Ginger Rue's Blog, page 2

No, I Don’t Want to Read Your Book Manuscript

About once a week, I get a request from someone to read his/her book manuscript. I almost always say no. Here’s why.

I really do work for a living. Between writing my own books and magazine articles, I don’t have a lot of free time. Oh, and did I mention I’m also bringing up three children and a puppy? Asking someone to devote hours to your WIP (work in progress) is asking a lot. Before you do it, you should ask yourself some questions:

1. How close are we? And by close, I mean, have I ever donated a major organ to this person, bailed him/her out of jail, or had a chair broken across my back for him/her during a bar fight? If you can’t answer yes to any of those, you may be asking too much. People have lives, and frankly, time is money.

2. Did I offer to pay this person or do I just expect him/her to be delighted to do my bidding free of charge? (See above “time is money” comment.)

It’s been my experience that too many aspiring writers don’t really want criticism. They just want you to tell them their book is the most wonderful thing you’ve ever read and offer to introduce them to your agent. A few years ago, I read a book manuscript for a friend of a friend. I spent hours marking suggestions. Then I called him to discuss. As soon as he learned that I wasn’t calling to congratulate him, but to actually offer ideas of how he could put in yet more work, the call mysteriously dropped. Did he hang up on me? I don’t know, but I do know that he didn’t try to call me back. That was the last time I ever read someone’s friend’s book as a favor.

Aspiring writers who can’t handle criticism probably won’t get too far. If you can’t take my criticism (and I’m actually pretty nice, I think), you’re not ready to send your book out to an agent or publisher. They won’t bother to tell you your plot isn’t moving along quickly enough or that your characters lack dimension. They’ll just glance over the first few pages and send you a rejection when it doesn’t work for them. And likely you’ll never know why they passed, because they usually won’t take the time to tell you (again, see “time is money” comment). This is why, when I decline to read a manuscript, I usually recommend to the person who asked that he/she get involved in a class or a writing group. That’s a great place to learn how to welcome honest feedback. If you’re not willing to do that, you’re probably not ready to publish.

Writers who are really serious about publication are generally those who are willing to put in the time (and yes, sometimes money) on their end. When I wrote my first novel, I signed up for an online novel writing class. That way, I was paying someone to read my work and offer criticism. I also did hours upon hours of research into the publishing process and the craft of fiction. This is why I’m always amazed when someone casually asks me, “Is it hard to publish a book? How do you do that?” The answer I’m too nice to say (see #3) is, “By getting off your rear end and putting in the work instead of expecting me to dispense knowledge like an ATM.” I mean, come on. If you’re serious, do your homework. And if you’re not, don’t waste my time.

I’ve been burned too many times. I have been too nice too many times to aspiring writers who’ve asked me to look at their work. Many of them sent their manuscripts in an email with a note saying something to the effect of, “This is really rough, and I just kind of put down on paper what was in my head.” Really? REALLY? So you verbally vomited on the page and now you’d like me to clean it up for you? No, thanks. This is more inconsiderate than middle school and high school kids writing a paper twenty minutes before it’s due and expecting their teachers to “fix” every error for them. At least the school children can blame immaturity.

I consider myself a professional. Do you call up plumbers and ask them to look at your pipes as a favor? Do you expect architects to design a home for you in their free time? Do you expect dentists to look at your sore tooth during a dinner party? (I know…a lot of people do, unfortunately.) I hope not. By the same logic, please do not insult writers by acting as though their work is a fun little hobby for them. It’s real, actual work.

Sorry if this sounds snarky. I’m usually nice (again, see #3). But if I read all the manuscripts I’m asked to read, I’d never have time to do anything else. So, on behalf of all writers, please think about what you’re asking when you ask someone to read your manuscript. Just don’t expect them to drop everything and serve you. If you really, really do want to ask a writer friend/acquaintance to help you, I actually think it’s perfectly fine to offer to trade services. At least you’ve acknowledged that what you are asking for is real work. And speaking of trading services, if anyone wants to steam clean all the floors in my house, I might just be able to find the time to read your book after all!

How Columbus, Mississippi, Wound up in a Children���s Book Set in Texas

I���ve started thinking that the job of writers is to take pieces from real life, put them in one of those silver cocktail cup thingies, and shake shake shake and see what emerges. At least, that is apparently what I do.

