Musical Interlude: 'Rusty Nails' by Moderat

A little new writing music for the new year. 

Happy New Year!

New Year is my favorite holiday of all. It always has been, ever since I can remember. There’s nothing else like it for me. It’s the perfect holiday in every way. If you’re into New Year, you already know what I mean. If you scoff at resolution-making, finding a burst of unquenchable energy from an otherwise arbitrary day, and think letting yourself start fresh again and again is for the birds, I may not be able to convince you. But try a different way of looking at it. It will be transformational, I promise. ;)  

I started New Year’s Day with a walk through the dark frozen forest before dawn. I had only intended to let Baxter have a run by the lake while I took a few shots of the sun rising on my most special of days, to see the light on the ice, to just to reflect in that perfect still moment of a brilliant new beginning.

But Bax looked at me, saying, “Duuude, why are we stopping? What did we come here for? It’s a brand new year. 2013, man! Let’s go!”

And so we did, all around the lake and through the woods. There must be many equally good ways to start a year, but I believe none could actually be better.  

Later in the morning, I found myself wandering with lovely, like-minded friends at Trustom Pond National Wildlife Refuge on the southern Rhode Island coast—a really terrific place to walk about in any season, but spectacular in winter. (And if you’re into birds, you might well see something new as I did yesterday.) 

 

As I always do there, I paused by this perfect monument to what must have been a life well lived:

I've been thinking a lot recently about how we often tend to rush pivotal moments in our writing, and that will be the subject of a near future blog post, but the same is true for all things. It would be better not to postpone joy, nor to rush it when we find it. The best experiences should be sought with vigor and then savored. 

Happy New Year! 2013. Let’s go!

Maya Apocalypse! Or not?

If you're flitting round Boston today, fly on over to the Peabody Museum at Harvard University. Our book launch for Mysteries in the Maya Calendar Museum is today at 3:30. All welcome. 

Funky Birdlings

© Lesley Breen Withrow

Check out this delightfully funky bird pattern by illustrator and designer Leslie Breen Withrow, then fly on over to her blog and view her other wonderful work: http://lesleybreenwithrow.blogspot.com/2012/12/bird-pattern.html I'll have a funky bird skirt made of this, thank you very much!

Leslie and her family live right here in Rhode Island, and her husband Steven Withrow is the co-producer of the uber fabulous Library of the Early Mind, a documentary that explores children's literature and its vital importance. If you care about kids' books and kids' minds, it's a must see: http://www.libraryoftheearlymind.com/About.html It's also very entertaining. 

The Path to Publication

Image by me.

Very recently, a writer asked me to be honest about whether he should continue to pursue writing or not. It’s not the first time I’ve been asked that question. It always catches me very off guard, but it does make me want to say what follows:

I’m really not the one you should be asking. 

It would be the height of arrogance and stupidity for me—or anyone else—to suggest someone not pursue writing. We all start somewhere, and we all have quite a learning curve. Everybody. If we write, it’s because we are writers. And so we must write (or paint or sculpt or garden or whatever) or shrivel up and die a bitter, strangled creative/spiritual death.

But should we ‘pursue’ it…which I assume really means ‘pursue publication’?

When I was a younger, less experienced editor (and probably thought I knew more than I did, as is natural), I worked with a gentleman who was determined to be an author. He was incredibly eager, earnest, and gung-ho, but he just seemed to be starting in a difficult place. His work seemed a bit… well, unpublishable. But he just wanted to keep trying, no matter what the critique.

And so he did.

We kept working together, multiple drafts of first one book  and then another, both of us learning much along the way. Beneath the unpublishable veneer of what he was doing, there was something wonderful and inspired and rich in what he thought and felt and cared about. But it was just all coming out in ways that were not working at all. In truth, I didn’t think his chances of ever getting published were very good. I was almost certain he wouldn’t, in fact, even though I wanted it for him. But he loved it and wanted it for himself, and that’s all he saw in front of him (or so it seemed to me). So no matter what, he just kept on.

I don’t know what ups and downs he went through on his private journey as a writer, but I guess they’re the ups and downs we all go through. The self-doubt and the frustration, the elation and late nights. All I saw was his consistent drive, the revising, the eagerness, the upbeat attitude, the desire, the focus, and the pleasant, grateful willingness to listen intently, to learn every single thing he could. When he was ready he let go of ideas he’d tried and which he now understood weren't working. He tried new things that incorporated new knowledge. He was willing and ego-free and hardworking.

And he quickly proved me wrong. He grew. His work became good, then really good (in my humble opinion). It was amazing and wonderful to watch. He soon did what I had not managed to do at that point: he found a publisher who wanted his book, signed the contract, and produced a very saleable story with a lovely heart and appealing vehicle. I’ve never seen a writer with such a short journey to (traditional) publication. (Sure, it took years, but not even close to double digits like most of us.) 

He might well have wondered if he’d ever be a published writer. He never discussed that with me. Yet he knew he would, no matter how long or how hard the journey. He was the only one he needed to ask. 

Musical Interlude: Take Shelter

Hello.

Sure, it's been a while. Sometimes, life's like that, isn't it?

Sometimes, one just has to step away a little bit, find a little shelter from all the noise. 

And so, with that in mind, a little music for writing. Wear headphones and turn it up.

I hope you find it as evocative as I do.

What’s in a Name? Or… With Apologies to Those Named “Milt”

Birthplace of the character formerly known as "Milt"

I don’t usually spend a great deal of time thinking about the names of characters. They usually just seem to fly out of the ether, I insert them, and they stick, or at least that has been my experience.

So when I began the story I’m writing now, I didn’t think too much of it when one of my major characters decided he’d be Milt. I stuck the name in, and kept writing. As time went on—despite growing ever more excited about the story and knowing Milt was going to be quite important—I found myself not that interested in writing the scenes with Milt in them. I rationalized that it was because though Milt is very important, he’s not physically present for a lot of the book.

But as time has gone on, and the first half has taken a more solid shape, I started to wonder if I was actively avoiding him. I had trouble knowing who he was. He was coming across as sniffly. He seemed thin, too tall, too often pushing a pair of glasses back up onto his nose. Oh no, he was growing buck teeth and a lisp and telltale bumps, which would soon be pimples. He was a stereotype of a sidekick, and a weak, uninteresting foil for my MC. I couldn’t get hold of him, and I really had no desire to.   

Then in Australia, on a long train ride in the Outback, though hot little rural towns and vast parched fields spotted with sheep and huge old gum trees, I had a little epiphany. It felt that the character I wanted Milt to be would thrive in this kind of demanding environment. I could see him climbing over the rusted car bodies and water tanks beside the train line, chasing his mates through the bush, roaring like a dragon. He was gravely voiced, shortish, and stocky, tough and quick with a grin—and he most certainly was not named Milt.

Another name began to whisper, to shout, and then take hold. About two weeks ago I replaced “Milt” with this other name (which still starts with M).  It’s one of the best writing decisions I’ve ever made. I know who he is at last and it has opened up new dialogue, new scenes, and unraveled parts of my plot I had no idea about. It has affected the entire project.

What’s in a name?  If my experience is anything to go by, a lot when it comes to your characters. They have to resonate for you—and if they do, I think they’ll have a better chance of resonating for your audience, because you will know them. You’ll better convey who they really are to your reader.