Manic Monday: The Bionic Manuscript

As I write this, I'm attending the Society of Children's Book Writers & Illustrator's (SCBWI) annual summer conference in Los Angeles. Three days filled with speeches, workshops, and  presentations by wonderful writers, book illustrators, editors and other book publishing people. Three days filled with inspiration, pep talks, advice on craft and storytelling, and rubbing elbows and breaking bread with kindred spirits.


And a time for a bit of reflection on my journey thus far. A time to reflect on the first two stages of becoming a writer.


Just three years ago, I sat at my first writer's conference. Wide eyed. Excited. Hopeful. 


I sat there with a great idea, boundless enthusiasm for the subject, and no one had yet said to me the dreaded two letter word: No.


I sat in a workshop today and was struck by the fact that in the last three years, I'd changed as a writer. I've written three manuscripts now and they've changed me as a writer. Here's what happened to make me see this.


The presenter at the workshop asked people to volunteer to tell the their story idea - the premise - the log line. The one to two sentence hook.


Many threw out their ideas. Most were so-so. Ideas that were a bit interesting, but not so compelling that you'd buy the book. There were a couple of ideas that were knock outs. When a person can put their idea succinctly into one sentence, AND hook you with it, you know they're on the right track. 


There was one young lady, that rambled on for a while about her idea, losing me after about ten words. The presenter gave her a few pointers as to why the concept wasn't yet compelling. But the nascent writer persisted, saying something that made me both cringe and feel envious. She said something to the effect that she could see her story in her head and couldn't wait to see it made into a movie because she thinks it would make a great movie.

Joy! Rapture! I have the best story idea ever and soon I will be lavished with praise and a
six figure advance and a movie deal.

This newbie writer is at the stage where her idea is, still, very fresh and thrilling to her. It's probably all she thinks about. And her story idea is a movie, in her own head. To this writer, she likes the story idea so much, how can anyone else not like it? How could they possibly resist the chance to not only publish the story, but make it into a film?


I cringed because I have seen many editors and agents say that this is exactly the kind of thing that if they hear in a query letter, that they'll reject the writer's work immediately. Every writer thinks their idea is good. Every writer has a friend or family member that thinks their story is the best story since the Bible. Every writer thinks their story would make a great movie. It's cringe worthy because it's not only cliche, but because it sounds both boastful and out of touch with reality.


I cringed for that writer that she'll likely continue to say things like that until someone either smacks her silly and tells her to stop, or until she's rejected about a million times and either stops writing altogether or tries something new, just to see what happens.


But I envied her too. I envied her because I remember feeling that way with my first story idea. So full of the story, all the time. It was all I could think of. And I was so hopeful. Had not yet had my writer self bashed about a bit.


Don't get me wrong. It's good to be hopeful. It's not naive to believe in your story. Cynicism does not for good writing make.


But once a writer has completed that first story, she must move on to the next one. And a first story is a bit like your first car. Remember your first car? Of course you do. You remember how it smelled. My first car was old and smelled of dirty leather and oil and that musty old car smell. You remember the make, model and paint color. And you remember how it felt to drive it. Mine was old and crappy and prone to stalling in the middle of the road but oh, how I loved the freedom of  my own wheels. My first car was old and cheap and shabby and should have been at the scrap yard, but it was my first and it was new and an adventure and thus memorable for me.

My first car, but picture it rusted and broken down on the side
of the road with smoke issuing from its hood.

I bet you don't have as many memories of your second car, even less of your third, and may not be able to remember at all some of the cars in the chain of cars you've owned. And I bet your more recent cars are finer ones than your first. Maybe now you can afford a sweeter ride, but your first is still special, even if it was a piece of shit car.


It's the same with a writer's stories. The first is new. It's fresh. It's exciting and thrilling because you've never done it before. Writing your first story is an adventure.


You finish the first one, maybe take a small break, then you push on to the next. If you're a professional (or aspire to be a professional) anyway, that's what you do. You move on. 


Maybe you'll get a publishing contract for the first one (may the odds be in your favor), but statistically speaking, probably not. You may write two, five or even seven or more novels before you find out how to come up with both a fresh concept and the writing craft to deliver it.


