Category Archives: On Writing

The Reading!

I’m reblogging this from fellow writer, Louella Dizon San Juan. On her blog, Louella (also a close friend and former college roommate) shares the details, as well as some fun photographs of our reading at Dewey’s Candy in Brooklyn. It was such a delightful event, in such a sweet setting! I read, listened, met some fascinating people–including the author, Karen Heuler, and agent, Brooks Sherman of FinePrint Literary– and also shopped for my kids’ Valentine’s Day candy!

Magic and Fantastic

We literally had a “fantastic” time at our Sugarplums and Fairies reading event at Dewey’s Candy on Thursday night, Feb. 7th.

Dewey’s Candy owner Alison (Dewey) Oblonsky and I thought that the combination of candy and fairies would be a natural crowd-pleasing event, so we decided to throw that party in the first week of February, in time for Valentine’s Day and as a book launch and platform for a few author friends and I.

We had 2 rounds of readings from Karen Heuler, Lisa W. Rosenberg, and myself, with ample opportunity for attendees (walk-ins) to purchase candy during our Candy Prelude, Candy-mission, and Candy Wrap-up.

During our Candy-mission and Candy Wrap-up Q&A, over Perrier and Prosecco (courtesy of our host, Alison!), queries centered on topics like, “What served as the inspiration behind your story?” and “How do you feel about traditional publishing vs. self-publishing?”

Audience members of all ages…

View original post 156 more words

Advertisements

Back: a Book Revised, a Reading Upcoming

DSC00621It has been so long since I’ve posted here, so long since I’ve read or commented on the blogs I follow.  In my last post, I apologized in advance for what I knew would be a break, and my kind, supportive followers commented that there was no need to be sorry—that they understood. However, at this time, I think an explanation of what’s been going on might make for a good return post.

First, as I mentioned, I had restarted my therapy practice, which felt wonderful, returning to a part of me that I’d been away from long enough to really miss.  It was time; I was ready to work and focus on the lives of others.

Second, though I had technically written two books during my leave, both needed some work yet. Though Twice the Dazzle—a version of which I’d completed before the hurricane—was close, my concentration had been nil since the fire.  I was unable to write much more than a blog post and was unable to read much more than the New York Times.

But as December was nearing its midpoint, something began to lift.  Suddenly, I was able to sit with a book again (and read one I’d been meaning to get to for years: The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood.  Loved!)  I was also itching to return to my own book, which was so close to done.  It was time to finally use the feedback from my consultation with Arielle Eckstut and make it the very best it could be.

Step one was to minimize the priorities in my life.  The top was, is, and has to be my family.  I have two children and a husband who are still reeling in their assorted ways from this fire—a trauma for us all, no matter how you look at it.  Next—related to the first—is managing our lives in this temporary home, replacing and recreating what I can of our life.  Next is my work, rebuilding and reestablishing my therapy practice.  Writing came fourth and had to fight for its place at the table.  I knew that if I was going to get this thing done, I needed to focus.  That meant releasing myself from other commitments, as well as giving myself total permission to withdraw from the blogosphere, from Facebook and Twitter, and even—to a degree from email.

It was so freeing to do that, to trust my instincts and to devote myself to the few things that could not wait.  Thanks in no small part to the understanding support of my friends, family and, of course, my followers, I am happy to say that I have done what I set out to do and completed the revision.  The book is now getting a last onceover from my “team” of wonderful beta readers, and a serious proof-read.  This time around, I will not—mark my words—submit my manuscript prematurely.  (Yes, I am trying the traditional route at this point, not having the wherewithal to research self-publishing right now.)

That said, I do have exciting news: I am doing my first reading from Twice the Dazzle, my YA novel about twin teens in the ballet world—this very week!  My dear friend and former college roommate, Louella San Juan, has invited me to join her as she presents from her new book, The Crowded Kingdom, at Dewey’s Candy in DUMBO, this Thursday.  See Louella’s website for details.  I have also posted the press release on my new “EVENTS” page.

