Writing in the Snow with Dragons

My weekend: snow, writing, dragons (of the self-doubt variety.)

Revision is SO scary. It can feel like battling a three-headed dragon. You deal with one problem, you make two more for yourself. Everywhere, there are teeth.  But if you look for it, there is also snow. Miraculous, unpredictable snow.

See those silhouettes underneath the dragon? They're fairytale postcards I bought in Germany.  And the gypsy doll is a marionette I found in Prague one bitterly cold winter day.  (So is the dragon.)

Back to work now.

Better have a story ready

 Better have a story ready to tell.

All that talk of the moon at Linda's place earlier this week reminds me that I'm signed up for a Full Moon Hike at the National Arboretum. One of the moonlit sights will be these columns, which formally graced the East Portico of the Capitol, but now hang out in a grassy field and inspire writers. 

Okay, well, maybe not all writers. Or only writers. But me. And Robert Pinsky. 

The former United States Poet Laureate, who spoke last night at the Folger Shakespeare Library, claims we can find in any one thing----a jar of pens, a shirt, a plexiglass lectern, perhaps a set of sandstone columns---a portal to the entire world.

Is that what these columns are then? A portal? For some reason, I picture them attached to an outsized, ballooning parachute, each staid column holding down one tenuous tie, the whole thing billowing in and out like a squid, trying to get our attention.

Then I wonder if these columns are more like chapters, each standing on its own, but forming a semi-enclosed space---a space that clearly invites you to come in and think awhile. Kind of like a book. Or a poem in stanzas.

Or, possibly, they are not a finished work but a sad outline that didn't get the go-ahead to be the real article. 

One other thought: perhaps they are an obituary. Robert Pinsky loves those too---says they compact life to its best bits---children, accomplishments, flashes of fame.

If so, these columns are part of the life story of Ethel Garrett, who refused to let these beauties be destroyed, and campaigned for twenty years to save them after they were left to drown in the mud of the Anacostia River.  A bit of the story of how she and landscape artist, Russell Page, pulled it off is here.

Wouldn't you like to have that listed as one of your life's accomplishments----Mover of Columns?

And yes, they make an absolutely fabulous End of the World movie set. Sadly, you cannot hold a party here.

Dear Blog . . .

I've never been a fan of letters that begin "Sorry I haven't written in so long..."

After reading Deborah Heiligman's delightful Charles and Emma, I realize why.  Those two lovebirds often wrote each other several times a day.

A long time is relative.

But I understand why people feel a need to excuse their silence. I feel the same about this blog. In hindsight, I should've put up a sign in my absence that said: BUSY WRITING AND LIVING. Or perhaps pulled out a few of my old posts to entertain you. But I trust all of you have been BUSY WRITING AND LIVING as well. (Or whatever you do that makes you happy.)

I posted about three of the major events of my summer: the ALA Convention here in D.C., my week at Shakespeare Camp, and my jaunt to the SCBWI Conference in L.A.

I left out my peaceful and productive writing retreat on Lake Champlain (organized by the dynamos Kate Messner and Marjorie Light) during which I found the way back to a revision of my long-wrestled-with YA novel, HOLLOW. (Still under revision, by the way, with a tentative due date of mid-October and one of the main reasons for my blog silence.)

Lake Champlain, NY

I left out the agony/joy of drafting an entirely new middle-grade novel before the ALA convention, which is now sitting, a quiet mess, on my desk, patiently waiting for me to attend to it after the HOLLOW revision is due.

I left out my trip to New Mexico to visit my daughter, Rebecca, who was working at the National Laboratory in Los Alamos. (She was doing particle physics research as an intern. Her project involved sound-proofing a detection instrument. And she did a spot of writing for the Lab's internal newsletter.)

I left out making root beer float cupcakes. Picking up my golf clubs again. Finally seeing the precision drama of the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at Arlington National Cemetery. Getting a new author picture made. Swooning in the stifling heat of Wolf Trap National Park to hear Lyle Lovett. Celebrating twenty-six years of marriage. Discovering I like iced coffee. Painting my toenails every color from Russian Navy to Diva of Geneva.

Each of those might have been a blog post. Sometimes, I hoard my words. I don't exactly know why.

