Friday Obsessions: A Girl Who Reads, No Envy, No Fear, and Fountain Sodas

Happy Friday, sweet readers! It's been another week of lows sprinkled with a couple of sparkly little highs in the query trenches. As I say, it could always be worse.

Writing itself is going pretty slowly, I'm sad to say, and I'm looking for a voice-finding breakthrough to strike me this weekend. When I was drafting One, Merrin's voice just flowed, and this one....? I know it's in there somewhere, I just have to figure out how to get it from my brain into my heart, you know? My CPs have had some suggestions, and I'd love to hear yours- at this point, I'll try anything.

Anyway, that's the update. Without further ado...

Everything I was obsessed with this week.
Because I know you want to know.

1. Spoken Poet Ryan Grist on a Girl Who Reads. (Warning: Begins and ends with a couple of slightly objectionable words for body parts. WORTH IT.)

I don't normally go for spoken word poetry, but this is AMAZING. Might make me reconsider. I know it's annoying when people say "just watch the video," but...just watch it. (I've hit "replay" at least 30 times this week.) Yum.



2. Joshua Radin's No Envy, No Fear. Just another calming song for another tumultuous week. Plus, I like the idea - "No envy, no fear." A good goal for a writer, even if I'm far, far from it.




3. Fountain Soda. 
Oh, fountain soda. Pop from a can is one thing, but there's something about the way the fizzies diminish in just the right way and the ice so perfectly chills it that makes me OBSESSED with fountain soda. I don't know if it's a blame-the-fetus thing, but I'm craving it even more now. Especially the ice. Lots and lots of ice.



And now a bit from the WiP.  You might be able to tell what a struggle it's been...*shrugs.* I think I'm going to try some writing exercises this weekend (guh. I've never needed exercises) to get the juices flowing.

In the meantime, meet Princess Laila. She's Havah's big sister, and they're getting ready to walk the carpet into a club for Laila's eighteenth birthday extravaganza.

“Besides,” Laila said, “With as often as you sneak away, you should be wearing an EMP too.”

Havah snapped her head around to look out the window again before Laila could see the flood of red to her cheeks.

“Who are you seeing, anyway, when your bionguards lose you? What are you doing?”

Havah was quiet.

“It had better not be a boy. Mother would kill you.”

“What does Mother care about me and parties? Or boys, for that matter? If there were any. And what do you care? We all know you’re the one everyone’s watching.”

“Havah,” Laila’s voice became softer. “I may be the next Queen, but I’ll always need you.”

Havah turned back, blush gone, and smiled. She leaned in, reaching for Laila’s hand and threading their fingers together. “I know.” Then she wiggled her eyebrows, darted her face toward Laila’s, and smacked a big wet kiss on her cheek.

“Havah!” Laila screeched. She moved to swipe at her cheek but stopped her hand at the last moment, patting gently at it instead. “My paint!” She glared at Havah but didn’t pull her hand away.

Havah giggled. “You’re lovely, Lai. Paint or not, and you know it.”

Laila glared. “Princess Laila once we’re outside. Princess Havah.”

“Of course, LaiLai. Will you calm down? Let’s just have fun. Okay? Party time, birthday girl.”

The Next Generation of Readers

I was one of those kids. You know the ones - who sit in the shade with their noses buried in books, when they're "supposed to be" racing their bikes up and down the street with the other neighbor kids. Or the ones who take books along with them to slumber parties. Or snuck one under the table when it was supposed to be family dinner time.

Pretty much nothing could yank my nose out of a book once I'd started reading. I was about eight or nine when I first remember becoming completely obsessed. It was via a copy of Little Women. I don't know if it was the whining little sister I identified with, or the dashing Laurie I already swooned over, but I have vivid memories of sitting in a corner and dropping tears on the pages of my mother's copy when Beth died.

Even as a child, I was a voracious reader, and so I needed more books - LOTS more books. At nine, Ramona was already a bit young for me, but I read all those. Then I plowed through Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret? But after that, for some reason, all I really remember reading was The Babysitter's Club (ad nauseum) and Sweet Valley High (though I never did like those girls.)

