Sara Grant at the Sweet Shoppe

Yesterday, Saturday the 19th, I got to meet Sara Grant, editor and author of children's books. I feel triply lucky because:

1. Grant is funny, warm, and inspiring. (I love to be around people who love what they do, so it was a wonderful afternoon.)
2. Grant read the first few pages of my novel and said, "Lots of action and adventure!!!" (She had some more comments, too, specific points about lack of clarity and confusing orientation, the usual suspects when creating a fantasy story world. But overall, I feel like I've gotten a green light on my space adventure from someone who really has her fingers on the pulse of the marketplace.)
3. Grant gave a talk on the revision process and the energy of her ideas has left me refreshed. (Since I'm knee deep in alligators in a couple of revisions, it's great to hear some new angles on the same old problems. I really need perspective right now.)

Some of her tips on the revision process are fairly basic, but bear repeating. Do the macro edit before going into the micro edit. It's silly to spend time on word choices when a work still needs attention with respect to structure, charcter progression, or voice (both dialog and narrative).

Some of her notes are specific to how to tackle those macro edits. I'll get into some of those in my next post. I want to test drive one of the techniques first. Hint: It includes lots of colored markers. And if a technique feels more like play than a dreaded rewrite, I might actually get some traction here. Let's see, pink for emotional arc, green for setting, blue for action . . .

Credits:
Sara Grant: Collaborative Creativity-- a Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI) event, hosted by Trish Batey, Regional Adviser of the Indiana SCBWI Chapter, held at the Simply Sweet Shoppe in Carmel, Indiana.

Sara Grant is here from London, representing her interests in children's fiction. And her interersts are both broad and deep. She's a successful author in her own right (currently revising a near future dystopian YA novel) and a commissioning editor with Working Partners, a company that packages several successful children's book series.

Hibernation

I've been hibernating. Along the way I've kept attention on Green Tara. The best I can do here at the blog is to report my progress.

Today I printed out through page 95 of 159 on this rewrite. (I print when I'm done with the polish.) This last scene was tough for me. Not bad tough. It was a lot of new material, late reveal exposition that I realized is essential for truly engaging with the last half of the adventure.

My tendency is to shy away from a big information dump, but at this point in the story everyone--my audience, as well as the characters--needs to be "sold" on signing up for the rest of the mission.

The ice is finally melting.

More rewriting!*! Do I have to?

As I flesh out my set-up, creating a fuller storyworld and building its inherent opposition to the main character and her family, I've been surprised that I'm also reconsidering the ending. I don't mean that it's not working. I love the ending. It's very powerful. Exciting, visual, emotional. Rather, I may have too much story and perhaps the novel Green Tara ends earlier than it has in previous drafts.

I'll digress. I've always imagined this story as the first part of a trilogy. Part I - Virginia finds her missing mom on the planet Green Tara. Together with her cousin, Gordy, they collect living ocean greens--the oxygenators, if you will. And when her dad tracks them down and reconnects, they all travel to Earth and replenish the dead ocean waters. Of course, the novel goes into 133 pages of detail for all this to happen.

I have sketched out Parts II and III in a similar general story arc, but I have yet to work them out in any detail. One thing at a time, right? . . . Maybe.

Back to the current rewrite of Part I: I'm taking more time to set up the nature of the controlling entity, the Triumvirate, in the beginning. And I'm reincorporating direct conflict via a pair of Triumvirate sentries in a scene that comes later in the story. I want to get these fixes done and get this story out the door.

But my instincts are saying, Don't rush it. Take the time in Part I to know the larger threat and to feel the dissonance of a family fraught with betrayal. End it with Virginia's family reunited, and leaving the lush sanctuary to begin the next phase of their journey. I can combine rescuing Gordy's mom and restoring Earth's oceans in Part II. (The other missing mom is, after all, hiding out in the Mars colony and has been waiting for the rest of the family for years.)

Am I dawdling on this one manuscript, just because I'm afraid to get it to publishers and to hear all their objections? Or have I found a more elegant way to divide the trilogy? The only way I'll know, is to outline Part II. And while I'm at it, outline Part III.

Ouch. Outlining's the toughest, makes-my-brain-hurt part of the process.