Once you've mined that first idea, fleshed it out, and delivered it to the world, it may be met with the same awe and wonder that you had when you wrote it. But unless you're a prodigy, born from your mother's womb with an extreme gift for writing that even the greats of literature have lacked, your idea will likely be met with . . . you guessed it: No.


Why? Because the new writer has, most of the time, not yet learned that there is a difference between having an idea and writing a novel. And because the nascent writer does not know the difference, they upchuck pages upon pages of backstory onto the page and then "tell" rather than "show" the reader their story.


I read a lot of self-published novels and most of them are built on a compelling idea or premise. A few deliver the promise of the premise through solid writing and are a good read.


But most fall short. I see what the author is trying to do. I see what got them excited about writing it. But it's not a good book.


Why? Because the writer has not yet learned how to write a novel, rather than "tell" a story. Telling a story and writing a novel are not the same thing.


The idea isn't enough.


This is important and bears repeating: The idea isn't enough.


The idea is necessary. Yes. You must have a compelling premise. You must.


But then you must deliver the promise of that premise by writing a compelling story that pulls the writer sentence by sentence, page by page, willingly and gladly along on the ride you created for them. The reader doesn't want to be "told" a story. They want to be shown characters overcoming obstacles, and growing and changing.


Three years ago, I came to this conference as much a newbie as there ever was. I paid extra to have a consultation with an agent about my work in progress, the work that would become Emily's House. The consultation was a fool's errand. There I was, submitting a piece of writing for critique on a story that I hadn't even fully written yet. How could I know how to write a novel, when I had not yet even completed one?


The agent who met with me was kind, and pointed out things she liked. But she also gently urged me to go to workshops and get into a critique group. And she never once commented on what a great premise I had or how cool my idea was. She couldn't even get to the idea for the lack of skill in the writing. Poor craft distracts from the idea.


"Learn about craft," she said. If she had said it to me straighter, she would have said: "The idea is not enough." 


I left that consult, made my way to my hotel room, closed the door, and cried. I cried, and cried and cried. She had said no. No to my big idea. No to my story. No.


That was three years ago. At the conference today, in his keynote address, author Dan Guttman (referring to a line from the movie A League of Their Own), said, "There's no crying in the world of writing."


I heard that advice today, not three years ago. And three years ago I cried. Hard.


I don't know if I agree with Dan. I think it's okay to cry, sometimes (but perhaps do it privately if you're really going to wail, so as to not draw a crowd). Sometimes, you need to let the tears roll.


But, and perhaps this is what Dan was really getting at, you dry your tears and you pull yourself up and you go at it again. And again. And again.


Back in 2009, I had a choice to make. Sit, cry and stop. Or stop crying, and start writing.


I chose the latter.


I spent another two years writing that novel. I tore it apart, rewrote, then tore at it some more. I went to classes and worked with editors on it. I learned and rewrote, then learned more and write it again.


The final product isn't perfect. If I wrote it today, I'd write it differently. But I finished it. I saw it through. I published and I'm proud of it and best of all, readers have enjoyed it too. Readers that would have never gotten to meet Emily and her pals if I'd given up back in 2009 just because I heard the word "no."


I finished it, published it and moved on to the next one.


I'm now revising my third novel. Each one gets less precious. It becomes easier to shoulder critique. Easier to hear "no." Not easy. Just easier.


I had a critique today with a well respected editor and I heard a yes and a no. She said "Yes" to my concept. Yea! My writing is stronger now, and I don't upchuck backstory for twenty pages anymore. I've learned how to show not tell (most of the time). So my storytelling was strong enough that she could see the forest through the trees and she liked the concept. Yes.


But the plot has some issues that need ironed out. It's  not there yet. So that's a no. For now. It's not ready and I know it. Back to work.


I left  the critique feeling glad that I didn't leave wanting to cry. But I also felt, for a bit, like "I can't do this. It's too much. It's too hard."