I Like It. Now Add Suspense.

What will happen next?

What will happen next?

So, about two weeks before Hurricane Sandy and three weeks before our fire, I had a consultation with the brilliant Arielle Eckstut, agent, entrepreneur, and one half of the amazing husband-and-wife team known as The Book Doctors.  I’d first met Arielle and her husband David at one of their famous (in the literary world) Pitchapalooza workshops, held at Montclair’s beloved Watchung Booksellers, back in January.

I’d just come from the pitch slam at the Writers Digest Conference, where I’d successfully pitched my adult novel to five different agents. (To be clear: by “successfully,” I mean they had all asked for pages, not offered to rep me.) Anyway, I didn’t feel I needed to work on my pitch for that book, but wanted to try something new.   So, the night before the Pitchapalooza workshop, I wrote a brand new pitch–just for the fun of it–for a book I had not written yet: a YA ballet novel which would become Twice the Dazzle.  To make a long story short, David critiqued my pitch and then told me to let him know when the book was done. Nine months later, I emailed him with just that news. He read a few chapters and suggested I have a consultation with his wife, which is just what I did.

Arielle helped me tweak the pitch letter and fine-tune the list of agents to-be-queried.  Then, after reading several excerpts of my actual book, she gave me some great advice.  She loved my writing, she said; she liked the characters and the story too.  But …

“You play all your cards in the first hand.”

Meaning, via the dreaded info-dump trap, I had given away my characters’ back stories and motivation in the first chapter.  Suspense was the thing my book needed. Entice the reader along, Arielle encouraged me, trickle out clues as to why they might be this way and what happened before. Draw the readers in with the suggestion of what a glance, a touch, a turned back might mean later on.  Lead up to a big reveal. Make BIG MOMENTS your landmarks.

So, I got right to work. For example:

The first chapter (which used to be a prologue) involved the seventeen-year-old twins, Oliver and Olivia, simultaneously flashing back to a traumatic moment from their childhood, when their mother had abandoned them in a taxicab.  For some reason, I was convinced that I had to begin with this scene; it shed light on the twins’ own relationship as well as both twins’ relationships with each of their parents. You saw Mom’s mental illness, Dad’s brutal temper, as well as Oliver’s delight in wearing the tutu that chubby Olivia couldn’t squeeze into (foreshadowing both the gay theme and the weight struggle/body image theme). All in all, an exhausting two and a half pages (artfully handled or not).

What I needed to do, Arielle had explained, was take the story of the early trauma and hint at it, revealing it organically later on. She’d helped me figure out where and how to do this, and also–since I wasn’t going to start with the flashback any more–where I should start the book in the first place.

When the hurricane hit, I was about two thirds of the way into my revision. I barely took a break though.  As soon as we were staying with friends-with-power, I resumed the process. Then came the fire. Then the work screeched to a halt. Twice the Dazzle, about seven eighths of the way revised was dangling in the air. Until now.  I had a conversation with my husband last night, during which we agreed that, while the kids and the various home-reconfiguring issues need to be my priorities right now, as well as my therapy practice, I can’t put the book aside–not when I’m this close to the finish line.  Of course, I can’t quite do what I did before the fire, which was write the whole time my kids were in school. But I can still write, even if it’s an hour or two here and there. I can still finish this thing and be ready to query by, say, February.

I’m beginning today by putting the new, improved, post-Book Doctor Consult Chapters 1 (Olivia’s voice) and 2 (Oliver’s voice)  here on this blog for curious followers.  Comment if you like.  Know that I’m around here somewhere, trying to make it all work.

L

House Fire Chronicles: A Very Brief Update

IMG00306-20121128-1259

This beautiful painting by Zoe was on the wall in our playroom.

