The Imaginary as Real

“A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within it the image of a cathedral.”

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

When DS was in fourth grade, we were warned about his teacher from parents of a student who had had her the year before. She had castigated the student for relaying an experience he imagined as real, when the homework assignment clearly said, “tell of something that really happened to you last summer.”

The parents of the other boy, both literary and well educated, felt journeys of the imagination were “something that really happened.” Possibly, they also felt the insult of embarrassing their child in front of the class. But their son was not embarrassed. Instead, he reasoned his case well, though the teacher would not relent.
“She is small minded,” they told me. “That is the worst kind of teacher for young people.”

 

 

At that time, I was of two minds about this. There were a lot of nuanced matters in this kerfuffle, and I could see both sides.

Some years later, when concerns of respect for authority, teaching youngsters to follow directions, and the matter of how public a correction should be, were behind me, I could think of the issue itself.

I've come to think as that boy’s parents did. Experiences of the mind are real experiences, and they really happen to us. Anyone who likes to read knows what I mean.
 

I think Saint-Exupéry said it well, though today he might have replaced the word “man” with “person.”

The May Days of Clumsies

Eeeek, I’m having one of those weeks.

You know the Jewish definition of a schlemiel- the one who falls on his back and breaks his nose. I've always had days where things seem to drop, er, slide out of my hand, I trip on things that aren't there, and don’t move my forehead out of the refrigerator door so rudely in its way.

But they pass, and I’m back to my usual almost graceful ways.

Only this week had started with all of the above and continued. For three days in a row.

My cats have been stepped on, (using the passive construction to evade responsibility here) and my dishes shattered at an alarming rate. I may be inching for a case of justified new china purchase. I’m afraid to use my car because that could really hurt.

No need for a neurological evaluation yet. I know what’s up. I am unfocused.

When my focus refuses to stay in and on one place, things happen. But a few of those boom-bangs and I say to myself, “Now focus!” and all’s well, until the next wave.

This time I don’t seem to even have the focus to refocus. I got the clumsies. I can think of reasons, but that doesn't help. What I need is…

Any ideas?

Slow Down, You’re Moving Too Fast...*

*…You've Got to Make the Morning Last."

From “Feeling Groovy,” a Simon & Garfunkel song

Some years ago my father marveled at a new photo developing shop that boasted they will have your film developed and prints made in an hour. Across the street a competitor sprouted, making the same promise but in fifty-nine minutes.

The days of bringing the film in and waiting for it to come back in a week were gone.

Two months later, yet another camera place said they’d get your order ready in thirty minutes. 

“What will they think of next?” my father gasped. “Maybe some sort of instant service? Your photos are visible as soon as you take them?”

Yup, he was onto something. The age of digital photography was not far behind.

“Maybe the next thing will be printed photographs before you had a chance to take them,” my father quipped. “You just had to think about taking the picture… .”

Not quite there, father. But I should not find it shocking. You are not here to witness, but your sense that the world was speeding up was spot-on before. Maybe after the mind-reading cameras, ones will be made to let you know what was on your mind before you even thought it. Ha!

Or maybe we’d re-discover the virtue of slowing down, savoring, and yes, even waiting for what’s worth waiting for. What a revolutionary idea.

Spring Starts with an S

A relative in Israel asked me if I remember Israeli spring.

{I do. Mostly, I remember it was too short.}

No, I haven’t joined the A-Z challenge that took over blogosphere last moth. All these S-words are part of the mini-silliness that strikes in spring. A giddiness that might be hardwired in our cells.

 We survived winter.

It may not seem like much in an age of central heating, modern hospitals and flu shots. But fall babies were thought to survive at a much lower rate than spring babies for a reason. Animals that live outdoors go into heat in winter and give birth is spring for a reason. Plants sprout up. Shoots and leaves make their first shy appearances, and humans have new springs in their steps.

Tsss-Tsss…. Come to think of it, lots of Ss.

‘Nuff folly. I’m going dancing. Swaying and swooning, more like it.

Newbie Mistakes

A few weeks ago a friend asked me if I would help a new writer who was about to publish her first book. Could I answer her questions, or maybe connect her to others who might?