I believe this is a new stage in the writing journey for me. A stage well known by most writers who have pushed beyond the newbie phase. There comes a point where you know enough about storytelling to know that you have not hit the mark. Your draft is lacking. And you know enough to know that it's damned hard to do it better. And you worry, for a moment or maybe for weeks, that you don't have it in you.


You see, your expectations of yourself have become higher. You no longer rely on just the idea. The idea is fine, it's wonderful, it's what got you to the computer and put words on the page in the first place. But you know, now, that the idea alone isn't enough. And you worry that you don't have what it takes to pull off that wonderful idea you've had.


"Maybe it's just too hard for me," you say.


In this stage, you are the one saying no to yourself. You are the obstacle you need to overcome. You must wring that no from your head.


"The concept is good," she said. I'll take that. It will inspire me. Fuel me. Spur me on as I take that damnable manuscript apart, piece by piece, and rebuild it. I picture it now like the Bionic Man. Remember the beginning of that show? "Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. Better, stronger, faster."


That's my manuscript now. The bionic manuscript. It will be better, faster, stronger.

Stage two rockets released. What's the next stage?

Bionic Man Doll, circa 1970's
It's pretty creepy, isn't it?
Hopefully, my bionic manuscript
won't look like this!

Summer Teen Reading Party with Barbara Ehrentreu

I welcome Barbara Ehrentreu to my blog today as part of the Summer Teen Reading Party. Barbara has written a prize-winning novel titled If I Could Be Like Jennifer Taylor. Love the cover!

From Goodreads: Carolyn Samuels is obsessed with the idea of being popular. She is convinced that the only thing keeping her from happiness is her too heavy for fashion body and not being a cheerleader. Hyperventilating when she gets nervous doesn't help. When she is paired for a math project with the girl who tormented her in middle school, Jennifer Taylor, she is sure it is going to be another year of pain. With Carolyn's crush on Jennifer's hunky junior quarterback, Brad, her freshman year in high school looks like a rerun of middle school. When Jennifer is the only student who knows why she fell in gym class, Carolyn is blackmailed into doing her math homework in return for Jennifer's silence. Jennifer takes on Carolyn as a pity project since she can't be seen with someone who dresses in jeans and sweatshirts. When Jennifer invites Carolyn to spend the night to make her over and teach her to tumble, Carolyn learns Jennifer's secret and lies to her own friends to cover it up. Will Carolyn become a cheerleader and popular? Does she continue to keep Jennifer's secret? Or will she be a target of this mean girl again?

My Inspiration for Writing If I Could Be Like Jennifer Taylor

The summer of 2002 I enrolled in Writer’s Week at Manhattanville College where I was currently working on my Masters in Reading and Writing. If you have never been to Writer’s Week and live relatively close to the college you should think about it. For an entire week you have workshops both in the morning and the afternoon. You choose your genre and each workshop is headed by a well known author or teacher of writing. Celebrity authors and workshop participants rub shoulders at many activities, including the daily readings of outstanding work from each group.

So the workshop I chose was Children’s Writing led by the delightful, quirky and multi- book author, Paula Danziger. She wrote books for young girls that cut to the very heart of the emotional life of a tween ager. For the pass to get into the class we all needed to write three chapters of a story for children. At the time my daughter, who was going into college in the fall, had some issues with both her body and with eating. Her eating disorder had not gotten out of hand, but it was a problem to both her and me. This was something on my mind and so I created two characters. One had issues with her body image and the other was perfect, but she had an eating disorder. I wrote my three chapters and handed them in to Paula Danziger.

The first day of the workshop she arrived with her signature purple sneakers and her bright red hair and she looked like she had stepped out of a children’s book. But the thing about Paula was how open and friendly she was and how accessible she was to us. We all sat around and she talked with us about writing, for a whole week. During this time she held private conferences and the first time she saw my three chapters her first words to me and the words she wrote on the paper were “Cut, Cut, Cut!!!”  I still have the original papers on which she wrote. Paula believed that children’s books didn’t need long sentences and especially in the beginning of the book, sentences should be short and move the reader to want to learn more. After all of the revisions and editing of my book, I still have a few sentences left that came directly from Paula. She told me that first day that she liked my writing and that I might have a good book in there if I could wade through all the extra words. She even reminded me during workshop discussions that I should cut my words while speaking.

