If I’m a writer, why am I not writing?

 

As a shy person, I've always tried to blend into the walls and avoid notice. With The Year We Were Famous coming out in 115 days, however, I have become a brazen self-promoter and promotion has sucked up the time I should be working on the next book. My excuse is if the first book doesn't do well, no publisher will pick up the second book. And so the draft of that second book builds up another layer of cat hair and dust.

I'm up until 11:30 every night trolling the internet for simpatico bloggers who might be willing to review my book, sampling royalty-free music that might work as a backdrop to my trailer, figuring out Facebook, keeping up with the 50 emails a day from the Class of 2k11, planning ahead to the class visit to Book Expo America, deciding where to send a limited number of advance reader's copies of my book to get the best exposure, emailing bloggers and organizations to build a network of supporters, sewing lace on Victorian drawers to take on the road for show and tell, and trying to decipher the ads for my book in Japanese. (My publisher, Clarion, has an amazing marketing reach!)

New regime. I'll see how long it lasts. Get off the internet, check email only three times a day, and write!

 

 

 

 

The Class of 2k11 is on Youtube—check out our trailer at

http://youtube.com/user/TheClassof2k11?feature=mhum.

Romance, zombies, angst, fantasy, social issues, dystopia, history…we have it all!

21st-century Marketing

I opened the door Saturday morning to a packet on the doorstep from my publisher. As I opened the packet, at first I was excited—there was the spring catalog with my book in it! As I read the accompanying letter, though, I drooped.

 In addition to having a website (which I had paid someone to do because I couldn't get past the first paragraph in the book which claimed even Dummies could do it) and a blog (which I did do myself, and it looks like it – can't figure out how to put pictures on or reformat my entries which look fine on Word and sprawl messily when they post) the publisher suggested that I Tweet and use Facebook. I have strongly resisted the latter two.  I don't even have a cell phone. If 18^th-century people survived waiting six months waiting for a reply to a letter to family in  England, why do I need a cell phone?  I don't want to go back to the Jane Austen pre-word processing days and learn to sharpen quill pens, but uff da!   

     I see more and more references to Facebook, though. Sometimes I can't even get where I want to go without Google and Facebook accounts. I feel like a whiny kid: "Do I hafta?"  Maybe I do.

 
 

 
 

21st-century Marketing

I opened the door Saturday morning to a packet on the doorstep from my publisher. As I opened the packet, at first I was excited—there was the spring catalog with my book in it! As I read the accompanying letter, though, I drooped.

 In addition to having a website (which I had paid someone to do because I couldn't get past the first paragraph in the book which claimed even Dummies could do it) and a blog (which I did do myself, and it looks like it – can't figure out how to put pictures on or reformat my entries which look fine on Word and sprawl messily when they post) the publisher suggested that I Tweet and use Facebook. I have strongly resisted the latter two.  I don't even have a cell phone. If 18^th-century people survived waiting six months waiting for a reply to a letter to family in  England, why do I need a cell phone?  I don't want to go back to the Jane Austen pre-word processing days and learn to sharpen quill pens, but uff da!   

     I see more and more references to Facebook, though. Sometimes I can't even get where I want to go without Google and Facebook accounts. I feel like a whiny kid: "Do I hafta?"  Maybe I do.

 
 

 
 

The Class of 2k11

The Class of 2k11 website goes up today! Check out www.classof2k11.com. Sign up for our newsletter, find out about our books, enter contests to win books, and keep up with who is appearing where.

I didn't forget The Class of 2k11 when I was writing about friends. This group has become such a big part of my life that it deserved a blog of its own. The other eighteen members (all debut middle grade and young adult authors) have become the best friends I've never met. I'll write more about them later, but today I don't want to dilute this message with too much rambling. Just look us up and sign on!