Do I have to?

I heard that George Lucas outlined all of the Star Wars saga before he made "Part IV" and that Jo K. Rowling outlined all seven of her novels before Harry made it big. If they're my muses, I must follow their lead.

More on rewriting

Last week I faced the stark truth of just how much rewriting is in my future.  A couple of early readers of my Young Adult novel Green Tara have sent me praise--always welcome--but one pointed out a lack of clarity in the story world. Alas, I see now that the story's set-up needs attention.

 

I've written a new opening sequence that dramatizes the overarching problem of the futuristic world: the laws are oppressive and the people defacto slaves of the corporation.  Specifically, I've put the main character in a physical position to witness how a small group of people are "volunteered" to go on a suicidal exploration mission. I reread the sequence yesterday, and though the language is clunky and needs a polish, the images and basic arc of the story are great. But--

Darn, there's always a "but." On reflection I've got two of them.

How do I maintain the light, humorous tone when the consequences are so dire? And the other biggie--it's now clear that I've neglected the all-important establishment of theme.  If there's one rule that's inviolable, it's that theme belongs at the top. Lo, the entire story is most satisfying if it's marinated in theme. So, how do I invest both these essential ingredients into this new opening sequence?

The theme revolves around betrayal and loyalty. And though my young heroine might be disturbed by the cruelty of the laws, the sight of  people she doesn't really know getting the short end of the stick won't feel personal enough to call up the emotion of betrayal. Back to the question of tone, if she sees the cruelty but doesn't protest at least in private, will she be seen as heartless? That's not generally a good quality for a main character.

These are the questions I'm asking myself.

They say . . .

They--meaning practicing writers--say, "Writing is rewriting." And that's where I'm at today. If I didn't know others have gone this way countless times ahead of me, I'd be lost.

What's the process? 

• Identify places where there's lack of clarity or lack of engagement.  Check. Weakness is most pronounced in the set-up of the story world.
  
• Sketch a plan for a new opening sequence that more clearly establishes the problem at the global/story world level. Check. 
  
• Revisit to make sure the scenes are a satisfying dramatic hook and not just expository, situational scenarios. Next to do in my process today.
  
• Flesh out the descriptions. Note to self: In my futuristic setting I can't always rely on the less is more strategy. Here's a case where clarity trumps, so over-describe, then edit for a cleaner, leaner read.
  
• Crisp up the dialog. Note to self: Maintain the snappy personalities and beware the trap of explaining the situation via "natural" conversation, which won't sound natural at all if it explains everything. 
  
• Come back to the sequence tomorrow, edit and continue with a revision of the old opening scene so the two sequences flow.
  

Good thing I love the process.

Taking Notes

I received my first set of notes last night and I won't lie to you--it hurts. I wanted and expected polish notes, the kind that would take 5-10 hours to pound out. What I got was: when the main charactery rescues her mother the meeting's "tepid" (read: boring), and the second half of the story's generic (read: boring) and why don't I consider making the main character's father a traitor to give the story some real conflict (read: the story I've been writing's a real bore).

If only I could take this last story suggestion, rework the second half of the story with betrayal at its core and--KAPOW--fix the boredom quotient! Unfortunately, the suggested fix would completely undermine the spirit of the story I've been writing.

So, I ask the story goddess, what's this author to do? Trash two years of work and go hide under a rock? It's tempting. But I know from experience that notes like this--no matter how bluntly delivered--and the suggested fixes--no matter how ill-fitting--point to underlying holes. The interesting thing about the betrayal suggestion is that it actually speaks to the theme of the story, which revolves around the dynamic tension of betrayal vs. loyalty.

I realize and fully admit that there's no single bad guy in the story. EGADS! How could I have proceeded without this essential element? But, in the author's defense, I've stayed true to many futuristic settings-- the true antagonist is the most insidious kind because it masquerades as law and order and security. But the social order and laws that control the characters and their world are founded on greed and power. In short, the society may feel secure, but it's Evil.

The story goddess says look at the beginning and make the threat from the true antagonist more threatening and palpable. Because this is a novel for young people and for my own philosophical reasons, I've been shying away from violence as a way to demo the threat. Perhaps it's time to reconsider how I set up the story world.

