Pondering Attending a Writing Conference? Sweet Reasons to Go

Pondering the value of attending a writing conference?

Here are some reasons to bother going:

1) Network with other writers. Talk to people who "get" you. You don't have to assume you're the only one who hears voices and entire pages of dialoge running through your head anymore. Suddenly *you're* not the weird one. It's like when the ugly duckling showed up in swan-land. Ta-da!

2) Learn more about the craft. Conference organizers work like maniacs to assemble charismatic faculty with presentations on a wide variety of topics. Check the workshop and class lineup when you're registering! The conference I attended this weekend had classes like writing by gleaning stories from genealogy, songwriting (with a mind-opening step by step), how to write a query, how to write a pitch, how to make your writing pay, and many more.

3) Possibly meet agents and pitch your work. From what I've heard, and now that I've seen it in action, I believe wholeheartedly, an agent or editor is a bazillion times more likely to request pages from you if he or she has met you and heard you be enthusiastic about your work during a pitch. Otherwise, all you are is a query letter in the big, icky, disgust-inducing stack on the front desk of an agency. Wouldn't you rather be a smiling face and a witty remark in the memory of an agent who got wined and dined at a conference? Yes, you would. Even if it means the agonizing torment of preparing for the pitch session.

4) Get re-motivated to write. Going to conferences has pumped up my enthusiasm to write. The workshops always make me reexamine my work and improve what I've already written, and improve it. Conferences also always make me a little introspective; I always seem to spend a few hours musing on what exactly it is I want to do with my writing, how I actually picture my writing career going, where I want to go next, and more important, what I don't want to do.

If those are not enough, it's a chance (for me, at least) to be away from home and buy candy and not have to share it with any begging children. On my conference outing a few weeks ago I enjoyed a peanut brittle bar, a box of Good 'n Plenty, some Hot Tamales, a handful of mini-Mr. Goodbars, a few Hershey's Kisses, Starlight Mints, some Dr. Pepper (accidentally), and a bunch of mint flavored Three Musketeers. There were probably more. Sigh. So much candy, so little sharing of it. Well, I kept it in my purse and offered candy to the people next to me at the tables. Candy is a great icebreaker! I love my children. Don't get me wrong. And generally I share everything except Lindt truffles. And Dole Fruit Bars (coconut.) I'm just saying, a candy gluttony weekend is nice once a year or so.

Oooh. My friend shared a new candy with me--gum flavored like chocolate mint chip ice cream. Delicious enough I almost ate it outright. What a stroke of genius. Whoever came up with that, I thank you from the bottom of my tastebuds.

Genre:Does Cold Cereal belong in the Candy Phylum?

Lately deciding on how to label the genre of my novel has been taking up an unnatural amount of my brain's hard drive free space. I think I need to defrag or something now. Does it fall in mainstream fiction or commercial fiction? Ha ha I wish I could say it fell into literary fiction but it's too cottony and candy-y.

So since my protagonist is 24, it won't fit into YA (young adult) fiction, even though it is a kind of a coming of age story. I got that much. Parameters as far as I can gather from combing the Internet and agents' sites and know-it-all-experts' advice books require the main character of a YA novel to be no older than 17, and preferably 16.

So it's definitely not middle grade even though when I read the prologue to the 5th graders a few months ago they ate it up. Middle grade novels star kids age 11. Or else!

Then there's women's fiction. Even though this could be termed a love story (the main character gets the girl at the end) and I would like to believe women will really find the hero of the story appealing, in spite of his flaws. But it's not technically a romance, even though the protagonist's main need is to overcome his loneliness. It doesn't fit the template of what's required for a romance. For one, the main character is male, not female. And since it doesn't star a 28+ single woman with a careeeeeer and eschewing marriage but secretly pining for love, it sure ain't chick lit.

So, do I try to market it as sports fiction? The whole story is about a fish-out-of-water, an unexpected foray into a new sport. It doesn't cover one of the big favorite sports of basketball or football, or even NASCAR, so maybe that won't work. Did you know there's a NASCAR sub-genre in Harlequin romance? I heard that last summer and I think my head is still trying to wrap itself around that fact.

Sometimes I think I should rework my story to fit neatly and squarely into one of these categories. But I wanted to tell the story of this particular character at this particular point of his life. To do that, I need to tell THIS story. I realize that the only reason I would need to alter it is if I decide to try to market it, which I guess I will, just to force myself to DO HARD THINGS. However, I am not going to weep failure tears if no publisher picks it up. I realize the story idea is a stretch. I know it doesn't fit neatly into a genre. I'm okay with that. I like the story, and I'm sticking to it.

For now.

And I WISH with all my HEART that I had a door on my hall closet. That it didn't gape open, with all those cereal boxes calling to me every single time I pass them, begging me to reach in, to get just a little handful of strawberry frosted mini-wheats or a few of those Raisin Bran Crunch flakes. Man, those are good. So good in fact, I kind of find myself thinking they (like the NASCAR Harlequin) should be a subgenre of candy. The mini-wheats and raisin brans could be the health-nut cousins of candy. Lucky Charms and Froot Loops could be more closely related. Apple Jacks have sugar listed as their first ingredient. Mmm. I love when those loopy rings have an obscured center, caked over with delicious dried, appley frosting.

Kingdom, phylum, class, family, whatever. All that sugar tastes really good when combined with wheat or oats or rice or corn flour. I'll take a big handful again when I pass by.

I think I might have blogged this opinion in an earlier post. Oh, well. My kids tell me all the time I'm repeating myself. So why not in cyberspace, too?

Now, pass the Berry Kix.