When I was a teenager, I spent a lot of time���as much as possible, in fact���hanging out with my cousin and our friends in Columbus, Mississippi. I loved it there, probably because I had such a cool cousin and friends, but also because it���s just a pretty neat place. Columbus was and is a charming small town, and if you were underage like I was, there was pretty much only one place to go on the weekends: a little joint called Bob���s. I���m told they served food there, but I think I went inside only once. Most of the time we just hung out in the parking lot, which doesn���t sound like much fun and excitement, but trust me when I tell you it was the best. (The owners must have been overjoyed by our failure to support the local economy, but they kindly tolerated us anyway.)

Bob���s was torn down some years ago (I hope not because we didn���t do our part to spend more money there), and the old bridge to get to it was condemned or at least blocked off. (It’s still there but I’m not sure if you can drive on it now.) On a visit several years ago to visit my cousin, we drove past the old bridge and were swept away by nostalgia. I said to my cousin, ���Doesn���t it seem that, if we could just get across that bridge, that it would still be 1980-something on the other side?���

Nearly twenty years later, that bridge has become a vehicle for time travel. Sort of.

In the Aleca Zamm series, when Aleca stops time, her friend Ford describes an old bridge that only he can see. Even though the Aleca books are set in Texas, the bridge in my mind was the old bridge in Columbus.

And speaking of Columbus showing up in my fictional Texas town���

One night my family in Columbus suggested we all go have dinner at a restaurant just up the road called Proffitt���s Porch. I heard ���Prophet���s Porch��� and immediately fell in love with the name. It sounded so Faulknerian: an odd but somehow right mixture of mysticism and Southern culture. I pictured a prophet in overalls, in a rocking chair on a porch, explaining the mysteries of the universe over the sound of cicadas. I soon learned that the word Proffitt was the proprietor���s last name, but I still loved my misinterpretation. Thus, Aleca���s small town became Prophet���s Porch, Texas.

I was just in Columbus for the Fourth of July, and although I am well past my teen years and Bob���s is gone, the town still has a great deal of charm to offer. If you ever get the chance, go and get the red beans and rice at Proffitt���s Porch. And try to see the Waverly mansion, which is an architectural phenomenon you���ll never forget.

How Columbus, Mississippi, Wound up in a Children’s Book Set in Texas

I’ve started thinking that the job of writers is to take pieces from real life, put them in one of those silver cocktail cup thingies, and shake shake shake and see what emerges. At least, that is apparently what I do.

When I was a teenager, I spent a lot of time—as much as possible, in fact—hanging out with my cousin and our friends in Columbus, Mississippi. I loved it there, probably because I had such a cool cousin and friends, but also because it’s just a pretty neat place. Columbus was and is a charming small town, and if you were underage like I was, there was pretty much only one place to go on the weekends: a little joint called Bob’s. I’m told they served food there, but I think I went inside only once. Most of the time we just hung out in the parking lot, which doesn’t sound like much fun and excitement, but trust me when I tell you it was the best. (The owners must have been overjoyed by our failure to support the local economy, but they kindly tolerated us anyway.)

Bob’s was torn down some years ago (I hope not because we didn’t do our part to spend more money there), and the old bridge to get to it was condemned or at least blocked off. (It’s still there but I’m not sure if you can drive on it now.) On a visit several years ago to visit my cousin, we drove past the old bridge and were swept away by nostalgia. I said to my cousin, “Doesn’t it seem that, if we could just get across that bridge, that it would still be 1980-something on the other side?”

Nearly twenty years later, that bridge has become a vehicle for time travel. Sort of.

In the Aleca Zamm series, when Aleca stops time, her friend Ford describes an old bridge that only he can see. Even though the Aleca books are set in Texas, the bridge in my mind was the old bridge in Columbus.

And speaking of Columbus showing up in my fictional Texas town…

One night my family in Columbus suggested we all go have dinner at a restaurant just up the road called Proffitt’s Porch. I heard “Prophet’s Porch” and immediately fell in love with the name. It sounded so Faulknerian: an odd but somehow right mixture of mysticism and Southern culture. I pictured a prophet in overalls, in a rocking chair on a porch, explaining the mysteries of the universe over the sound of cicadas. I soon learned that the word Proffitt was the proprietor’s last name, but I still loved my misinterpretation. Thus, Aleca’s small town became Prophet’s Porch, Texas.