I made it across the quagmire.

I finished my young adult novel GREEN TARA: A Space Adventure! (I'm talking New Year's Eve and not the Thanksgiving completion schedule I'd hoped for, but hey, I squeaked under the 2007 wire well before midnight.)

New Year's Day I celebrated by polishing little mechanical details in the manuscript and grooming the spacing and page breaks.

This morning I asked a handful of readers to examine my baby with their expert editorial eyes.

I feel --

MERRY MERRY HAPPY HAPPY JOYFUL JOYFUL MERRY MERRY HAPPY HAPPY JOYFUL JOYFUL MERRY MERRY HAPPY HAPPY JOYFUL JOYFUL

Skipping through a Perfection Quagmire

I'm finally half-way into my novel Green Tara. In previous posts I've confessed how much more slowly this rewrite--I hope final draft-- is going than I had hoped. It always takes longer than I hope but, shucky darn, I thought my good planning had created useful shortcuts in the l-o-n-g rewriting process. And I know better than to get stuck in a perfection quagmire. Apparently that was wishful thinking on both counts. So, in an effort to coach myself here are --

SEASONAL TIPS for skipping through a perfectionist's quagmire:

• Read the first paragraph of A CHRISTMAS CAROL by Charles Dickens. Treat yourself to the second paragraph.
• Kick some snow. Treat yourself to hot cocoa.
• Watch a classic film like CHRISTMAS IN CONNECTICUT and learn how a professional woman's public persona can be most effective when it's a well-crafted piece of fiction. (Hey. It worked for Barbara Stanwyck. She got a raise and the love of her life!)
• Make paper snowflakes with someone under 12. Treat everyone in the house to hot cocoa.
• Meditate on the difference between a baby and a world-class leader. Notice which one gets the star. Now go celebrate that work in progress and know when it comes of age it just may turn the world upside down.

Is it good enough?

I'm having a heck of a time making any progress on my full-length story GREEN TARA. It's driving me crazy. My deadline's the end of the month and I'm barely out of the starting block. The problem is, I'm writing this draft for someone else to read and evaluate. If this was my first draft, I'd be gleefully blazing through the story because my primary goal would be to simply string together the story and allow the characters some room to emerge and take charge. But in my fourth draft I'm plagued by all those devilish fears. Will it be picked up? Is it good enough?

The antidote to fear--I know from experience--is to get back to basics and trust the process. Here's how it works:

START (Getting bum into chair can be the toughest part.)
1. Plan the energetic drive of the next scene.

2. Write the scene as quickly as possible. (Or, in my case, rewrite.)

3. Keep going without going back.

ON THE NEXT DAY (Get bum into chair.)

• Reread the most recent new scene--NEVER EVER go back to scenes written more than one day before--and edit for clarity and flow and dramatic juice.
• Move on to the next scene - repeating the above process (1-3), except it's easier because we've already gotten past the most difficult part, START.

If the goal is to write one new scene per day, I'm always editing one scene from the previous day and writing one new scene. So the progress is one back, two forward: netting one new scene per day. Unfortunately, I'm really behind, so I'm in the three scenes back, six forward category.

All the Senses

I'm rewriting a novel for hire, and one of the notes I received on my first draft was "more physical descriptions." I've seen the illustrations for the book (a children's novel attached to an on-line game), so I didn't think physical descriptions were that important. In fact, I don't particularly like long descriptive passages that bog down the story. So I was struggling with how to address my note for the rewrite. Another writer friend gave me a tip. Here it is:

TIP: Some of the most powerful physical descriptions aren't the way people and things look. Use all the senses, including sounds, smells, tastes, sensations like temperature and texture, and the 6th sense.

So, when I introduced a 35-year-old woman into the action line of the novel I sprinkled in a note about her age. But I didn't say anything else about her looks. When she entered the room another key character "relaxed." Then the text describes her quite simply:

"She radiated peaceful energy and she smelled like lavender."

Later in the chapter there's a phrase "her dark, fringed hair" and a few paragraphs down two words about her clothing, "simple robe," but the sentence that introduces her relies on senses other than sight.

Thanks for the tip, Lucy!