The Writer Chick Cooks...

What’s for Dinner? Pasta! More than likely, aforementioned cheese ravioli with a little garlic-and-tomato sauce, a bunch of spinach (or two), and lots of parmesan cheese... (So how many guests should I plan on? ) More in a bit, Janny

Today's Writerly Kitchen Musing...

What’s for Dinner? Chicken Salad: chicken, celery, onions, dill pickle, poultry seasoning, mayonnaise...served open-face in sandwiches or just plain by itself! ...that is, if I don't decide to do cheese ravioli instead! Whatever you have, wash it down with a glass of killer wine. Janny

Beware! Writer in Kitchen!

What’s for Dinner? Cornmeal-coated Perch Fillets, sautéed in olive oil and served with…well, that part’s to be determined. But I do know There Will Be Fish. (This space for drooling) Yup, you’re seeing what I hope will be a new feature here at CWC, and something to take our minds off all the associated writer-angst that so often fills these pages, and our everyday writing existences. What better to cheer us all up than FOOD? (Hey, as a good Italian mother might say, “Ya gotta eat.”) If I actually have a recipe for what I mention, I’ll include it. But I’m one of those instinctive cooks who measures by the “pinch” and “handful” and “when it looks like enough…” so don’t hold me to teaspoons and tablespoons unless it’s someone else’s recipe! My favorite cook at the moment: Barefoot Contessa. More to come, but in the meantime, what’s for dinner at your house? Janny

“Hammered”…and Not

One small aside on the title of this post: a few weeks ago, I remarked to my dh something along the lines of anticipating being “hammered” on the job, and he sweetly observed that it was about time I had the sense to drink my way through this gig. I set him straight, but not without difficulty. And it is a nice thought, albeit it would make staying awake in mid-afternoon tougher than it already is. (!) Anyway, this is one of those rare interludes in the publishing biz—when an editor has projects in the hopper, but for the moment, the next steps involved in said projects are something for which she’s not responsible, something someone else has to accomplish. This likeable state of affairs usually occurs a couple of times a year; it can last anywhere from a few days, or less, to a few weeks. Such lulls are usually preceded by the kind of couple of weeks I just went through, hence the reference to being “hammered.” As in, “put the hammer down.” As in working oneself, literally, to the point where one’s eyes no longer function. I arrived at that point last Thursday afternoon. Fortunately, the most intense part of the work I had to get done…was done. By Friday morning, I had turned over one of the last Fall books to Production; I still have one out there that’s going to require some detail work and some waiting, and I have one last manuscript to start on this afternoon—but this book should be short, sweet, and fairly simple to do, which means I should make my deadlines with time to spare… So I finally have time to put some blog posts up for a change. Which will be good news to that pair of you out there who are regular readers. :-) In the meantime, what are we reading this summer? Or writing, if we’re lucky enough that the Muse has not gone en vacance somewhere and left us holding a blank screen? And what else are we looking forward to this summer by way of nonwriting fun? Thoughts?

Janny

Well, They Always Told Us to "Keep It Simple..."

"All Brian Tracy's Fault," part II

And then we came to the second part...
First of all, I feel a disclaimer is in order. If you happen to have stumbled upon this entry by Googling Brian Tracy, you need to know up front that actually, I have nothing personally against Brian. I’ve been listening to him since Earl Nightingale first introduced him on the old “Insight” series of tapes from the Nightingale-Conant Company (and they were cassette tapes, an admission which dates both me and Brian, although not necessarily in that order). That first speech I heard—about the difference between high achievers and those who fell short—was delivered at a rapid-fire pace that conveyed either a) a breathless passion for the subject matter, or b) a script with too many words to fit in the allotted time period …
…or both. :-)
I just knew that that frenetic, enthusiastic young man had a message that was inspiring, convincing, and challenging all at once. I bought it. And that, in the long run, has become my problem.
Brian, and most motivational gurus like him, preach one consistent theme when it comes to work: “Do what you love.” To this day, I can hear his voice in the back of my head saying, “If you don’t love your job enough to want to be the best at it, get out of that job and find something you do love. Life’s too short to waste it doing something you don’t love.”
But the best part about that was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. If you found what you loved to do and became the absolute best—indispensable, in fact, at that job—good money would absolutely follow. Some of you scoff at this, but in the 80s, this was leading-edge. This was what all the business/career/self-actualization books said.
Trouble was, it’s never happened.
When I first got out of school, I was convinced my husband and I would both make our living as musicians. We graduated from good schools, we were good at what we did, and we were in Chicago, a place that offers myriad performing opportunities. So we went on auditions—one memorable one in particular, a Civic Orchestra audition my brand-new husband went to on the day after we got back from our honeymoon. (He probably played with a big smile on his face, but the judges didn’t know…they were behind a screen. :-) ) I, too, did audition circuits—to the point where the people at some of these places may well have muttered, “Oh, no, not her again.”
This, mind you, was around moving twice, having a baby, and all the rest of that newlywed-stuff. And I did keep singing; I joined an early music ensemble that sang Palestrina and other great stuff all over the Chicago area.
Of course, none of this paid. Which became a whole ‘nuther problem.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. I did get the occasional stipend for a wedding or the like. But most people think singing is easy, and so except for union professionals who work major opera houses or the like, singers as a whole are lucky they make grocery money, even in major cities. Most of them actually live on teaching lessons and directing church choirs, not the performing itself. And there are only so many church gigs to go around, even in a city like Chicago.
So music wasn’t paying, not in any way remotely close to the “abundance” that was supposed to come from doing what I loved in an excellent fashion.
Much the same thing happened in the writing trade. After staying home with kids for years, writing and polishing fiction, I had a nice collection of rejection letters but very little else. Finally, faced with losing everything, I went out into the work world and found (what I thought was going to be) a great job being an administrator and newsletter editor. The sky was the limit with this organization…or so I thought.
Unfortunately, that sky turned out to be a heavy overcast as well.
So it’s not like I haven’t tried the formula, in various guises: full time. Freelance. Contractor. I’ve been a newspaper columnist, written for magazines, and tutored writers “on the side.” I even did one of those slightly-shady “term paper” jobs for awhile. But the bottom line still was that I worked for years providing “excellence” for people who went on European vacations, lived in neighborhoods I could only dream about, or sponsored Romanian orphans, while I worried about whether I could hang onto a two-bedroom townhouse and keep my utilities on.
So was the promise hollow all along?
And what do I do if it is?
If I talked to Brian about it, he might well say, “Have you truly given this your all? Have you done your best 100% of the time? Are you willing to pay any price, go any distance, to be the best?”
To which I’d have to say Yes. Maybe I haven’t been able or willing to hop on a plane at the slightest provocation to do endless “informational interviews.” But I have hopped on planes to go to writers’ conferences where I’ve networked…which in essence is the same thing. And yes, I’ve practiced visualization. And affirmation. I’m a positive-attitude person enough to choke most people I know. So this isn’t “not happening” because I give up too easily.
Trust me on this. :-)
I entered the Golden Heart for ten years before I even finaled, and that year I not only finaled but won. Persistence ain’t my problem.
So what is?
Here I am, in a career I’m still giving my all…and the brass ring keeps going to someone else. I’m still struggling just to pay my bills. European vacations? Providing for orphans? Don’t make me laugh. And it ought not to be this way.
So I’m wondering…what does Brian say to people when that happens?
Does he plead exceptions to the rule?
Or did I just waste my time for the last twenty-some years, chasing dreams that had no chance of ever paying off the way I’d been promised they would—sold to me by a man (and many others like him) who’s made multimillions off telling me I just need to “work harder” and “believe better”?

Many of us already think professional motivators are selling nothing more than snake oil. That they know a certain percentage of us will never get where they promise, no matter how hard we work, smart we make ourselves, or persistently we try. As long as some of us make it big, that’s good enough for them to keep peddling that same oil to the rest of us, and they don’t much care about the results.
I don’t want to think that way, for many reasons.
But I do have to wonder.

