So I had this epiphany.
It was too cold for me to work up the nerve to get our of bed to write, so I lay there, not thinking about my WIP, but thinking about a novel I'm reading for my work's book club. This isn't something I normally would have chosen for myself, but it was the first non-nonfiction book they'd chosen AND it was YA. As I lay there, analyzing it, I started to think about this one point where the main character is really just a jerk to the love interest. He doesn't intend to be--he's dealing with his own feelings about what's happening to his love--but he's being a jerk nonetheless, and he's really making me not like him.
I began thinking about why I felt so strongly against him. Here was a character that had been engineered for readers to like, and up until this point I had. Then I got it. It was because his girl needs him, and the more she needs him, the more he backs off. He can't deal with the stress--I get that--but that doesn't mean I need to like it.
Usually, when I read while I'm writing, I go through this phase of hating my own writing, a phase of insecurities so large that it backs my own manuscript into something black and deep. But then it hit me. I want my readers to think my main character is a jerk, too. I've always known this, and just yesterday I was speaking with someone about how I feel my WIP is falling short in this way. It's not as powerful as I want it to be.
So ready for the epiphany?
I could use this author's technique, tailor it to fit my novel, and make my readers feel the way I want them to. Why hadn't I thought of this before? There are a million excellent novels out there. Instead of letting them make me feel insecure, I should really focus on how they make me so invested in their characters.
I'm not talking about mimicking them or turning my novel into something tropey. The last thing I want is a pile of pages about mysterious boys and average girls. I'm talking about really discovering what these successful authors do to make their readers feel, analyzing it, and then looking for that thing in my novel, the thing that will make my readers feel, too.
Saturday, January 17, 2015
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
Introducing Anne Margaret
I know this is going to come as somewhat of a shock for all of you, but I'd like to introduce you to a little girl who's going to be staying with us for a while.
Her name is Anne Margaret Stinch, and she's five years old. We're not sure how long she'll be living with us, but Hazel's already in love with her. Just to give you a good idea of the type of kid we're welcoming into our home...
Anne Margaret is a little tall for her age, and she's marvelously behaved. Hazel already says she's not lonely anymore, and last night, she preferred an Anne Margaret-snuggle instead of her usual Mommy-snuggle. Oh, and Anne Margaret was awesome; today, when we got home from day care, she made fried chicken with tomato soup. And it wasn't even on Hazel's kitchen set--it was on our very own stove. So you can see, she's already the perfect playmate for Hazel.
This evening, Hazel insisted Anne Margaret sleep on the floor in our bedroom like she (Hazel) does. I recommended to Hazel that maybe she can start sleeping in her bedroom now, now that Anne Margaret is here to keep her company. Hazel told me that wasn't an option because, "Mommy, she's not real."
Saturday, January 3, 2015
Yesterday was a bad day
Yesterday was a bad day.
Depression is being Schrodinger's cat.
Today will be better.
I'm going to try to write today. I've taken a brief hiatus from writing. It's been nearly a month, and this is why. I've been battling with depression again. Like a lot. As in, twelve hours of sleep isn't cutting it. Twelve hours of sleep and then napping for three hours isn't cutting it.
That's not to say I haven't been trying. It just feels like there's something wrapped around my brain, slowing me down, preventing me from thinking coherently. It makes me forgetful. Mid-idea, I forget what I'm doing, what I'm thinking. It's like opening the refrigerator and forgetting what you went inside for, except worse, because you forgot to open the fridge in the first place. Then you stand in front of the fridge staring at it, trying to remember what it is the refrigerator does. Why is it you're standing in front of the fridge? Why is it you're standing? Where are you? What are you?
Not who. Never who.
That's not to say I haven't been trying. Yesterday was a bad day. It took me by surprise because my days *have* been getting better. I just couldn't function. I tried. I cleaned the bathroom. I did other stuff. I know I did other stuff. For some reason, cleaning that darn bathroom was so important. It's the first thing I remember from yesterday. Really, the only thing, now that I'm trying so hard to remember. But I did other things. I remember *trying* really hard. Trying to do something.
Oh, I took in wood, too. Five cart-loads.
I just looked over and my daughter was biting her lip. I furrowed my brows at her and she furrowed hers back. "Are you copying me?" I asked. She smiled.
Depression is being Schrodinger's cat.
Today will be better.
I'm going to try to write today. I've taken a brief hiatus from writing. It's been nearly a month, and this is why. I've been battling with depression again. Like a lot. As in, twelve hours of sleep isn't cutting it. Twelve hours of sleep and then napping for three hours isn't cutting it.
That's not to say I haven't been trying. It just feels like there's something wrapped around my brain, slowing me down, preventing me from thinking coherently. It makes me forgetful. Mid-idea, I forget what I'm doing, what I'm thinking. It's like opening the refrigerator and forgetting what you went inside for, except worse, because you forgot to open the fridge in the first place. Then you stand in front of the fridge staring at it, trying to remember what it is the refrigerator does. Why is it you're standing in front of the fridge? Why is it you're standing? Where are you? What are you?
Not who. Never who.
That's not to say I haven't been trying. Yesterday was a bad day. It took me by surprise because my days *have* been getting better. I just couldn't function. I tried. I cleaned the bathroom. I did other stuff. I know I did other stuff. For some reason, cleaning that darn bathroom was so important. It's the first thing I remember from yesterday. Really, the only thing, now that I'm trying so hard to remember. But I did other things. I remember *trying* really hard. Trying to do something.
Oh, I took in wood, too. Five cart-loads.
I just looked over and my daughter was biting her lip. I furrowed my brows at her and she furrowed hers back. "Are you copying me?" I asked. She smiled.
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
Feeling versus Being
I guess there was some writer who vented on twitter or some other social media platform about not making some "Best Of" list. I haven't read the tweets (if they were tweets). I don't even know the name of the author, but she's spurred a huge conversation in the blogisphere about her 'behavior.' Much of that conversation is negative, so much so, I guess she's even apologized or has had to come close to apology. Putting aside all that, the one thing I know and know with surety is:
She's human.
I also know I'm very tired of people having to censure their feelings so others only see rainbows and sunshine. I do it, yes, and I'm sure you do, too, but that's not life. That's not the human experience. And doing so isolates us and the people around us.
Us: We can't really say what's on our minds.
If I have a bad day or I have a bit of crazy going on in my head (and let's face it, there's a lot of crazy in my head,) I can't express it because I'm not supposed to. Writers, we aren't supposed to talk about our experiences with rejection (even though some rejections hurt and venting would make us feel better). We can't talk about the contest we didn't get into or the tweet we know was directed at us. We can't say how sorry or disappointed we are when something doesn't go the way we anticipated.
We can only look at the tweets of successful writers, successful people, successful everything. That contest we were excited about? We aren't even supposed to say, 'Ugh. Bummed out, but better luck next time.' We're told to take it off the internet, off where others can't see that we've essentially failed. Because failure is bad. If others know we've failed, they'll expect us to fail them, too. There's nothing to be gained by failure.
Nothing? Really? There's nothing to be gained? There's nothing to be said about a shared experience? No camaraderie.
So what we do becomes a little more isolating, a little more lonely.
Others: They don't know they're not alone.
Writing is naturally a solitary activity. You can join a writers' guild or a critique group. You can talk to people online using twitter or posting on blogs, but ultimately, you are on your own. Then, when you have a hard day, when you have that moment you say to yourself, 'What if this wasn't meant to be?' you still have nowhere to turn--not unless you have a strong offline network, and let's face it; many of us don't because many of our friends and family don't take what we do seriously.
So you get a rejection, but you can't read someone else's experience about rejection because they don't post about it. You only read 'How I got my agent' and 'My publishing deal.' In effect, you only read about sunshine and rainbows.
But you don't have sunshine and rainbows. In real life, you'd talk to someone who has shared the experience. But you're the only writer in your family, the only of your friends. So you turn back online to the stories and you look harder.
But you only read about sunshine and rainbows.
And you read enough of these stories, that you begin to think you're the only one who doesn't have sunshine and rainbows. Then you start thinking, 'Hey, what's wrong with me that I don't have sunshine and rainbows?' which eventually becomes, 'Why the heck am I the only one?'
The only one. You see that? The only one.
We've created an internet culture of loneliness. It doesn't matter that you *know* you aren't the only one. The human experience isn't that unique. But you *feel* that way. It doesn't matter what is. It only matters what it feels like. And if you feel alone, you are alone. In the end, there's no one out there. (Again, it doesn't matter that there is, and you just can't see it.) You know it to your core because no one is talking about how hard this is.
I take that back. Sure they are. They say, 'This is hard.'
But give me a break. We're writers. We know we're supposed to show and not tell. I applaud this woman for showing me. She didn't tell me, 'You'll have some disappointments along the way,' and then hope her calloused sentiment was going to be enough. It's never enough for our readers; why should it be enough for us? She showed us she was disappointed. She showed us the world of writing is hard.
Thank you, sunshine and rainbows culture. You've effectively made a lot of people lonely. It doesn't have to be. It would be nice if we could talk about our failures when they happen,when the emotions are hot, when they're real. It's what we give our readers. It's what our readers expect of us, but not what we give or expect of outselves.
Because we're afraid. Maybe there's someone out there who's going to read this post. She won't want to read my book now because she disagrees with me, or disagrees with my sentiment, or disagrees with the apparent negativity, or disagrees with my humanness, or disagrees with any number of things with this post. Or maybe someone reads this, and she won't want to be my agent because she doesn't want a client who speaks about rejection, or speaks her mind (occasionally), or any number of things with this post. She might tell me it was this blog post or she might not. But in the end, I'll have lost something by venting, by speaking my mind, by being human. That's what we're afraid of, isn't it?
I know that's what I'm afraid of. After all, like this woman, I'm human, too.
She's human.
I also know I'm very tired of people having to censure their feelings so others only see rainbows and sunshine. I do it, yes, and I'm sure you do, too, but that's not life. That's not the human experience. And doing so isolates us and the people around us.
Us: We can't really say what's on our minds.
If I have a bad day or I have a bit of crazy going on in my head (and let's face it, there's a lot of crazy in my head,) I can't express it because I'm not supposed to. Writers, we aren't supposed to talk about our experiences with rejection (even though some rejections hurt and venting would make us feel better). We can't talk about the contest we didn't get into or the tweet we know was directed at us. We can't say how sorry or disappointed we are when something doesn't go the way we anticipated.
We can only look at the tweets of successful writers, successful people, successful everything. That contest we were excited about? We aren't even supposed to say, 'Ugh. Bummed out, but better luck next time.' We're told to take it off the internet, off where others can't see that we've essentially failed. Because failure is bad. If others know we've failed, they'll expect us to fail them, too. There's nothing to be gained by failure.
Nothing? Really? There's nothing to be gained? There's nothing to be said about a shared experience? No camaraderie.
So what we do becomes a little more isolating, a little more lonely.
Others: They don't know they're not alone.
Writing is naturally a solitary activity. You can join a writers' guild or a critique group. You can talk to people online using twitter or posting on blogs, but ultimately, you are on your own. Then, when you have a hard day, when you have that moment you say to yourself, 'What if this wasn't meant to be?' you still have nowhere to turn--not unless you have a strong offline network, and let's face it; many of us don't because many of our friends and family don't take what we do seriously.
So you get a rejection, but you can't read someone else's experience about rejection because they don't post about it. You only read 'How I got my agent' and 'My publishing deal.' In effect, you only read about sunshine and rainbows.
But you don't have sunshine and rainbows. In real life, you'd talk to someone who has shared the experience. But you're the only writer in your family, the only of your friends. So you turn back online to the stories and you look harder.
But you only read about sunshine and rainbows.
And you read enough of these stories, that you begin to think you're the only one who doesn't have sunshine and rainbows. Then you start thinking, 'Hey, what's wrong with me that I don't have sunshine and rainbows?' which eventually becomes, 'Why the heck am I the only one?'
The only one. You see that? The only one.
We've created an internet culture of loneliness. It doesn't matter that you *know* you aren't the only one. The human experience isn't that unique. But you *feel* that way. It doesn't matter what is. It only matters what it feels like. And if you feel alone, you are alone. In the end, there's no one out there. (Again, it doesn't matter that there is, and you just can't see it.) You know it to your core because no one is talking about how hard this is.
I take that back. Sure they are. They say, 'This is hard.'
But give me a break. We're writers. We know we're supposed to show and not tell. I applaud this woman for showing me. She didn't tell me, 'You'll have some disappointments along the way,' and then hope her calloused sentiment was going to be enough. It's never enough for our readers; why should it be enough for us? She showed us she was disappointed. She showed us the world of writing is hard.
Thank you, sunshine and rainbows culture. You've effectively made a lot of people lonely. It doesn't have to be. It would be nice if we could talk about our failures when they happen,when the emotions are hot, when they're real. It's what we give our readers. It's what our readers expect of us, but not what we give or expect of outselves.