The Success and Failure of the Roadside Stand

Last week the 8-11 year old girls at church were doing a bake sale outside a grocery store to raise money for the hospital auxilliary. It was a-buzz here at home as we made a variation on Rice Krispies Treats (see below for RECIPE!) so much so that that afternoon, my 6 year old caught the fever and insisted on doing her own "roadside stand."

She begged, she pleaded. She even whined. (Imagine!) But I didn't have any packets of Kool Aid and didn't want to make another trip to the store, so I put her off. Mean, I know. But show me the mother who never does that.

Finally she said the magic words: "But Mom! I want to have my roadside stand be chocolate covered strawberries!"

Ah! "Why, sure. Let's whip those up." They chilled while she made her poster and dragged the TV tray out to the edge of the lawn, and were ready by the time she and the 3 year old had posted themselves on folding chairs.

It's not a traffic-filled neighborhood. At all. But within half an hour, little Miss Entrepreneur had sold out. At 25-cents apiece, she became a mini-millionaire, or at least acted like one with that jingling $3.75 in her quilted daisy purse of faux fur. "Can we go to the dollar store? Can we? Can we?"

I kinda put that one off, too. I mean, I had to go down and help man the service project bake sale, right?

All this brought to mind a memory of a roadside stand experience (why my kids call them that, I'm not sure. It's apt, but a little weird) from summer before last. The now-8-year-old had sat out front selling her crayon drawings for a buck apiece. I didn't actually know this was going on (Imagine!) until she appeared with $2 in a #10 can. Weird.

The success triggered entrepreneurial longings in my now-10-year-old son. He wanted something "really different." I shrugged. It all felt beyond my control. Sure, go ahead. Sell whatever you like. I don't think I can stop any of this. I'm just the mom here.

An hour later, he returned to the kitchen, head slumped down Charlie Brown style, shoulders low, his plate of goodies still full.

"What'cha got there, son?" I asked.

"Mom, I told him not to do it!" the oldest interjected. "They're just yucky. I said no one would want them."

I turned back to the sad kid. "What are they? What did you make?"

"Mom," the oldest insisted, "he never even tried them!"

"Fine," called the seller. "Fine!" and he popped one in his mouth. He instantly spit it out. At this point I walked over to investigate. "This is bad, Mom! Really bad! It's funny. I thought chocolate covered dill pickle slices rolled in sugar would be good! But they're not!"

The answer to  your question is no. I did not try one. >shrug< I try to be a good mom, but there are places even moms can't go.

I guess the lesson we discussed after the strawberry success (as we recalled the pickle failure) that night at dinner was the importance of providing a product your customers want. There's probably an application to that in writing. It's why I'll probably never write Misery Memoir. Anybody who reads my stuff expects cotton candy, not pickles, with or without chocolate and granulated sugar. (Although I personally LOVE dill pickles. The real ones, not the literary ones.)

So, now for the RECIPE!

KOKO KRISP

1/2 cup butter

1 pkg mini marshmallows

1 tsp vanilla

8-10 cups corn flakes

1/2 cup mini chocolate chips

Melt butter in large pot. Add marshmallows and stir over medium heat until melted. Remove from heat. Add vanilla. Add flakes. Stir well. Sprinkle on chips and fold in, trying not to over melt them. Press into greased 9x13 pan. Mmmm!

Spring Break. Time for Gingerbread.

What is it about burnt peanuts? What could make something sooooo good? I love them. I can't stop thinking about them. And they look so weird. Hmm. I don't get it. Maybe it's that crispy bumpy red outer layer that houses the sweet chewy inner layer that houses the yummy peanut?

I once wrote a children's book about peanuts. I wonder where that is...

But anyway, the burnt peanuts worked great on the gingerbread houses my kids made today. My six-year-old used one atop a dab of green frosting that looked like an ivy leaf. Holly and ivy--cool. Yeah, yeah, I know it's March. Spring break, in fact. And this is why we finally have time to get to this crafty project.

In the after-Christmas clearance I found this gem. It was not just a gingerbread house. It was a gingerbread village. That meant there were five tiny gingerbread houses, one for each of my kids. It came with frosting and (according to the outside of the box) "LOTS OF CANDY!"

Which I, naturally, didn't believe.

"Lots of candy" is in the eye of the beholder. Without even glancing inside I made a backup plan and bought the 50-cent bags of Sather's candies at the grocery store: licorice laces (love them!), burnt peanuts (crave them!), Good n Plenty (generic), gumdrops (don't love them but have to have them for gingerbread decorating purposes.) Thus armed, I felt ready for the challenge! (I view all craft projects as a challenge. Bless the hearts of those women who view them as relaxation. It will never be me.)

So we gathered everyone around, thanked them for doing their enormous list of jobs for which this activity served as a reward, and broke out the kit. Each kid picked their favorite little building--a toy store, a regular house, a gabled house, a bakery, something else--and got going.

It would have been fine. It might have even been fun, except I miscalculated. Instead of buying backup candy, I should have bought backup frosting. After several months on various shelves, that stuff had turned from malleable to crusty. Imagine~in March! Shouldn't frosting be more dependable than that?

Our houses didn't look nearly this good.

Yeah, I could have whipped out my powdered sugar and butter and made another batch, but instead I made them muddle through in crustiness, and the houses kept falling down every time they pressed a Spree onto the roof. There were some tears, and growls of frustration not a few.

Eventually I distracted them by taking them to the park.

I guess the lesson is that some things are better done sooner than later. I'm sure this applies to writing. For me it probably best applies to journal writing. Write while the emotion still tingles, while the details and feeling are still fresh. Journaling can be a great source of datamining for future writing. I don't necessarily have to write about my own experiences, but when I have a character who needs to feel a certain emotion, I can dig through the journals and find a time when I felt depressed or elated or incensed. Then I can more accurately infuse the character with the emotion.