About six months later I met Paula at the Winter Conference for SCBWI and we talked about my book. Then a year later, her last conference, I showed her a passage that had given me a lot of trouble. She read it and suggested a few things to do that helped me very much. Her encouragement helped me to continue to write and eventually finish the story. However, I got bogged down in the middle and that was when I turned to Children’s Authors’ Bootcamp for help. This was two days of constant lecturing and writing where we took apart our stories and examined each part. We learned about character development and plot development and on the second day after having been stumped for both an ending and a clear plot line for my secondary character, Jennifer, I was able to finish the plot and write an ending for my story. Laura Backes and Linda Arms White gave me the tools I needed!!

Paula Danziger, unfortunately, is not here to share in the triumph of the publication of my first novel, but I know if she were she would be doing a happy dance with her red hair wildly flying and her face smiling. She was one of a kind and her support made me feel that someday I too would be able to publish my book. That is why I dedicated my first ever YA novel to Paula Danziger. If you are not familiar with her work you should go to Amazon and look up Paula Danziger.

My YA novel, If I Could Be Like Jennifer Taylor, MuseItUp Publishing is available here in ebook and print:

Muse Bookstore:

http://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage.tpl&product_id=203&category_id=120&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=1&vmcchk=1&Itemid=1

Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/Could-Like-Jennifer-Taylor-ebook/dp/B005NWRLL6/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1336670426&sr=8-1

Barnes and Noble:

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/if-i-could-be-like-jennifer-taylor-barbara-ehrentreu/1105870667?ean=9781927085929

Twitter:

https://twitter.com/#!/barbehr

Facebook:

http://www.facebook.com/BarbaraEhrentreu

Book Promo:

http://bookpromo.weebly.com/barbara-ehrentreu.html

Also, come over to visit my blog, Barbara’s Meanderings,  where I am part of the month long Summer Teen Reading Party. In addition to my blog I sometimes do a monthly show on Blog Talk Radio called RRWL Tales from the Pages where I get a chance to interview authors, editors and publishers.

Barbara Bio:

Barbara, a retired teacher with a Masters degree in Reading and Writing K-12 and seventeen years of teaching experience lives with her family in Stamford, Connecticut. When she received her Masters degree she began writing seriously. If I Could Be Like Jennifer Taylor, Barbara’s first YA novel, published by MuseItUp Publishing was inspired by Paula Danziger. It has won #2 in Preditors & Editors Poll for Best Young Adult Book of 2011. In addition, Barbara has a story in Lavender Dreams, a memorial anthology for which all the proceeds go to cancer research. She has three poems in Prompted: An International Collection of Poems by the Anthologists for which all the proceeds go to Literacy research. Her blog, Barbara’s Meanderings, http://barbaraehrentreu.blogspot.com/, is networked on both Facebook and Blog Catalog. She hosts Red River Writers Live Tales from the Pages on Blog Talk Radio every 4th Thursday. In addition, her children's story, “The Trouble with Follow the Leader” and an adult story, “Out on a Ledge” are published online She has written book reviews for Authorlink.com. and several of her reviews have been on Acewriters and Celebrity Café. She is a member of SCBWI. Writing is her life!

Summer Teen Reading Party with Kim Baccellia

I welcome Kim Baccellia to my blog today. Kim is the author of Earrings of Ixtumea. I recently had a chance to chat with Kim and this is what she had to say:

NATALIE WRIGHT (NW): Do you have a specific writing style?

KIM BACCELLIA (KB): I use an outline similar to what screenwriters use.  I also use the heroes journey when outlining/plotting my stories.

NW: How did you come up with the title?

KB: My writing group at the time helped me come up with the title.  The original title was Lupe’s Journey.  Boring.  Then I had the group help me brainstorm ideas.  Dennis, was the one who came up with the idea of Ixtumea.  I kept it.

NW: What books have most influenced your life most?

KB: Judy Blume when I was a teen and recently Ellen Hopkins who writes real, honest YA contemporaries.

NW: What book are you reading now?

