Author of award-winning, adventurous realistic and historical fiction

confessions

My Word for 2014

Jan 5, 2014 | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Last year, my word for 2013 was balance. While I do think that having that word at the forefront of my mind helped me take at least a few steps toward a more balanced life, I still have a lot of work to do with that word. But 2014 is a new year, so I needed a new word.

For 2014, I’m choosing: open.

As I look back over my 2013 posts, I realize that I didn’t blog much about what’s been going on in my writing life. That’s partly because after starting a new job last January, I found I had a lot less time for blogging and social media in general (sad face). But honestly, I think it’s also that as I moved further into the publishing process, the more I found myself retreating a bit, at least online. Working toward publishing When Audrey Met Alice has been a joyful experience, by and large–but like any big life thing, it’s brought some stressors along with the good stuff. I found myself nervous about sharing both the many good things (I guess I have that Midwestern sensibility of not tooting one’s own horn) and the few things that scared me. The thing I’m starting to realize, though, is that writing with a goal of publication means putting yourself out there in the world, and that’s an okay thing. You have to be open to the possibilities. And I truly believe that the best writing comes from an open mind and an open heart, and I want to keep improving my craft this year.

Perhaps because I often felt overwhelmed by juggling day-job work, writing work, a move, and everything else last year, I found myself closing off a little in other ways. Sometimes I met invitations and opportunities with a cringe (Where am I going to find the time for that!) instead of an excited or appreciative smile. Sometimes I just got really anxious, or exhausted-cranky. I’d like to shift that attitude a bit, and show thankfulness for all of the great things in my life by approaching it by being a little more receptive.

I’ve never been super comfortable with sharing too much personal stuff online (hello, introversion), and I don’t think that’s going to change. But I feel such gratitude for all the honest posts I’ve read from writers at various stages of the publishing process the past two weeks. So in addition to trying to approach IRL things with a spirit of openness, I want to approach online life with a bit more of that, too. Like by saying right now that as excited as I am for my book to come out in less than a month(!), I’m pretty nervous, too.

So, hello, 2014. I am taking deep breath and doing a stretchy yoga move, and trying to greet everything that’s in store for me this year with . . . openness.

(What’s your word for this new year?)

The Problem with Stars

Jun 18, 2013 | , , , , , , ,

Confession: I’ve resisted joining Goodreads for the longest time. While I’ve long used–and appreciated!–the site to get information about books and read non-editorial reviews, I didn’t want an author account.* The main reason why? The stars. 

To clarify, I don’t think there is anything wrong with rating and reviewing books, and I certainly don’t judge anyone who does. Ratings can be a very useful tool for readers, and even authors! My problem is that I personally can’t figure out a way to use the stars that seems fair to me as a reader as well as fair to the rest of the people on the site.
The thing is, the star rating system (on Goodreads, Amazon, or any site that encourages quantitative ratings of books) doesn’t use a standardized metric. Each individual on the site has to come up with their own, unique rating system–and they might vary their method depending on the book, their mood, or changing tastes. That’s how you get one-star reviews of Jane Eyre and five-star reviews of critically-trashed commercial fiction. Some people rate based on personal opinion. Some based on quality of the writing, despite whether or not they enjoyed the work. Others rate on whether their expectations (based on category, genre, etc.) were met. (To be honest, that’s probably the method that makes the most sense to me. Otherwise I would feel weird about giving five stars to both a lauded classic and a beach read, you know? They weren’t intended to be the same type of work or reading experience–and that’s okay.)
If a reader wants an apple but gets an orange, is that 1 star for not being the desired apple? Or however many stars the book deserves as an orange? Because that orange book was never intended to satisfy apple cravings, anyway.

(Now I want some fruit.)

A solution, of course, is writing a review that explains the rationale behind the stars. But some people–like me–don’t want to review. And for that reason, I’m shelving books aplenty on Goodreads, but I won’t be rating them. It doesn’t seem fair to assign a quantitative measure without explaining how I got there. I really value Goodreads as a reference and a community, and I’m excited to become more active there, but for now I think I’ll keep a blank slate of stars.
Are you on Goodreads? How do you approach reviews and stars?

