{Remember: if you leave a comment on this or any post, I will donate a dollar to the funds-needing Louisville Public Library!}

This is kind of one of those cheatery posts in which I refer you to something else, but something is going on right now that I so enjoy that I can’t help but refer you to it.

You may have heard of the Morning News’s Battle of the Books, in which 16 books compete in March Madness style for the winner.  School Library Journal is doing the same for children’s books. 

I so enjoyed last year’s, not just because I got all but one right (I never succeed in predictions like this), but because the judges, all seriously honored authors, share such intricate, thoughtful reasons for preferring one book over another.  I am a judgmental reader, to be sure, and to be honest, I feel like my opinions have sound reasoning.  But hearing what these veteran authors think–authors who have been writing ten times as long as I have, who have served on award committees and seen all kinds of things come and go–always opens up my brain to different kinds of judging.  They make me want to read more widely, write more widely, and become a part of  The Conversation. 

For this week’s reading pleasure, here’s Julius Lester on why he chose the magnificent Tales From Outer Suburbia  by Shaun Tan over Newbery Medal Winner When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead.  People are pretty shocked.  When You Reach Me was the only book I can remember that earned Newbery buzz early on, retained it, and won with great enthusiasm–so little of the grousing you might hear when a surefire winner walks away with the prize.  People just love this book, but Lester chose the graphic novel, and I think his reasons are compelling and thought-provoking.

Also, you should read both of these books!  http://ow.ly/1qnFD

Several very cool things happened this weekend.

First, fellow Louisville author, fellow Tenner, nifty gal Julie Kagawa released her young-adult novel THE IRON KING, which has been getting great buzz all over the internets.  (It’s on my TBR pile.)  Congrats, Julie!

(That’s Julie looking writerly next to her trademark Mountain Dew.)

Second, I went to the party with Kelly Creagh, fellow Louisville author, fellow Tenner, author of NEVERMORE, coming out in September.  (Are you seeing a theme?  It’s cool to be a debut YA author from Louisville!) 

  Here’s Kelly looking glamorous with these amazing bouncy-balls from Borders, which not only contain sparkly glitter–they light up if you bounce them the right way!  (Well.  They lit up when Kelly bounced them the right way.  As for me…I pretty much just admired hers.)  (And apologies for all the white space.  I seem to have issues arranging photos tonight.)

The third great thing was that three completely awesome book-bloggers were there, two of whom I’d been corresponding with about hosting my blog tour in June–The Story Siren (aka Kristi), The Page Flipper (aka Chelsea) and Wastepaper Prose (aka Susan, who took pictures cuter than mine and you can see them on her blog.  I’m showing you these so you can get the alternate perspective.  Top row Susan, Julie, me, Kelly; Bottom row, Chelsea, Kristi, ladder.)

It was great to celebrate with Julie and hang out with Kelly, whom I briefly shared a writer’s group with two years ago and who I’d always remembered for her kick-ass writing.  She has a YA set in Santa Land (hope that’s okay to reveal!) that is so original and hilarious and will take the world by storm one day.  I must say that while I occasionally dislike writing that everybody else enjoys, a surprisingly large percentage of the writing I think is great goes on to some kind of fame.  So if I think you’re great–you will be!  (Yes!  It works just like that!)

The final amazing thing, though, was the dedication of the bloggers.  Between them, I think they drove 6 or 7 hours to attend the signing!  Blook boggers (ha, I mean book bloggers) are inspiring in their dedication.  They read and write reviews of more books in a week than I might in a month.  They’re more on top of what’s being released than most writers I know, and they’re so generous about using their powers to help promote authors, no matter how new and humble we may be. I felt lucky to be able to spot these rare creatures in the wild, to chat with them a little, and to revel in the booky goodness of it all.  In fact, I’m adding a new tag just for you: Book Blogger Lovin’.  May it get used frequently!

I’ve noticed something recently.  Both of the last two weeks, I’ve absolutely gotten obsessed with a single song.  We’re talking humming the song obsessively to the dear wife.  We’re talking 19 on the playcount within a few days.  Last week’s was Ingrid Michaelson’s Everybody, and this week, it’s “Wagon Wheel,” by Bob Dylan and Old Crow Medicine Show.

Everybody, everybody wants to love…

So rock me, mama, like the wind and the rain:

The more interesting thing I noticed was that each seemed to be an absolute driving force in what my characters were going through in my draft of The Book of the Dead.  Ingrid Michaelson sings about how everybody, everybody wants to love, and everybody, everybody wants to be loved–and it’s so true. 

