Jennifer R. Hubbard's Blog, page 88
October 16, 2011
The future of text
As digital media become more a part of our lives, I wonder how technology will affect the standard written-text story. We have the capacity to tell stories through video and audio, and we've had that for decades, and yet text has persisted. Ebooks will give us the ability to interact with narrative (to choose different endings, perhaps?) and to incorporate multimedia (e.g., click on a song title mentioned in the text and hear the song). But I wonder if that will really enhance the reading experience. It's easy to pile bells and whistles onto a text without really adding anything to the meat of the story. It's like decorating a cake with a zillion icing squiggles just because you have a cool icing tool. Does it make the cake taste better?
I foresee two possible paths. One is that text will remain durable, that people will still want the experience of reading words and generating the story in their heads, and they won't want a lot of adornments distracting from the text. The other is that people will find meaningful ways to incorporate the multimedia experience into a text; ways that are essential to the story and not just whiz-bang decorations. It's also possible that both of these things will happen. A big question is: have we been using words just because they were all we had, or is there something the written word can do that no other medium can do?
Wordsmithing is a special way of telling a story--a way I love, both as a reader and a writer. It may or may not persist. But story-telling has always been with us in one form or another, and I believe it will always be with us, no matter how we tell those stories.
I foresee two possible paths. One is that text will remain durable, that people will still want the experience of reading words and generating the story in their heads, and they won't want a lot of adornments distracting from the text. The other is that people will find meaningful ways to incorporate the multimedia experience into a text; ways that are essential to the story and not just whiz-bang decorations. It's also possible that both of these things will happen. A big question is: have we been using words just because they were all we had, or is there something the written word can do that no other medium can do?
Wordsmithing is a special way of telling a story--a way I love, both as a reader and a writer. It may or may not persist. But story-telling has always been with us in one form or another, and I believe it will always be with us, no matter how we tell those stories.
October 14, 2011
Appearances this weekend, plus a great question
I'm appearing live on two writers' panels with members of the New Jersey Authors Network this weekend, and would love to see those of you who are local:
Saturday, October 15:
11 AM: Panel/Q&A, "GETTING PUBLISHED." Moorestown Library (111 W. 2nd St # 1, NJ 08057-2471 ). Appearing with Jon Gibbs, Kristin Battestella, JB DiNizo, and Keith Smith.
2 PM: Panel/Q&A, "THE NUTS & BOLTS OF WRITING A BOOK." Vogelson branch of Camden Library (203 Laurel Road, Voorhees, NJ08043). Appearing with Jon Gibbs and Kristin Battestella.
I'm also appearing in virtual form at the Printsasia blog, where I discuss whether or not The Secret Year is a love story.
But enough about me. In the writerly food-for-thought department, Amy Butler Greenfield asks a great question: "If you were only allowed [to write] one more book, what would it be?"
Saturday, October 15:
11 AM: Panel/Q&A, "GETTING PUBLISHED." Moorestown Library (111 W. 2nd St # 1, NJ 08057-2471 ). Appearing with Jon Gibbs, Kristin Battestella, JB DiNizo, and Keith Smith.
2 PM: Panel/Q&A, "THE NUTS & BOLTS OF WRITING A BOOK." Vogelson branch of Camden Library (203 Laurel Road, Voorhees, NJ08043). Appearing with Jon Gibbs and Kristin Battestella.
I'm also appearing in virtual form at the Printsasia blog, where I discuss whether or not The Secret Year is a love story.
But enough about me. In the writerly food-for-thought department, Amy Butler Greenfield asks a great question: "If you were only allowed [to write] one more book, what would it be?"
October 13, 2011
Mockingjay
Last week I blogged about The Hunger Games, and this week I finished the trilogy with Mockingjay. As much as I admired The Hunger Games, I thought Mockingjay the best book of the three. If The Hunger Games is a soldier's-eye view, Mockingjay not only brings us back to the battlefield, but also brings us into the halls of power where presidents and generals make the choices that play out on battlefields.
In this book Collins also sums up the relevance of the series: "Because something is significantly wrong with a creature that sacrifices its children's lives to settle its differences."
The rest of this is SPOILER-filled, so I'll use a cut.
