Gae Polisner's Blog, page 19

Friday Feedback: True-ly Hooked!

Rochester Teen Book Festival (my first book festival ever!) this May, as we said in high school, was a total blast, but perhaps the best thing about it for me was forging a friendship with Terry Trueman.*

After a glass of wine, I may have suggested we all go into the tiny hotel
bathroom together. It seemed funny at the time.
Yes, that is James Kennedy, Matt de la Pena, AS King, Terry and me!
Terry Trueman is not only a terrific writer, he's a bundle of humor, compassion and energy.


He's also a man with quite a personal story, and I was reading the highly fictionalized version of a piece of it, his stunning STUCK IN NEUTRAL, by the time I got in the car to go home from TBF. 
From Terry's website about Stuck In Neutral:

Shawn McDaniel's life is not what it may seem to anyone looking at him. He is glued to his wheelchair, unable to voluntarily move a muscle-he can't even move his eyes. for all Shawn's father knows, his son may be suffering. Shawn may want a release, and as long as he is unable to communicate his true feelings to his father, Shawn's life is in danger.

To the world, Shawn's senses seem dead. Within these pages, however, we meet a side of him that no one else has ssen-a spirit that is rich beyond imagining, breathing life.

 Suffice it to say, I didn't put it down until I finished.

You can read more about the book (and his many other works!) on Terry's awesome website HERE, including about the new extras** edition being released in conjunction with the release of the sequel!

I will tell you, it's a book not to be missed, and its sequel, LIFE HAPPENS NEXT, comes out August 21st!

In a minute, you're going to get a sneak peek at LIFE, because Terry's sharing the opening as guest host of this week's Friday Feedback. Rules are HERE if you're new.

Hook me, baby, hook me!

So, at the request of a few Teachers Write! campers, as summer wanes, I was asked to talk about hook a little more. So, I asked Terry if he would supply the first two paragraphs and last two paragraphs of LIFE's Chapter One.

Because, I got to thinking that a writer really needs to hook the reader (at least) twice: once at the very beginning of their novel, in the opening sentences, and again at the end of that first chapter. I'm coining it the "hook and hold." :) I just made that up.

*curtseys*

But what is a hook anyway? What does it mean to hook a reader?


What is that certain thing that engages us immediately in a story, and makes us want to keep reading?


Like all things writing and creative process, there's no easy, single answer to what hook is or how to create one. What hooks you may be different than what hooks me. Like Voice, you just know it when you sees it. ;)

But as a general rule, hook means there's not only an intriguing voice to the piece (it's not bland, robotic or boring, but rather immediately engaging), but also an interesting character in an interesting or relatable situation is introduced, and, mostly, that a conflict is presented.

Internal or external, there has to be a sense of tension. A character has to want something (or, I suppose, not want it), and, we, the reader need to instantly care if he gets (or avoids) it.

So, today, we'll focus on hook. We'll post the first 3 - 5 paragraphs of our openings -- if you want to post the first two paragraphs and last two paragraphs of your WIP as Terry has done below, be my guest!

Are you hooked? If yes, why? If not why not?

If you've already posted your opening here earlier in the summer, take a minute now to (break my usual rule and) go back. Does it have a strong voice? Does your character want something? Is there an immediate sense of longing, desire or conflict?

Without further ado, here are the first two(ish) paragraphs and the last two paragraphs of Chapter One of Terry's LIFE HAPPENS NEXT:



Chapter 1
Night before last my dad tried to kill me. At least, I’m pretty sure that was his plan. For weeks and months I’d been worrying about it. I guess Dad had his reasons, but he didn’t do it. Obviously. Lucky me, huh? Sorry, sarcasm is one of the few weapons I possess. 
I heard this thing once on a TV program about a guy who had a recurring dream that he was a butterfly. One day he woke up and couldn’t tell for sure if he was a butterfly dreaming he was a guy, or a guy dreaming he was a butterfly. Lately, when I first wake up, I have the feeling that maybe my dream life is better than my real life. Dreamingis my favorite part of each day, dreaming, soaring, feeling free because of all the amazing possibilities it offers me.
But here’s the screwiest part: most of these possibilities spin around an impossible fact, the fact that I’m in love with Ally Williamson.
Damn, that’s crazy. Maybe not so crazy for anybody else but it sure is for me. . .
. . .

So now you get that my body doesn’t work. But my brain sure does. I’m almost fifteen years old and since thinking is about all I can do, I’ve done a lot of it in my day. The only thing I can do to keep myself from getting depressed is just staying cool. I once heard my sister say to Paul, “No situation is so bad that having a bad attitude can’t make it worse.” I love that. My situation is pretty bad, but I’ve got my hopes and dreams and firm belief that life is a pretty great thing. And thinking about Ally, fantasizing that we might somehow be together someday, is more than enough of a reason for me to live.
So back to my dad and how he planned to kill me a couple nights ago. He actually thought he’d be doing me a favor, ending my miserable existence. But because Dad didn’t do it, I guess in one way I’m like everybody else now, just trying to figure out what’s gonna happen next. I’m keeping my spirits up and enjoying a mental make-out here and there (hey, it’s better than no make-out at all!), and focusing on the good things in life. Yeah, I’ve got C.P. but I know that there’s always bad and good things coming at us that we can’t even see, much less control. So how different am I from everybody else? Maybe not so much as it looks like.Terry (& gae)

p.s. Terry's on Pacific time, so he'll be here late morning my (EST) time. :)* if you didn't click on that link for TERRY'S WEBSITE, do it now, <---- there. It's fancy and flashy and new, and uber cool. I'm jealous and want to live inside it. :)

** the extras edition of Stuck In Neutral includes two interviews with Terry including one where he answers the ten most frequent questions he's gotten about the book, a playlist, and some insider information about Shawn, the MC of Stuck! Sounds pretty cool to me!