Thoughts?
Janny

It’s All Brian Tracy’s Fault!

Okay, now that ought to get your attention. :-)


The present dissatisfaction levels I’m having with various aspects of my job, my writing (or lack of same), and the remainder of my circumstances, I’ve gone over in laborious detail, in this blog, in conversation, etc. (Some might say ad nauseam, even.) (And I’d agree with you.)

But I’m here to tell you, Amen and Hallelujah!, I’ve had a breakthrough.

In the “old days,” they used to say, “Identifying your problem is half the solution.” (Lucy even quotes something along those lines to Charlie Brown, as I recall.) But our culture has evolved over the last generation or so, yessir, we have. Now, we know there’s a whole ‘nuther level to solving a problem, one that merely “identifying” it doesn’t cover. Merely “identifying” a problem doesn’t “affirm us in our okayness,” as one pundit puts it. It doesn’t bring an “oh, good, it’s nothing I really did wrong” feeling to us all; it doesn’t give us warm fuzzies of emotional “all rightness”…and that’s why mere “identification” or “labeling” of a problem only gets half the picture for us.

The other half—the far more important half, as we’ve all come to know in recent times—is who’s to blame?
Let’s face it. We all know that nowadays, you can’t even begin to get to the heart of a problem by merely identifying it. You can’t even solve it by “owning” it, by “claiming” it, by “looking it in the eye” or “taking it by the horns” or…well, insert whatever catch phrase (read: cliché) you want here. Nope, boys and girls. That’s not gonna do the trick.

You can’t really deal with anything in our present day—get closure, if you will—until you know who you can point the finger at and say, “I wouldn’t have this problem if it wasn’t for YOU!”

Well, I now know who I can point the finger at for my present malaise.
And I feel so much better knowing that, I’m about ready to go on Oprah and jump up and down on her couch. I’m not as cute to look at when I do those things as Tom Cruise is when he does them, but hey, that’s not my problem.

Brian Tracy is.
He did this to me.
Hallelujah! I finally know who’s to blame for this—and that it’s not my fault!
Do you realize what a terrific breakthrough this is for me?

I’ll have some more specifics in Part II…to come shortly. Once I remove the tongue from my own cheek, I’ll be able to explain much better anyway.
In the meantime, if you’re tired of me whining…blame Brian.
It's okay. He can take it.

Thoughts?
Janny

Crisis of Confidence

Why does it always happen this way? Why is it that no sooner do I get in the midst of submitting, querying, et al, on a work I truly love…but I look at it and think, “This really isn’t very good”? When I read the work, I’m fired up. Some of the sentences I read, I literally forgot I wrote. I look at them and say, “Darn, I wrote that!” But then I get into the submission process…and all I can see is dreck. I look at the first ten pages and think, “Well, no wonder no one’s taking this on. It’s dull.” In my heart of hearts I think I know better…but then I get to wondering. Maybe it’s due to the lack of any kind of response I’m getting on this book of my heart. Maybe it’s due to simply being worn out from trying to do too many other things, at the expense of my own work—the fiction writing I used to love so much. And I know all the platitudes; heaven knows I’ve told other people them enough. “It only takes one.” “It’s a numbers game.” “It’s a crap shoot.” “It’s part talent, it’s part timing, it’s part dumb luck.” Maybe I should stop reading ten-year-old MHC books while I’m doing this. You know, her books were so much better ten years ago, when someone actually edited what she wrote (as opposed to more recent work, which apparently is rarely touched). Those books. The ones that made me sit back and think, “Well, now I know what to shoot for.”:-) In a way, I don’t even have “idols” to emulate at this point. In this particular sequence, it’s just me…the book of my heart…and a bunch of query letters, for something I’m not even sure is any good anymore. It is worth noting that the last time I wondered about that, I won a Golden Heart with the material in question. So maybe when a writer is the closest to significant success is when she’s almost convinced she should just give in, bite the bullet and call that truck-driving school. :-) But I do wonder why it is that these second and third thoughts always seem to hit me in the midst of the process in which I’m laying my stuff most thoroughly on the line. Thoughts? Janny

“Why Aren’t You Retired?”

I’m not going to apologize for not posting for awhile—not because I’m not sorry, but because attempting to *have a life* and then apologizing for doing so is probably silly. (!) During this “having a real life” stuff, however, I had an interesting encounter, more especially in light of some recent spiritual conversations I’ve been having… Here’s how it went. Saturday afternoon I was in the front yard, finishing up the mowing, when a young man approached me—and not to sound insensitive, but by looking, I could tell this young man was in the category of if not mildly mentally retarded, at least not in the upper echelons of his class. We get more than our share of this kind of person walking our small-town streets and striking up conversations with anyone they see, so when he headed my way, I was pretty much prepared for anything. First, he said, “I’ll do that for you,” meaning the mowing. I said I appreciated that, but that I liked mowing, and I wanted to do it myself. I did have to repeat that part, but I said it with a smile, so he got it the second time or so. Then he asked, “Do you work?” I bit back the obvious answer that came to mind (!) and said, “Yes, I do.” “Where?” he asked. Now, at the time I was mowing the yard, I was wearing a bright brick-red T-shirt with white letters across the front spelling out the company name. It’s a leftover shirt from my competition in the Battle of the Businesses last September, and like all these sorts of shirts, it’s so comfy you don’t care if you’re advertising…you just like wearing it. But apparently, that wasn’t clear enough of a hint for him. I didn’t say, “Can’t you read my shirt?” As I answered, I believe I pointed to the shirt at the same time, thereby accomplishing the hint without saying so. :-) And I smiled. Really. I did. To which he said, “Why aren’t you retired?” Now, in my old Chicago persona—which still lives right behind my tongue—the only fitting answer to that question is, “That’s none of your business.” But, again, I’m not in Chicago anymore. I’m in small-town Indiana, and in small-town Indiana, you answer a question like that more kindly, especially in an instance like this one. But what to say that wouldn’t sound really pathetic? I mean, am I going to tell a complete stranger, “I can’t afford to retire”? That’s more information than they really have a right to know. Am I going to say, “Because I have such an interesting job I hate to leave it”? Not exactly; besides, that invites more questions, and I was more interested in getting the lawn mowed so I could get on with the other work I had waiting for me indoors. So what did I say? “Uhh…because I don’t want to?” Accompanied by a shrug, this seemed to do the trick. The young man nodded, wished me a good day and went his way. But what he ended up saying to me, and how and why he said it, I’m still pondering. I can readily surmise that he asked that question primarily because in his eyes, I’m a little gray-haired lady, and little gray-haired ladies are supposed to be retired. Maybe I’m making a giant leap of illogic here, but I don’t think he would have asked that question had my hair still been auburn. The other pondering I’m doing, however—and more pointedly—is about my answer. In the plainest and simplest possible terms, it was a lie. A little white lie, maybe; a lie with a good cause, maybe; but it’s still a lie...and I don’t like lying. Because, fact is, I do want to retire. At least from the day gig. And I want it more and more every day. As it happens, the Lord and I were talking over the issue of “work” and such the day before this young man asked me the question. In fact, I specifically asked the Lord to give me a sign about when and how I could retire, or if I was supposed to be thinking that way, and to make it snappy, if He would please. :-) I can’t help but wonder if what this young man said to me has something to do with a plan in mind for that specific desire of mine. So why am I not retired? Well, of course, short answer is, “I can’t afford it…yet.” So if the Lord plans on dropping a huge windfall on me soon, so He can set in motion the second part of that plan, I’m ready. :-) But also, seriously speaking, I have to admit I’m one of those souls who’s never gotten used to the rhythm of “work” in this country. I knew intellectually that, unlike students, most workers don’t get three months off for summer vacation in the middle of the year. (Kids don’t even get three months off anymore, but that’s a whole ‘nuther problem I have, for a whole ‘nuther blog.) So right there, I knew there would always be a time of the year when I would wake up, look outside, and think, “Why am I doing this again?” But it also dawns upon me that maybe “retiring,” for me, could actually mean doing something in which I can get three months off in the year. Like…teaching. Some schools still believe in summer breaks. Some of them even believe in summer breaks, Interim breaks between Thanskgiving and New Year’s, and a generous spring break to boot. Now, let’s think about this. Teaching writing for nine months of the year, with three months off. Where do I sign? I guess I’ll be looking for more indicators of whether this is the way to go, in the near future. Peeking under educational-opportunity rocks. Seeing what my credentials will get me by way of access to a possible class or two…or three… If the novels don’t take off first. :-) In the meantime, look for me outdoors as much as I can get there. If I’m really lucky, I’ll be behind the lawn mower. (!) Thoughts? Janny

Some Positives on a Monday Morning

Last time, I talked a bit about things I’ve been “aiming” to do, but am not doing so hot at…to which a couple of you responded, quite kindly, about things I do do right. (Thank you.) It was also pointed out to me during that same period of time that, in true editor fashion, I may in fact be my own harshest critic. They say most of us are, so that’s not too surprising.

