Speechless, I nodded.  Yeah, love has been working for me. 

The conversation got me thinking about an interview with Maurice Sendak that was rebroadcast after his death a few days ago.  His books riled up a lot of people because instead of depicting the sanitized life of “good” children, his stories were full of monsters, fears, and even danger.  In the interview, he said that he wrote and drew from his own remembered child’s-eye view.

Were parents then (and maybe now) so afraid of a child’s world that they would deny its existence?  Is adulthood so amazing that we think kids should bypass those messy years and get right to it?  Ew.  My skin crawls.  The “adult world” of that guy at DEQ is one I do not want to visit.  I guess that’s why I spend my days writing through the eyes of kids and teens.  In a child’s world, love works.

Let me show you why…

In early April, the Scrivas provided me with critique on the entire manuscript (94K words – thanks, Scrivas!)  I spent a week analyzing their comments and coming up with a plan of attack for a serious revision, including reordering and restructuring nearly half the chapters in the book.  Once I had a plan, the panic subsided, but the execution of the plan required more hours than I usually give to my writing.  I was up before the kids to write for 45 minutes.  I put them on the bus and worked from 8:30-3:30.  The kids came home, and if I could foist off homework duties or cooking to my oh-so-tolerant spouse, I’d grab another hour or two.  After they were in bed, I worked another 2-3 hours.

For three weeks…

I was lucky to grab a run once a week.  Showers?  Ha!  Over-rated.  And sleep?  What’s that?

So by the time I turned in the manuscript, my batteries were on empty, my brain was broken, and my family had nearly run out of patience.

But this morning, I woke up rested for the first time in weeks.  I’ve exercised.  I hung out in the sun having lunch with my husband.  I’ve made plans to see friends.  I’m chaperoning a field trip for my son later in the week.  Best of all, I feel great about the shape the manuscript is in.  I may be three days late, but I’m definitely basking!

Here’s the proof…

Here’s my test driver:

Here’s the book blurb from Chronicle:

A new thrill ride begins in the Amazon rainforest with the latest novel in the Worst-Case Scenario Ultimate Adventure series! Join an expedition of students exploring the Amazon jungle and face real dangers and decisions. Your choices will determine your fate. Will you survive your encounters with piranhas, tarantulas, mosquitoes, monkeys, and jaguars? Or will you be forced to return home early? Only you can decide how to survive. There are twenty-two possible endings to this adventure, but only ONE leads to ultimate success! Featuring dynamic comic book–style illustrations, and based on real, true-life facts about the Amazon, this story will be a surefire hit with anyone craving a fun, highly visual reading experience.

Our chat:

Me:  So what do you think of the cover?
Boy:  Oooh!  Interesting.

Me:  How did you feel about the intro with the team bios.
Boy:  Important but kinda boring.  Glad you read it to me.  I could relate to the characters though.

Me:  How did you feel about the 2nd person?
Boy:  I didn’t like it.  Kind of annoying but I guess I got used to it.

Me:  Did you like it?
Boy:  Yeah!  I’d totally read more of them.

Me:  Why did you like?
Boy:  Cool that there was lots of action.  Especially that you could die.  Most books don’t put in the dying part.  Or anacondas.

Me:  How did you feel about the choices you had to make?
Boy:  It was kinda obvious which ones would kill you.

In summary, we both got into this book.  We loved the design and ample graphics, especially when the choice points were related to the graphics (like where on a map we should go).  It was fun to read together, and once the Boy got hooked, he was really into it and didn’t want to stop reading.  As a writer myself, I wonder if Choose Your Own Adventure style books could work in third person because I’m with the Boy–2nd person is weird.

Favorite spread:

For those of you who don’t know these terms, a pantser is someone who wings it through the first draft.  They sit down–inspired–and let her rip.  It will be a big surprise to see how it turns out!

Plotters are the ones who outline and plan.  They build a road map and follow it diligently to the end.

