« May 2006 | Main | July 2006 »

June 26, 2006

Typing Uphill Both Ways

Recently, my keyboard went on the fritz. I have no idea why (note to self: no more glasses of water on the desk) but suddenly, I couldn't type certain letters, like "i" or "s" and every other word or so was typed in all caps so it looked like I was screaming. After a morning of this, I was screaming.

The gods of the computers eventually smiled on me because the next day, I was able to type normally. With a lighter heart -- and a lighter touch on the keyboard -- I tackled the work at hand. It struck me, however, what a valuable lesson I'd learned. Besides the H2O thing. Actually, I learned two lessons.

First: Sometimes you need to walk away from a writing problem. When no amount of smacking the backspace or delete key could rid my screen of the garbled mess, I pushed my chair away from my desk and went out for a walk. Not only was this calming, but I began to think about a story I'd been working on in an entirely new way. I realized I could solve a plot problem using all the elements I'd already created, but in a fresher and more believable way.

Second: I was reminded that, even when one's keyboard is not possessed, writing is hard work. We fight against stuck keys, stuck imaginations and even stuck lives. We get rejected, reviewed and remaindered. And, especially when you write for children, sometimes you "don't get no respect." I find in moments like these that a pity party is just the thing, especially when it includes chocolate or lattes. Or both. Pity parties are great -- as long as they're short. You set your own time limits. Mine are about an hour per rejection, though I did take six months off once, when a book contract was cancelled. But I've never done that again.

Writing is a bit like when your dad went to school -- it is a long walk, uphill, both ways. But it's a long walk I hope I'm taking till I'm about 94 and can't manage one more step.

Posted by kirby at 07:31 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

June 23, 2006

Empty Nests

I couldn't write anything yesterday because of heartbreak. My darling spousal unit was trying to be helpful and spruce up the new plantings around here. In his haste, he forgot that I was harboring a clutch of eggs in the impatiens basket. As (rotten) luck would have it, the handful of fertilizer granules he tossed in landed smack in "my" nest, nearly covering those three precious eggs.

Mama chickadee did not return. I waited one whole day and night. Too long for the eggs to survive, but I couldn't let go of hope. Today, we had a funeral.

Mama chickadee is much more realistic than me -- according to a website about chickadees, if something happens to a clutch, they build another nest and lay more eggs. C'est la vie.

I will admit to having a much too tender heart. But this process is painfully familiar to me. Like Mama Chickadee, I take twigs and bits of stuff and fluff and weave it all together into a nest. My nest holds, not eggs, but ideas, words, images. I want each nestful, each story, to come to fruition, to find wings, to fly. But that isn't always the case. In fact, it is rarely the case. For every nest that bears fruit, there are many, many others that tumble to the ground and rot.

I weep when something bad happens to my nest. Mama black-capped chickadee just picks up and starts over. Maybe there's something to be said for being a bird-brain.

Posted by kirby at 07:45 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

June 21, 2006

Pirates!

I am holding my breath until the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie comes out. Johnny Depp! Do I need to say more?

But that's not the only reason I'm thinking swashbucklers and bottles of rum. Today, I was part of a focus group for our local SCBWI (Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators -- if you are creating books for kids, you absolutely need to join). The meeting was hosted by co-Regional Advisors extraordinaire, Sara Easterly and Jolie Steckly, at All for Kids Books, independent bookstore extraordinaire. Though Sara and Jolie kept the meeting moving right along, it was held in the event room, one of owner Chauni Haslett's amazing ideas. The walls are white -- boring, you say? But nearly every square inch of those four walls is covered with love notes from all the children's book creators who have appeared at the store (some rabble rousers even sign the ceiling). During a brief lull in the meeting, a skull and crossbones drawing caught my attention; there was someone else in the world with a pirate fetish! I peered closer. The image was signed by that scalliwag, Jack Gantos, with this caveat: "Read or Rot."

These three words are good advice for living a full life in general. But for writers, they are the unbreakable pirates' code. I can't tell you how many people I meet at conferences who want to write for children -- are writing for children -- but haven't read a children's book in umpteen years. If you want to write for children -- not at them -- you must read. Read everything you can get your hands on in the genre in which you want to write. Read even more in every other genre.

Look, would you want a surgeon who thought Incision 101 was beneath her? Would you want a waiter who never read the food handlers guidebook? Would you sign on with a pirate who didn't know the laws of the sea?

Instead of pondering these questions, get thee to a good independent bookstore, buy a few books, and go home and read. Eye patch optional.

Posted by kirby at 09:42 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

June 20, 2006

Posted by kirby at 09:25 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

Birds in the Bush

A cedar basket of ruby-red impatiens hangs under the eave of my front porch. I water it every other day or so. About a week ago, as I watered it, a black-capped chickadee scolded me mercilessly. I smiled at his (or her) charming antics and went about my other chores. Then last night when I watered the basket, that little chickadee flew out from the blooms. Again, being a bear of very little brain, I thought, "oh, how cute."

