Story-telling

I will be totally and completely honest. I hate book signings (except when it's signings with kids--I adore talking to classrooms of little guys and gals--the best part of this job). And now that I've seen my name on the cover of about 20 books, it's still nice, but . . . I don't react. It is almost as if that happens to someone else. Some other person named Erica Orloff. And even when it was all brand-new, it just, to be honest, felt weird. I never imagined a career as a published novelist. I like making up stories. It's that simple. I sold my first completed novel--but there were others in drawers and unfinished . . . and I was content with that, too, because I simply liked hanging out with my writer pals in my critique group, digging the art of what it was we did.

Over my years as a book editor, I could often tell you whether someone was going to get published by their motivation. Dozens of times, I read queries for publishers and I met authors who wanted to hire me to edit their books, and they were in two camps. One contained people who were passionate about words and creating. They were usually people who loved reading. They wanted to hold a book in their hands and see their name on a cover. They may have even wanted the thrill of sitting at a table, signing books for people as some kind of validation of their craft. But the creating was the most important thing to them. A lot of them got published.

In camp #2 were the ego-driven authors. They, for the most part, couldn't pitch their books properly. A lot of time they chased what was hot in the market, not what they actually liked writing. They were, usually, ANGRY. Because everything they read was "crap" and the editors were simply blind. And more than anything, they wanted to "show them." And the reason they couldn't pitch their books properly it it was never about the story for them. It was about what the story could GET them--prestige.

We're all ego-driven to some extent. You do have to be able to present yourself as a public figure if you want to be an author, to believe you're good enough to publish, and so on. But I do believe it is never forgetting the passion of the story-telling.

So what is it that drives you? Is it the dream of holding a book in your hand? The craft? The idea of walking into a bookstore and seeing your book? A lifelong dream? The story-telling?

Demon in Diapers

There is a myth--especially among women--that you can have "it" all--whatever it is. You can have a career, a perfect house, perfect kids, perfect pets, a perfect marriage . . . and not break a sweat. This myth is perpetuated by women who resemble the Stepford Wives, who never let you peek at their imperfection. Their kids are all "gifted," and their car doesn't look like a candy factory and a cereal truck crashed and imploded on the upholstery with a demon child spraying a giant juice box.


As a writer, I have a great life--I don't punch a clock, and I get to work in my pjs. I get to make stuff up for a living. But in order to do that with four kids, three dogs, and no nanny, I have to give myself permission to have a messy house, imperfect children, and a wardrobe that consists of jeans, a t-shirt, and bare feet. As a writer, I also learned that Newton's Third Law really does exist. With four kids, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Thus:

• If you have just cleaned the kitchen and mopped the floors, the baby will decide to "paint" said floor with a juice box.
• If you have just deposited an advance check in the bank, one of the following will occur: the A/C unit will need to be replaced, the roof will spring a leak, or one of your kids will need a big fat tuition check paid.
• White shirts and mothers do not mix. Enough said.
• When you don't have a deadline, the baby will be sweet and cuddly and undemanding, and your teenager will have no crises. If you DO have a deadline, the baby will exhibit demonic tendencies and your teen will affirm that the Anti-Christ has taken up residence in the fourth bedroom.
• Those neighbors? The ones with the Barbie households? They will drop by when you're gotten so insanely busy that three days of dishes are in the sink, and a science experiment seems to have sprouted in adolescent son's room.

These are just a small glimpse of the life of a writer-mom or, more realistically, mom-writer. I think it's really easy to read blogs and to see this external author and think it's easy . . . and/or pretty. And it isn't. Realizing that is half the battle. You don't have to be perfect. When you let go of that idea . . . you're more free to write.

Has anyone else decided to let some things go? Let go of perfection?

Kids Ask the Darndest Things

I did an online chat about High School Bites on Monday. The girls were 9 and 10 years old--about eight of them. They were great! And they asked me very important questions.

Do I like pizza? (Yes.)
What is your favorite color? (Green.)
Do you root for the Yankees? (This is the MOST important question, and the answer is YES.)

