Saturday, March 10, 2012
Friday, March 2, 2012
Being Crazy Isn't Enough--Dr. Seuss
Boy, did ol' Theo hit the nail on the head on that one. Crazy in and of itself isn't enough when it comes to art. You have to be disciplined about it. Dr. Seuss wrote 60 books throughout his life, and 46 of them were for children. Those children's books came from a place in himself beyond imagination. That kind of writing and illustrating requires the author to live in those cob-webby, unused spaces within their own minds on a pretty consistent basis. Getting to that mental location is difficult, if not impossible, if you're working a full-time job, chasing kids around, and trying to figure out what to cook for dinner.
Theodore Geisel said, "In my world, everyone's a pony, and they all eat rainbows and poop butterflies."
I most certainly can relate to the poop part. When my son was born last year, we were still potty-training my daughter. My husband and I dubbed me the Head Ass Wiper In Charge 'round our house. I was drowning in shit there for awhile, and let me assure you, there were no butterflies involved. If any of these poetically winged creatures had flitted by, the smell would have killed 'em for sure.
I wasn't always changing diapers on maternity leave last year, though. I spent a goodly amount of time stomping through the stream in the woods behind our house with my son in the front pack and my daughter splashing along in boots beside me. We threw leaves in the stream just to watch them float along with the current. We stalked bears, lions, deer, and antelope; we were sure we'd seen their prints all along the bank. We bent the little saplings by the water and checked the size of their buds each day. We thought a lot of thinks during those lazy days. We would come in each afternoon for lunch, baths, and naps. I wrote like crazy during those naps.
We have to be so disciplined about our jobs, chores, and errands each day. As important as those things are, they absolutely suck the life out of our creativity unless we discipline ourselves to find time to play. Blocking out all the mundane noise quiets the mind enough to that the Muse can wake up creativity and download ideas. Dr. Seuss was definitely on to something. Because our world turns at lightning speed, it may seem irrational to take time to watch a stick float down a stream. If you want to find your inner genius and bring it to light, making a date with "crazy" on a regular basis is imperative. So graze on some rainbows, shit some butterflies, and access the best of your creativity this weekend; celebrate Dr. Seuss's birthday by celebrating yourself!
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Finding the "Yes" in the "No"
When you're a writer, the word "no" sucks hind tit, doesn't it? The infamous rejection. When you are submitting a beloved manuscript via snail mail, you can tell you're screwed when your SASE (self-addressed stamped envelope) comes back to you, and it's REALLY skinny. You still tear open the envelope because hope springeth, leapeth, and backflippeth eternal, but, dammit, it's another FORM LETTER. These photocopied atrocities are always so short, and, well, pleasant. The editor/agent/or other person to whomever you've submitted says your work is not a fit for their style, or due to the economy the market is not right for your work, or WHATEVER! They always wish you well in your future literary endeavors and tell you to have a nice day.
It's not much different when you send off your amazing writing via email. You see the special address of the person with whom you've entrusted your precious work pop up in your inbox, and you immediately begin clicking the mouse. If you're me, and you've struggled with dial-up or piece o' crap air cards because you live in the sticks, you've clicked your mouse on these messages enough times to freeze your computer. Then you have to start the whole damn mail opening process over again, which takes five milleniums, until you finally get the bastard to pop up on your screen only to find that it's a short email. It's another FORM LETTER just like the ones you used to get in the mail before every office went green. It's the same smoke the folks have been blowing up every other rejectee's ass since the dawn of the pencil. Except it's recycled smoke. FORM SMOKE! You don't even get smoke of your own.
Okay, I've gotten a lot of these SHORT letters. At first I fell for it. The editors were kind, weren't they? AWWWW. They wrote me a PERSONAL letter thanking me for my submission. I was nineteen, then. Yes, folks, I've been at this for awhile--nineteen was a LONG time ago, and I'm quite long in the tooth by now. I know when I'm at the bottom of the slush pile.
But, I've been at this long enough now to know what a thicker envelope feels like. The kind that has complimentary copies of YOUR PUBLISHED WORK inside. I also know how that special piece of mail with the tear-off edges feels in my hand--I love riding those bad boys over to the local bank. I've been lucky enough to have enough YESES to do Christmas for everyone and pay the mortgage a few times. Freelancing was great, and I found some incredible opportunities to see my work in print. I have even had some regular gigs, despite all those earlier rejections.