Girls Day Out! Guess where.

My husband took my boys off to the mountain today, so the girls and I had a GIRLS DAY. I'll give you three guesses where we went.

RIGHT! CANDY STORE!

To her credit, my 3 year old requested it. In our little town there's an old Sonic drive in converted into a candy shop, and we passed it this morning and she went into palpitations. "Please, Mommy! Please can we go to the Lollipop Shop right now?"

It was 7:15 a.m.  Now, that's a girl after my own heart.

The trip (with her sisters) eventually happened right after lunch, and I let the girls pick any candy they chose, although I think I would've vetoed anything that cost over $2. The older two took it very seriously, poring over their options, and eventually ended up with King Candy Necklaces. Those would be the same as regular candy necklaces (the kind with smarties on an elastic string) -- only bigger.

The 3 year old was less methodical. We opened the door to the store. She raced directly for the candy lipsticks that were in a big glass fishbowl, and snatched out a pink one. Less than five seconds flat from door to counter. Very smooth. 26 cents. Cool.

Me, it took all my will power not to get a set of wax lips (or wax fangs). And the Uno bar--my favorite of all time! It's like fluffy chocolate-infused lard covered in chocolate and with flecks of delicious mystery texture in it. LOVE in a SILVER WRAPPER.

I didn't eat it. I think the Easter candy did me in last week.

And on writing? I'm still editing. Editing. Is. Pain.

PLOTTING--a tutorial (PLUS a big complaint about Cracker Jack)

I recently got a question from an aspiring author. She had a question many of us have when we are trying to complete a novel:

"I know the beginning, and I have some of it written; and I know the end of the book. It's the getting from here to there that I'm having trouble with."

She told me she knew her characters inside and out, she knew what they'd do in any given situation, and the story idea was compelling, but she was stuck!

How many times have we run up against this dilemma? We've got an idea of whose story we're telling and about their happy ending, but what happens to them along the way? What fills up the middle 2/3 of the book?

Great question!

And....I think I have an answer. Ta da~Here are my thoughts:

First off, we need to know what our character wants. If, like the author said, she knew that character inside and out, she would know what s/he wanted more than anything. The thing the main character wants more than anything IS the story. Desire drives every good story.

Second, we need to discover what stands between the main character and her/his desire or goal. Make a huge list. Make the list of possible obstacles exhaustive. Delve into the preposterous. Go for the obvious, and then go beyond. Ask yourself, "What's the worst thing that could happen to my main character?" and then ratchet it up.

Once you have that list, whittle it down to (about) your top 10 favorite obstacles. Sometimes the more unexpected the better. Surprise the reader! We read to be surprised, and surprise delights us and keeps us turning pages.

Then, imagine that each one of these becomes a scene in that middle 2/3 of the book. Figure out all the ins and outs of what could happen to the character when that obstacle arises. Make things really tough on the character. Imagine what all the possible range of emotions would be for the character when the obstacle arises. That's the reaction. Then, get the character moving toward overcoming it. Show how the character obliterates the obstacle. This gives the readers a chance to cheer. Then, hit us with the next obstacle--and end the scene with a cliffhanger.

Line up the obstacles in a crescendo. Arrange and rearrange them until the obstacles are paced just right. Then plop them down. Write the scenes, flesh them out. In each scene, as the character encounters and overcomes each obstacle, the ideal is if that obstacle serves to "reveal character"--to give the readers a further glimpse into what that hero is like on the inside. So...when you're choosing obstacles from your exhaustive list of possibilities, try to make the obstacles different enough that they'll expose a different facet of the hero/ine's character.

The final obstacle should be the worst. It should propel the main character into the crisis and the final showdown that leads to the triumphant ending.

It's okay to have lighthearted things along the way, but conflict reveals character, and drives plot, which is character. Character is plot.

Right now I have three or four characters in my brain. They are barely on paper, just a page or two, and I'm trying to decide which one needs to have his/her story told next. I keep thinking of it this way: I know this character. This character has a story, and it HAS to be his story. With the traits he has, the story really only has one possible plot. This is HIS story.

I'm not sure that makes sense. Maybe not. But I know what I mean, and I think I know what will happen to millionaire gone bust Ivan Potts (this oddball character in my head who keeps bothering me) when he makes this life-changing decision to take his friend Nils Jacoby up on his offer to go to England and start over after his (latest) bankruptcy. Ivan's story needs to be told soon. What's his happy ending? I think I know--and of course it involves finding love--and now I have to discover out what stands between him and his happily ever after.

This process can be really fun--creative crack. Er, Cracker Jack. Rarely in the novel-writing process is there such a rush as when brainstorming the middle section. I crack myself up. My husband is good for a few insane ideas. In fact, one of my favorite obstacles to happiness for my main character Susannah Hapsburg in Delicious Conversation came from my husband: the legacy Galapagos tortoise once owned by Charles Darwin himself.

When considering what obstacles to throw at the story people, it helps to really know them. Take their character traits into consideration. What do they love, hate, fear? These emotions are huge clues for knowing what to throw into their paths.

So. That's long enough for now.

I'm boiling all of this down from several books I've studied, conferences I've been to, etc. I think most of it probably comes from James Scott Bell and James N. Frey, which I've mentioned umpteen times on this blog. So, check those out for a more comprehensive study of the topic.

Speaking of Cracker Jack... mmm. I love that stuff. I love the popcorn, totally love the caramely crispiness of it, how it crackles in my mouth and tastes kind of burned and yet heavenly. However, the truly magical part of Cracker Jack is....

