Dawn Metcalf's Blog, page 35
September 1, 2011
Colored Glasses
This morning, I saw a friend waiting with her daughter for the school bus and was able to honk and wave "Hi" as we drove past. I stopped at a crosswalk for a father with his son, helmeted and padded nine ways from Sunday in bright green and white, to let them cross the road. We exchanged a cordial wave and a smile as his son pedaled past. I drove the rest of the way to school with a grin. It's a small thing, and a huge thing, because while I'm always a Pay It Forward kind of gal, I noticed that smiling made the world brighter and the ride smooth and shiny. My son was happy, the incessant favorite song of the day ("Hardware Store" by Weird Al Yankovich*) wasn't getting on my nerves, and we were right on time despite the construction on Main. Now the weather was the same as yesterday, the same construction and backed-up traffic, the same time crunch as school start began, but these little happy changes that occurred first colored the rest and the Big Frustrations of yesterday were No Big Deals today.
Which, of course, brings me back to writing.
It's one thing to have your setting and your world-building securely in place, your character's quirks and motivations fleshing out the initial sketch on paper, but it's just as important--if not more--to include the mental state, the perception, the place-in-mind of the character so we can experience life through his or her emotionally-colored glasses. I can have the same objects and actions in place but describe them very differently, giving a peek into the character who is experiencing them; "long grass tickled by a gentle wind" says something very different than "long grass whipped by an uncaring wind". It might be the same grass, the same breeze, the same moment of the same day, but how the observer feels about life in general (or the wind in specific) colors not only this single description but the rest of the narrative and, by extension, the entirety of the world at that moment which may be bright and beautiful or desolate and dismissive.
Reading Harry Potter with my daughter really underlines that thought for me: watching how eleven-year-old Harry sees the world and the other people at Hogwarts and Privet Drive versus adolescent Harry watching Cho and Hermione, Dudley the Dursleys, Dumbledore, and Sirius with new eyes and short temper. How much did these people change and how much did Harry's POV shift and develop over time? There is more visceral rushing of blood into blushes and furious rages and white-hot, seething, uncaring WTF-ness going on in the heat of hormonal furies and fears. And it changes not only Harry but how we, the reader, experience Harry's world. It's yet another one of those lessons that seem obvious, but are often forgotten: while we know characters must change from the beginning of the book through to the end of the book, does the world (through their perspective) change with them or does it remain static? It's something I'm planning on wielding as I attack my WIP.
*wave *smile* Go Write Now!
* Lego-version of said song found here. And if that's not worth a smile, I don't know what is!
Which, of course, brings me back to writing.
It's one thing to have your setting and your world-building securely in place, your character's quirks and motivations fleshing out the initial sketch on paper, but it's just as important--if not more--to include the mental state, the perception, the place-in-mind of the character so we can experience life through his or her emotionally-colored glasses. I can have the same objects and actions in place but describe them very differently, giving a peek into the character who is experiencing them; "long grass tickled by a gentle wind" says something very different than "long grass whipped by an uncaring wind". It might be the same grass, the same breeze, the same moment of the same day, but how the observer feels about life in general (or the wind in specific) colors not only this single description but the rest of the narrative and, by extension, the entirety of the world at that moment which may be bright and beautiful or desolate and dismissive.
Reading Harry Potter with my daughter really underlines that thought for me: watching how eleven-year-old Harry sees the world and the other people at Hogwarts and Privet Drive versus adolescent Harry watching Cho and Hermione, Dudley the Dursleys, Dumbledore, and Sirius with new eyes and short temper. How much did these people change and how much did Harry's POV shift and develop over time? There is more visceral rushing of blood into blushes and furious rages and white-hot, seething, uncaring WTF-ness going on in the heat of hormonal furies and fears. And it changes not only Harry but how we, the reader, experience Harry's world. It's yet another one of those lessons that seem obvious, but are often forgotten: while we know characters must change from the beginning of the book through to the end of the book, does the world (through their perspective) change with them or does it remain static? It's something I'm planning on wielding as I attack my WIP.
*wave *smile* Go Write Now!
* Lego-version of said song found here. And if that's not worth a smile, I don't know what is!
August 29, 2011
Good Night, Irene, Good Night.
Irene passed with nary a whimper here and while I know that was hardly true elsewhere, I hope that everyone out there is relatively unscathed (or scathed to a very minor extent). What the storm did do is keep us from our last hurrah of the summer with friends at a Bed & Breakfast for the weekend. Fortunately, all the reservation-holders completely understood the cancellations and we braved the coming onslaught to at least go on our long-promised hike with one another a little north into Massachusetts. And so, armed with bug spray, smart phones, and a toddler backpack, two families with three small children dove into a beautiful wooded path as the skies began to darken.