 

Why I need my friends; or, Milwaukee is not Minneapolis

Jane Austen wrote with a quill dipped in ink and no critique group, but she was a genius. I get by with a lot of help from my friends. Since Clarion won't want five-pages of acknowledgments in my book, I would like to thank some of those helpers and friends this morning:

 

All the editors who rejected my manuscript (with varying degrees of diplomacy) when it wasn't ready. I'll have to make sure someone burns all those old versions before I die, but in the meantime, I keep two shelves-worth of the major revisions out in the open as a reminder that writing is ninety percent re-writing.

My teachers and role models, especially Brenda Guiberson and Janet Lee Carey.

SCBWI (Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators) which arranged workshops, provided a place to mingle with more role models (among them, Kirby Larson, Holly Cupala, Karen Cushman, Justina Chen, Martha Brockenbrough, Sara Easterly, Meg Lippert, and the whole rest of the Seattle crew) and awarded me the Sue Alexander Award at just the right time in my writing to get me a publisher.

My acquiring editor, Jennifer Wingertzahn at Clarion/Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, who had faith she could guide me through the transformation of a sprawling picaresque travel adventure into a mother-daughter story with heart, and had saintly patience while I figured out how to do it.

The editor who took Jennifer's place when she had to move – Daniel Nayeri. He talked me off the Snohomish trestle when I discovered a place my mind had gone walkabout when revising the author's notes – after the ARC had already gone to print. (More on that later.) He also answers my emailed questions quickly, often within minutes. No lie.

My critique group, currently composed of Deb Lund (Dinosailors books), Penny Holland (some early computer books for kids), and Ruby Tanaka (soon to be discovered for Agatha). I never accomplish as much as I do the week we spend together in an intensive writing retreat.

My young adult book discussion group, which includes Nancy Vittor and Kristen Hendricks-Fonseca, librarians, Pamela Greenwood, writer and free-lance editor, and Mindy Hardwick, writer and teacher. They help me become a more analytical reader and give me a whole month's worth of therapeutic laughs in an evening.

And then there's the serendipitous help that comes with a network of friends. As an example, here's Was it a gypsy curse or Alzheimer's; or I knew
Minneapolis wasn't Milwaukee:

 

Pamela Greenwood was working on a manuscript for a historical novel by Phyllis Franklin. She had questions on blending fact and fiction; would I like to get in touch? I pulled up my manuscript to send Phyllis my author's notes which explained how I dealt with fact/fiction.

If you were within twenty miles of Everett you probably heard me scream. On the next to the last page was the word Milwaukee. It wasn't Milwaukee my main characters passed through on the way home, it was Minneapolis. I knew that as well as I knew the name of my first-born child. Disbelieving what I saw on the computer screen, I pulled out the page proofs. There it was again: Milwaukee. Gypsy curse destroying credibility of 15 years of work? Alzheimer's? Or, more likely, working on another book at the same time which did involve Wisconsin?

Even over a week later as I type this, I shudder. I emailed my editor in a panic. Maybe by some miracle I could have the error corrected before the ARCs were printed. Nope. Too late. In frantic (on my end) and calming (on his end) emails back and forth, Daniel settled me down and off the trestle.

Without my friends I wouldn't have discovered the mistake until the book itself came out. It's still embarrassing to have the ARC go out that way, but as my editor said, that's why each copy says 'uncorrected proof.' I guess I'll live to write another day. And that's why I love my friends.

 

 

ARCs of Early Fall

One of the advantages of having a daughter who's a librarian is that I get to read ARCs (advance reader's copies) of books that won't reach libraries or bookstores for another few months. Of the last stack I read, here are some of my favorites, in alphabetical order because I couldn't make up my mind which was my very favorite:

 

Adios, Nirvana

Conrad Wesslehoeft, who lives in nearby Seattle

High school student—musician and poetry award winner—nearly flunks out of school after his brother dies. His compensatory project: writing the memoirs of a WWII veteran dying in hospice. Grittily poetic.

