller), right?
As an author that tends to write more on the cookie-side than the vegi-side of the spectrum, I would be a hypocrit if I fed my children only vegis. Too many kids HATE reading because they aren't allowed the cookies. Where is the fun in reading if you don't read what you enjoy?
But, the teacher-mom in me also sees the value in reading the vegis. I have a great many vegis I love - my BA is in English after all, which would have been torturous if I hadn't enjoyed reading all those classics. And for that reason, we have well-meaning adults rather than children choosing the Newberry and other literary prizes. Recently, those choices have come to reflect more of what kids are enjoying than what adults think they should be enjoying - which is how it should be - so I truly commend those who sit on the committees and make the tough choices.
I tried to tell my son all this, even launching into a history of the penny-press and the whole bad rep novels had when they first were introduced to the masses. I was met with glazed over eyes. I think that must be how The Westing Game felt when he was holding it in his hands. So I ended my lecture with a simple, "Everyone has different tastes. Your sister loves fairy books and you can't stand them, right?"
This was met with a grin and a nod and then he asked, "How many fairy books have won a Newberry? (groan) I hope we don't have to read them next." :)
Friday, May 8, 2009
Ahhh, did you miss me?
As Staind would say, "It's Been Awhile . . ."
I wish I could say I've been tracking man-eating piranhas in the Amazon or ghost hunting in Gettysburg or even sipping wine while touring the ruins of Pompeii, but I can't. The only thing with teeth I've been tracking are my three children; the only ghosts I've been chasing exist in my plots; and the only ruins I sip wine in these days are the rooms of my sadly unkempt house.
My blog-absence is due in part to the business of life, but also I've been on a bit of a roller coaster with my writing of late. Writing is both exhilarating and depressing for me. I love the creative part of it: getting so involved with my characters that they are chatting with me while I make dinner or do the laundry, bugging me in my dreams, chastising me when I've left them stuck in a scene for too long. I love the revision process too: getting feedback from my peers, ripping apart my plots, adding layers to my characters, hacking away at unnecessary words and events. But the part that comes next - sending my work OUT THERE- can be so scary that sometimes I forget what I love about writing and consider quitting.
Writing is a personal thing. Like a child, even though you know your book is its own thing, you can't help but take its failures and accomplishments personally. For this reason, it is sometimes very difficult to separate yourself from it and see that the person rejecting it is not rejecting you. Through the years, I have mastered that ability. I have a thick skin. I can take criticism and process it, find the value in it and apply it to my writing. Yet still, rejection is rejection, and after enough of it, you can't help but question your abilities.
I have never been very confidant. I guess if you wanted to psycho-analyze me, you could say it stems from my visual impairment and the inability to do things most people take for granted - like driving. I so often feel like a failure as a mom because I can't drive my kids to and from school, to and from practice and games and birthday parties like every other mother. Instead, I have to coordinate cabs or buses or walking routes or rides with other moms. Sure, people in places like New York do that all the time, but here, everyone drives. So when I show up at flag football carrying a car seat in the pouring rain, I get weird looks from the rest of the parents while they sit in their dry cars. I tell you this not for sympathy - I hate the sympathy - but to show you how idiotic my mind is. Who cares if I show up two hours early for a baseball game because of the shortened Sunday bus schedule? I honestly don't mind the walking or the getting there early (well my kids do I guess) but I still feel like a failure because I'm not like everyone else.
This feeling often carries over into my writing. I see so many others successfully making it in the published world and I think: what is wrong with me? Am I kidding myself? Am I that idiotic mom standing in the rain while everyone else looks on and thinks I have no clue?
The answer is no. Or should be no. I should be saying who cares? Who cares what one person thinks about my writing? Writing is subjective; one man's best seller is another man's stinkbomb - look at the varying opinions among friends in a book club. But even though I know this, every once in a while, rejection threatens to bring me down. How can it not? We all need reassurance that we are okay. We all want someone to tell us we're capable. We're social, emotional creatures, right?
So, how does a writer keep that rejection-downer at bay?
Other writers.