For a couple of years, for some reason, that was pretty much all I found. One bright shining spot was A Wrinkle in Time - oh, goodness, I think ten-year-old-me still has a girl crush on Meg Murry - and another less sparkly one is The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe.

By the fifth grade, I was getting pretty tired of EVEN MORE Babysitter's Club (obviously, I was never that fond of children.) But still, every once in awhile a book would come along, now for class reading, that would make me re-obsessed with reading. The Devil's Arithmetic and The Giver ignited my love for dystopian (yes, I know The Devil's Arithmetic is Holocaust, but still dystopian, no? Not trying to diminish it, obviously.), but when no more of those books for children could be dug up for me in the library, it was a huge bummer. I remember being so frustrated about having to pick up those serials again.

But somehow, just at the right moment, my fifth grade teacher got it. She knew I had to read and she knew it had to be something good. I'll never forget the day she handed me a copy of Jane Eyre.

I. Was. In. Love.

And it was about more than Jane and Mr. Rochester, although they remain my absolute favorites to this day. I could read grown-up books! And, even better, my teacher thought I was smart enough to read grown-up books! I read Fahrenheit 451 and 1984. I read Pride and Prejudice, Emma, Sense and Sensibility, and Persuasion (oh, Captain Wentworth!) I tackled A Tale of Two Cities and The Count of Monte Cristo.

I was reading about love! And horror! And social politics! And corrupt government! And starcrossed love! And war! And revenge! It was absolutely amazing. (I thank God every day for that teacher) And even though it was all in grown-up books, I understood everything. I loved it. And I wanted more.

This experience of being a mildly precocious reader has left me with a couple of realizations as an adult:

Kids can read books written for adults, and they should be able to,
but
They shouldn't HAVE to.

When I look at my kids, I want them to be able to get their hands on books that are written for them, that feature protagonists with whom they can identify, but that are smart enough to challenge their hungry little minds. I want the books to take them to new worlds, make them believe in impossible things, and tug at their heartstrings. I want the books to acquaint them with sadness and fear, and tough situations. I want them to drop tears on the pages of a paperback (or reader screen) because the words on the page are so powerful that they've just had their little hearts broken.

In the book-publishing biz, we hear a lot of talk about what will sell. I guess that I wish, twenty years ago, there had been a lot less talk about what would sell and a lot more talk about what would do all that stuff I just said above. Maybe then there would have been more Middle Grade Count of Monte Cristo on the shelves in front of me, to balance out all the Babysitter's Club.

So. Today, I thought we'd do a bit of cheerleading.
Or, you know, copious cheerleading. I love cheerleading.

I, for one, am looking forward to hoarding some of my YA favorites for my kids to read. Here are my top three loves for that particular purpose right now:

Break by Hannah Moskowitz
Possession by Elana Johnson
Graceling by Kristin Cashore

All very different - Contemporary, Sci-Fi/Dystopian, Fantasy. Wildly divergent protagonists on all levels. Some have swearing, some have sex, all have kissing. All are multi-layered and ripe for wonder, excitement, discussion, and obsession. There's something about Hannah's books in particular that are dear to my mother's heart, because I can shove them in my kids' faces and say, "See? Teenagers can write important things, too."

Here's where my CPs come in. (of course!) We're all on the tough road to publishing, and some of us know that the books we're querying now might not make it (chv'sh ptuh ptuh ptuh). But I'll be darned if my kids aren't going to have the chance to read about conflicted Kelsey, spitfire Maggie (and dreamy Tommy,) brave Grey, smart Avery, stubborn Tam and Izuko, and schizophrenic Alex.


It is at this point that I take a moment to reflect on my gratitude for e-readers. 

At the end of the day, I really don't care what sells. I want to pass stories about bravery, hope, and believing in oneself to my kids and all their cutie friends. Because even if they never get published by a Big Sixer, they're the stories I wish I could have had twenty years ago. Maybe, just maybe, one of them will make one of my kids fall in love with reading.

And I'm sure they'll never, ever forget it.