Writers are Writers are Writers

Members of the Young Writers Café at the Arlington Public Library,

holding Little Green Army Men

A couple of weeks ago, I hung out with those dedicated writers you see in the photo above. For an hour and a half we talked about stuff like whether it was okay to start with the ending of a story (yes, definitely) and why my laptop computer keys were dirty (um, using them so much?) They were honest, funny, totally positive about writing, and eager to hash over the finer points of Operation Yes and Letters From Rapunzel.

There is nothing like talking writing with other writers. Sure, they were under 14 and I'm over 40. But it doesn't make much difference when you're talking about how to make a character live on the page or how much you love a brand-new notebook to scribble in.

Thank you, Young Writers Café! I'll be looking for your names on a book cover one day.

These Aren't the Droids . . .

Lately, in an effort to break my habit of surfing around the 'net instead of drafting my new middle grade manuscript, I've taken to using a series of Star Wars lines on myself. 

"These aren't the droids you're looking for." Click. Close Facebook. 

"She can go about her business." Click. Close Google Reader.

"Move along." Click. Stop reading email. 

"Move along." Click. Open draft and start writing. 

The only thing weird about it is that I must use the slight Obi-Wan wave of my fingers. Otherwise, it doesn't work.

P.S. If you aren't practicing Jedi mind tricks on yourself to get off the Internet this morning, my editor, Cheryl Klein, has re-posted a link to her "Lines from 'Star Wars' That Can Be Improved by Substituting 'Pants' for Key Words." 

Poetry Quote of the Day: Edward Young

"We are all born originals---why is it so many of us die copies?" ---Edward Young, poet (1683-1765), as quoted in A Word a Day by Anu Garg.

And should you have time on your hands, don't miss Young's essay "On Lyrick Poetry" which is filled with such gems as

"bad Poets, that is Poets in general, are esteem'd, and really are the most vain, the most irritable, and most ridiculous Set of men upon earth."

 He also calls "the Poetic Clan" "Genus Irritabile among mankind."

However, in my mind, this last quote (which ties into today's admonition against winding up a pale copy of yourself) is the real killer, and it's what I find irresistible in any form of writing, be it novels, poetry or drama:

"It holds true in this Province of writing, as in war, "The more danger, the more honour." lt must be very Enterprising, it must (in Shakespear's Style) have hairbreadth 'Scapes; and often tread the very brink of Error" 

What I'm Reading Now: An Altar in the World

From the chapter,  "The Practice of Paying Attention," An Altar in the World: A Geography of Faith by Barbara Brown Taylor:

"I learned reverence from my father. For him, it had nothing to do with religion and very little to do with God. I think it may have had something to do with his having been a soldier, since the exercise of reverence generally includes knowing your rank in the overall scheme of things. From him I learned by example that reverence was the proper atitude of a small and curious human being in a vast and fascinating world of experience. This world included people and places as well as things. Full appreciation of it required frequent adventures, grand projects, honed skills, and feats of daring. Above all, it required close attention to the way things worked, including one's own participation in their working or not working."

This is a book not about belief, but practice. As such, I keep reading it as if she were writing about the practice of writing for children.  Do we write as if were "a small and curious human being in a vast and fascinating world of experience?" Do we make room in our stories for "frequent adventure, honed skills and feats of daring"? And if our characters do not ever realize their own participation in the world "working or not working," then how can we say they have lived at all?

Flame on!

Anne Marie Pace pointed me to this piece in the Washington Post on celebrities re-recording "We are the World" as a fundraiser for Haiti ---and she mentioned how inspiring it was to read about Barbara Streisand rehearsing for 30 minutes for a 10 second solo.

What I fixated on was this line from the producer:

"This is like running through hell with gasoline underpants," Jones said.

Writing is like that sometimes too. Flame on!

You can't trust a character who doesn't...

After the SCBWI Mid-Atlantic Conference this past Saturday, a group of us went to the Salvadorian restaurant, La Union, for dinner where we devoured delicious, inexpensive, and homestyle food and talked writing, revision, and life. At one point, I commented that during our Twitter chat,  I'd asked my editor, Cheryl Klein, if she would ever acquire a manuscript that didn't mention food. Hmmmm. We paused in our eating and talking. We all considered the question, and more or less came up with the same answer Cheryl gave:

 A picture book, yes; a novel, no. You can't trust a character who doesn't think about eating at least once.

Then we were off and running, talking about our favorite meals in children's literature:

 The cozy meal Mrs. Beaver offers the cold and lost Pevensie children in the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe: "There was a jug of creamy milk for the children (Mr. Beaver stuck to beer) and a great big lump of deep yellow butter in the middle of the table from which everyone took as much as he wanted to go with his potatoes and all the children thought - and I agree with them - that there's nothing to beat good freshwater fish if you eat it when it has been alive half an hour ago and has come out of the pan half a minute ago."

The mysterious feast that appears in the attic in A Little Princess: "rich, hot, savory soup, which was a meal in itself, and sandwiches and toast and muffins enough for both of them"

The tasty letters of the alphabet in The Phantom Tollbooth: "crisp, crunchy C" "the I, which was icy and refreshing"

Practically ALL of Harry Potter...

Cornbread and molasses (except if Pa caught a rabbit) in the Little House series

So, what's your favorite meal in children's literature?

And how would you complete this sentence:  You can't trust a character who doesn't....

NaNoWriMo Fuel: The Battle of Resistance

For all my friends who've taken on the challenge of National Novel Writing Month, I salute you!  More than that, I'd like to scream for you until I'm hoarse, hand you Gatorade, and wave a huge banner with your name on it.

But we know the Internet has not progressed as far as that. The cupcakes laced with inspiration that I keep trying to send you through the broadband connection keep getting stuck in the transfigulator. And the assassin I dispatched to quiet your internal critic keeps missing his target and dropping his cone of silence over those random popup ads that blast techno dance music. 

So, to cheer you on in your word battle, I can only offer more words. How about a quote for you, as often as I'm able? Today's is from Steven Pressfield, the author of The War of Art. I found it via this inspiring post, The Battle of Resistance, at the blog, There Are No Rules.

Maybe it's too early in the month to talk of resistance. You're probably flying along, feeling the rush of words. But one day, this month, you're going to face a wall. All the more reason to stockpile now the encouragement you'll need to get through it.  And think about it: isn't this act of overcoming just what you're asking your characters to do?

Resistance is directly proportional to love. If you’re feeling massive Resistance, the good news is, it means there’s tremendous love there too. If you didn’t love the project that is terrifying you, you wouldn’t feel anything. The opposite of love isn’t hate; it’s indifference.

The more Resistance you experience, the more important your unmanifested art/project/enterprise is to you—and the more gratification you will feel when you finally do it.

Go, NaNoWriMo-ers! Go!

Worked Over and Messed Up

I went to hear Sherman Alexie speak this week,* and it messed me up.

During his talk, he acted out a scene in which his dad gets drunk and tells his seven-year-old self and all his gathered young friends about how women. . .  NO, can't write that here on the blog.

Okay, he talked about giving President Clinton grief for his "my grandmother was Cherokee" attempt at empathy, and then, later, he describes Clinton embracing him with "Big-Mac breath," leaning in to whisper in his ear "Alexie, you're----"  NO, can't write that here either.

Maybe, maybe, I can tell you about his description of President Obama's inauguration on TV, in which he noted the huddle of emaciated, hippie vegan white women with ugly shoes swaying arm in arm with the Aretha-sized, fur-coat-wearing, Baptist-churched and well-heeled black women, one of whom had a fox head dangling off her wrap---which kept hitting a vegan woman in the head.  Okay, I got through that one. But it was way funnier when he told it.

Alexie is as profane, achingly hilarious, and fearless in his public presentations as he is in his fiction. As a huge fan of his, I listened with alternate awe, discomfort, and glee. I bought a book of his poetry, FACE, which I hope to feature tomorrow for Poetry Friday.  I had to drag myself away from his autograph line, which was at least a hundred people long, by doing the mental math (100 people x 1 minute each = 100 minutes/over an hour-and-a-half wait.)

But when I attempted to get back to my own work the next day----THUD. I realized how badly he'd worked me over.  I'm not fearless. I'm not profane. (Sometimes, I'm funny. I give myself that.) But all I could write in my notebook was: nothing I write really matters. Why should people care? BLAH.

Has this ever happened to you? Not jealousy, but a realization of your limitations as a writer?

I got over it, first by realizing that writers have different roles. Some are here to blurt out the truth. To overwhelm you with a barrage of jabs to your prejudices and fears.  Others tread on little cat feet. They are stealthy. The potions they administer flow through your veins slowly and when you wake up a little more beautiful than you were the day before, you never trace it to their subterfuge.  Either is good. Change happens.