Now that I've traded writing to others' specifications for writing to my own, I've gotten reacquainted with NO. Delightful. A FORM LETTER just muffs up a sunny day, doesn't it? Lately, however, my NOs have had a different twist than ever before. I've been querying successful agencies with sample chapters of my work and been asked to submit more. I've also been told to expand the market for my book, then resubmit. I had one editor tell me she had been really thinking long and hard about my submissions, but that she thought the stories were too regional for big sales. She did not send a FORM LETTER. I've submitted to three agents and one editor over the past two years. I've received a pending MAYBE, two suggestions about marketability, and only one FORM LETTER.
To me, personal feedback from an agent or editor, even in the form of a rejection, has a YES in it somewhere. These people read thousands of queries each week, but something about the work made them take the time to send their own comments, rather than paste in a form letter. DUDE! That's something, right?
Putting oneself out there is mighty scary, and we all know rejection really chaps one's ass. At least it does mine. That's okay, though. Use those damnable FORM LETTERS to rub cream on the sore spots, polish the work some more, and send that story to someone else. Eventually, with enough revision, we will all get to that resounding YES! We can then sit and celebrate with a beer. Because, let me tell you, there's little better sound than the hiss of a popped top in concert with the ri-i-ip of torn check tab. CHA-CHING!
It's not much different when you send off your amazing writing via email. You see the special address of the person with whom you've entrusted your precious work pop up in your inbox, and you immediately begin clicking the mouse. If you're me, and you've struggled with dial-up or piece o' crap air cards because you live in the sticks, you've clicked your mouse on these messages enough times to freeze your computer. Then you have to start the whole damn mail opening process over again, which takes five milleniums, until you finally get the bastard to pop up on your screen only to find that it's a short email. It's another FORM LETTER just like the ones you used to get in the mail before every office went green. It's the same smoke the folks have been blowing up every other rejectee's ass since the dawn of the pencil. Except it's recycled smoke. FORM SMOKE! You don't even get smoke of your own.
Okay, I've gotten a lot of these SHORT letters. At first I fell for it. The editors were kind, weren't they? AWWWW. They wrote me a PERSONAL letter thanking me for my submission. I was nineteen, then. Yes, folks, I've been at this for awhile--nineteen was a LONG time ago, and I'm quite long in the tooth by now. I know when I'm at the bottom of the slush pile.
But, I've been at this long enough now to know what a thicker envelope feels like. The kind that has complimentary copies of YOUR PUBLISHED WORK inside. I also know how that special piece of mail with the tear-off edges feels in my hand--I love riding those bad boys over to the local bank. I've been lucky enough to have enough YESES to do Christmas for everyone and pay the mortgage a few times. Freelancing was great, and I found some incredible opportunities to see my work in print. I have even had some regular gigs, despite all those earlier rejections.
Now that I've traded writing to others' specifications for writing to my own, I've gotten reacquainted with NO. Delightful. A FORM LETTER just muffs up a sunny day, doesn't it? Lately, however, my NOs have had a different twist than ever before. I've been querying successful agencies with sample chapters of my work and been asked to submit more. I've also been told to expand the market for my book, then resubmit. I had one editor tell me she had been really thinking long and hard about my submissions, but that she thought the stories were too regional for big sales. She did not send a FORM LETTER. I've submitted to three agents and one editor over the past two years. I've received a pending MAYBE, two suggestions about marketability, and only one FORM LETTER.
To me, personal feedback from an agent or editor, even in the form of a rejection, has a YES in it somewhere. These people read thousands of queries each week, but something about the work made them take the time to send their own comments, rather than paste in a form letter. DUDE! That's something, right?
Putting oneself out there is mighty scary, and we all know rejection really chaps one's ass. At least it does mine. That's okay, though. Use those damnable FORM LETTERS to rub cream on the sore spots, polish the work some more, and send that story to someone else. Eventually, with enough revision, we will all get to that resounding YES! We can then sit and celebrate with a beer. Because, let me tell you, there's little better sound than the hiss of a popped top in concert with the ri-i-ip of torn check tab. CHA-CHING!
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
I'm Back!
I can't believe it has been two years since I posted to this blog. Contrary to obvious belief, I am not a literary slackass. At. All. I've been busy, oh, you know, having a new baby boy! I have also finished the second draft of my memoir which I'm so excited about. During my maternity leave with my son, I began work on a middle grade novel, too. So yeah, I've been fairly well occupied.