But anyone who knows me well also knows that one of the principal controlling threads of my life is “fairness.” I like balance. Very few things will send me off the handle faster than perceiving that something is “rigged,” “stacked,” or otherwise tilted one way or the other. More than practically anything else, I crave an even playing field. So despite feeling like there are more ways that I screw up than ways I fulfill expectations, in the interests of fairness, here’s some of the feedback I get from the “universe” on things I’m doing right:

1. Apparently, I write really, really good query letters. In at least two instances, I wrote query letters that were too good; I wrote them before manuscripts were half done, to houses known for loooooong delays in responding, figuring I had time to finish a book before said house would even send me a form request of any kind.

Well, you know what happened. Ten days later, when I’m three chapters and barely a fourth into a book, I get a letter back from said Tortoise-Paced Publisher saying, “This book sounds intriguing. Please send the entire manuscript as soon as it is convenient.” (!) So, yeah, I think I probably write reeeeeealllly good query letters. And I’ve learned to query carefully since then. (!!) Querying skills: A. Timing skills: B, working toward an A.

2. People tell me I am an extremely supportive friend. I don’t see it that way, but I truly appreciate the fact that in this case, I may just be wrong. After all, who knows if they’ve been supported better than the friend saying so? So, as a friend, apparently I rate higher than the D or so I’ve been giving myself. I’d give myself an A-, based on the compliments I’ve received. Yeah, it’s a jump, but when you get a good critique, you’re entitled to go with it. (!)

3. The great majority of the time, I’m really organized. This hasn’t happened by accident, of course; “organization” and “just happens” are pretty much incompatible concepts. :-) I’ve always been a great fan of checklists, and once I discovered FlyLady and realized that yes, one didn’t have to clean one’s entire house in one marathon session once a week—that it would actually look “pretty good” and fit for company for days on end with a slightly different approach—I have had a fairly strict housecleaning and chore routine that has worked very well. It’s had to be amended at times, like when the Three-Day Flu flattened me in February (alliteration notwithstanding)…and sometimes, if the weather is just too nice or I just have too many reasons to do things other than what’s on the list for that day, the house doesn’t always look company-ready. But it’s getting there, most of the time, and that makes me happy…because everything in me functions way better in cleanliness and order. Despite the occasional rolled-eyes from my friends about a woman who actually enjoys cleaning, I’ve discovered I’m in some very good intellectual and spiritual company when it comes to needing order, cleanliness, and organization around me in order to be at my best creatively. So there’s validation on more than one front for the attitude of “cleaning = instant gratification.” Grade at housework organization? A-. Not perfect, but darned close. :-)

4. I have a whale of a good vocabulary. I know this because even in everyday conversation, I occasionally have to define a word I’ve just used for someone. (I still can’t get over this, at times. Didn’t everybody spend her childhood doing the “increase your word power” quizzes in Reader’s Digest?) In commercial fiction writing, unfortunately, this is somewhat of a handicap; I’m not writing “literary” work aimed at an audience that would appreciate a phrase like “the discomfiting cacophony behind her eyes” to describe a heroine whose thoughts are frazzled. :-) (Never mind that the first time someone told me, “Write this to a sixth-grade level,” I almost said, “In sixth grade, I knew what cacophony was.”) Slowly, it’s been brought home to me that no, people don’t read dictionaries for fun, and my writing style has adapted accordingly. If sometimes I find it constricting to trim a “five-dollar word” from my text, I can bear it for the sake of good storytelling and good communication. So it’s a mixed bag on this one: A for the sheer word power, B for the ability to find a simpler, yet still vivid, way to communicate!

5. I know that putting spirituality last on a list can say either that it’s an afterthought or that it’s the most important aspect of all…but I’m putting my transformed relationship with the Lord in this spot anyway. :-P

For years, I’ve been sincerely trying to commit everything to the Lord, which is really, really hard to do. I was always striving for this, but I also became increasingly aware that I wasn’t really doing it. For awhile, I was willing to buy into the preaching we’ve all heard that the only reason we hold anything back from the Lord is some kind of “selfishness” or “pigheadedness” or “pride.” Yeah, and that sure made me feel better about my intentions. (NOT.) Only recently, when I’ve hit several levels of bottom on several fronts, did I realize I hadn’t been holding back from the Lord out of selfishness or wanting to do things my way…but out of fear. And just between us, I think that’s true of a lot more of us than any nonsense about “pride” or “pigheadedness.”

What do we have to fear when we commit our entire lives to the Lord? Well, I know what I feared. I’ve been a Catholic long enough to be familiar with lots of saints’ lives; lots of them no sooner committed themselves totally to the Lord but they were hit with horrible, painful, nasty diseases. Or soul-searing tragedies. Or both. Yeah, like I wanted that to happen? I’d had quite enough challenges in my life, thank you very much. I didn’t know how I’d cope with any more. I certainly wasn’t going to be stupid enough to ask for them—and to me, that total surrender was in effect asking for trouble.

But then, one day when I was broke, scared, and out of any other options, I encountered writing about the Divine Mercy…and everything changed. I realized that the people who’d preached all those years to me about what a vile, selfish thing it was not to “give it all to Jesus” had completely missed the point—as had the souls (well-intentioned though they were) who deliberately asked for only the worst from the Lord. Noble as self-sacrifice may be, that’s not what surrender to Jesus is all about. It’s not something He’s waiting for, impatiently tapping His foot. It’s not a bargaining chip whereby we give Him something, and then, and only then, does He dispense grace. Unlike me, Jesus doesn’t see everything in terms of balance sheets. He doesn’t see everything in terms of a level playing field. It’s not level—it’s tilted toward Him, and that’s the way He wants it to be…because He wants me tucked into His arms even more than I want to be there. And that's amazing.

Once I saw that, once I really got that, I understood. For the first time, really grasped it. And for the first time, really surrendered. Everything. My life. My health. My husband. My kids. My money. My career. My house. My writing. My everything. It was a heck of a session in front of the Blessed Sacrament, but when I was done with that…I was done with a lot of other things as well.

Yeah, I’ll freely admit that part of the surrender was founded on “Hey, it can’t be any worse than what I’m up against now. I’m already miserable.” :-) And a generous part of the prayer was, “I’m scared to do this. I’m scared to death to do this. But I’m going to do it anyway.” The surrender still has to happen every day when I simply say, “Jesus, I trust in You. I’m still scared, but I still trust in You.” The great news? Our Lord told St. Faustina that the mere act of saying, “Jesus, I trust in You” is good enough for Him; the very act of saying those words, in His eyes, manifests the trust He is looking for out of us. Even if we say the words hesitantly, even if we have to confess being scared…it’s still enough. He’ll honor it immediately. He’ll take us to His heart, drown us in His mercy, and we’ll never be the same again.