 

Friday Feedback: Talking the Talk with Amy Fellner Dominy!

This is Amy with me in NYC this spring -- we had just refrained 
from buying ridiculously expensive shoes :)        

I am ridiculously happy to have Amy Fellner Dominy on my blog today, not only because she's super smart and talented (and has great hair), but because she's one of my best writer friends, and one of the few writer pals I turn to for help with revisions when I need it. Some of you who showed up for for our Teachers Write! Progress Pool Party had the pleasure to meet her for a bit.

          

Amy's the author of the debut tween novel, OyMG ("Jewish girl. Christian Camp.  Holy Moly")

(trust me: it's omg-wonderful! You must read it!)

and the soon-to-be-released (9/18 - and available for pre- order) Audition & Subtraction 

("All's fair in Love, War and Band Auditions").

From Publisher's Weekly: "Dominy presents a believably conflicted protagonist with a narrative voice to match; musicians will appreciate the many details Dominy works into the story." 

And, from Kirus: "Dominy's characters and situations -- shown through Tatum's authentic voice -- ring wholly true."

Notice the kudos Amy gets for authenticity and narrative voice?

Here's why: Amy is an expert storyteller, and moreso, an expert dialoguer (I'm coining that word if it's not real).

So, since we have her here, I convinced her to talk about talk.

And, if you share in the comments today --RULES HERE -- feel free to also post an excerpt with dialogue, because today's Friday Feedback is all talk !





When you're done singing, here's Amy!

Dialogue Tips from a Playwright-Turned-Novelist 
I love writing dialogue. If I could write an entire novel of only dialogue, I would.  Oh wait—that’s kind of what I did as a playwright. J  As a result, I got pretty comfortable with writing dialogue and I learned a few tricks that really helped me when I began writing novels.  I’m going to share two of them with you today and hope they’ll help you as well.
Minimize Tags
I know you’ve already covered the idea of simplifying tags**, so I won’t go into that.  But also think about deleting as many of them as you can altogether.  Conversation is meant to flow—it’s a back and forth exchange.  And if you keep interrupting to tell us “he said/she said” then you’re disrupting that flow.  When I write a scene of dialogue, my first draft has NO tags.  I just hear the voices in my head and write down what they’re saying and how they’re responding as if the conversation were happening on a stage.  Give it a try.  Once you’ve got the dialogue down, you can go back in and add tags—because yes, they’re needed.  But not as many as you may think. In general, less is more. 
Use Action Tags to Replace “he said/she said.”
It’s called “stage business” in the theater—something for the actors to do.  If you’ve ever acted yourself, maybe you’ve felt how uncomfortable it is when you’re on stage and you have nothing to do with your hands. I HATED that feeling.  So now, I try and spare my characters that awkwardness by giving them something to do.  And, in turn, that creates “action tags.”  Instead of “he said/she said” the reader knows who is speaking by what they’re doing with their hands.
Here’s an example from a scene in my upcoming book AUDITION & SUBTRACTION.  In this scene, Tatum (fourteen-year-old protagonist) is talking to her Mom.  While they talk, Tatum is helping her mom make packets for the classroom.  Count how many times I use a dialogue tag of “he said/she said” (or anything else.) Did you feel confused about who was speaking? J
I invite you to post a bit of dialogue from your own work.  I’ll leave it to Gae to do her amazing critical analysis while I’ll comment on your tags. Thanks!! And best wishes on your writing.

Mom handed me another packet. "You and Lori did a duet last year, and you pulled it off.  You'll do the same this year."

"Nothing’s the same this year,” I said.

“Such as?”

A pair of green-yellow eyes popped into my head. I shoved the packet in the stapler so hard,it double stapled. 

Mom’s eyebrows rose an inch. When her eyes weren’t all red, puffy and tired, they were pretty—dark brown and shaped like half moons.

“It’s just the new guy.  Michael Malone.”

“The one who sits next to you?”

I leaned on the counter, watching Mom stack the pages, but not really seeing anything but Michael.  “He doesn’t say anything during practice but I can tell he’s listening, waiting for me to mess up.  So he can say he’s better.” “Is he?” “No,” I said.  Then I shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Maybe.  He never squeaks, not even on the high notes.”“You don’t squeak either.” “Yeah, I do—when I get nervous.  And I can’t help getting nervous with him sitting next to me.”“Then ignore him.” “It’s not that easy.”  I flicked a nail through the corner of a packet, fanning the pages like a deck of cards.  “He’s always there. If he’s not staring at me, he’s staring at Lori.” “Lori?” “He’s got these beady eyes.  You don’t notice it at first, but they’re too close together, like a gorilla or something.” “A beady-eyed gorilla?”  She handed me another packet. I nodded as I fed it to the stapler.  “And his knees are bony and he never ties his shoes.  The laces are always trailing in the dirt and I mean, who knows what germs he’s dragging around with him?  Plus, he never swabs out his clarinet.”- Amy (& gae)

** you can find a prior FF discussion of minimizing tags HERE in the comments section.

Friday Feedback: Our Inner Crazy Lady (or Dude) & a Pulse-Pounding Excerpt

Sarah and me with one huggable Paul Hankins who snuck in -
okay, maybe not snuck - last spring. :) Hello, all my Teachers Write! (and other lurky?) lovelies!

It's FRIDAY FEEDBACK, and you know what that means?! (If you don't, go HERE).