Thank you all so much for your kind wishes, hugs, prayers, meals, gifts and really fabulous hand-me-downs (I love Montclair!).  We are so grateful to the wonderful friends who gave us their comfortable third floor for the past month.  We are also missing them a little bit now, as we’ve moved into a rental house that is just about two blocks away from our actual house.  We feel very lucky, even though the day we moved in here some men in trucks arrived to dig a huge hole in the front lawn in preparation to clean up an oil leak (this originated from the neighbor’s tank which was removed about a year ago).  I write this, by the way, to the beat of a jackhammer outside my window.  No biggie;  it will all be over in a week or two, the guy smoking a cigarette on my porch tells me.  Besides, I have to say again, I am so grateful to be here, this close to home.   It meant a lot to me that, while we’re waiting to move back (a year from now), our orientation to the town is basically the same as usual.  Close to school, close to neighbors, close to the construction, which should begin sometime soon.  Zoe is back on her old school bus and both kids are right around the corner from their friends. 

This would be more heartbreaking, I think, had our place just burned to the ground with all our stuff inside.    Instead, all our stuff is mostly intact, caked with soot, ground through with smoke-stench, but still there.  In a strange way, this has given me a chance to say goodbye.     

 Though the air inside good old 14 Victoria is really not safe to breath, though it is a darkened horror show, full of broken glass and other hazards, every few days, I put on a mask and sneak in to see what treasures I can rescue—a drawing that’s not too charred, an old favorite stuffed animal (I was able to scrub it fairly clean in the machine, though it still smells like smoke), a bra (seriously).  My clandestine game of search and rescue is coming to a close soon.   The place has been picked over and inventoried and assessed by salvage and content experts one of whom eloquently declared our stuff to be “toast.”  Read: not worth trying to salvage.  Which we’re now ready to hear I think, ready to move on. 

The next stage I think, is demolition.  Or something like it.  Stay tuned.  A phoenix is on the horizon.

My apologies for not blogging much these days, not following much and posting the same thing on FB and WP.  It’s not just a case of laziness or being overwhelmed.  I am writing, though mostly my book—which is keeping me sane—and limiting the time I spend at the computer.  The kids need it more.  And me.

Love,

Lisa

What are you Waiting For? Limbo vs. the Meantime.

“I’m waiting to hear.”

“I’m waiting to find out.”

“We were hoping to close before the end of the month but the buyers are stalling.”

“The doctor thinks it’s benign but we won’t have the results for another day or two.”

“My son applied to sixteen colleges.  We won’t hear until February.”

What are you waiting for?  In my case, there’s the writing-related waiting: for my teenage beta readers to finish with my YA novel so I can fix it and submit it; to hear from the couple of agents I’ve sent query letters to.  Then, there’s the family waiting:  to learn what my husband’s next job will be, to find out my daughter’s schedule, my son’s teacher—so I can get on with the back to school shopping already.  And of course, as it is for so many free-lance moms, though we’re loathe to admit it (sometimes), I’m waiting for school to start so I can get something done.  (Of course, back in June, I was waiting for summer to start so we could all relax a little!)

For review: I can’t shop until I know their schedules.  I can’t revise until I’ve gotten feedback.  Hear that message?   I can’t do X until another person does Y.   I’m in Limbo.  You’ve probably saidthat to someone recently.  If not, I’m sure you’ve heard it.

Webster’s defines Limbo (the secular definition) as “… an intermediate or transitional place or state of uncertainty.”

Limbo is a hard place to be.  Your life has been hijacked; everything is on hold, your eyes fixed on the uncertain future.  You’re a prisoner to the whims of others.  Checking your voicemail, the mailbox, the email, again, and again.  It can be a recipe for anxiety, irritability, and depression.  But guess what?  Limbo doesn’t own you.  You can choose to be free.

