Archive for January 14, 2010

Award Season: “Brrrrrr!”

Feel that chill? The cold wind rattling the panes?

That’s right, it’s that season come round again, when folks eagerly anticipate the big book awards. Which titles will be this year’s big winners?

And on and on and so it goes.

Wonderful, terrific, fine.

For most writers and illustrators, there will be no major awards. And not much money, either. Which is a statement of fact about the profession, not a complaint. For those of us in that unheralded majority, who may feel ignored or under-appreciated or second-rate, or who fall victim to a lowering of self-worth, a sense of disappointment and failure, I offer up my word for 2010:

Persist.

Persist and carry on. Keep writing, keep believing in the value of what you’ve done and will yet do. In a month when the BlogHive is abuzz with awards — deliciously pondering the best of the best! — it seems worth noting that it’s not only about hype and medals. Yes, no doubt, let us celebrate and admire great work. And admit that we’d all love to receive that morning phone call: “You are the MOST and everybody loves you!”

But that can’t be what the job’s about.

I’ve been reading Anne Lamott’s excellent book, Bird by Bird . . .

. . . and had to draw a star in the margin beside this passage:

I believed, before I sold my first book, that publication would be instantly and automatically gratifying, an affirming and romantic experience, a Hallmark commercial where one runs and leaps in slow motion across a meadow filled with wildflowers into the arms of acclaim and self-esteem.

This did not happen for me.

For every breakout success and buzzed-about book, there are thousands of writers who daily go to silent rooms and do their work. Alack, they do not hand out awards for showing up. But it is the essence of the writing life; each day brings its own shadows and rewards. And so for each reader we are thankful, and again we cross into those quiet rooms with their bright lamps and empty pages, thankfully.

Overheard: Endlessly

It was one of those mornings when I clung to my cup of coffee, newspaper on my lap, and waited for consciousness to take hold.

(Like that kitty above, but not as cute.)

So, naturally, Gavin and Maggie were especially chatty.

Maggie announced: “I’m really, really good at fake laughing.”

For the next fifteen minutes she demonstrated her fake laugh.

“You’re not that good,” I told her.

You need to a flashplayer enabled browser to view this YouTube video

Then it was Gavin’s turn to take a drill to my skull. He delighted in telling me about his exploits playing Madden 10 on the XBox. The level of detail was excruciating. He explained to me the draft, the trades he made, the trades he almost made, the players on the opposing team, his overall record, the score at halftime, his precarious field position with 50 seconds left, play by play by play, endlessly.

I have often felt that all boys contain elements of Asperger’s; they are the collectors, the ones who go on at length about dinosaurs and trains; who can talk and talk without much interaction. They never seem to ask, “Am I boring you?”

I was patient with Gavin, stupified into submission, and nodded and grunted and asked for clarification accordingly. Is there anything more painstakingly tedious than a kid describing his video game adventures? Even if it’s a kid you kind of like? The answer is yes, an adult telling you about his Fantasy Baseball Team. But it’s close; they’re first cousins.

So finally it was time to drive to school. Gavin kept talking — this is the boy stuff in his very good brain, the material overflowing, the things he puzzles over, that excite him, that he thinks about at night: Madden 10.

I don’t think he recounts these stories for his mother; no, he saves up this stuff for Dad. This is our special conversation, and it would be wrong for me to shut down that tap.

As we drove, from the back seat Maggie practiced her fake laugh in its many shades and varieties: a titter here, a booming guffaw there, snickers, whoops, howls and giggles. Sometimes I’d interrupt Gavin, use the rear view mirror to lock eyes with Maggie to say, “That was a good one, Mags. Very authentic.”

But mostly I was counting the seconds till I could pull over and say, “Bye-bye!”

——-

More fake laughter, this time without smiling (because it’s a mixed-up crazy world and you can find ANYTHING on Youtube):

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Does an Author Have Any Say on a Book Cover?

People frequently ask me, “Do you have any say over a book cover?”

Big question, and the answers vary depending upon the clout of the author and the disposition of the publisher.