Today, I'm lucky to have Sarah Darer Littman*

("Want To Go Private?") with me for two (well really, a dozen) reasons.

First, I love and adore her, and second (omg, omg!) she did ALL the hard blog post work for me today!


Especially, with our Teachers Write! Virtual Progress Pool Party Chat & Read Aloud all day tomorrow (are you signed up?!**), and my Frankie revisions due date looming just around the summery corner, I am so grateful for that.

Speaking of which, you won't likely see me back here in the comments until Saturday or even Sunday. . .

that looks about right. . . grrr.(having a little birthday party for myself on Saturday . . . ;) but I'm sure Sarah will hold down the fort, though not until midday as she has a political column due! #busybusyJuly!

So, without further ado (though maybe with some minor chiming in by me -- hey, it's my blog, you know the drill), HEEEEERE's Sarah!

(er, that is a Johnny Carson intro, not a Shining One!):


Hello Teachers Write Campers! I hope you are enjoying your summer and writing, writing, writing!

I should probably say something profound and inspirational, but I'm a Jewish mother, so first I'm going to nag you and kvetch about my health a little. Campers, make sure you are writing in an ergonomic position. I have learned about this the hard way. Two years ago I had to have surgery for tennis elbow that was triggered by tennis but aggravated by laptop work in a non-ergonomic position. These days I'm dealing with a really delightful combo of tendonitis and the beginning of carpal tunnel. So take it from Mama Littman (as I'm known amongst my daughter's friends): Look after your health while you write. Otherwise you end up taking pills for inflammation that upset your stomach and then you can't drink ICED COFFEE, the Heaven sent nectar of the writer. This is not good. Take it from me.


My friend Irene posted this cartoon on my Facebook recently and asked me if it was true for me:


I told her I can go through all of those emotions several times in the course of a day. That's why I've become a firm believer in Anne Lamott's concept of a "shitty first draft", as elaborated in BIRD BY BIRD - one of the best books on writing. I try to write my first drafts as fast as possible, to try and trick my inner crazy lady. On the days when I feel like what I've written is total drek, I just repeat: "It's just a first draft. Revision is where the magic happens."

(me: hah! Inner Crazy Lady! I think I house a couple of those! In fact, anyone watching me on my private [stupid, ridiculous, inane] private facebook page this month would have seen these highs & lows of "I'm brilliant!"/"I suck!" played out in my status updates right before their very eyes!)


With that in mind, I give you the opening of a WIP that had a title but now doesn't. The previous title made my agent think of a bodice ripper. She had a point.

(me: it's not a boddice ripper, but it is a pulse pounder! Thanks for sharing, Sarah!)


The Humvee speeds down the road, creating a wake of dust. My mother is inside, grey eyes alert, watching for danger. The knuckles clutching her medic bag are white, but she's ready to jump out the minute the vehicle stops to do her job; to tend to the injured, to try to save lives. It's her mission. It's what she was trained to do. But I know what's hidden up ahead. I try calling out to warn her, to warn the driver to stop, slam on the brakes, to turn back, change course.

My lips move but nothing comes out. I'm shouting but nobody hears me. The Humvee keeps speeding towards the hidden IED. My blood is racing; my heart feels like it's going to break through my rib cage. I try screaming but it's as if someone has reached into my throat and torn out my vocal chords, leaving me helpless to save them. My mouth is still open, rounded in a pained, soundless scream when the weight of the Humvee triggers the IED in a fiery explosion. Metal, glass, and body parts go flying.They're dead, and it's all my fault.

I'm woken up by the sound of my own sobbing, the pillowcase soaked with tears. It's three twenty-three, according to the alarm clock.  Mid morning in Iraq. Mom could be out on a mission. What if it's not a dream? What if she's really going down the road in a Hummer toward danger, and I could have saved her, somehow?

Stop it, Madison!

I stare up into the darkness, taking deep breaths, willing my heart to slow its frantic cadence.

It’s just a dream. She’s safe.

The words are my mantra, the charm I use to dispel the hazy remnants of the same dream I've been having every few weeks since my mother deployed ten months ago.


- Sarah (& gae)

*p.s. for more about Sarah, find her on facebook and twitter @sarahdarerlitt!

** If you're not signed up, it may not be too late for you to pop in for a session. Follow me on Spreecast and go to the fb events page and I'll let you in!

Friday Feedback: Voice - I Know it When I See It

A few "faces" of Arlaina Tibensky. . . hmm, well, mostly ;)
In 1964, Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart said, "I shall not attempt to further define [it] . . . but I know it when I see it."

Of course, the "it" he was talking about was pornography, *coughs* but I think this quote applies to  writer's voice, as well.

It's hard to define what "voice" is, but you know it when you see (hear/read) it.

I think, for me, voice is what draws me to a given writer most -- above plot and story, above characters, even. That certain je ne sais quoi known as voice.


A.S. King's got a strong one. Geoff Herbach too. <--- two of my personal YA favorites.

One of Arlaina's favorite paintings
by Otto Dix.
It reminds me of her, too!
Plus, this painting has
a strong "voice"
don't you think?As does today's lovely guest author, Arlaina Tibensky. An outrageously vibrant one, to boot. 

Put it this way, the first time I threw myself at met Arlaina, was after she had done a reading from And Then Things Fall Apart, her colorful delivery matching perfectly the canary yellow blouse she had on (What?!? So, I remember what she was wearing. So what?).

Arlaina's "voice" blasts off the page.

I love it.

I want it.

But, alas, it's hers, so I'm stuck with my own.


If you want to know what I mean (and you do!),

read her debut YA, And Then Things Fall Apart.                               