Your turn, sweet readers! What books made you fall in love with reading? Which ones do you wish were around when you were a young reader? And which ones are you looking forward to passing on to kids you know?

Un-Invincible

So, you know how I have three kids, a part time job, a husband, a household, and a fetus to manage? And how I can still write a book in like six months? And how people think I'm nuts?

Well, the only way that works is that I tell myself that it's something I have to do. I have to make the time for it. I have to wake up at four in the morning and type chapters on my phone and quit whining and just write the darn book. And there's no such thing as an obstacle so huge as to make me stop working on a project, especially during those precious weekend hours.

It's true. There is no obstacle so huge as that. There is, however, one small enough.


The stomach virus.

Ewwww.

Yep! Caught a DISGUSTING stomach virus this weekend and spent all of Sunday in bed, either at home with a bucket or at the hospital with an IV stuck in my arm.

 I even got all excited because I was going to the hospital for a few hours, where it's Calm! and Quiet! I merrily packed up my Kindle and netbook (well, as merrily as one can with extreme nausea,) and a ton of cords. Turns out, though, that the nurses can just stick something in your IV without telling you that it'll knock you out STONE COLD FOR SIXTEEN HOURS. Which is what happened to me.

Which means I didn't get anything done, writing-wise, this weekend. Also, my house exploded with laundry and kitchen debris.  

So, yeah. I'm not invincible. And I've been put in my place, by a freaky microscopic organism. I've been SCHOOLED, that sometimes I can't write and sometimes that's not because I'm lazy or whining.

On the upside - I'm really glad I had the experience of being knocked unconscious with drugs, because I need to do that to Havah anyway, and now I'll know exactly how it feels. (See? Can't stop my brain. For the most part.)

What about you, sweet readers? When's a time that you've been put in your place, writing-wise or otherwise?

Friday Obsessions: Imogen Heap, Pinterest, and Spiderman Trailer

Well, friends, it's been a tough week in the querying trenches. (Which, as my CPs know, is a serious understatement.) So, I'm just gonna pretend the trenches don't exist. Manuscript? What manuscript?

Please join me in going to my happy place, as I bring you....

Everything I was obsessed with this week.
Because I know you want to know.


1. Imogen Heap's "Hide and Seek"
So, someone suggested this song as a calming thing for me last week. If you just sit back, crank it up, and let the sounds wash over you, it's perfect for calm. But the lyrics are quite sad.
I realized that it fits perfectly with a certain sequence of scenes in the WiP, and so I've begun to associate it with that mood - that of a tragic inevitability. Awesome.



2. Pinterest
Not so much an obsession as a happy discovery at the outset of this WiP. When I write, I'm really inspired by visuals, and so Pinterest is AMAZING - You can pin All The Pretty Things up on one board! That you can access anywhere! It basically lets me paint the scenes of my WiP for reference any time, anywhere, and has already been invaluable.

(Check out my board for Chrome. Awesome.)

3. The Spiderman Trailer
I'm just psyched for this movie summer in general, but oh man oh man. Spiderman. The wit! The drama! ANDREW FREAKING GARFIELD. Ahem.

Just watch it. (Sorry. I can't find one without an annoying ad before it.)



Annnnnnd the WiP. I haven't done very much good work on it, so you know what that means. I need some tough love. If you can find it in your heart, leave some in the comments. Thanks. <3

(Meet Sarra. She's one of the Iver - the slave class that lives underground.)

“Nedda,” Sarra breathed, “Thank you.”

Nedda smiled wearily, and led her in to the tiny room, that held twenty small girls. They huddled around bowls that fit in the palms of their hands, focused on getting every last morsel into their mouths. One of the littlest ones, Brona, who must have been about four years old now, squealed, jumped up, and threw her arms around Sarra’s waist. Nedda caught her by the arm, leaned down. “Shah, Bron. We don’t want anyone to hear.”

The girl looked down, blinking back tears. Sarra crouched down to her eye level, feeling soft and full of love for the first time in days. Weeks, maybe. She kissed each of Brona’s cheeks and hugged her tight. The girl’s body relaxed against her, then clung to her as she slung her arms around Sarra’s neck.

