I've excused myself from critiquing this week as I've been critiquing more than writing, and this week is getting strained with obligations as it is. I've followed only the bare minimum of blogs. But I found a good blog post you writers should read (especially those in my writing groups, you know who you are!)
Author Jennifer Hubbard (writerjenn) posted an interesting blog on how much materials you should have fellow group members critique. Interesting, because I've had the same concerns: if you send only a few pages, you end up focusing on things like grammar and sentence structure, and if you look at the entire project you focus on large scope issues like plotting and character development and pacing.
She also points out that she never exchanges rough copies. She makes sure she has thoroughly edited and reviewed the work.
I think these are two entirely different kinds of critiques. If the first three chapters are wandering and hard to get into, if they are vague or the characters are unlikeable, if the conflict is not even hinted at, don't you want to know this before you write 250 more pages? If the tense or point of view doesn't work, don't you want to know this early on?
And yet, I think maybe the whole manuscript thing is important also. Chapters may be brilliant on their own, but not fit together as a whole. Pacing of a scene may work well, but not in context. It important that characters develop over the course of the work, that subplots intertwine with the main plot. Symbolism should be carried through. Themes developed.
But the thought of all these great writers I know sending me 300 pages of brilliant writing??? I'm feeling faint and overwhelmed at the suggestion!
And yet... intrigued. What think you?
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
In walks faith
The amazing thing about writing a novel is how it takes on a life of it's own. There comes a time when the characters begin to speak on their own, and act on their own, and as a writer I am just the pen and paper keeping track of it.
Most of the time, this is a good thing. I am thrilled with the development of characters, caught by surprise by the way the story is unfolding, better than I planned it. I get to uncover secrets. I get to fall in love with characters I thought I'd hate, or even ones I didn't give more than a passing thought too. This is the fun part. So far in my writing, this is mostly what happens.
But sometimes it isn't fun. Sometimes it takes you to a place you didn't want to go. Sometimes characters die. I remember reading an interview with Madeline L'Engle many years ago when she described the first time she read her developing story to her kids, and one of them got really angry that the character of Adam died (I believe this was her YA book, ARM OF THE STARFISH). He wouldn't talk to her for a week, other to insist that she change it. She told him that she couldn't change it. She didn't intend for Adam to die. But when the end of the story came, that was what had to happen. This happens to me sometimes, too. At the end of my first book, I found myself actually crying over one of the characters, wishing things could have been different for her, and feeling really angry that one of the other characters ended up with such a crappy life that he so didn't deserve. I really loved him, and wanted better.
And sometimes, it's just complicating. Today, I ran into complications. Since the beginning of this book, I intended Bab's faith and church to play a role in the book. Faith is part of many, many people's lives, and to leave it completely out of a book seems false to me. So it was a part of the story, but not the kind of thing that throws the book into a Christian-publisher-only realm.
Until Pastor Joel walked into the story today. And suddenly, faith became more important that I realized it was going to be. God is more important to this family than I believed. Scripture is swirling in the air. And suddenly I am caught in a conundrum I didn't want to be in: is this a Christian book? Is it now unsaleable in the secular marketplace?
There are other books that have made it in the mainstream with faith integral to the plot, although I think these days it is not usually Christian faith. There is a greater tolerance, at least in America, for other faiths that can be passed off as more cultural than spiritual. But even so, there are a few, like the Mitford Series, that do make it.
I'm not afraid of being a Christian author. I am, however, afraid of only targeting a Christian audience, because that is not what I feel like my mission as a writer is. But this book is what it is. To take this emerging faith out would be to strip it of it's soul.
For now, I continue to write. We go on with the path that we are on. But I am thrown for a loop, here. It's one thing to learn someone dies in the book, or that the rebel turns out to be the genius, but it's quite another to realize you may have to look at an entirely different group of agents. I don't want to pigeon-hole the book yet. It's still way too early. Who knows what other surprises are in store? I suppose, like Babs, I just have to have faith.
Most of the time, this is a good thing. I am thrilled with the development of characters, caught by surprise by the way the story is unfolding, better than I planned it. I get to uncover secrets. I get to fall in love with characters I thought I'd hate, or even ones I didn't give more than a passing thought too. This is the fun part. So far in my writing, this is mostly what happens.
But sometimes it isn't fun. Sometimes it takes you to a place you didn't want to go. Sometimes characters die. I remember reading an interview with Madeline L'Engle many years ago when she described the first time she read her developing story to her kids, and one of them got really angry that the character of Adam died (I believe this was her YA book, ARM OF THE STARFISH). He wouldn't talk to her for a week, other to insist that she change it. She told him that she couldn't change it. She didn't intend for Adam to die. But when the end of the story came, that was what had to happen. This happens to me sometimes, too. At the end of my first book, I found myself actually crying over one of the characters, wishing things could have been different for her, and feeling really angry that one of the other characters ended up with such a crappy life that he so didn't deserve. I really loved him, and wanted better.