About the book :


Keek’s life was totally perfect… Keek and her boyfriend just had their Worst Fight Ever; her best friend heinously betrayed her; her parents are divorcing; and her mom’s across the country caring for her newborn cousin, who may or may not make it home from the hospital. To top it all off, Keek’s got the plague. (Well, the chicken pox.) Now she’s holed up at her grandmother’s technologically barren house until further notice. Not quite the summer vacation Keek had in mind. With only an old typewriter and Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar for solace and guidance, Keek’s alone with her swirling thoughts. But one thing’s clear through her feverish haze—she’s got to figure out why things went wrong so she can make them right. Show More Show Less

Voice .

So, I went tooling around the interwebs searching for an authoritative definition of voice, but there isn't one. It seems to be one of those undefinable things, that, IMHO, you've either got or you don't.

I'm not sure voice can be taught.

Jane Yolen has this to say about voice:  “The story’s voice. That is what must be uncovered, not discovered. It is not the author’s voice, but the true tone of the tale.”

Hmmm, I'm not sure I get this, completely. For me, the voice of a particular story presents itself to me from the outset -- and, maybe mixes with my "author's voice" for a sort of hybrid creation. . . so that I feel like each of my manuscripts has its own voice, but you can also "hear" my author voice shining through.

I also liked this from an author named Dr. Jack Ross:

Writer's voice . . . is a combination of a writer's use of syntax, diction, punctuation, character development, dialogue, etc., within a given body of text (or across several works). Voice can also be referred to as the specific fingerprint of an author . . .

A fingerprint, yes! When you read Arlaina's writing, it's got her beautiful, snarky, wistful fingerprints all over it.

Well, see for yourself! We've got her here today, so go ahead and read her excerpt and see. Do you feel her voice? Her fingerprint? Does it resonate with you?

What works for you? What doesn't?

How about you? Have you found your author's voice? Have you left your fingerprints? Let us see.

Today find an excerpt that reveals your voice as a writer.

And if you haven't been here before, please read the RULES.


From an "undisclosed" project of Arlaina's :


The thing with Ron is, he exists.  He is: there.  And he seems to show up right at the exact moment I need something to take me away from all this. And I know, I know.  He’s bad. The worst.  And I don’t trust him, I don’t even like him but he trusts me to make my own choices and so, I let him.  I use him to gage how far I can go. Besides, if our time is almost up- what difference does it make?  When I’m with him I forget to care too much about tomorrow because I’m too busy being in right now. Ron picks me up and gives me two soggy pills from the front pocket of his greasy jeans.
“What is it?” I ask, not really caring. It will either make me pass out, ultra-hyper, ultra-happy or just hallucinate.  Any of those are fine with me. What’s the difference if I live or die anyway?
“Adderall,” he says.  “I thought a smart girl like you would know what the hell Adderall looks like.”
“Whatever,” I say but inside I hear a voice-
-A smart girl like you shouldn’t be in a car with a guy like him.
“It’s THERAPUTIC,” he says.  “It’s to iron out the kinks in your complicated brain.”  He laughs when he says it and so do I. Like a maniac.
He says, “Don’t be a scared little girl.”
And I say “Fuck you,” and swallow the pills down with some warm Mountain Dew from his cup holder.


- Arlaina (and gae)

p.s. Arlaina probably won't be around until Saturday, but I'll be here during the day. :)

---

Gae is the author of The Pull of Gravity (fsg/Macmillan - guided by Star Wars and Steinbeck, two teens go on a secret, whirlwind road trip to keep a promise to their dying friend), and a soon(ish)-to-be released YA from Algonquin Books/Workman Publishing.

Friday Feedback: Writing is a Mostly Solitary Thing (and a few p.s.'s)

Yesterday, at one of the beaches I swim at. . . Writing, at its best, is a lonely life. Organizations for writers palliate the writer's loneliness, but I doubt if they improve his writing. He grows in public stature as he sheds his loneliness and often his work deteriorates. For he does his work alone and if he is a good enough writer he must face eternity, or the lack of it, each day. - Ernest Hemingway


I'm not sure I agree with all of this, but for sure, I agree with some.

Writing is a hard, mostly-solitary thing.

Our friends and family members can only "just please read this one little thing" so many times before they grow weary; they can only be enthusiastic and cheer us on in spurts, for finite periods of time. 

Most of us, even once published, are not rock stars.

Oprah isn't calling.

Not even NPR.

The first book event I went to as an almost-published YA author illuminated this clearly. It was one of David Levithan's terrific Teen Author Readings at the New York Public Library.

After the event, I stood at the base of those magestic steps and watched David (!!) chat with Libba (!! I mean, need I even use a last name?) and some other well-respected and prolific YA authors.

And, guess, what?

Except for the bloggers and few readers who had specifically come for the event, not a soul on those crowded steps stopped to ask for an autograph, acknowledged them, or even seemed to know who they were.

“Writing is a lonely job. Even if a writer socializes regularly, when he gets down to the real business of his life, it is he and his type writer or word processor. No one else is or can be involved in the matter.” - Isaac Asimov
SO, here we are again, together, alone, on yet another Friday.

It's just us today -- no exciting guest authors, no fanfare, no gimmicks.

Just you, and me, and our words. . .

As we reach the halfway mark in our Teachers Write! program, I've watched so many of you come out of your shells, brim with excitement, step into the mix believing that maybe -- just maybe -- you have something to say, in your unique voice, that actually adds to the world-of-writing conversation.

And, guess what? Maybe you actually do!

But how to maintain the momentum?