KB: Right now I’m reading Underworld by Meg Cabot.  I’m also reading Code Name Verity by Elizabeth Wein.

NW: Have you ever gone out in public with your shirt on backwards, or your slippers on, and when realizing it, just said screw it?

KB: Once I was really not feeling well and had an overdue library book.  It was overcast outside and I figured, who cares if I drive to the library in my PJs?  So yes, I ended up driving down there with my skull PJ bottoms and hoodie top.  I did wear my Audrey Hepburn sized sunglasses but still no one gave me a second glance other than my ten-year-old son who commented, “You went to the library in your pajamas?”

NW: Be honest, how often do you wash your hair?

KB: Uh, it depends.  Usually 3 times a week.

NW: Do you get road rage? What is it about other drivers that makes you angry?

KB: I’m getting a lot better.  I learned my lesson the hard way while in Utah.  I once gave this truck the bird after he cut me off.  He turned around and followed me, screaming profanity.  Let’s just say I’ve never done that again!

NW: Do you go out of your way to kill bugs? Are there any that make you screech and hide?

KB: Bugs usually don’t bother me.  At the last school I taught at, we had a cockroach problem.  It got so bad that one day after I got yelled at by a parent, one scurried right in front on me.  I kicked it.  Hard. The kids in the other classroom started giggling.  The teacher came out and asked me what I did as this cockroach was weaving around like it was drunk.  I swear nothing killed those bugs.

NW: What is your favorite drink?

KB: I love Ruby Diner’s Diet Cherry Chocolate Cokes.  They are fountain drinks just like the ones my mom had in the 50s!

NW: How would you describe yourself in three words?

KB: Persistent, out-spoken, and studious

Kim Baccellia, Author

Author bio:

 

Kim Baccellia was a bilingual teacher in Los Angeles County for eight years and during that time she didn’t find many books for Latinas that were upbeat or dealt with their heritage.  During the time she wrote this novel, she was learning about her own Mexican heritage and decided to write a novel that was set in a Mesoamerican world.

Kim has also written Crossed Out, a YA paranormal and her YA fantasy No Goddesses Allowed has a tentative release date of Fall 2012.

A current member of SCBWI and YALITCHAT, Kim is currently writing the sequel to Crossed Out and a YA multicultural Sci-Fi.  She lives in Southern California with her husband and son.

 

Blurb:

 

Fifteen-year-old Lupe Hernandez dismisses the legend about her Mexican grandmother's magical earrings as a silly fairytale, despite recurring nightmares of human sacrifice. But when the earrings thrust her into the parallel world of Ixtumea, she must confront the very thing she shuns the most -- her cultural heritage.

Excerpt:

“How often do you hear a girl saves the world?” The melodic hush of Abuela’s voice downstairs in the kitchen woke Lupe. Darkness filled her room. She peered over at her alarm clock, six o’clock in the morning.

She pulled her pink blanket over her head and moaned. Oh, here we go again. Couldn’t Abuela let me sleep in? The blanket might cover  her, but she couldn’t escape the sounds of her grandmother reciting yet another fable from the mystical land of Ixtumea. She’d been forced to listen to that stupid tale last night. And even worse, downstairs in their kitchen, listening and encouraging were Abuelita’s amigas.

Lupe stumbled out of bed, kicking aside a collection of navy-and-white uniform clothes on the floor. Throwing on a faded flannel robe, she cracked her bedroom door open. The voices grew louder.

“Si, tell us more!” The ting of spoons against the tiny teacups sounded like a battle cry. Didn’t those women know it was way too early? Jeez, no way am I going to sleep. I might as well see if they made some hot chocolate or tea. Maybe then I can stomach this whole nonsense of Ixtumea and Super-Girl before I go to school.

She had long outgrown the silly tales. Though she hated to admit it, the tale of the girl savior fascinated her. Never had she heard of a teen-aged Latina battling evil forces and saving her people, in a world not unlike the land of Lupe’s Mexican ancestors.

No, the only stories of teen heroes she’d heard starred thin beautiful blondes. Everything she wasn’t.