Here’s the new paperback cover for Along Came Spider (May, 2010). And my answer to the question? In this example, for this book with Scholastic? No, no say at all.

And my new book with Scholastic, Justin Fisher Declares War! (Hardcover, August, 2010), a funny school-based story that concludes with a talent show:

Same thing. I did not have a voice in the process.

So I cross my fingers and hope the experts are right.

Suggestions & Cautionary Hints: Rereading “The Elements of Style”

The slim book does not need my praise, so I’ll refrain from making a testimonial. But every once in a while I’ll remember that it exists, usually by virtue of keeping the physical object in plain sight. Lately it’s been on my desk, and I’ll sometimes page through it in a disorganized way.

My 1962 edition of The Elements of Style by William Strunk, Jr. & E.B. White is a lean 71 pages (each revised edition gets longer, alack) with generous open spaces at head, foot, and margins. A paradigm of economy, readability, and clarity.

For the purpose of this blog, and for you, Dear Reader, as well as for my own edification, I decided to put down here the list of 21 reminders featured in Chapter V: An Approach to Style.

Before we get to that, I liked this prefatory passage:

Writing is, for most, laborious and slow. The mind travels faster than the pen; consequently, writing becomes a question of learning to make occasional wing shots, bringing down the bird of thought as it flashes by.

In the following, I’ll retype Strunk & White’s reminders accompanied by a salient line or two from the relevant text. For fuller context and clarifications, you’ll need to pick up the book.

1. Place yourself in the background.

“. . . to achieve style, begin by affecting none — that is, place yourself in the background. A careful and honest writer does not need to worry about style.”

2. Write in a way that comes naturally.

“The use of language begins with imitation . . . it is almost impossible to avoid imitating what one admires. Never imitate consciously, but do not worry about being an imitator; take pains to admire what is good.”

3. Work from a suitable design.

“You raise a pup tent from one sort of vision, a cathedral from another. This does not mean that you must sit with a blueprint always in front of you, merely that you had best anticipate what you are getting into.”

4. Write with nouns and verbs.

“In general . . . it is nouns and verbs, not their assistants, that give to good writing its toughness and color.”

5. Revise and rewrite.

“Remember, it is no sign of weakness or defeat that your manuscript ends up in need of major surgery. This is a common occurrence in all writing, and among the best writers.”

6. Do not overwrite.

“Rich, ornate prose is hard to digest, generally unwholesome, and sometimes nauseating.”

7. Do not overstate.

“A single carefree superlative has the power to destroy, for the reader, the object of the writer’s enthusiasm.”

8. Avoid the use of qualifiers.

Rather, very, little, pretty — these are the leeches that infest the pond of prose, sucking the blood of words.”

9. Do not affect a breezy manner.

“The breezy style is often the work of an egocentric, the person who imagines that everything that pops into his head is of general interest and that uninhibited prose creates high spirits and carries the day.”

10. Use orthodox spelling.

“The language manages somehow to keep pace with events.”

11. Do not explain too much.

“It is seldom advisable to tell all. Be sparing, for instance, in the use of adverbs after ‘he said,’ ‘she replied,’ and the like . . . Inexperienced writers not only overwork their adverbs, they load their attributives with explanatory verbs, sometimes even with transitive verbs used intransitively; he consoled, she congratulated. They do this, apparently, in the belief that the word ‘said’ is always in need of support, or because they have been told to do it by experts in the art of bad writing.”

12. Do not construct awkward adverbs.

“Do not dress words up by adding ly to them, as though putting a hat on a horse.”

13. Make sure the reader knows who is speaking.

“Dialogue is a total loss unless you indicate who the speaker is.”

14. Avoid fancy words.

“Do not be tempted by a twenty-dollar word when there is a ten-center handy, ready and able.”

“Never call a stomach a tummy without good reason.”

15. Do not use dialect unless your ear is good.

“The best dialect writers, by and large, are economical of their talents; they use the minimum, not the maximum, of deviation from the norm, thus sparing the reader as well as convincing him.”