I know a woman who has survived cancer, bravely enduring the diagnosis and the painful, sickening rigors of treatment.  Then more treatment to make sure the first treatment really worked.    Then more tests and continued monitoring.  The waiting is never over for her, but somehow she refuses to see it that way.   “I can’t live my life in fear of the future.”  She has children who need her now; she has a husband, and a job, now.   She takes pleasure in her family and her garden, in beautiful weather and in rain, in cooking and in reading.  She gets scared sometimes, sad sometimes, and frustrated with people who try to make her dwell on illness when she’s focused on health.  But mostly she lives now, surrounded by people who love her, who appreciate her joie de vivre and who join her in the seizing of each day.  She’s grown strong on the love of life, exchanging hats for headbands, losing the headbands as hair grows back in.   Maybe one day it will be gone again, but now is what matters, her children and husband and friends.  The little things, like a phone call or an email that hasn’t come yet, some editor’s elusive approval—these wouldn’t faze her.  She may yet have all the time in the world, but she won’t waste a minute of it in Limbo.

I try my best to learn from this and I’m getting better.   When I start to get anxious and hyper-focused on the future—on the parts I have no control over (whether an agent will fall in love with my protagonist, whether I can make a feuding couple hear one another, whether my daughter will make friends in middle school)—I do a few things:

  • I sing.  In the shower, in the car, with my kids:   show tunes, the Beatles, Queen, Journey, Katie Perry, Taylor Swift, The Little Mermaid … anything.  Just sing.  It feels good, and I actually read a      study once that found singing enhances your mood.
  • I treat myself as if I were my own client.  I nurture myself, reality check, point out my own strengths or the strengths of my kids if it’s their uncertain futures I’m worrying about.
  • I breathe—like a yogi.  Full disclosure: I don’t do yoga, (the only reason being the time; if I have it to spare I’ll dance, which I never get to do enough).  However, a yogi friend of my husband’s taught him a series of deep breathing exercises, which he taught me.       And though this is third hand stuff, the deep breathing really does      help get me out of future-panic mode and back into the moment, the      present.
  • I read.
  • I connect with people I love and miss.  You know—the ones you’re too busy and angst-ridden to see?  Hearing about their lives takes you out of your own.   Cheer them on, console them if they need it, share yourself, laugh together.  Be in the moment together.
  • I think  about my mom, how she worries about me and my family just because we’re her children—how silly I think she is for doing it.  Everything is going to be fine, Mom, it really is.  And saying it to      her, I believe it.
  • I play with my kids.  Because they are the moment.
  • I hang out with my husband (oh yeah—him!)

These things are the opposite of Limbo:  they are how I make the most of the meantime.

When my father was dying, when my mother and I knew it would be soon, we were in a very trying kind of limbo.

“It’ll be any day now,” said the visiting nurse.  Any day now seemed like a pretty big margin of error.   In any case, we were in a holding pattern, as my mother described it.  We didn’t want to go too far or commit to anything.  We were determined to be with Dad when he passed.  The waiting went on for two whole weeks.

Then, the night before he died, my mother and I watched a movie together on the small TV set in the living room.  Though it wasn’t a comedy, the relief of doing something besides wait got the better of us and soon, we were both in stitches, enjoying each other, enjoying this small piece of life, though my father was leaving us gradually in the other room.*

We hadn’t abandoned him; he was in the care of a nurse who’d get us as soon as we were needed.  But during those two hours, we were free from Limbo, making the most of something beautiful in the meantime … life.

What about you?  When you find yourself in a holding pattern, what do you do to celebrate “the meantime?”

Blog vs. Book Part 2

Unlike some dedicated bloggers who announce their hiatuses (hiatae?) in advance, I just up and took one without planning to, without any word at all.  Though I thought I’d start blogging in earnest again as soon as I’d completed a draft of my novel, once I had that draft in hand (in my docs) my momentum picked up, rather than slowing.   A draft is only a draft, after all, and a completed, submission-ready novel is quite another thing and I wanted that other thing ASAP.  I became obsessed—remain obsessed (as I think you have to be to finish any book) with that goal of completion.  (I know: many novelists say you’re never really done; there are always possible revisions to make, but I’m talking about that stage when you can finally query an agent re: “my completed novel.” )

Once I’d finished what was really a second draft (meaning the first draft with all notes-to-self replaced by actual writing, a real ending and finally, finally, a title (more on that in a moment), that goal seemed imminently doable.  The next milestone—right before the point where you can revise with intent to query—was the “done-enough-to-give-to-beta-readers” point.  I can get there by the time my husband gets back from his business tripI can get there before my daughter leaves for sleep-away camp (and my son needs me to actually hang out with him).  I can get there by the time my mom gets home from Russia (she’ll be so proud of me and so surprised that she’s got a new book to read!).

