Marathon

fpublic0009-true-history-hare-tortoise-lord-dunsany_full

THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE, written by Lord Dunsany. Artwork by Milo Winter. This image by THE AESOP FOR CHILDREN is a public domain image.

Writing a book is a marathon–not a sprint. So much else in life is an all-out race, this slow-and-not-so-sure reality makes most book writers feel judged for not producing immediate results.

Our cultural urgency to succeed and do it now deals writers an undue amount of shame and guilt. We’re rarely there on time to meet and greet the people  prematurely gathering at the finish line.

A 90-year-old relative said to me, “People ask me what you do with all of your time. I told them, ‘I have no idea.'”

Another relative, a 23-year-old, said, “What will you do while I take my nap?”

I said, “I’ll work on my book.”

A couple of hours later, she awoke and stretched. “So, are you done with your book?”

Another friend said, “Oh, children’s books.Those are easy to pump out, aren’t they? So-and-so wrote a children’s book. If he can do it anyone can.”

That’s what I used to think.

Instant success expectations are why there are more people who want to write books than books. Writing is humbling. And if enough people think you’re taking too long or doubt you can finish the marathon, you can start to doubt it yourself.

Me? I’m sticking with the process because I know how the story ends. The tortoise wins the race–maybe skinny and battle-scarred by the sacrifice–but she/he crosses the finish line.

The pleasing ending of the Hare and the Tortoise was possible because the tortoise was at home (a state of being for us/a physical place for tortoises) doing what he/she was designed to do, yet unafraid to stick his/her head out and plod forward under the protective thick shell of faith, hope, and focus.

Cutting Words

Editing is an excruciating process, especially when it involves the extraction of beloved words. For writers, words are our progeny. It’s painful to part with them. Yet, we remove favored words all of the time, as an act of sacrificial love for our manuscripts and mercy for readers everywhere.

Fortunately, I just thought of a way to save my words AND make incomplete manuscripts happy. I opened a home for orphaned words, lines, and scenes today. I’m making excess words available for adoption!

This is my first foundling, cut from my children’s chapter book manuscript:

While Gramma helped Papa catch the tumbling toys, I chased a crazy ping pong ball–ping, ping, ping–until it plopped into the kitty litter–plip. I decided to leave it. Maybe Papa and Gramma would think the cat laid an egg.

Disclaimer: I didn’t say all word orphans were appealing. But I’m holding onto the hope that there’s a manuscript out there that’ll think this is the cutest word baby ever.

I Know Her

Before my friend Elise becomes any more famous, I have one thing to say:  I know her.

The artwork of Elise Hylden, the illustrious writer/illustrator of our KEM GEM critique group,  was featured in the March/April 2013 SCBWI BULLETIN, the official publication of the Society of Chiildren’s Book Writers & Illustrators.  What better endorsement?

Anyway, take a gander at pages 26-29.  The illustrations are Elise’s.  I think you’ll agree — Elise has a bright future on the horizon.  Her imaginative creations already delight us.  We can’t wait until everyone can enjoy them.

Congratulations, Elise!  We’re so proud of you.  In the inspirational words of Buzz Lightyear: TO INFINITY AND BEYOND!

Strategic Spontaneity III

Cowabunga!  We are on an unexpected roll with our grandparent/grandchild dates.

January 25 I received a 2:50 a.m. phone call from our daughter-in-law that her water broke.  We rejoiced when grandchild #6 (“Spidey 2”) arrived without complications around 11:30 a.m. late that morning.

Spidey 2 came into the world only three days before his big brother’s (Spidey 1’s) fifth birthday, so we had two occasions to celebrate.  After meeting Spidey 2, birthday festivities,  sledding with Spidey 1, and helping the exhausted parents for three days, I offered to take Spidey 1 to our home for three more. This would give the parents some alone time to rest and bond with Spidey 2.

As we traveled, it occurred to me that Spidey 1 would be disappointed upon arriving at our home, because “Papa”, my husband, wouldn’t be there. He had to attend a meeting. That’s when I remembered Strategic Spontaneity.  Spidey 1 was due for a date.  After all, he was third in the grandchild line of progression, after his seven and six year old cousins.

As the Mall of America sign came into view I asked Spidey, “How’d you like to go to the Mall of America to eat?”

“No, I don’ wanna eat. I wanna see Papa. Look! An airpane!”

“Mmhmm, an airplane. You have to eat. And, you could pick whatever you want.”