The plotters look at the pantsers and think, “You’re revision is gonna be a bitch.”

The pantsers look at the plotters and think, “Where’s the creative process in an outline?”

To both (and to the tiger in the zoo), I say, “Pooh, pooh!”  I call myself a Sketcher.  No, I can’t draw like the incomparably brilliant Addie Boswell (check out that girl with the leaves!)  No, I don’t ride a long board in hip shoes.

To prep for a book, I sketch.  I explore characters through free-form writing (aka character sketches).  I pull out big pieces of butcher paper and do character maps and world-building.  I draw arrows and circles and connect dots.  Finally, I sketch an outline.  This is not a point-by-point list of “what happens.”  This is a sketch – what’s the arc?  When & where do emotionally intense moments occur?  What’s the trajectory for character change?  And what are the “big” things that will happen?

Then I dive in.

If I understand my characters and I throw them into something, their words and actions emerge naturally, even logically, in the scene.  Lots of creativity!  Lots of surprises!  And revision shouldn’t suck too much.

1 – 2 – 3 SKETCH!

This is kind of dumb because I’ve been writing full time now for a couple of years.  I’ve got four books out and the Angel Punk novel is under contract.  I should know a thing or two, right?

Nicole Marie Schreiber recently posted on how to reconnect with your WIP after a long absence from it.  She spoke about nurturing the love affair with your book.  It strikes me that I’m anticipating the break-up with my WIP and that’s why I feel so clueless about writing.

Things I know about myself: I’m all-or-nothing. I don’t know how to hold back.  I’m a believer, and I fall in love hard–very hard.  Last July, when I signed on to write the novel for Angel Punk, I committed, immersing myself in the project and the team.  When I’m writing, each character is real.  Everything that happens to them, happens to me.  Mara bleeds, and I hurt.  Lovers kiss and I swoon.  I have lived and breathed Angel Punk.  It has been my world.

And we’re going to break up…

I’m doing one more set of revisions before I send the manuscript to my editor.  I’ll have a little bit of time on my hands then I’ll do another set of revisions and…  we’ll be done.  I’ll have to say good-bye.

In a recent interview (her first in 35 years), Anne Tyler said:

“When I finish a book, I send the book to New York to be read by my agent. I picture them on a train, and my heart is broken. I mean, I’m thinking of how they’re sort of limited people or shy people, and they’re just so brave to be going up there on their own. It’s really anthropomorphic. But then, after they get accepted, so to speak, and they’re a book on their own, I’m like a mother cat with kittens. I never think about them again. They’re gone.”

Knowing what I know about myself, I doubt I’d make a very good mother cat.  I like to gnaw on things.  I don’t like to let go.  So while I may know a thing or two about writing, I suck at breaking up.

*sigh*

We can still be friends, right?

(No, I don’t expect you to answer.)

He lobbed a different version of that question at me though.  What issues are facing the world NOW that carry that kind of weight?  What wrongs are being done that we turn away from?

(Don’t worry, I’m not going to share the horrifying list we came up with.)

Then he upped the ante by suggesting that writers have a responsibility to ask uncomfortable questions, to demand change, and to bring out our better selves.

(Okay, maybe I added some of that, but I’m sure he’d be on board.)

Now, my buddy is a journalist, and I’m a writer of kid lit.  My first impulse was to say that it incumbent on serious journalist to take on the world’s problems, but YA novels are not the forum for that kind of heavy-duty problem solving.

(A cop-out, I know.)

All you have to do is look at the #YAmatters kurfuffle to know that YA takes on serious topics and probably could take on even more.  The current wave of dystopian fiction is a great example of how we can imagine future worlds that will kick us into gear and get fixing stuff NOW.

But this discussion also made me think about why I write kid lit instead of adult literature where, some might say, I could take on more “important” issues.

Answer # 1: Hope.  Kid lit is allowed to have a happy ending.  We can embrace the possibility of the possible.  (See the poem Sometimes by Sheenagh Pugh for a riff on this.)