The other thing that helped is that I went back and re-read his poem, "Water," published in his collection, One Stick Song.  It ends with the phrase "two parts heartbreak and one part hope." I realized that is exactly what fiction is. I dove back in to my revisions, looking for both the heartbreak and the hope, but more willing to allow the heartbreak in. Thank you, Mr. Alexie.

*Mr. Alexie was accepting the Mason Award at the Fall for the Book Festival at George Mason University.

Twiddle or Twitter?

As I see it, next Wednesday, Sept. 30, at noon EST, you have two choices:

1) You can twiddle. Twiddle your thumbs, twiddle your pencil, twiddle away your lunch hour reading 1,000 Dust Motes to Spy Before You Die

OR

2) You can twitter along with Cheryl Klein and me as we chat about OPERATION YES, the writing and editorial process, and which one of us has a marked obsession with pudding.

You can find us in the top secret chat room located under the hashtag #YESchat.

For more about these choices, see Cheryl's post Would you rather . . .? in which she deviously tries to cloud the pudding discussion with pie and cake.

If you have no idea what Twitter is, please see InkyGirl's post "Writer's Guide to Twitter." Hop on the Twitter wagon at Twitter.com, practice a little, and be ready to join us on Sept. 30.

PROGRAMMING NOTE:  For the #YESchat, I'll be tweeting from my @saralewisholmes account and Cheryl from @chavelaque.  Amusing, informative, and delicious posts will then be re-tweeted at a later time from my @operationyes account. Please feel free to twitter with me on either account beginning today or on any other day ending in Y.

Vitamin W

Need some writing vitamins today?

HipWriterMama has a fantastic 30-day challenge going called "Mapping Out Writing Time." Videos, writing prompts, inspiring stories . . . she's got the juice.

Through the Tollbooth is always well-stocked with timely advice, but last week, they outdid themselves with a series of posts beginning with the irresistibly titled "FREE: Writing Lessons Here!" If free doesn't do it for you, they also have posts about retreats, MFAs, conferences, online classes, local writing centers . . . you have no excuse not to learn something from this power lunch.

Finally, if you need a push on the marketing end, there's Shelli's Market My Words where every Monday, she interviews a key player in the biz, and every Friday, she rounds up the best marketing advice on the web. As good as Vitamin C (I'm talking Caffeine) for jazzing you up about an often-dreaded part of the writing life.

There you go. Eat up. Be happy.

Goooooood Morning!

It may or may not be morning where you are. If it is, I'm jealous.

I love mornings more than any other part of the day. I love the cozy quiet punctuated by the purposeful sounds of people getting ready; I love the brightening sky; I love the taste of warm, sweet coffee; I love the touch of cool air when I pad out in bare feet to get the paper; I love checking my inbox for the overnight delivery of email; I love that everything is possible before the day unfolds.

The only trouble is that I cannot, no matter how hard I try, cram all my day into the morning. Every "good for me" thing competes for precious morning hours---writing, exercise, clear thinking, planning, and yes, eating, because I'm always hungry in the AM. Then, when afternoon comes, anything I haven't managed to complete has to deal with grouchy, sloppy, lazy, junk-food craving, not-morning me.

So, I've decided to have TWO mornings. (I can hear you laughing. It's okay. My husband was mightly amused when I announced this plan.)

Every day, I'm going to re-boot right after lunch. Take a mini ten-minute nap, drink a large tea latte, and pretend it's morning all over again.

I'll let you know how my manipulation of the time-space continuum goes. Any donation of morning hours from you night owls would be much appreciated.

Writing Question of the Day

Let me tell you the answer first:

Have more fun.

Now we can discuss the question. It's:

How can I make my writing better?

How can I move ahead when I'm stuck?

How can I decide what to revise first?

How can I come up with a great idea?

How can I take over the world????

HAVE MORE FUN.

If you're having fun, you will write. If you're having fun, people will want to read what you write. If you're having fun, the world will take notice.

The only trick is being honest about what is fun for you. Do you love the sneaky, submerged detail that suddenly surfaces and scares you witless because OMG, he's NOT what he says he is? Do you adore the slow, swoony waltz of a emerging romance? Do you revel in rhythmic jousts of clever word play? Do you thrill to the discovery of the elusive fact? Do you devour lines of poetry like warm bread with strawberry jam?