Everyone starts as a newbie. We were all there once.  “Of course,”I said.

Only moments later, the soon-to-be author made contact. All glowing with the radiance of first-time publication, she wanted to meet and talk. I, old fogy that I am, suggested she first email  the nature of her project and her questions to me.

Barely seconds later, a long and detailed Email came back. This writer’s enthusiasm was palpable. Her first book is coming out! Like now! She needs to market! She wants to show it to me! 

Some of her comments showed the cluelessness of a newbie. Well, maybe most of her comments. I've gotten wonderful advice in my newbie days, and continue to even now. I've given advice when friends ask, and on this blog- even when not prompted. I wanted to be helpful.

After a few hours’ thought, I sat down and composed a long Email congratulating this writer on her upcoming book. I suggested some links to places where I have learned a lot of useful things. I suggested the best chat-board in kid-lit as a good place to network, The Blue Board. I also included a link to the most informative professional organization for Children’s book writers. The  SCBWI also welcomes the yet-to-be published.

I confessed that I have no experience in self-publishing, which is the route she chose. I made a gentle suggestion that her intention to have her book be “picked up by a major publisher” is unlikely if she self-publishes it. It has happened. But, for the most part, self-publishing is a deterrent to eventual traditional publishing. I added that presenting her book as for age 0-6 would not advance her cause, as this is not, developmentally speaking, a real age category in publishing. Infants and six-year olds will not listen to the same stories. Rather, the established age categories might be toddler board books (1-3) and young picture books (3-5). [There is also an older picture book category for beginning readers, ages 5-8.]

After checking her book out, I enclosed links to similar books. Writers should know about what is on the market if they are also the marketers of their books.

All right, I spent some time, enclosed plenty of good links, and signed with very best wishes for the success of her book. I added that she may write back with any questions she has. I know I had plenty, and do to this day. We all have a lot to learn, and paying it forward is a privilege.

Which is why I posted it here. Someone may find a bit of it helpful.

 

The one thing I would add is that if someone bothers to think about your inquiry and respond, thank them even if you don't resonate or feel happy about their input. 

Maybe that should be Networking 101. Then pay it forward.

Tomorrow is the Busiest Day of the Year

Before I was published, DH used to tell others that I was trying to write. I corrected him time and again. I wasn't trying; I was doing it. I was trying to get my writing published, but writing was something I was already doing.

Spring is in the air and it is tempting to do less and dream about doing more. There’s always tomorrow.

 But today is yesterday’s tomorrow, and today is all we really have. Don’t try, do. Spring forth and bring it on.

Now.

Pep-talk for today, if you needed one. I sure do. 

About Work, or- How I Learned to…

Until my late twenties, I had difficulty with longer projects. Time management was not part of my schooling. If I couldn't finish a paper or a book in a month or two, I did not finish it, period. This shortcoming was something that prevented me from proceeding in school. (And from doing many other things, come to think of it.)

 In my late twenties, I decided this had to change. I picked up embroidery and started increasingly demanding projects. This form of tapestry is the most tedious way to create or re-create patterns, slower than drawing or painting. 

I learned how to parcel energy for the long haul, how to muscle up for the draining middles of longer projects when the enthusiasm of the beginning has worn off and the tailwinds carrying me to the end were not yet blowing 

I took this on as a disciplinary matter, not for its own sake. But the concrete results were there to remind me that YES, I CAN.

My efforts served me well later when doing restoration on antique textiles, and of course, with my writing/revising and such.

So this is where I am today, back to work writing a new story. If you're working on your taxes, that'll be over soon, and then comes tomorrow. On this final stretch, grab hold of the saddle and don't let go.

Elliot’s Peculiar Cruelty

“April is the cruellest month.”

T. S. Eliot

Why? Do tell, T. S. - and then tell of the extra L you put in there, which my proofreading eye keeps wanting to change to cruelest.

This signature line, the beginning of the epic poem The Waste Land, seemed a good place to start. Not because it is April, but because it made me think how writing peculiarities are what separates the very good from the great.

It’s the artist’s “know the rules and then break the rules.”