How to keep yourself going when there are no daily facebook posts, no tweets, no constant commenting in the blogs?

How to keep going when the writing grows quiet?

Notwithstanding what Hemingway said, one way is critique groups. And, another social media. But in the end, the encouragement is fleeting, and then you are left with nothing but your belief in yourself, and your desire to tell the story, and to put together the words.

This is how it is. We all struggle with it. But we know, in the end, you can't write for the fanfare or the applause. You can't even count on being read.

In the end, you write because you must, or because you want to and love how it makes you feel.

Often, sans feedback.

Almost always, sans Oprah.

And, sans cheering fans and applause.


But, luckily . . . not today.

Today I will cheer for you.

Find that shiny gem of your words.

And, happily egg you on.


So, here we go. Friday Feedback. You KNOW the RULES.

Today, I'll strip back to basics: the opening of one of my WIP's.  Does it hook you?  If yes, why? If no, why not?


I look forward to reading your words.

- gae


Week One
                                                                            
Dad and I are walking through Soho. The day is bright and brisk.
As we talk, our breath puffs out in front of us like steam from the street vents.
We pass the familiar streets of the village – Broome, Spring, Prince – and head north on West Broadway. The sky turns cold and dusky, and overcast. Sarah is with me now, snow falling. The Empire State building looms ahead, pink and surreal, in all its February glory. Sarah twirls toward me and smiles. Snowflakes catch in her black hair, white stars that melt away. Dad laughs at something, and Sarah takes my hand. Everything is perfect.Except, no. That’s not right. We’re not in Soho, or uptown. There is no Empire State Building.And Sarah and Dad are gone. No one is here. Just me and this woman, in this room.I scratch my at my ear. “Try not to do that,” she says.---
p.s. speaking of NOT lonely, we are gearing up for our first Teachers Write Progress Pool Party Chat & Read Aloud. If you are a participating member of Teachers Write! and want to participate, and haven't checked in, please do so HERE and FOLLOW ME and Jen Vincent on Spreecast!

p.p.s. If you have been enjoying Friday Feedback, I would love a return favor. If your local library, doesn't carry The Pull of Gravity, please ask them to order it in. If you have read it and liked it -- and reviewed it on Goodreads, especially -- please post that review on Amazon. It helps us authors more there -- some magic Amazon sales algorithm. And especially heading into this stretch prior to paperback, I could really use to keep my book moving. Thank you. <3

p.p.p.s. Speaking of my paperback, if you want to see a sneak peek at the paperback cover, suddenly, it is up there! ;)

Friday Feedback: Alohas & Age-Authentic Voice

yep, i spent time making
myself a big, fat lei. So, today, we're going to do something a little bit different on Friday Feedback.

Pay attention. Read the rules! ;)
Oh, and first, grab yourself a pineapple, a coconut, and a pretty little lei.

Here, I'll wait for you. . .

Okay, ready?


A few weeks ago on Wednesday's Teachers Write! Q & A, a camper asked:

"How do you know if your characters sound right for their ages? My characters are pretty geeky ... but I’ve been told they don’t sound like teens because they don’t use lots of slang and because one character talks formally all the time."*

Good question! How indeed?!?



Yeah, yeah, Margo has lived in
Hawaii and has a REAL lei.
Rub it in.I decided to invite
(a/k/a unwittingly wrangle in)
today's lovely guest author,
Margo "Leipua'ala" Sorenson,
to tackle this topic,

because who better than Margo --

who writes everything from picture books
to MG to YA,

including her upcoming tween adventure/mystery 
Island Danger --

to talk about age-authentic voice and characterization?

The truth is this is an issue that we -- as adult authors of kid, tween and teen fiction -- all struggle with at times: how to conjure an authentic teen voice, when for some of us that age is at least a few *cough, cough,* long years behind us.

Margo offers some advice on how to do this:

" As many authors have said during this wonderful TeachersWrite virtual camp, one of the keys to writing authentic characters is eavesdropping. I know, your mother would be appalled!  Listen in (ever so politely, of course!) to conversations around you. Really hear the cadence, the thought-centers, the inflections, the vocabulary choices, and particularly watch the body language.  When I volunteer weekly at the local Boys and Girls Club for “homework help” (aka controlled chaos), I overhear every age from 2ndgraders through high schoolers, and, as you can well imagine, there is really a difference!  Third-grader Maile in my recent picture book, ALOHA FOR CAROL ANN, acts and speaks so differently from Kekoa, the __-year-old** Hawaiian tough in my forthcoming mystery, ISLAND DANGER.  When it’s time to write, I actually squeeze my eyes shut and put myself right where my character is and mimic the body language first. It’s similar to acting, where you inhabit someone else’s skin.  Somehow, at least for me, that is essential to the process of letting the voice of the character flow, and then the conversation begins…"

** nice try, Margo, but I deleted Kekoa's age as, in a minute, our readers are going to be guessing his age in excerpt #2 below. ;)

Of course, the other key is to find yourself some honest, objective readers if you can get 'em, especially of the 'tween and teen variety, not only because they're the target age, but because they can be brutally (cruel and) honest, and that's what you need sometimes.

So, let's have some fun (or, humiliation, as the case may be).          For this week's Friday Feedback we'll dispense with the usual rules (still a 3 -5 para limit, though, please!) and do some guessing about our characters' ages.
*Please remember that doing these exercises here, as we do, from small snippets out of context ,is OF COURSE different than attempting critiques within the context of a complete manuscript. But, we can still have some fun (I hope!), offer each other some food for thought, and be at least a little useful. :)*

So, feel free to give "age-related" feedback on either of Margo's excerpts or on mine below.