It was both beautiful and eerie. The forest itself was thick and rich, moss bright against moist bark and toadstools popping along the path. I'd never seen so many bright orange salamanders in my life, so many of them were crossing the way that it distracted my children who wanted to pick up every one to feel the tiny feet against their palms. I'd also never heard the woods so quiet: not a bird or chipmunk or squirrel noise anywhere and heard only the low drone of insects, like a warning. The tiny tree frog toy clutched by our littlest hiker made the most appropriate sounds of clicking croaks as if we were in the rainforest jungle.
I was rapt in those moments, loving the magic of the woods while simultaneously trying to keep my son from squashing the mushrooms down like buttons underfoot, until we broke through the marked path onto the wide pipeline road. The steep incline was rocky and wet, runoff beginning to create rivulets and the sound of the brook at the bottom ominous in the quiet. It began to rain in earnest. The men were unsure of our path. The children began to complain. A gentle panic swelled as I looked at the sky, the clouds beginning to slide alarmingly fast, and there was a moment when I felt as insignificantly small and ridiculously shamed for the arrogance of hiking far from home with a downgraded storm on the way. We picked up speed and pulled the younger ones more quickly down the slope, through the forest, up the path, while they whined and complained or cried on our backs. We moved. And all I could think of was the ancient fear of pursuit in the woods, like wolves or brigands or soldiers but this was somehow more powerful: rain and wind. But the truth was it boiled down to almost the same thing: fear of the unknown consequence, the result of our decisions being out of our control, seeking safety in a moment when you know you're not safe.
At home in a warm kitchen with power and light, the storm swirled and threatened before the next day's downpour. We holed up for the day and lazed around playing games, reading books, making meals and snacks and treats. We watched movies and downloaded episodes and generally ignored the wind that tore down branches and swirled the clouds outside. We watched the storm pass on our laptops and smiled when the sun broke through. We used the grill for dinner.
But I still hold that delicate, frightening moment of my family's feet on the pine nettled path, bright orange salamanders scurrying out of our way, and the subtle quiet of the woods where my imagination ran and the storm nipped at our heels like teeth, pushing us on faster than we intended. It's a little parting gift from the storm, and I'll take it for what it is.
It was both beautiful and eerie. The forest itself was thick and rich, moss bright against moist bark and toadstools popping along the path. I'd never seen so many bright orange salamanders in my life, so many of them were crossing the way that it distracted my children who wanted to pick up every one to feel the tiny feet against their palms. I'd also never heard the woods so quiet: not a bird or chipmunk or squirrel noise anywhere and heard only the low drone of insects, like a warning. The tiny tree frog toy clutched by our littlest hiker made the most appropriate sounds of clicking croaks as if we were in the rainforest jungle.
I was rapt in those moments, loving the magic of the woods while simultaneously trying to keep my son from squashing the mushrooms down like buttons underfoot, until we broke through the marked path onto the wide pipeline road. The steep incline was rocky and wet, runoff beginning to create rivulets and the sound of the brook at the bottom ominous in the quiet. It began to rain in earnest. The men were unsure of our path. The children began to complain. A gentle panic swelled as I looked at the sky, the clouds beginning to slide alarmingly fast, and there was a moment when I felt as insignificantly small and ridiculously shamed for the arrogance of hiking far from home with a downgraded storm on the way. We picked up speed and pulled the younger ones more quickly down the slope, through the forest, up the path, while they whined and complained or cried on our backs. We moved. And all I could think of was the ancient fear of pursuit in the woods, like wolves or brigands or soldiers but this was somehow more powerful: rain and wind. But the truth was it boiled down to almost the same thing: fear of the unknown consequence, the result of our decisions being out of our control, seeking safety in a moment when you know you're not safe.
At home in a warm kitchen with power and light, the storm swirled and threatened before the next day's downpour. We holed up for the day and lazed around playing games, reading books, making meals and snacks and treats. We watched movies and downloaded episodes and generally ignored the wind that tore down branches and swirled the clouds outside. We watched the storm pass on our laptops and smiled when the sun broke through. We used the grill for dinner.
But I still hold that delicate, frightening moment of my family's feet on the pine nettled path, bright orange salamanders scurrying out of our way, and the subtle quiet of the woods where my imagination ran and the storm nipped at our heels like teeth, pushing us on faster than we intended. It's a little parting gift from the storm, and I'll take it for what it is.