And sometimes, it's just complicating. Today, I ran into complications. Since the beginning of this book, I intended Bab's faith and church to play a role in the book. Faith is part of many, many people's lives, and to leave it completely out of a book seems false to me. So it was a part of the story, but not the kind of thing that throws the book into a Christian-publisher-only realm.
Until Pastor Joel walked into the story today. And suddenly, faith became more important that I realized it was going to be. God is more important to this family than I believed. Scripture is swirling in the air. And suddenly I am caught in a conundrum I didn't want to be in: is this a Christian book? Is it now unsaleable in the secular marketplace?
There are other books that have made it in the mainstream with faith integral to the plot, although I think these days it is not usually Christian faith. There is a greater tolerance, at least in America, for other faiths that can be passed off as more cultural than spiritual. But even so, there are a few, like the Mitford Series, that do make it.
I'm not afraid of being a Christian author. I am, however, afraid of only targeting a Christian audience, because that is not what I feel like my mission as a writer is. But this book is what it is. To take this emerging faith out would be to strip it of it's soul.
For now, I continue to write. We go on with the path that we are on. But I am thrown for a loop, here. It's one thing to learn someone dies in the book, or that the rebel turns out to be the genius, but it's quite another to realize you may have to look at an entirely different group of agents. I don't want to pigeon-hole the book yet. It's still way too early. Who knows what other surprises are in store? I suppose, like Babs, I just have to have faith.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Rejection is Inevitable; Humiliation is Optional
I was going to write a It's Friday; It's a Good Thing post, because it's been a while since I've done that and I have so many things I am grateful for this week; but life is taking me a different way today.
Last night I received the email no author wants to receive: the one from a fellow writer who's just received a rejection.
It's made me think a lot about this industry, and how public, even in our privacy, we fail. I haven't read of a single author (that wasn't already famous) that didn't get rejected at least a few times before they were first published. I'm sure there are some out there, but it isn't the norm. Even after publication, the information is floating around out there: before they succeeded they failed. In other words: someone didn't think their writing was good enough.
It's almost impossible to write without people knowing. It's not as though I introduce myself to people and say, "Hi, I'm Heidi. I'm an aspiring author." But my family knows. My friends know. Moms who ask why I disappear into the library ever day during preschool with my laptop know. And the inevitable question comes: When is your book coming out?
In the writing community it is even more personal. Have you sent queries out yet? Who did you send them to? Have you heard anything yet?
And, at some point, most of us are going to have to utter the depressing words: it was rejected.
It feels like humiliation. Even when my proud son declares to people that I am writing a book, and even when he knows I am rejected, he says, "Well, they probably got, like, 5000 queries this week and were in a bad mood. There are lots of others." I want to cringe, even though I realize, he's right. At least partly. There are lots of other agents. And better, there are lots of other stories in me waiting to be written, and maybe one of those will be the one to break onto the scene and pave the way for my first, less flashy but more substantial book.
When we post on a blog that we are writing, we inevitably have to write that we are querying. And then we have to post the outcome. Which isn't always pretty.
But why be ashamed? Why feel humiliated? When I started writing, and telling my kids what I was doing, I wanted to be an example to them. Follow your dreams, no matter how big, no matter how out of reach they seem. Do what you love. Don't be afraid that your dream is bigger than you.
So they know my dream, and they are watching. And now I have to do it gracefully. When they stumble trying to attempt something big, I am never ashamed. I am proud at the attempt, and I encourage them to keep at it until they succeed. If I act humiliated by my own failures, by the rejections that inevitably come, what am I teaching them?
For all the writers out there who dare to dream that their book might actually find a place on a bookstore shelf, who put themselves out on a line and tell the world, I am writing! I am submitting! You have guts. You should be darn proud of what you've done. You've done what most people say they want to do, but never get around to doing.
The rejections... well, they most likely will come. But feeling humiliated about admitting that? Well, that's something you can control.
Last night I received the email no author wants to receive: the one from a fellow writer who's just received a rejection.
It's made me think a lot about this industry, and how public, even in our privacy, we fail. I haven't read of a single author (that wasn't already famous) that didn't get rejected at least a few times before they were first published. I'm sure there are some out there, but it isn't the norm. Even after publication, the information is floating around out there: before they succeeded they failed. In other words: someone didn't think their writing was good enough.