How old do the characters read?

What made you feel this way?

Then post your own excerpt in the comments for the same.

And, since Margo is here today, to all of you a big, warm mahalo, and a sunny aloha!

Margo, Excerpt #1: from WIP titled Alex in Translation Next, we hit the butcher shop – that was a whole other story --“Is that really horse?” Carrie asked, pointing in the butcher’s case at a sign that had a silhouette of a horse next to the word “cavallo.” “Grosser than gross!”


Behind me, I heard a smothered laugh and turned around to see a really good-looking guy, holding a basket. Were there any ugly guys in Positano? I wondered.


He was wearing a blue polo shirt and nice slacks and deck shoes and his dark hair fell across his forehead, but not so far that I missed his hazel eyes. My breath left my body.


“The American signorina has a problem with our food?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.


“Uh, no, not really,” I said quickly. “She’s just not used to it.” I had a hard time putting a coherent sentence together as long as I was looking at him.

“And you?” he asked the obvious question. “You are used to it?” He sounded disbelieving.


“I used to live here,” I said.


“Really?” he answered. “An American? And now you are back.”


“Just for a visit,” I said. “I live in California -- in the U.S. now. I don’t live here anymore.” Did I sound too quick to affirm where I lived now – and that was so not Italy?


“I see,” he said, and his expression shut right down. I must have said something wrong.

Margo: excerpt #2 from Island Danger

 "You no tell da cops on my ohana," he threatened, gesturing back toward the homeless campsite.  "O' I bus' yo' face."

            "No," Todd said.  "No, I won't."  He tightened his mouth.  An idea glimmered in the back of his brain.  Well, why not.  A bargain was a bargain, and he had to keep trying to fake Kekoa out.  "You quit hassling me and my soccer team at the park, then," he demanded. Would it work?

            Kekoa spat onto the path. "Whatevahs," he snorted.  Todd let out his breath slowly as Kekoa continued striding down the path toward the park, shoving aside branches and bushes in his way.  He almost shivered in relief.         

Gae, Excerpt - from Upcoming YA from Algonquin

     “Anyway, enough about me and my stupid, morbid life.” I roll toward her and prop up on my elbow. “Tell me about you and Bradley.”
     She drops her foot, and points the other one. Her legs are perfect like everything else about her. “What’s to tell? He’s a guy,” she says, but her lips crack into a smile.
I feel a stitch in my heart, but ignore it, because I really want to know. “Come on, ‘Zette, details. I swear I won’t be jealous.” She rolls her eyes. “Total lie. And there’s really nothing to tell. But, either way, I understand.”“So, then tell me, please?”               “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.” I sit up and look out over the ocean. The sky is the brightest blue with puffs of white patches drifting by. “Okay, for starters, does he kiss good?”“Lie back down. You’re blocking my sun.”                “Lisette…”
               “Really good,” she says. “Really, really good. You happy?”
               “Tongue?”
She laughs. “Yes. Of course. Tongue. Absolutely.”
Gae, Excerpt 2: from WIP titled Jack Keroac is Dead to Me

(this is a WIP I haven't worked on in quite a while, but am going to go back to. . .)


For a while, we stood there on the dock, side by side, watching and thinking like that, but then, suddenly, Max turned to me. “Do you ever wonder what it would feel like to just jump, Jailbait? Dive off the edge and let your body fall? Be done with things, all nice and easy?” He turned back toward the water, held his arms out like wings, leaned forward and inhaled. I grabbed on to the back of his jacket and he laughed. “I’m not going to do it, sweetheart, and if you hold on like that, I’d only take you with me.” My heart was pounding, and I gave him a look, so he stepped back from the edge and wrapped both his arms around me, and rocked us together in the moonlight. After a few minutes he said, “I forgot, I have something for you, hang on.” He rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a folded white square of tissue paper. “I got you this. It’s not much.” I looked at him, stunned, and unwrapped it. Inside was a small gold ring with a butterfly with blue gemstones the exact blue of a Morpho’s wings. I slipped it on my finger and it fit perfectly. I blinked back tears. I couldn’t believe he’d done that for me.“It’s beautiful, Max, thank you.” He nodded and reached inside his jacket for something else. I waited, wondering what other surprises he had in store. But this time he pulled out a silver flask.        “Just a little tonight. Everyone is, okay?”     And there it was again, that thing Max did that could make me so happy and so scared at the same time. I took a deep breath and thought of Aubrey and how annoying it was that she was so afraid of everything. Maybe I was being like that now. Maybe just one night, I could step out of bounds, trust Max, and let it to not be such a big deal.“Okay,” I said. “Gimme.”


gae & Margo :)

* p.s. I thought the Teachers Write camper who started everything here had actually done a good job making her characters sound authentic and age-appropriate. So there's that, too, that sometimes our readers are wrong. Or, at least, our readers can disagree.

Friday Feedback: Stupid Love

It's hard not to love Herbach.
Why fight it?Gae n' Geoff, sitting in a tree,
K-I-S-S-I-N-G,
first comes love
then comes...

Oh, um, hey there.
Don't mind me. I was just, um. . . *coughs*

You're in the right place. It's Friday, and this is Friday Feedback.

<----- And, that is me with Geoff Herbach. If you haven't heard of him, you should.

You can't have him, sorry.

But you can read him.

This is his first book, 2011 ALA, YALSA and CYBIL's Best Fiction winner Stupid Fast:
Show More
Show Less

omg, omg, omg, you must read this!"I AM NOT STUPID FUNNY.
I AM STUPID FAST.