And I’m not. Already. In a lot of ways that have “come along” and “happened out of the blue.” I’ll talk more about those on future days; just suffice to say that if you have not discovered St. Faustina’s writings about the Divine Mercy, do yourself a favor and read some of them.

The book that helped me more than I can ever say happened to be this one,

so I highly recommend it, for starters. If this whets your appetitite, you’ll be led to where to find more. I hope you do—because it’s sure worth it.

No, I’m not even going to give myself a “grade” on this one. (!) It’s way beyond that. But I needed to proclaim Jesus’ mercy this morning—another thing He asked St. Faustina to do—so that’s our closing thought this morning. May your Monday be drenched in mercy…because that’s all you’ll need, for this week and any week to come!

Thoughts?

Janny

If You Spend Six Months of Your Life on Something....

...you really ought to promote it. So here it is!

Even if you don’t have kids, you might just plain enjoy leafing through this book; it’s gorgeous. Plus, it’s got all kinds of neat crafts you can do, should you be so inclined—or goodies to cook and bake, should that be your calling. :-) And since I spent the greater portion of six months of my life buried in, fixing problems with, collaborating with the author and designer to work on, and sweating over the final result of this book—yes, I have a vested interest. It’s a great book, and the author’s a hoot.

Take a look!

Danger! Failing Grade Alert!

This title may be misleading, so not to panic: our only college student, my daughter, isn’t really failing any of her classes at IPFW. I did make the mistake of mentioning in an e-mail to the inlaws that she was “pulling B’s in most things”—which then prompted them, unbeknownst to me, to write her an e-mail chiding her for such a lukewarm accomplishment as “only” pulling B’s in college work when she was “an A student before.” Putting aside for a moment the fact that my daughter was her grade-school valedictorian (something that still amazes me), the plain fact of the matter is, of course, that as far as her dad and I are concerned, A’s are great, you ought to strive for them, but B’s don’t necessarily mean you’re slacking off, either. This is college work, not grade school, and we allow for that real difference. Even an occasional C isn’t cause for undue panic. Yes, we expect “above average” out of our kids—but neither of us was a straight-A achiever, so at least we have no unrealistic expectations of perfection out of anybody. Her dad and I are both also former music majors, and Jess is a pre-major in fine arts, so we know as well about such things as “subjectivity” in arts grading. Other family members are not so inclined; having never been in an arts program of any kind, they seem unable to comprehend the notion that simply “trying harder” and “concentrating better” doesn’t always equate to A’s in an artistic course of study. We merely shrug and go our own way, and at least my daughter was smart enough not to whip back a response when, as she put it, she “couldn’t think of any nice way to respond to that.” That alone may prove she has more smarts than most A students on campus. :-) All that being said, what I’m really thinking about this morning is a self-report card. When I sit back, take a breath, and evaluate how I’m doing so far on the things I wanted to improve this year…I’m not doing so hot. I wanted to get more sleep this year. Sometimes, I do. Most times, I don’t. The reasons are wide, varied, and sometimes even chemical…so they’re not always due to not “trying harder” or “concentrating more” on my part. I have noticed that I do actually get in bed earlier than I was before, so maybe that’s a step in the right direction. Even if I’m sitting up in bed awake at 10 or 10:30, reading (the best way to end the day) …or (heaven help me) finishing up e-mail or some other godawful thing to be doing at that time of night, at least being physically in my pajamas, in bed, beats being still in my jeans and gym shoes washing the kitchen floor. So I guess progress is progress. But I’m still dead tired much of the time, so obviously, I still need a lot of work on that resolution. Overall grade: C-. I wanted to get more of my own writing done, and sold, this year. “Selling” I know I can’t control, but getting the writing and pitching done…ach. I’m the original synopsis/pitch queen, but every time I think about doing it lately, I nearly go into overwhelm. Overwhelm is not a place from which one pitches well, unfortunately. Once again, the reasons I’ve written precious little are wide, varied, and sometimes even chemical (!)—and they do go hand in hand with not getting enough sleep/rest, since sleep deprivation also diminishes creativity. Unfortunately, the more pressing concerns of cash flow have dictated what times I spend both creating my own worlds and resting from them; this will, with any blessings at all, be a temporary situation soon relieved. Overall grade on that: D. Barely passing, hoping for better things. And a third thing I really, really need to do—resolve to do every year—but never quite seem to get a handle on is keeping up contact with friends and family. Yanno, sending the birthday cards, the anniversary cards, the thank-you notes, the letters…all that. It’s not that I don’t think about them; I do. I just don’t follow through the way I’ve always wanted to; it just never seems to get done. The reasons for this are also wide and varied, and although less chemical (!), are certainly hereditary. I grew up in an anti-social household. My mother wanted to be involved in family things; my father kept us all under his thumb, and instilled in us a paranoia about others that is still difficult to shake. So while I really love having my friends and family, and I find myself thinking, “Gosh, I need to get together with these people more often,” it hardly ever happens that way. Three people I meant to send cards to already, I’ve failed to send to. I should have. Every year, I make up my mind to do it…and every year, I’m either short of cash or I neglect it for some other reason. With the start of this new quarter, of course, I can redeem myself, send some belated cards, write some letters…if I can pull together the time or energy or both. The only thing I then have to battle is the nagging voice in my head saying, “Hey, if you didn’t start out the year doing it, don’t bother now, it’s too late.” (Can you spell perfectionist?) It remains to be seen whether I’ll be comfy forgiving myself for failing so thoroughly so far this year, and just pick up and pretend that this is how Janny is going to be from now on. (!) (I have actually managed to do some of this kind of thing, just not the number and frequency of contacts I feel I “should” have to be a better daughter-in-law, sister-in-law, friend, parent…you get the idea.) For now, my grade in this is a D-. Hanging on by my nonexistent fingernails. There are some positives I’ve been able to swing this year, as well, though. It’s just that for the moment—probably due to spring fever!—most of what I’m seeing is the need to play catch-up. But never fear. Next post, I’ll talk about some of the things I may be “forced” to give myself an A in…or at least a B. That’ll be way more fun. :-) Valedictorian, I ain’t. But the year is young, there’s time…right? Thoughts? Janny

Words To Write By?

From the Communion antiphon for today's Mass... You are a people God claims as his own, to praise him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light...alleluia! Now, insert the word writer into this text, and meditate: You are a writer God claims as his own... Is that awesome, or what? Janny

Can't Resist This One...

Never read books you aren’t sure about morally, even supposing that these bad books are very well written from a literary point of view. Let me ask you this: Would you drink something you knew was poisoned just because it was offered to you in a golden cup?

— St. John Bosco

Have You Hugged A Critic Today?