I wonder if the How To books and the mechanical spell-checkers computer writing programs affect real creativity. I doubt they add to artistry in any way, and worry they may squelch it.

I look back at the very first stories I wrote with the intention to put them out in the world at large. What I wrote the first two years would be classified as unpublishable. I had not yet immersed myself in industry-mavens’ wisdom. I wrote using intuition and native sensibility. I created wholly original stories that, I later learned, would have a prospective editor hurl the pages at the wall in exasperation. Or, worse, have the editor laugh and read them to colleagues as examples of ineptitude.

As I began to read about what was expected, I tucked my initial efforts deep in the drawer and shuddered at ever re-reading any of these embarrassments. But something in me made sure I didn't burn the pages or delete the files.

Yesterday I opened one of the stories by accident. I was looking for another file and clicked on the wrong one. I found myself face to face with a story that broke all the rules. Well, not all, but close.

I didn't cringe. I marveled. It’s probably unpublishable, but it is different, full of the unexpected, and connected to the life-source of good writing in a way many of my later, more conventional offerings, are not.

It may be time to get back to the beginning and forget a lot of what I have learned. Ah, the cruelty of April. 

May is going to be busy. Lots of shedding to do.

How Do You Like Your Ghosts?

Or-

The Truth About Ghost Writing

 

Years ago, before I even considered writing for publication, an acquaintance made me an offer. I would write a book about a subject I knew quite a bit about, and she would publish it under her name. She knew only a little about the subject, but thought a book would be good for her career. I would be paid, but my name would not appear, and I would sign an agreement to never disclose this connection. I felt funny about the whole thing and turned her down.

At that time I had no idea how common this sort of arrangement is.

Years later, before I was published but after I told friends I was writing, I got a similar offer. By then I had not only learned about ghost-writing, but knew someone who had done it. The ghost-maven advised me that this route is fraught with problems I cannot even begin to imagine. Because I knew only a little about the second book’s subject and was not drawn to it, it was easy to turn down.

After I was published I had two such offers, both from acquaintances who felt they didn’t have the time to write their books, but had the money to pay for their books to be written in their names. In each case I knew little about the subject, and cared even less. These, too, were easy to turn down.

Sounds like I’m a quick turner-down, ey?

I have an aversion to secrecy, so while I am discrete, I don’t want to invite a mega-dose of covertness into my life. I cherish ghost stories, not ghost writing.

 

A few years ago I watched an illuminating interview on the subject. A well-known writer, Michael Korda, who by then had come out as the ghost writer to a few people- (presumably they allowed this revelation) said that almost all books written by people who are not professional writers were in fact not written by them. This blew my mind.

By now I have come to accept it. Most anything can be bought. Why not this service as well? Only live performances can’t be faked, er…, pardon my Milli-Vanilli memory lapse.

Things ain’t what they seem, and never were.

I don’t know how you feel about it. Surprised? Scandalized? Shoulders-shrugged?

At this point, I’m not sure how I feel, either. The world is what it is. Just saying.

 

Who’s an Expert?

“I do not pretend to know what many ignorant men are sure of."                               

Clarence Darrow

A writing colleague confessed she does not give writing/publishing advice, because she does not feel she has the expertise.

 I, on the other hand, don’t have much expertise, but never shy away from giving advice. I began my career as the Opinionator at the age of five, when I explained to my mother at some length why her bachelor work-friend Bob will never get married. Bob didn’t listen to me, and married the love of his life, Edith, only a few months later. But my mother said I expressed myself well, and could have a future in this sort of business. The opinion business, that is.

Is it lack of humility, or simple delusion? I think in my case both are contributing factors, but the main driving force is a sense that there’s not enough knowledge in the world, no matter how much I studied, that would make me infallible. In the meanwhile, why not share what I think I know?

This is my excuse for this blog, for my books, and for continuing to give and take advice with gusto. I hope to always be gaining expertise, but never become an expert.

Fiction or Nonfiction?

"Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn't." - Mark Twain

My late father used to tell me that fiction is much more truthful than so-called factual writing. It goes deeper and frees the thinker/writer to share their truest insights.