It became a race against the ordinary events in my life, a race against myself, my stamina, the clock, sleep.  As a writing mom with kids home for the summer, work is all about brief periods of intense focus, then lots of big vats of pasta so my kids can have all their friends over and won’t miss me if I need to keep writing.  But when I’m done writing for the morning or the afternoon, my kids have me.   We make up dumb songs, tell each other stories, dance around the kitchen, swim, read to one another and, of course shop (which is sometimes fun with kids, other times not, but it’s important for kids to learn to take the good with the boring).  In other words, even when my writing takes center stage, kids are top priority.  For example, my daughter had a bad scare when she was convinced that a cookie crumb was lodged in her lung; believe me, I dropped everything to make her tea and hold her hand while she coughed tearfully away.  A blog, on the other hand … well, a blog is not your kid.

To be perfectly frank, this blog, the blogosphere in general, dropped completely off my list of priorities.  And, unlike past occasions, I didn’t feel a lick of guilt about it.  Partly that’s because I believe my fellow bloggers–those I follow and who follow me–would not only understand, but would be cheering me on as I’d cheer for them.  We’re a group of supportive women (mostly) and men (still a nice handful) who respect one another and know that each of us is an adult (mostly) and that we all have goals that may sometimes take up all our energy.   (Though it’s only been ten days since my last post,  it feels like much longer; I haven’t been reading, commenting or even going on She Writes.)

All that said, I’m returning to this blog after an unannounced hiatus, because it matters to me.  The blogs I follow matter to me.  I am curious to see how they’re all doing, what’s up with my fellow novel-writing bloggers, what’s happening in Australia, Lebanon, Alaska, Calgary and The Blue Ridges (for a few examples).  What people are thinking vis à vis gun control, post Aurora; about the Boy Scouts’ sad and curious choice of encouraging homophobia.  I’m eager to see how the new bloggers I know are doing and enjoying the colorful visuals of the photo-blogs I follow.  (Please check out my blogroll in the lower right hand corner!)

Please note that I have added a second Novel Excerpt page for anyone interested in checking out my new Y.A. baby:  Twice the Dazzle.  It took finishing the book to come up with a title I felt was right!

Thanks for your patience and all your support in the past.

Lisa

P.S. If you didn’t catch the original Blog vs. Book post from March 15th, you can read it here.

A Stench in the House … Someone Must be Writing.

The other day, I posted about my friend, Emmy Laybourne’s newly released YA novel, Monument 14.  So, what about my own YA novel in progress?  Rightly or not, I feel I owe my followers at least a tiny explanation.  Here’s what I meant to do after that “Ghost Blog” post, in which I explained the reason I was slacking off on my blogging was that I’d given myself a June 15th deadline for finishing a draft of my YA novel.  After making my deadline with flying colors (which I actually did, but more on the later) I was going to write a big victory post announcing the completion of the draft, the launching of the new revision phase and possibly throwing in some resolutions about how much more religiously I was going to blog, it being summer and all.

Well, here’s what happened instead.  I finished a draft on June 12th, a couple of days before my deadline, but rather than posting about it to celebrate, I dove right into the revision process without even coming up for air.  The reason being momentum, of which I had tons seeing as I’d been eating, sleeping and breathing the world of my twin protagonists, slamming through that last chapter, that final delicious moment when Olivia gets her dazzle on after 17 years of being outshone by her talented and dynamic twin brother Oliver.  I didn’t want to blog about it, talk about it, write about the process of writing it or do anything but just keep on writing—starting over at the beginning!  And let’s face it, is there anything more fun and exciting than combing through and tightening up a big 288 page mess that you made?