It took a long walk this morning to clear the cranial clutter enough to do the math. As soon as I got home, I dragged a step-stool over to the basket, climbed up and peeked in. This time mama chickadee flew out, fluttered to the porch and did her best to convince me she was injured and, thus, an easy target.

I turned my eyes from her emoting and peeked in between the red blooms. There sat a heartbreakingly perfect round twig nest. Nestled in the middle were three speckled eggs, each about the size of red globe grape. I lingered a few moments more then backed away so Mama could get back to her babes.

Later, as I made my coffee, I thought how this miraculous moment had a lesson in it for me as a writer. My readers, too, long to find treasures, surprises, among the words blooming on the page. They don't want to find the cliche, the ordinary, the generic, the dull. They turn each page in hopes of finding something that makes their hearts stop the way mine did when I saw those exquisite eggs.

So I'm back at today's work, with an eye for places to plant nests where my readers will stumble upon them in delight.

Posted by kirby at 10:53 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

June 19, 2006

I Gotta Be Me

I am re-reading Art and Fear: Observations on the Perils (and Rewards) of Artmaking, by David Bayles and Ted Orland (Image Continuum Press). What? You do not have this book in your writer's arsenal yet? Make haste to your nearest local, independent bookstore and purchase one posthaste. My copy is to the point where but a few lines per page are not highlighted.

Here is the gem I am turning over in my mind this evening: "In large measure becoming an artist consists of learning to accept yourself, which makes your work personal, and in following your own voice, which makes your work distinctive."

In other words: Kirby, quite whining because you didn't write Because of Winn-Dixie or Belle Prater's Boy or Feed. Get thee to the keyboard and write the story that Kate Di Camillo and Ruth White and M.T. Anderson will wish they could've written. But they can't. Because they're not Kirby Larson, maybe the only girl in history to flunk boys' P.E. in 8th grade.

Here's the deal. No one else can write our stories. And we can't write anyone else's stories. So is there any sense in fussing and moaning over another writer's success? I'll bet you can answer that all for yourself. As my mother would say, "flour'em." Loosely translated, that means: stick your bum in the chair and write the story only you can write. So what if there are a hundred other pioneer stories? No one can write the one you have in mind. Dozens of coming-of-age-girls-who-play-football tales? Maybe yours will be the next Dairy Queen. There are already hundreds of picture books with pig characters? Maybe yours will capture the world the way Olivia has.

So today's tip: glue yourself to your work chair, or face the risk of depriving the world of that brilliant story only you can write.

Posted by kirby at 09:10 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

June 18, 2006

Abba is not a Swedish Singing Group

My dad became at dad at 21 but he took to it as if he'd been doing it for eons. I'm not saying he was perfect. But he has been a darned good dad for, well, about 50 years (we don't need to get overly specific here.). A few of the points that earn him the good dad award:

He let me check any book out of the library when I was a kid, even when I didn't understand one blessed word.
He beat me at chess. Until I learned to beat him.
He opened his heart to each and every one of my friends.
He drove me to church when he didn't go himself.
He adored (and still adores) my mother.
He baited me in debates at the dinner table so I could learn to adequately defend my point of view.
He was always there for us kids, even when I'm sure he wanted to walk away.
He takes an interest in nearly everyone he meets.

I remember, as a kid, that my dad would often volunteer to run to the grocery store. Even if Mom only needed one thing on the list, he would be gone for hours. It wasn't that he was trying to get away from the 5 of us (okay; maybe he was). No; this was his chance to read. There, for free, in the grocery store, he could read the latest Louis A'mour or Ross MacDonald or whoever. And, because he was a fast reader, he could finish those books in one sitting. And close them back up, put them on the shelf, grab the milk and head home. From my dad, I learned that reading was a delight, a pleasure, a treat. That you could squeeze it in even if you had four little kids and no real prospects. There was always a new book, no matter what else had happened that day or that week.

So, I thank you, Dad. For the love and support and the bad jokes. But mostly for guiding me to the world of words.

Posted by kirby at 07:26 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

June 15, 2006

Let the Old Lady Scream

The one comment I make more than any other on student work is “show, don’t tell.” When a story is told, the reader has no choice about how to feel, how to understand, how to experience the story. In other words, the reader is not involved. He or she is kept at arm’s length. And the reader will no doubt keep such a story at arm’s length -- or farther! – away. When we show a story, we create scenes that draw our readers in so they can experience the story for themselves. This is our goal as writers.
Here are some tips for avoiding the telling trap in your writing:

Write more than one draft. Without exception, first drafts are rife with telling. And that makes sense because the first draft is when you’re telling yourself the story. Once you understand what the story is, then you can go about creating scenes, bringing the story to life. I love the way Anne Lamott describes the revision process in her indispensable book, Bird By Bird. She says the first draft is the “down draft,” where we get the story down. The second (third, fourth and forty-fourth) draft is the “up” draft, where we fix the story up. If you are only doing one or two drafts of your work, you’re not giving yourself a fair chance to fix it up.