*But now I have one. Let’s be friends!

You’re (Not) Doing It Wrong

May 28, 2013 | , , , , , , , ,

This rambling post is one I’d been meaning to write for a while, and then I read Katy Upperman’s fabulous post On Insanity last week,* which made me want to post it even more. One of the hardest things about being a writer is quashing the impulse to compare your trajectory with everyone else’s. Or what you think everyone else’s is. And on social media, we typically see mostly the big milestones that people reach: finishing a draft, getting an agent, winning a contest, selling a book. There’s a constant chanting of good news and big news for other people through blogs and Twitter and Tumblr. Well, yay! That is awesome. Good news for one is sort of good news for all, because it means that our industry is thriving and authors are creating and readers are buying. But the steady stream of “NEWS!” also presents an illusion, one that things are happening faster, or easier, or more frequently for other people.

The thing that I’m feeling all compare-y about lately is speed, or the lack thereof (in terms of how quickly I can finish a project). The more I tune into Twitter, the more I start to think that everyone else is writing perfect first drafts in four weeks, and still blogging, tweeting, and tumblring regularly. Meanwhile I am revising . . . and revising . . . and revising the same old WIPs. Which has been driving me slightly nuts. Honestly, I am kind of a slow writer, and I’m not a full-time one. That’s right–I know that the limitations on my writing speed are understandable–it’s not like I’m slow because I keep choosing to binge-watch Nashville instead of revise a chapter.** I get that I should feel good about myself for the solid progress I am making, at a pace that works for me. The fact that I’m steadily working and meeting actual deadlines is what’s important, right? Sure. But when I dip into my Twitter feed and the blogosphere, I kind of lose that perspective. I find myself thinking, You’re doing it wrong, slowpoke.

Writing’s not easy, and everyone’s struggling with something. Comparison is an unnecessary problem, but a difficult one to fix. Is the solution to avoid social media? I don’t think so: It can be a great, beneficial, stimulating, supportive place. If there’s a solution, I think it’s to remind ourselves that there is no right way to do this–write, tell stories, create. Or, if there is a “right” way, it is whichever way is working for you. Slow and steady can win the race. So can fast and frenzied. I love this post from The Kindness Project on making time, and this line stuck with me: “Kindness, like most things, starts with yourself.” Letting go of the need to compare–that’s also an act of kindness toward yourself.

From now on, I’ll ask myself: Are you doing what works for you, right now (while still keeping yourself accountable)?
Great. Then you’re not doing it wrong.

*Uh, at the beginning of May, actually. See? I am slow (and that’s . . . okay).
**Not that there is anything wrong with binge-watching TV once in a while, or specifically watching Nashville, which is a delightful show. Please do not tell me what happened in the finale because I haven’t watched it yet. 🙂

On First Daughters and Fandom

Nov 12, 2012 | , , , , , , , , ,

Kennedy Family at Camp David (source: Wikimedia Commons)

It’s not surprising that I wound up writing a story about a pair of first daughters; I am a First Kid superfan. My interest in children in the White House has been lifelong–I remember seeing old photographs of the Kennedy children in the Oval Office when I was a kid and being fascinated by them. Same for ones of Amy Carter. Chelsea Clinton is not much older than me, and when President Clinton was in office, I soaked up every tidbit I could (harder to do, in the pre-Internet era) about her tweenage life at 1600.

I also have strong memories of some of the media scrutiny Chelsea faced as a first daughter. There were SNL skits that meanly mocked her, and snide comments from journalists like this tone deaf essay from Frank Rich at the NYT, “The Chelsea Show.” Yes, a grown man publicly called out her “gawkiness, frizzy hair, and orthodontically transitional smile.” It appears he was trying to be sympathetic to Chelsea’s plight in his “humorous” essay, but dude: what an ass.