NO! Not the prize inside. (They've gotten disappointingly cheap. A foldy face of Thomas Jefferson? Uh, maybe not very exciting as a "prize." Whatever happened to the mini magnifying glasses, or even a butterfly stick-on tattoo? Sigh. Things just aren't like the good old days of a mood ring.)

It's the peanuts. Mmm. The total immersion of each peanut half in the caramely crispiness of the coating. Now that's a thing for a heroine (me) to desire. Are we all the heroes of our own story? Me, I'm the heroine of my tale--that of a woman on a lifelong quest to eat as much candy as possible...what could possibly stand in my way?

An apology, Dickens, and how hubby slammed the Cadburys

First off, I must apologize for the mixed metaphor as title for my last blog post. I hope it bothers all my readers less than it bothers me. The truth is, I could go in and change it, but I choose to leave it there as a twisted form of "writer's punishment" for myself. Possibly as a motivator never to do it again. (Fodder and data-mining. One is food. One is mining. Honestly. I could have made an effort.)

So, I was reading (again) the beginning of A Tale of Two Cities the other day. I say "again" because I've read the beginning a LOT of times. I don't mean just the "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times" part. I mean the first three chapters. Much as I love Dickens, (and I seriously do love Dickens and many of his contemporaries), this words on the pages of this book begin to swirl before my very eyes. I love the movie, I love the characters, it's magnificent. I just get stuck somewhere about halfway through.

I WILL conquer it, however. Someday.

In the meantime, I will continue to reflect on this little gem of writerly insight from the beginning. Dickens muses at the beginning of chapter three to this effect:

"A wonderful fact of nature to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other."

He goes on, and waxes eloquent in expounding on this theme. I love it. You can read it here. I have reflected on this idea dozens of times, and probably mentioned it to YOU (if you and I speak on any kind of regular basis because I'm like that, repeating myself everywhere I go). Even someone I think I know very well, like my husband, or my sister, or my bestest friend, still houses secrets I will never know. The thoughts, dark and light, will only come to my knowledge if the person allows me in.

It's a gift God gives us.

And, a friend commented Saturday, "Plus, do we really know ourselves?"

This struck me. And suddenly I realized something about fiction, and why we love it, why we crave it, why we almost need it: fiction allows us a window into another person's soul.

The writer slits open the character and gives us a view of deep feelings, of motives, of fears, of doubts and misgivings, of anger, hate, jealousy, love, longing, despair. The list goes on. And the more expertly the author delivers the emotions, the greater the connection the reader will feel to it, and the more satisfying it will be. Perhaps this is because we long to understand others, or ourselves. The writer conveys a full banquet of emotions we ourselves have felt, and probably not expressed to anyone. It comes as a relief to us to recognize those same emotions lain bare in someone else, even someone fictional. It doesn't matter if it's fictional, because the more real the emotions, the more real the character is to the reader.

Readers read for character. Character revelation is plot. We feel a connection to a character, we're most likely going to read that book. The greater the connection, the faster we read the book. Period.

Connection. A glance at the secret inner workings of the soul. Sometimes the character expresses the feelings, and sometimes the author can convey emotion that the character himself cannot recognize honestly in himself. Both deliveries can be valid, if done well.

And now, I need a new delivery: another bag of Cadbury Mini-Eggs, if you please. The one I bought just over 24 hours ago is officially empty. I even shook the little candy shards left in the crevices into my hand and popped them in my mouth. Did I share with the children? Maybe one or two. When Gary tasted them, he disparaged them (is that the root of the term "dissed?") and was thereafter forbidden, even while we were watching Hulu retreads and mindlessly popping candy in our mouths. Instead, I tossed him mini Twix bars in pastel mylar wrappers.

I know, I know, I am leaving out important detail, as in how Gary slammed the Cadburys. (Shame on him!) It's not nice to repeat low gossip. But since it's about chocolate and not a *person*, fine. Fine! He said the chocolate wasn't quite right. It was of low quality. How DARE he!

He's a chocolate snob, though. And I'll love him through thick and thin(mint) of it all. So, I guess I need to go buy him a Dove Dark Chocolate Bunny that he can chip the ears off and leave melty shards (speaking of shards) of on my bedspread during Hulu marathons while I hog the Cadburys. But he better keep his mitts of them. They're mine.

The Candy Has Landed. And Magazines for Fodder and Data-mining

They're here! I feel like I should do that in that creepy movie child's voice.

Stopped by WalMart this morning for some dishwasher detergent and ZOINKS! Getting lined up in their cardboard crates on the holiday aisle ... Cadbury Mini Eggs.

I found myself singing, "It's the most wonderful time of the year."

When I mentioned to the lucky gal who was filling the shelves with the heavenly Eastery candy that I'd been looking forward to Easter candy since Valentine's Day, she said, "I'm glad it's here because it means the end of my candy-holiday season." Poor girl.

So, I bought just two bags today: a Cadbury, of course, and a bag of pastel mylar wrapped mini-Twix bars. I think I can hold off until 10:00 a.m. to break them out. I think.

If you live in my WalMart region you better get over there and get your own bags before I buy them all, though. It's a risk. I guess the reason I have to make the Easter candy announcement in the poltergeist voice is for me, I could go into a sugar coma at any time between now and the post-Easter clearance. But a coma of bliss!

It's the best, best of all the candy times of year.

New topic. And, no, I didn't make it until 10:00 before I ate the chocolate. I made it until 9:51.