Bu-ut the Muse has been poking me in my doughy gut about this blog. Apparently, she has plans, and a few thing she wants to say. I must comply so she will let me sleep. Lately, she's been worse than my son on the snoozing front--at least he sleeps through the night!
So please bear with me while I get this show back on the road. I have plenty of stories to tell about writing and being creative with a family in tow. I will share anecdotes about typing the final pages of my book while my three-year-old draws on my toes with marker. We will rejoice together in the ecstasy of two children simultaneously napping, and we will bemoan the perils of squished puffed cereal in the computer's USB port thingy. Oh, yeah, and I will discuss the logistics of breastfeeding and writing...at the same time! Yes, friends, it can be done!
And, maybe, just maybe, I'll get to write about acquiring an agent, and GASP, publishing a book! Now wouldn't that be just spiffy. If not, no biggie. We can hang out together a couple of times per week over Diet Cokes and Teddy bear crackers and talk about the sanity that creativity affords us. While we're at it, maybe one of you can tell me what to do about the crayons melted onto the load of clothes I just took out of the dryer.
Bu-ut the Muse has been poking me in my doughy gut about this blog. Apparently, she has plans, and a few thing she wants to say. I must comply so she will let me sleep. Lately, she's been worse than my son on the snoozing front--at least he sleeps through the night!
So please bear with me while I get this show back on the road. I have plenty of stories to tell about writing and being creative with a family in tow. I will share anecdotes about typing the final pages of my book while my three-year-old draws on my toes with marker. We will rejoice together in the ecstasy of two children simultaneously napping, and we will bemoan the perils of squished puffed cereal in the computer's USB port thingy. Oh, yeah, and I will discuss the logistics of breastfeeding and writing...at the same time! Yes, friends, it can be done!
And, maybe, just maybe, I'll get to write about acquiring an agent, and GASP, publishing a book! Now wouldn't that be just spiffy. If not, no biggie. We can hang out together a couple of times per week over Diet Cokes and Teddy bear crackers and talk about the sanity that creativity affords us. While we're at it, maybe one of you can tell me what to do about the crayons melted onto the load of clothes I just took out of the dryer.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Yet Another Moment of Truth
The Virginia Festival of the Book had provided my one seat-cushion-up-ass experience during the manuscript critique session. Little did I know that I would barely have an opportunity to dig out the cushion before I’d suck it up there again in the Agents’ Roundtable.
Agent or no agent? From what I’ve learned today about publishing, I need a staff. There’s no way I can negotiate the legalities, the paperwork, the deals, or the contracts. Not to mention the fact that I have no names to drop, connections, or clout; in short, why would a big publishing house give a rip-snort about me? Besides, as I learned in the last workshop, I don’t got no skillz.
As I sat waiting for the Agents’ Roundtable to begin, I noticed that Laura Rennert, Senior Agent from the Andrea Brown Literary Agency, was on the panel. I had seen her earlier in the day in the session on publishing children’s books. She signs six figure book deals for her writers; maybe someday she’ll be shopping out one of my manuscripts. Erin Cox, from Rob Weisbach Creative Management, Jenny Bent, from The Bent Agency, and Simon Lipskar, from Writers House joined her.
Of all the agents, Simon Lipskar scared me the most. I really respected him, and I could tell he would be a formidable advocate for any writer skilled enough to work with him. He would be the least likely to put up with my shit, though, should anything I wrote ever cut his mustard. He said that while most agents had “literary psychologists’ couches” next to their desks to help writers who “suddenly couldn’t find the `e’ on their keyboards,” prospective authors needed to be committed to their craft.
“Writing is a job,” he said.
If we weren’t ready to dedicate ourselves to our tales in this way, then we should consider looking elsewhere.
“Don’t waste my time,” he said.
I totally agreed with him; writing is a job for me. It comes right in line with teacher, wife, mom, maid, laundress, diaper changer, chauffeur, and listening ear, though. The agents all emphasized that they expected us to have day jobs. But what would Mr. Lipskar think of my two-year-old daughter singing Jason Aldean’s song “Big Green Tractor” in the background while we’re trying to discuss business on the phone? I think my kid is damn talented, especially when she starts cranking the song’s solo on her flyswatter guitar like a badass. However, is this Big-New-York-Agency professional? If it isn’t, I don’t give a crap. I live for my life’s quirks.