August 25, 2011
The Distance From Apple to Tree: The Influence of Parents in Kid's Lit
I know that in kid's lit, it's tough to have adventuring be a family affair, especially for the parents. As someone pointed out at ReaderCon this year, "You don't take Mom on an adventure." (Sad to hear, but true.) This is why we so often see kid characters as orphans, or minus one parent (usually mom), or that parents are clueless, neglectful, or otherwise absent--it not only gains us instant sympathy-points, but it makes it easier to explain how a minor can get into major trouble. But as is often the case when taking the road most traveled, it's important not to throw the baby out with the bathwater and the devil's in the details. (For these and other fun clichés, please see earlier posts about pet peeves and red pens.)
The real issue for me is the danger of characters have been created in a vacuum, full and complete all by themselves, as three-dimensional as cardstock. Ask anyone who has taken Psychology 101 or ever lived in any kind of family ever: kids reflect their parents, and siblings, and vice versa. Whether you believe in nature or nurture, people grow like bonsai trees: in response to their influences, whether in alignment or in opposition. This includes (but is not limited to) the good, the bad, the ugly, the humor, the quirks, the mannerisms, the pet peeves, whatever. Limiting a character by having the physical characteristics in common with their family members is the same as describing a character only using hair and eye color or dangling a younger sibling (or parent) out the window to tempt the oldest sibling into action: it's commonly accepted storytelling, but it's thin. There's a whole lot more to us than the sum of these parts.
Think of characters that are part of a family (less common than one might think): How are they the same as their siblings and parents? How are they different? Where do their speech patterns or sense of humor or emotional outbursts mirror one another, feed off one another, push one another's buttons or grew up in complete contrast to these influences? What Weasley brothers sounded alike and which ones sounded completely different? Why do you think that is? How was Meg different from Charles Wallace? But what did they have most in common? How about Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy?
Siblings are pretty easy: Cassel Sharpe and his brothers or sisters Rose and Scarlett: you can see their shared pasts and commonalities reflected in their actions and attitudes now because they are present and accounted for. But when you remove parents from the scene for whatever reason, it's important to remember that all these lingering influences remain, even if they were only around for a short while, even if they left or were removed when the character was very small--being gone is a pretty big influence on the personality of a child! Even then, an orphan left on a doorstep, can grow up reminding people who knew the family of their parentage; maybe a sort of gesture, the way the voice sounds, a facial expression, a temper, the way that they walk, all of these are hints to the origins of the character. Don't short-change your orphan by thinking that there's no yearning to know and emulate (or defy) where they came from. Think of Harry Potter or Artemis Fowl or Damien Locke or Batman. Who were each of these kids in light of their parents? How much of their personalities and life goals were drastically affected by these people who aren't even on the page?
Where we come from is as much who we are as where we're going.
Think about it. Your story will thank you.
The real issue for me is the danger of characters have been created in a vacuum, full and complete all by themselves, as three-dimensional as cardstock. Ask anyone who has taken Psychology 101 or ever lived in any kind of family ever: kids reflect their parents, and siblings, and vice versa. Whether you believe in nature or nurture, people grow like bonsai trees: in response to their influences, whether in alignment or in opposition. This includes (but is not limited to) the good, the bad, the ugly, the humor, the quirks, the mannerisms, the pet peeves, whatever. Limiting a character by having the physical characteristics in common with their family members is the same as describing a character only using hair and eye color or dangling a younger sibling (or parent) out the window to tempt the oldest sibling into action: it's commonly accepted storytelling, but it's thin. There's a whole lot more to us than the sum of these parts.
Think of characters that are part of a family (less common than one might think): How are they the same as their siblings and parents? How are they different? Where do their speech patterns or sense of humor or emotional outbursts mirror one another, feed off one another, push one another's buttons or grew up in complete contrast to these influences? What Weasley brothers sounded alike and which ones sounded completely different? Why do you think that is? How was Meg different from Charles Wallace? But what did they have most in common? How about Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy?
Siblings are pretty easy: Cassel Sharpe and his brothers or sisters Rose and Scarlett: you can see their shared pasts and commonalities reflected in their actions and attitudes now because they are present and accounted for. But when you remove parents from the scene for whatever reason, it's important to remember that all these lingering influences remain, even if they were only around for a short while, even if they left or were removed when the character was very small--being gone is a pretty big influence on the personality of a child! Even then, an orphan left on a doorstep, can grow up reminding people who knew the family of their parentage; maybe a sort of gesture, the way the voice sounds, a facial expression, a temper, the way that they walk, all of these are hints to the origins of the character. Don't short-change your orphan by thinking that there's no yearning to know and emulate (or defy) where they came from. Think of Harry Potter or Artemis Fowl or Damien Locke or Batman. Who were each of these kids in light of their parents? How much of their personalities and life goals were drastically affected by these people who aren't even on the page?
Where we come from is as much who we are as where we're going.
Think about it. Your story will thank you.