“No, I don’ wanna go to the Ma of Amer-ca.  I wanna see Papa. Is that biwding a hopsital? A baby came out of Mommy’s belly at a hopsital.”

“No, that’s not a hospital. But it looks like a hospital, doesn’t it? Papa won’t be home until later.  How would you like to go on a Nanna date?”

“A Nanna date?”

“Yeah, a Nanna date — where you eat at Burger King or McDonald’s or A & W Rootbeer and go on rides.”

“Rides? I like Nanna dates.”

Spidey 1 is less complicated than the girls.  He would have been ecstatic spending the entire excursion on the escalators. But people (security) started to get annoyed.

Once he saw the amusement park, he let out a sigh like he’d seen the Great Pyramid of Giza.  He found Nirvana.  He declined the customary sibling gift shopping.  (After all, he’d already bought a Kit Kat for Spidey 2.)

He only stopped to eat his chicken nuggets after I bribed offered the choice: eating them = more rides or not eating them = going straight home.

He even chose one more spin in lieu of ice cream.

On the way home, Spidey sat in his carseat in the dark back seat, covering his head with his favorite blanket, so he could suck on his index finger in private. I heard the suction popping noise as he pulled his finger out of his mouth. “Nanna, I like Nanna dates.  Can we go again t’morrow?”

We didn’t, but Spidey 1 didn’t notice.  Instead, he enjoyed three more glorious days of dates with me, Papa, and his aunt, uncle, and three cousins.

We returned Spidey 1 to his home and family over the weekend and assured Spidey 2 that we’d be back soon for his turn, which would involve a bottle and a diaper change — kind of like what Papa and I will enjoy in a few years.

Now, as I sit at my desk, I realize that I’ve missed some submission deadlines.  At first this made me sad. But then I consider, there will always will be conferences to attend and agents, editors, and publishers to meet, but Spidey 1 will only be seen in public with his Nanna until — um — well, I’ll keep you posted…

Peanut Bristle–er–Brittle

My initial attitude about making peanut brittle was similar to my concept of writing children’s books:  Phhh — I can do that.  Mix some corn syrup and a handful of peanuts/write a couple of simple sentences and whallah! How hard can it be? Well — I’m in the hands-on-the-ground-I’m-not-worthy position begging mercy again — this time from peanut brittle chefs.  The creative process is not as easy as they make it look.

I started the way any self-respecting chef does.  I Googled for a recipe with the word “best” in it.  Mom’s Best Peanut Brittle rose to the top of the Google chain.  The word “mom” offered a comforting bonus.

I ignored the video portion. I didn’t need it. Phh — how hard could it be?

In the text, Amanda, the generous gal who submitted the recipe, said to move quickly to get the mixture out of the pan once it reaches 300 degrees.  I didn’t have a candy thermometer, so I tried to guess when it was 300 degrees.  I stirred in the butter and baking soda per the instructions and poured it in the pan to cool. I assumed it magically turned the desired peanut brittle color.

Peanut brittle try #1. Too soft

Two hours of running in and out of our cold garage to check the status, I learned it doesn’t.  I obviously hadn’t heated the mixture to 300 degrees.  (Kind of like some my half-baked manuscripts that I’ve sent to agents, family, and friends.)

So, I Googled Salvaging Undercooked Peanut Brittle and followed Tiffany’s helpful instructions to throw the pieces back in the pan, turn the heat up and stir, stir, and stir to a raging boil and wait to pour it in the pan until it reaches 300 degrees.  I had to take the pan off the burner midway, because I forgot to grease my aluminum foil, but eventually I had a boiling mixture that turned the color of peanut brittle. This looks better, don’t you think?

Peanut brittle try #2. Too chewy.

I thought so, too. I pried the last glob off the spoon with my teeth before preparing the spoon for the dishwasher.  The mixture burnt the roof of my mouth.  Then, my teeth stuck together and I had to wait until it melted, so I wouldn’t pull off a crown. I had considered sending some in a care package to a relative in the nursing home, but I envisioned her pulling out her sloppy upper and lower dentures, cemented together by my peanut brittle…and I changed my mind.

Again, I set the mixture on a shelf in the garage.  It did eventually cool enough to break.  I was so excited I put some of it in a holiday bag on my counter and the rest in the freezer.  The stuff in the bag melted together to make one big glob.  (In the writing stage, this is when I submit the manuscript at draft #781 and I should have waited until draft #962.)