I, ever his contrarian progeny, argued that this is just a fancy way to justify spending many hours reading about others’ flights of fancy, endless conjuring, and an excuse to play. In this dialogue you could say I played the grownup and he was the kid who made excuses for why he didn’t have to grow up.

I used to write short stories. The stories were fictional but based on bits of reality and, even more, on bits of fictional stories I have read. I was playing with story telling. But all the while I felt there was something not quite respectable about this sort of thing.

Historians- now here were the real explorers of human reality. They had a lot of homework, too. They studied and gathered and painstakingly put it together. My father was a writer, a poet and a historian. It was the latter that earned him a living as a teacher. 

He had lived a life that itself was an epic chapter of twentieth century Jewish history, surviving the Holocaust and fighting for the establishment of Israel all before he was twenty-one. He was urged to write his memories. He refused, saying, “Autobiographies are exercises in truth-twisting and self-justification.” Another way of calling these nonfiction books, essentially, lies.

The first version of what became The Voice of Thunder was a short story for adults, largely nonfiction. I was careful not to stray from what I remembered. I was careful not to go too far afield from what I had seen with my own eyes. I was careful not to hurt anyone’s feelings. I was so careful, that it was not much of a story.

Many years later I went out on a limb, took a few elements from the old story, and made a fictional story for children. This time, because I had already decided I will write a fictional story with characters that weren't there or weren't as I described, the story came together with some deeper and surprising insights. Surprising to me, the writer.

When I expanded that story to a novel for pre-teens, the process of adding fictional characters, have them speak and do things I had no idea they could, was nothing less than shocking. Where did this come from?

I was finally telling the truth, while the story was much more fiction.

This time, too, you were right, father.

Let’s Re-name Middle Grade Novels

DF: “You look so happy, almost glowing.”

Me: “Well, I have a reason. I just finished the first draft of my very first middle grade novel. I didn’t know I could write anything of that length and take it to the finish line.”

DF: (after a long silence, looking perplexed) “Why would you write a so-so novel? Why not write a good one?”

A few years ago I had this very conversation with a dear friend who, one will rightly surmise, is not a writer. She could not fathom such joy at having completed something of middle-grade when one should have at least attempted a finer grade.

I have since seen this confusion in places and people I thought knew this publishing industry term. Is middle grade meant for middle school? (No, middle school years are 6-8 grade, or 11-14 year olds.) Is middle grade just the younger end of young adult? (Not really, though overlap is natural in literature.) Is middle grade the same as chapter books? (Fifty years ago it would have been. Now chapter books are shorter, meant for second and third graders, and precede the reading of novels. But middle grade novels often have chapters, as do novels for all ages.)

And the worst of all- are middle grade novels just the not-so-good, genre formula fiction, sold in the supermarket? (Well, some qualify. But this is not what “MG = middle grade,” as a category in publishing, refers to. Not even a little.)

The short answer is that middle grade books are aimed at ages 8-12, or grades 3-6, once “the middle grades” when elementary school went from first to eighth grade.

And middle grade novels are the first real novels children will read. The Newbery committee honors the finest children’s literary middle grade novels. They can be as short as 20,000 words and as long as 80,000, Harry Potter and other outliers on both ends not withstanding.

My published novel for middle grades is at the shorter end of this spectrum. The first draft I finished that day went on to have many revisions, and, after being published, it even won and award. The Moonbeam Children's Book Awards called the category “Pre-Teen.” Not a mention of “middle grade.” Awards are for good books, not so-so ones.

I like pre-teen. I think the choice of wording is perfect: descriptive, informative, and less likely to be misunderstood.

Trashing the Successful

Now that the brouhaha has worn out its welcome, I feel like reflecting on our unfortunate tendency to go on the abusive mode towards those who have been successful.

I wish I could recall who said this: “Jealousy is when you wished you had what someone else has. Envy is when you wish you had what someone else has, and you don’t want them to have it.”

This fits with the notion that envy may be the root of all wars.

When it comes to people who succeeded beyond anyone’s wildest dreams, we see the backlash coming. It’s not enough that we haven’t, they shouldn't have, either.

Envy may be green, but it isn't pretty.