It’s interesting sometimes, the view from this side of the desk. We’ve talked about this before, but I’ve encountered a couple of brand-new wrinkles, one of which poses an interesting scenario for those of us who occasionally struggle with this “brave new world” of electronic communication. You already know that you need to be careful what you say online, because people are listening. And some interesting things can happen because of that listening. This notion isn’t new; it’s the basis for the rampant paranoia that frequently masquerades as “caution” in our writing circles. But if we flip over that paranoia—if we actually start thinking in terms of “who might be looking at my blog, and why”—this notion, and the reality it represents, can bring about some pleasant surprises. As an example: I have no active web page URL anywhere—but my blog URL is on my resume, for the express purpose of showing potential clients, future employers (who knows?), and other publishing professionals that I not only can handle cyberspace, but I’m trying to be a quality contributor thereto. The results of this? Well, if I send in a resume for a freelance editorial gig, odds are very good that before the contact person e-mails me back, he or she has already gone to the blog and checked it out. I know, because when I check my statistics, I see the evidence of said reading, and this has happened enough times now that it can no longer be considered a fluke. It’s probably an indicator of the quality of this blog that once these people see it, they’re e-mailing me to ask about my availability for a phone interview. :-) This tells me that your blog can be not only an adjunct to your web page, but an effective substitute for one, and probably a more attractive and effective one in the case of writers or editors. If someone asks for a writing sample, all I have to do is copy and paste a blog post into an e-mail. The really unfussy ones will just ask for the URL where my writing appears, and they’ll read for themselves. It’s a whole new way to do business, save time, and give them an instant picture of who I am, how I write, and how I conduct myself in public. Not bad, for a few seconds in cyberspace. But this week, I also discovered another use for the blog: as a teaching tool, in and of itself. And I’m not even talking about the specific blog posts themselves—although I certainly try my best to make those instructional—but to the comments. Yep. The comments. On most blogs, the comments section can be a dicey place. Crazies have been known to surf widely, post erratically, insult freely, and spam comboxes, to the point where you may have myriad fans of your blog who never look in your combox. It’s just not worth the hassle of weeding through the nonsense to get to thoughtful conversation. On the other hand… I don’t often receive mail at my day gig; my authors and I communicate largely by e-mail, in some instances by telephone or by fax. Even our proofreaders who prefer “hard copy” to “track changes” will send their hard-copy page corrections via fax. So, unless it’s a Christmas card or something else wonderful from an author, I rarely have things addressed to me at OSV. When I got a package early this week, then, I was surprised. I was even more surprised when I opened it and found a book, and a note, from an author whose work I had criticized at some length, months ago, in the comments section of this blog. I admit, I opened the note with some trepidation; I’ve received more than my share of damning-with-faint-praise under the guise of such letters, and this week has been one of many challenging ones of late…so I wasn’t in the mood to be grownup and mature should that prove to be the case. You can imagine my surprise when I read a thank-you note—for my criticism. Yep, you heard right. I pointed out what I saw as glaring weaknesses in an author’s work…and she thanked me for it. She looked over the first several chapters of the book in question, thought to herself, “Yep, I can do better than that,” and proceeded to revise—based largely on the comment-conversations I and a couple of others had had about her writing. She’s self-publishing much of her work now, which means she has the option of making changes much more easily than with even a small press…so she took the opportunity to do so, and she wanted to give me credit for “inspiring [me] to continue to improve.” That would have been impressive enough—but she didn’t stop there. She also thanked me, by name, in the acknowledgment section of the new version of the book. Now, if you don’t already know this about me—or haven’t figured it out by now!—I am, as I often put it, “a sucker for lavish praise.” Everyone loves to be praised, of course, but I think I love it even more than average; so anytime I’m thanked on a page of a book, it’s an occasion to remember for me. I’ve had other authors do it, although not nearly enough times so it’s in any danger of “getting old” (as if being praised ever can). But I have to admit, this is the first time I’ve been thanked, in public and by name, for something I’ve said in what in essence can be a “throwaway” part of a blog. That, I think, says something important—even encouraging—to all of us. It’s one thing to recognize intellectually that everything you say can be heard by someone, and that what you put online stays up pretty much forever. It’s another thing entirely to realize that someone whose name you “take in vain” might be reading one day…might examine what you say and how you say it…and might have that resonate enough that your words become a learning moment for all concerned. That notion is heady stuff. And truth be told, that process is actually, in the end, why I’m here. To teach the craft—both to others and, in the end, to myself as well—since the best way to learn how to do anything better is to teach it to others. But getting thanked for those efforts may just make someone’s day. Be it a critiquer, an editor…or even some fool just holding forth in her combox. :-) Thoughts? Janny

Right Business...Wrong Job?

All my life, I wanted to be in books; as Chip MacGregor so engagingly puts it, he wanted to be a “book guy,” and I was the female equivalent of that. I read a book about how books are put together when I was very young and thought, “Now, there’s the business to be in. How much better could it be than to be in the book business?” Deciding what aspect of “the book business” to be in was part of the fun, I suspect. Had I dreamed of a dusty little shop on a dusty little corner, I would probably have become an indie bookstore owner, happily peddling my latest finds…or I would have run a (decidedly cool) used bookstore somewhere in the hinterlands, like an acquaintance of ours did in Rogers Park. But I have no retail aspirations, in that sense—except to do my annual share to contribute to Barnes & Noble and Borders’ stock with a book-buying trip every few months. I did, and still do, want to write and sell novels; occasionally I actually do write one (!), and occasionally, I pitch some of those products to various Big Name Publishers Who Can Make My Day With One Phone Call…but so far, none of them has. (I may be one of the few authors you’ll ever know who actually got a phone call from a Harlequin editor to chat with me on why she wasn’t going to request more of my book, so I guess there’s a dubious claim to fame there. :-) But, I digress.) More than once, I have thought about (and still consider) becoming a formal, in-the-front-of-the-classroom writing teacher. I’ve taught writing workshops online, and I’ve done one-on-one coaching as well as tutoring English composition, so I do have a bit of an idea what that life might be like. A few things deter me from doing that right now…one of them being trying to write a resume that effectively sidesteps the “Master’s degree required” bit of the job description. I may be a master at many things written, but the degree I ain’t got. A bit of creativity, and I might be able to set that up yet. But when I got the chance to be a real, live Book Editor, I figured I had taken a giant step forward into nirvana. Didn’t even matter that I’d be editing nonfiction, rather than the novels I had dreamed of doing…because I’d made enough living off nonfiction in the ensuing years that I knew I could handle it competently, and I also knew it didn’t have to be the be-all and end-all of what I did with my writing talent. I’d have plenty of energy left “after hours” to be creative on my own…right? I’m here to tell you that that ain’t necessarily so. That issue, we’ve touched upon before, and my trying to get that aspect of things in order is a work in progress. But what I was muttering about yesterday, as I took my 3 PM laps in the warehouse, was something I find myself feeling frequently after we have one of our periodic meetings about The Publishing Business and Where It’s Going. We had another one of those yesterday, over lunch, when staff who had attended the O’Reilly “Tools of Change” conference reported back on what they’d heard, what they’d learned, and the directions publishing was going to go…whether we all liked it or not. I don’t mean for that to sound negative—after all, I’m on board with lots of elements of “Web 2.0.” I was one of the few people in the room (if not the only one) who had heard of Library Thing before that presentation yesterday; and I’m also one of the few people in the company who blogs with regularity. But what I found distressing was the concept that content isn’t king anymore…what people do with the content, how they get at it, how they manipulate it, paste it together, chunk it, and how much of it they can get for free, is. This is distressing not because people aren’t reading, in some cases a lot; they are. But because to me, these proclamations only emphasize the rapidly-degrading attitude of people toward the folks who create that content in the first place. Yes, the “free content” is almost always used to entice people to buy—putting aside for the moment the web-wise but morally-deficient kids who will gladly hack into any site so they can get everything possible for nothing. But apart from hackers and other crooks, in the context of how this “new approach to content” affects authors, the one thing I heard that disturbed me more than anything else was a comment along the lines of what new demands or expectations publishers might have of authors. Apparently, in a nutshell, word on the street is that it’s “ask for the moon” time when they sit down with authors or authors’ representatives to talk about “rights;” increasingly often, authors come to the table ready to effectively “give away the store” to have their content “out there.” (Sounds suspiciously like the self-publishing business, only worse.) Publishing’s days of producing great work, finishing it, and sending it on its way are fast coming to an end; today, it’s all about “sharing content” and “giving the consumer what he/she wants.” All good ideas—since that makes everybody happy, right? The only problem was, I heard nary a whisper about the artist’s compensation for all this new, exciting use of content. In some circles, the author/artist who asks about such things is even presented as a backward, ignorant bit player who “just doesn’t know how to adapt.” In this brave new publishing world, that’s a death knell for one’s career, because authors who aren’t as “fussy” are out there…and those authors, and what they produce, represent a “fabulous opportunity.” I heard a lot of talk about authors’ blogs, self-promotion, and being “willing” to “work with a publisher” to “optimize revenue streams.” What I didn’t hear was any equivalent enthusiasm about how the authors would share in said revenue streams. And that was chilling. It points up, yet again, the obvious—something I can forget about most of the time when we all seem to be “on the same page”—which is, as long as I sit on this side of the desk, in some ways I’m not part of the solution, I’m part of the problem. When I see what I do from an author’s point of view, something as inherent to me as breathing, I don’t always like what I see. It’s a depressing state of affairs to find yourself feeling like you’re in the right business, but wearing the wrong “hat.” It tends to make you mutter to yourself during an afternoon walk. Other than muttering, though, I’m not at all sure what I can do…and that’s a little disheartening, to say the least. Thoughts? Janny

This I Will Not Do…and Why

As a fiction writer, I tell stories using elements of real life—at least as I see it. And, no matter how we try to disguise it and/or enter into a character’s POV to do so, in the end, that’s what we do as writers…paint a picture of a world as we see it. Sometimes that world is angry; sometimes that world is unhappy; sometimes that world is difficult to spend much time in. Some of us write works that are unrelentingly harsh, bitter, nihilistic, or otherwise despairing—at least ostensibly in an effort to get a handle on what we’re all up against.
On the other hand, many of us, especially those of us brought up through the ranks of romantic fiction, write stories in which good triumphs, love conquers, and people can live happily ever after.
That, too, is reality.
People do find illumination at the ends of tunnels. People do find love in this life, even lifelong, enduring love. People do go through trials…but many people do triumph over them; far more people triumph, or at least cope successfully, than succumb to despair (or there’d be way fewer of us).
I fall into this “happy face” category of writer, both by natural temperament and by choice. If given two alternatives, I will pick the more positive one. If given a glass, I will tend to see it as half-full. And if given the choice of what words to put on the page—which is always my choice—I will put words that are wholesome, clean, and positive.
Words that will shed light, not cast darkness.
Words that reflect who I am as a Catholic Christian and the choices I make because of who I am.
Therefore, by definition, some things will never be in my books: vulgar, obscene language, soul-searing (unredeemed) depravity for its own sake, and juicy depictions of monsters, multi-legged creepy things, or unrequited gore…plus one additional thing that, I have come to realize, must constitute my particular line in the sand: My books will have no—count ‘em, no—depictions of sex on the page.
Nada.
Period.
Ever.
Now, those of you who know me know that, as a rule, I dislike erotic literature. I don’t even like things that aren’t called erotica but instead are classified as “hot”, “sensual,” or “racy” books. As a rule, the very few I’ve looked at over the years were thinly disguised porn with a loosely constituted pretense at a plot. The reason for the book was sex, period; it was the ultimate hypocrisy to call it anything else. So in a way, this news won’t be “news” to any of you out there.
But you may wonder if I’m not throwing the proverbial baby out with the bathwater, if it’s necessary to make such a blanket, public pronouncement…or if I’ll change my mind someday and have to eat the “ultimate hypocrisy” words myself.
In answer to the second question? Nope.
How can I be so sure?
Many of us who write sex scenes in books do it despite ourselves. We tell ourselves it’s the only way we can write “realistically,” we tell ourselves the development of a relationship would “logically” go to this point, and that we owe it to our readers to show them that, just as we show them the other aspects of the push-pull that is a good conflict.
But many of our reasons why “it” has to be there, in the end, are based in shame and guilt. In some cases, our consciences bother us about writing the stuff; in others, the “eeww” factor creeps in, and we just don’t feel comfortable writing about something so private and close to the bone.
Our culture, ever solicitous, is more than ready to help us “get over” these “problems”; several years ago, the RWR even had a long, detailed article about “how to get in the mood” to write a sex scene—containing ingredients that were identical to the kinds of things you’d do if you were planning a seduction.
 In the end, many writers were seduced. Some of them went unwillingly, but they “bit the bullet” and “did what they had to do.” And ever in the wings were the veteran authors to encourage them, ladies who could write “hot” without blinking an eyelash, once they’d “gotten used to it.”
Now, look back over those last couple of paragraphs, and tell me what the difference is between getting “ready” to write, or “used to” writing, a sex scene…and the rationalizations we give ourselves before and after any other sin. Go ahead, I’ll wait.
Not much difference, is there?
Shouldn’t come as a surprise, since my faith tells me in no uncertain terms that even reading sex scenes/erotica/”hot” stuff (much less writing them!) is an occasion of sin.
To many people, that sounds repressive. It sounds like the Church “has a problem with sex”—or that I do. Neither is true. If anything, the Church treasures human beings’ sexuality more than our culture does, and thus, She doesn’t want us cheapening it by reducing it to a spectator sport. The Church, in the end, is also only reinforcing the natural common sense and natural law we all have at our cores; the fact is, something in us recoils, even if only very slightly, at this stuff.
That’s why it’s so often referred to as “naughty,” with a wink and a smile. Only there’s nothing to wink and smile about. It’s referred to as “wrong” because it is. Many of us are just dancing as fast as we can around that uncomfortable fact.
What the culture doesn’t tell us is that we’re supposed to feel uneasy writing this stuff on the page. We’re supposed to feel ashamed of taking other people’s clothes off and watching them have sex. Human beings, even nonreligious ones, are wired this way. If we weren’t, we wouldn’t have to take courses and read articles about how to stuff our feelings, neutralize our guilt, and “get over” our shame. But the fact is, in most locales, it’s still considered a crime to do in person what we’re encouraging people to do in books.
“But it’s fiction,” you may cry. “It’s pretend. It’s not like these are real people!”
Oh? But what do we all aspire to in our fiction, if not to write real people?
The brain can’t tell the difference. That’s why pornography works so powerfully on one’s chemistry. That’s why it can be so addictive…because your brain doesn’t know the difference between a vividly written, well-crafted picture of two (or more) imaginary people having sex, and hiding behind motel room walls with a peephole. It has the same effect on you…and that effect’s not a good one.
To its credit, the romance industry has done its best to try to differentiate between “pornography” and “romance,” between “softcore” and a “relationship story.” But one look in any dictionary reveals their spin is just so much Swiss cheese reasoning:
Pornography: 1. the depiction of erotic behavior (as in pictures or writing) intended to cause sexual excitement. 2. material (as books or a photograph) that depicts erotic behavior and is intended to cause sexual excitement.
That’s not a Church document. That’s Webster’s.
And it’s a specially hypocritical irony that an industry which unhesitatingly tells its members to get good dictionaries, and use them, doesn’t point them in that same direction when “romance” gets called “softcore porn.” Instead, the romance industry reinvents words, redefines them, and brags that women who read their books “have more sex.” That’s considered such a worthy end in and of itself that once again, with the proverbial wink and a smile, only “rightwing repressed religious nuts” would dare to have a problem with it.
Some people would maintain that the problem isn’t sex on the page; it’s sex between unmarried characters. That sex scenes, in their proper moral context, are perfectly fine. Even Christian authors will say, “My characters are married, so the sex is OK. Why shouldn’t I show that on the page?”
Well, let’s look back at the definition of pornography again. Does it say anything about whether the people are married? If it does, I don’t see it…and so I fail to see how putting rings on your characters makes it any more “okay” to write something on the page “intended to cause sexual excitement” that it does if they happen to not have tied the knot yet.
And please, let’s call this spade a spade and admit that’s what we’re doing. There are a hundred ways to show “character development” without having to be between the sheets to do it. A writer who wants to avoid leading others into impurity will choose one of those alternates, not play the game of “How much can I get away with.” In a way, it’s identical to using foul language: if you have to resort to a sex scene to put some excitement into your book, you’re falling back on the crutch of a lazy writer.
Married or not, the sex act is still supposed to be private. It’s still supposed to be an intimate encounter. It’s still supposed to be something that other people aren’t allowed to watch. Merely because the characters you write “doing it” aren’t living in sin doesn’t change any of those facts. It merely gives you a loophole, another rationale, and one that—if you’re not careful—can “sound good” even to the most moral of us.
Don’t be fooled.
Pornography is still pornography, and my faith has always forbidden me to engage in it. I’ve flirted with that line, I’ve been tempted to cross it at times, and part of me knows in her heart of hearts that if I wanted to make a living writing “dirty books,” as one author so frankly put it, I could do so. I certainly have enough talent to write those kinds of things just as vividly as I write anything else.
And many of the writers who succumb to this pressure are fine, talented storytellers; they’ve just been hoodwinked. They’ve been told somewhere in the submission process that “We need more sensuality in this book,” or “We need the characters to consummate this relationship on the page,” or the like…or else the book won’t sell. The author weighs her options, really wants to sell, knows other publishers will likely demand the same thing of her…and gives in.
 Once again, it’s a decision made by fear. And we all know how wise those decisions are.
Bottom line, my writing belongs to the Lord, just as the rest of me does. So if I’m going to claim any kind of legitimate Catholicism here, the very least I can do is obey the Commandments—not to mention the basic natural law that’s part of me anyway.
I don’t want to have to stand before Jesus at the end of my life and try to explain to Him why, with greed aforethought or out of a misguided fear of “never selling anything,” I sold out so thoroughly on obeying Him. I don’t want to have to explain to Him why I put something on my pages that not only was sinful in itself, but may well have led countless others into sin. That’s a conversation I don’t want any part of.
So, bottom line, it’s just plain easier on my eternity to do things this way.
It’s not an easy stance to take here and now. It won’t make selling my books easier to the great majority of publishers. But if I have to choose between Him and them…it’s no contest.
I’m not going to quote Martin Luther very often on a Catholic blog(!), but in this case, no one could say it better: “God help me, I can do no other.”
Thoughts?
Janny

To Critter or Not To Critter, Part 3

Last time, we talked a lot about how to critique someone else’s work; this time, let’s talk about some caveats to apply to subjecting yourself to the critting experience. If you’ve already decided that the tactics of the first author we talked about won’t work for you—that you do, in fact, want another pair (or many pairs) of eyes looking at your stuff—then what should you expect out of the critique? Or do you have a right to expect anything in particular? That question may seem a little odd. After all, you’re not just picking any civilian off the street to read this material. Ideally, you have some relationship or other with the person who’s about to read and comment on what you’ve done. Ideally, you have some reciprocal respect for one another. It can be assumed, then, that you have a right to ask for certain things from the critique and get them. Right? Maybe. Maybe not. We don’t live in an ideal world, writing-wise or otherwise. And if there’s one complaint that arises out of critique groups more than any other, it’s the lament from the author who didn’t get what she wanted or needed from the critiquing experience. Either the group or the partner “didn’t get” what she was trying to do, ignored her requests entirely/gave her feedback on peripherals without touching the “big stuff,” or trashed her work and basically told her not to quit the day job. None of these things, obviously, is particularly helpful on the surface…but they may in the long run help this author way more than she suspects. How? 1) If a reader doesn’t “get” what you’re trying to do in the work, 99% of the time, the fault is not the reader’s but the author’s. Sound harsh? It’s not. It’s plain reality. We’re in this thing to communicate, and if that communication fails…guess who’s responsible? Yes, there are critiquers who are obtuse, and who “won’t get” something that’s plain on the page. There are readers whose vocabulary level isn’t up to ours, and they’ll flinch at words our kids knew in seventh grade. There are people who just plain don’t read very well, and they’ll miss things. There are people for whom subtlety is a waste of time; if it’s not as clear as being hit by a two-by-four, they won’t understand it. But that, ladies and gentlemen, is our public. That’s who we’re asking to plunk down hard cash money for what we’ve put on the page. So we owe it to them to, as much as is in our power, reassure them that they didn’t waste that money. Which means that, in the end, what matters isn’t so much our lofty vision as whether we can actually convey that vision clearly enough for someone else to catch it. When we do, magic happens. If a critiquer indicates that we fell short of that clarity—no matter how stupid the comment seems to be—we’d do well to at least consider it. I personally know authors who say, “If one person tells me to change something, no matter how wrong I think they are, I owe it to both of us to give it a second look.” That person who “doesn’t get it” is a reader, too. A reader you’ll want as a fan, if you’re in this to make any money. (!) So if you can make changes that help more readers “get it,” it’s no crime to consider doing so. That’s not “dumbing down” your work unless you’re deliberately choosing elementary words when better ones would do, or something else that makes you cringe in the doing. But be aware that some things that might feel like “dumbing down” are actually things that increase the clarity, the sharpness, and the vividness of what you’re portraying, and you’ll be happier with the end product in the long run for having done them. 2) If a critique group ignores what you’ve asked for—and gives you feedback on little nitpicky things instead of looking at the “big picture”—it’s frustrating. It’s maddening. It feels unhelpful. It’s not. Once again, it pays to step back from the “Well, that was a waste of time!” sputtering and consider what this group of people is actually telling you. Usually, it’s “I’m not advanced enough to give you what you’re asking for…but I’ll give you what I can.” I distinctly remember, about a year or so into belonging to my RWA chapter, thinking that something someone read was just fine…then, hearing more experienced authors take some aspects of it apart, and as they did so, I’d think, “Well, yeah, that could have been better.” At that point in my life, I wasn’t advanced enough as a writer to know that what they were pointing out were various storytelling or craft weaknesses; just the fact that they could see them, and I couldn’t, started to educate me. A year or so after that, someone read something, and all of a sudden I could feel “holes” in it. Things nagged at me. Things bothered me. Things didn’t make sense. And I’d been stopped, as a reader, by those things. That’s how I knew I’d come a little further along the path: I could tell something was wrong. But what to tell the author to do? I was at a loss. Fortunately, once again, more experienced authors’ comments became valuable, because they saw the same things I did, but they could offer advice on what those “trouble spots” meant, and some possible solutions to them. I’ll tell you honestly, I was in awe of them at that point. I didn’t know how they did that…! …until one night when all the pieces fell into place. That night, someone read a piece in the group, and as usual, I made note of the places where things didn’t seem to ring true, or go correctly, or stuff seemed out of order somehow. But then, even as I marked the things in the margins, I found myself scribbling questions. Suggestions. “I’d like your heroine better if she______”. And I knew a miracle had occurred. Because not only was I picking up on craft things…but I actually had some clue how to fix them! Yes, it was an epiphany. But it took me several years to learn enough about the writing craft so I could adequately give that author helpful information, rather than just vague generalities about “For some reason, this isn’t working for me.” This is the place in the craft continuum where critiquers give you line edits when you’re looking for story arc (they don’t even know what a story arc is); mark where they think you misused a comma but have no comments on character depth (they’re out of theirs); or who tell you your characters are “getting along too well” and “there’s no conflict” because the characters aren’t spitting at each other. On one level, their “help” isn’t doing you any good. On another, though, it’s a gentle reminder that we’re all on a very, v-e-r-y wide spectrum of ability, recognition, and articulation when it comes to finding the trouble spots in a work, much less knowing how to fix them. Remembering that—as well as keeping in mind that, once again, they may not have “gotten” it because you didn’t put it there clearly enough in the first place—will help keep the frustration in perspective. Six months from now, those same people may give you something so sparkling and insightful you’ll wonder who replaced them with more intelligent clones. The answer is, no one did; if you’re lucky, they replaced themselves. :-) And if you remember to keep your humility in place, you’ll often get an unexpected and very pleasant surprise; a critiquer won’t give you what you ask for, she’ll give you what you actually need. Serendipity, in that case, is a wonderful thing. However, there’s one thing none of us needs, either on the giving or receiving end… 3) Trash talk. Now, let’s get something straight right away: I’m not averse to trash talk per se, in its proper context, and all done in fun. Heck, I think I’ve made an AOL buddy for life out of some guy in Lansing, Michigan, through nothing but a trash talk session back and forth about Big Ten football. :-) (I sometimes wonder if this guy really realized he was talking “smack” with a gray-haired middle-aged lady.) And any football fan of any stripe would have just loved to be in my office during the last week before Super Bowl last year, where trash talk reached absolutely poetic heights. (!) There’s nothing wrong with making “dumb blonde” jokes about the other side, bragging on one’s own team and disparaging another’s, or poking fun around any subject or event as long as it’s something considered fair game and OK to play with. People’s work, however, is not and should not be in this category. Unfortunately, you may find yourself in a situation where someone in your critique circle thinks it’s funny or “smart” to sharpen a rapier wit on other writers’ egos; you'll be able to tell when this is happening, because the comments aren’t craft-specific, they’re personal. They’re personal slams about your genre, your treatment of the work, or your talent level. And that, in what’s supposed to be a relationship contributing to your professional growth, is out of line. Should you find yourself in this scenario, run, do not walk, away from that group. This kind of thing will not help you. It will not make you “strong.” It’s not a good test of how “professional” you are to ascertain how much cruelty you can stand. It’s just plain mean, there’s no place for it, and if you are in a group that allows for it, they’re not going anywhere you want to be, either. Sometimes it can be tricky to find a good critiquer or good group to share your work with. So what to do? Look everywhere, in a wide variety of spots and sources, for people with whom to share work: writers’ groups you belong to, online workshops, writers’ web sites…there are a zillion routes to take; sometimes, all you’ll need is one trusted person to look things over, and other times, you’ll want a lot of feedback from a lot of varied personalities. Some groups have critique-partner matching services; sometimes the best recommendation simply comes to you by word of mouth. But when you find a good critique situation, one that makes you do your best work and still enables you to rejoice in the process…it’s worth its weight in gold many times over. I’ve tried to be that for other writers; I hope I can continue to do so. Which is a subtle way of saying I’m almost always available for critiquing…so feel free to ask! Thoughts? Janny

To Critter or Not to Critter…Continued

First of all, my apologies for the long gap in postings! I was felled by the flu last week and could just about manage the short post I put up. Any more complex thinking was a lost cause, even when I was back at work on Thursday (!), and I spent this last weekend playing catchup from some other things and trying to get in some more vestiges of rest to send the last bits of this nagging virus packing. Right now, I’m still dealing with the remnants of a cough and a rough throat—which is no fun for a singer. So we’re (the royal we, don’t you know) about a week away or so from being back 100% in the saddle. However, we are also feeling substantially more awake enough to ponder the second part of our post on critting and how to get a good crit out of this literary life. Once again, with the caveat that YMMV, here are a few thoughts on what makes a good critique—and a good critiquer. First of all, we need to draw a couple of lines between what a critiquer does versus what an editor, or coach, or writing “guidance” guru does. Some places may overlap, but the differences are important enough that it pays to keep some key ones in mind: 1. If you find yourself doing a lot of line-editing in the work, try to back off a bit. It’s hard to do, especially for those of us who are compulsive editors anyway…but that (unfortunately) is just the point. Technically, critiquing is feedback, not hands-on editing. If you find yourself crossing out extensive chunks of text, for example, or wanting to cut whole pages, make a note of it for the author, but don’t feel you need or have a duty to go through and make a substantive edit out of your critiquing process. Same with marking punctuation, restructuring sentences, etc. Unless the writer has specifically requested this, don’t correct everything. Scribble the name of a good grammar book or two in the margin, and let her do her own mechanics. 2. That being said, there’s nothing wrong with pointing out several overarching tendencies, even marking several pages’ worth of instances if necessary, to get a writer’s attention on certain things. Case in point: I have an absolute infatuation with the words “just” and “even.” (The latter must from that old Christmas carol about King Wenceslas…but I digress.) Thanks to my crit partner (bless her heart :-)) marking every one of them early on, I’ve since learned to go through before I send stuff to her and do a massive search-and-destroy on most of those wonderful words. And I do still like them. Trust me on this. One or two, here and there, are okay. Using “just” three or more times in one paragraph (which I have), however, is—er—a bit of overkill. (I almost said “just a little overkill.” See, I told you I was hooked.) 3. If you don’t like a character, feel free to say so. Give the author specifics on why you don’t like or believe in a character, and you might get a surprise: maybe she’s trying to make that person a “bad guy,” and she’s just not made him “bad enough” so you recognize that fact! On the other hand, once again, it’s not part of your job as critiquer to “rewrite” or “recast” the character yourself. Give suggestions on motivation, on action/reaction, on emotional integrity or the lack of same…but if you want to keep on the side of critiquing rather than “redoing the book,” don’t go too much farther than that. Sometimes the kindest thing you can do for a writer is to let her know she needs to go deeper into characterization, and let her find out how. 4. The same thing goes for setting and other details; if you don’t like them, you’re free to say so, but also, do your best to divorce your dislike—or ignorance—of a certain locale, era, or such from the critiquing of the actual writing. If you truly feel you can’t give the work the fair reading it deserves, be it out of personal prejudice or plain ignorance, it’s okay to excuse yourself. The writer will thank you more for your frankness at that point than she would if you tried to soldier on and ended up having to have things “explained” or “clarified” to you later! But once again, there’s a fine line we walk: the difference between not liking a particular setting, era, occupation for hero/heroine, etc., and telling a writer she can’t use such-and-such a place, occupation, era, scenario, or the like. You may be sincerely trying to help by telling a writer she “can’t” write something and sell it in a given market—but you may, in fact, be wrong on that. We’re all given so many “can’ts,” especially about genre fiction, that sound like gospel…and then someone comes along who doesn’t know any better, writes a horking good book using two or three of those “can’ts,” and no one bats an eye. In this, as in so many other areas—particularly in mainstream fiction—story trumps pretty much everything else. Even in genre fiction, with its tighter formulas, authors are constantly looking for ways to kick the sides out of the box, and editors are constantly looking for a way to encourage them to do so while still selling to their target audience. So try not to dissuade someone from using some element in their story just because you don’t particularly like it. Someone else may love the thing to death and buy it for a million dollars—and then, your pontifications won’t be considered knowledgeable or even thoughtful editorial advice so much as a stunning example of yet another person who “didn’t get it.” You don’t want to be in that story…so try your best to stay out of the “prohibition” business. One prohibition, however, is a good one to remember…and that’s what we’ll close with today as a final thought on your role as critiquer: 5. Refuse to be drawn into a discussion of whether a writer “has talent” or not. Think you’re not going to be asked this? Think again. I don’t think I’ve gone through more than a handful of critiques in which that question isn’t put forth as part of what the writer wants as feedback…and you should never answer it. Period. Not because you can’t tell; you usually can. (!) Sometimes you can even make a reasonable guess that the asker does not have “what it takes” to make it as a writer. But, flattering as it may be to be consulted about this mythical thing called “talent,” don’t fall for the flattery. Neither answer is a good one. If you say yes, there are always a certain number of writers who will take that as carte blanche to do nothing to develop their work or clean up their basic mistakes: “My writing teacher says I have real talent, so I don’t want to stifle it with a bunch of stupid rules.” If you say no—even if you have really, really, really good reasons for saying no—some people say you risk crushing a writer’s hopes. I wouldn’t go that far. Writers themselves decide what feedback to take, they decide whether to go any farther than they already are, and they decide when to quit; anyone who tries to pin those decisions on the word of another person is fooling herself. But that won’t stop her from accusing you of destroying her ego, stopping her dead, trashing her dreams, etc.—and who needs that nonsense? Certainly not someone who’s only trying to help. So keep the help craft-centered, keep it as close as you can to giving the writer a few landmarks and a roadmap, keep it focused as much as possible on making the work salable, and you’ll be giving good critiquing…without being abused and/or put into the shoes of an editor, a confessor, or a mother. All of those people have their places; you as critiquer are none of them. Play the role correctly and not only will you have given out some solid help to your fellow writers, but you’ll have energy and time left over to spend on your own work! …which leads us to the other side of the coin: what you, as a writer, should be getting from a critique…what your role is in the creative exchange…and how to know if you’re getting good advice. We’ll tackle that one next time! Stay tuned, Janny