Do it. Dare to follow the fun today.

Random Act of Publicity:

Even being MAD can be fun, if you discover how great you are at it.

Mouse was Mad

written by Linda Urban,

illustrated by Henry Cole

Every time I see this title face out in a bookstore, I want to stomp my feet for the glee-filled fun of it. I love everything about Mouse was Mad, from the fat, red furious letters and pinkly angry ears of the mouse on the front to the slow-building fury of the perfect prose inside. Just don't tell Mouse I think he's cute when he's mad.

Promises and Light

Got children? Or need a hilarious plot point?

Then you should catch up with my friend Donna, who makes me laugh out loud with new school year snippets like this:

"(My son) was all in a rage because apparently, the student body president was elected at the end of the school year last year, and he ran on the platform that he would get boys only hot tubs in the teachers lounge for this year. He was so disappointed that it didn't pan out."

Ha ha ha ha!! I'm wondering why the "boys only" hot tubs would be in the TEACHERS LOUNGE??

Donna also had a beautiful piece in the Raleigh-Durham News and Observer yesterday about a magical childhood moment near the Cape Hatteras lighthouse with her dad. Read it, and think about which moment sweeps over you again and again.

Books We Can't Forget and Other Great Links

I'm so not in the blogging mindset lately. My life is consumed by family, and talking to Cheryl about my next book, and plotting for the release of Operation Yes.  

A part of me thinks I should shut down Read*Write*Believe for the summer. The other part says I'll miss it if I do. 

Meanwhile, I'm enjoying these great posts across the blogosphere: 

What a Girl Wants: The Books We Can't Forget

Why Some People Need to Write the Funny (via Robin Brande)

I'm Younger Than That Now 

Opposites Attract

I don't understand why people think writers are their characters. We couldn't be more different. 

Character: acts spontaneously and organically
Writer: plots like the devil

Character: is blinded by fatal flaws

Writer: begs to be critically read, edited and/or publicly discussed

Character: has lovable, endearing quirks

Writer: has sociopathic habits only she understands

Character: eats colorful, easily imagined, and highly evocative food

Writer: scrapes crumbs from the couch cushions when fridge is empty and deadline is near

Character: falls in love with the wrong person
Writer: falls in love with the right words

Character: grows, changes, is not the same

Writer: is the same ("only better") with each book

Perhaps a writer needs one of these amulets.  

 From the Etsy shop OverTheTop

Up. Down. Up.

I'm sorry about the lack of blogging. I've been on a roller coaster with my new manuscript.  I love it. I hate it. I love it again. Up. Down. Up.

Ptooey. I'm feeling nauseous. 

The only that helps is knowing that I always feel this dichotic paranoia about my work. Because some things in it are piercingly lovely. And some things in it are crap.  The secret is to trust both of my instincts, to love it and hate it, to not block those feelings, but use them to make it all better. 

If I didn't love it, I couldn't go on. 

If I didn't hate it, I couldn't change it.

So. Up. Down. Up. 

Until today, when I let it go and submitted it.

I wish I could join you for Poetry Friday tomorrow, but I'm going to enjoy a day of rest after the ride.  See you next week.

Poetry Friday: A Poet by Jane Hirshfield

I think of this one as a writer's blessing . . .

A Poet
by Jane Hirshfield

She is working now, in a room
not unlike this one,
the one where I write, or you read.
Her table is covered with paper.
The light of the lamp would be
tempered by a shade, where the bulb's
single harshness might dissolve,
but it is not; she has taken it off.
Her poems? I will never know them,
though they are the ones I most need.
Even the alphabet she writes in
Read the rest here

For more pictures of what working spaces look like, my book club friend, Anamaria Anderson, pointed me to this wonderful project: Studio Confidante. It's described as "the little objects which keep people company as they work. The things which silently watch the frustrations and triumphs. Those items which sometimes function as a talisman or charm. What we keep close to us. What inspires us."

Edited to add: in the comments, Julie Larios alerted me to this glimpse from The Guardian into writers' workspaces:  Writers' rooms 

Poetry Friday is hosted by Anastasia Suen at http://6traits.wordpress.com/