Still, Abuela’s voice cast a spell on her. Lupe knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop on the chismes, but she couldn’t help herself.

She crept down the stairs past the pictures of the Virgin of Guadalupe, Pope John Paul II, and one of the mysterious Mayan gods.

“Ay, too bad she couldn’t have come sooner,” Coco, their next-door neighbor, sighed. “Too many cosas modernas in our world. Now who  believes? No one but us.”

Who are they talking about? Lupe wondered.

“Now that’s one story I’d like to hear,” an unfamiliar gravelly voice replied. “Not another pobrecita guera who steals the ranchero’s heart. How many poor blondes from Mexico do you ladies know?”

“You mean real ones or ones that appear with la magica of the bleach?” asked Esperanza, the acknowledged gossip of the apartment building.

Laughter filled the small condo. Lupe couldn’t help but smile. These ladies loved those telenovelas almost as much as Abuela’s tales. She thought it funny her grandmother got on her case about her Anglo pop idols. Maybe the ladies weren’t different from her, after all.

Lupe crouched down and hid behind one of the banisters. Ixchel, the spider goddess, smiled down on her from a painting on the wall. Red gems sparkled from Ixchel’s earlobes, similar to the earrings Lupe’s grandmother had tried to give Lupe last night.

From this position Lupe saw the usual group of amigas sitting around the Formica table, sipping café de leche or manzanilla—chamomile—tea in delicate small cups. Vivid crimson, yellow, and orange housecoats brightened the kitchen. The women sounded like a flock of lively parrots.

Next to the stove, Abuela worked her magic. She pinched off a bit of dough, rolled the soft masa into the size of a golf ball, and flattened the dough between her earth-colored hands. Quickly she threw the pancake-shaped masa onto a sizzling black pan.

The other women helped. Esperanza scrambled eggs, the vivid red housedress she wore fluttering over her round figure. Esperanza’s large gold hoop earrings bounced with every movement.

Coco stood in the far corner, one large embroidered rose peeking out of her simple rebozo. She cut the tortillas into thin strips to mix in with the eggs, chorizo, and cheese. “Oye, espera un momento. Tell me more about this niña who’ll save Ixtumea.”

“Here, let me finish.” The scrape of a metal chair dragged across the wooden floor and one of the women took over cooking the tortillas.

“Ay, where was I?” Lupe’s abuela asked as she settled down in one of the chairs. She wiped her hands on her apron, sealing in the roasted scent of tortillas.

“The prophecy. How does it go, again?”

“Oh, yes.” Abuelita took a deep breath. Then she began.

“She will come,

Descending through the sacred web,

To vanquish the great deceiver.

Many will be her name:

Savior,

Redeemer…”

“Cipriana, do we know this niña?”someone asked.

Lupe leaned down closer to the stair, curious to find out if her grandmother would reveal the name of the person. Wouldn’t it be a real hoot if it were someone she knew?

“Let me guess.” Esperanza turned off the stove. “She’s tall, thin, and has blonde hair.”

“You sound as bad as my Lupita. Nadie está contento con su suerte. Always dreaming the other side is better.” Her grandmother let out a  deep sigh. “If only she’d listen and take the earrings...”

“So she hasn’t taken them?” Coco asked. “Does she not know how importante they are?”

"You know the young.  Never listen.” Her grandmother let out another sigh.

“If I was her, I’d be dying to use them…wait, maybe, your Lupita is this niña!” Esperanza laughed so hard she snorted. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

Startled at hearing her name, Lupe leaned back against the wall. An old picture of her mother wearing those same earrings shifted above  her.

Lupe felt a strange foreboding. The tips of her ears burned. What was wrong with her?

She got up and went back to her room. Quietly she closed the door to block out the voices. A prickly sensation covered her body, along with a sick feeling, maybe Esperanza was right. She thought back to last night and her grandmother’s attempt to give her a pair of earrings, identical to the ones in all the pictures in their apartment. She’d started up again with the legend and refused to let Lupe leave the room. “No, this is muy importante,” she said. She talked about a web between the worlds fraying and the time of the fulfillment of the prophecy was now. How Lupe needed to be prepared.