We’re not just motivated by the desire to be loved (the more obvious one); we also want something to love.  We want to find someone worthy of our love, so badly that we imbue them with all sorts of noble qualities, and it’s so painful when they let us down that we often turn a blind eye, or create absurd explanations.  Or we want to love an activity so much that when we can’t pursue it the way we want to, we’ll bend all sorts of dimensions, including common sense and kindness, to make it go the way we want. 

That was last week.  Last week, my characters were falling in love all over the place.  This week, things are going kind of sucky for them, and what do they want?  To be rocked.  Rock me, mama, like the wind and the rain; rock me, mama, like a south-bound train.  Hey-ey, mama, rock me now.  The love is on a fast course to crashing, and they need a little comfort.

If all goes well with my writing next week, things will go even worse for the characters.  I can’t think what song will be adequate.  Something with lots of screaming.  Anybody know a song of loud, horrible, pained agony?  Something by Kurt Cobain, maybe, except not the Tori Amos cover of “Smells Like Teen Spirit.”  That’s the song I’ll play as everybody surveys the wreckage. 

Do you have any songs you’ve listened to obsessively during any particular period, of creativity or just life?  (I vaguely remember KJL’s obsession with a certain song senior year of college, something with ‘ocean’ in the title or band name…Who am I thinking of?)

Those Brits at The Guardian.  Always coming up with lists, aren’t they?  100 Books That, If You Haven’t Read at Least 50, You’d Better Get Cracking.  Or the 10 Best Films of the Decade and By The Way You Should Like the Coen Brothers.   This time, though, they’ve done something marvy: compiled the top ten pieces of writing advice from some truly excellent authors.

They started with Elmore Leonard, probably because his 10 are so pithy, but I’m going to veer off course for a moment and say I am sick of Elmore Leonard.  Sick of his hoopdetootle!  (You can only be wowed so many times by the word hoopdetootle.)  Sick of his maniacal opposition to adverbs!  As one of my educations profs used to say, most either/ors are usually both/ands.  Phonics vs. Whole Language?  Who said there can’t be both?

I am digressing, I know, and that’s probably enough dumping on Elmore, although I’ll also sneak in the fact that I don’t think anybody reads his fiction, so I don’t know why we listen to him.  But the reason I really came here was to nominate my favorite piece of writing advice in this stack:

From Anne Enright, Description is hard. Remember that all description is an opinion about the world. Find a place to stand.

I like this because frankly, I have a hugely hard time writing description.  Well–not of what people do when they talk; that comes alarmingly easily, as if I’m describing a screenplay.  (ps, Hi, Elmore–I just used two adverbs, and I think they worked great!) 

No, I have a hard time describing the background.  Oy.  What’s going on behind, around, and in front of the characters?  Don’t always see it right off and definitely, at first, do not care.  Yes, of course what’s happening on the street can enhance the action; why, in ch. 4 of Nice and Mean, poor Sachi is almost hit by a taxi, and it’s all metaphorical and nifty. 

But aha–that’s because, a la Enright, I’ve found a place for her to stand.  It’s not just, “Oh, the air was humid and cars rushed everywhere….”  Snooze.  I don’t think Sachi cares.  If it’s already hot, though, and a car lunges for her and stops close enough that she can feel the heat off the bumper–I think she’d care. 

It took me a long time to figure this out.  I’m still trying to picture things around the characters more than I already do.  But I also think I’ll do better if I stand where I usually stand–in their shoes. 

What’s your favorite (or least favorite) piece of advice from the list?

Good night, Elmore!

(Good night, Gracie.)

So the very nice Tamie Gonzalez, whose website has lots of interesting articles, as well as straight talk about pursuing publication, graciously gave me her towel.

I mean, she gave me permission to share the TOWEL acronym, which is actually courtesy of Marilyn Singer, a children’s book writer who’s had a long and varied career.

Are you ready for TOWEL?  Can you take it?

What you need to succeed:

Talent

Optimism

Widespread Interests

Endurance

Luck 

I like that because it both acknowledges that there is something innate and uncontrollable about success–talent and luck.  You need to contribute the a component, of course–endurance.  And then you need to have the right attitude–optimism–and a personal quality that I’ve always appreciated in people and been frankly bored by when it’s not exhibited: widespread interests. 

Now I am going to exercise my optimism and send out a bunch of press releases–something that also takes endurance because sorting through the list of contacts to find those who need to be contacted now…not so exciting.  Later, I will rock out with my talent (or at least, my writing) and…okay, yeah, this is going to Cheeseland fast.  But anyway, lest you falter: use a towel.