Another mystery is Katniss's calling for Gale to shoot her after the assassination. Since she has written off Gale seven pages earlier, it's not clear why she turns to him at this point—although it would be in character for him to oblige, and I'm not sure why he doesn't. Katniss interprets it as his failing her, but it is also a soldier's task and Gale never fails as a soldier. It's possible he foresees a better ending for Katniss than she sees for herself—and if so, he is right, as he always is about her. (Gale's inability to be what Katniss needs does not preclude his uncanny ability to know what she needs, throughout the book. While Katniss is put off by Gale's saying she will choose "'whoever she thinks she can't survive without,'" she even uses that phrasing of his at the book's end, describing her choice of a mate in terms of "what I need to survive.")
Overall, the book is so well done, portraying the rebels not as purely noble good guys, but showing that they too mistreat prisoners, and use horrifying weapons, and justify civilian casualties. The rebels have among them the ambitious (Coin, Plutarch) and the vengeful (Gale, Johanna), just as the government of the Capitol does. The realities of war are that good people die in senseless ways, and noncombatants get hurt, and as Katniss says at one point, killing stays with you. Those who have been in combat suffer psychologically—most obviously in the cases of Annie and Finnick and Katniss and Peeta, but there are hints that even Gale suffers sleepless nights.
The arguments that the rebels have when strategizing about the Nut are the same arguments that have been going on in our own country for years now (and, really, have been going on as long as there have been wars): When is killing all right? What is defense, and what is counter-offense, and what is unwarranted aggression? To what lengths should warriors go to protect civilians? What methods, if any, are just too horrible to use? If one accepts war as a necessity, what are the moral differences between one kind of killing and another? If one does not accept war as a necessity, how can it be stopped? I hope this book leads young people to ask these questions, because chances are they will have to confront their positions on these questions in reality before long, whether in the voting booth or at the policy-makers' desks, or on the battlefield themselves.
For me, nothing shows Katniss's trauma better than in the epilogue, when she refers to her children, rather chillingly, as "the boy" and "the girl" (rather than by given names, or in more personal terms such as "my son and daughter.") One of each, the reader can't help noticing—just like tributes--and I had to remember Plutarch's words at this point, about how peace is always temporary: "'We're fickle, stupid beings with poor memories and a great gift for self-destruction.'"
But Katniss later switches to the warmer phrasing, "my children," and their very existence as well as her life with Peeta gives what hope there is at the end of the book (hope truly being the thing she cannot survive without.) And this calls to mind something else that Plutarch says in the book: "'Although who knows? Maybe this will be it ... The time it sticks. Maybe we are witnessing the evolution of the human race. Think about that.'"
source of recommended read: bought
In this book Collins also sums up the relevance of the series: "Because something is significantly wrong with a creature that sacrifices its children's lives to settle its differences."
The rest of this is SPOILER-filled, so I'll use a cut.
Another mystery is Katniss's calling for Gale to shoot her after the assassination. Since she has written off Gale seven pages earlier, it's not clear why she turns to him at this point—although it would be in character for him to oblige, and I'm not sure why he doesn't. Katniss interprets it as his failing her, but it is also a soldier's task and Gale never fails as a soldier. It's possible he foresees a better ending for Katniss than she sees for herself—and if so, he is right, as he always is about her. (Gale's inability to be what Katniss needs does not preclude his uncanny ability to know what she needs, throughout the book. While Katniss is put off by Gale's saying she will choose "'whoever she thinks she can't survive without,'" she even uses that phrasing of his at the book's end, describing her choice of a mate in terms of "what I need to survive.")
Overall, the book is so well done, portraying the rebels not as purely noble good guys, but showing that they too mistreat prisoners, and use horrifying weapons, and justify civilian casualties. The rebels have among them the ambitious (Coin, Plutarch) and the vengeful (Gale, Johanna), just as the government of the Capitol does. The realities of war are that good people die in senseless ways, and noncombatants get hurt, and as Katniss says at one point, killing stays with you. Those who have been in combat suffer psychologically—most obviously in the cases of Annie and Finnick and Katniss and Peeta, but there are hints that even Gale suffers sleepless nights.
