Amy Stuart's Blog, page 2

STILL MINE

Writers might tell you about the weeks right before a book goes to copyedit and the scramble it takes to get the final edits done. I am in that phase right now. The book flies out of my hands in about two weeks. So I'm writing, editing, tidying, checking, fiddling, hoping.
In the meantime, things are starting to happen to this book outside of my brain/computer.

It has a title. Still Mine.

It has a publication date: April 5, 2016. 

It has a pre-order page at Chapters.

The next year will be a thrilling time, preparing for the publication of this book, seeing cover art and galleys and ARCs, working with the sales and publicity teams, and finishing the first draft of the second novel in the series. I can't wait!

For now, back to work.

The Muskoka Novel Marathon

Writers are often asked how they started a project or where they found their inspiration. It's usually a murky question, but in the case of my novel (still untitled!) the where question is easy. I started my book at the 2010 Muskoka Novel Marathon. The MNM takes place over a weekend every July at a gorgeous and inspiring lakeside setting in Huntsville, Ontario. Writers gather over a weekend and spill out as many words as they can on a new project. There's the spur of competition, because participants can submit their manuscripts at the marathon's end and the winners receive a consult from an agent or a publisher. There's a sense of purpose, because all the funds raised (usually well over $20000) go to literacy initiatives in the Muskoka region. 

But mostly, there's a deep sense of community, a room full of writers experiencing the waves of thrill and angst together. Some writers work through the night and others come and go. Some are working on third or fourth or fifth novels, others are first timers. By the end of the weekend, it feels familial. There's camaraderie, free food, good coffee and a great view. It makes for an excellent place to write; in 2010 I managed 50 pages in a weekend, and I was a slow poke compared to some of my fellow scribes.

I've done a few marathons over the years but I haven't been able to return for a while because of births or travel or other obligations. But I still feel very much a part of the community. When my book deal was announced, my friends at the MNM took the news and ran with it, writing a press release that resulted in a lot of attention (see here and here, for example), shouting it from the internet rooftops. I'm humbled by the support and championing they continue to give me as I work away at the project I started while there.

Every writer, emerging or otherwise, needs a community. If you are in search of one, I urge you to have a look at the Muskoka Novel Marathon. It will be held July 10-13th this year. Registration is March 10th and it fills super quickly (we're talking minutes). The best way to get more information is to follow them on Twitter or join the Facebook group.

How to Stop Worrying & Keep Writing

There's a picture of me as a little kid that tells it all. I'm slumped in a church pew, my eyebrows bent in a look of unbridled worry. My childhood is full of scenes where I'm ruminating and my mother steps in to tell me to stop worrying about it. But what if this? I would ask her. What if that? When I was old enough to read it, she dug out her worn copy of How to Stop Worrying and Start Living by Dale Carnegie and gifted it to me. Never mind the strange 1940s writing style or the religious undertone, I could swear the old man with the horn-rimmed glasses on the jacket cover had written that book just for me.

I worry less these days, even if there's more to worry about. I have offspring now, a job that immerses me in the lives of wily and struggling teenagers, and lots of writing to do. But in my daily life I keep it (mostly) in check, in part because I keep that worn copy of Carnegie's book on my desk as a steady reminder, in part because I married a guy who is always philosophical and easygoing, always gazing over to the bright side and nudging me to do the same. In very large part because I might be better at recognizing that in the grand scheme of the world these days, my troubles are piddling.

Or maybe I haven't been cured of it, but now I just dump it into my writing. Last year, a good friend read a draft of my novel then joked that I wasn't so sunny after all, that she understood where I funnelled all my darkness. The book is about a missing woman, about abuse and addiction and loss - no hilarity ensues anywhere within it. I write about dark things, and I worry as I do it. I frown and bite my nails as I write, regressed to that kid in the photograph with the furrowed brow. I worry this is not the right word or that sentence is too long or I'm not quite telling that bit like I want it to be told. Sometimes, I worry at once about every book I'll ever hope to write, and my heart rate will actually pick up at the magnitude of all the pages yet unwritten. But mostly, I worry about my characters and what will happen to them. This one confounds me. It's stupid, right? Worrying about the characters in your own novel is sort of like worrying about how your food will get chewed once you put it in your mouth. You have full authority over it! Just chew!

Writers talk all the time about flaky stuff like our characters existing outside of us, how we are capable of loving them and hating them and worrying about them as though they walk the earth alongside us. It's like parenthood, but with way more control at the outset- you pick not just the name but the hair and eye colour, the tics and the inclinations. You chart their course as you please, conjure up their friends and family, decide where they'll live and what they will and won't eat. You have all the control, indeed, yes, at first you do, but you know that soon the characters will become someone not-real-but-real, they will step away from you somehow, morph into beings with immutable strengths and foibles, and so every choice you make for them now will limit the choices you can make for them later. You can't just have your vegetarian eat meat or dye her hair pink; she is too steadfast for that. You know it's a bad idea to send her on that solo kayaking trip or to hand her that loaded gun, because you've already pegged her as lonely or prone to rage or both, and who knows if she'll stick to the plot/plan? So you worry about her. I do. I worry about her! I want her to be okay.