The more I listened, the more I could tell that Laura Rennert definitely gives the big dogs a run for their money. I know my children’s manuscript Frank the Flamingo is good, but I’m not sure if I can convince her of that.
The agent I really felt I connected with as I listened was Erin Cox. She was extremely professional. She appeared knowledgeable and well-connected, but she was more low-key about it than others. I caught a down-to-earth vibe and an openness that I thought would work well with my personality. I sensed that she would hear my dedication to my work over the din of my life.
When the forum was over, I headed to Erin Cox’s end of the table. She was sitting next to Laura Rennert. I thought I would ask some general questions about marketing hi-lo fiction for kids to Ms. Rennert, and maybe I would get a chance to pitch my memoir or something.
A long line of children’s writers waited for Laura Rennert’s attention, but Erin Cox had a break. I struck up a conversation.
“Do you have any advice for someone putting together a memoir?” I asked. “I’m currently hard at work on one. I know you all said to query with the whole thing, but is it okay to pitch an idea about an incomplete project?”
“Sure,” she asked. “This gives us the opportunity to help you keep your work on track. If we see you going off on a tangent, we can guide you back in a direction that we feel would be more successful for you. What’s your story about?”
I gave her as brief a synopsis as possible. I couldn’t believe I was actually pitching my idea to an agent. I’d never gotten this far before.
“That sounds great!” she said. “Why don’t you it to send me?”
I gulped. “Okay,” I said, regaining my…snort…composure. “I’ll get right on that. Thanks so much for your time.”
From that point until the long drive back home, I was completely incapable of coherent thought. Oh, my God. Is it possible that this writing thing could become a reality? Then what? Talk about a seat-cushion-up-ass moment! I think I may have permanently embedded it up there this time!
Agent or no agent? From what I’ve learned today about publishing, I need a staff. There’s no way I can negotiate the legalities, the paperwork, the deals, or the contracts. Not to mention the fact that I have no names to drop, connections, or clout; in short, why would a big publishing house give a rip-snort about me? Besides, as I learned in the last workshop, I don’t got no skillz.
As I sat waiting for the Agents’ Roundtable to begin, I noticed that Laura Rennert, Senior Agent from the Andrea Brown Literary Agency, was on the panel. I had seen her earlier in the day in the session on publishing children’s books. She signs six figure book deals for her writers; maybe someday she’ll be shopping out one of my manuscripts. Erin Cox, from Rob Weisbach Creative Management, Jenny Bent, from The Bent Agency, and Simon Lipskar, from Writers House joined her.
Of all the agents, Simon Lipskar scared me the most. I really respected him, and I could tell he would be a formidable advocate for any writer skilled enough to work with him. He would be the least likely to put up with my shit, though, should anything I wrote ever cut his mustard. He said that while most agents had “literary psychologists’ couches” next to their desks to help writers who “suddenly couldn’t find the `e’ on their keyboards,” prospective authors needed to be committed to their craft.
“Writing is a job,” he said.
If we weren’t ready to dedicate ourselves to our tales in this way, then we should consider looking elsewhere.
“Don’t waste my time,” he said.
I totally agreed with him; writing is a job for me. It comes right in line with teacher, wife, mom, maid, laundress, diaper changer, chauffeur, and listening ear, though. The agents all emphasized that they expected us to have day jobs. But what would Mr. Lipskar think of my two-year-old daughter singing Jason Aldean’s song “Big Green Tractor” in the background while we’re trying to discuss business on the phone? I think my kid is damn talented, especially when she starts cranking the song’s solo on her flyswatter guitar like a badass. However, is this Big-New-York-Agency professional? If it isn’t, I don’t give a crap. I live for my life’s quirks.
The more I listened, the more I could tell that Laura Rennert definitely gives the big dogs a run for their money. I know my children’s manuscript Frank the Flamingo is good, but I’m not sure if I can convince her of that.
The agent I really felt I connected with as I listened was Erin Cox. She was extremely professional. She appeared knowledgeable and well-connected, but she was more low-key about it than others. I caught a down-to-earth vibe and an openness that I thought would work well with my personality. I sensed that she would hear my dedication to my work over the din of my life.