The arguments that the rebels have when strategizing about the Nut are the same arguments that have been going on in our own country for years now (and, really, have been going on as long as there have been wars): When is killing all right? What is defense, and what is counter-offense, and what is unwarranted aggression? To what lengths should warriors go to protect civilians? What methods, if any, are just too horrible to use? If one accepts war as a necessity, what are the moral differences between one kind of killing and another? If one does not accept war as a necessity, how can it be stopped? I hope this book leads young people to ask these questions, because chances are they will have to confront their positions on these questions in reality before long, whether in the voting booth or at the policy-makers' desks, or on the battlefield themselves.
For me, nothing shows Katniss's trauma better than in the epilogue, when she refers to her children, rather chillingly, as "the boy" and "the girl" (rather than by given names, or in more personal terms such as "my son and daughter.") One of each, the reader can't help noticing—just like tributes--and I had to remember Plutarch's words at this point, about how peace is always temporary: "'We're fickle, stupid beings with poor memories and a great gift for self-destruction.'"
But Katniss later switches to the warmer phrasing, "my children," and their very existence as well as her life with Peeta gives what hope there is at the end of the book (hope truly being the thing she cannot survive without.) And this calls to mind something else that Plutarch says in the book: "'Although who knows? Maybe this will be it ... The time it sticks. Maybe we are witnessing the evolution of the human race. Think about that.'"
source of recommended read: bought
October 11, 2011
The book I want to write
Although I don't blog about this, I'm very aware of current events in the political and public-policy arena: these are scary, exciting, gripping times. I've carved out this blog as a place where I can talk about writing, which tends to be a stabilizing influence on me, rather than discussing the news, which acts more like caffeine on my nervous system.
But I do follow the news, and I would love to write a novel in which I make Important Political Points. Some writers are very, very good at doing this. Every time I've tried it, I end up producing the kind of didactic soap-box garbage that nobody wants to read. (Not even me.)
I address social issues in both of my novels and many of my short stories. But they're woven in naturally as part of the plot and character development. And I tend to write about only what is, and leave the reader to decide what should be. Instead of using the characters as puppets to make a point, I mention whatever we need to know about these characters' background, their living situation, because it's part of who they are and part of what motivates them. For me, the character comes first.
Sometimes I wish it were otherwise, that I could start with a Grand Idea and build a book from there. So far, I've always had to start with character.
I can only write the books that are in me. I don't mean that we can't try to stretch creatively. But wishing that I were a different writer with different stories leads nowhere but frustration. I can admire other people's work, but I can only write my own.
But I do follow the news, and I would love to write a novel in which I make Important Political Points. Some writers are very, very good at doing this. Every time I've tried it, I end up producing the kind of didactic soap-box garbage that nobody wants to read. (Not even me.)
I address social issues in both of my novels and many of my short stories. But they're woven in naturally as part of the plot and character development. And I tend to write about only what is, and leave the reader to decide what should be. Instead of using the characters as puppets to make a point, I mention whatever we need to know about these characters' background, their living situation, because it's part of who they are and part of what motivates them. For me, the character comes first.
Sometimes I wish it were otherwise, that I could start with a Grand Idea and build a book from there. So far, I've always had to start with character.
I can only write the books that are in me. I don't mean that we can't try to stretch creatively. But wishing that I were a different writer with different stories leads nowhere but frustration. I can admire other people's work, but I can only write my own.
October 9, 2011
On Jo and Professor Bhaer
One of the most controversial pairings in classic children's literature is that of Jo March and Friedrich Bhaer in Louisa May Alcott's Little Women. I often see people lamenting the fact that Jo didn't end up with Laurie, her childhood friend, but instead fell for a much older professor.
I've pondered whether this disappointment on the part of readers is a result of some flaw in the writing, or is it just that women's expectations of marriage have changed over the decades since Little Women was first published? Or was Alcott's idea of a successful marriage just different from that of her readers?
The reasons that Jo accepts Prof. Bhaer and not Laurie are clearly articulated in the text of Little Women. While Jo and Laurie have great fun together, they also fight frequently. Additionally, Laurie is handsome, accomplished and wealthy; he enjoys music and seems to enjoy the social life. Jo is more of an introvert; social obligations bore her and make her feel awkward. When Laurie proposes, Jo answers, "'I'm homely and awkward and odd and old, and you'd be ashamed of me, and we should quarrel,--we can't help it even now, you see,--and I shouldn't like elegant society and you would, and you'd hate my scribbling, and I couldn't get on without it, and we should be unhappy, and wish we hadn't done it, and everything would be horrid!'"