My name is Felton Reinstein, which is not a fast name. But last November, my voice finally dropped and I grew all this hair and then I got stupid fast. Fast like a donkey. Zing!

Now they want me, the guy they used to call Squirrel Nut, to try out for the football team. With the jocks. But will that fix my mom? Make my brother stop dressing like a pirate? Most important, will it get me girls-especially Aleah?

So I train. And I run. And I sneak off to Aleah's house in the night. But deep down I know I can't run forever. And I wonder what will happen when I finally have to stop."


and, this is his follow up (pretty much a sequel) Nothing Special:

is not allowed to buy this till she finishes other books ahead of it on TBR
because she will bump EVERYTHING to read it "Hey Aleah,
I miss you. Because there's some serious donkey crap going on right now. I'm supposed to be at football camp, but noooo ... Andrew had to go missing! So because of my stupid little brother, I'll probably lose my chance at a scholarship and end up being nothing special.
I'm pretty sure Andrew ran away to Florida, and now Gus and I have to drive cross-country to get him. Did you know Gus used to think
Miss Piggy was hot? Anyway, Andrew once told me I needed to get my head out of my butt. So that's what I'm trying to do. How about a kiss for luck?
Felton"

And, in case you haven't figured it out yet, I LOVE him.
Yes, in the biblical sense.
Okay, fine, not exactly in the biblical sense.
More like in the trunk of a Crown Victoria sense:
Sorry ladies, Geoff can only have eyes for me.
And, not just because his books are brilliant and quirky and funny and real. . .

And, not just because he got me to my uber-awesome agent, Jim McCarthy, who just sold my next book to Algonquin for me. . .

But, also, because he can break dance. . .


And because he has made a series of some of the most awesome writing craft vids around (you're welcome for pointing those out to you);

And, okay, because he has written some of the most unique, laugh-out-loud, yet heartbreaking, characters there are.

So, that's the truth. I admit it. I love Herbach. And it's a gushy, mushy love.

I am not ashamed.

And I know you will love him, too.

So, without further (ridiculous) ado, for this Friday Feedback, I give you Geoff, and an excerpt from his still untitled Work In Progress, the third in the "Stupid Fast" franchise (due on shelves May, 2013!).

Remember, if you don't know the rules to Friday Feedback, please READ THEM FIRST HERE!:


Hey, thanks for all that gushing, Gae. I love you too. You are the bomb. You are the Juliet to my Romeo. You are my. . .
um, never mind, that wasn't Geoff. That was Gae writing all of that. Fine. Sue me. Whatever. It's my blog.
Here's Geoff for you:
In the third book in the Stupid Fast series, Felton and those around him are beginning to worry that the brutality he shows on the football field is putting him on the same path of his dad.  Felton is struggling with football culture and jock culture and his place in a world full of bullies (he begins roughing up jocks on behalf of geeks).  Thi  EXCERPT“Why do you play such a brutal game?” Grandpa Stan asked me by the pool.
“It’s fun.”
               “Fun?  Murder is fun?” he asked.
               Grandpa had been at Bluffton’s homecoming game in the fall.  He and Andrew came up.  We played Prairie du Chien and I sort of destroyed them.  Coach Johnson took me out midway through the 3rd quarter, because we were ahead by a lot and the Prairie players were sort of diving on the ground instead of hitting me, because I’d crushed so many of them they’d gotten scared (I love that feeling, knowing they’re scared of me – I start looking to hit them, instead of running towards open field).  Not only am I fast but recruiters say, “He runs angry.”  It’s true.  I do run angry.  Grandpa Stan congratulated me after the game, but his face was red and he couldn’t look me in the eyes.  It hurt my feelings.
               “I don’t murder anybody.  It’s a game.  I score touchdowns.”
               “You could play golf.  Have you ever played golf?” Grandpa asked.  “It’s very relaxing.”
               “I’m one of the best football players in the country.  I don’t want to play golf.”
               “How can that be fun?  Breaking peoples’ backs?”
               “I get out my frustration… It makes me feel normal.”
               “Okay, okay,” Grandpa Stan waved his hand, dismissing the conversation.
               Tovi and Andrew splashed around.  I rolled off the chair, stretched in the sun, then cherry bombed the hell out of them. 
- Geoff (& gae *swoons*)

p.s. Geoff is travelling today (Friday) but will be here Saturday to chime in!

p.p. s. if you missed it yesterday, and you're a #TeachersWrite camper, you're invited! Progress Pool Party, July 20th, via Spreecast! For details, click link.

You're Invited: For my TeachersWrite! Friday Feedback Campers

 That's right, you heard us! What's summer camp without a party? If you are a Teachers Write participant and, especially if you've been hanging with me at Friday Feedbacks, you're invited:
Teachers Write!Progress Pool Party!  
Put on your best sunny beachwear &join Gae and Jen poolside via Spreecastfor our first-ever Teachers Write Progress Pool Party!
 Friday, July 20th, 2012One-Hour Sessions from:
12:00 pm EST – 5:00 pm EST
Share 90-second readings from our Works In Progress*20 people per session - on-camera reading*
Chat and get support about our writing
*Unlimited participation all afternoon in the chat area*
Stay tuned for more details and sign up information.
We'll see you there!
Gae and Jen

p.s. Don't fret if you're not ready. Still plenty of time. And plenty of details to follow. So, for now, save the date, and brush up on your reading skills. And don't forget to time the piece you choose. Time & on-camera space limited, so the 90-seconds are strict. Even Jen & I will adhere. ;) More soon!
- gae

Friday Feedback: Fear is a Thing on Hummingbird Wings & How Philosphers Lie

The big fat liar, RWE .The great philospher Ralph Waldo Emerson said, " Do the thing we fear, and the death of fear is certain."
Ralph Waldo Emerson is a big fat liar.

