Author of award-winning, adventurous realistic and historical fiction

deepthoughts

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 Moving and Books

Mar 19, 2013 | , , , , , ,

I’m currently packing up my apartment. In the process, I’ve determined that books comprise about 40% of what I own. (Sorry, robbers. If you don’t want paperbacks or old T-shirts or shoes with an odd wear pattern because apparently I walk funny–you’re out of luck.) Right now they are strewn across the floor of our living room/office/storage area/guest room (life in small spaces, yo) and slowly making their way into poorly packed boxes.

A poorly packed box.

I think books might actually be the Very Worst Thing to Pack. Worse than glassware. Hear me out: books are heavy, they come in wildly variant trim sizes, and they are dusty (at least if they belong to someone who hates dusting, like me). Putting them into boxes feels like the world’s most frustrating game of Tetris. There’s always ONE art book that is super long and won’t fit in the box and screws everything up, so another box full of tcotchkes that normally could live in the back of a closet in the new place (never to be unpacked–almost as good as actually dealing with the clutter) now contains a book and therefore has to get unpacked and dealt with.

Anyway. Can you tell that I’m at the point of moving at which I wish someone would hit me over the head with one of my rarely used kitchen appliances, or the copy of Benet’s Reader’s Encyclopedia that I haven’t opened since college, and I could wake up once we’re settled again?

I love print books. Always have, probably always will. Given the choice, I will opt to read in print form as opposed to on my iPad. But damn it if moving doesn’t make me want to bring my entire collection to the Strand and go digital. To think I could have every book in the mountain of brown boxes that currently prevents me from walking from my desk to the closet door on my 0.68-pound tablet . . .

What about you? Does moving (or dealing with piles of books in your home on a regular basis) make you want to convert to e-reading?

Revise like an Improviser

Feb 11, 2013 | , , , , , ,

Over the years I’ve gotten to learn a little bit about sketch comedy and improv because my husband is a long-time performer. I’m always amazed when I watch his shows at how the spontaneous collaboration works. Whenever someone onstage gets an idea rolling, the other performers embrace and expand it, and more often than not a pretty coherent story blossoms out of something as small as a single word. Considering that as many as half-dozen people are creating the story without actually negotiating the content, that’s impressive. I mean, I sometimes fight too much with myself to get anything on the page.

“Always say yes” is a rule in improv, and it’s a big part of what makes this creativity and collaboration possible. (Tina Fey talked about it in Bossypants and explains how saying yes changed her life here.) At its most basic, the idea applies to how you respond to the other performers within a scene. If you start with the intention that your scene is set in Antarctica, it’s your collaborator’s job to say yes to that idea. Not to think, No–we’re not in Antarctica; we’re at the mall on Black Friday. My idea is better; I’m changing this. No matter how wacked out the idea is, just go with it.

It’s even better to say “Yes, and . . . ” Build on ideas. So your partner places you in a scene in Antarctica, and you respond with “Yes, and we’re here because the plane crashed and now we’re stranded like the guys in the movie Alive.” And your partner might respond with, “Yes, and we would consider cannibalism to survive except we’re part of a group traveling home from a veganism conference.” And so on.

If someone refuses to say yes, things shut down. If someone doesn’t say “yes, and,” it doesn’t build. The same is true for revising.

Whenever you’re revising, and particularly when your revision involves the collaboration of someone else–like a CP, or an agent, or an editor–it’s good to keep an open mind. Approach the work with the mindset of saying yes, and–not with a mindset of no, because. Of course, this is easier said than done–nobody wants to kill his or her darlings, and a lot of times saying no is a reaction to that desire to retain and protect what we’ve worked so hard to create. Saying yes doesn’t mean blindly accepting suggestions, but pushing back out of instinct, or the need to control, instead of for a good reason can be limiting. Adding the “and” can be a way to make sure you take suggestions in a direction that’s right for you. Saying yes, and keeping yourself open to fresh ideas and collaboration, is a way to grow as a writer and a storyteller–and a way to make the revision process more creative.

So, writer friends: do you have a hard time saying yes to changes during revisions? How do you collaborate in the writing process?

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.

One Thing Well

Mar 6, 2012 | , , , , , , , ,

That’s my new motto, at least when it comes to weeknights. I used to try to do a lot in my off-work hours: hit the gym, cook dinner, whip up a blogpost for the next day, catch up on other social media, read, call my fam, and get in some writing time. Sometimes I’d go really crazy and try to add cleaning, laundry, or (gasp) some kind of socializing in the mix.

Shocker: I ended up half-assing a whole lot of stuff.

My new philosophy? One thing well.*
On weeknights, aside from the non-negotiables (some kind of exercise or activity to destress; healthy eating, whether I prepare it or someone else does) and quality time with fiance/catching up with friends and family, I get to do one task. And I will try to do it well.

If it’s a night on which I want to revise two chapters, I’m not going to try to write a post, too. If I need to vacuum my insanely dusty apartment,** then maybe I’m not going to finish a read-through. I know what my priorities are, and it’s surprisingly easier than I thought to balance one-thing-per-night in accordance to them. Maybe I’ll clean less if I’m trying to finish a draft. Maybe I’ll blog more once a project is off with beta readers. Etc.

And you know what is kind of great? Going to sleep knowing that maybe you didn’t get everything done, but you sure whole-assed what you did.

*Slightly different context, but here’s a nice post from Zen Habits on Do One Thing Well
**Seriously, why is dust not a form of energy; because if it were, I would be so very filthy rich. Science, please get on that.

I love this poem.

Oct 4, 2011 | , ,

A Poet’s Poem
Brenda Shaughnessy

If it takes me all day,
I will get the word freshened out of this poem.

I put it in the first line, then moved it to the second,
and now it won’t come out.

It’s stuck. I’m so frustrated,
so I went out to my little porch all covered in snow

and watched the icicles drip, as I smoked
a cigarette.

Finally I reached up and broke a big, clear spike
off the roof with my bare hand.

And used it to write a word in the snow.
I wrote the word snow.

I can’t stand myself.

I think it applies to novelists, too.
Thanks to Megan for a) knowing I would love it b) emailing it to me.

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