I was just in Columbus for the Fourth of July, and although I am well past my teen years and Bob’s is gone, the town still has a great deal of charm to offer. If you ever get the chance, go and get the red beans and rice at Proffitt’s Porch. And try to see the Waverly mansion, which is an architectural phenomenon you’ll never forget.

Blogging: I, Too, Dislike It*

In case you missed it, author Rebecca Kauffman wrote an article for Publishers Weekly a week or two ago about her resistance to social media. Kauffman sums up what I’ve been thinking about that subject for years, but to borrow from Alexander Pope, she wrote “what oft was thought but ne’er so well expressed.”

Confession: I actually don’t like blogging. For one thing, I don’t think anyone reads my blog. And for another, having conversations with strangers makes me a little uncomfortable. And finally, I can’t shake the feeling that while I’m blogging a blog nobody reads, I could be spending that time writing a book.

So why do I have a blog or any of that stuff? Because publishers want writers to have those things. I wonder sometimes what JD Salinger would have done had he written in this day and age. Or Faulkner! Just imagine, the man who gave up his job as postmaster by writing in his resignation letter, “I will be damned if I propose to be at the beck and call of every itinerant scoundrel who has two cents to invest in a postage stamp” having to put something about himself online week after week and having to delete all the “what a great post” comments from hair tonic robots! In one of the collections of Faulkner’s letters I read some years ago, he told a friend about receiving letters from readers. He said something to the effect of, “I suppose I ought to answer them, but I don’t.”

I guess when you’re Faulkner you can do what you want.

The rest of us who write, I suppose, will have to continue to hide in plain sight on the internet…because that has become part of it.

*Title of today’s blog is a nod to a much better poem from a much better writer.

 

 

Chapter Breaks

In all the creative writing classes I took in college, no one ever taught me something kind of important:

When to end a chapter.

Luckily, most of us who write read enough books that we wind up with an innate sense of chapter breaks. My rule of thumb is that each chapter should have a sense of a scene’s being over, plus a little unfinished business. It’s that unfinished business that will make the reader tell herself, “Just one more chapter” because she’s dying to know what happens next.

Of course, like everything else in writing, the only rule is that there are no rules. I offer William Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying as evidence.

If you’ve ever read As I Lay Dying, you can probably clearly recall getting to the chapter with only five words and feeling like Marty McFly being blown to the other side of the room by a giant, loud amp. Those five words, “My mother is a fish,” might be the biggest mic drop in twentieth century American literature.

Just one more reason, folks, why Faulkner is the man.

 

How Important Is Setting?

It was a dark and stormy night.

That’s how Snoopy starts his novels as he sits on the roof of his doghouse and types on his typewriter. He never seems to get much further, but maybe that’s because the roof line on his doghouse must be uncomfortable for sitting, or maybe it’s because he’s still using a typewriter, or maybe it’s because he’s beginning with setting. (Digression 1: Don’t you just love Snoopy?)

I can remember going to a writers’ conference back when I was in high school. The panel of speakers talked about the importance of setting. But this was the 80s, and I wonder if what those experts said then is still true.

I find that when I write, I don’t care much to describe where things are happening. Is this a sign of the times or is it just my limited attention span? Personally, I’d rather delve more into the characters and their motivations and make things happen plotwise. I don’t care so much about the weather or what the room looks like. Occasionally my editors will ask me to describe a setting a bit more, and I always oblige, but for my own part, I find I don’t think about setting that much. I’m sure if I wrote stories that happened in alternate universes if would make more sense to ground readers with some sense of where they are and what this strange new world looks like, but my books aren’t in that genre, so setting doesn’t feel that important for the stories I’m telling.

In fact, I’m pretty bare bones about description in general, I think. In my latest book, my editors had me go back in on one of the rounds of edits and describe what the girls in the band were wearing onstage for auditions and shows. It was a good suggestion, but to be honest, I hadn’t really thought about it. (Digression 2: Thank goodness for editors.)

In my first book, I explicitly stated that the characters lived in Ohio. Why Ohio? Because the first draft involved the protagonist’s father having a serious girlfriend in New York. I decided not to set that book in the South (where I live) because that’s a pretty far commute for a long-distance relationship, and even true love has its limits, perhaps. The Midwest seemed like a good compromise on distance while still providing a smalltown setting.

