Hearing Voices: Wisdom from a Weekend in the Company of Storytellers

I have been hearing voices.

Since coming home from the SCBWI MD/DE/WV regional conference March 28-29, I hear the voices of the illustrators, agents, editors, and authors I met there whispering in my ear each time I sit down to write and revise. It feels like I have a whole support team standing behind me as I write, which is probably the next best thing to having packed them in my suitcase and brought them home.

What are they saying? Read on for some words of wisdom that have been echoing in my brain.

From Illustrator and (visual) Storyteller E.B. Lewis's touching, entertaining, and inspiring keynote address and his session on Writing with Pictures:
1) "Leap."
     Why? Because the leapers make it.
     The longer version of the story is one familiar to all kinds of artists. A writer (illustrator, painter, etc.) stands at the edge of a cliff, looking across a seemingly bottomless chasm to a group of published authors and asks the question we all ask: "How did you get there?" The answer is simple: "I jumped."
     As important as it is to take the leap of faith, E.B. Lewis cautioned, success is also about timing -- about the universe recognizing that this is the time your work is ready to be seen -- and preparation. Which leads us to #2.

2) "They [the greats] won't let you on the stage until you've done the work."
     Success doesn't just happen. Put in the hours and the effort to learn and practice your craft. And don't be afraid to make mistakes. Which brings us to #3.

3) "Creativity is allowing oneself to make mistakes and art is knowing which ones to keep."
     Making mistakes is about being willing to fail. If you're not willing to fail, E.B. Lewis warned, you might not make it to the other side of the chasm. The best way to lose your fear of failure is to fall in love with the process. To love the journey rather than always racing to get to the finish line.
     How? See #4.

4) "Put yourself in a place of most potential, and by that I mean multiple right answers."
     The work of the storyteller -- writers and illustrators alike -- is to solve problems. Not by finding the right answer, but by exploring the unending possibilities, and by having the courage to take on the creative dragons we all face when we sit down to write or draw (some days with better results than others) day after day until a project is complete.
     Where do we find the energy to do that? In #5.

5) "As Mark Twain said, 'The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why.'"
     We all have a chip, E.B. Lewis said, pointing to his head. And the chip has to get turned on in order to find out the why. But in order for the chip to be turned on, we must be exposed to the right conditions, people or experiences. Once we know why we were born, why we are here, that passion fuels the journey and keeps us facing our dragons. That passion also steels us in the face of resistance. Which brings us to #6.

6) "We are the documenters of the world. We are the feared ones in society. We cause the multitudes to think."
     They want sheep, not shepherds. We create the shepherds.
     (Personal aside: Good teachers also create shepherds. One more reason why teachers, writers, and artists make good allies. We're all on the same side.)

From freelance editor and author Kate Angelella's talk on Learning to Love Revision:
7) "Revision is where your novel comes from."
     Kate's detailed tips on revision merit a separate post. But I will say here that as she guided us through the hard questions to ask on a first and second pass, I realized that I don't hate the revision process at all. In fact, if anything, I love it too much. But then I heard E.B. Lewis whispering in my ear again, saying it's all part of learning the craft.

8) "Every writer must have a shard of ice in her heart."
     Without that, you'll be too easy on your characters. Be willing to make them struggle. Your readers will thank you.

9) Kate's favorite piece of revising advice from writer Neil Gaiman: "If there are things you aren't satisfied with as a reader, go in and fix them as a writer: that's revision."
     A terrific reminder that one key to revision is putting aside the writer's hat for long enough to see your work through the eyes of a reader. That's where the desk drawer comes in handy. Put the manuscript away until you can see it with fresh eyes before embarking on the next round of revisions.

(Sidebar: Kate also led a Sunday morning intensive workshop on the objective correlative, which sounds much more intimidating than it is. Best part? A series of writing exercises that allowed us to experience this tool of the writer's craft firsthand. Again, worthy of its own post.)

From author and Kid's Post columnist Fred Bowen's session Writing My Way to a Better Life:
10) "Have a way to write that isn't official."
     Why? Because writing unofficially is a great way to generate and capture ideas as well as a dependable way to clear the channels when writer's block rears its ugly head.