August 14, 2011
Hopping To It
I am voluntarily going on an unplugged hiatus for a short while to do this, that, and the other thing. In the meanwhile, I'll leave you with this Simon's Cat video because it's delightful in a seriously adorable, fun-loving, slightly-snarky, man-I-wish-I-could-make-my-line-drawings-come-to-life sort of way. And it makes me smile.
Hope to share the smiles!
Enjoy!
I love how he tempts the bunny nearer for a closer look. That cat's a genius at marketing! ;-)
Hope to share the smiles!
Enjoy!
I love how he tempts the bunny nearer for a closer look. That cat's a genius at marketing! ;-)
August 12, 2011
Under the Marquee
This would be the first signing that wasn't one of "my" events, it would be me at a table supporting the Torrington Library, along with a couple of other local authors to sign and sell books. I had no idea what to expect and, like the Boy Scout I never was, I decided to come prepared! I had chairs and bottled water, snacks in a cooler, sunscreen, posters, a box of books, a bag of bookmarks, spare cardboard, a variety of pens and most importantly: duct tape (don't leave home without it)! Thus encumbered, I set up my corner of the dual-tables under the marquee of the Warner Theater and waited for things to start happening. The good news was that I didn't have to wait for long, I had both good company and a huge crowd appear as if by magic in a matter of minutes; the bad news was that only strange, creepy old men seemed to stop by the tables asking we bemused children's authors whether our books were free or whether we'd put any online criminal law into our stories.
It was going to be a long night.
But I was up for the challenge! Chatting with my fellow authors, random pedestrians, and the rep from the indie bookstore that had come to my Luminous Summer ice cream event was fun, but then it got depressing/boring watching all of these people going by without even a glance our way. I'm an extrovert with a Ren Faire/improv theater background, so I started looking for things to throw, set on fire, or otherwise make a spectacle of myself. I settled on grabbing handfuls of my glossy bookmarks and handing them out to meandering teenagers. This went fairly well as far as getting some free distribution (these kids circled the fair two or three or four times) and opening up conversations about my book. However, I did learn that maybe using the words "It's a paranormal fantasy" doesn't work as one girl responded by sniffing the bookmark. I stared at her.
"Um, it doesn't smell. It's just a bookmark," I said. "For a book."
It struck me that she must have thought "Paranormal Fantasy" was a new fragrance. I sat back down.
More walking, more waiting, more small talk. I tapped my hands on the cover, I made the book dance on the table, I wondered if I could juggle them, then thought better of it. I got up a few times to hand out more bookmarks. I got up one time to attach a hastily-sketched illustrated sign saying: ANGELS, BLOOD, MYSTERY, ROMANCE, BONES! and duct taped it at head-height to a street sign. (Don't laugh, it worked!) But it was much for naught--even people who seemed genuinely interested in the book didn't have that much cash or didn't want to haul a book around for the whole of the street fair so, luckily, I could tell them it was available at Amazon, B&N.com, and their local indies, but I know that the best intentions rarely equal a sale in your hand. With one sale by 7pm, I was beginning to call it a day.
My first sale was a keeper, though: this fan was so busy reading my book, her grandmother stopped back at the table to tell me that her granddaughter had been reading since she got it, loved it, and hadn't walked into any poles yet!
P.S. You can see the edge of the cardboard sign behind her head. Note the duct tape!
As is always the way of these things, I *did* manage to sell three more books just as I was packing up to leave, which I happily signed and dated. That brought my grand total up to five books in four hours, not including the two-hour round-trip drive. And yet...it was kind of worth it. After feeling kind of crappy about Bookscan numbers and stubborn WIPs, to be able to talk to real people and see their eyes light up when I talked about what my book was about was really nice, it was a gorgeous day with not too much sun and a steady breeze, hundreds of great people for People-Watching, and I got to meet fellow Elevensie, Tommy Greenwald!
Me with CHARLIE JOE JACKSON'S GUIDE TO NOT READING and Tommy with LUMINOUS
At the end of the night, I was smiling; I had made some sales, been interviewed by the local radio station, pitched a workshop class to my indie bookseller, loaded my car in three trips without needing to wait for the car line, and headed home feeling just a little bit more like a real, live author. Which I am. Really! It says so right there on the cover!
And that's how I left it under the marquee.
Me + Book = Smile!
It was going to be a long night.
But I was up for the challenge! Chatting with my fellow authors, random pedestrians, and the rep from the indie bookstore that had come to my Luminous Summer ice cream event was fun, but then it got depressing/boring watching all of these people going by without even a glance our way. I'm an extrovert with a Ren Faire/improv theater background, so I started looking for things to throw, set on fire, or otherwise make a spectacle of myself. I settled on grabbing handfuls of my glossy bookmarks and handing them out to meandering teenagers. This went fairly well as far as getting some free distribution (these kids circled the fair two or three or four times) and opening up conversations about my book. However, I did learn that maybe using the words "It's a paranormal fantasy" doesn't work as one girl responded by sniffing the bookmark. I stared at her.