Sarra couldn’t deny the rush of pleasure the girl’s excitement to see her brought. The poor sweetheart had lived her entire life in the cold, cramped quarters, and if she could still find warmth in her heart, Sarra wasn't about to deny her that. She’d never shush one of the little ones for showing love. 
Sometimes, she thought that love for each other was all the Iver had left. Especially these girls, who held the Ivers’ future in their hands, though their existence was a crime.

What Tugs You Down the Writing Path?

Let's take a moment to put it all on the table.
We're so busy. So, so busy.
We all have so much stuff every day that we have to do besides writing.
It's insane that we're writing at all, really.

Here's my stuff:
Three preschoolers to take to and pick up from school, feed, clean, clothe, etc. Every day.
A house to keep non-condemnable. (Low standards!)
A husband to look at and speak to once in awhile.
30-35 hour a week day job.
Extended family visiting 1/2 of weekends.
Theoretically, working out. (I'm hosting a fetus right now so I give myself a break till May.)
I should sleep? Probably?

Now. I'm grateful for these things. These things make up my life, one that I consider myself very lucky to lead. There could be a lot of extra, not-so-positive things thrown in the mix that I'm SO GRATEFUL are not there.

There's just one thing I know about all this. I have to fit writing in somewhere. HAVE TO.
For one simple reason - I'm a miserable beast when I don't.
(I've learned this through trial and error, and it's not pretty.)

But, especially for the unagented, it's really, crazily difficult to fit writing in. Where's our motivation? What are we really doing here, anyway? No one even wants to buy our stuff! (So it seems.) 

It's so ridiculous to spend our valuable time and energy writing something that'll never go anywhere, right? It's just a big old waste.

What business do we have tossing hot dogs and apple slices in our kids' general direction while staring at the laptop perched on the kitchen island, or depriving ourselves of sleep just to get an extra 200 words in? Who do we think we are, spending way too much money on a babysitter for two hours just to sneak in a bit more brainstorming? Or ignoring our classwork, or secretly rejoicing when our husbands announce they'll be on a boys' night out again?

Well. None, really. But if you're anything like me, you know you'll be miserable if you don't.

So, what pulls you down the path to get started? To keep going, till you've hit 75000 words (or whatever,) then to painstakingly edit, then to go through rounds and rounds of CPs/revisions/edits, then to cry over queries and synopses and rejections?

Well, for me, it's tough love, made up of equal doses of bullying and guilt, with a little flattery on the side.
Like this:
 "Stop whining and JUST WRITE."
"Here, let me spend valuable time brainstorming with you about plot/themes/worldbuilding. NOW WRITE." "You'd better write this story, because it's going to be AMAZING."

So I do.
I "just write" a kissing scene between two characters that kicks off a whole element of the story I hadn't anticipated.
I force my brain to navigate a tough bit of worldbuilding with Chessie's help, and when it's finally there staring at me, my mind is blown with how awesome and exciting it'll be to write.
I take a minute to think about my main character's arc and want to cry a little bit with how difficult things are going to be for her. I fall in love with her.

Then I realize - after just a little bit of work, NO ONE is going to be able to write this story like I can. My characters and the world are speaking to me, and now they're on the "Just Write the Darn Story" team.
And if I don't write it, no one else will ever hear them.

Then I start thinking about my CPs, and I get really grateful that they threw crackers at their kids or ignored their husbands or didn't prep for midterms or lost sleep or made their fingers ache typing that whole chapter on an iPhone during carpool. Otherwise I never would have met Kelsey and David, Emma and Alex, Amity, Damien, Rory, and Viv, Tam and Izuko (oh, Izuko,) Avery, Jack, and Stellan, Alex and Miles, Maggie and Tommy, Grey and Xan and Edward and Nathan. I would have never had their stories tug at my heartstrings and change me just a little bit forever. When I think about how those stories will be published and other people will get to know them too, I'm really, really, REALLY glad those authors kept going. Otherwise, their stories would be stuck in their heads forever, without anyone else to ever love them.


Now, that would be a waste.

