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I was mulling over this post, and then I came across Shawna’s post at Just Another Day in the Life, on the waiting that is such a part of the publication (or getting-to-publication) process. It says some of what I was already thinking, and I thought I’d add my tweak to the discussion.

Just so you know, this is a realization post, not (as much as it might sound like one) a whine post.

After getting a good way into the synopsis I’ve been working on, I read a bit further into the SCBWI grant information (and, yes, I should have done this sooner; but, no, I didn’t; and, anyway, I got a lot of good information and push out of the work I did do. So.). And it turns out I’m just not far enough along in this manuscript to apply for the grant. Don’t worry, I know there’s a YET in that sentence, and I’m certainly not ruling out the possibility of submitting for another year.

Anyway, I admit, I did have a few hours of “funk” when I first figured this out, but then, you know, my copy of the Writer’s Digest magazine article in it showed up, and life was pretty good again. Still, it all got me thinking.

And I realized that, while I drink hardly any caffeine and don’t ingest any other form of stimulant (other than an occasional decongestant!), I still may have a bit of adrenaline junkie-itis in my make-up. As in, one of the reasons it felt good to think about applying for the grant and one of the reasons I hit a funk, was that not applying meant I don’t have anything big and exciting to anticipate in the near future, not in terms of that journey to fiction publication that Shawna’s talking about.

I may be one of the few people I know who likes the querying process. When I was submitting for my MG mystery, I always made sure I had a few letters in the queue, because I loved the feeling of knowing something of mine was out there and of hoping that maybe, just maybe, it would open a door. No, I don’t love the rejection process; although, yes, nice/complimentary rejection letters can and do make me feel pretty good. But I do love the hope, the chance that when you open your email in the morning, or when you answer the phone, there just might be balloons and confetti waiting for you.

No, I didn’t really expect the balloons for the grant app, but I guess, without realizing it, I was looking forward to what I will now officially call the “possibility high.”

A few years ago, the funk would have been a lot bigger. I think I’ve gotten better at the waiting, and I certainly have lots to be doing during this period–again, like Shawna recommends. Part of this comes from the reassurance that I have, for the first time in my life, plenty of story ideas percolating in files & in my brain. Another part comes from working on a historical novel, I think, and facing the fact that research adds time–TIME–to the writing process, and that there is no cutting corners on it. I also think, though, that a big part of the understanding comes from spending time online, listening to other writers stories, paying attention to what agents and editors are saying, and just hearing that, yes, this is the way it goes. So…thank you, all.

We have to remember, guys, that we’re in this for the long run. We’re writing because we have stories to tell and because, as hard as it can be, there is nothing…nothing “like simply messing about” with words.

Guess I’ll just have to get my adrenaline fix somewhere else.

What?! I meant, watch. Do you think I’m insane?!

Every now and then, I review a book here that has really caught me, either emotionally or because of some element of its craft, something the author has done particularly well, at least in my opinion. I’m trying to read a lot of teen historical fiction these days, be it middle-grade or YA, and I’m trying to learn from those books–from the way the author approaches some element of writing in this genre. Getting my general impressions down in more specific words & sentences helps me hone in what about the book impressed me. And, lucky you, I’ll be doing that processing here. 🙂 I wouldn’t call this a regular thread, but if you see a blog post that starts with HF, you’ll at least know that’s what’s coming.

I just finished War Games by Audrey Couloumbis and Akila Couloumbis. It’s an excellent book, showing me a world I knew nothing about–WWII Greece–and beautifully showing it through the eyes of a young boy.

What absolutely hooked me about this story is how well the authors wove the war into the opening chapters, when the Germans hadn’t yet come to the town of Amphissa, when the people there had gotten used, in some way, to living with the Italian soldiers, and when boys could still argue over marbles and worry about getting scolded for trading away the wrong goat.

I’ve been worrying musing about how to accomplish this very feat, in my WIP–how to weave the bigger, problem world into the opening, when the MC is still totally wrapped up in her own personal time and space. I’ve been thinking that I can’t just drop the big problems in when they get big, that I have to seed what’s coming, without waving the big red flag labeled IMPORTANT FORESHADOWING HERE.

So you can bet, as I was reading the opening chapters of War Games and saw what the Couloumbises were doing, that I was running for the pen and sticky notes. I’m going to break down some of the opening here, but, believe me, there will be no spoilers!

Chapter 2 is completely taken up with a bet that Petros and his older brother Zola have about who can shoot more birds. The focus is tight and narrow, on the boys, their bet, their arguing, and the third corner that is added to the triangle when their cousin Stavros shows up. There is no hint of war, of danger, but at the end the author seeds the bigger tension by having Stavros kill a swallow–an act known to bring bad luck.

Chapter 2 brings the fact of the war, with a moment when Petros thinks about the drachmas under his father’s bed and how, since Greece surrendered to the Germans, drachmas are worth nothing and people are now trading instead of paying money for goods. The rest of the chapter is mostly taken up with Papa telling Petros to take their biggest male goat to trade for his uncle’s biggest female, so their family can have the milk. Petros, knowing his uncle will not cook a goat, takes the smaller one–his favorite, the one he wants to keep alive.  Along the way, he talks to some Italian soldiers, cautious but without real fear, as they casually lay about in the countryside. The soldiers joke with him, but they do not answer his questions about when the Germans will come. With about two lines of dialogue, the authors establish that while, right now, life is not so bad for Petros, there is a worry–and a little excitement–lurking in the background.

This is the way of the next few chapters. We stay in Petros’ world, in the scolding he almost gets about the goat, in the chores he does, in the bickering between the boys. All along, we get trickles of curiosity, anticipation, of parental concern, over whether or not the Germans will come to their town, of what trouble that will mean. The authors give us just enough information so that we know something is coming, but also takes the time to really immerse us in Petros, his personal hopes and problems–for this time, at least, separate from the war.

And then with one big crash, Stavros’ brother, Lambros, is home from fighting in the Greek army, bearing wounds and the news that the Germans are mere days behind him. At this point, the authors flip everything–from now on, the war and its immediate consequences for Petros’ family are in the spotlight, while Petros’ specific goals and actions weave through as the thread that keeps everything connected to him, and for us.

I know this is only one technique for writing historical fiction, but I also know it worked really well in this book. So…the lesson learned, I think, is that if we really establish our MC at the beginning, then when things erupt, their strength as a character will keep the reader caring, even as history and its more global problems take over. We have to take care not to overwhelm the opening with history, but do need to show how it touches, intersects with, the smaller place where the MC lives. And we must make sure that, whenever history takes dominance, the hero’s character arc is the path our readers follow through it.

Once again, folks, it’s about balance.

Today, bright and EARLY, I drove my son down to the high school to pick up his class schedule. He worked his way easily through the combination assembly-line, processing center (his description), while I waited in the parking lot (with Meg Cabot’s Insatiable for my reading pleasure).

We’re at a milestone here, of some sort. Oddly enough, things feel pretty calm and seem to be flowing easily toward next week, when school actually starts. I’m pretty sure we’re not just in the eye before the storm, that my son is ready for the next step and, I guess, so am I. The next few years are obviously going to be about letting go, and I think we’re at the right place to start doing that.

I’m writing about a hero whose mother can’t let go–can’t let go of who she thinks her daughter should be, of who she needs her daughter to be, for her own sanity. And it’s not going to end prettily, I can tell you that.

And I’m trying to be a writer who can and does let go of her characters. It’s starting to happen, where Caro will take over a scene and suddenly start talking to another character, or she’ll make a decision without consulting me and get a scene going in a direction I didn’t expect. And I’m working hard to go with this, to go where she’s telling me. It’s pretty clear there’s no point in arguing.

Does this mean I won’t argue with my son in the next few years?

Yeah, right. Does the sentence “Get out of bed now, or you’ll be late!” mean anything to you? (Other than being a direct quotation of my mother’s words, every morning, 30+ years ago?)

But…I will have to keep my mouth closed more often. I will have to listen and watch a lot more. I’ll be making fewer of the decisions and sort of just “being there” for the consequences, good and bad. Hopefully, mostly good. (As opposed to Caro’s story, where they’d better lean heavily on the bad side.)

Milestones. So much more complicated than plot points, you know?

What’s changing for you this year? What changes do you plan for your characters? Happy writing through all of it!

School starts for us (okay, for my son!) in a week and a half. I guess this is pretty late, since so many kids around us, geographically and virtually, have already gone back. Considering that we’re still socked in with fog every morning, and I’m taking a sweatshirt outside for exercise in the late afternoons….well, it doesn’t quite feel like the end of summer.

Oh, I’m ready. And I think my son is, too, as much as a teen can be ready for school to start. But here’s the thing–it’s been an incredible summer. The best I can remember for a loooooooong time.

Now, honestly, I have to give some major credit to the thyroid meds I started taking a year or so ago that seem to have finally kicked in to really give me back the energy I lost somewhere along the way. Quick “sell”: Ladies, if you’re thinking your thyroid might be low, check it out. And be aware that the numbers stated as “okay” aren’t always, that–as my wonderful doctor says–“Different people feel right at different numbers,” and really talk to your doctor about what’s going on. I am a total and complete convert.

Okay, off the med-sell. Basically, I just seem to be at a point in my life where things are coming together. My son has had a good summer too–with all the laziness and creativity and random this-and-thats a kid’s summer should have, I think. Sure, there’s been some boredom, but when I’ve checked in with him, he’s said that that’s a part of how he wants his summer to be. So, okay, then. He’s been doing the teen sleep-in which, combined with my new ability (see above) to wake up happily at six-ish, has meant incredibly productive mornings for me. And then there was the non-heat, which means I’m actually happily functional for walks or board games or necessary errands in the afternoon.

The thing is, I’ve hit some kind of balance between work and, well…life. Even, it seems, between fiction writing and other writing, critiquing, and marketing. So I’m able to enjoy all of them and see the progress that’s happening in most of them.

Will this last? Well, I certainly hope so. I know, though, that life is ups and downs, twists and turns. My son is starting high school in 12 days–which puts us all into a new world. I’ll be doing more speaking and traveling next year. I’ve got to take on a few new things to do with running the business of this writing thing. And there’s a second draft coming sometime in the nearish future. So change is coming, and any one part of it could tip the scales.

But I’m learning, I think, to choose what to add and to be able to merge the new into the old. Somewhere in the last couple of years, I hit the middle-aged mark (calculated, of course, with the base of my grandmother’s ages, who both lived into their nineties, and adding a few more years for generational increase!), and I have to tell you, it’s a pretty good place to be. I’ll write about teens and love it, but I’m not looking for that time-travel machine to take me back there and do it again. (Picture Bill Murray in Groundhog day, but with 15-year-old angst and knowing he’d never get Andie McDowell.)

Summer, for me, used to be the hardest challenge of the year, a time when I felt hard-pressed to find anytime for myself and guilty about feeling that way. It’s gotten easier, of course, the older my son got, but this year, I swear I heard the CLICK of everything coming together. It was a lovely sound.

So, today, I am thankful for a summer that gave me back the ease of vacation, the pleasure of enjoying time off, and a vision of possibilities for the future. And a path into autumn, my favorite season, that isn’t built simply on relief.

Happy Thursday to you all.