"Um, it doesn't smell. It's just a bookmark," I said. "For a book."
It struck me that she must have thought "Paranormal Fantasy" was a new fragrance. I sat back down.
More walking, more waiting, more small talk. I tapped my hands on the cover, I made the book dance on the table, I wondered if I could juggle them, then thought better of it. I got up a few times to hand out more bookmarks. I got up one time to attach a hastily-sketched illustrated sign saying: ANGELS, BLOOD, MYSTERY, ROMANCE, BONES! and duct taped it at head-height to a street sign. (Don't laugh, it worked!) But it was much for naught--even people who seemed genuinely interested in the book didn't have that much cash or didn't want to haul a book around for the whole of the street fair so, luckily, I could tell them it was available at Amazon, B&N.com, and their local indies, but I know that the best intentions rarely equal a sale in your hand. With one sale by 7pm, I was beginning to call it a day.
My first sale was a keeper, though: this fan was so busy reading my book, her grandmother stopped back at the table to tell me that her granddaughter had been reading since she got it, loved it, and hadn't walked into any poles yet!
P.S. You can see the edge of the cardboard sign behind her head. Note the duct tape!
As is always the way of these things, I *did* manage to sell three more books just as I was packing up to leave, which I happily signed and dated. That brought my grand total up to five books in four hours, not including the two-hour round-trip drive. And yet...it was kind of worth it. After feeling kind of crappy about Bookscan numbers and stubborn WIPs, to be able to talk to real people and see their eyes light up when I talked about what my book was about was really nice, it was a gorgeous day with not too much sun and a steady breeze, hundreds of great people for People-Watching, and I got to meet fellow Elevensie, Tommy Greenwald!
Me with CHARLIE JOE JACKSON'S GUIDE TO NOT READING and Tommy with LUMINOUS
At the end of the night, I was smiling; I had made some sales, been interviewed by the local radio station, pitched a workshop class to my indie bookseller, loaded my car in three trips without needing to wait for the car line, and headed home feeling just a little bit more like a real, live author. Which I am. Really! It says so right there on the cover!
And that's how I left it under the marquee.
Me + Book = Smile!
August 10, 2011
So What Are You Writing Now?
You think it would get easier describing your book to someone else. The funny thing is that I'm pretty good when it comes to hooks, blurbs, short-n-sweet descriptions, but in the beginning, I still struggle to put into words what I've, er, put into words. Does that happen to anyone else?
Maybe it's different if you write vampires or zombies or something concrete and easily-recognized. For me, it doesn't work as I tend to write "fantasy" as a broad category and then it falls apart like sliced stale bread into a powdery mess when I say, "well it's like X, but not quite." Let's take, for example, my latest project on the block: INDELIBLE INK. It's based loosely on classic fairy lore, "loosely" defined as "if anyone knows this vague reference to old folklore, they'd recognize it" and a little bit of this and a little bit of that (which makes sense because that was back when I was writing this manuscript). Sprinkle in:
the logo from CASTLE
a little Sandman Dream-meets-The Goblin King
a little Peter Pan-meets-Joe Black
a Russian male underwear model
Thank you very much, Ilya Safronovich!
a Chinese money frog
Photo gakked from thefullwiki.org
a Norse battle g-ddess
Winged depiction ala www.heartit.com
and a vintage Bentley
BTW, you, too, can "get kempt" at www.getkempt.com!
...and that's just for starters! See what I mean? ;-)
Maybe it's different if you write vampires or zombies or something concrete and easily-recognized. For me, it doesn't work as I tend to write "fantasy" as a broad category and then it falls apart like sliced stale bread into a powdery mess when I say, "well it's like X, but not quite." Let's take, for example, my latest project on the block: INDELIBLE INK. It's based loosely on classic fairy lore, "loosely" defined as "if anyone knows this vague reference to old folklore, they'd recognize it" and a little bit of this and a little bit of that (which makes sense because that was back when I was writing this manuscript). Sprinkle in:
the logo from CASTLE
a little Sandman Dream-meets-The Goblin King
a little Peter Pan-meets-Joe Black
a Russian male underwear model
Thank you very much, Ilya Safronovich!
a Chinese money frog
Photo gakked from thefullwiki.org
a Norse battle g-ddess
Winged depiction ala www.heartit.com
and a vintage Bentley
BTW, you, too, can "get kempt" at www.getkempt.com!
...and that's just for starters! See what I mean? ;-)
August 4, 2011
News! News! News!
I was going to save this for Friday's post, but since it just came out on Publisher's Marketplace, I couldn't resist:
Dawn Metcalf's INDELIBLE INK, featuring a heroine who is accidentally marked by a mysterious boy, which places her in the midst of a dangerous, otherworldly plot to end the Age of Man, to Natashya Wilson at Harelquin Teen, in a two-book deal, by Michael Bourret at Dystel & Goderich Literary Management (World).
:-)
Dawn Metcalf's INDELIBLE INK, featuring a heroine who is accidentally marked by a mysterious boy, which places her in the midst of a dangerous, otherworldly plot to end the Age of Man, to Natashya Wilson at Harelquin Teen, in a two-book deal, by Michael Bourret at Dystel & Goderich Literary Management (World).
:-)
August 3, 2011
How to Avoid the Unavoidable Whilst Wielding A Pen
Here is something I have learned during my debut experience that I wish to share with all of you who may one day dream of writing a book, publishing a book, and be asked to sign copies of said book in permanent ink:
Tapioca brain.
This is one of my reoccurring nightmares where that, in the course of an event, I completely blank on who I'm talking to, what I'm doing, or (worst of all) what I'm writing in someone else's property. Unfortunately, I have experienced all of these and that's THE WORST FEELING EVER! Most of my signings thus far have been populated by people I know--either good friends, acquaintances, parents of kid's friends, old work colleagues, ladies from around the neighborhood or folks I know online--and despite the fact that some of these are people I've spoken to weekly or daily, sometimes for years, it happens that I look up at their expectant face when they hand me a book and for the life of me, I can't remember their name.
Now, this could be old age setting in as well as the gray, but I honestly *know* that Joyce isn't Janice and Joseph isn't Jonathan and Sara spells her name without an "h", but in that split second at a table scribbling in my nth book, it's just gone and I'm sitting there looking stupid and trying desperately to jump start the synapses back into proper alignment. (That look on my face? Yeah, that's not concentration or bad digestion, it's slipping gears.)
So I thought to offer some suggestions to avoid this squidgey moment:
1) Have someone hand out Post-It notes and instruct people to write the name of who the book is going to and stick it on the front. Let them say it's for time efficiency and not that you have a loose screw and everyone will feel better for it!
2) Write short, sweet messages and sign. I have been tempted (and succumbed) to writing long messages to the receiver only to find that I've forgotten my thread of thought halfway through and now am staring at a half-sensible sentence in ink. Ick! This is one of those times when less is more.
3) Ask how to spell everything. EVERYTHING. Even the name "Joe" because you never know if it's spelled with a silent "q".
4) If none of these things are happening and your brain takes a Time Out, be forgiving of yourself and others. We're all human and fallible. (Some of us more so than others, I suppose!)
Those are my tidbits for having a smooth signing. Except always check to make sure your pen doesn't leak. And be sure to have good food. People forgive a lot with good food. ;-)
P.S. Because people asked & other people could provide, (not me, of course, because I was WAAAAAAAY too scatterbrained to work a camera at the time!), here are some sweet Luminous photos from my ice cream event!!!
Oh so sweet! Not only did the creamery make a Luminous Sundae, but I got mentioned! ~swoon!~
This is what an actual Luminous Sundae looks like. (Pre-spoon attack!) YUM!
I'm certain I'm trying to say something intelligent, but am clearly babbling incoherently. I suspect the little girl's on to me.
Tapioca brain.
This is one of my reoccurring nightmares where that, in the course of an event, I completely blank on who I'm talking to, what I'm doing, or (worst of all) what I'm writing in someone else's property. Unfortunately, I have experienced all of these and that's THE WORST FEELING EVER! Most of my signings thus far have been populated by people I know--either good friends, acquaintances, parents of kid's friends, old work colleagues, ladies from around the neighborhood or folks I know online--and despite the fact that some of these are people I've spoken to weekly or daily, sometimes for years, it happens that I look up at their expectant face when they hand me a book and for the life of me, I can't remember their name.
Now, this could be old age setting in as well as the gray, but I honestly *know* that Joyce isn't Janice and Joseph isn't Jonathan and Sara spells her name without an "h", but in that split second at a table scribbling in my nth book, it's just gone and I'm sitting there looking stupid and trying desperately to jump start the synapses back into proper alignment. (That look on my face? Yeah, that's not concentration or bad digestion, it's slipping gears.)
So I thought to offer some suggestions to avoid this squidgey moment:
1) Have someone hand out Post-It notes and instruct people to write the name of who the book is going to and stick it on the front. Let them say it's for time efficiency and not that you have a loose screw and everyone will feel better for it!