Peanut blob square pants

Not to be beaten down by a blob of peanut brittle, I scoured the pans, slopped some butter on more aluminum foil and threw the obstinate concoction on the stove again.

Brittle Disposition

Burnt peanuts — not so tasty. The pan — and my temper — too hot, so the pan and I chilled as I chisled the brittle from the burnt pan into a mellower pan. Then, I stirred and stirred and stirred some more — until my right bicep popped out of my shirt.

Brutal brittle workout

…and the tip of my spoon melted.

Peanut brittle casualty

Now we’re going to die of plastic spoon poisoning.

Peanut brittle try #3.  Just right!

The concoction hardened immediately and shattered when I looked at it cross.  Ta da!  I ran up my stairs with the Rocky Balboa theme song in my head.   Then I forgot what I went there for.

Hopefully some of the peanut brittle will stay separated enough for our son to taste at his military base.  If not, he can throw it in the air for skeet shooting practice.

Peanut brittle Survivor spear

Or, he could tie it to a stick and use it for spear fishing. (I watch Survivor.)

Second thought — there’s not much fishing where he is.

Next year: less peanuts, more patience, a wooden spoon, and a candy thermometer.

Or, maybe I’ll just buy peanut brittle from someone else.  Then I’ll have ten extra hours to be humbled writing children’s books.

2012 SCBWI-MN Conference-David Small & Sarah Stewart

Could there be a cuter couple?

The 2012 Minnesota Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI) Conference proved to be an ah-ha event.  The high”lights”, endearing keynote speakers, David Small and Sarah Stewart,  captivated us with their devotion to one another and their genuine interest in the dreams of novices, like me, who looked to them for encouragement.

To launch the conference David bared his soul with a gut-wrenching presentation about his graphic novel,  National Book Award finalist, Stitches. The  bestselling memoir confronts his nightmarish childhood under the care of unstable caretakers unwilling — or perhaps unequipped — to express parental love for him, his brother, or each other. Small called his family a “long conga line of generational dysfunction.”

Why publish such a disturbing piece after a lifetime of success writing and illustrating conventional, light-hearted children’s books?  David’s answer: For his own well-being.  As a middle aged adult he still suffered.  The reoccurring by-product of his youth: Post-traumatic stress disorder and cancer of the thyroid.  To cope, he reflected on his past as his own psychoanalyst and used his art to fill the gaping  hole of neglect in his heart.  He called this process “narrative” or “cartoon medicine”.

See and read Small’s jarring, line-drawn account in his NEW YORK TIMES bestselling novel, STITCHES.

 

 

Favorite David Small 2012 MN SCBWI conference quotes:

  • “Drawing, for me, is like breathing.”
  • “It seemed right, since my life was wordless to make my book as wordless as possible.”
  • “My trash can is a good friend.”
  • “Having a contract is like having a flamethrower on your butt.”
  • “Keep the author and artist as far apart as possible.”
  • “A good book calls up good pictures in everybody’s mind.”

Sarah Stewart wrapped up the eventful day describing the co-creation of The Quiet Place — Sarah, as author, and David, illustrator.  Sarah confessed that she writes to save her life as she knows it — and to keep the demons away.  She recommended that we unplug ourselves and go to that slow, quiet place to meet ourselves.

  • “The writing is a muscle and you have to keep it taut and firm.  Get it very tight — every word a world.”
  • “You know we can change the world one reader — one word at a time.”
  • “I hope you have a partner or a friend who doesn’t think you’re crazy.”
  • “Good criticism is what you already told yourself, but you thought you were going to get away with.”

    Sarah’s beloved Richard Bear

  • “Do you still have something from your childhood? It’s important for you to have something from your youth.”

As a gift to Sarah, David incorporated her beloved childhood companion, Richard Bear, throughout her children’s books.

Hidden in The Quiet Place, you’ll find another loving bonus from David to Sarah: an exquisite fold-out  illustration — an elaborate quiet place for Sarah’s protagonist Isabella —  a colorful contrast from the black and white drawings depicting the starkness of David’s youth.

Can you find Richard Bear?
Sarah Stewart beamed as David opened her book THE QUIET PLACE to reveal his elaborate love note. “David Small gave me a gift of a gatefold,” she said. “Gives me goosebumps, Darling.”

More than one audience member wiped away tears as Sarah expressed her heartfelt thankfulness for having David Small for a spouse.  “I’m still in awe,” Sarah said. “It’s like making magic explode.”