When the forum was over, I headed to Erin Cox’s end of the table. She was sitting next to Laura Rennert. I thought I would ask some general questions about marketing hi-lo fiction for kids to Ms. Rennert, and maybe I would get a chance to pitch my memoir or something.
A long line of children’s writers waited for Laura Rennert’s attention, but Erin Cox had a break. I struck up a conversation.
“Do you have any advice for someone putting together a memoir?” I asked. “I’m currently hard at work on one. I know you all said to query with the whole thing, but is it okay to pitch an idea about an incomplete project?”
“Sure,” she asked. “This gives us the opportunity to help you keep your work on track. If we see you going off on a tangent, we can guide you back in a direction that we feel would be more successful for you. What’s your story about?”
I gave her as brief a synopsis as possible. I couldn’t believe I was actually pitching my idea to an agent. I’d never gotten this far before.
“That sounds great!” she said. “Why don’t you it to send me?”
I gulped. “Okay,” I said, regaining my…snort…composure. “I’ll get right on that. Thanks so much for your time.”
From that point until the long drive back home, I was completely incapable of coherent thought. Oh, my God. Is it possible that this writing thing could become a reality? Then what? Talk about a seat-cushion-up-ass moment! I think I may have permanently embedded it up there this time!
Critique? You've Got to Be Kidding!!!!!!
My afternoon at the Virginia Festival of the Book offered me two distinct seat-cushion-up-ass experiences. The first occurred at the Dancing with the Manuscripts workshop. This was the forum where published authors from the Moseley Writers would work with each participant to speed critique the first 250 words of their manuscripts. I brought along the first part of a memoir I’m writing about my struggles with infertility. I didn’t figure this out in time to email my work days before, so I brought my page to the door and turned it in. What could it hurt?
It wasn’t until the moderator began the session that I realized what I had done to myself. She started by explaining that she would read each sample of work aloud. The four writers on the panel would hold up green cards if they liked the writing and wanted to continue reading or a red card if it sucked. Those weren’t the moderator's words. They may has well have been because all I heard were red card and I translated everything else she said into SUCK! There were only about two hundred people in the workshop as well to add to the humiliation and naked flogging to which we writers had just subjected ourselves. The one positive beam out of the whole thing was that she would not be reading any names.
I quietly had a panic attack for the next hour while the moderator read each person’s work. Red cards, green cards, and comments flew as one by one each writer was anonymously vindicated or bitch slapped for his or her style. I learned enough about craft from listening to the comments to know that I would have earned myself a red card or two or (gasp!) four. If I had inhaled even the slightest bit of coal dust at that point I surely would have shat a diamond.
Lucky for me and my overwrought ego, my story was not selected for critique. By the end of the forum, I had conjured up enough nerve to ask for some feedback. I marched my relieved ass up front and stuck my manuscript under the nose of the first available commentator. My patient helper happened to be Fran Cannon Slayton, moderator of the children’s publishing session I just attended.
“You get to the point quickly,” she said when she was done reading. “I understand what it’s about right off the bat. I am, however, confused here.”
She pointed to the part I wrote about hormones.
“I get that it’s about you, but you’re making me think that you are a teenager or something with this `bubbling soup of hormones’ thing,” she said. “You also mention your parents and then some stepchildren. I’m assuming the kids are yours, but I’m not sure from here if they belong to you or your parents.”
Woah. I had a lot of work to do. I hadn’t thought about how confusing the whole thing was. I hadn’t taken the time to read this through any other eyes but my own. Oh, boy.
I walked out of the forum, breathless, but still intact. I had awhile to recover before the Agents’ Roundtable next. That workshop would be my second cushion-up-ass experience, which I’ll share in my next post.
It wasn’t until the moderator began the session that I realized what I had done to myself. She started by explaining that she would read each sample of work aloud. The four writers on the panel would hold up green cards if they liked the writing and wanted to continue reading or a red card if it sucked. Those weren’t the moderator's words. They may has well have been because all I heard were red card and I translated everything else she said into SUCK! There were only about two hundred people in the workshop as well to add to the humiliation and naked flogging to which we writers had just subjected ourselves. The one positive beam out of the whole thing was that she would not be reading any names.