Just tossing this out there to see what other writers and readers think about setting. Can readers today tolerate much description, or do they just want stuff to keep happening? When we read online, there are pictures, videos, sounds, and so many colors and fonts…can we sit still for several paragraphs of description on a printed page? I don’t know. What do you think?

 

 

 

 

The Internet Can Kill a Good Writing Buzz

Does the name William Zabka mean anything to you?

Maybe not. But William Zabka is an actor, screenwriter, director, and producer who has a pretty extensive and impressive If you look at the photo of William Zabka on that same page, he looks like a well-adjusted guy you might chat with at your kids’ soccer game.

But William Zabka is best known (to me, anyway) as the mean nemesis in The Karate Kid.

This brings me to the point of today’s blog post: writers rely heavily on our memories for material. For example, when I’m writing a mean kid character, I often think back to the mean kids I used to know. Sometimes I can still feel that dread I felt walking onto the campus of my junior high school, hoping I wouldn’t cross those kids’ paths. This is great material when bringing a fictional character to life.

The dilemma for writers nowadays is, there’s a good chance that some of those people from our past who serve as archetypes for us actually grew up to be well-adjusted, nice people. And frankly, I don’t want to know this.

Not that I’m not happy for them and all (I mean, let’s hope we’ve all evolved since our school days!), but the metamorphosis messes with my head. If I look up a scary figure from my junior high who had us all living in fear, it taints things for me to learn that he’s now a special education teacher and father of three who likes to participate in chili cookoffs for charity. But all this information is usually out there, wide open on the Internet, for the mere click of a button. And that’s hard to resist. Knowing how a story ends–even or especially if it’s a real person’s story–holds a serious draw for writers. We’re curious, so maybe we click. And then the present adulterates our memories of the past. But I need the teen blonde karate jerk of my memory to stay a teen blonde karate jerk.

In a similar vein, what about the heartthrobs of my youth who might inspire a dreamy love interest for one of my young characters? I want them to live forever in my memory as young, beautiful creatures. I don’t want to know that they fell prey to the ravages of time and have embraced socks with sandals or Haband slacks. But it’s so hard not to look! And when you do, what a buzz kill. How can you make your protagonist fall in love with someone when in the back of your mind, you know he’ll be wearing Haband slacks in thirty years? You can’t.

When I wrote Tig Ripley, Rock ‘n’ Roll Rebel, I was partially inspired by my dad’s rock band from the 1960s. He told such great stories about the guys in the band, and I pictured them in my mind. Sure, my dad had a few little black and white photos, but the lead singer was never in them, and my father never knew what became of him. I always liked to imagine that he’d been handsome and had gone on to have James Dean-esque adventures. And because there was no Google search bar to type his name into, I never knew otherwise. I believe the lead singer has passed away now, but from what I can tell, he never had a social media page, so my imagined version of his life remains the only one I know about. And I kind of treasure that.

It’s so easy to know so much now, but do we really want to know?

Alas, how can we save ourselves from such tempting technology?

 

Book Gift: THE PAGES BETWEEN US

The Book Aunt strikes again!

For my niece’s 10th birthday, I got her a copy of Lindsey Leavitt and Robin Mellom‘s The Pages Between Us. But of course, that’s not all she got!

A simple trip to a big super store made it easy to pick up lots of items to help the book come alive: snickerdoodles (you’d be surprised how hard it was to find a cookie with this actual name on the box, but the cinnamon Chips Ahoy! package was close enough), pickle chips (my niece had never had these before so I didn’t know if she will like them…but we’ll soon find out!), sea salt chips (I couldn’t find hummus and sea salt flavor, unfortunately–if only I’d had a chance to hit Fresh Market before the big day!), super cute pencils, and a few other items, including…(drumroll, please)…

 

TA-DA! The sparkly blue notebook! And what a bonus: my niece’s birthday is about a month after the back-to-school frenzy, so this was even on clearance!

Now my niece and a friend can have their very own version of the book’s adventure in friendship.

She even loved the inexpensive hot pink plastic basket in which all her goodies were nestled away. I think it was fun for my niece to get a basketful of neat snacks and special items. And it will be even more fun when she reads her new book and can, say, try pickle chips, just like the girls in the story.