Writing a first draft can be scary.  Even though I used an outline and tried to stick to it, there were times when I got lost and self doubt consumed me.  What if I couldn’t finish?  What if the plot just didn’t work?   I admit it; there were lots of doubts and lots of periods of time where I’d finish a chapter and the thought of filling in the blankness ahead was so daunting,  I had to force myself to sit in the chair and write.  I did a lot of procrastinating, sometimes using the blogosphere itself as an escape.  I didn’t use a writing group because I find that getting feedback as I make up the story tends to hold me back.  I do better when I just write the whole thing, revise a few times and then test it out on people.  A first draft is for you, the writer.  It’s the progression through the whole story, with lots of notes-to-self (can this be told as a flash-back?  Do we even need the zany, mad-cap aunt?) woven in.  A second draft is the one you can start sharing with your writers’ group, or your mother or your husband or that one devoted friend who likes to read anything you seem to put on paper.  A second draft is the one where someone besides you can read the story and kind of get it; it’s the one before the third fourth and fifth drafts you might give to some beta readers—where it starts to count.

Nevertheless, a first draft is a huge milestone.  Before, you had an outline—better than a blank page, but still just a big map with no guarantee of arriving at your destination.  Now …

  • You know your outline works at least well enough to get      you from starting point A all the way home.
  • You have a beginning, middle and end and hopefully a      bunch of stuff to work with in between.
  • You no longer have just a story in your mind to invent, you have a book to tinker with: hundreds of pages of material      to tweak, sort, toss and turn into something potentially magical.
  • Best of all, since it’s for your eyes only so far, it’s      okay that it’s a mess … for now.

My friend who is a creative writing professor recommends leaving your first draft alone in a drawer for a few months while you work on other projects.  The idea is to come back to it with some distance and be able to clearly see what works, what doesn’t and what just needs to be deep sixed.  I think this is good advice.  However, I’ve got this momentum right now and I don’t want to waste it.  With this draft in hand, the fears, the tendency to procrastinate vanished and momentum was hard to break.  I still had about a week left before my kids’ summer vacation arrived to cut short my writing time, so instead of taking a breather from my book, I plowed on.

With the second draft, things happen more quickly.  If I have an hour, I can rewrite a whole chapter or a scene that doesn’t work, or write the sick aunt out of the book altogether.  If I have thirty minutes, I can pick a pretty OK section and make it pretty good.

On the downside, since I can’t wait to finish this draft and the going is pretty easy (for now), it’s really hard to stop and do other things.  Like laundry and dinner.  And getting immunization records for summer camp.  The other day, I’d been multitasking:  cooking dinner, folding laundry, helping my daughter pack for a camping trip, when I stole a “few” minutes to revise the chapter I was working that morning.  In retrospect I did smell something foul as I sat there, but for better or for worse, I was too focused to care what it was.

My son is much more independent than my daughter and therefore less likely to come up to my “writing room” when I’m working (when I’m up there, he can usually sneak in some precious unauthorized moments on the Wii).   I knew something was up when I heard his little feet padding up the stairs.

“Mommy,” he said, “I think there’s a stench in the house.  It’s starting to hurt the inside of my nose.”

A stench?  Indeed there was.  It was the wok full of broccoli and other assorted vegetables that I’d walked away from twenty minutes earlier and was now blackening away in a malodorous disaster.  (Yes my husband was home, as was my daughter, but their allergies often preclude stench detection.)

So this is where I’ve been, writing, revising, burning broccoli, letting wet laundry sit for a few days racing to get out a draft that someone can actually read.  I am in a big hurry to get to the end for reasons I’ll disclose in another post, but I must say, I am at last enjoying the process.  I think many followers are in the same boat with their own books, or somewhere in the vicinity.  Godspeed to you all.  Best of luck and keep me posted on your process!