My brother sent my 13 year old son a subscription to Auto Week magazine. My brother's a car guy. He bought a 1967 MG in high school and a parts machine and made one sweet cherry red convertible over the course of a few years. It still sits in his garage and I assume he takes it out for a spin now and then, as the father of four. It's great. One time we were driving to the local ski resort in it together, squished in with the skis and boots and 90 blankets and as we rounded an icy bend on the mountain road, MY DOOR FLEW OPEN. Holy smoke, I was almost the topping for a road kill snow cone. Glad that seat belt kept me inside the beloved rattletrap. Other memories...I'll save them for another day.

My son isn't a car guy (yet.) So in the meantime, I'm devouring the weekly updates on the Detroit Auto Show and what Bugatti is doing next. And Formula One racing. And a comparison between the Ford Focus and the Chevy Cruze. I eat it like candy!

This makes me think. Yeah, I'm probably never going to write a book about racing. (I heard there's a NASCAR imprint for Harlequin these days. Seriously.) Or about cars, even. But who knows? I do love it. I would never even have thought of it (even though its a lifelong mini-obsession) without the magazine showing up.

A few years ago I had some kind of frequent flyer miles that netted me no trips to Hawaii, but two magazine subscriptions, one of which was Frommer's Budget Travel. It was fantastic! I loved reading about the places, places I might never visit, but the writing made me feel like I'd been there. I ended up writing a few chapters of a novel set in one of the places I read about.

The point is, subscribing to a magazine on a topic you like might be a great way to spark a few ideas for  writing. Yes, there's magazine writing for cash and excitement, too (I took a class on that at a conference a while back.) But just for interest, and to broaden knowledge base, and to become more expert in an area, it can be a great option. I have an idea about a guy who gets roped into taking care of/restoring an English garden, so maybe I'll check out some good gardening magazines. Some people write YA and want a convincing voice. Check out some of the teen glamor magazines. They write for a specific audience and sell a LOT of those things. It's a great resource. Take advantage of it!

And while you're in the grocery store, pick up a bag of Cadbury Mini-Eggs. You'll be glad you did. Easter comes but once a year...

Editing Makes Me Fat

It's a good thing I'm writing a novel about a heavy guy because it makes me feel better about myself when I eat two peanut butter sandwiches while I'm editing.

Why do I need to eat more when I'm editing?

When I'm just writing a draft, I don't seem to chow like this. I don't seem to need to stop every 20 minutes and gaze at the contents of my cracker and cookie cupboard. Sure, I still love those Girl Scout Cookies creative-process-round and year round (if only we could get them year round I might not have to gorge myself on them mid-winter. It's that old fear my husband blames on being raised in a big family: get the food while it's there, every man for himself!)

So, is there a psychological difference between the creative phase (drafting the novel) and the deconstructive phase (chipping away at that draft)?

I think so.

Today I was looking back over some conference notes from last year and something Nancy E. Turner said jumped out at me:

"Write with your heart; edit with your head."

I think that might be it. When I'm writing that first gush of words, it's a total rush. I can get caught up in the excitement, lose track of time, get lost in the story.

Not so when editing. In editing, every few minutes I have to take a mental breather. It's tough! It's WORK. It's probably true that the difference between writing a novel and writing a good novel lies in the editing. Editing requires more thought, more care, more PAIN.

And, apparently, more Thin Mints.

Now, if only they made me Thin. False Advertising! For shame, you cute little girl scouts!

Rocket Candy and Rocketing Careers

This weekend I attended the ANWA Conference in Phoenix. Simply put, it was fantastic. So much good information, and so many great opportunities for the writers who attended.

It started off with a workshop given by the dynamic Elana Johnson, a query ninja and former blogger for querytracker.net.  She gave us a great tutorial and hands on help with queries and pitches. That girl is a firecracker. AND she has what looks like a killer dystopian YA novel coming out this summer: POSSESSION. I can't wait to get my hands on it. I really liked MATCHED, and Elana's book promises more of the same, but with an "angry-girl" angle. Good times.

Chris Stewart gave the keynote address. The comment I heard most in response to his presentation was, "Isn't he wonderful?" Yep. I'll give that an amen.

This year, the organizers invited two agents (national) and one editor (LDS.) Writers could sign up for a nine minute pitch their work to any of the three. In addition, they and the presenters hung around at the chocolate reception and during the classes and visited with conference attendees.

The other classes were great. I loved the songwriting class by Chava Cannon. Who knew all *that* went into writing a good song? Coool. Plus, a Barnes&Noble exec came and spoke about how YOU TOO can get your novel onto the shelves of your local BN. No, seriously. It's not that tricky.

But it's a different blog post. Later. Maybe tomorrow. I'll also be sharing some of the great info we were given in some of the other workshops.

Probably the most anticipated and dreaded and valuable aspect of the retreat was the PITCH SESSIONS. Covenant Communications editor Kirk Shaw came. What a stand up guy. Seriously. He's a credit to his company. I was just jumping for joy with quite a few of my friends who met with him and got requests for full manuscripts. Good stuff! I could see the doors opening for their writing careers and no doubt, some of those are going to ROCKET.

Speaking of rockets, I have to mention candy. But today, it's not edible. Eep. Not that I didn't eat waaaaay too much candy on this weekend trip, including the breakfast of champions: snack size Twix bars and three handfuls of Hot Tamales. Possibly not the breakfast of champions.

No, today I must mention Rocket Candy! My kids (four of them) have the science fair this week. Do you KNOW how many science projects that is? Naturally, I turned it over to my husband. "You're the scientist, sweetheart." That's kind of how it went.