Jo's answer should please the modern reader to this extent: She knows herself. She sees the points of incompatibility between herself and Laurie, how their respective needs would not mesh, and she has no desire to spend her life trying to become what she is not. This view is seconded by her mother, who says, "'You are too much alike and too fond of freedom, not to mention hot tempers and strong wills, to get on happily together, in a relation which needs infinite patience and forbearance, as well as love.'"
This is where I think today's audiences are disappointed: they want passion. "Infinite patience and forbearance" are not nearly as exciting, even if Mrs. March is right about their necessity in a marriage. Jo and Prof. Bhaer have a quiet love. They start as friends; they have a mutual respect and enjoy each other's company. Their affection is more the tender, steady sort. As a reader, I confess that I like the Jo-Bhaer match a lot more than many other Little Women fans do. (In the interests of full disclosure, I'll say that I also married someone several years older than I, but since we both act like teenagers a good deal of the time, it's rather different from Jo's match.) I happen to agree with Jo and Mrs. March that lifetime commitment requires more than just sparks, and I have a hard time seeing Jo and Laurie being happy together beyond the honeymoon.
But one thing this controversy does is to raise an interesting question for readers to ask themselves: Do you like the Jo-Bhaer match? If not, what do you think it lacks? Would Jo-Laurie really have worked? It can lead to fruitful discussions about what we look for in relationships, and what we need in a long-term relationship. And it can lead writers to think about our fictional couples, and what draws them together or breaks them apart.
I've pondered whether this disappointment on the part of readers is a result of some flaw in the writing, or is it just that women's expectations of marriage have changed over the decades since Little Women was first published? Or was Alcott's idea of a successful marriage just different from that of her readers?
The reasons that Jo accepts Prof. Bhaer and not Laurie are clearly articulated in the text of Little Women. While Jo and Laurie have great fun together, they also fight frequently. Additionally, Laurie is handsome, accomplished and wealthy; he enjoys music and seems to enjoy the social life. Jo is more of an introvert; social obligations bore her and make her feel awkward. When Laurie proposes, Jo answers, "'I'm homely and awkward and odd and old, and you'd be ashamed of me, and we should quarrel,--we can't help it even now, you see,--and I shouldn't like elegant society and you would, and you'd hate my scribbling, and I couldn't get on without it, and we should be unhappy, and wish we hadn't done it, and everything would be horrid!'"
Jo's answer should please the modern reader to this extent: She knows herself. She sees the points of incompatibility between herself and Laurie, how their respective needs would not mesh, and she has no desire to spend her life trying to become what she is not. This view is seconded by her mother, who says, "'You are too much alike and too fond of freedom, not to mention hot tempers and strong wills, to get on happily together, in a relation which needs infinite patience and forbearance, as well as love.'"
This is where I think today's audiences are disappointed: they want passion. "Infinite patience and forbearance" are not nearly as exciting, even if Mrs. March is right about their necessity in a marriage. Jo and Prof. Bhaer have a quiet love. They start as friends; they have a mutual respect and enjoy each other's company. Their affection is more the tender, steady sort. As a reader, I confess that I like the Jo-Bhaer match a lot more than many other Little Women fans do. (In the interests of full disclosure, I'll say that I also married someone several years older than I, but since we both act like teenagers a good deal of the time, it's rather different from Jo's match.) I happen to agree with Jo and Mrs. March that lifetime commitment requires more than just sparks, and I have a hard time seeing Jo and Laurie being happy together beyond the honeymoon.
But one thing this controversy does is to raise an interesting question for readers to ask themselves: Do you like the Jo-Bhaer match? If not, what do you think it lacks? Would Jo-Laurie really have worked? It can lead to fruitful discussions about what we look for in relationships, and what we need in a long-term relationship. And it can lead writers to think about our fictional couples, and what draws them together or breaks them apart.