 

The Grimm Legacy

Polly Shulman

High school kids working in a museum where historical items are checked out like books discover that someone has been stealing magical items from the secret Grimm collection. Likely fans: anyone who has worked in a library or grew up on fairy tales.

 

Plain Kate

Erin Bow

A classic 'historical' fantasy, in which Kate trades her shadow in exchange for escape from town where her skill in carving makes folk believe she's a witch. Lovely writing, and charming talking cat!

 

The Space between Trees

Katie Williams

Two girls investigate the murder of their friend and their attempt to wreak revenge on the possible murderer goes terribly wrong. Excellent interior dialog and characterizations.

 

Star Crossed

Elizabeth Bunce (author of Curse Dark as Gold)

Editor, Cheryl Klein and agent Erin Murphy – Arthur A. Levine Books

Another splendid historical fantasy, with Digger, aka Celyn, unwillingly cast as spy against those who still honor magic. First in a series to be continued in Liar's Moon.

 

Where the Streets Had a Name

Randa Abdel-Fattah (author of Does This Make My Head Look Fat)

Excellent depiction of the plight of Palestinians, especially those whose homes were taken over by relocated Jews after the Holocaust.

 

 

 

 

 

Spokane Revisited

In 1950-51, my family lived in Spokane, where I attended Irving and Roosevelt elementary schools. My folks had hoped we would settle there permanently, so they bought a once-grand old house with French doors into the music room, chandeliers—and eight peeling layers of wallpaper. My earliest memory of the place was crouching at baseboard level with a putty knife, scraping down through fifty years of accumulated floral patterns in the room that would be my bedroom. Mom and Dad spent the whole time we lived there reclaiming the garden and scrubbing, stripping, sanding, and painting the house.

I loved that house—the third floor playroom, the second branch up in the maple tree that was my thinking place, and most of all, its location in the same city we had extended family. That's where I met Great-aunt Clara, the subject of my book, The Year We Were Famous. Dad had to follow the work, though. Mid-year of third grade we moved from Spokane to Oak Harbor on Whidbey Island.

When one of my writing buddies, Deb Lund, mentioned she was driving by herself to Spokane to lecture at a conference sponsored by the Inland Empire chapter of SCBWI, I asked if I could ride with her. The conference was held at the Museum of Art and Culture in the neighborhood where Clara worked as a maid while she attended Lewis and Clark High School. The Montvale Hotel we stayed in was built just three years after her walk with her mother across the country. The Carnegie Library from my childhood had been replaced by a shiny new library, though. Irving school had been closed and although there was still a school called Roosevelt, the building I remembered had been replaced long ago. Spokane had grown up while I was gone.

What will I remember most from my trip back to Spokane? The people. I arrived not knowing anyone from the Inland Empire chapter of SCBWI and left with friends. The librarians at Spokane Public Library were welcoming and knowledgeable. The folks at both locations of Auntie's Bookstore were enthusiastically helpful. I look forward to coming back on April 23, 2011, for a program with Linda Hunt and Jane Kirkpatrick!

 

 

 

Final Report from the Writer’s Shack

Did I finish the first draft of Clara II in August as I vowed I would? No, not quite, but I'm up to page 210, with just a couple scenes to go. I have excuses, of course, for why I didn't quite make it. The page proofs came for The Year We Were Famous, and I needed to put Clara II aside for several days to meet the deadline for returning the proofs. My daughter and three-year-old grandson, Iggy, came to visit, and grandkids trump writing every time.

 

At least I'm past that impossible stage where it doesn't feel like I'll ever figure out how to untangle the bits and pieces of plot, and over the next dozen or so revisions I'll layer on refinements to setting, plot, and characters.

