Post NESCBWI 2015 conference thoughts

It's been a while since I've written, mostly because I'm trying to wrap my head around this depression thing. Sometimes it's wrapping around me instead, coiling through my brain and lungs and heart, squeezing tighter and tighter until I cannot think, breathe, or feel. I'm working on it. It certainly won't win. I've never failed at anything, and I certainly won't fail at this.

So back to this post...

I attended the NESCBWI conference this past weekend for the first time. The workshops were so engaging, and the people were just incredible. I'd forgotten what it was like to be surrounded with people who love writing as much as I do. It was better yet because they all write for children, and that's where my heart lies.

I don't want to spend too much time blabbering on here, so I'm only go to describe what I feel has been the biggest thing I noticed at the conference: that I'm extremely lucky. Why? Because I have such an awesome support group of writers.

Over the duration of the conference, I spoke with tens of people. The subject that came up the most was critique partners, beta readers, support groups. Who do you bring your manuscript to once it's completed? How do you know you have what it takes to be a writer? When should you give up? Should you?

To quote agent Lauren MacLeod, "writers are crazy." We are. And we doubt ourselves and our abilities. One moment we feel we've written the next Harry Potter, and the next moment we're curled up in an empty party-sized pizza box with cheese in our hair and marinara down our chins. I've been there. Oh have I been there. And one thing has made a difference through it all. My support group.

Writers, we are not alone. We don't need to go it alone. Finding my group, a group of 2014 PitchWars mentees and alts, has made all the difference. If I need to cry, they're there. If I need to laugh, they're there. If I need to vent, to inquire, to joke, to hope, to celebrate, to staunch the crazy, to share a hotel room even though we'd never technically met (thanks, Rachel!), to find out where the hell in the world makes a pizza bigger than party-sized...they're there.

It's taken me almost three years to find mine, but I saw at the conference, those writers who seemed happiest, who seemed the most sure of themselves, all had their own version of a group. Writing is lonely, and, let's face it, most people don't understand exactly what writers go through, which is why finding a group is so important.

So yes, at the NESCBWI conference, I learned new exercises to open my mind to writing. Yes, I now understand the importance of blending emotions to create more complicated emotions, and I have more confidence adding diversity to my characters. But I also know how lucky I am to be a member of a strong writing group. The conference reminded me of it, solidified it really.

Us versus Them: The problem with adults reading YA?

My school has a book club, which many teachers use as a way to glean precious PDP's (professional development points) for re-licensure. It's not just for English teachers. The school librarians come, administration, and a few avid readers. It's been going on since September, but as far as I'm aware, this was the first time they'd chosen fiction, and it was YA to boot.

We all know how social situations make me nervous, so I spent the majority of the time listening to what people had to say, offering little myself. What I had discovered was an "Us versus Them" attitude.

I was amazed. We're all educators, and granted, some of us were older than others, but I've never once stopped trying to think like "Them." The attendants repeatedly said how they had to remind themselves the "the novel was written for teens," that this novel was okay because students connected with something so "low."

The whole time I wanted to be like, "Wait a second. Wait a minute." The book was a brilliant commentary on consumerism. Over a decade ago, it predicted technology much like we have today. Yet, some of the people in the book club said they thought it was uninteresting (okay, personal preference), but to go as far as say that it was unoriginal? written with slang and too much curses because the "author liked to swear, and not for any purpose"? I was just floored. One person even said, "Wouldn't the students be better off reading Hemingway? Wouldn't they get more out of it?"

Some commented on how they're so sick of the Fault in Our Stars, and Hunger Games, and Divergent, and...oh wait, every book that seems to have captured the attention of young adults. This is a problem. What is wrong with these books? Maybe my personal preference doesn't really sway towards the Hunger Games, but why is it a problem that teens are reading books "we" don't like? When did reading become just about the literary quality and less about the joy, the adventure? Putting yourself in somebody else's shoes and experiencing humanity from their perspective? It doesn't matter if the humanity is from a dystopian world or a contemporary one. If it helps us understand ourselves or the people around us, what's wrong with that?

Let's not spend more than this sentence talking about the benefits of reading for vocabulary. But really...why do we read? Why do we encourage reading?

I'm a parent. My daughter is three, and she loves books. I won't say I don't ever ask her to use critical thinking skills to predict what's going to happen on the next page of some Henry and Mudge book. But I do use the books to ask her questions about herself and how the characters are feeling. Reading for humanity. Reading for understanding people. Reading for reading.

That's not to say reading critically doesn't have its place. I majored in English. I wrote a 30-page paper on a sonnet. My mind is better having had these critical exercises. But. Reading. Come on. Let's read. Let's encourage reading. And let's get rid of the "Them versus Us" attitude, because I'm pretty sure we're all people. And I'm pretty sure I was once an adolescent. And I'm pretty sure I once wanted to change the world. And I'm pretty sure I experienced love and hate and hopelessness and anger and frustration and love, love, love. And I'm pretty sure that, if someone want to read because they want to read, they should read.

Rant over.

Making readers feel

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.

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."

From the way Hazel talks about her, you'd think she is.

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.

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.

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 ...