Anyhow, we dropped eggs and Jell-O from the peak of our roof onto our driveway. We sprouted some pea seeds and bean seeds. We did a comparison between sprouting times of watermelon seeds in a cool room versus those on a heat-mat. (The heat mat seeds sprouted, window seeds didn't.) Gary had to buy a heat mat anyway.

The oldest boy, an aspiring aerospace engineer, built a rocket. His question was what kind of fuel works best for model rockets. He used regular model rocket engines he bought at the store. Then he made a putty-like thing called rocket candy. This consisted of saltpeter (which I had to buy at Safeway. Really.) and Karo syrup. Kind of Pepto pink, it was.

The last fuel was *actual space shuttle fuel.*

No, really.

When I asked Gary jokingly where he planned to get that, he said, "It's okay. I have to get some anyway."

WHO SAYS THAT?

It took a while, but it's now clear to me: YOU CAN GET ANYTHING ONLINE.

Space shuttle fuel can be purchased from Pocatello, Idaho.

Some people's husbands.

The rockets went up. All of them flew. The real space shuttle fuel caught a small area of the stubble in the field on fire. Four or five times. The rocket candy worked pretty well, but boy did it smoke. Just as my genius son predicted, the commercially produced engine flew the highest. Maybe that was a safe guess...But a smart one. I'd hedge my bets against my own ability to make a rocket fuel on my stovetop or in my garage. Smart kid.

Querying Querying

It's time to dust off the old query-writing hat. It's been a while since I donned it. About a decade. And times have changed. Query expectations have changed. Heck, even submission systems have changed. Email queries are the norm for a lot of agencies now? Cool. And bad at the same time. How easy is it for an agency screener to hit the delete key?

So, I have gone over mine a zillion times. It's starting to come together. It has a bit of the flavor of the tone I use in my novel; the voice of the query seems to be a mirror of the book. There's a hint of the conflict, a hook at the beginning, a bit about the character's growth.

Today I ran across this great post by Natalie Whipple. She has a fantastic writing blog. Highly recommend. Here's a link to her post called, "Don't Knock the Query."

She's right. I find myself hating the query. Why can't the agent or the publisher just take the time to read my whole novel and make a judgment? Come on! We writers went to all the trouble to pen these tomes--doesn't the world owe it to us to at least read the things?

Ha. Well, ha. Isn't that a bit egotistical? I regularly put down books that don't catch my interest with a back cover blurb or a good first page. I'm not a last page peeker (I know some people are, and I guess that's your right, even though it's kind of wrong, unwrapping the presents on Christmas Eve and then rewrapping them and acting surprised on Christmas morning.) A lot of books simply don't appeal.

So, in a way, it's kind of merciful that agents only ask for a query initially. How much forestry would be wasted (and I do mean wasted, as agencies just don't recycle. Sorry. That's what I'm told. Not that I'm a big recycler myself. Guilty! Guilty as charged!) if we all just printed out every single word of our 90,000 word novels and sent them off in piddly little mail trucks to the upper West Side of Manhattan? Gasoline alone...think of it. $3.35 a gallon around here this morning, baby.

It preserves resources and time to simply send the query. Either just a single page and a SASE goes, or else a blip of electricity, into their inboxes. I think we can trust these people to know if the concept appeals to them or not after a few minutes, as much as we trust ourselves to know whether a novel in the library or bookstore will *not* be our cup of tea at first glance.

So, with that, I'm going to keep honing the query, make it match the story as well as possible and so it will give my super duper chosen agent a chance to decide based on what's really there. That's the goal, folks. Not to write the best query every, in particular, but the best query for your book. It's gotta match.

Speaking of things needing to match, there's got to be a matching candy somewhere. Probably my favorite way to have a matching candy would be to have two of the same candy. Or three. Just a good candy in multiples.

However, one matchy-matchy treat stands out: the Twin Pop. Sweet, cool, fruity (unless you get a root beer flavored pop) and oh-so-refreshing. I have about 15 of them in my freezers right now. The red kind, which I assume is cherry, isn't quite as good as the blue. Who knows what flavor blue is. Does it really matter? Some days -- days when I don't care if I have what looks like a purple tattoo around the inner level of my lips -- grape is the only flavor that satisfies.

Luckily I live in a warm climate, and be it mid-February or not, a twin pop is almost always in order. One caveat: banana. Not a fave. Luckily, it is the favorite of two of my children, so no pops live in vain! Long live the twin pop! Ooh, once I saw a "How it's Made" episode that showed the life cycle of the Twin Pop. Very interesting. I bet you could youtube that if you really wanted to know. I need to get back to my query, or I'd dig around and post a link for y'all.

Happy querying and popping!

Clean Carpets and Clean Manuscripts

Last week I did what I dread. I pulled out my carpet shampoo-er. It was time. Long past time.

To get the dirty deed done, first I had to move a ton of furniture into the garage and to the side of the room. This involved silk plants and magazine racks and the rocking chair and a couple of lamps and the little bookcase with all the kids' piano books. And the kitchen table and chairs. And tipping the loveseat up on its side and balancing it against the window casing. And shoving the long couch up against the front window where no one walks or drags trikes or sleds or rollerskates so the carpet is still relatively bluish there, as opposed to the brown-grey-blue of the heavy traffic areas.

In this house, with these feet, everywhere is a heavy traffic area.

Then, it was the vacuums. I make that plural because the big one, my Hoover Platinum, vacuums the middle of the floor, and the hand-held with the wand gets the edges of the room. Man, that thing has a loud, high-pitched wail. Good thing I put in earplugs, or I'd be sitting here enjoying the strains of tinnitis instead of Phineas and Ferb being piped in from the other room.