 

For the last full week at the island, I had three writing buddies from my critique group in residence – always a terrific motivator. Deb Lund is working on a fantasy now, but is better known for her picture books, the Dinosailor series and Monsters on Machines. Ruby Tanaka is an artist and writer also working on a fantasy, and is on the cusp of being discovered. Penny Holland had several books for children on computers published some time ago, but is letting her creativity loose now on a picture book and middle grade novel. I hope this August writing intensive will be an annual event. My husband likes their company too—they're all good cooks.

 

Hope everyone had a great summer!

Final Report from the Writer’s Shack

Did I finish the first draft of Clara II in August as I vowed I would? No, not quite, but I'm up to

Progress Report

Net gain last week: six pages. The character I did sketches for last week was demoted to minor character status, and a new one came out of nowhere to put a twist on the last 4^th of the book. I guess that's why I'm a fan of chair glue – you never know what's going to happen next unless you keep on writing.

As to progress on TYWWF, I had an e-mail from my editor, Daniel Nayeri, to let me know the first pre-proof pages were in the mail. Never knew I could get so excited about type styles, but he said he and the designer had decided on fancy first letters to open each chapter. Can hardly wait to see what it looks like!

One Step Forward, Three Steps Back

Meaning to take interest in what I'm doing all day in the woodshed, my husband often asks: How much did you write today? Tough to answer. If a 70,000-word novel takes ten years to write, that's an average of 19 or so words a day – net. But that doesn't mean I only wrote 19 words a day. I wrote pages and pages of longhand, but most of it was background sketches for characters, noodling through a possible subplot that was later discarded, or revising a section already revised a dozen times.

All this is leading up to an explanation for my progress report for this week. How much progress did I make on Clara II? I eliminated one character from the last half of the book, invented a new back-story for one of the characters in the second half of the book – and cut 39 pages out of the first 141. I hope I can look back on this week and say that was a good thing.

The Woodshed is Ready

I swept out the dead bugs and cobwebs, sprayed the geranium I brought up from Everett with deer repellant, and hooked up the computer and printer. The woodshed on San Juan Island is ready for the annual August writing intensive. I try to write a little most days year-round, but in August I write 7-10 hours a day every day and force myself through rock-walled trouble spots in my writing that have accumulated over the past year. The goal this month is drafting the last 1/3 to 1/2 of a follow-up book to The Year We Were Famous. To save myself from the weekly embarrassment of having to report no progress on this blog, I should be motivated to brainstorm my way out of dead-ends and figure out how to thread one of my secondary plots naturally throughout the last half of the book instead of dumping it into one heap in the middle. Wish me luck.

School Picture Day Redux

 

Picture-taking last week was as traumatic as it was nearly fifty years ago when I had my picture taken for the high school annual. I still haven't learned to use more than a dash of mineral powder and lip gloss. I still have mostly bad hair days. Teen-aged acne has persisted long into middle age. I still usually look like the 'before' picture in a book on what not to wear. At least the braces were off my teeth.

 

I tried to prepare better this time, though. Rather than just blow-drying my hair, I scrabbled to the back of the bathroom cupboard for rollers, and while my hair dried, I sorted through all the clothes I'd put out as possibles for the shoot. With five minutes before I had to get on the freeway to Seattle, I carefully untangled my hair from the rollers and brushed. Uff da! The comb-out was a wispy retro pouf, but I didn't have time to wet it down and start over. Maybe it would settle down between Everett and Seattle. Since I still hadn't decided what to wear, I grabbed as many clothes as I could carry out to the car.

 

Although Susan Doupé had said her studio was in a community center, I was surprised to see the center was in the old (1902) University Heights School. This would really be a trip back to my klutzy school days. It was a lovely old building, though, with mellow fir bead board paneling and large arched windows.

 

I had taken Susan's suggestion to have her artist friend (Rhonda) on hand to do my make-up. As she sorted her tackle box filled with a hundred vials, jars, tubes, and brushes, I pulled up a stool and offered my face for her canvas. At the end I still looked like me, but with eyes you could see behind the glasses, a brighter mouth, and well-camouflaged zits.