Because we're afraid. Maybe there's someone out there who's going to read this post. She won't want to read my book now because she disagrees with me, or disagrees with my sentiment, or disagrees with the apparent negativity, or disagrees with my humanness, or disagrees with any number of things with this post. Or maybe someone reads this, and she won't want to be my agent because she doesn't want a client who speaks about rejection, or speaks her mind (occasionally), or any number of things with this post. She might tell me it was this blog post or she might not. But in the end, I'll have lost something by venting, by speaking my mind, by being human. That's what we're afraid of, isn't it?
I know that's what I'm afraid of. After all, like this woman, I'm human, too.
Saturday, November 1, 2014
Hanging On To Wonder: Get to Know April Rose Carter - My 2014 PitchWars ...
Jaye Robin Brown interviewed me in anticipation of PitchWars 2014. I've had the most tremendous time being her mentee. She is simply the best mentor any writer can ask for. Her advice for everything--plotting, interiority, agent search--is just...just wow. There are no words. And you know me. I don't dole praise unless it's deserved.
You can read the interview here...
Hanging On To Wonder: Get to Know April Rose Carter - My 2014 PitchWars ...: With my second year as a mentor in Pitchwars, I entered the contest excited and hopeful and curious, oh so curious, about which manuscripts ...
You can read the interview here...
Hanging On To Wonder: Get to Know April Rose Carter - My 2014 PitchWars ...: With my second year as a mentor in Pitchwars, I entered the contest excited and hopeful and curious, oh so curious, about which manuscripts ...
Sunday, October 26, 2014
As the days grow shorter...
Come the end of every August, it feels like my life stops. It's ridiculous, I know, because my life doesn't actually stop, but that's the way it feels. There's something about my job that sucks up every moment of free time. Then, as the days grow shorter, I literally don't see the light of day. I get to work before the sun is up and leave when it's dark outside.
My depression is coming. Right now it's just a distorted face, pressed against the window, causing me to be unsettled and a little disturbed. I can't ignore it forever. Every winter, I try, and every winter I fail. Some winters, to a lesser degree than others. Actually, since I began writing two years ago, the face has backed up a little; there's the oily smudge against the window, but at least the dark man isn't in the room with me like he usually is.
This is why I'll be starting a new book soon. It will keep him away a little longer, and keep me a little saner. I'll try to NaNoWriMo it up, but with my adjunct position, NaNo might not be a feasible option. Still, I think I'll try.
In the mean time, Nightmare on Query Street (my entry is here) is this week and PitchWars is shortly after that. I've got a few fulls and partials out with agents already, so all this is very exciting. I can feel this novel working. I can see it being published.
If you haven't taken the opportunity to read the first chapter of WINTER ON BRIMSTONE HILL, please consider it. Of course, I'd love to hear what you think about it.
Sunday, October 12, 2014
#PitchWars #TeamGrit
So if you've been following me on twitter, you know I was selected as the alternate for Jaye Robin Brown. I don't have time to write much now, but let me quickly tell you SHE IS AWESOME! Her feedback on WINTER ON BRIMSTONE HILL has been so utterly fantastic. She's made me feel much more confident about my scenes, especially those where I knew I had to fix something but couldn't figure out exactly what. Thanks to her, it's all come into place.
Also, she had some SUPER KIND words to say about my novel. "April Rose Carter's contemporary LGBT novel snagged me with the comps in her query, something along the lines of what if Rowell's Eleanor were to fall for Green's Margo. Then her words and story didn't disappoint....[read more]"
I mean, who wouldn't love encouragement like that? So anyway...the alternate showcase for #PitchWars doesn't occur until November. Cross your fingers and press your thumbs. I really want you to be able to pick this novel up from the shelf one day. Maybe you'll cry and laugh with Sarah and Bonnie too. :)
OH, and please, please, please add her novel to your GoodReads list (and then buy it and read it). Please. NO PLACE TO FALL comes out in December. It's completely the type of book I want to read, and I want you to read it too. Go here to learn more.
Also, she had some SUPER KIND words to say about my novel. "April Rose Carter's contemporary LGBT novel snagged me with the comps in her query, something along the lines of what if Rowell's Eleanor were to fall for Green's Margo. Then her words and story didn't disappoint....[read more]"
I mean, who wouldn't love encouragement like that? So anyway...the alternate showcase for #PitchWars doesn't occur until November. Cross your fingers and press your thumbs. I really want you to be able to pick this novel up from the shelf one day. Maybe you'll cry and laugh with Sarah and Bonnie too. :)
OH, and please, please, please add her novel to your GoodReads list (and then buy it and read it). Please. NO PLACE TO FALL comes out in December. It's completely the type of book I want to read, and I want you to read it too. Go here to learn more.
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