2) Write short, sweet messages and sign. I have been tempted (and succumbed) to writing long messages to the receiver only to find that I've forgotten my thread of thought halfway through and now am staring at a half-sensible sentence in ink. Ick! This is one of those times when less is more.
3) Ask how to spell everything. EVERYTHING. Even the name "Joe" because you never know if it's spelled with a silent "q".
4) If none of these things are happening and your brain takes a Time Out, be forgiving of yourself and others. We're all human and fallible. (Some of us more so than others, I suppose!)
Those are my tidbits for having a smooth signing. Except always check to make sure your pen doesn't leak. And be sure to have good food. People forgive a lot with good food. ;-)
P.S. Because people asked & other people could provide, (not me, of course, because I was WAAAAAAAY too scatterbrained to work a camera at the time!), here are some sweet Luminous photos from my ice cream event!!!
Oh so sweet! Not only did the creamery make a Luminous Sundae, but I got mentioned! ~swoon!~
This is what an actual Luminous Sundae looks like. (Pre-spoon attack!) YUM!
I'm certain I'm trying to say something intelligent, but am clearly babbling incoherently. I suspect the little girl's on to me.
How to Avoid the Unavoidable Whilst Weilding A Pen
Here is something I have learned during my debut experience that I wish to share with all of you who may one day dream of writing a book, publishing a book, and be asked to sign copies of said book in permanent ink:
Tapioca brain.
This is one of my reoccurring nightmares where that, in the course of an event, I completely blank on who I'm talking to, what I'm doing, or (worst of all) what I'm writing in someone else's property. Unfortunately, I have experienced all of these and that's THE WORST FEELING EVER! Most of my signings thus far have been populated by people I know--either good friends, acquaintances, parents of kid's friends, old work colleagues, ladies from around the neighborhood or folks I know online--and despite the fact that some of these are people I've spoken to weekly or daily, sometimes for years, it happens that I look up at their expectant face when they hand me a book and for the life of me, I can't remember their name.
Now, this could be old age setting in as well as the gray, but I honestly *know* that Joyce isn't Janice and Joseph isn't Jonathan and Sara spells her name without an "h", but in that split second at a table scribbling in my nth book, it's just gone and I'm sitting there looking stupid and trying desperately to jump start the synapses back into proper alignment. (That look on my face? Yeah, that's not concentration or bad digestion, it's slipping gears.)
So I thought to offer some suggestions to avoid this squidgey moment:
1) Have someone hand out Post-It notes and instruct people to write the name of who the book is going to and stick it on the front. Let them say it's for time efficiency and not that you have a loose screw and everyone will feel better for it!
2) Write short, sweet messages and sign. I have been tempted (and succumbed) to writing long messages to the receiver only to find that I've forgotten my thread of thought halfway through and now am staring at a half-sensible sentence in ink. Ick! This is one of those times when less is more.
3) Ask how to spell everything. EVERYTHING. Even the name "Joe" because you never know if it's spelled with a silent "q".
4) If none of these things are happening and your brain takes a Time Out, be forgiving of yourself and others. We're all human and fallible. (Some of us more so than others, I suppose!)
Those are my tidbits for having a smooth signing. Except always check to make sure your pen doesn't leak. And be sure to have good food. People forgive a lot with good food. ;-)
P.S. Because people asked & other people could provide, (not me, of course, because I was WAAAAAAAY too scatterbrained to work a camera at the time!), here are some sweet Luminous photos from my ice cream event!!!
Oh so sweet! Not only did the creamery make a Luminous Sundae, but I got mentioned! ~swoon!~
This is what an actual Luminous Sundae looks like. (Pre-spoon attack!) YUM!
I'm certain I'm trying to say something intelligent, but am clearly babbling incoherently. I suspect the little girl's on to me.
Tapioca brain.
This is one of my reoccurring nightmares where that, in the course of an event, I completely blank on who I'm talking to, what I'm doing, or (worst of all) what I'm writing in someone else's property. Unfortunately, I have experienced all of these and that's THE WORST FEELING EVER! Most of my signings thus far have been populated by people I know--either good friends, acquaintances, parents of kid's friends, old work colleagues, ladies from around the neighborhood or folks I know online--and despite the fact that some of these are people I've spoken to weekly or daily, sometimes for years, it happens that I look up at their expectant face when they hand me a book and for the life of me, I can't remember their name.
Now, this could be old age setting in as well as the gray, but I honestly *know* that Joyce isn't Janice and Joseph isn't Jonathan and Sara spells her name without an "h", but in that split second at a table scribbling in my nth book, it's just gone and I'm sitting there looking stupid and trying desperately to jump start the synapses back into proper alignment. (That look on my face? Yeah, that's not concentration or bad digestion, it's slipping gears.)