It's almost impossible to write without people knowing. It's not as though I introduce myself to people and say, "Hi, I'm Heidi. I'm an aspiring author." But my family knows. My friends know. Moms who ask why I disappear into the library ever day during preschool with my laptop know. And the inevitable question comes: When is your book coming out?
In the writing community it is even more personal. Have you sent queries out yet? Who did you send them to? Have you heard anything yet?
And, at some point, most of us are going to have to utter the depressing words: it was rejected.
It feels like humiliation. Even when my proud son declares to people that I am writing a book, and even when he knows I am rejected, he says, "Well, they probably got, like, 5000 queries this week and were in a bad mood. There are lots of others." I want to cringe, even though I realize, he's right. At least partly. There are lots of other agents. And better, there are lots of other stories in me waiting to be written, and maybe one of those will be the one to break onto the scene and pave the way for my first, less flashy but more substantial book.
When we post on a blog that we are writing, we inevitably have to write that we are querying. And then we have to post the outcome. Which isn't always pretty.
But why be ashamed? Why feel humiliated? When I started writing, and telling my kids what I was doing, I wanted to be an example to them. Follow your dreams, no matter how big, no matter how out of reach they seem. Do what you love. Don't be afraid that your dream is bigger than you.
So they know my dream, and they are watching. And now I have to do it gracefully. When they stumble trying to attempt something big, I am never ashamed. I am proud at the attempt, and I encourage them to keep at it until they succeed. If I act humiliated by my own failures, by the rejections that inevitably come, what am I teaching them?
For all the writers out there who dare to dream that their book might actually find a place on a bookstore shelf, who put themselves out on a line and tell the world, I am writing! I am submitting! You have guts. You should be darn proud of what you've done. You've done what most people say they want to do, but never get around to doing.
The rejections... well, they most likely will come. But feeling humiliated about admitting that? Well, that's something you can control.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Clutz strikes again: The Bad Day Continues
So if yesterday morning wasn't enough, the day continued to go downhill.
When I put my daughter down for a nap, I laid down too. Which is highly unusual, but I could barely function. I woke up less than an hour later to find the bright, sunny day had disappeared behind killer clouds and a green-grey sky. Lightening was flashing so brightly it seemed like camera flashes were exploding. The thunder shook the house. The electricity was off.
At three in the afternoon the house was so dark I couldn't even read the newspaper. Hurricane force winds (up to 80mph) blew the trees in our yard dangerously, and eventually felled at least three, one of which found its new home stretching from one side to the other of our driveway. Rain poured down so hard a river formed in front of our house. (We live on a hill... it is a virtual impossibility for there to be water there... and yet there was... enough to raft down)
When we have no electricity we have no water. We operate on a well system, which pumps the water from our well into our house by - you guessed it - electricity. So no electricity means no water. No light, no computers, no TV, no toilets, no air conditioning, no running water, no fridge.
It continued all night. We made it to the recital, where, completely drugged up and soaking wet, I managed to play through the pain and give my kids a great night. At least, it was memorable.
We came home to a dark house (except when the lightening flashed) and dropped into bed exhausted.
I woke up to a still-dark house with no water and a very throbbing finger. However, we didn't manage to burn the house down with candles, and no tree fell on anything we would need to rebuild, and the sun is shining. And I am at my mom's house, taking a shower, charging my phone and computer, and in general trying to find the light at the end of the tunnel.
And wondering if one of those famous Texas thunderstorms might make it into my book. And maybe Babs will cut her finger off. You never know....
When I put my daughter down for a nap, I laid down too. Which is highly unusual, but I could barely function. I woke up less than an hour later to find the bright, sunny day had disappeared behind killer clouds and a green-grey sky. Lightening was flashing so brightly it seemed like camera flashes were exploding. The thunder shook the house. The electricity was off.
At three in the afternoon the house was so dark I couldn't even read the newspaper. Hurricane force winds (up to 80mph) blew the trees in our yard dangerously, and eventually felled at least three, one of which found its new home stretching from one side to the other of our driveway. Rain poured down so hard a river formed in front of our house. (We live on a hill... it is a virtual impossibility for there to be water there... and yet there was... enough to raft down)
When we have no electricity we have no water. We operate on a well system, which pumps the water from our well into our house by - you guessed it - electricity. So no electricity means no water. No light, no computers, no TV, no toilets, no air conditioning, no running water, no fridge.
It continued all night. We made it to the recital, where, completely drugged up and soaking wet, I managed to play through the pain and give my kids a great night. At least, it was memorable.