You can read Tamie’s full summary of the “People Who Made It” panel here.  There’s much less cheese there, I promise–and Richard Peck, too!

I know I’ve been a lax blogger lately. I’ve been sick again (boo), and I celebrated a birthday and my first Valentine’s Day is a married lady (hooray!) But mostly I haven’t been blogging because I really, really want to finish a draft of BOOK OF THE DEAD by March 15th.

Did I just say that out loud? Are you talkin’ to me? Did you rub my lamp?

(That’s from Aladdin, in case you didn’t know.)

My desire to finish the draft doesn’t mean I’m entirely absent from the internets. (JacketKnack, a blog about book jackets, written by one of my awesome grad school advisors, Julie Larios, and by Carol Brendler, an admired older classmates), has brightened my mind. The #genderinya tag on Twitter has kept me mulling a bit about what we gain and what we lose when we look at stories and accomplishment through the lens of identity. And my buds on Facebook, in addition to giving me my first and sure-to-be-most-fun Facebook birthday (all those wall notes!), have cheerfully complied with my requests for distraction. (There’s a story to be told about my Quest to Find 1,000 People Who Want to Save The Girl With the Silver Eyes, but that’s another story.)

However, for some reason, while I am bien game for bouncing off others’ enthusiasm during drafting, and certainly have crazy energy for the little things–blogging, not so much of late. I know. I’ve got to throw more of the little things up here. And so I am, today, with a quote from somebody’s blog about a towel.

But wait. I haven’t gotten her permission. Okay, hold the phone on the towel.  I’m just going to check on whether it’s okay to use the towel and then I’ll get back to you.

Cheerio!

I allowed myself a little time today with my fairweather friend Spider Solitaire.  I don’t have as bad a relationship with it as some people do.  It often clears my head and I’m pretty good at shutting the door on it when I can’t come out to play.  Still, it bears a strong resemblance to its cousin, Free Cell, with whom I had more of an addictive relationship back in the day, so I’m always wary–hence the only limited visits from the sickbed, where I’ve had many hours today to do whatever and whatnot. 

And since the mind is drifting a bit, it had a profound thought about writing and spider, which went something like this: when you do a really good job of outlining your novel, you may end up with something resembling a spider game that, by the time you’ve dealt all but two rows, may have intimidatingly long rows of cards trailing off each pile.  However, if you just maintain faith that you’re dealing with a pretty good hand and a decent set of skills, you’ll clear off all the cards and end the endeavor in fireworks. 

At least, I hope that’s so.

In addition to getting all geared up for the June release of Nice and Mean, I’m working on a YA novel, currently called The Book of the Dead. I won’t say too much about it except there are six main characters, a mysterious narrator, and a location that looks like this:

(Well, except that there are people, too. It’s not a about elk. I won’t even pretend that sounds interesting.)

I’m loving writing it, but I don’t always get to write it, because I keep needing to re-outline. I’ve come up with a sort of metaphor. (Actually, now that I’m rereading what I wrote, I realize it’s a simile.)

Writing a first draft is like trying to cross a wide, rushing, rock-filled river. If you’re me, you know where you want to land on the other side–ie, the end of the book. So I can cross in a few ways: charge across the river, freezing cold. You cut your feet on the rocks, get pushed by the current and have to scramble over debris, but at least you land on the other side pretty soon after you started.

You can also gather stones around you on the bank and toss them into a path across the river–at least, as far as your throwing arm will let you. This would be the outline stage, and for me, it’s more successful than the dingle-doodie shamble-run across the river because I’m more likely to land where I want to and less likely to end up stranded in the middle of the river, blocked by a big honking tree branch.

However, I can’t always land the rocks perfectly from the shore. There may be an obstacle I can’t see from where I’m standing. But I’ll get impatient and want to get to the other side–maybe there are some foxes nipping at my heels where I am–so I step out onto the rocks as far as I can go. Drafting–yay! View of the river! The rush!

Then, of course, you know what happens: I may still run into that tree branch. I may see that some of the rocks landed wobblyly (I now dub this an adverb), and I need to shore them up. Or I may realize that they’re not in an arc that will let me land where I had planned to, and I may need to retrace my steps and start again-over and over and over.

At some point, I start to ask myself, should I just abandon these rocks and charge across the river? Am I being wimpy, throwing stones instead of running? Maybe I should run. At least I’ll be able to say I’ve gotten to the other side.