October 7, 2011
Writing lessons from The Hunger Games
I've just finished The Hunger Games (late to the party, I know). Reading as a writer, I noted these techniques by Suzanne Collins that I particularly admired and appreciated:
There were realistic consequences to things. There's violence in this book, but it's not cartoonish. Collins acknowledges that explosions can cause ear damage, wounds can get infected, limbs can't always be saved, and sometimes death is not mercifully quick but painful and lingering. I suspect this is a result of the POV attributed to Collins on the jacket flap: "... she continues to explore the effects of war and violence on those coming of age." The truth is, war and violence ain't pretty. Or neat. Or free of sequelae.
The internet was abuzz for months with the Gale-Katniss-Peeta love triangle, but it didn't strike me as a love triangle. In fact, I like the different spin Collins put on Katniss's relationship with the boys; to her, they are mostly friends. Other feelings stir her on occasion, but the deception and play-acting necessitated by the game thwart her ability to know her own truth. I'm especially glad she didn't fall blindly, inexplicably, or suddenly in love with anyone. It'll be interesting to see how these relationships develop. (I already know something of how the series ends--it was difficult to avoid Mockingjay spoilers--but I know very little of what happens in the middle.)
The main character was, thank goodness, smart. When the reader could tell that a certain situation was a trap, Katniss did not go blundering stupidly into obvious trouble. Her actions made sense. She found plenty of trouble, of course, but it always seemed unavoidable. I didn't find myself smacking my head and saying, "Why didn't she just do such-and-such, it would've been so much easier and safer?!"
Collins allowed the supporting cast to shine. In some books, secondary characters only seem to serve the interests of the main character, and having no motivations or talents of their own results in thin cardboard personalities. Katniss openly admires several of her competitors, especially Rue, Foxface, Thresh, and the boy from District 3. I liked that these characters had their own merits, that sometimes they outshone Katniss, that she wasn't always better at everything than everyone else.
The game in the book ends within the book. I was so glad of that. I know it's a trilogy, and I thought the game might drag into the next book, but it didn't. This book has an ending. There are certainly unanswered questions and reasons to read on, but the reader is not dangled off too big a cliff. More and more, I'm coming to appreciate the skill of a series writer who can give a satisfying ending to a single book, who has the confidence that the book's world itself and the bigger problems seeded within that world will be enough to bring readers back. And for this book, they are.
source of recommended read: library
There were realistic consequences to things. There's violence in this book, but it's not cartoonish. Collins acknowledges that explosions can cause ear damage, wounds can get infected, limbs can't always be saved, and sometimes death is not mercifully quick but painful and lingering. I suspect this is a result of the POV attributed to Collins on the jacket flap: "... she continues to explore the effects of war and violence on those coming of age." The truth is, war and violence ain't pretty. Or neat. Or free of sequelae.
The internet was abuzz for months with the Gale-Katniss-Peeta love triangle, but it didn't strike me as a love triangle. In fact, I like the different spin Collins put on Katniss's relationship with the boys; to her, they are mostly friends. Other feelings stir her on occasion, but the deception and play-acting necessitated by the game thwart her ability to know her own truth. I'm especially glad she didn't fall blindly, inexplicably, or suddenly in love with anyone. It'll be interesting to see how these relationships develop. (I already know something of how the series ends--it was difficult to avoid Mockingjay spoilers--but I know very little of what happens in the middle.)
The main character was, thank goodness, smart. When the reader could tell that a certain situation was a trap, Katniss did not go blundering stupidly into obvious trouble. Her actions made sense. She found plenty of trouble, of course, but it always seemed unavoidable. I didn't find myself smacking my head and saying, "Why didn't she just do such-and-such, it would've been so much easier and safer?!"
Collins allowed the supporting cast to shine. In some books, secondary characters only seem to serve the interests of the main character, and having no motivations or talents of their own results in thin cardboard personalities. Katniss openly admires several of her competitors, especially Rue, Foxface, Thresh, and the boy from District 3. I liked that these characters had their own merits, that sometimes they outshone Katniss, that she wasn't always better at everything than everyone else.
The game in the book ends within the book. I was so glad of that. I know it's a trilogy, and I thought the game might drag into the next book, but it didn't. This book has an ending. There are certainly unanswered questions and reasons to read on, but the reader is not dangled off too big a cliff. More and more, I'm coming to appreciate the skill of a series writer who can give a satisfying ending to a single book, who has the confidence that the book's world itself and the bigger problems seeded within that world will be enough to bring readers back. And for this book, they are.
source of recommended read: library
October 6, 2011
That strange creature, the first draft
Every time I start a new writing project, I am struck all over again by how different it is from revision. About 90% (give or take) of my writing is revision, so first drafting is rarer. Which is probably why I have this neverending capacity to be surprised by its weirdness.