What got me smiling--besides the great questions--is how kids really zero in on what's important for them to know about and identify with an author. They asked me the questions that were important to them.

Which got me thinking about my bio on my books, and also about how I "relate" to the authors I read. My bio is usually mildly humorous. Like this one for The Roofer:

Erica is a native New Yorker, roots for the Yankees, and believes you can take the girl out of New York, but not New York out of the girl.

I very rarely have a "lofty" bio--just usually a mix of odd facts about myself.

And when I read an author I really, really like, in this era of the web, I do go to their website or do try to find out more about them, their research methods, whatever. If I read a book with cultural or historical implications, I especially will try to find out more.

Which also got me thinking . . . I have met one author who think is a total b*tch--a term I don't use lightly. Absolutely and totally, and she makes my skin crawl. I have met one other I think is simply psycho. Also a b*tch, but I think it's because she is somehow not medicated properly and it's less being truly mean and backstabbing and more . . . just . . . crazy. And I cannot read either of these women. Either of them could write the most brilliant book ever in the history of publishing (neither has), and I couldn't read it because they as people just ruined that experience for me by how they behave in person.

So tell me . . . what is your relationship to the authors you read? Do you like knowing about them? Do you visit their websites? Are things like the Yankees important? (Silly question, that last one. Of COURSE it is.)

Go Yanks!
E

Dream Big

"The biggest human temptation is to settle for too little."
~Thomas Merton

My father, especially, taught me in life you have to dream big and never be afraid of failure. A good example was when I wanted to quit my day job as an editor to freelance as a book editor and ghostwriter when I had my son 11 years ago. I had been making really nice "side money" for years, but it was a huge leap to give up benefits and security. Or so I thought. My father said to me, "Quit! You'll never make money working for anyone else. Your income will always depend on what THEY want to give you. Your 4% raise. Whatever. Quit. And you know what? If you fail, you can ALWAYS find another job."

So I quit. And I quintupled my income. More importantly, I was home with my kids. And went on to have more kids because I didn't have daycare costs. And even more than that, I think, I got to soar without having to punch a clock, which was something I loathed with every molecule in my being.

But I was lucky--oh, not in the freelance game. THAT was hard work and never giving up and long hours and tough deadlines. No, I was lucky in that my parents never raised me to work for "the man." They never encouraged me to have modest dreams, but to dream a really great life for myself.

Now, looking at my significant other . . . the total opposite. He raised himself in a virtually parent-less world . . . he lived in poverty and went hungry at times . . . he saw his main parent doing immoral things . . . he wasn't taught right from wrong--and more importantly, no one, ever, told him he could do or be ANYTHING.

Our kids? HUGE dreams. Why not? SOMEONE has to have that big life--might as well be you.

I know so many writers want to quit their day jobs. Want to be published. Want to hit the best-sellers list. Dream it.

Merton is right. Never, ever settle for a lesser dream. You know, I don't always speak my dreams aloud. I don't want people to know what I hold dear to my heart, what I am striving for. But I can tell you, almost every dream I have ever had has come true. Because I wasn't afraid to go for it.

Thoughts?

I Sense a Theme . . .

What can I say? It's spring.

Yesterday, you all got a long-winded story of the transvestite canary known as Zen. Today's spring theme? My garden.

House plants? Brown thumb. I forget they're there. I have two bamboo plants, but that's it. I realized that house plants were beyond me, accepted my limitations indoors . . . and turned my attention OUTdoors, where, now that I live in a temperate climate, I am having great success. I read everything I can on gardening--and have thus chosen shade plants for the shade and full-sun plants for up front. I have Roma tomatoes, and lemon grass and basil and oregano . . . and lots of flowers.

And let me tell you, judging from my aching back after lifting heavy bags of mulch yesterday? It's hard work.

But I am never so content as when my hands are getting dirty in the earth.

Which brings me to writing. So much of gardening isn't the hard work of digging and turning the earth and planting . . . it's what you do once your plants are already in the ground. Like fertilizing (I'm going green--COMPOST). And "dead-heading"--which means plucking off the dead heads of flowers to push the little plants to grow fresh flowers. And that is like writing.