How long does it usually take me to vacuum? Like 15 minutes? More or less. This time, I think I clocked in at three times that long. There was just that much dirt lurking. Ground in cold cereal, thanks to the little girls doll tea parties. Hey, I had a bad year for housework. It happens.

FINALLY, I pulled out Old Reliable. Er, Old Soapy. Or whatever it is I'm going to name that shampoo-carpeter (as my sister calls it.) The Hoover SteamVac. It's pretty heavy. And it's loud. And it requires vacuuming at a snail's pace with something twice as cumbersome as my regular vac.

It took me five (count 'em five) hours of push and pull to get through the living room and hallway. Forget the bedrooms. Every time I emptied that rinse basin, I cringed. How could that black sludge be all around us?

WE ARE LIVING IN SQUALOR.

When I finished, I couldn't just stop. The black sludge sickened me. I had to make another pass. Against the better judgment of my impending back-pain, I got up my courage and made another pass.

Guess what. No black sludge! Yes!

Sure, there was brown sludge this time, but it wasn't black this time. A little cleaner! So happy.

After that pass, I realized it could use another rinse. However, I'd been at it for hours, and all I could do was crawl into the passenger seat of our suburban and say, "Sweetie, can you, just, please, uh, drive me through McDonalds. Need. Hamburger. Need. Yogurt. Please?"

My sweetie did. Those yogurt parfaits deserve a place in the candy pantheon. I love them.

So. My point is this. The first time I went through my manuscript to edit it, it made me sick. Pulling out black sludge. Chunks of goo. Bad, bad, murky nasty. It made me want to quit.

But I kept at it. The second time, it was more like brown sludge. Less goo. More clarity. And the third time, even cleaner.

Now, on my umpteenth read-through, it's a lot cleaner. My critique pals are pointing out the typos, rather than the glaring plot errors, for the most part, and it's encouraging.

So, to get a clean draft, it might take a lot of passes to get there. It's worth it! Here at home my carpet is almost blue everywhere again. I walk through and it's spongy fluff, rather than brownish matted ick. What a change! I feel the same way about my manuscript. With every pass it improves.

Of course, like with any analogy, it can be taken too far. The wash cycle can actually start wearing away at the fibers of the carpet, and likewise over-editing can start chipping away at the charm and life of the story. Be gentle and selective and careful.

Now. Enough of that. I have been thinking about that yogurt parfait and how a lot of things ought to be included in the Candy Family. How did that biology chant go? Kingdom, phylum, class...Who knows. Anyhow, it's my firm belief that many cold cereals belong firmly in in the candy family. For sure any that list its first ingredient as sugar just flashes "candy!" at you. Apple Jacks? Candy. Froot Loops? Totally candy. Those taste a lot like Skittles to me. Sugar Smacks...burned candy. What about anything that is half sugar-coated oat flour and half marshmallows? Undeniably candy.

Bill Cosby had a skit about fatherhood where his kids were chanting something about chocolate cake for breakfast. Not a bad idea. But candy/cereal -- just a good substitute for that on days we don't feel like baking before the morning meal.

Bring on the sugar. I'll have mine in honey nut flavor today, please.

Pitching the Woo-- and rejoicing in Brown Wednesday

So, it's time for me to take it to the next level. I have to take what I call "my novel" and pitch it to an agent. That's the next step (after my final rewrites, which I'm procrastinating until I get a couple more critiques back and see if there's a consensus about which spots need revamps) after finishing the book.

Another option, of course, would be querying agents. But I'm lucky enough to be attending an upcoming conference at the end of this month, where several agents are taking appointments with writers, and heck yeah, I signed up to meet them. It sounds SUPER DUPER STRESSFUL, but it also sounds like a great way to bypass the slushpile. I mean, it's kind of like getting junk mail versus getting a letter from a friend. Which one are you going to read first -- if at all. If I were an agent and I could (at least vaguely) put a face to a name, I'd be waaaay more inclined to read a submission (especially a requested one) than one from a stranger. Just seems like human nature to me.

That said, I know it's still not a guarantee that my pages will get requested by an agent from this conference. I am okay with that, totally. The topic will be kind of like what Bob said in "What About Bob" when he spoke of Neil Diamond. "There are two types of people in this world...those who love Neil Diamond and those who can't stand him." I'm paraphrasing. But, still, my book's subject is definitely in the realm of "no middle ground" on whether a person/agent/reader will be interested or repulsed.

So, I'm getting all psyched up for the pitch. Trying not to psych out. Trying not to pitch the breakfast I just ate. Or the lunch. Or the entire pan of "brownie edges" I just ate before delivering the heart-shaped brownies to the Kindergarten class this morning. Don't you love the edges? Well, I hope some people don't so there are more for me. Anyhow, the pitch-practice begins. I have to write a pitch that reflects the tone of the book, that has my book's "voice" in it, that is exciting and tantalizing. I hope that can happen. It could turn out pretty lame. And unprofessional, and silly. But...that may be the TONE OF THE BOOK. So, hey.

On the note of Bob, I think I must mention corn. And on the cob. Is this corn hand-shucked? There has been a lot of rumbling about corn syrup and high fructose corn syrup lately and how bad it is for you. In fact, I just sipped (don't tell my husband. If you're blog-stalking me, Gary, forgive me!) a Pepsi-Throwback, the kind that is made with *real* sugar instead of the high fructose corn syrup. I didn't get a caffeine rush, as evidenced by my immediate snooze through the episode of Chuck we watched on Hulu, so it wasn't a LOT of Pepsi Throwback. (Have you heard the recent study about why women fall asleep watching TV? I'm not alone.)