When I'm revising, it's easier to slip in and out of the book's world. And I can read the same sentence fifty times in a row, tweaking it a bit each time. And I can revise on a very regular schedule: I can pick a number-of-pages- or number-of-scenes-per-day goal and stick to it fairly closely.
When I'm first-drafting, it takes me a long time to get into a writing session, and often a long time to come out of it. (Like my recent "one-hour" planned writing session that turned into more than four hours.) And I don't like to dwell on any one sentence or tweak it for too long; I feel a forward pressure, a momentum. Except for those moments when I stop dead in my tracks because I don't know what happens next.
First drafting takes a lot of mental energy. I feel things bubbling away beneath the surface, and I wait impatiently for them to bubble up into the front of my brain where I can write them down. In the early stages, I may go a couple of days without adding words to the story, and part of me feels frustrated and as if I'm not advancing the work, but deep down I know the story is weaving together somewhere in my mind. I know I'm ready when scenes start popping into my head while I'm walking or making the bed: suddenly, characters are in there jabbering away, acting on their own.
I don't think I'll ever do NaNoWriMo because my first drafts don't like to come out in regular pieces every day. They like to come in bursts: 3000 new words one day, 20 new words the next, 2000 the next, then a day where I do nothing but delete a sentence that was blocking the way to the next scene, then 1000 words ... Like that.
Does your first-draft process differ from your revision process?
When I'm revising, it's easier to slip in and out of the book's world. And I can read the same sentence fifty times in a row, tweaking it a bit each time. And I can revise on a very regular schedule: I can pick a number-of-pages- or number-of-scenes-per-day goal and stick to it fairly closely.
When I'm first-drafting, it takes me a long time to get into a writing session, and often a long time to come out of it. (Like my recent "one-hour" planned writing session that turned into more than four hours.) And I don't like to dwell on any one sentence or tweak it for too long; I feel a forward pressure, a momentum. Except for those moments when I stop dead in my tracks because I don't know what happens next.
First drafting takes a lot of mental energy. I feel things bubbling away beneath the surface, and I wait impatiently for them to bubble up into the front of my brain where I can write them down. In the early stages, I may go a couple of days without adding words to the story, and part of me feels frustrated and as if I'm not advancing the work, but deep down I know the story is weaving together somewhere in my mind. I know I'm ready when scenes start popping into my head while I'm walking or making the bed: suddenly, characters are in there jabbering away, acting on their own.
I don't think I'll ever do NaNoWriMo because my first drafts don't like to come out in regular pieces every day. They like to come in bursts: 3000 new words one day, 20 new words the next, 2000 the next, then a day where I do nothing but delete a sentence that was blocking the way to the next scene, then 1000 words ... Like that.
Does your first-draft process differ from your revision process?
October 4, 2011
Guest post: "Second books rule"
The latest episode in my series on writing a second book is by an author with a unique perspective. This honest post challenges us to keep getting better with every book--and says it's okay to play favorites!
Second Books Rule, First Books Drool
by Greg R. Fishbone
I wanted to post something in Jenn's "Second Book" series, but from a slightly different slant. As I was gearing up for the release of my second book, I started hearing rumors that the publisher of my first book was having difficulties. The owner had been suffering from health problems for some time and word on the street was that the press would soon be closing for good. These rumors have turned out to be true. While I certainly hope Miriam feels better soon and that all the other authors at Blooming Tree Press can find new homes for their books, I'm a bit conflicted about seeing The Penguins of Doom go out of print. I'm disappointed, but also strangely relieved.
When The Penguins of Doom came out in 2007, it was the most polished writing I'd ever done, after years of honing my craft and developing my own personal style. I've had nothing but positive feedback from readers. But this past spring, I felt a flush of embarrassment to see Penguins on sale at a conference. I wanted to tell people not to buy it because I could do better, and had done better, and they'd know that if only they could just wait for The Challengers to be released in September. I felt bad about thinking that way about my first book and it puzzled me, because I still loved that book, the characters, and the world I had created for them. Just not as much as I loved the new book.