 

Susan Doupé is the most thorough photographer imaginable. With her high-tech digital camera, she must have taken a thousand pictures: against carved stair railings, on worn wooden steps, upstairs and downstairs, seeking the best light. I was a challenging subject. With the exception of Liv Ullmann, most Norwegians (even third-generation ones like me) don't emote on cue. I stretched a smile a thousand times. Out of so many snaps, surely one will make me look better than I did in my mirror this morning. If I can figure out how to get pictures from a disc to my blog, I'll share some results.

 

An ISBN of My Own

An ISBN of My Own: 978 06 1899 983 5

While searching the internet to see if I could easily bring up my blog yet (nope!) I stumbled on Clarion's draft of the catalog description for The Year We Were Famous. When I reached the fourth line I forgot for a moment to breathe. My book had been assigned it's very own personal unique one-of-kind ISBN number!

I suppose no one but another librarian-turned-writer would put an exclamation point after that last sentence. After all, it's just a 13-digit number, and like most of us, I already have too many numbers and codes to keep track of. But getting an ISBN was a milestone as momentous as the first handshake with my acquiring editor, Jennifer Wingertzahn, and signing the contract in New York. For a big publishing house like Houghton Mifflin Harcourt it was just paperwork. For me it meant officially crossing the line between fanatical reader and debut author.

An ISBN—or International Standard Book Number—is the number assigned to each book as it is prepared for publication—sort of like putting an ID tag on the wrist of the new baby in the hospital. You see it by the barcode on the back cover and it's the number book suppliers and bookshop owners use to keep track of what's where. It's the numbers libraries use when ordering books. The first three digits of my book's ISBN (978) mean that it comes from the publishing industry. The next two digits (06) mean that the book is in English. The next seven digits (1899 983) link the book to its publishing house, Clarion/Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, and title. The last digit (5) is a check digit which helps identify transpositions or mis-keying by anyone entering the ISBN number in orders and inventories.

A new ship gets a bottle of champagne across the bow as it is named; a baby gets a christening party. My book's new ISBN number was assigned without celebration, except by me.

Adventure in the name of research

My husband and I were sailing to Alaska to visit our son's family, but once we reached Skagway, the pull of research was too strong. I had to take a little detour, a four-hour antique steam engine ride across the Canadian border to the Yukon. After all, one of the main characters in the sequel I'm writing to The Year We Were Famous goes to the Yukon, and how could I write about it if I hadn't been there?

Okay, I know I could have read some books about the Yukon, and I'm doing that, too. And if this research-as-an-excuse-for-an-adventure followed the pattern of the last fifteen years, nine-nine percent of what I learned would never make it into the book. But how could I not go when I was so close? And those books might never have yielded such delicious factoids and sensory impressions as these:

Each passenger car on the old trains was heated by a coal-burning stove in one corner, and the train rocked so heavily side to side I had a hard time walking down the aisle to get warm.

One house of ill-repute, "a house of negotiable affection," in Skagway was known as a B&B (as in Bakery and Brothel).

Because of glacial rebound, the land around the lakes on the way to the Yukon is ten feet higher than it was at the time of the gold rush of 1898.

Ale or tea made from Sitka Spruce needles wards off scurvy; the ale is still being made seasonally by a brewery in Alaska.

A couple weeks before we left home, White Pass had several days with temps in the 90's, and I had hoped to take a short hike on part of the trail 35,000 miners took back in 1898. The night before I arrived, however, it snowed and the wind and driving rain-almost-snow when I arrived was so heavy that the guide wouldn't take us. Oh, well. I got close.

Blogging Debut

Testing, testing....

I'm too dizzy from establishing a blog in the first place to think of anything to say on it--as you've guessed, I'm a bit of a Luddite who still writes drafts in an old-fashioned composition book and pen or pencil. When I've recovered from this immersion into hi-tech, I'll write more.