The blessings go both ways.  Sarah seems a seven/seventy-fold gift to David as well — a warm, loving, and sweet recompense for the cold, loveless, bitter life he once lived.

Thanks, David and Sarah, for your candid mentorship and kindness. And, thanks to the MNSCBWI Conference organizers: Quinette Cook, Jessica FreeburgAlicia Schwab, Celia WaldockCatherine Glancy, Kristi Herro and all volunteers for once again producing a positive, memorable  event!

My next post: Wisdom from conference speaker, Agent Linda Pratt of Wernick & Pratt Agency.

Perfectionism-Friend or Foe?

Ten years ago, a young friend gave me this comic strip from our Sunday newspaper:

Snoopy: “Here’s the world famous writer starting work on his new novel…”
Snoopy types “The”.
Linus: “I don’t know…”
Snoopy types “It”.
Yes, I like this beginning better.

Charles Schulz astutely captured the human/beagle condition of perfectionism.  My friend gave me the comic strip as a form of intervention for my perfectionism disorder.  I only recognized her motives the other night when I heard my husband arrive home from work.  I quickly changed my computer screen, so he wouldn’t see that I editing the same 20-word page I was revising when he left that morning. My reflexes weren’t quite fast enough and I couldn’t make a poker face to save my soul, so I’m sure he caught me.  It didn’t help that my eyebrows hung over my head and “busted” flashed in neon on my forehead as he kissed it.  Now, he probably thinks I have a different computer-related disorder. 

For writers, perfectionism will be the death of our work.  Certainly, we should strive for quality, but the fear of making a mistake can lead to paralysis — or success at completing absolutely nothing. Here are my signs.

  1. I’ve dreamt about writing books all of my life.
  2. I’ve thought about writing books all of my life.
  3. I’ve talked about writing books all of my life.
  4. I started writing a book at age 25.
  5. I stopped writing a book at age 25.
  6. I started writing a book at age 30.
  7. I stopped writing a book at age 30.
  8. I started writing a book at age 35.
  9. I stopped writing a book at age 35.
  10. I started writing a book at age…well, you can see a trend here…

Living with a perfectionist is probably even harder than being one.  My family has heard me talking about my dream for too long.  Now they just sigh, “that’s nice” with that glazed look, like I get when Bertha, the nursing home resident, tells me about her hemorrhoid problems for the 2,749th time.

If you recognize any of these signs in yourself, save this cartoon as a background image on your computer.  The first step to recovery: make a decision, for goodness sake!

So what’ll it be?  “The” or “It”?

A Picture Book Without Pictures

A picture book without pictures is like the Pips without Gladys Knight:

Click the image to see the YouTube video

For the life of me, I can’t remember whose writer/illustrator blog featured this clever insight — but I concur.  I’m so thankful to have Elise Hylden, writer and illustrator, in our writers’ group.  She continually challenges me to say more with less.  At the 2011 MN SCBWI Conference, Illustrator Dan Santat noted the brilliance of children’s book author, Mac Barnett.

During a break, to uncover the secret of brilliant writing, I purchased Barnett and Santat’s collaboration, Oh No!  Was I surprised to find that the number of words in
Oh No! equals the number of times I use the bathroom in a day.  Yet the book was, as Santat promised, brilliant.

The illustrations that poured out of Barnett’s initial idea make the book.  Obviously, Dan Santat is one of the most brilliant illustrators Mac Barnett has ever met. The book is what it is because Barnett trusted.  He had faith in his illustrator to transform his thoughts into an out-of-this-world adventure.

I don’t have his trust — yet.  Sometimes I leave words, intending that they can be cut later, clutching to them as if to a life vest that holds my vision.  Barnett is more secure.

Barnett doesn’t need a critique group, but I wonder how Oh No! would fare under the scrutiny of the status quo.  I can see the margin scribbles on his manuscript:

       This makes absolutely no sense.

       You might need to explain this for blind kids.

       A giant frog seems a highly illogical choice to solve your protagonist’s dilemma.

       You don’t even tell your protagonist’s name for — wait!  You don’t ever tell your
protagonist’s name! Where is your character development?  Will she capture an audience if we don’t even know her name?

(My daydream has more words than the book.)

Just when I’m wrapping my head around Oh No!, Brian Snelznick comes out with
The Invention of Hugo Cabrat and Wonderstruck — thick, honkin’ books of silence.