Margaret Truman Daniel, a former first daughter herself, wrote a famous Letter to the Editor to chastise him. It was part of the reason why the media generally stopped reporting on the children of presidents. (The NYT describes that as an “informal pact” between the press and the White House in their article on how Malia Obama’s spring break trip almost became news. It clarifies that unless the girls are with their parents, they are considered off-limits by much of the media.)

I’ve had a lot of impulses over the past couple of years to blog about the Obama girls, for obvious reasons (they are first kids, and they also seem like very cool kids). I’ve tried to hold back. The thing is, it’s a different situation to write about historical first daughters (those that are now deceased), former first daughters (those who are now adults), and the current two. It’s clear that the information released about the Obama girls is closely guarded, as it should be. Administration officials must work very hard to protect a little privacy for the first family, and that is an admirable thing. Perpetuating public interest in the Obama girls–even simply through linking to photos or articles on other sites on my humble blog–doesn’t seem fair. The smidge of privacy they maintain has been hard-won, and it’s important to respect that.

I hope to start sharing more of the information I’ve learned about life at the White House and famous first kids over the next TK-many months until When Audrey Met Alice comes out. Only the fun stuff, though–I promise not to bore you! But one thing you won’t read about here are the current occupants of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, unless it’s a link to or sourced by some kind of official information.

What do you find interesting about First Kids*?

*A nerdy little grammar note: So far as I can tell, it is not grammatically correct to capitalize unofficial titles such as first daughter and first kid. Even First Lady is not an official title, although it is commonly treated as such and therefore capitalization is accepted. Sometimes I do capitalize first daughter or first kid, though, as a stylistic choice to highlight the title. The copy editor part of me is annoyed by this. I should probably start being consistent.

On Patience and the Bottle in my Fridge

Oct 16, 2012 | , , , , , , ,

Many moons ago, someone gave me a bottle of decent champagne. I think it might have been leftover from a holiday party. I didn’t have an occasion to open it at the time, and I’m not generally fabulous enough to pop a bottle of bubbly for no reason. It was around the time I first went on submission for the first time ever, so I thought, “I’ll save this for the day I accept an offer for my book.” (Which I realize now is a slightly obnoxious but not uncommon thought pattern for newbies on sub.)

The champagne sat in the way-back of my fridge. And it sat. It sat for so long that I started Googling things like, “Does champagne go bad?”
Oh, there were times when it looked like I’d be opening it. I’d open the fridge door to get some carrots and smile at the bottle. Soon, soon. Maybe I’d pull the champagne flutes out of storage and rinse off the dust, you know, just in case.
HUBRIS ALERT. The occasion to take out the bottle never materialized, despite coming painfully close to fruition.

On some days, that green bottle mocked me from its perch on the shelf. I stuck the Brita pitcher in front of it to hide it. My husband found it one day. “Did you know that there is a bottle of champagne in the fridge? What’s that doing there?”
“Nothing.” Saving that champagne was a stupid idea, I thought. The bottle is going to sit in there forever. I’ll be packing it up for every move. Each December, I’ll debate yanking it out for New Year’s just to get rid of it. If I ever have children and then someday they have to move me into a nursing home, they’ll find it and ask, “Mom, why is there a bottle of champagne from 20– in here?” But I kept it in there anyway. Because part of me always believed that I would, in fact, have the occasion to open it someday.

That bottle became a random symbol of determination, of the hope and optimism a writer needs when working on another round of revision or a fresh first draft. Maybe someday people will read these words I’m writing. If I really REALLY work hard, if I’m patient, and if I’m just a little bit lucky. When that happens, I will celebrate. I will pop that champagne, finally.

You probably know where I’m going with this. That heavy, green, EMPTY champagne bottle went out with last week’s recyclables. The cork is sitting on my desk. Dreams do come true, hard work is rewarded. Patience pays off, and so does optimism. And this is why it’s good to never give up.