I don't know whether other authors feel this way, but publishing a second book made me reevaluate the first book in a new light. Since one of my personal goals is to constantly increase my skills, it was important to me that my second book be better than the first. It's also natural that I'd want people to judge me on the better book. Therefore, I shouldn't feel guilty, as if I'd written the second book behind the first book's back. Still, at some level, I did.
How much loyalty do we owe our books? The truth is that books are not children--you can love one more than another. You can believe that one is objectively better, funnier, and fresher, and you shouldn't feel afraid to say so.
I'll always be grateful to Miriam and BTP for publishing Penguins and to everyone who stocked it on a shelf, obtained a copy to read, or posted a review. I'm thrilled to hear from readers who enjoyed the book, and maybe some of them won't like The Challengers nearly as much, but that doesn't change how I feel. My second book is better than my first and I hope my third will be better than my second.
I retained the digital rights to Penguins, and I've been toying with releasing an ebook edition to keep the book in print and available, but somehow I'm not feeling any rush.
Greg R. Fishbone is an author of galactic fiction for young readers, including the Galaxy Games series of humorous middle grade sci-fi novels from the Tu Books imprint at Lee & Low Books. In this hilarious middle-grade romp through space, eleven-year-old Tyler Sato leads a team of kids representing all of Earth in a sports tournament against alien kids from across the galaxy.
This post is also part of Greg Fishbone's Galaxy Games blog tour. For those of you participating in the blog tour Puzzle Contest, here is today's puzzle piece:
Second Books Rule, First Books Drool
by Greg R. Fishbone
I wanted to post something in Jenn's "Second Book" series, but from a slightly different slant. As I was gearing up for the release of my second book, I started hearing rumors that the publisher of my first book was having difficulties. The owner had been suffering from health problems for some time and word on the street was that the press would soon be closing for good. These rumors have turned out to be true. While I certainly hope Miriam feels better soon and that all the other authors at Blooming Tree Press can find new homes for their books, I'm a bit conflicted about seeing The Penguins of Doom go out of print. I'm disappointed, but also strangely relieved.
When The Penguins of Doom came out in 2007, it was the most polished writing I'd ever done, after years of honing my craft and developing my own personal style. I've had nothing but positive feedback from readers. But this past spring, I felt a flush of embarrassment to see Penguins on sale at a conference. I wanted to tell people not to buy it because I could do better, and had done better, and they'd know that if only they could just wait for The Challengers to be released in September. I felt bad about thinking that way about my first book and it puzzled me, because I still loved that book, the characters, and the world I had created for them. Just not as much as I loved the new book.
I don't know whether other authors feel this way, but publishing a second book made me reevaluate the first book in a new light. Since one of my personal goals is to constantly increase my skills, it was important to me that my second book be better than the first. It's also natural that I'd want people to judge me on the better book. Therefore, I shouldn't feel guilty, as if I'd written the second book behind the first book's back. Still, at some level, I did.
How much loyalty do we owe our books? The truth is that books are not children--you can love one more than another. You can believe that one is objectively better, funnier, and fresher, and you shouldn't feel afraid to say so.
I'll always be grateful to Miriam and BTP for publishing Penguins and to everyone who stocked it on a shelf, obtained a copy to read, or posted a review. I'm thrilled to hear from readers who enjoyed the book, and maybe some of them won't like The Challengers nearly as much, but that doesn't change how I feel. My second book is better than my first and I hope my third will be better than my second.
I retained the digital rights to Penguins, and I've been toying with releasing an ebook edition to keep the book in print and available, but somehow I'm not feeling any rush.
Greg R. Fishbone is an author of galactic fiction for young readers, including the Galaxy Games series of humorous middle grade sci-fi novels from the Tu Books imprint at Lee & Low Books. In this hilarious middle-grade romp through space, eleven-year-old Tyler Sato leads a team of kids representing all of Earth in a sports tournament against alien kids from across the galaxy.
This post is also part of Greg Fishbone's Galaxy Games blog tour. For those of you participating in the blog tour Puzzle Contest, here is today's puzzle piece:
October 3, 2011
The Secret Writer Clubhouse
I'm about to share a big secret with you. I could get in big trouble for doing this, but here goes.