Interestingly, these books that speak softly and carry big sticks are by men. My husband would be thrilled by this audibly “quiet”, visually “loud” trend — if he knew about it. Are these works possible for us word-abundant females?

Maybe I need more silence to see and hear clearly.

2012 MN SCBWI Annual Conference

Compliments of Quinette Cook, Regional Advisor, MN SCBWI:

CRAFTING YOUR MAGIC
2012 MN SCBWI Annual Conference

Saturday, October 13, 2012, 9 a.m. – 5 p.m.
U of M Continuing Education and Conference Center, St. Paul

Early Registration (Postmarked by September 28): $125 member, $150 non-member
Registration After September 28: $150 member, $175 non-member
Portfolio and manuscript reviews will be available again.

Download a registration form.

Click for more information.

Does your writing need a little magic? Does your artwork want for a few
new tricks?

Do you lack focus and wish for a little more hocus-pocus to make your work
come alive?

Then join us for an amazing day that will awe and inspire. You may not be
able to pull rabbits from a hat, but you just might come away with a few
fun ideas, some great information and new friends.

Speaker include (subject to change):
David Small, Illustrator (Stitches, The Gardner, The Quiet Place)
Sarah Stewart, Author (The Gardner, The Quiet Place)
Stephen Shaskan, Author/Illustrator (A Dog Is A Dog)
Linda Pratt (Wernick & Pratt Agency)
Minju Chang (Book Stop Literary Agency
Sara Sargent (HarperCollins)

Room For More

I love having children in our home. Our children and grandchildren bless us abundantly, but there will always be room in my heart for more.  Therein lies my motivation to author picture books. I can write more children into the world and introduce them to our grandchildren.  I can name, incorporate family traits and idiosyncrasies, and hit the backspace when they get too sassy or unmanageable.

The other morning I awoke to a dream that my husband and I had adopted a little boy.  Before I was coherent I murmured to my husband, who was in the bathroom, out of earshot, “Thank you so much.  I LOVE him.”

Now I realize the boy I’d “adopted” is the protagonist in my latest picture book manuscript.  Like my own kids — the more I nurture him, the more I know and love him.

To add flesh to my picture book characters and story, I’ve made a dummy for each manuscript.  (A dummy is a 32-page mock book to assist in structuring a story.) Since I’m artistically-challenged, I use Microsoft Publisher to incorporate clipart.  This serves me well to create reader-friendly  stories for “test drives” with my grandchildren and others.

Unfortunately, (or fortunately — depending upon the day), there’s no clipart that truly depicts my family – even those adopted in my dreams.  Ironically, the clipart protagonist I chose (from iclipart.com) has red hair.  No one in our immediate family has red hair. Perhaps I chose a red-head because I didn’t want anyone to recognize who he might be in real life.  Or, maybe I’m subconsiously fashioning him after a young Napolean Dynamite NapoleonDynamiteor my red-headed cousin that I haven’t seen since childhood: Bobby Bill.  Hmmm…come to think of it…

Just yesterday I tried changing the color of my protagonist’s skin and hair because I thought potential agents might be looking for a more exotic approach.  Then I realized how silly that was.  When the “real” illustrator gets ahold of my stories, the characters will look exactly as they are meant to look.  It’s like giving birth.  Initially, I won’t know who’ll come out, but I’ll trust the one/One fashioning them for life in the world.  After all, I already love my “children” before I behold their faces, because I’ve already held them in my heart.

Sometimes a character is really mini me (an older, female Napoleon Dynamite). One manuscript is about terminal tardiness.  The story line came to me after pulling on two locked doors minutes after closing time.  First, I stood at the post office door with a time-sensitive document, then at the optical office across town with old, worn contacts in my eyes.  All of the fruitless running made me late for a dinner date with my husband. I hated the feeling of disappointing him with my carelessness.

Interestingly, our daughter thinks the story’s about her brother, our oldest son.  (Sorry son – it’s in the genes.)

Our granddaughters point at the characters in a story and argue, “I’m her.”

“No, I’m her!”

“NO, I’M HER!

“How ‘bout all of us be her?”

It’s fun to see the character(s) they most identify with – and to learn why. (Usually it’s whoever’s wearing pink.)

I’m excited by the opportunity to create new possibilities, relive lessons learned, investigate ones not learned, and ensure happy endings where they’re missing.  The best thing about writing children’s books?  The children we create can stay children forever.  And, they can live on — long after we’re gone — so our children’s children can enjoy them, too.