Yes family can rub your ego, but only another writer who has been there, felt that, can truly empathize. I have a great group of writer friends who have all pulled me up by my boot straps (well, flip-flops) the past month or so, brushed off the rejection, put the pen in my hand and shoved me back into the game. I thank you all for that.
In fact, since I may not have much brain matter left when I do finally get published, here's a shout out to all of you on my triage team: Jen, Libby, Su, Patty, Jacqui, Todd, Diane, Katena, Sharon, Alicia, Viki, Steph, Kristin, LInda, and Renee. Thanks for being there always!
Okay, enough of the soap opera. I'm back and I promise not to let so long go between blogs!
I wish I could say I've been tracking man-eating piranhas in the Amazon or ghost hunting in Gettysburg or even sipping wine while touring the ruins of Pompeii, but I can't. The only thing with teeth I've been tracking are my three children; the only ghosts I've been chasing exist in my plots; and the only ruins I sip wine in these days are the rooms of my sadly unkempt house.
My blog-absence is due in part to the business of life, but also I've been on a bit of a roller coaster with my writing of late. Writing is both exhilarating and depressing for me. I love the creative part of it: getting so involved with my characters that they are chatting with me while I make dinner or do the laundry, bugging me in my dreams, chastising me when I've left them stuck in a scene for too long. I love the revision process too: getting feedback from my peers, ripping apart my plots, adding layers to my characters, hacking away at unnecessary words and events. But the part that comes next - sending my work OUT THERE- can be so scary that sometimes I forget what I love about writing and consider quitting.
Writing is a personal thing. Like a child, even though you know your book is its own thing, you can't help but take its failures and accomplishments personally. For this reason, it is sometimes very difficult to separate yourself from it and see that the person rejecting it is not rejecting you. Through the years, I have mastered that ability. I have a thick skin. I can take criticism and process it, find the value in it and apply it to my writing. Yet still, rejection is rejection, and after enough of it, you can't help but question your abilities.
I have never been very confidant. I guess if you wanted to psycho-analyze me, you could say it stems from my visual impairment and the inability to do things most people take for granted - like driving. I so often feel like a failure as a mom because I can't drive my kids to and from school, to and from practice and games and birthday parties like every other mother. Instead, I have to coordinate cabs or buses or walking routes or rides with other moms. Sure, people in places like New York do that all the time, but here, everyone drives. So when I show up at flag football carrying a car seat in the pouring rain, I get weird looks from the rest of the parents while they sit in their dry cars. I tell you this not for sympathy - I hate the sympathy - but to show you how idiotic my mind is. Who cares if I show up two hours early for a baseball game because of the shortened Sunday bus schedule? I honestly don't mind the walking or the getting there early (well my kids do I guess) but I still feel like a failure because I'm not like everyone else.
This feeling often carries over into my writing. I see so many others successfully making it in the published world and I think: what is wrong with me? Am I kidding myself? Am I that idiotic mom standing in the rain while everyone else looks on and thinks I have no clue?
The answer is no. Or should be no. I should be saying who cares? Who cares what one person thinks about my writing? Writing is subjective; one man's best seller is another man's stinkbomb - look at the varying opinions among friends in a book club. But even though I know this, every once in a while, rejection threatens to bring me down. How can it not? We all need reassurance that we are okay. We all want someone to tell us we're capable. We're social, emotional creatures, right?
So, how does a writer keep that rejection-downer at bay?
Other writers.
Yes family can rub your ego, but only another writer who has been there, felt that, can truly empathize. I have a great group of writer friends who have all pulled me up by my boot straps (well, flip-flops) the past month or so, brushed off the rejection, put the pen in my hand and shoved me back into the game. I thank you all for that.
In fact, since I may not have much brain matter left when I do finally get published, here's a shout out to all of you on my triage team: Jen, Libby, Su, Patty, Jacqui, Todd, Diane, Katena, Sharon, Alicia, Viki, Steph, Kristin, LInda, and Renee. Thanks for being there always!
Okay, enough of the soap opera. I'm back and I promise not to let so long go between blogs!
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