I had to figure out what worked and what didn't. I had to nurture what did work for me--and mercilessly dead-head what didn't. Dead -eading, for me, means:

• Killing my darlings--and learning what that really means
• Not keeping scenes just because I think they are clever unless it advances the plot
• Not keeping dialogue--same reason
• Pruning single words that just aren't necessary--like too many adjectives and adverbs
• CHOOSING my verbs and adjectives carefully so I can use one, not three
• Knowing when I am forcing it and letting a story grow on its own

So . . . it's spring-time. What have you had to dead-head in your own writing? What about life? I've pretty much rid myself of negative people . . . life's too short. It's spring. Time to dead-head!

Singing Like a Canary

Last year, for my birthday, I got a peach-colored canary. I named him Zen. At least Zen was supposed to be a male--because only male canaries have a song. But months later, no song from Zen. He was a silent bird. This was very, very odd. I talked to the breeder and he offered to exhange Zen, assuming he was actually a she. But by then, I was used to my silent canary. I figured Zen was either a girl, or a transvestite. Given my circle of friends, and my love for all my gay pals, I thought it was rather fitting.

I have raised--and bred--all sorts of birds--finches of every sort, canaries, cockatoos, lovebirds, and conures. So, I know how to keep my birds happy. I added fresh grasses in little pots into Zen's environment, real tree branches, as well as all kinds of toys and treats. Still no song. When I moved here last summer, I tried hanging his big cage out on the porch so he could see the yard and the creek and feel the breezes. Nothing.

In winter, I kept him in my office where he would always hear me talking on the phone, where he heard music all day long. Where I could chat with him. Silence.

This past Sunday, now that any chance of frost has passed, I moved Zen back to his old spot on the porch. And? A song! Not just any song. A beautiful, lovely canary song--it's glorious. He is indeed a He and not a trannie bird, and he sings! Now, each evening, I sit outside (he sings around 5:00) and listen to him.

Which got me thinking. For many of us, we came to writing after we tried different things and other careers. Or we tried one type of writing or genre, and it didn't make us sing, but then we found our voice doing a different type of book.

For me, I had tried writing psychological suspense. It wasn't bad, but . . . then I tried comedy, and the result was Spanish Disco, which sold in a matter of weeks. Comedy is really important to me, and even my dark stuff has such quirky characters that there is humor, in the way, I suppose, some people laugh at Pulp Fiction.

So . . . anyone with a canary-like journey? How did you learn to sing?

A Busy Mind

I woke up at 3:00 a.m. today and couldn't fall back to sleep. I don't feel well, so part of it was . . . well, I didn't feel well. The other part of it was I had a lot on my mind. So I did what I usually do when I have a lot on my mind and I can't sleep. I prayed.

And while I am sure zillions (that's a real number, right?) of people the world over have a lot on their minds, I am equally sure that sometimes, writers have the corner market on busy minds.

Why? Well, because it's not just MY mind with problems. It's the 10 characters or so I am thinking about at any given time, and all THEIR problems, and plot difficulties and resolutions and subtle character shifts I have to think about.

It's waking up at two a.m. with a great book idea I have to scribble down. Or the perfect last sentence. Or the perfect first sentence.

And prayer did help to quiet my mind a bit. But I can tell it's going to be a long, TIRED day.

So how about you? A busy mind keep you up? What do you do when it happens? And is it the writing life that intrudes most often?

What Would You Do with a Billion--with a B!

Did you read about that billionaire (with a B!) space tourist? He paid a cool $25 million to fly into space. If you had the money, and it was a lifelong dream, and you go with the idea that you only live once--why not? What an experience, right?

Of course, my first thought was . . . What a neat thing to write about. I can't even imagine there are words to describe actually being in space.

So what would I do with a billion? Not go to space. I think I am too much of a chicken--or, to be more specific, WAY too much of a claustrophobic--to go into space, as much as I adore studying about space and quantum physics.

I would, I am sure, adopt a dozen children. Maybe more. I would buy a big farm, and live until I was an old granny, loving children and raising horses.