Contested

The internet is an amazing place for writers.
It's where we can find incredible critique partners, more writing forums than we have time for, the best agent-finding resources, and a ton of information on improving our craft. Heck, it's basically a DIY MFA playground, if you're willing to use it.

And then, there are the contests.

Every once in awhile, some kind-hearted, self-sacrificing individual will step up and run a contest on her blog. Writing is posted for critique and, if we're very lucky, agents flock to fight over the chance to review that work more in depth, in a (mostly) civilized and (entirely) exciting manner.

(ONE is playing in one such contest, the brand-new Cupid's Literary Connection, today. I'm so excited.)

Here are the reasons that I think contests can be a great opportunity for the querying writer.

1. It elevates my work above the slushpile.
Even if there are fifty or even one hundred entries on display for agents' perusal, that still amounts to two, ten, or a dozen agents looking at one hundred queries as opposed to one lone, hard-working, exhausted agent wading through slush to hopefully pull my manuscript out.

Plus, whether or not the contest is selective (meaning: the person running the contest somehow narrows entries down to what she has determined to be the "best" ones) the dirtiest of the slush has already been cast aside. No crazy queries, no YouTube videos of shirtless men. So when the agent gets to my query, hopefully she's not so slush-weary that she can't read it with a happy heart.

2. I've had success with contests.
Well, what I'm calling "success," anyway. Three of the full requests on my last manuscript were the result of one blog contest or another. Even though I drawered that manuscript, I did get a sense of which agents I would LOVE to query in the future, and their feedback was, in some cases, invaluable.

3. It helps me get to know agents in what I call a "soft query" environment. 
Agent Fabulous might say that she wants Young Adult Romance, for example, and then completely ignore every entry that seems to be a solid one of those. If I'm querying a Young Adult romance, I can then take that information and decide whether it's worth querying that agent. Or, more optimistically, I can see what about YA romances that agent loves, and highlight those aspects of my MS in the query I'll send to her later.

In past contests, even when I haven't gotten a request out of it, I have had agents point out their concerns about or approval of my query and first page, which let me either tweak it or leave it alone, and go forth formally querying with confidence.

4. Contests are how I found a bunch of my CPs.
Checking out the work of my fellow entrants gives me a chance to see whose work I'm absolutely head-over-heels in love with/excited about, which I think is essential to a great CP relationship.

5. I'm really not afraid of anyone stealing my work, or ideas, or whatever.
If anyone can take my query and first pages and use the ideas and voice in there to fully reconstruct my 76,000 word manuscript, I'll probably hand them a cookie and congratulate them. Not only would that be crazy freakish, but it would also free up a lot of my time and stress.

But seriously. I can give a crowd of twenty writers the idea of "half-superpowered teens" and they will write 20 completely different novels. Which would actually be kind of awesome.

Bottom line: It's ridiculously difficult to get an agent as it is. Anything that helps improve my chances can't hurt that badly, and the cheerleading and community-building possibilities are some seriously thick icing on the cake.

***********

Now. Just like anything else, contests *do* have cons. Just some things to consider before you let my above points get you all gung-ho excited for the next contest.

***********

1. Anonymity is tough to preserve
These contests are supposed to remain anonymous, so that they don't become a popularity contest. Obviously, though, the internet is one big web of hyperlinks, and it's pretty easy to connect most of the projects on display to an individual if you really want to. I try to stay anonymous, just because I think it's way classier, but I'm not sacrificing the information I have posted about my MS on my blog or any tweets about it for the sake of staying under the radar while I'm contesting for two weeks.


2. It's tough to keep up self-confidence while watching your work be rejected in real time. 
The point of every contest is for an agent or agents to pick their favorite entries. Sometimes, this occurs in real time, meaning that during a given period of one or several days, agents can leave comments saying, "not for me," "yes, this is good," or "YES PLEASE PUT IT IN MY INBOX NOW." It can be nervewracking and insane, but the worst is when every other entry seems to be getting comments but yours. Yes, it happens. No, it doesn't mean your MS sucks - it just means it doesn't appeal to those agents. But, again - it takes a darn chipper and mature person to remember that. (Spoiler - I'm not always that chipper or mature. I know, you're shocked.)

3. Feedback is not always positive.
One of the stated purposes for all these contests is to receive feedback from peers, but I've never really bought it. Mostly because one of the rules is usually "only submit completed and ready-to-query manuscripts." Now, I don't know about everyone else? But to me, "completed and ready-to-query" means that the MS has run the gauntlet of multiple critiques, revisions, and line edits. Not to mention much agonizing. Usually I'll contest an MS while I'm also querying it.
Now. If I'm confident enough in the MS to query the darn thing, I'm pretty much only looking for cheerleading from my peers, and maybe some gentle suggestions for minor improvement. But every once in awhile, some uppity writer will roll in and leave PARAGRAPHS of feedback, often quite critical, on everything everyone is doing wrong with their entry. This can be annoying at best and crushing at worst. Most of the time I can ignore these jerks, but if you're ultra-sensitive about the soundness of your submission, this might be a big deal.
Note: Some contests are SOLELY for the purpose of feedback, and don't involve agents, in which case the above obviously doesn't apply.


Just some things to remember about contesting:

• It can be a great opportunity to shove your work directly in front of agents.
• It can be an awesome community-builder and confidence booster.
• Subjectivity is a b*tch. Let this be your contesting mantra. Not everyone loves everything. It's okay.
• It only takes one agent to love your work and get you a book deal. There's always another contest or another query. If this contest doesn't work out, don't let it ruin future contests for you.

What about you, sweet readers? Have you participated in blogged writing contests? Do you plan to in the future? Why or why not?

Friday Obsessions: Rainbow Sponge Lady, Bourekas, and NEW WORDS

Okay, everyone. I've learned my lesson: I should never, ever, EVER stop writing. This week: the story of how I got started again. (It's short, I promise.)


But first (and segueing into the story!) 
Everything I was obsessed with this week. 
Because I know you want to know.


1. The Rainbow Sponge Lady.
If you're having kind of a rough morning, just....watch. Just watch her. Trust me.




2. Bourekas.
Here's another "the last thing I want to do is cook because CAN'T YOU SEE I'M WRITING" recipe. Get yourself some frozen puff pastry dough. Unroll it. Cut it into squares with a pizza cutter. Mix up some shredded cheese, egg, and garlic. Plop it in the middle, fold it over, and bake them at 350 for 25 minutes. Eat one and freeze the rest. When your husband/kids/roommate goes looking for food, tell them to get their noses the hell out of your monitor and microwave themselves some of these. You're DONE.


3. The New Chrome Playlist.
So, here's where the story starts. You guys gave me some amazing advice about getting out of my between-projects slump on Wednesday. The words that most resonated with me were, "Just Do It."
My CP Chessie has some sort of sixth sense about my writing self, and so she sent me an email pep-talking me. When that didn't work, she pulled out the tough love in a comment on that post pushing me to write. But the final push off the cliff was when she actually spent time MAKING A PLAYLIST FOR Chrome. This involved not only her valuable music-combining skills, but also an informal questionnaire about the book's mood and also READING THE BIBLE. And, if the playlist in itself wasn't amazing, the guilt alone would have pushed me to write.
Luckily, the playlist Chessie made is spot-on perfect and totally kicks butt. Embedded below -the first seven songs are ones she pulled.

Aaaaaaand last but not least. A little snip of the first thousand words I wrote for Chrome. Meet Havah and Jarrod. Havah's a princess and Jarrod's a douchebag.


Havah drew back, stood tall, and cleared her throat. “My guards will be looking for me.”

“Let them search," he said. "Give those stupid blue lights something to do besides menace all the boys out there trying to touch you.”

Havah ducked under Jarrod’s arm again, and reached for the door, wrapping her fingers around the handle one by one. His hand covered hers, and an unsettling wave of warmth moved through her. She looked him straight in the eye, knowing the chill their icy blue brought to her body would steady her.

“There are others who would have me, Jarrod.” But no others I want. She blinked back tears.

“Havah, my own. Please.”

“I am no one’s own.” She spoke loud and clear now. “And you are boring me.”