Answer #2: Change is personal.  Kid lit explores how young people become themselves.  Picture books clarify the relationship of child to the world.  Middle grade is often about finding self within the context of family.  YA explores the transition from child to adult.  Changing the rest of the world is daunting.  Become our own true, best selves is difficult but attainable.

Answer #3: Each of us matters.  Kid lit validates the experiences of the young.  A book can shepherd readers into self-worth and remind them of their importance to the world.

These readers—equipped with hope, a strong core self, and an unswerving belief in themselves—they are strong enough to face the problems before us and they can change the world.

I don’t mind.  The true thing is that I am deeply, terribly, irrevocably in love with Sir Ernest Shackleton.

I read everything I can get my hands on about Sir Ernest.  I have an entire bookshelf devoted to polar exploration with a heavy emphasis on Shackleton.  When the American Museum of Natural History hosted a traveling exhibit on the Endurance expedition, I broke the rules.  Yes, me, a by-the-book gal if there ever was one, I reached across those imposing velvet ropes to sneak a touch of the James Caird.  How could I pass by the very boat in which Shackleton crossed 800 miles of open ocean to get help for his stranded men without a caress?

And yes, it’s true… my son’s first name is Shackleton.

Perce Blackborrow

I read this book when it came out in 2005 from Knopf but just finished re-reading it aloud to the kids.  It thrilled me as much as ever.  As told (mostly) through the eyes of Perce Blackborrow, an eighteen year old who stowed away on the Endurance (seriously), we see Shackleton at his finest.  Yes, he was strong and smart and brave, but he also had a genius for reading people, for intuiting their needs, and for finding ways to bring out the best in each man.

I could go on and on about the story of the Endurance and Shackleton himself, but I’ll restrain my crazy self and leave you with two things.  First, a quote from this compelling book:

Every day for months, they had walked with death.  They had slept beside death, swallowed it whole, laughed at it, cowered from it, taunted it, sometimes longed for it.  But death had proved to be no real match for twenty-eight ordinary men.

Second, Shackleton’s family motto:

By endurance, we conquer.

Words to live by, friends.  Words to live by.

Temple of Fire burns during Burning Man

Recently my critique group and I got down to serious psychologizing about a main character in one of our mss.  It got me thinking about the differences and similarities of character transformation in fiction and human transformation in real life.

Someone smart–who I wonder?–said fiction is real life without the boring parts.  My seven-year-old daughter, well-schooled by her K/1 teacher and her writer mother, says, “I hate books without trouble!”

So true!  In most compelling fiction, we take a flawed but likeable main character and do one bad thing after another to her.  Through this crucible of fire (every once in a while, I love a good cliche), she is transformed.  She learns.  She grows.

Now I’ll be the last person to say there’s no trouble in real life.  Damn, but I’ve had my share of the slap-down by Life. However, I think it is pretty rare for us to experience something difficult, have an epiphany in the moment, and be instantly transformed.  Maybe people who’ve had near-death experiences know this kind of transformation, but that’s got to be rare.

The more common psychological state is that we–often unconsciously–develop a fixed “narrative” for ourselves.  For example, “I failed to attain my dream of becoming a ballet dancer because I’m not talented and special enough.”  That “story” can haunt our psyche for years (or mine, as the case may be).  It requires mental effort and commitment (and therapy) to REFRAME the narrative.  Mine now says something like, “I wasn’t able to reach the level of professional achievement as a dancer that I wanted because I was young and didn’t have proper mentoring from my parents or my ballet instructor.”

Rewriting our own narratives is HARD work!  And it’s boring work.  Maybe that’s why we like fiction and the transformation by fire it offers.  Maybe we’d also like fiction that shows the slow, hard work.  Maybe we need to remember that our own story matters.

“At any given moment you have the power to say this is not how the story is going to end.”

- Christine Mason Miller, Ordinary Sparkling Moments