Sorry, but it's true. In a second you'll see what I mean.  And, seriously. If you take the "Waldo Emerson" away, how philosphery-ish does the name Ralph really sound?
 At any rate.  
I have a guest writer/pal on Friday Feedback today, and trust me, you're in for a treat ( HERE ARE THE FRIDAY FEEDBACK RULES . If you've never "played" before, please read them before you participate).

Anyway, when I read Lena's excerpt for my blog, it practically made me cry. It definitely made me covet. Plus, "guest author" means double trouble, as she and I will BOTH be back to give you feedback this weekend, so be on your best behavior.


Lena does her own fancy schmancy introduction so, without further ado, I give you author Lena Roy.

Hello Gae and *people of Gae’s world* - Lena would never lie to you. I am both honored and terrified to participate in Gae’s Friday Feedback, but I am turning 44 next week and I am about to send a PDF of my current manuscript, India Flips, to my agent (Edward Necarsulmer of MacIntosh and Otis) so it behooves me to jump in. Even though I’m terrified. Even though I am a creative writing teacher myself with Writopia Lab. (I am the Manager in Westchester and Fairfield Counties.) Even though I have one published book: Edges (FSG). Even though I am already used to rejection and I still write through it. ML'e - not a liar
And, even though, AND especially because, 
I am Madeleine L’Engle’s granddaughter.
How dare I attempt to follow in her footsteps?
I’d love to meet all of you! You can find me at www.lenaroy.com and on my author page on Facebook.Now what excerpt will I choose? I will be brave and choose the opening lines, because that is what I have the hardest time with. Oh, who am I kidding – it’s all hard! But I wouldn’t have it any other way as it makes my heart happy.
From India Flips:

"How many birds have been sacrificed to this death trap?” I mutter to myself. I am staring out of the windowed door to a large deck of a house for rent, for sale, for living and dying in the exurbs of New York City. I am staring out this false sense of security, this symbol of change, of possible carnage. Some birds don’t sense boundaries and end up getting hurt: some birds like me.As if on cue, a tiny hummingbird flies toward me and I long to pull the door open, but for once my hands are paralyzed. Am I hoping that it will mistake the glass for open space? Could I be that cruel? As the bird gets closer - its ruby neck, exposed and vulnerable - my hands start to twitch into action and reach for the sliding door. My fingers tug, pulling the force up my arms and I give up. Unwilling to take my eyes off the hummingbird, I put my hands on the window, hoping that my physical presence will be enough of a boundary. The hummingbird’s natural habitat is lush with trees, grass and even a pond. Why would it want to come inside? Go away birdie, I will silently. Stick with what you know, where it’s safe. Where you are safe.Am I ready for this disaster? I mean, it’s the cycle of life, right? It’s all happened before, and it will inevitably happen again. Except that this time it doesn’t. The tiny beak makes an ell turn just in time and the air in my throat hisses with relief. It must have been loud because Janie calls out from the living room where she is trying to ‘visualize her own furniture’ - maybe she’s even imagining us all sitting on her couch. I can’t tear myself away from the window, where the hummingbird has come back and is staring at me, flapping it’s wings ferociously. What are you looking for, buddy?“Indy? You okay?” “Um, yeah,” I manage to say as she walks through the room.“This dining room is pretty sweet.” “Come look at the bedrooms!” And she disappears.I don’t want Derek to move to this house or any other in Westchester. I want him to stay living across the street from me in our little corner of Manhattan.  My hands move over my plaid skirt tapping out a rhythm, my purple Doc Marten’s stomp as I drum to Radiohead’s Creep. I may not be able to stand still, but at least I stay in one place.- Lena Roy (& gae)

The Pull of Gravity Goes to School(s): Unexpected #5 (can't resist!)

Nick's facebook page! So, I had kicked this feature off the radar for the summer (busy with tons of #TeachersWrite Friday Feedback stuff etc...) but woke up to tweet after tweet from a beloved teacher in Michigan this morning, sharing photos of her kiddos' TPoG projects this school year.

I mean, seriously, how could I resist?!

So, just a quick share today. And a huge shout out to Jessica Boguslawski and her students at Fitzgerald High School in Michigan.

Jessica incorporated The Pull of Gravity into her curriculum as a "choice book" to go with her Of Mice and Men unit. In March, I Skyped into her classroom.

Prior to my Skype visit, I sent along some book "swag" to the students, and there arose a running joke as to the real meaning of the word swag and whether I was using it wrong. As such, I showed up via Skype (to many giggles) wearing a handmade swag crown. After the Skype visit, I
mailed the crown to the class.

buttons and bookmarks fit for a queen. Or, king! ;) Over the past few months, I have periodically received a tweeted photo of some awesome student (usually male!) wearing the swag crown proudly.

**sorry, crown-wearers' photos not posted without permission**



Anyway, without further ado, in addition to that awesome one up top (!!!) here are some more of the terrific The Pull of Gravity student projects from the 10th graders at Fitzgerald High School.

Please note that I have redacted last names
and/or spoiler information contained
in any of the projects.

Three words for the students who made these:

You. Totally. ROCK!!! :D

Two "Wordle" posters and a "Letter to Nick." Dad ("Fat Man 2")'s facebook page! Letter to me! (redacted for spoilers)
Another letter to me, redacted. :)
Jaycee's facebook page! Love, love, love her wall posts. :) Thanks, guys! These are the things that make an author's day (week, month, year!).

- gae