Tudor Robins's Blog, page 29

No time!

So, it’s time to have a post ready, and I don’t. Part of the reason for that is the Apt613 Support Local Book Sale on tomorrow. I still have to get organized, and make my lunch and a few other small things.

One of the other reasons I’m pressed for time is the Coursera MOOC – Plagues, Witches and War: The Worlds of Historical Fiction - I’m working on right now.

I’ve been meaning to write about this for a while, but a) I’ve been too busy and b) I’m not 100 per cent sure what to say about it yet. So, here are some random (quick) thoughts, with maybe more details to come later:

1) I’m impressed by the organization and presentation of the course.

2) I’m amazed by the dedication, and attention to detail, of the instructor.

3) This course has led me to read many, many, books I would never have read otherwise, and I’ve learned about many stories I wouldn’t have known about otherwise. For example, I had no idea Thomas Jefferson had children who were slaves. I learned this from reading Clotel – such a fascinating read.

4) Sometimes I feel like I’ve bitten off way more than I can chew, and sometimes I feel like the workload is completely manageable (I suspect this has more to do with the rest of my life, than with the actual course).

5) I like participating in this new frontier of education. The use of technology, the democracy, and the global reach are all really interesting to me.

6) The reason I signed up for this course is because of the historical YA novel I plan to write, and it’s been a great help. The last series of video lectures, in particular, with Geraldine Brooks about her book, Year of Wonders, was incredibly helpful. She gave great information about her philosophy, and process, and I feel much more equipped to move forward on my own project.

7) It’s FREE.

Free. So, really, it’s all good.

Have you taken a MOOC? Are you thinking of it? Do you have any questions?

Oh, and in case one of them is, “What is a MOOC?” – the answer is Massive Open Online Course.

Being Read

While writing, I am not a sharer. I have to completely write, and then re-write, and then re-write some more, and then extensively copy-edit before I’ll show anything I’m working on to anybody at all. And, even at that point, I will very carefully choose the person I first show it to.

There was a time when I thought nobody, other than me, would ever read Objects in Mirror.

But, of course, now it’s published and quite a few other people are reading it, and I’d like to tell you what that’s like.

Long ago, before I had a publishing contract, I used to think about what it might be like to have other people reading my work. I imagined 100 people reading something I’d written. That seemed like quite a few. I dared to imagine 500 people – I pictured what that many people would look like standing in one place together – and that felt like really quite a huge crowd to read something I’d written.

When OIM was first published, the success of my book launch (thank you all, again, for your support!) meant I knew many of the people reading it. Lots of them told me they enjoyed it. While, of course, I feared they had to say that, there were enough concrete references to certain characters or situations, and enough people asked me about a sequel, that I dared to believe them – they did like it.

It was important to me when the first riding people I knew read the book. It was lovely when my doctor told me she’d read the book, and liked it. This book, in case you don’t know, has quite a bit of horse content, and also details the main character’s struggle with an eating disorder. I had tried to get both right – I was as sure as I could be that I’d been accurate – but when people who knew about these things confirmed it, that was great.

The next thing that happened was reviews started to come in. Each review was – and is – a treat. I’m fascinated to learn what other people think about the book; what strikes them and stays with them after reading it. So, I loved knowing these reviewers were reading the book, however, it wasn’t a total surprise. My publisher and I sent out copies of the book hoping it would be read and reviewed.

And now we seem to have entered a new phase – the phase of the unknown, surprising reader. This is very exciting! These are my Readers – the ones I pictured in that 500-strong crowd of my imagination. These are people who find me on Facebook, or rate my book on Goodreads (thank you for that!). These are people whose names I’ve never heard before, and who live in many places I never imagined my book being read. I’ve already learned my book’s been read in Nova Scotia and Tennessee and New Mexico and Missouri. Knowing this makes me wonder who else out there is reading it, and where they live. For somebody as private as I am with my work in the early phases, it’s amazing how much this widespread reading by complete strangers means to me.

So much.

And, for the record, it’s been less than six months, and my readers have passed that 500 crowd of my imagination so, Wow! Onwards and upwards.

Thanks so much. Thanks for reading. Thanks for connecting. It’s really and truly appreciated.

 

 

 

Things I Learned from Leaf-Raking

Yes, it’s that time of year. Today’s “garbage” day in our neighbourhood (although I think we should rename it, since every week we have recycling, and every week we have green bin pick-up, but we only have garbage pick-up once every two weeks and I say hooray for that!). Anyway, back to my original point; it’s pick-up day and the curbs and driveways are lined with brown paper leaf bags.