I quietly had a panic attack for the next hour while the moderator read each person’s work. Red cards, green cards, and comments flew as one by one each writer was anonymously vindicated or bitch slapped for his or her style. I learned enough about craft from listening to the comments to know that I would have earned myself a red card or two or (gasp!) four. If I had inhaled even the slightest bit of coal dust at that point I surely would have shat a diamond.
Lucky for me and my overwrought ego, my story was not selected for critique. By the end of the forum, I had conjured up enough nerve to ask for some feedback. I marched my relieved ass up front and stuck my manuscript under the nose of the first available commentator. My patient helper happened to be Fran Cannon Slayton, moderator of the children’s publishing session I just attended.
“You get to the point quickly,” she said when she was done reading. “I understand what it’s about right off the bat. I am, however, confused here.”
She pointed to the part I wrote about hormones.
“I get that it’s about you, but you’re making me think that you are a teenager or something with this `bubbling soup of hormones’ thing,” she said. “You also mention your parents and then some stepchildren. I’m assuming the kids are yours, but I’m not sure from here if they belong to you or your parents.”
Woah. I had a lot of work to do. I hadn’t thought about how confusing the whole thing was. I hadn’t taken the time to read this through any other eyes but my own. Oh, boy.
I walked out of the forum, breathless, but still intact. I had awhile to recover before the Agents’ Roundtable next. That workshop would be my second cushion-up-ass experience, which I’ll share in my next post.
Just the Cleaning Out I Needed!
The Virginia Festival of the Book was the comprehensive literary laxative that I needed. Bumping up against writers and agents all day gave the soul a smart polishing as well. I hardly know where to start, I had so much fun!
Once I made it into the C-Ville Omni after being lost in the damn parking lot for a few minutes, I found myself lost in an enormous foyer filled with book kiosks. Authors were signing books, writers were hawking self-published projects, and all I could smell were new pages hot off the press. I’m a book freak. When book orders come to my classroom, I open the box just to smell the books. Now that’s my kind of aromatherapy! I should have been a librarian. I’m just TOO weird.
I did finally overcome the book sale attention deficit to make it to my first workshop on self-publishing. The commentators did a terrific job of convincing me that I didn’t have a snowman turd’s chance in hell of ever getting together a book on my own. Between the copy-editing, book designing, formatting, publishing, electronic formats, publicity, and distribution, I would find my sanity thumbing a ride south to a Key somewhere off Florida. Not for me.
My next forum was on publishing children’s books. I picked up a few books by the authors on the roster for the signing afterwards. When I walked in the room, the cheery energy took my hand and led me right to an aisle seat amidst a bunch of happy looking industry hopefuls. The moderator, Fran Cannon Slayton, author of When the Whistle Blows, began the session by explaining that each author on the panel would tell their own publishing story.
Laura Joy Rennert, author of Buying, Training, and Caring for Your Dinosaur and the upcoming Emma, the Extra-ordinary Princess, spoke first. She’s actually a senior agent from the Andrea Brown Literary Agency in California. I soon realized I was sitting fifteen feet from an agent who cuts six figure book deals for middle grade and young adult authors on a fairly regular basis. I thought of all the children’s manuscripts I have been working on lately. They’ve all been cooling in my hard drive for a couple of months, but suddenly I could feel my story Frank the Flamingo flap to the forefront for some attention. I tried to slow my racing heart so I wouldn’t develop sweat stains on my new blue shirt.
Ruth Spiro, author of Lester Fizz, Bubble Gum Artist, was next in line to share her story of being a stay-at-home mom who got her first story published on the first try, yadda, yadda, yadda. Lester is a really off-beat character with an unusual talent, so I see why her quick success was possible. Frank the Flamingo is also one wackadoodle anthropomorphic bird. I can do this.
Emily Ecton spoke next. She’s a writer and producer for NPR’s Wait, Wait…Don’t Tell Me. She’s the author of Boots and Pieces, The Curse of Cuddles McGee, and Night of the Living Lawn Ornaments. She gave off a sweet, unassuming vibe. Anyone who writes about hamsters and lawn ornaments has to be way cool. Frank is a lawn ornament. Tee-hee
After Emily, Deborah Heiligman, author of Charles and Emma and twenty five other kids’ books, took the mike. What a funny personality! She’s a former Scholastic News writer. I’ve read many an issue of that publication with my students! She emphasized what great training it was for her current career to have to write that tightly. I liked her style.