So I thought to offer some suggestions to avoid this squidgey moment:
1) Have someone hand out Post-It notes and instruct people to write the name of who the book is going to and stick it on the front. Let them say it's for time efficiency and not that you have a loose screw and everyone will feel better for it!
2) Write short, sweet messages and sign. I have been tempted (and succumbed) to writing long messages to the receiver only to find that I've forgotten my thread of thought halfway through and now am staring at a half-sensible sentence in ink. Ick! This is one of those times when less is more.
3) Ask how to spell everything. EVERYTHING. Even the name "Joe" because you never know if it's spelled with a silent "q".
4) If none of these things are happening and your brain takes a Time Out, be forgiving of yourself and others. We're all human and fallible. (Some of us more so than others, I suppose!)
Those are my tidbits for having a smooth signing. Except always check to make sure your pen doesn't leak. And be sure to have good food. People forgive a lot with good food. ;-)
P.S. Because people asked & other people could provide, (not me, of course, because I was WAAAAAAAY too scatterbrained to work a camera at the time!), here are some sweet Luminous photos from my ice cream event!!!
Oh so sweet! Not only did the creamery make a Luminous Sundae, but I got mentioned! ~swoon!~
This is what an actual Luminous Sundae looks like. (Pre-spoon attack!) YUM!
I'm certain I'm trying to say something intelligent, but am clearly babbling incoherently. I suspect the little girl's on to me.
August 1, 2011
Sweet!
I've been having a lot of fun at signings beyond the fact that I'm being given permission to write in a hardcover book with pen--something absolutely unheard of and almost deliciously naughty to my Lawful Good, bibliophile soul. It's a great excuse to see old friends, talk great books, and (most importantly) get to enjoy the finer things in life like dessert. No question why this past weekend's signing was one of my favorites!
I haven't done a ton of signings in the summer because most of the teens are off at camp or other sunny activities and thus have planned a number of signings during my "second push" months around Dia de los Muertos in October/November. But I couldn't imagine not doing *anything* in the summer and I planned one event to bring folks in during the vacation months: a signing at Collins Creamery, a local dairy farm that makes some of the best, freshest homemade ice cream in Connecticut!
It was perfect! The weather was sunny and warm, not too hot and free of the oppressive humidity that has been turning my curls to Jew-fro frizz, I set up a table on the edge of the picnic area, decorated it with the framed poster c/o my father-in-law, a painted skull, and a ton of colorful hardcovers from local indie bookstore, Millrace Books, who came out to sell a table full of books! (Thanks, Vicky!!) People even brought their own copies and the hour-long event actually lasted 2.5 hours of me smiling and writing the whole time. (Props to![[info]](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/hostedimages/1380451598i/2033940.gif)
yhesad
who I hadn't seen in an age and who brought an entire box of books for me to sign! HAHA!) We cracked glow bracelets alight, kids running around and pointing at the cows in the field, and everywhere I looked, happy, ice-cream faces were clutching copies of LUMINOUS. Honestly, I couldn't imagine a better night.
And the best thing: there was a special on the board reading "Luminous Sundae" (two scoops of s'mores ice cream with hot fudge, whipped cream, a sprinkle of cinnamon and a cherry served in a giant waffle bowl). YUM!
Thanks to all those who came out and I can't wait for the next event!
I haven't done a ton of signings in the summer because most of the teens are off at camp or other sunny activities and thus have planned a number of signings during my "second push" months around Dia de los Muertos in October/November. But I couldn't imagine not doing *anything* in the summer and I planned one event to bring folks in during the vacation months: a signing at Collins Creamery, a local dairy farm that makes some of the best, freshest homemade ice cream in Connecticut!
It was perfect! The weather was sunny and warm, not too hot and free of the oppressive humidity that has been turning my curls to Jew-fro frizz, I set up a table on the edge of the picnic area, decorated it with the framed poster c/o my father-in-law, a painted skull, and a ton of colorful hardcovers from local indie bookstore, Millrace Books, who came out to sell a table full of books! (Thanks, Vicky!!) People even brought their own copies and the hour-long event actually lasted 2.5 hours of me smiling and writing the whole time. (Props to
yhesad
who I hadn't seen in an age and who brought an entire box of books for me to sign! HAHA!) We cracked glow bracelets alight, kids running around and pointing at the cows in the field, and everywhere I looked, happy, ice-cream faces were clutching copies of LUMINOUS. Honestly, I couldn't imagine a better night.And the best thing: there was a special on the board reading "Luminous Sundae" (two scoops of s'mores ice cream with hot fudge, whipped cream, a sprinkle of cinnamon and a cherry served in a giant waffle bowl). YUM!
Thanks to all those who came out and I can't wait for the next event!