16. Be clear.

“When you say something, make sure you have said it. The chances of your having said it are only fair.”

17. Do not inject opinion.

“Unless there is a good reason for its being there, do not inject opinion into a piece of writing. We all have opinions about almost everything, and the tempation to toss them in is great . . . Opinions scattered indiscriminately about leave the mark of egotism on a work.”

18. Use figures of speech sparingly.

“The reader needs time to catch his breath; he can’t be expected to compare everything with something else, and no relief in sight.”

19. Do not take shortcuts at the cost of clarity.

“The longest way round is usually the shortest way home, and the one truly reliable shortcut in writing is to choose words that are strong and sure-footed, to carry the reader on his way.”

20. Avoid foreign languages.

“Write in English.”

21. Prefer the standard to the offbeat.

“The young writer should learn to spot them — words that at first glance seem freighted with delicious meaning, but that soon burst in air, leaving nothing but a memory of bright sound.”

“‘But,’ the student may ask, ‘what if it comes natural to me to experiment rather than conform? What if I am a pioneer, or even a genius?’ Answer: then be one.

And lastly, from the book’s penultimate paragraph:

The whole duty of a writer is to please and satisfy himself, and the true writer always plays to an audience of one.

Turn Off, Tune In, Drop Out

About ten days ago, the best thing happened to me.

My computer went up in smoke.

No kidding. I was in my office, heard a sound like this — zwizzlescraaapp — my computer screen went blank, and two white clouds rose up from behind my computer, like Apache smoke signals. The message was clear.

Time to unplug everything and call the experts.

Do I backup? Not regularly like I should. Um, okay, the truth: no. Could there be serious loss? Yes, a lot of words down the drain. But for some reason, I felt reasonably calm about it. Brought my computer into the Apple Store and was told, what with the holiday and everything, I’d have to wait five business days for answers to these two questions:

1) Was it fixable?
2) If not, was the material on the hard drive salvageable?

That is: How screwed was I, exactly?

So I returned home and got to work. Grabbed a pen and a yellow legal pad.

I brought down the iPod from upstairs — needed my tunes, I wasn’t a caveman! — but otherwise didn’t have the distraction of the computer. Couldn’t blog, couldn’t Facebook, or surf, or email, or a hundred other computer-centered activities.

Okay, admittedly, I had access to Lisa’s laptop, but I kept it out of my office, sensing an opportunity at hand. Frankly: I was looking forward to my enforced time off-the-grid. To paraphrase Dr. Leary:

Turn off, tune in, drop out . . .

. . . and write.

As it turned out, I experienced a productive, rewarding, peaceful week. To the point where I received a phone call Monday morning from Lisa, excited with good news. “Apple called,” she said. “Your computer is fixed! You can pick it up right now.”

Good news, indeed. It will cost less than $200 for repair, much better than the expense of a new computer. Plus, of course, I get to keep all those old words I’d written.

So I set down the phone, pulled the pad back on my lap, rocked back in the chair, and continued working. I decided the computer could wait another day. Maybe two.

——-

Quick comment: Work-wise, I had been in the rough, ugly, unshod, insecure & endless first stages of a new YA novel (and yes, please, do check in with Andrew Smith, author of Ghost Medicine and In the Path of Falling Objects, who is raising a mighty ruckus on the topic YA literature). I had written a lot of minor scenes, detailed notes, character sketches, snatches of conversation, false starts, dead ends, and a few promising beginnings. But my basic take was that the real value of everything I had done up to that point was in the thinking process, that portion of the creative process that’s more akin to live alligator wrestling than actual writing; it didn’t much that was polished and shined. Recovery of those lost words would be impossible, of course, but maybe a good thing. I was willing to roll with it.

At a later stage, losing a more complete, finished draft would have been very sad.

Which is why I always (cough-cough) backup my files.

By the way, thanks for checking back here; I know it’s been eerily quiet. The blog should be back on track.

But you never know.

If things bog down in the future, if productivity slips, I just might have to start a small fire . . .