And from Agent Carrie Howland of Donadio & Olson: candid advice about traditional and not-so-traditional ways of querying. Carrie reminded us that Twitter contests like Pitch Wars and PitMad are good not only to get your name out there and practice your elevator pitch, but are also a great way to get to know something about agents and editors. A fun way to do your homework before submitting a traditional query. And also a way of finding mentors and a community of your peers. She suggested that we look for comps and cover copy in the things others say to us when we tell them about our books. (Great advice! This happened to me just the other morning in a writing session with an old buddy.)
     And one last comforting tidbit: "The number of followers you have on Twitter really doesn't matter." That said, you can follow her on Twitter.

     May these voices travel with you and echo in your head as you go about your daily work too. Happy creating!

What's Taking So Long?!?!

"What's taking you so long to finish writing that book?"
There, I said it. You know you've thought it.

Well, let's see. In the past ten days, I've rethought the first chapter, the first page, the first line, the first few chapters, the whole first quarter of the novel, the climax, and the ending, not necessarily in that order. And let's not even talk about the middle...

I've realized, among other things, that:

• The events of the novel start mid-school-year (January), not the previous September.
• My main character, Gabby, is a sophomore not a freshman -- about to turn 16.
• What Gabby is missing/lacks is as important to the story and to the reader's ability to connect with her as what she desires most. (Thank you, moodywriting.blogspot.com, for that insight.)
• Gabby has another flaw I hadn't quite discovered or consciously identified until last Thursday.
• The character who turns out to be one of Gabby's greatest allies is in her grade, not a year ahead.
• I was way too kind to and protective of Gabby in the first draft -- didn't make her squirm enough or at the right moments. (A common mistake of first-time novelists.)
• Certain characters know more (or less) than I thought they did about a certain main event.
• Something I thought was just a subplot is actually quite possibly the main plot. (Adverbs intentional.)
• I need to totally rewrite the scene in which the antagonist enters the story --and take her out of the one she originally showed up in -- to give her more power.
• The next three chapters up for revision -- or what were the next three in the first draft -- will most likely not make the final cut at all. (It's like they say: "Kill your darlings.")
• The climax I wrote for the first draft is not the real climax -- there is something even more powerful working its way to the surface.

Add to that a herd of smaller details that shifted or emerged in the past week or so, including what posters are on the walls of Coach's classroom, what speech or document they are discussing on Gabby's first day in  history class, how a certain note is discovered and by whom, what popular '80's song Gabby's friends dedicate to her at her roller-rink birthday party, Gabby's grandfather's favorite beverage, and the subject of the puzzle she and Grandad are putting together in the most recent version of chapter one. And so on.

I was relieved to read that this is completely normal for writers like me. Author and head of the literary agency bearing his name, Donald Maass explains it this way in his book Writing 21st Century Fiction:

"Organic and intuitive writers tend to need more drafts, which are often radically different, and may wind up with a manuscript more original and unexpected in its form, but also less tight, sharply focused, or smartly marching." (45)

This is not the revision process I applied to high school or college essays. You know the one -- rearrange a couple of words or sentences, check for punctuation and spelling errors and call it done. No, this revision process feels like mini-earthquakes shifting the ground beneath my writing feet on an almost daily basis. A bit unsettling. And a good sign, I think.

What's taking so long? All of the above and more. For me, this is about more than writing a book. Or becoming a published author. Once again, Donald Maass says it beautifully:

"To write high-impact 21st century fiction, you must start by becoming highly personal. Find your voice, yes, but more than that, challenge yourself to be unafraid, independent, open, aware, and true to your own heart. You must become your most authentic self." (4)

And that, dear readers, is a journey that cannot be rushed.

From the Writer's Confessional

I have a confession to make.

As a fiction writer, I struggle to create detailed characters and settings -- at least in a physical sense. Sometimes I forget that the reader can't see what's in my head as I write -- what the girls seated around the cafeteria table are wearing or what posters are hanging on the wall of the main character's bedroom. And sometimes, I can't see the finer details clearly enough to write them in. Or, if I can, I can't translate those images into words that give the figures who haunt the shadows of my mind life on the page. Yet.

Maybe this is because of something in my creative DNA. Choreographer Twyla Tharp calls it "focal length." In her book The Creative Habit (a staple on my writing reference and inspiration shelf), she proposes that "All of us find comfort in seeing the world either from a great distance, at arm's length, or in close-up." According to her classification system, I am a great-distance person. Or at best, on good days, an arm's-length person.

What does this mean to my writing? It means that the close-up, make-you-feel-like-you're-right-there sensory details don't come easily, or naturally, to me. This is something my critique group finds incredibly (or at least somewhat) annoying, even though they don't put it that way exactly. But they do beg and plead -- persistently -- for more visual and tactile and gustatory and olfactory (love that word) cues so they aren't left guessing.