I love the book-and-related-items-tie-in for gifts. It makes shopping more of an adventure and less of a chore. I can’t wait to get Lindsey’s Commander in Cheese series for my younger nieces and nephews. However, I may stop short of buying them a mouse to go with their books. My sisters-in-law have their limits!

 

A POV Tip I Picked up Somewhere

When one begins to write a novel, one of the first things one has to decide is which point of view one should use. (And how to avoid ever having to use “one” because you can see how awkward that quickly becomes.)

I struggle with this, too. In Brand-New Emily, I used first person point of view, and I think it worked out nicely. In Jump, I used third, which I think ended up being the better choice for that particular novel (I’ll explain why in a minute). And with my new book Tig Ripley, Rock ‘n’ Roll Rebel, I used third again, but for a different reason than in Jump. 

Somewhere along the line, I heard this piece of advice about point of view, and I thought it was pretty good: never use first person for a character you wouldn’t want to be trapped in an elevator with for a few hours. I don’t know who came up with this (I wish I did so I could give proper credit), but I thought it was good advice. That’s why I went with third person in Jump: my protagonist was a pretty despicable person on the road to becoming more empathetic. She was completely self-absorbed and would’ve been a drag to be trapped with in an elevator (at least at the novel’s beginning and middle).

For Tig Ripley, I once again went with third person, even though I think Tig is pretty dang likable. (I would totally hang out with her.) But this book had an ensemble cast, so to speak–five girls in a rock band–and I thought if I ever wanted to play around with whose point of view the story is told from in future books, I might ought to start out in the first book with third person POV.

At least for me, there’s really no “correct” answer to which point of view to use. Sometimes you have to try different ones and see which one works. That, of course, consumes a lot of time and leaves you with a lot of work you can’t use…but all I can say to that is, welcome to writing.

If you have any great tips for choosing POV, I’d love to hear them.

 

 

Anything to Keep from Reading the Book

I got some interesting news this summer: a few different schools contacted me because they were using my novel Brand-New Emily in their classroom, and now that the novel is out of print, the teachers were hoping I could help them get copies of the book. Unfortunately, I wasn’t much help as I have only so many copies in my attic, but frankly, I was kind of surprised and definitely honored that something I had written is/was a school text. Then I had this epiphany: some kid or kids at these schools have probably treated my book like any other required reading for school…meaning they’ve done no-telling-what to try to get out of having to actually read it! Knowing this makes me feel like I’ve somehow arrived. Charles Dickens, you are now my homeboy! We are both being forced upon schoolchildren!

With this in mind, I asked some friends this question: What are some of the things you did to get out of reading a book for school? Here are their pretty funny responses:

A “friend of mine” did not enjoy reading the thousand-page book The Yearling and was in tears the night before school started back because *she* hadn’t finished it. Her mom miiiiiight have stayed up all night reading the book and making hand-written notes on each chapter for her daughter to read on the way to school in the morning. I…I mean, my friend…only missed one question on the test….

I was so mad to get to the end of Middlemarch only to find out the whole darn thing was summarized in the last chapter…I HATED MIDDLEMARCH! (She actually read the book, so her response doesn’t really count, but still funny!)

Read another book? I always got in trouble at school for not reading whatever was being taught. In other words, I sat through my classes with a good book propped behind my text book. Not the best plan-but satisfying!

Ok, so there are these big red volumes at my alma mater’s library–I’m sure I forget what they’re called–that are like Cliffs Notes but 100X better–like Cliffs Notes for your DOCTORAL EXAMS. Here is where I read Fielding, Daniel Deronda, basically everything [professor’s name redacted] would’ve taught: snooze.

I never skipped out on reading a book, but my dad once wrote a book report on a book that he completely made up. He literally made up the title, author, publisher, storyline, etc. (My note: Oh, the days before the internet!)

I would skip large pieces of the text and hope I got enough to pass the test. Usually I would read first and last paragraphs of each chapter, but I don’t recall this working so well.

I read portions of the story just to be able to discuss it and have questions–acting like I was confused about some part or the symbolism of something.

I’m a little troubled to have to add that some of these friends are my former students! And after all I did to make my book tests movie-proof! In any case, I appreciate their honesty.

As for me, I can’t imagine not reading the book. I mean, you GET to read a book! I don’t understand why you’d want to deprive yourself of that. Well, maybe Middlemarch…which I did read…but I must admit, my friend has a point.