©Shelagh Duffett

The sad thing is that every writer alive has had these fleeting feelings. If you haven’t wondered how J. K. Rowling did it, you are not honest with yourself. Most of us know these feelings are wrong-headed, and most of us don’t think this way. We may feel frustrated, but we don’t rationalize it.

After Lynn Shepherd’s post imploring Rowling to stop publishing appeared, a mini backlash in the form of retaliatory one-star reviews of Ms. Shepherd’s published books appeared on review sites. Seems her maladious stream is infectious. Those posts, too, were a sad testimony to our spiritual failure.

Like Rowling, Shepherd is a very good writer. There was no need for such smallness.

Lynn Shepherd’s third mistake, after putting outright silly statements about writing for children being an inferior art form and making any sort of statement about books she admits to not have read, was to conjure a world where someone else’s great success has robbed her of her own. In that world there are a finite number of gold coins and someone else has taken hers.

Not in my experience. Let’s get off the bandwagon of vilifying our planets’ most successful citizens. 

To GLOSSARY or Not to GLOSSARY

On a kid-lit chat board a writer asked for input on whether a glossary is advisable when writing fiction set in another time or place.

Good experienced writers chimed in, and most were in favor. I was in the minority.

I have nothing against glossaries. Some of my best friends are… er, working on and with them. Most of us, who spent many years in school reading non fiction, are comfortable with them. A good friend is working on an academic project that will yield the definitive glossary to a fourteenth century poem. Let me tell you, it’s a lot of work. Glossaries have my respect.



Glossaries freed us from having to remember a definition after looking it up in a separate book the first time. There was always the Glossary of Terms, in the trusty back of these textbooks. Isn’t it an advantage if literary fiction for children looks more like a textbook, now with the New Common Core standards for Language Arts curriculums?

But that is my reservation. They give a book a textbook feel. Glossaries interrupt pleasure reading. They should rarely be used in trade fiction.

It’s much more challenging to find a way to make the paragraphs vivid, complete, and comprehendible without the easy and neat use of a glossary.

My fun example:

“She left the Shtetl* and never looked back. Her Bubbe** might cry a bisel,*** but she didn’t give bupkes.****”

*Shtetl= a segregated Jewish quarter, typical of European cities and towns until the mid 20^th C.

**Bubbe= Grandmother
***Bisl= a little bit
****Bupkes= trivial, little, not much (literally Polish for “beans.”)

 

All right, the example is flavorful. The equivalent- “She left her childhood home in the Jewish quarter and never looked back. Her grandma might cry a little, but she didn’t give beans” does not have the exact same feel. But the first isn’t fun to read unless Yiddish is your second language.

 

I had thought about this long and hard when writing The Voice of Thunder, set in another time and place but written for American young readers. I managed to use a little Hebrew and work the English meaning in as seamlessly as I could. I felt I had succeeded when Kirkus referred to the book’s “readable style.” Mazal Tov*- Success!

 

;=) *Mazal Tov= Hebrew for “Congratulations!” (Literally “good luck.”)

 

Love and Kisses

I felt a bit remiss for letting Valentine’s Day pass this year with nary a bloggish mention, when I ran into this-

“People who throw kisses are hopelessly lazy.”

                                                                                       Bob Hope

And it occurred to me that expressions of love on electronic posts are a form of laziness, too. Too easy, too casual, too nothing.

This is my excuse for not posting electronically virtual chocolate wishes.

But even if belated, I had to share this image. This is one way the blogosphere excels. It allows me to  throw some art I love your way. 

Because I *do* love you for bothering to stop by, and you deserve at least this much---

©Shelagh Duffett

Ah, THE ODDS

Or- these L-o-o-ng Odds

Everyone knows that the odds of winning the lottery are almost as small as if you never enter.

The odds of being a working actor are not great, and the odds of earning a living from such are frighteningly closer to winning the lottery. The odds of being a traditionally published writer are better- as much as one percent for those who improve, learn and persist in trying for at least ten years. I heard this figure from someone who may possibly know, and even if the number is off, you get the point.

DD is now embarking on a road where the odds are long. How many of the million plus who try every year actually get to have the life of a classical music performer? The odds are not so good.

