April 29, 2009

The book club I started last fall (for writers to discuss current children’s books) has been eye-opening. The club members have widely divergent tastes sometimes, and it’s been a good lesson for us all not to take rejection personally. With any title we’ve read so far, at least one or two people hated the book while as many absolutely loved it.

I’m finishing a middle-grade novel right now for Thursday’s book club. It’s a Newbery Honor Book from a few years ago, and it deserves the honor. At least, that’s what I think today. Last week, as I struggled through the first 70 pages, my thoughts were less charitable, like How in heaven’s name did this thing win an award? If I had been reading for pleasure, or if I still had my old job of reading “slush pile” submissions for a publisher, I would not have finished it.

And that would have been a terrible shame.

A Diamond in the Rough

You see, this book (unlike many others I’ve read) really did get good about Page 75. It turned into something focused instead of fuzzy, funny instead of slapstick, with deeper themes and real tug-at-the-heart moments. If I had not had to finish the book (I’m in charge of the book club, after all), I most certainly would have quit along about Page 25.

The opening chapters were all over the place, I couldn’t figure out what the conflict was supposed to be, the humor was stupid, the hero was a combination of a ninny and whiner. If the author hadn’t been very well known, I wonder if this book would have been given a reading by an editor or agent at all. Maybe not–and a really terrific book would have been rejected.

At the Starting Line

All this is to say that first impressions do count. We can’t expect editors and agents we query to be like a child forced to read a book for an assignment. They won’t–and they’ll never know that your book really DOES hit its stride in another fifty pages or so. Instead of hoping for that particular miracle, take extra time to make your opening its best. Study books like Hooked! by Les Edgerton or Beginnings, Middles & Ends by Nancy Kress.

First impressions count in other areas of our writing life as well. How you present yourself to other writers when you first attend a conference or meeting counts too. If you’re unsure of yourself, study books like Networking at Writer’s Conferences by Steven Spratt and Lee Spratt.

On the Right Foot

There’s an old saying: “You never get a second chance to make a first impression.” Even Jane Austen knew this. She changed the title of her famous book from First Impressions to … Pride and Prejudice.

April 17, 2009

Last night I attended my grandson’s preschool Easter program. Yes, it was four days after Easter. Several incidents and illnesses had conspired to make the delay unavoidable.

However, the program was fun, the kids entertaining (especially my grandson!), and the delay made no difference. If anything, the program was better than ever because they’d had a few more days of practice.

Writing Delays

Sometimes our writing goals get postponed like that. Mine do–and more often than I like to admit. I set deadlines for myself–always have–but sometimes I don’t meet them. Often it’s my own fault, but frequently it’s due to events beyond my control.

Life simply happens to everyone–family issues, health issues, day job issues–and those events often cause delays in meeting our writing goals.

What’s Your Response?

My usual attitude toward myself for missing a deadline I’ve set is to beat myself up. As if berating myself (calling myself lazy and unfocused and a procrastinator and a people pleaser) fixes anything! What good does that do? None–and it does a lot of harm.

I decided last night that the next time I miss a deadline, I’m going to try to be like my grandson’s preschool teacher who was showcasing the Easter program four days after Easter. She didn’t beat herself up, blame anyone, or act like an apologetic failure. She was relaxed and happy and glad to see a great turn-out. The program was delightful. Next time I’m late with a goal, I’m going to make no apologies, relax, and enjoy life. If it’s important, it will get done eventually.

April 13, 2009

When I started writing, I lived on an Iowa farm, in a county known nationwide as the “black dirt capital of the world.” Record crops were grown there, in the most nutrient-dense soil in the country.

Then I moved to Texas five years ago. I have tried for two years to grow something–anything–in my front yard. I water faithfully, but after a few weeks, the bushes curl up and die, the flowers shrivel, and the firm succulents go squishy.

What passes for “dirt” here is a bit of leached-out clay embedded with rocks and gravel. There is almost no soil at all, and certainly none of it is black. Not even brown. Just sort of dingy gray. Over the weekend, I asked the advice of the older man across the street, a retired wheat farmer from Nebraska whose vegetable gardens were green and lush.

“Compost your yard,” he said. “Get bags and bags of compost, make some raised beds, and give your plants something to grow on.”

Something to Grow On

When he said that, I realized he was talking about more than my dried-up yard, although he didn’t know it…  I was twenty-seven years old when I took the Institute’s writing course. I’d had twenty-seven years of experiences to write about, twenty-seven years of books read and absorbed. I also had three small children, so ideas were unfolding before my very eyes on a daily basis. I had more ideas than I had time to write down, much less develop.

Fast forward thirty years to arid Texas. I’ve had 35 books published, plus scores of articles and some short stories. My inner reservoir of ideas feels a lot like my gray hard rocky soil out front. Some days I feel like I am about as successful growing stories as I am at growing flowers.

I think my writing life needs composting.

Artist Dates

One of the things Julia Cameron advises in The Artist’s Way is to take a weekly “artist date.” It’s for feeding your mind with images and experiences you need as a writer. Weekly nurturing experiences restock the pond that perhaps you’ve fished from for years. An over-fished pond leaves us with diminished resources. Our work dries up. The pond needs to be restocked. You do that with artist dates.

“An artist date is a block of time, perhaps two hours weekly, especially set aside and committed to nurturing your creative consciousness, your inner artist. In its most primary form, the artist date is an excursion, a play date that you pre-plan and defend against all interlopers.” You go alone–no spouses, friends, or children.

She suggests things like a visit to a great junk store, a solo trip to the beach, an old movie seen alone, a visit to an aquarium or art gallery. A long walk, sitting to watching a sunrise or sunset, going bowling, a concert: all such experiences qualify.

Crop Analysis

Are you expecting a bumper crop of writing to come from soil that was depleted some time ago? Is the fruit of your writing labor smaller than it used to be? It could be that it’s time to do some composting.

What are some of your favorite ways to feed and nurture your creative side? I’m most interested in those ways that are inexpensive or free, with the easiest access. What do you do to fit creative composting into your writing life?