That aside . . . my lifestyle itself wouldn't change. Yeah, yeah, I know everyone says that, but I MEAN it. I don't care about clothes or cars. Jewelry or anything flashy. No bling. I don't care about much of anything that costs money. Except land and the peace of looking out on pasture.

I would donate boatloads to charity.

AND, as it relates to writing . . . I think I would become a perpetual student. I would go back to university to study physics, comparative religion, and anything else that struck my fancy. I would just study until I was that old, gray granny with a bunch of kids--and beyond.

So, writers, readers, blog pals, what would you do with a billion--and would you write about it?

Defining a Critique

My writers' group is so essential to my career that I take a two-hour conference call with them every two weeks, now that I don't live near the group anymore. In a crunch, we email each other things as we rewrite and before we send to our agent. I cannot tell you how valuable my critique partners are to me.

And one of the things about our group is we have our groove. We "get" each other. Like any relationship, we had to feel our way as we got to know one another . . . but we "get" what is involved--at least for us--in a solid, useful critique.

Not so easy to find--a match like that.

There is another author, a friend, who has critiqued my work. Can't stand the critiques. Not that this author isn't a good writer, or doesn't have valuable things to say. Not that I can't take it when someone shreds my work apart. I can.

Nope, this author doesn't critique MY work. He rewrites it so it is HIS. "I would write it this way . . . "

Um . . . the point is I would write it MY way.

Eight years ago, my group tried out a woman who has had 25 books published. She's a good writer. But we disinvited her. Same deal. Whether it's control, or a misunderstanding of what a CRITIQUE is, she didn't mesh. She rewrote whole chapters of people's work--choosing all new words, doing it HER way.

Here are two definitions of critique:

n 1: an essay or article that gives a critical evaluation (as of a book or play)
n 2: a serious examination and judgment of something; "constructive criticism is always appreciated" [syn: criticism]

Do either of these imply rewriting someone else's work?

So . . . that's at least my take. A critique partner should tell you where the action lags, where a cliche is in your writing. They can tell you their emotional reaction to a scene, or how they are perceiving your character. They can spot plot holes. They can let you know where your writing is too passive. They can even--on occasion--suggest a strong word or how to tighten a joke. But rewriting your sentences? Uh-uh.

Thoughts?

Men in Dresses

As we got silly in the last comments section, I started thinking about men in dresses.

I have a completely rational crush on a trannie. I say rational because, well, I understand it. You see, I love Eddie Izzard. And I "get" why. Bear with me.

Above is Eddie playing it straight. (And watch his new show on F/X--The Riches.)

And here is Eddie playing it in drag.

Now, I have watched his stand-up act a thousand times on DVD--he's in drag. And each time, I decide he is more brilliant than the last. He was a huge proponent for the Euro, and he is brilliant when discussing economics. His stand-up is hilarious--in French or English. And he has a quick mind. So . . . you know, I sort of see past the lipstick and eyeliner.

And that, I have decided, is the wondrous thing about books. You see, I have an open mind. I can think a trannie is adorable. My friends are a rainbow of races and religions. I have more gay friends than straight. (And for the record, Eddie, trannie that he is, is straight.) I have friends from 12 to 82. But I know I'm not like everyone. I know this country is full of HATE and racism, and hideous preconceptions about people.

And so in books, perhaps, we can find ways to bridge that. In Diary of a Blues Goddess, my heroine's best friend was a drag queen. In Double Down, my heroine's best friend was an African-American ex-NFL star with a sexual secret.

I don't pretend that a book can erase people's prejudices, but it can shrink our world a tiny bit, can't it? I had several women write me after reading Do They Wear High Heels in Heaven . . . women who were in their own words "uncomfortable" around gay men . . . and say the book had sort of softened their views.

Ever read The Kite Runner? What an utterly brilliant book that perhaps made the world a little smaller. Books do it all the time.