I'll make a true confession. It's all sweet to me. I'll take it. Corn is getting bad rap. I mean, it's all probably bad for us, let's be honest. Whether it's empty calories from sugarcane or sugarbeets or corn or whatever. It's never going to be as healthy for us as spinach or celery or even plums. But those nutritious things will probably never give me that euphoric rush I can get from a nice big handful of cherry jelly hearts (I love Valentine's Day candy.)

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With V-Day in mind...I just have to note that I love it when they refer to the day after Valentine's Day as "Brown Wednesday." All the chocolate goes on sale. Big nod to whomever thought of that moniker. BUT the bad news is...I went to my local Mao-Nart (we call it that around this house for various reasons) and found the shelves all but EMPTY. You all bought your chocolate by the crateload early this year, folks, and there's going to be nothing left on the big morning-after sales. Maybe at the grocery store. Safeway is always a good place for Brown Wednesday. I think I'll head over there.

Value Added Writing & SnackPack Eat-a-thon

    A couple of years ago, my sister (a doctor of education) and I were talking about our kids' picture books. She mentioned liking one in particular because she didn't "feel dumber when she finished reading it." I've thought about that a lot since then. There are so many kid-books that way--books where no author is even listed on the spine or cover. Books no one dares take credit for. Books that deplete the brain mass in my head.

    Then, on the other hand, there's the beautiful, mind expanding, soul-lifting book. The book that makes the heart sing. What's the difference? What's the magic?

    If I knew that, I'd be cranking out magical books every day.

    I haven't got it pinpointed, but I do have one idea that keeps cropping up. It's the term "value added." Like the "bonus features" on the menu selections of your DVDs, sometimes a book has something besides the story to recommend itself. It's the thing that makes the reader come away *not* feeling dumber.

    Shakespeare said there's nothing new under the sun. Or, maybe that was Ecclesiastes even longer ago. Fact: plots get recycled--whether the author realizes it or not. Most plots have been done before. The thing that makes a story new or different is the "value added."

    Here are some ideas to add value to our writing.

    1) Take the reader somewhere new. Describe an exotic setting, whether real or imagined, and make it vivid enough that the reader feels like he or she has really been there. It doesn't have to be a fantasy world or a "foreign land." The movie Napoleon Dynamite made tiny Preston, Idaho, my dear homeland, seem alive and exotic.

    2) Introduce the reader to someone new. Describe at least one character with enough precision that the reader feels like s/he would recognize the character on the street. This was the author's gift in Twilight. Readers knew Edward and Jacob well enough they'd buy t-shirts defending one or the other.

    3) Teach the reader something new. Describe a process or a situation in your story well enough that the reader feels like s/he can now educate his or her friends on the topic. Legalese is what makes Grisham fun. Make the reader feel smarter in *some* aspect. It doesn't have to take up five pages. It could just be a tidbit, like how to whip cream perfectly, or how to dispose of used oil after an oil change. It just needs to be there, adding to the brains and not depleting them. (Make sure you know the info well, or you may anger well-informed readers who already like the topic.)

    Being writers inherently means we think we have something to say that someone else ought to want to hear. It's hinting at the edges of what my husband and I call the "superiority complex." And readers are fine with that. They come to be told a story. They come to be educated. They come to be swept away. Take the responsibility seriously and we'll win repeat customers of our blogs, our novels, our newsletters, our memoirs.


Meanwhile, I'm going to think about what kinds of candy add value to my life. That's easy. Pretty much all kinds of candy. And my category for candy is broad. It includes cake. And pudding. And ice cream. And chocolate of all varieties.

Right now the candy in my cupboard that calls to me is the delicious Snack Pack pudding.  Back in the old days, this pudding came in a can. The can had a pop top. If you opened the can just right the lid would bend into a perfect concave to use as a spoon. (I guess that meant the package had added value.) However, if an 11 year old girl was not careful, she could slice open the edges of her mouth with the sharp metal of the pseudo-spoon. Oh, well. Blood just gave the chocolate pudding a salty edge.

I remember sitting at the sixth grade "read-a-thon" where our teacher gave us the whole afternoon to laze about on rugs surrounded by reading materials and treats. Some kids were lucky and brought Snack Pack puddings. Unlucky kids had spongy homemade banana cookies. My mom usually sent red and black licorice for me. The coolest kids got Pringles.

Not a lot of reading got done. More like it should have been called an "eat-a-thon." But that kind of situation is a bit of a fantasy for me still: lying about surrounded by reading materials and foods of my choice. Honestly, tell me: what could be better?

Egypt and Cookies and Fluff Writing

I have a cousin in Egypt.

That matters on a day like today. I can't stop thinking about her and what's going on and how tense things are right now. So many prayers for her safety, and the safety of her loved ones there, and, well, everyone there. Sigh.

It's been over 20 years she has lived there, and I've never felt anything but nervous about the whole thing. But she is married to an Egyptian man, a good man. Her daughter has kept us posted about what's going on with her at this tense time.

This afternoon I got an email that kind of shocked me, and it's relevant to the point I've been trying to make with this blog all along. In it, my cousin's daughter told me that Phyllis spent the day yesterday reading my book, Delicious Conversation, to keep her mind off what's going on in Egypt, and that now she is wanting to make "Grandma's Chocolate Chip Cookies," one of the recipes included in the book.

When I read that, I choked up. It shocked me that such a fluffy, pointless, cotton-candy nothing of a story could be just the medicine someone needed at such a time as this. I wish I could give copies to every woman in stress there.

So you can take all your Pulitzer Prizes. I'll just be thankful to the Lord that my cousin is safe and well and taking comfort in the gauzy sweetness of silly writing. It's a blessing -- so big I can't even count it.