But then I think, if my feet are all bloody, is it worth it? And oh yeah–did I mention that I’ll need to use that same path to get other people–readers–across the river? At some point, it’ll need to be navigable for them, too. So I keep up my rock-throwing, hoping my aim will improve and that eventually, I’ll have the path.

What about you guys? Do you see first-drafting like this at all? Are you a rock-thrower or a mad dasher? Or somewhere in between? That’s where I am now: in between. Maybe I’ll see you there.

Yes: what does a writer write when she’s not writing, especially when she’s writing in the evening to meet a deadline? These things would all be Facebook and Twitter updates, but NO, I am not going to those pages.  Frankly, doing those things at night is just embarrassing to me.  So here are my deep thoughts:

1) Is the New Yorker cutting back on its use of glue to affix the label to the magazine?  I used to get such joy out of label-peeling, but the peel no longer yields a delightfully gummy strip of glue

2) I can’t believe I’m almost done with the pack of Orbit Sweet Mint that Mom gave me.  I didn’t even think I liked Sweet Mint, but it turns out to be nothing like Wintergreen, which is a good thing (I’m not even going to talk about Mojito Mint, which is a crime against nature.)  Orbit gum wrappers are fun to fold into fans, if you can’t get your happies with New Yorker labels. 

3) I’m about to use the word ‘shove’  Have I used that before in my 123 and counting pages?  Nope!  Ben, feel free to shove your way into the crowd.

4) When you look at it a lot, “shove” looks like it should be pronounced to rhyme with “grove.”  (It actually took a while to think of an ‘ove’ word that rhymes with ‘grove’ instead of ‘love.’  Or, you know, ‘shove.’)

5) What would “shove” (rhymes with “grove”) mean?  I think it is the past tense of “shave.”  “I got dressed and shove and then went to work.”

6) Speaking of getting back to work…

7) (I will not contemplate how “work” could rhyme with “dork.”)

8) I’m hungry for real dinner. 

9) (while eating) Toasted tortillas are the best.  I should write that in my post

And on and on until bedtime.

I know I tempted some of you last time with the indication that There Might Be Elk (in my work-in-progress, The Book of the Dead, and in a blog post), so here goes.

Several weekends ago, I used the second half of some grant money (thank you, Kentucky Arts Council) to visit the Great Smoky Mountains, where The Book of the Dead is set.  Not only did I get to right some serious misperceptions about the park; I got great visual details, a sense of the geography, and an awesome four-hour meeting with my new heroine, the parks ranger who is the liaison to the Student Conservation Association.  I’ll call her H.  She talked to me about so many angles of the book–the plausibility of the horrible accident (it’s plausible; also, harrowing), construction aspects of the trail she took me to, and a part of the park where the book can best be set.  I now have a location that’s remote, doesn’t get much foot-traffic, is near a stream, and has beautiful views.  I owe her a serious debt.  She totally rules. 

So yes, amazing information, and, of course, the ersatz Santa Claus figure above.  I just wrote him into a scene today, as a matter of fact.  And when I stuck that photo into this blog, I realized,

Hey.  The entire trip was one big Pan Fer Gold.  Take up a heap of dirt–the endless amount of information that you gather; the interviews you record that you tell yourself you’re going to transcribe; the free newspapers you stashed somewhere–and then, over a long period of time, sift through them. 

First put them through the big-gunk strainer and remove all the things you know you don’t want, like Gatlinburg, Tennessee, the city at the north of the park.  Yegads!  I’ve never seen anyplace so touristy in my entire life.  It would be a great setting for something, but it’s not right for these characters even to drive through. 

Then, of course, you put the info through more strainers to see what’s useful and keep yourself honest.  For example, I strongly suspect that Mr. Pan Fer Gold will get cut.  I love him, no doubt.  But often, when you love something too much early on, it’s the thing that has to go (writers, back me up on this.  True, right?)

One thing, though, that I think will make it through all the strainers is elk.  The part of the park where the book is set is a huge gathering ground for elk.  It would be a crime against writerliness not to include these huge, majestic, bugling animals in my book.  But–

which character of the six is going to come upon this elk, and when?  I’m not sure yet.  I don’t know if it will be during a high moment–the reward of the elk!–or solace in the midst of bitter disappointment.  Figuring it out, though, will be a kind of gift.  In fact, I think there should be an elk, literal or metaphorical, in every novel: some huge visual gesture that carries a great significance.  I’m grateful for H and everything that got me to the park and for the insight of elk-kind.  May they continue to prosper on their remote area of the park. 

There will be elk. 

Next time: reports from the SCBWI Mid-South Schmooze, which was hugely successful!