It means, that at least in early drafts, my characters are doomed to float around in a vast, empty, undefined space. They are stranded in the middle of a big white room or left standing aimlessly in front of a blank green screen. After all, it's hard to tell what kind of sneakers a character is wearing or how she eats an Oreo when you're seeing the fictional world she lives in as a pea-sized blue-green orb floating in a vast universe.

It means silencing my inner critic long enough to get a first draft on paper, knowing that I'll have to work at adding arm's-length and close-up sensory details to future drafts in order to bring the story's fictional world into clear enough focus for my readers to inhabit. Not sure yet if that will happen in draft 2 or draft 92 (Jack Gantos swears he writes everything 100 times), just that it will.

Seems that the great-distance perspective creeps into my real life too, like the way I view the community of professional, published authors. I know it exists, have orbited it for a number of years now, and have even been lucky (or proactive) enough to visit it and get within arm's- (or even pen's-) length at writing conferences and book-signings. But for now it remains an elusive, shadowy world built on shifting sands of creativity, hard work, and inspiration.

For now, I content myself by keeping that distant marbled orb in my sights, knowing that my writing journey is bringing me closer every day. And that one day, I fully intend to inhabit that world just the way my characters will inhabit theirs.

Feedback

The proverbial shoe was on the other foot last Friday. After years of critiquing my students' writing, I decided it was time to put myself on the hotseat. I took a chapter of my novel-in-progress to the Baltimore Book Festival for a free one-on-one feedback session sponsored by the CityLit Project.

I have a couple of what Julia Cameron calls "friendly readers" who have read several scenes from the novel. Their feedback is always constructive and encouraging, and their enthusiasm about the story and the characters gives me the energy to keep writing. But asking for a critique from an experienced writer who knew nothing about me felt like a bigger risk.

Was I doubtful/nervous/terrified beforehand? Yes.
Did I go for it anyway? Yes.
And I'm glad I did.

So on Friday afternoon, after much fretting about what scene to bring and whether it was really ready for an objective pair of eyes (ask my husband, he'll tell you), I sat down with Gregg Wilhelm, the Executive Director of the CityLit Project, who has worked in various aspects of publishing for several different publishing houses. He read quietly, scribbling notes on the pages as he went, and I watched, fidgeting with my pen and reminding myself to stay detached from the outcome and open to his suggestions.

I was pleasantly surprised when he came back with largely positive comments. He said the scene as a whole was well constructed and complimented me on capturing the personalities of the characters in dialogue as well as through their actions. He suggested that I add a bit more exposition -- some details of the room and of the characters' appearances, things that the point-of-view character would notice -- to set the scene more clearly for the reader. We also talked about some specific instances of word choice that will add polish.

What else did I learn Friday? That I can afford to go a lot easier on myself when I am drafting new scenes. That it's okay to let my characters ramble and to use too many adverbs and adjectives and to let some cliches creep in here and there (kind of like that!). And that for now, I can give the madman more room to create and imagine and breathe life into the characters and the story without worrying about how it sounds or whether it will be good enough. That's what the revision process is for.

Trimming

This week's challenge? An exercise from Louise Doughty's A Novel in a Year: Choose a scene, do a word count, and cut the words by a quarter. Repeat with next scene. After a few days, read the new and old versions to see which sounds better.

Cutting out whole paragraphs, Doughty says, is cheating. Instead, she says to consider each sentence, each word, and ruthlessly eliminate anything that is not absoutely necessary (case in point, there are a couple of adverbs that last sentence could do without).

At first, I thought this exercise was getting too specific too soon, but I tried it anyway with three scenes of different length (from 1 to 3 pages). Turned out that in the process of doing such mindful trimming, all kinds of other useful things popped up. Things like places or characters that need more description, parts that might be better off somewhere else in the story, questions about how a character feels/reacts in a particular moment, bits that need to be added for clarity, moments that beg for more/less tension. Things that will help me make more substantial revisions when I get around to serious rewriting.

What sounded like a task that was all about the word count turned out to be about something quite different. While my left brain was busy counting words, my right brain snuck in and put its creativity to work, re-seeing the scene. And, after spending ten weeks cranking out new material, it felt good to revisit some scenes that I hadn't looked at for a while.

Truth is, I think I like this part of the writing process better than coming up with new material. Or maybe it is just more in my comfort zone after years spent evaluating my students' creative writing.

Just one more reason to keep exercising the madman daily...