There is this Clubhouse for Writers. That's right, a Secret Clubhouse. Inside, writers have lots of wine and cheese and chocolate truffles. They compare notes on how many awards they've won, dash off brilliant manuscripts with one hand while the other is being manicured, and dab their brows with advance checks that have lots of zeroes on them. Adoring fans who totally get their work and remember all the minor characters' names buzz around, asking brilliant thought-provoking questions. Oh yeah, and there's a Jacuzzi.
But one writer is not invited to the clubhouse. That writer stands barefoot in the snow, seeing the lights and hearing the laughter from afar. Shivering. Batting off attacking adverbs and slogging through a plot that has developed pointless tentacles. Wondering how those other writers seem to have it so easy. They all know each other, they get the buzz, they never cry over a chapter that goes nowhere. They never get rejection slips.
I think most writers suspect they are that lonely writer out in the snow.
And here's the real secret:
There is no clubhouse.
(Or if there is, I don't know about it so I must be the one out in the snow, and you? You're totally fine. :-) Have some truffles.)
There is this Clubhouse for Writers. That's right, a Secret Clubhouse. Inside, writers have lots of wine and cheese and chocolate truffles. They compare notes on how many awards they've won, dash off brilliant manuscripts with one hand while the other is being manicured, and dab their brows with advance checks that have lots of zeroes on them. Adoring fans who totally get their work and remember all the minor characters' names buzz around, asking brilliant thought-provoking questions. Oh yeah, and there's a Jacuzzi.
But one writer is not invited to the clubhouse. That writer stands barefoot in the snow, seeing the lights and hearing the laughter from afar. Shivering. Batting off attacking adverbs and slogging through a plot that has developed pointless tentacles. Wondering how those other writers seem to have it so easy. They all know each other, they get the buzz, they never cry over a chapter that goes nowhere. They never get rejection slips.
I think most writers suspect they are that lonely writer out in the snow.
And here's the real secret:
There is no clubhouse.
(Or if there is, I don't know about it so I must be the one out in the snow, and you? You're totally fine. :-) Have some truffles.)
October 1, 2011
"The work needs space around it"
Two quotations that struck me, from May Sarton's The House by the Sea:
"He is very shy, a sandy-haired, middle-aged man, who is recovering from winning all the prizes last year ... I was quite amused to hear that he feels silenced at this point."
This captures a situation that sometimes happens to people after great worldly success: all that connection with the external world makes the connection with the inner self harder to find. But it doesn't have to be huge success to be distracting. This can even happen with small triumphs, because it's more about a mindset and an inner compass. A person can remain serene and focused while winning the Nobel Prize, or can lose focus over a single good review. It's a paradox of writing that we must strive to communicate with others, while not worrying overly much about attention or approval from those others!
Then there's this:
"It is not that I work all day; it is that the work needs space around it. Hurry and flurry break into the deep still place where I can remember and sort out what I want to say ..."
I find this, too. An hour of good solid writing may be preceded by two hours of what seems like daydreaming, or a solitary walk. Something is working beneath the surface when this happens; I'm reaching deeper layers of concentration. I don't always have or need the luxury of all this time, however. When I'm revising, I can usually slip right into the imaginary world of the story. It's first drafting that requires this mental heavy lifting.
"He is very shy, a sandy-haired, middle-aged man, who is recovering from winning all the prizes last year ... I was quite amused to hear that he feels silenced at this point."
This captures a situation that sometimes happens to people after great worldly success: all that connection with the external world makes the connection with the inner self harder to find. But it doesn't have to be huge success to be distracting. This can even happen with small triumphs, because it's more about a mindset and an inner compass. A person can remain serene and focused while winning the Nobel Prize, or can lose focus over a single good review. It's a paradox of writing that we must strive to communicate with others, while not worrying overly much about attention or approval from those others!
Then there's this:
"It is not that I work all day; it is that the work needs space around it. Hurry and flurry break into the deep still place where I can remember and sort out what I want to say ..."
I find this, too. An hour of good solid writing may be preceded by two hours of what seems like daydreaming, or a solitary walk. Something is working beneath the surface when this happens; I'm reaching deeper layers of concentration. I don't always have or need the luxury of all this time, however. When I'm revising, I can usually slip right into the imaginary world of the story. It's first drafting that requires this mental heavy lifting.