We came home to a dark house (except when the lightening flashed) and dropped into bed exhausted.
I woke up to a still-dark house with no water and a very throbbing finger. However, we didn't manage to burn the house down with candles, and no tree fell on anything we would need to rebuild, and the sun is shining. And I am at my mom's house, taking a shower, charging my phone and computer, and in general trying to find the light at the end of the tunnel.
And wondering if one of those famous Texas thunderstorms might make it into my book. And maybe Babs will cut her finger off. You never know....
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Clutz strikes again
Today is my children's piano recital. It is the one big hoopla of the year. I am playing duets with both of them, and we have been practicing for two months. I am probably more nervous than them.
And today, when trimming flowers for their teacher, I sliced off most of my fingernail and the top of my finger with a razer. And not one of those insignificant fingers (not that there are any in piano). I sliced off my pointer finger.
It's been two hours and the bleeding has finally stopped. It alternately hurts like heck and feels numb. Or both at the same time. I can't touch anything. In addition my head is killing me from the rush of adrenaline and the hormones that tried to send me into shock have sent my blood sugar plunging. I'd like to crawl under a rock and sleep.
But grandparents are on their way. My five year old is home. The house is a mess and the dishes aren't done (water is NOT a good thing for an open wound), and I really, really need to write. Except I can only type with one hand.
On top of that, I have to figure out how to refinger the duets so that I can play without using my mangled one.
This is not turning out to be one of my better days.
And today, when trimming flowers for their teacher, I sliced off most of my fingernail and the top of my finger with a razer. And not one of those insignificant fingers (not that there are any in piano). I sliced off my pointer finger.
It's been two hours and the bleeding has finally stopped. It alternately hurts like heck and feels numb. Or both at the same time. I can't touch anything. In addition my head is killing me from the rush of adrenaline and the hormones that tried to send me into shock have sent my blood sugar plunging. I'd like to crawl under a rock and sleep.
But grandparents are on their way. My five year old is home. The house is a mess and the dishes aren't done (water is NOT a good thing for an open wound), and I really, really need to write. Except I can only type with one hand.
On top of that, I have to figure out how to refinger the duets so that I can play without using my mangled one.
This is not turning out to be one of my better days.
Monday, June 2, 2008
I'm A Believer
Well, who would think that whining and complaining about something would get you nowhere?
Not me, anymore.
And who thought writer's groups were useless?
Not me, anymore.
After blogging (and whining) about my barely-there writers group, and coming to the conclusion that pretty much it isn't for me, some friends came to my rescue, dusted me off, and in a flurry of emails the likes of which my inbox hasn't seen in a good long time, we formed our own group.
In a whirlwind of a few days I went from nothing to the dream team.... what my husband dubs "THE FAB 4" and which we modestly call, Four Corners.
(As an aside, 4 must be the perfect number for a group like this, because when you accidentally hit the shift button the 4 becomes $. Fitting, I think! :) )
We are a group of writers who all have one book under our belts, the query process partly figured out and entered, and the commitment to keep writing, and keep querying, and keep getting better. We live in three different countries on two different continents. We met on the internet, spent time getting to know each other a bit, and then jumped into the shark pond together.
And now, I am a believer that good writer groups actually can work. I doubted it. I'd never actually experienced writers critiquing each other to work. But it does. Over the weekend I submitted, they critiqued, tall building were leaped, impossible passages were hammered out. And now I have a first chapter that is so much stronger than it could ever have been on its own.
I'm over the moon excited.
Not me, anymore.
And who thought writer's groups were useless?
Not me, anymore.
After blogging (and whining) about my barely-there writers group, and coming to the conclusion that pretty much it isn't for me, some friends came to my rescue, dusted me off, and in a flurry of emails the likes of which my inbox hasn't seen in a good long time, we formed our own group.
In a whirlwind of a few days I went from nothing to the dream team.... what my husband dubs "THE FAB 4" and which we modestly call, Four Corners.
(As an aside, 4 must be the perfect number for a group like this, because when you accidentally hit the shift button the 4 becomes $. Fitting, I think! :) )
We are a group of writers who all have one book under our belts, the query process partly figured out and entered, and the commitment to keep writing, and keep querying, and keep getting better. We live in three different countries on two different continents. We met on the internet, spent time getting to know each other a bit, and then jumped into the shark pond together.
And now, I am a believer that good writer groups actually can work. I doubted it. I'd never actually experienced writers critiquing each other to work. But it does. Over the weekend I submitted, they critiqued, tall building were leaped, impossible passages were hammered out. And now I have a first chapter that is so much stronger than it could ever have been on its own.
I'm over the moon excited.
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