Finally, Bonnie Doerr, eco-mystery author of Island Sting, shared her experiences in publishing. She’s a fellow reading teacher like me! I felt an INSTANT kinship! Her mission is to promote both reading and greener living. I love the cross-curricular appeal of her novel—she definitely knows how to hook reluctant readers! I couldn’t wait to take Island Sting back to school with me.
I loved meeting the writers after the forum. Emily Ecton seemed delighted that I had bought one of her books for the signing, and Laura Rennert’s autograph reminded my daughter to hug both her dinosaur AND her mommy every day. Ruth Spiro and I talked about using Lester Fizz to teach onomatopoeia, and I had a blast talking with Bonnie Doerr. We exchanged information, and she offered my kids a free Skype visit if enough students read Island Sting. What a cool opportunity!
My day was off to a terrific start!
Once I made it into the C-Ville Omni after being lost in the damn parking lot for a few minutes, I found myself lost in an enormous foyer filled with book kiosks. Authors were signing books, writers were hawking self-published projects, and all I could smell were new pages hot off the press. I’m a book freak. When book orders come to my classroom, I open the box just to smell the books. Now that’s my kind of aromatherapy! I should have been a librarian. I’m just TOO weird.
I did finally overcome the book sale attention deficit to make it to my first workshop on self-publishing. The commentators did a terrific job of convincing me that I didn’t have a snowman turd’s chance in hell of ever getting together a book on my own. Between the copy-editing, book designing, formatting, publishing, electronic formats, publicity, and distribution, I would find my sanity thumbing a ride south to a Key somewhere off Florida. Not for me.
My next forum was on publishing children’s books. I picked up a few books by the authors on the roster for the signing afterwards. When I walked in the room, the cheery energy took my hand and led me right to an aisle seat amidst a bunch of happy looking industry hopefuls. The moderator, Fran Cannon Slayton, author of When the Whistle Blows, began the session by explaining that each author on the panel would tell their own publishing story.
Laura Joy Rennert, author of Buying, Training, and Caring for Your Dinosaur and the upcoming Emma, the Extra-ordinary Princess, spoke first. She’s actually a senior agent from the Andrea Brown Literary Agency in California. I soon realized I was sitting fifteen feet from an agent who cuts six figure book deals for middle grade and young adult authors on a fairly regular basis. I thought of all the children’s manuscripts I have been working on lately. They’ve all been cooling in my hard drive for a couple of months, but suddenly I could feel my story Frank the Flamingo flap to the forefront for some attention. I tried to slow my racing heart so I wouldn’t develop sweat stains on my new blue shirt.
Ruth Spiro, author of Lester Fizz, Bubble Gum Artist, was next in line to share her story of being a stay-at-home mom who got her first story published on the first try, yadda, yadda, yadda. Lester is a really off-beat character with an unusual talent, so I see why her quick success was possible. Frank the Flamingo is also one wackadoodle anthropomorphic bird. I can do this.
Emily Ecton spoke next. She’s a writer and producer for NPR’s Wait, Wait…Don’t Tell Me. She’s the author of Boots and Pieces, The Curse of Cuddles McGee, and Night of the Living Lawn Ornaments. She gave off a sweet, unassuming vibe. Anyone who writes about hamsters and lawn ornaments has to be way cool. Frank is a lawn ornament. Tee-hee
After Emily, Deborah Heiligman, author of Charles and Emma and twenty five other kids’ books, took the mike. What a funny personality! She’s a former Scholastic News writer. I’ve read many an issue of that publication with my students! She emphasized what great training it was for her current career to have to write that tightly. I liked her style.
Finally, Bonnie Doerr, eco-mystery author of Island Sting, shared her experiences in publishing. She’s a fellow reading teacher like me! I felt an INSTANT kinship! Her mission is to promote both reading and greener living. I love the cross-curricular appeal of her novel—she definitely knows how to hook reluctant readers! I couldn’t wait to take Island Sting back to school with me.
I loved meeting the writers after the forum. Emily Ecton seemed delighted that I had bought one of her books for the signing, and Laura Rennert’s autograph reminded my daughter to hug both her dinosaur AND her mommy every day. Ruth Spiro and I talked about using Lester Fizz to teach onomatopoeia, and I had a blast talking with Bonnie Doerr. We exchanged information, and she offered my kids a free Skype visit if enough students read Island Sting. What a cool opportunity!
My day was off to a terrific start!
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