Author of award-winning, adventurous realistic and historical fiction

preaching to the choir

Inspiration spots, bubbles, and ideal readers

Jun 24, 2013 | , , , , , , , , , ,

I have many writing spots, in my apartment, from the desk to the couch to the kitchen table, and writing spots in other places scattered around the city and back in America’s Dairyland, too. But I also have an inspiration spot, one for daydreaming and brainstorming and problem-solving, both for writing problems and sometimes IRL problems.
I wasn’t until I started cultivating my inspiration spot that I realized how important a place–or mental space–that is for writers, too. As important as an ergonomic desk chair.

Anyway, my inspiration spot in a makeshift windowseat. From it I get a nice, sunny view of the sidewalk below my apartment. It makes for good people-watching, as they walk to and from the park or in and out of the candy-and-lotto bodega.

In one of the little walkup buildings on my street lives a nice young family. Their daughter looks like she’s about ten or eleven. Her mom or dad sits on the stoop as she and her puppy play on the sidewalk out front. A lot of times she plays with a simple bubble wand. She twirls around the sidewalk, spinning and marveling at the bubbles floating up into the trees. Her parents join in. It’s really charming. I kind of adore Bubble Girl. (Hopefully it doesn’t sound creepy that I watch her play.)

I write books for young readers, but I don’t have kids. Which is fine, because as that quote from legendary children’s book editor Ursula Nordstrom goes,”I am a former child, and I haven’t forgotten a thing.” But sometimes it’s good to let kids remind me, a little more immediately, of being at the age at which bubbles were all I needed to have a happy afternoon. I smile and watch Bubble Girl play, and I wonder what she’d want to read about. I remind myself that it’s actually her I’m writing for. I’d like to write a book that will make her smile or think or laugh.

Generally, I don’t like to give directives, because really how do I know what anyone else needs to get his or her writing groove on. But I do think it’s helpful for most writers to have a reminder of your ideal reader. Bubble Girl is mine.

And I hope I do right by her.

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. 🙂

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.

Where we buy our books

Dec 6, 2011 | , , , , , ,

I don’t care where people buy their books–indies or B&N or Half Price or online or Urban Outfitters or Target or the airport or your neighbor’s stoop–I just like it when people buy books. Yay, books!
With one exception: buy it where you found it.

If you discover a book in a bookstore, buy it there.

There have been a lot of trend pieces lately (and this article) about people using bookshops as showrooms–browsing the display tables and staff picks, then jotting down or taking pics of the titles to remember to buy them from an online retailer. I say: that sucks! Somebody working at that bookstore decided to stock the book, and liked it enough to put it out for you to find it. If you wouldn’t have known or thought to order it online without seeing it in the brick & mortar store, that store (and its helpful curators, the employees) deserves for you to buy the book there. Even if it costs a dollar or several more than online.
By the same measure: if you discover a title from an online giant’s email or newsletter or algorithm, great! Go ahead and buy it from them.

But a store is a store, not a showroom. It’s there to sell things and if it doesn’t, it will go away. Now that we have online retailers with no physical presence and mobile shopping apps up the wazoo, we have to protect the brick & mortar stores that help make our towns and neighborhoods vibrant places. Unless, of course, you want all the businesses around you to be banks and cell-phone stores. Nothing against them, but personally, I’d prefer a few bookshops in the mix.

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