Scents and Writeability

Sep 25, 2012 | , , , , , , , , ,

We talk a lot about how some senses contribute to the writing process. The music playlists we listen to as we power through revisions, the pinboards we gaze at to visually inspire our WIPs, the chocolate we savor to help us deal with bad news, even the way our fingers feel tapping the keys (and the way our backs feel after slouching in a desk chair for hours while drafting). But there’s one sense that I feel like gets neglected in discussions of the writing process, and that’s smell.

Smell can be an important and influential part of the writing process. I’ve started incorporating scents into mine, and I swear it’s not related to neglecting laundry so I have more time to write. (I’m a freak who likes doing laundry, actually.) When I sit down to work on the first draft of my WIP, I use the smells of specific candles to get me into the atmosphere of the story. My current favorite? A cedarwood and rosewood blend that I think smells like a barrier island in summer, hot pine needles and driftwood and the Atlantic. Whether the candle objectively does or not smell like that is besides the point; when I burn it while I write, it connects me emotionally to the place I’m traveling on the page.

My current favorite candle.

Not every story is told in a place that smells like flowers, though. I’m not suggesting you make your desk area smell like sulfur if you’re writing about hell. But I do suggest CB I Hate Perfume, which has some fantastically unique scents, like In the Library, a “warm blend of English novel, Russian & Moroccan leather bindings, worn cloth, and a hint of wood polish,” or Walking in Air, which was inspired by Balanchine’s The Nutcracker. (Uh, I think I need At the Beach 1966. I love the smell of Coppertone. Happiness in a bottle.)

Bath and Body Works also has a line of candles out now that includes French baguette and macaron blends, to which I say: I WANT. It’s enough to make me think that the next project I work on needs to involve French bakers, so I can make my writing space smell like bread and cookies all the time.

And then there’s good old Demeter Fragrance Library, which has the normal (almond; mulled cider), the cool (paperback; New Zealand), and the just plain weird (earthworm; dregs, as in the bottom of a wine barrel; and turpentine).

Obviously, you don’t need a delightful or weird potpourri to write. But sometimes a little ritual, like lighting a candle or spritzing a room spray, can help you get into the mood of your story. Or it can help you unwind and let the words flow.

So, have I convinced you to get into aromatherapy for writers?

Requiem for a Dumbphone

Jun 13, 2012 | , , , , , , ,

You served  me well, Dumbphone. Even though you never held a charge. Even though your backplate constantly yearned to break free from the rest of the phone, rendering you unconscious (sometimes in the middle of a call). Even though you loved to butt-dial my sister and BFF Annabel. Even though your teeny tiny little QWERTY keypad made texting a grammatical nightmare.
You had some good features. CNET said your shape was reminiscent of a candy bar; that’s probably why I liked you. Mmm, chocolate phones. You had a distorted little patch of mirror on the back for incredibly lo-res selfies, I guess. Your ringtones were unintentionally hilarious. Or maybe intentionally–I have no idea who designed you. I will miss the fact that I could drop, kick, or throw you without fear. I never, not once, worried about somebody stealing you on the subway.
Perhaps we will meet again–if my iPhone breaks or gets itself stolen, or if I am feeling nostalgic for a phone that is just a phone. Until then: thanks for the four years(!) of conversation. It’s been real.
To all who preceeded me into the world of iPhones: which apps do I want? Help me figure out how to use this thing with suggestions in the comments, please!

Bossypants (and its therapeutic effects)

Jul 11, 2011 | , , , ,

You might know that I am a fearful flier; in fact, you probably know it because one of the ways I “deal” with my fear is by blabbing to everyone I come into contact with about how freaked out I get about planes. Before a flight, I might talk about my phobia to: my super, my cubemates, my parents, my grandma, my fiance, the checkout lady at Duane Reade, all cab drivers I come into contact with, strangers on the Interwebs, the barista, strangers on the Air Train, my seatmate, etc. Most people are nice and try to reassure me by saying one of these three things:
–I fly all the time! And nothing has ever happened to me. (There is a first time for everything, buddy.)
–Air travel is the safest mode of transportation. (I bet they said that about the Hindenburg. And the Titanic.)
–You have a better chance of getting killed in a car accident on the way to/from the airport than on the plane. (This one makes no sense to me. I mean, we just established that I am a worrier. Are you trying to give me more fears? In NYC, people often like to tell me that I have better odds of getting smushed to death by a falling window-unit air conditioner. Well, congratulations: I’m now afraid of air conditioners, too.)