It's true that I probably worry more because I am in the midst of writing a series. Some of my characters will migrate from the first book to the second. As I work away at the final edits on this draft, my worries can be encapsulated in the notion of a leather briefcase. It goes like this: I can't decide halfway through book two that my main character carries a leather briefcase. She needs to have had it all along. She's not the kind of character who goes shopping for briefcases. She hates to shop. What if she really needs it? If she's going to need a briefcase, I have to put it in her hands now, in book one. Or at least mention that she's got it in her car, a gift from her mother. But wait, her mother's dead. That makes the briefcase sentimental, and we don't want to get into that. It's just a #*(&@)$ briefcase.

It took only one or two meetings with my editor Martha before she caught on. Sometimes, as we're hashing out a character or a plot point, I'll hear echoes of my mother in her response. Don't worry about that! What's the point in worrying about that now? Stop it! I've thought of lending her Carnegie's book just so she can gift it back to me. Just like my mom, she's firm but kind in her delivery. Do I doubt my ability to write these characters? No. This story? No. Then why worry? Right. But what if she needs that briefcase? Then you'll find a way to get it to her. Yes. I will.

(Really, there's no reason she'd ever need a briefcase.)

A fellow writer pointed out to me recently that, especially in the face of good things, like, say, the publication of one's book, you should only work hard. Worry is indulgence. Toil away at the writing with your head down and be grateful for the opportunity to do it. When the what if bubbles up, crush it with time and effort and a lot of ruthless editing. The fact that my novel will be out in the world someday soon is an excellent thing, the thing of dreams. The characters will be fine if I take them seriously and tend to them. They will survive whatever I throw at them. And when it comes down to it, if I really need one, briefcases are easy enough to come by. Stop worrying and start writing, as Dale Carnegie (or my mom, or my editor) would say. Start writing and keep writing once you've begun.

A Publishing Deal

This week the two-book deal I signed with Simon & Schuster Canada was announced on Publishers' Marketplace and Quill & Quire. There must be a word to describe this exact feeling, the mix of joy and relief and fear and wonder and gratitude and validation.
Maybe the word is thrilled. I am thrilled to now be a part of the Simon & Schuster Canada’s 2015 roster. I am thrilled that editor extraordinaire Martha Sharpe is working on the manuscript with me to get it stage ready. I am thrilled that I’m supposed to write a second book to go with the first. Scary – in a good way. The thought of a cover with my name on it, of my novel on a shelf in a bookstore… thrilling.

There’s also the humbling act of counting out everyone who’s played a part. Ian... in so many more ways than I can count, but also my parents and sisters, my three boys, my whole family, my amazing agent Chris Bucci, my sage Kendall Anderson, my first reader/thesis champion Lisa Moore, my earliest and gentlest readers, my friends and neighbours, my retreat partner Mariska Gatha, the women in my book club, my UBC cohort, my teaching colleagues, my students. A hundred more names to add to these.

In the first week after the offer came, when I was still too stunned to process it, it happened more than once that someone else's joy in the news reminded me that this was what I’ve wanted, this is why I’ve worked so hard for so long. People brought me champagne and insisted I stop for a minute to raise a glass. Forget about the logistics - how will it all get done? – and savour it.

And in my short time on the inside, I’ve been caught up in the swell of fiercely devoted and intelligent people who make up the book industry, who love books and work tirelessly to put them in our hands. It’s encouraging no matter what the realities of publishing might be these days.

I can’t wait for what the next year brings.

An act of optimism

Writers aren't renowned as a particularly optimistic bunch. It can be a lonely toil and the rewards are never guaranteed. I've recently started another big project (I won't use the n*vel word until I hit 20K words) connected to the last big project, and when I wake up early or wander out late into the icy dark to write, I need that sense that I'm doing it for good reason.
Even with all the ominous news of decreasing readership and closing bookstores and such, I keep on believing that writing is worth my time and sacrifice. I'm hopeful because there is still so much good writing coming out into the world, so many books each year that I buy and read and love. I engage in great discussions on the topic all the time, either at my book club or on Twitter or in my classroom or anywhere else. Also, I'm quite certain my students are reading more now than they ever have; I can see them turning away from their screens and back to old-school books, perhaps a renaissance before the death of the written word was truly upon us.

So, I'm optimistic.

Years ago my hubby gifted me a journal and I think the inscription - care of Edward Albee - says it best.