Books and words have the power to hurt us. Look at the so-called "manifesto" of the Virginia Tech madman. Words aimed to hurt. But they have the ability, too, to make someone else--someone who might be from a walk of life, a race, a sexuality far removed from us--familiar. Unthreatening. Or, in my case, I can have a crush on a trannie. We can learn to love each other sometimes, through books.

Thoughts? Has a book ever opened your eyes to another world and changed you somehow?

Peace,
E

Strangely Naked

Now that I've gotten your attention . . . . .

Strangers across the country read my books. Strangers across the WORLD read my books--they've been translated into Italian, Spanish, German, Greek, Dutch, and others. I get emails from readers in every state--as well as hearing from people in Europe--and even Japan. They are always--and I mean always--lovely and warm and kind. Which is very cool.

But I recently heard from an old friend, who said she was reading one of my books. And I periodically get emails from people from high school or other points in my life, people I am no longer in touch with, who spotted one of my books and are now reading it. Which is also cool. But it does feel weird.

I stopped Googling myself ages ago. I cannot even begin to tell you the mixture of very nice comments, nasty ones occasionally, and outright odd statements--just weird things people write about in this era of blogs and YouTube--like in one case someone writing into a pretty well-known blog that there was a typo on my cover that guess what? Doesn't exist. So this person is IMAGINING a major typo on my cover. AND feeling compelled to blog about it. How bizarre is that? Or occasionally someone will just write the most nasty comment about one of my books--but it veers into an almost personal attack. I can tell you, I don't ever react that way to books (unless written by Anne Coulter--but then again, I wouldn't buy her book). I know one blog where this aspiring writer, unpublished, just analyzes book after book--which 99% of the time she despises and picks apart and is rude about. I mean just nasty. Yet . . . I wonder . . . is SHE any good? Who knows? But the thing is, none of these people know me, and I guess I like it that way. They can comment on this person, this "author"--that they will never meet. If I knew then what I know now, I would have taken a pen name throughout my career.

But friends and relatives? I imagine them combing my books for hints of my real life and things they know about me. It feels strangely naked. I don't go to therapy--but my books are sometimes therapeutic. But would you really want people reading your shrink's notes?

So, am I the only one who feels this way? Is it hard to share your work with friends and family? Or are strangers worse? If you're unpubbed, do you have no problem entering a contest, but don't want your mom to read your work?

Curious minds want to know.

Real Life

Yesterday, in the comments section, Ewoh, a fairly regular visitor to this blog, had a great observation. To summarize it, we were talking about evil, and I at first was thinking you could trace the MOMENT someone goes over to the dark side. He pointed out it's more likely to be many series of moments. Little things adding up until the big things don't seem to matter. But, he pointed out, that doesn't make for very good fiction.

True.

When I worked as a book editor, I cannot count the number of times I would wade through the slush pile or be asked to critique a manuscript, and find a book that had great promise--but ultimately bored me to tears. The query or the synopsis--awesome. But the book was bogged down in the details of real life. It would take the writer five pages to move through an uneventful meal. It was as if the character could not take a step, have a drink, drive a car, do ANYTHING without it landing on the page in detail. Conversations would prattle on and on to get to a single piece of meat--something I needed to know. So I'd give up. Rejection letter. Or a tough critique (which was, of course, what the person was paying for).

Real life is mundane. It's true, what we discussed yesterday, that evil is a gradual fall.

But in fiction, we CHOOSE how to define our characters. We get to pick precise moments, precise scenes. And every single one of them should be revealing. We don't need to go through all the mundane details--unless for some reason that's important. We need to cut to the chase.

Real life vs. fiction. Thoughts?

E

A Line in the Sand

I am working on a kids' fantasy book that I have been toying with for a while. My kids read it--and love it--and I get to have an awful lot of fun as a writer. And in a key scene, because the clan in the book has their lineage through Russian history, the hero of the book shows my heroine, a 12-year-old girl, where the family tree broke off--and Rasputin is part of it. At some point, that part of the clan went to the shadows and became a different sort of clan entirely. There's a visual--a burnt-out tree. It's very obvious where the people who went to the shadowlands departed the good part of the family. The burnt landscape SHOWS you as reader. But in adult books, the line of demarcation is more slippery.

I wonder then, about the nature of evil. If you could trace it in a character, like unraveling a loose thread in a sweater, could you find THE defining moment. At what point does someone make not a leap of faith but a leap of another kind.

We all have defining moments in our lives. If we're lucky, those moments make us stronger and move us more toward good. I know I had a defining moment on New Year's Eve, 1994. I was in a hospital bed, really, really sick and in terrible pain. The person I had once been was slipping away day by day--and a person in my life did a cowardly thing. At that moment--and it was indeed a single MOMENT--my world changed. There was me before that moment and me after. Shortly after this event, though still very sick, I picked up stakes and moved hundreds of miles away and made a new life somewhere else with my child. I was a lot stronger for it. I learned something about the nature of people. And I learned what I was made of.

Villains must have those moments, too. But in a different way. At what point do people stop being human to them and start being target practice? At what point is rape OK to them? You can ask the questions and never get the answers, but I think as writers it serves us well to figure out that point in our characters.

Thoughts?

Topics?

So I was asked to speak in June at a wine and cheese gathering at the local country club--a fundraiser for a library. When I speak to writers, I naturally gravitate to certain topics. Characterization. Breaking out of a rut. Making your manuscript stand out. Plot. Theme. Getting your hook in the manuscript early. Writers, I get.

But when you have a group assembled that is not comprised of writers, the topics shift. I have a few ideas . . . but . . . I would love to hear from you all--writers, readers, lurkers (you know who you are because you occasionally email me!), bloggers, etc. If you went to see an author speak, what would you want to hear about? If you went to see ME speak, what the heck would you want to learn?

Side note: Wine will be involved, so . . . that makes everything immediately more interesting.

Now . . . discuss!

Peace,
E

Rainy Day Writing

I just got home from a vacation in Florida--and was greeted by rain, rain, and more rain.

Which is a good thing.

Something about the rain inspires me to hunker down and write. When it's sunshine and spring, I want to go for long walks with the dogs, push the baby in the stroller, garden, and, in general, goof off.

But rain makes me want to write. I feel snuggled in, cozy in my chair, and ready to visit my books. I think I picture Jo in Little Women, up in her attic. Only I don't have an attic office, I'm on the ground floor.

Snow doesn't have the same effect. I want to make snow angels and just watch it fall. Snow is magical. I can't be bothered earning a living when there's SNOW to play in!

Rain equals work. And maybe a nap.

So are your writing moods ever dictated by weather?

GUEST BLOGGER: Vivi Anna

We have a guest blogger today--and she has a topic that I am SURE you will all relate to (I know I relate and then some!): FOCUS!

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Lately I’ve been struggling with staying focused. For a month I had no commitments or deadlines to worry about. I could’ve been working on the next Valorian Chronicles book, but hey, that would’ve made too much sense. In my mind, I was a free bird when it came to writing. I could write about whatever I wanted. Well, see, that’s a huge problem with me. Because I want to write everything. During that month, I started six separate projects, even going as far as writing synopses and writing first chapters. And I love them all. One more one day then the other mind you. Never two at the same time. So, I was at a loss of what I truly wanted to write, or what I should write.

I started looking at the markets, and what houses were buying what. Of course this just depressed me, because I didn’t have a new deal to rave about. But it did tell me a bit about which ideas of mine would be timelier, or I’m hoping ahead of the trend. But that left four solid projects to work on. Now what? I could work on all of them at the same time. But I couldn’t shop them all at the same time, so what would be the point. To me it would be a waste of time.

So, what should I work on??? Time ticks by and I still have no clue. My focus is gone.

The Oxford dictionary defines focus: a central point of attraction, attention, or activity. And there I see the problem, I’ve lost my point. The reasons I write. When I have a deadline I write to that, for my editor, so she always loves me. I’m under a time constraint and it works for me. I have a central point. Time.

So, without a deadline, for what point did I write? I realized that I write because I have to. Because I can’t not write and live peacefully with myself. I write because I love creating worlds and characters. I write because I love the process.

Without a deadline, I will drive myself insane with new ideas, but in the end I’ve satisfied my need to create. I may always have problems with focus, with channeling my gift into one project at a time. That’s my process I realize, and that’s okay with me.

How do you stay focused? Do you have an odd process that works for you?

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Visit Vivi Anna on the web. And run out to buy her Noctune, BLOOD SECRETS!

Now tell us about your focus!

The Stakes

I just had a conversation with one of my editors in which she asked me to make some changes to my next Nocturne. The main thing--the biggest plot element I have to add--is a higher stake for my hero. Her suggestion was brilliant.

You see, my heroine has a very high stake--the life of her brother. But my hero--he's a long for the ride. In terms of dramatic tension, there wasn't enough. He needs more invested in their journey, in their fight against the bad guys.

It's good advice for me--for any writer. If you look at a lot of action movies, the scripts often have that element. Yes, the hero wants to save the world--but if his daughter and wife are being held hostage until he does, it's personal somehow. Remember The Rock, the movie with Nicholas Cage and Sean Connery? Yes, they were saving the city from the insane bad guy with the nuclear device or whatever the heck it was. BUT . . . Nicholas Cage just HAD to find out his girlfriend was pregnant AND in the city. Now he had not just her--but his unborn child.

You get the idea.

So now my hero's stakes are to find out the truth about his daughter's disappearance. And get the heroine in bed and save the world and all that. ;-)

And what about you? What are your hero's stakes or your heroine's?

Teachers That Matter

One of my children has a teacher who doesn't seem to like students or teaching. Burn-out case or simply someone who doesn't have the empathy gene (or a poor match for my child--though I've heard from other students and parents so I don't think that's it in entirety), it doesn't much matter, because the end result is a kid turned off from what could be a truly exciting subject. Been there myself. I've blogged here before about a math teacher, immortalized forever in my book, High School Bites, who terrified her class. Who seemed to delight in humiliation.

But that got me thinking about teachers who did matter to me--not in the nightmares they gave, but in a good way. I actually had more of that experience in college . . . professors who were PART of the university community, who really cared and got involved. But I do remember one high school English teacher. And the book that did it.

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee. I came home and told my mother about all the symbolism and foreshadowing (new concepts to me) in the book (to which she said I was likely full of shit because people over-read into books). But I was hooked. While classmates grumbled about how boring it was, I saw the magic in every word, on every page. This was a reason to come to school. Hell, it was a reason for living! It wasn't that I hadn't loved other books--I was a big fan of Dickens. But something about the way the book unfolded made me hold my breath. Who was this Boo Radley?

My teacher made it all come alive for me. And it was my first. A book that changed everything. There was reading before Harper Lee, and reading after it. And English class before my 9th grade teacher and English class after it.

Anyone else? Teachers (and books for that matter) that changed the world?

Dig Deep

In my work-in-progress, I am getting good feedback from my two main critique partners. But I am still unsettled. I think it's because it's a new book and I don't know my heroine yet. I mean, I know who she is, what she looks like. I know she is courageous and truthful and patient. But I don't KNOW her yet.

For that, I have to dig deeper. At least for me, my writing process, I have to BECOME her. For at least part of the time.

Every writer interprets digging deeper differently. For me, thinking about it, that's what it means for me. That voice, HER voice, has to be MY voice. I have to be her. I hadn't realized that until the last day or so. This is not to say this is a universal process for all writers. In fact, I think by needing this when I write, I put myself through a lot of pain and aggravation--I take on my character's burdens. They consume me. But . . . that's the process for me.

She has to stop being a list of characteristics. She has to become a character. There's a difference. It's like going out on a couple of dates, and when you describe the person, you say, "Oh, he is medium-height, he likes opera, he can cook, he has a good sense of humor." The person is just a list of traits no different from a personal ad. But meet the person you're positive is destined to be a meaningful lover? Suddenly, those traits become a rapturous list of intimate details--you KNOW them. You know them so well, in fact, you can predict how he or she would react to certain situations or problems, etc.

I need to get to that point with my heroine.

So . . . what does digging deep mean to you?