Listen to Mark Twain. I keep this Twain quote by my computer: “Don’t say the old lady screamed. Bring her on and let her scream.” Memorize those key words: “bring her on.” Twain tells us to make sure the important parts of our story are on scene, played out in front of the reader. It’s as if your words are the screenplay for the movie playing in the reader’s head. How do you know if you have a scene? You’ve got Dialogue, Emotion, Action, and Description on the page. (Notice the acronym: DEAD. That’s what your writing will be if you don’t create scenes.)

Let’s say your main character, Jenny, and her brother, Luke, are trying to get to the barn to escape a bad storm. In your first draft, you might write:

Dark clouds gathered overhead. Jenny and Luke ran as fast as they could toward the safety of the barn.

This tells us about the storm and about the kids’ attempt to escape from it. Watch what happens when I punch this up with dialogue, emotion, action, and description:

The sky overhead churned with oily clouds.
“Come on, Luke,” Jenny tugged on her little brother. “We’ve got to get going.”
“But I didn’t catch a fish!” Luke stomped his foot.
Jenny didn’t want to frighten him. But those clouds signaled trouble. Big trouble. “I forgot the net,” she lied. She picked up the tackle box. “Race you back to the barn to get it.”
“But I didn’t catch a --,” a gust of wind snatched the pole from Luke’s hands. He grabbed for it.
“Let it go.” Jenny had to yell to be heard over the roaring gust. “Run!” She grabbed her brother’s hand and they pounded toward the barn.

You’ll note that it takes more words to create a scene. But the results are well worth it. With the addition of dialogue, emotion, action, and description, we can now see those two kids racing against the storm to reach the barn. Our hearts are racing along with them, because we’ve been shown the story, rather than told.

Weigh what’s important. Sometimes when we try to show a story, we succumb to the temptation to include everything. We would do well to recall Elmore Leonard’s advice: “Leave out the parts people skip.” Yes, we need to add details to bring a story to life, but we need to make sure they are the right details. Let’s say you are writing a story about Carmen. Her problem is that she borrowed her friend’s book and lost it. Now, you may know that Carmen has red hair and that her little brother swallowed his tooth yesterday and that her grandmother makes great cannoli. These are fabulous details! But they have nothing to do with Carmen’s struggle to reconcile with her friend over the lost book. So leave them out. Don’t fret. They are such great details that you’ll be able to work them into another story.

So go ahead:
• Write more than one draft,
• Measure the importance of each detail,
• And let that old lady scream.

Because when you do, you’ll bring your work to life on the page. And when you do that, you’ll soon be screaming, too, with joy because you’ve sold a story.

Posted by kirby at 08:32 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

June 14, 2006

The Teacher Gets Schooled

Next month, I'm presenting a workshop called "Let the Wild Rumpus Start: What Every Beginning Writer Needs to Know" at the 7th Annual Pacific Northwest Children's Book Conference. Called Haystack by most of us (even though it's being held at Reed College), this is a dynamite week.

In preparation for the workshop, I polled some former students: what did they wish they'd known when they started out? Nearly every one of them said, "show, not tell."

That got me thinking. I write the same comments over and over on beginning writers' work. Why not share some of what I've learned here? So, starting tomorrow, I'll have a new writing tip each week. Check in tomorrow for the Kirby Larson sermon, "Let the Old Lady Scream."

As always, however, my students end up teaching me. In response to my query, one student wrote: "Show don't tell means that you never put your ideas about the character on the page; those belong in your notes. You put down the unique and telling details that give your readers the experience, so they come to the idea themselves." If my biceps weren't so wimpy, I'd get that tattooed on my arm!

Posted by kirby at 03:43 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

June 12, 2006

New York Times Nebbish

Like many other women of a certain age, I forget things: words, keys, the fact that I have two children. One of the "cures" for this mind shrinkage is doing crossword puzzles. So, a few months ago, I began doing the puzzles in the Seattle Times. Most days, I could ink in those boxes in no time flat. I felt like the A-Rod of crossword puzzles.

That was until I went to see Word Play at the Seattle Film Festival. Sigh. Now I know I am a nebbish of the nth degree. The people featured in this witty and warm documentary complete the New York Times puzzle in minutes. Literally. And they are, for the most part, ordinary people. Smart, word-obsessed but ordinary. Okay, maybe some aren't so ordinary: Will Shortz (who created his own degree in Enigmatology at Indiana State University -- ya gotta love that ), Mike Mussina, pitcher for the New York Yankees, President Bill Clinton, and the Indigo Girls, both Amy Ray and Emily Saliers.

If anyone had ever told me that a film about crossword puzzles would be fabulous -- I confess to being more moved by it than by Altman's A Prairie Home Companion, which I'd seen the night before -- I would've thought they needed more soy in their diet. Let me assure you -- this is a feel good film every writer should see. Plus, it will inspire you to "increase your word power."

Now, let's see -- what's a 9-letter word for "stop sending us manuscripts"?

Posted by kirby at 09:14 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack