Tag: Jeannine Atkins

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And Again: Moving Forward

Posted on by beckylevine

I try not to talk too much online about the actual specifics of where I am on my writing path. I believe that moving forward consists of lots of ups and downs, some of those forward steps, and plenty of backward ones. I think that Jeannine Atkins’ Views from a Window Seat is probably the best collection of thoughts about all these steps and definitely the best overall representation of them and how they feel. I like to join in the conversation at times, and that’s usually what I use my blog and other social media for. Like I said, mostly I stay general.

Today, though, I’m kind of celebrating some specific steps. I’ve had a goal of getting a few picture books to the “ready” stage–ready for submission. From what I understand, if you’re submitting to agents (which I still want to do), they want you to have several ready to show them. So, for a while now, I’ve been working to add to my pile of one. I’ve switched back and forth between these others, sometimes struggling, sometimes following that light at the end of the distant tunnel, sometimes sitting back in frustration and exasperation. But, really, each one has–in its way–been moving forward on its own path.

As of today, my pile of “ready” has grown to three. Ready? Obviously, I don’t know if that means ready enough for an agent or an editor, but they’re ready enough to feel complete and cohesive to me, and I see a layer of sparkle in each one that whispers a quiet, happy “Yes.” And for a minute, let’s even take this out of the submission path, out of the “success” path, and just look at what it actually means.

I have written three picture books.

Wow.

As for the last one I still have to work on, there’s a little voice in me saying, “Hey, you have three. Three is several. Go ahead and send three.” Luckily (I think!), there’s a larger and much louder voice saying, “You almost have four. Keep going.” The little voice says, “But I don’t know what to DO with that one. (The little voice is kind of a whiner.) And the larger voice says, “You didn’t know what to do with the others either, many times. Remember?” And I remember. And the larger voice says again, “Keep going.” (The larger voice is kind of stubborn.)

So I’m pushing on. There’s another curve ahead on the path, and I’m going toward it. This time, though, the picture books in the “ready” pile are helping me along, kind of like rollerblades (a magical pair on which I can actually stay upright) gliding on pavement through a forest of beautiful trees with just a few scary animal noises in the distance. I’m happily carrying my pile with me, and I’m determined to make it a little bit taller.

And when I do…Well, who knows, really? But some kind of adventure–that much, I can tell you.

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Revision Progress

Posted on by beckylevine

In January, I wrote a review of Jeannine Atkins’ Views from a Window Seat and talked about how motivated I was to turn back toward my picture book revisions. I was so inspired from reading about Jeannine’s focus on sitting with a story, with its characters and its words, all at different stages but always with the same sense of giving the story time and room to reveal itself.

As I get back into my revisions, I’ve been working (hard) to stay with that inspiration, to remember how I want to do this. I’ve pushed away self-criticisms of how long I’ve been working on each of these stories. I’ve stuck in metaphorical earplugs to shut out the noisy thoughts of how much longer I might still be working on them. I’ve (tried to) put a lid on all the fantasies about what will happen when I do get them done. And I’ve spent a lot of time in non-story files, typing in thoughts as they occurred to me, listing questions for which I didn’t yet have answers, and then just thinking about those thoughts and questions.

Yesterday, while I was working on one of the revisions, actually at the point where I was changing words and sentences around, pulling the threads of the action and dialogue a little closer around the theme/purpose/point whatever, I heard a small, but solid thump. And I looked at what I had left to do in that revision, at least before I sent it off to my critique group for the nth time, and it was a lot less than I’d thought. Things had, without my realizing it, become more connected and cohesive. The pieces of the story had moved themselves into the right spots, and the characters had picked some good things to do and say. I had, with so much less agony and stress (not with less time or work!), come to the next “ready” place. Off went the critique.

And this morning, I picked up my folder for one of other picture books in the revision pile. It has been several weeks, at least, since I’ve looked at this one, and the first thing I did was read through the latest comments from my critique group. I didn’t open my laptop, not at first. I just read the comments. And suggestions I remember shaking my head at and feeling skeptical about suddenly made SO MUCH SENSE. I had been approaching the story, yet again, with some fear, but because I let myself start slowly and just get reacquainted with the critique comments, laptop unopened, no pen in hand, something else went thump. In a nice way.

This time, it was almost easy not to immediately open the story file. I started a new file called  something like “What to Do With…” and I put in the two most important words that came through to me from the critique. I typed in a couple of questions, then a couple of ideas. Not really even possibilities yet. Just ideas. Thoughts. More to sit with.

Oh, of course, the other voices are still there, talking at me about mythical life deadlines, goals, self-esteem, productivity. But they’re clamoring a little less loudly, their vehemence softened, I think, by my going with Jeannine’s reminder–the reminder that we’re here because we choose to be. We are touching down with a story because at least that little bit in love with a character or a plot twist and because we want to see what we can do with it. Why run away from it? Or rush through it?

Yes, the tortoise eventually won the race. But I think he also enjoyed the feel of the ground under his feet, the sunshine on his shell, and all the sounds and smells of his journey.

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Giveaway: Jeannine Atkins’ VIEWS FROM A WINDOW SEAT

Posted on by beckylevine

If you’re on Facebook with me, you  may have seen me posting a quote here and there from Jeannine Atkins‘ new writing book, Views from a Window Seat: Thoughts on Writing and Life. I’ve been posting the phrases and sentences because Jeannine’s writing is just so lovely, it goes in your ears, touches your heart, and then pretty much demands to be shared. This is true of every book of Jeannine’s I’ve read, but seems to be especially true–for me, at least–of Views. 

Disclaimer: Jeannine has been an online friend for many years, and her blog–the source of the pieces in Views–was one of the first I started reading. Take that away, and I would still be raving about her book and recommending it to any and all writers. For the reasons I’m going to talk about here.

For me, this collection of blog posts, or essays, that Jeannine has given us is a message of hope. I know, I know, that sounds mushy, and mushy (at least spoken out loud) is something I try to avoid. Except when…it’s true. Writing is hard. I thought I knew that when I was younger, and even a self-awarded label of “good” was so far down the line. As I get older, as I feel I have actually–here and there– achieved “good,” the writing doesn’t get any easier. (Did I think it would? I think I thought it would!) There are days when the drive to just finish something juggles itself with the desire to just write, and too often the juggling turns to pushing and pushing back, and I make no progress on either side of the battle. What Jeannine reminds me, in every piece, in just about every sentence of Views is that 1) I’m not the only writer feeling this way, 2) It’s all part of the process, and 3) It’s okay. Or if it’s not okay, at any given moment, it’s what we’ve got so we’d better deal with it. Here’s one of the sentences I highlighted as I read through the book.

          Wishing I were the kind of writer who didn’t have to backtrack, draw zig-zagging arrows, and stumble into a plot may be as futile as wishing to be a foot taller or shorter.

Oh, yeah.

Another line:

Sometimes we have to be at the well rather than just worry about filling it.

Being at the well, without worry, is very possibly the toughest challenge we all face, both in writing and in life. The thing is, though, that, first, this book is not Jeannine preaching at or even instructing us. It’s Jeannine gently reminding herself and–if we care to listen–ourselves about the truths of writing. At the root of which is that this is a thing we do out of love, and from necessity. And that, while of course we wish it were simpler and more straightforward, if we don’t give ourselves over to the quiet and the waiting and the seeing what comes, we’re not only fighting a losing battle, we’re spending way too much time fighting, period. And we’re setting ourselves up to miss out on the wonder and magic that can happen.

Which is where the hope lives.

As I said, Views from a Window Seat demands to be shared. Which is why I’m giving away a signed copy to one lucky winner. Just leave a comment in the post (make sure you include your name and an email at which I can contact you) by next Monday night (January 13th), and I’ll draw a name and post the winner on Tuesday the 14th.

Heads up: Melodye Shore is offering another chance to win a copy of Jeannine’s book, plus a $25 price reduction to Candles in the Window writing and yoga retreat, at which Jeannine will be present as faculty. Leave a comment at Melodye’s blog here to enter (and/or follow other steps for more chances)!

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Brave or Not Brave? AKA There’s No Light in the Story

Posted on by beckylevine

Last week, I had a bit of insomnia. I get it periodically, nothing horrible, but where I just lay in bed not sleeping. I may have been exhausted two minutes before, but once my head hits the pillow, the sleepiness disappears (not the tiredness, drat!), and the thoughts & worries come in. Like I said, this bout wasn’t bad. I wasn’t all stressed, or tossing and turning, but just…awake. And thinking.

And I ended up thinking about my WIP.

I wasn’t sure if/when I would post about this. But as usual, I got the nudge I needed from “out there,” or in this case, from Jeannine Atkins, who blogged earlier today about her very special kind of bravery–speaking out. Read the whole beautiful post for yourself, but here’s what got me today:

I was scared to post my new year’s theme of loudness, to risk stating that I want something that I might not be able to achieve. I don’t want to jinx even luck I don’t entirely believe in, don’t want to annoy any listening spirits, who might mock me for sounding greedy. It’s embarrassing to display hopes and make them look big and fabulous and like we mean it.

Yeah. I know. This hit me right over the head, because–yes, I know what I want to do this year. I knew that night, with the insomnia, and it’s only been confirmed in the past few days by the emotions I’ve been feeling about the decision and the pull I’ve been experiencing back toward my writing, a pull that’s been gone for a while. But I wasn’t going to blog about it. Because, what if I’m wrong. What if I look foolish? What if I sound like a rank amateur? What if I’m actually not being brave, but am giving up? Quitting? Wimping out? I’m not afraid of the choice or the change–okay, yes, I am afraid of it, but I’m also excited and relieved and dancing just a little bit. What I was/am really afraid of is stating the new step out loud. Here. In public.

But I’m gonna.

I’m putting the YA Historical  novel (YAH) in a drawer. I have been working on this book for over two years now. I have written a full draft and a half and plotted the thing pretty fully twice. I have changed stories and tried to change characters and tried to play with voice. I have done GOBS of research about people and events I find fascinating and admirable and awe-inspiring. But what I’ve been denying to myself for quite a long time, and what I finally faced up to last night, is in the title of this blog. There is no light in this story for me.

I’m not really talking about the light of hope for the character or the lightness of a humor thread, although both of those are missing, too. I’m talking about the spark of light that, for me, creates the pleasure in the writing, creates the reason for opening the file and doing all that struggling to get things down and get things right. It’s really a spark of love for something that I’m putting on the page. And I can’t find that anywhere in the YAH. When I think about working on this book, I see the story that I thought to tell, and I know it’s a good one. I see the character I imagined, and she is powerful and strong and active. Both the story and that character disappear when I sit down to write about them.

I lay there that night and asked, am I just not trying hard enough. Let me quote Charlie Brown for a minute: AAAAARGH! Yeah, sure, very possibly, I’m not trying hard enough. I’m not sure how I would try harder, though, and the thought of it just makes me feel even more trapped by this book than I already do. Is it just that I’ve taken on more things this year, and a book of this size seems insurmountable? Sure, that’s part of it. Am I not good enough yet to write a historical novel? I sure as heck wouldn’t take odds against that thought. Is YA the wrong age-genre for me? I’m starting to wonder if…yeah? But, honestly, it comes down to the light. Because I believe that, if the light were there, none of those things would matter.

That night, I compared how I’ve been feeling about this book with how I feel about other ones I’ve written or am writing. The books I’ve finished: The middle-grade mystery, my first picture book, and the new Hounds book from Capstone? Oh, yeah, they have the light. Okay, sure, but they’re finished. So of course I love them, right? Well, two are finished but not published, and while they’re getting nice responses, they haven’t been snatched up. I still love them, though, with that feeling that is completely heart-based and absolutely non-cerebral. And how about the other books that aren’t finished, that still need a lot of work before they’re even close to done. Three picture books from last year’s PiBoIdMo that need plenty of revision, and one idea from this year that I still need to draft. Light? Oh, yeah. But every time I pick one up, I feel guilty about spending time with it instead of the YA Historical. Guilt?! SO not an emotion I need to mix in with my writing!

I thought of Debbi Michiko Florence’s YOW (Year of Writing), and I thought, what if I were to give myself a YOWF (Year of Writing Freedom)? What would that be like? And a picture of four brightly colored file folders popped into my mind, laying invitingly on  my desk, ready for me to pick up whichever one I wanted to, on any given day. I pictured my filing cabinet, too, with some ideas that I’ve stashed there over the past two years. One title joined the colored folders on my desk. The boy in it had a name and some problem that was rushing toward him, some problem for which he’d developed a coping mechanism that was causing…problems. An irritating sidekick joined him, and she told me her name. At that point, I got out of bed and dug out a new notebook, because her name was too perfect to risk forgetting. And suddenly I realized that YOWF, for me, was not just about being free to explore these projects, but it was even more the idea of being free from the YA Historical.

Am I actually being brave to make this change, to start going for what I really want? Or am I just being distracted by the sparkle of something bright & shiny? Is this the right choice? Well, if you’re asking me about the future, I have no idea. It’s very possible I’ll get to the end of this year and feel just as miserably unproductive and wrong-pathed as I’ve been feeling up ’til now. But the idea of working on the YAH for another twelve months, on the assumption/hope that it’s the right future decision just feels so completely wrong for my now. I know I haven’t been hating it this whole time I’ve been working on it, but I think if I try to work on it now–tomorrow or next week–I will hate it. So I’m tucking it away

So what WILL I be writing this year? Well, maybe this new idea. Maybe the pb revisions. Maybe something from another file. Maybe something that I haven’t thought of yet. But I am going back to freedom, to writing for the love of what I’m working on. This year, I’m writing for the light.

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Kadir Nelson’s WE ARE THE SHIP

Posted on by beckylevine

Today, I finished up the main draft of the NF kids’ book I’ve been working on. Somewhere between 1600 and 1800 words; simple, clear text; and–I think–a nice balance of interest and entertainment. I did my happy dance and decided to celebrate with an evening and a day off work.

The evening off included curling up with Kadir Nelson’s We Are the Ship: The Story of Negro League Baseball.

Wow.

This post is not going to be me eating a piece of humble pie. I’m really proud of my book, of the fact that I got it together to submit samples to the publisher, and that they were good enough to get me this opportunity. I’m happy with the writing I’ve done, and I think it will be a book that the kids for whom it’s meant will also like.

But…

Kadir Nelson. Again, wow.

We Are the Ship is a tribute, a work of art, an incredible story. When I first looked at the size and the format, I had that thought I sometimes to with rule-breaking books: who, exactly, is this book for? The gorgeous full-page illustrations are interspersed with long stretches of text (for a “picture book”), in a font-size small enough that I was reminded I really do need to get some new bifocals. The wondering absolutely disappeared as I started to read.

I am not an artist. I never will be. My son takes much longer to read picture books and comics than I do, because he really looks at the art. I pretty much check it out and move on to the words. I admire and am seriously impressed by Nelson’s paintings. I know, understatement. But it’s also, for me, an opinion of relativity, because this book with the incredible art in no way has to rely on that art. Nelson has taken a too-little-known piece of history and told it brilliantly. Is the story accessible to young readers? Yes. More than accessible. The players of Negro League baseball come alive on Nelson’s pages–the more famous players, but perhaps even more importantly so many players that most of us have never heard of. The drive they had to play; the persistence with which they met problems, obstacles, and sheer nastiness; the personalities they were either born with or created for their fans–it’s all here.

When I was readying my samples, I wrote a few chapters of a kids’ biography of Satchel Paige. I had recently read Larry Tye’s excellent biography of Paige, Satchel: The Life and Times of an American Legend. I loved Paige’s story and felt like it would be a great one to play with for kids, even if I and the editor I hoped would hire me would be the only two to read the sample. Tye’s book is several hundred pages and, while it naturally focuses on Paige, it does contain a lot of fascinating detail about the Negro Leagues.

Nelson still taught me plenty of new things about that world and the people in it. I picked up the book, opened it to the first page, and was caught. I caught myself reading the page of footnote references and realized that’s how much I wanted to keep reading.

Go pick up a copy of We Are the Ship–whether you want to read a truly lovely tribute to the Negro Leagues or you want to read a brilliant example of writing nonfiction. And, yes, stare at the art!

Many, MANY thanks to Jeannine Atkins for recalling my attention to this book. Yet another example of Jeannine’s excellent taste in books.

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Comfort? Here? No way!

Posted on by beckylevine

This morning, on Facebook, Jeannine Atkins posted a quote by someone named Josh Simpson. The quote was:

“It’s important for an artist to find his comfort level—and stay out of it.”

I laughed out loud. Why? Because I had just said to my husband that this morning, I was going to spend an hour with my YA WIP, the one that is distressing and depressing me. Yes, despite the fact that it’s making me feel that way. I worked on it for a while yesterday, and the image I took away was a picture of me, spinning in circles in the same tiny space in the middle of a desert. Yep, there’s me, in the center of a little dust storm, just burying myself deeper and deeper into a tight, barren spot.

Fun? I don’t think so.

But this quote hits it. What am I supposed to do, quit? Boy, there are parts of me that want to. I’ve been musing a bit about my goals/direction for next year–what I want to attain, and it flashed through my head that next year may be the year of a decision about this book, about whether I DO keep working on it, or whether I put it aside until what…until I’m ready to handle it? Until I get a lightening-bolt breakthrough from somewhere unknown? And maybe that’s what I will decide.

It’s not what I want to do, though, and it doesn’t feel right to my gut. Yes, it’s partly that whole doctrine against quitting that I was raised with, but there’s more. If I quit, where am I supposed to go next? Back to that comfort zone? Some safe place where I’m not struggling with my writing?

You know, safety is not all that comfortable either, in my experience. It contains a lot of looking out at all the cool things going on around you…without you. It comes with some knowledge that you’re backing off, letting the fear control you, keeping away from some goal you really want.

No, I think there’s only one thing to do when you’re out of your comfort zone. Keep pushing through. At some point, I think–I hope–you push past that plateau you’re stuck at (the one with all the sand and cacti and circling buzzards), and you reach a new perspective. One that comes with the things you actually did learn in that stuck place, one that has a vista with maybe a palm tree and some water, or a little peak with pine trees and deer. And space to move and actually create.

For a while anyway. Until you hit that next uncomfortable zone.

Rinse and repeat.

Thanks, Jeannine, for the reminder that there is a reason to keep pushing on. *Hugs!*

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Friday Five: Around the Blogosphere

Posted on by beckylevine

For today’s Friday Five: a few writerly things other people are saying around the blogs:

  1. Janet Hardy on following through on the tension you’ve created.
  2. Jama Rattigan is celebrating the 4th anniversary of her delicious blog by welcoming everyone to her new site.
  3. Kurtis Scaletta talks about the five ways writers have to describe their story and gives tips on them all.
  4. Shrinking Violet Promotions on revising the BIG stuff.
  5. Jeannine Atkins shares a bit about her own, personal plot school.

Enjoy!

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Thankful Thursday: From My Blog Reader

Posted on by beckylevine

There are times when it’s easy to get overwhelmed by all the information on the Internet, especially when we tell ourselves we’re supposed to be keeping track of it all and applying it to our writing lives.

Um…impossible.

I have a long list of blogs in my blog reader, and on any given day, I can look there & find something to update or instruct me about the latest technology or publishing changes, to motivate and inspire me about the writing life, to reassure me that I’m not the only one wondering what it’s all about.

So just to mention a few of my favorites today and to say thanks…

Obviously, these are just a few of the blogs I check in at every week, but they are definitely some of my staples.

Have any thank-yous to bloggers you’d like to share? Feel free to drop them in the comments.

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Around the Blogosphere: Who’s Got their Blogging Cap On?

Posted on by beckylevine

Anyone remember the book Caps for Sale?

One of my all-time favorites. I’m trying to remember back to when I was a kid, but I think I related to both the monkeys (I mean, how could you resist?) and to the peddler (SO frustrating!). And I do remember thinking…All those caps! On ONE head!

Well, this month, I’m mostly relating to the peddlar. Not with the frustration, but with all those caps! With high school starting, I’ve been wearing my mom cap a lot (although very subtly and sneakily, I assure you). I’ve been doing more critiquing for clients–so there’s an editor cap. Got the house tidy for my parents’ visit–that’s a housekeeping and daughter cap. Baking cap goes on later today to make my husband’s birthday cake. And I’m prepping for the Central Coast Writers Conference next week–look at that sparkly speaker hat.

I’m having fun with all of it, but I seem to have misplaced my blogger cap for a bit. *Checks behind computer–nope* So…I’m going to look around the blogs & share what some other cap-wearers are up to!

Enjoy your week. And I’ll keep looking for the monkey who stole that blog cap.