Despite all that reassurance, I still white-knuckle my way through a hell of a lot of flights. No what matter shiny object you put in front of my face, I can’t stop thinking OMG I AM WAY UP IN THE AIR IN A METAL TUBE WHAT’S THAT NOISE I HOPE NOBODY LOOKS AT MY GOOGLE SEARCH HISTORY AFTER I DIE.

Correction, there is one shiny object that will actually distract me and make me relax. It is this:

Yes, I read Bossypants on my flight and it was so awesome that I actually enjoyed myself. Instead of crying annoyingly next to my businessman seatmate, I was laughing annoyingly. Hysterically, the whole time. I even bonded with the flight attendant about it. We giggled together.
Tina Fey is my hero. She nailed every single word in Bossypants, the most consistently hilarious book of essays I’ve read (other than a Sedaris book). There’s even an essay that deals with a fear of flying (not hers), which I read at 36,000 feet. It was meta.
Writing this post, I kept rereading parts of the book and wanting to transcribe bits to show you how amazing and super-funny it is. But then I realized that I would end up posting the entire freaking thing, because it’s all so good, and that would probably violate copyright law. So I will say: judge this book by its cover. Which is awesome. Like the contents.

You are not like Milli Vanilli.

Nov 22, 2010 | , ,

How many of you writers have found yourself thinking any of the following:

  • I only got an agent/got published/won an award because of luck, or because I wrote the right thing at the right time.
  • So what if I wrote that book, now I have to write another. And it has to be better.
  • I can’t believe nobody has picked up on the typos in Chapter 7 or that terrible passage I didn’t cut in Chapter 19. Eventually, someone will and then they’ll all see what a hack I am.
  • I didn’t deserve to get so much praise for that book/attract the attention of some agents/get published. What I do isn’t half as good as writers X, Y, and Z. It’s not even a thimbleful as good.
  • If [insert your favorite writer here] had written what I wrote, maybe then it would be decent.
  • I’m not a *real* writer.

Persistent self-doubting thoughts might be fleeting bouts of insecurity, or they might be a sign that you’re suffering from impostor syndrome. Which is a real thing:

Do You Have the Imposter Syndrome?
Imposter Syndrome–Feeling Like a Fraud
[Note: Apparently “impostor” and “imposter” are both accepted spellings? Merriam-Webster was a little confusing on this one.]
I should know. One of the speakers at my grad-school orientation gave lecture about the dangers of the impostor syndrome in academia. Sitting in the audience, after a couple of stress-filled days in which my internal mantra was What the hell am I doing here?!?!, I had an impostor-syndrome epiphany: You mean I’m not the only person who feels this way? Who thinks that eventually everyone else in my department will figure out that I’m the village idiot who slipped through the admissions cracks? Apparently, I was not.

It’s easy to slip into impostor thought patterns as a writer. It’s easy to overlook the laudable and successful things you’ve done (no matter what stage of the publishing process you’re at) and write them off as flukes, luck, frauds. If you ever receive a compliment for your writing and your response begins with but/actually/no, I really just/or some other modifier instead of “Why, thank you. That’s so wonderful to hear”–congrats, you’re acting like someone who thinks s/he is an impostor.

Being humble is good. Being realistic is good. Knowing your strengths and weaknesses is good. Being open to criticism that makes you grow and evolve and improve is good. Thinking that you are an impostor is bad. It’s not productive, just stressful.

If you write, you are a writer. If you’ve experienced success, you most likely deserved it. Ignore impostor-y thoughts and focus instead on enjoying the writing process, which always involves occasional mistakes, usually followed by growth and improvement.

Girl you know it’s true: you are not like Milli Vanilli.

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