As a mother, I feel that it’s all right for me to do something where the odds are long, but not for my precious children. You can bang the rubber bat on my head as many times as you feel you must, but not on my children’s heads. I don’t want them to get hurt.

But DD has the right attitude- she is living this life already, working at it and having a spectacular time. I look at her relishing the process, and think about how I've come to look at what I do.

It’s in the process, babe. The odds can go fly a kite.

Must We All Become Marketers?

A few weeks ago I attended a writers’ presentation where the subject was how to make the most of Author Visits.

Author Visits and Author Events are what published writers are expected to do to promote their work. Whether these are readings in bookstores or libraries, school visits, or (for the A-listers of the major presses) radio-TV interviews, all qualify.

The presenter was a charming and energetic writer of many published picture books. She was informative and funny, a winning combination. But-

She also had a background in marketing.

Her day job, something most writers must have, was in marketing not related to the book business. Her approach to establishing a career in writing showed that special training and attitude I have come to associate with publicists.

It had taken me a few weeks to digest her presentation. I had to absorb not only the details I may possibly be able to implement in my own life, but to accept that when it comes to what the world values, it is not about pure merit.

It is about a certain level of competence combined with spectacular marketing.

We all know the tales of the solitary types, the J.D. Salinger writers, who wouldn't give an interview. They are the outliers times ten. Most writers cannot afford to hide. Salinger couldn't either, until he became The Salinger.

I’m still mulling over how I do or don’t fit in. It’s called finding oneself, and it doesn't end when you leave your teens. All matters of this world are works in progress, or the writers’ acronym: WIP.

I hope your WIP are rolling along. I hope you have the energy to market.

Mixed Legacy

When a famous man died this month, the media referred to his “mixed legacy.”

Got me thinking. Which one of us, when truth is told, will not have a mixed legacy? Except for saints, who among us is all-virtuous? Or all-villainous?

Characters in fiction of yesteryear may carry these distinctions. I couldn’t write or even conjure such characters. I just never met one personally, and I need this personal connection as a hook to hang my characters’ jackets on. 

 Literary clichés aside, I’m already on record for abhorring black and white stances. It is challenging and frustrating at times, with advice to “up the stakes” and make one’s writing less aware of the gray tones mixture that is us.

My challenge, as I revise and work my way to the best stories I can, is to keep them interesting, illuminating, and allow all my characters their right to a mixed legacy.

The Worry-Willies

A dear friend just got some amazing news. Good news. Call it great news.

It didn’t take long to start worrying about everything that could go wrong. I told her she had just let the Worry-Willies in.

I know them well, those pesky worries. I think they are built into our DNA, and my ancestors got a double dose. 

It doesn't help that most of us misinterpret Murphy’s Law (“anything that can go wrong, eventually will”) as a law of physics that will apply to our personal journeys.

FYI- Murphy’s law is not a law, it’s an adage. It’s a cliché. We writers know better than to let clichés in, or do we?

So how to deal with the Worry-Willies? It’s not enough to “just say NO. “ Heavens, that’s another cliché.

In the past I have tackled those with reason. The odds are well in our favor, at least for most positive developments. But if reason were enough, we wouldn't be overwhelmed with worries to begin with, because worrying doesn't usually help matters.

I am open and eager for any and all personal insight, strategies, and wisdom. Goodness, I’ll even take recipes. Call it the Wash Away Worries Forum, and come-on down.

Andy’s Green Underpants

Yet another of the shattering factoids I've run into was that Andy Warhol always wore green underpants.

Who knew?

Who cares?

Obviously Andy did, or he wouldn't have done  it.

This made me think. What undisclosed facts do I store when I create fictional characters?

Some who write have extensive notes on every character, most of which do not make it explicitly to the page. I have never done this.

But there is one bit I do, most of the time. My characters have middle names. These middle names are not usually for the reader. They’re for me. They serve as a sort of secret layer. They tell of the family, or a quirky parent. Except for characters from Israel, where middle names are still uncommon, all my characters have middle names as well as last names.

I started with a factoid, and will leave you with another. Richard Gere’s middle name is Tiffany. See what I mean by evocative?