OK, another aside here – isn’t it interesting how society changes? When I was a kid, leaves went in plastic garbage bags. Brown leaf bags didn’t even exist. And then, when they eventually started to appear, it seemed impossible that people would pay to buy these bags (around $0.40 each) - which, since they only come in five-packs, need to be re-stocked several times during the spring and fall raking seasons – but, lo and behold, they did! And they do! And now leaves ONLY go in leaf bags. And Canadian Tire prints theirs up to use for street hockey practice, and we, as a society have converted.

So, obviously, we can change and we do change, sometimes. Now if we could just get as good about stopping smoking, and drunk driving and plundering the earth …

But, that’s not what this post is about. This post is about my son’s leaf-raking business and what you, as a writer, can learn from him.

(1) Have a goal! Of course, this is not news, but it’s important so I’m repeating it. My son’s goal is to raise $1,000.00 to protect the Beluga whale through the Earth Rangers program. He set this goal on his own, and it’s important to him – and it’s big – when you’re eleven-years-old, raising $1,000.00 is like writing a novel. Think of that …

(2) Be prepared to work hard. The very same weekend he signed up for Earth Rangers, my son created a Leaf Raking brochure. He designed, drew, copied and distributed it on his own. I wish I had a copy because it was great, and I only realized how great, when one of my neighbours said his daughter liked it so much she posted it on Instagram. If I ever find it, I’ll link to it.

(3) Ask for help. My son asked my parents if they’d donate to his Beluga campaign. They said yes, but first they wanted to see that he was committed and had a plan. Bingo! This was where putting his own work into it paid off – he was further ahead on both fronts.

(4) Show up. The first call came mid-week. Now, we’re very busy through the week – we have activities Monday through Thursday – BUT. My son asked for the work and it was being offered. So we pushed and shoved on the schedule and he went to do the work.

(5) Get known / Build a reputation. That was the one and only call that came from the flyers. But it was just the first of many raking jobs. The other jobs came when people saw him walking home, carrying his rake. “Oh yeah!” They’d say. “You’re doing raking. Can you do my lawn?”

So far he’s raised $75.00 from leaf-raking. Which, I think, is pretty good.

To apply all of the above to writing, it’s pretty simple. Have a goal – a first draft of a novel finished by the end of the school year. A short story written by Christmas. Whatever it is, choose it.

Sit down and write yourself but, also, tell other people about your goal. Get feedback, ideas and opinions (you don’t have to follow them all, but accept them). Maybe someone will offer to proofread your work. Maybe somebody knows of an anthology looking for submissions.

Keep doing the work. Keep showing up. Put the time and effort in. This is important because (a) it moves you closer to your goal and (b) it shows others you’re serious. At first they might wonder about the writing you’re dabbling in, but when they see you’re serious, you never know what other opportunities will open up.

And, with regards to marketing and promotion – yes, it’s important to get your base message out there (the raking flyers), but it’s work that begets work. Word-of-mouth and a demonstrated track record are what really pay off.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go rake our own lawn …

 

 

 

Does Writing Ruin Reading?

Don’t get me wrong – I’m not talking about all reading. Writers need to read, and there are more good books in this world than I’ll ever be able to plough through.

However, casual reading is much more difficult for me than it used to be.

Why? Because of the journey I’ve been through to get published.

Objects in Mirror was majorly (and I mean MAJORLY) re-written about six times. It was also proofread I-can’t-tell-you-how-many times.

There were lots of eyeballs on this book before it was published and each set of eyeballs taught me something new. Each revision corrected something I had really just never seen before (or I would have done it right to start with). I spent hours, and days, and weeks of my life doing line-by-line changes to this book. I started entirely new files and imported the manuscript chapter-by-chapter, only moving on when I was satisfied I had truly done all I could with the chunk I was working on.

Is it perfect? No. Of course not. And here’s something anyone who wants to write might as well accept – you can never revise to fit everybody’s taste. No way, not possible, and I can live with that.

But I am proud of the book, and there are things I’ve tried hard to edit out of this book – and out of my writing in general – that I’m disheartened to see in many, many books I pick up, and because I had to work so hard to kill them in my writing, I’m unable to be forgiving when I stumble across them elsewhere.

Examples? I knew you’d want some. Well, there are two biggies, and if you’ve ever read any writing blog, book, etc. you’ll have heard of these before. So why are they still showing up in so many books? I have no idea. They are:

(1) Filters. Ah, the killer filter. It’s so easy to use. It softens everything. It allows you to be just that little bit less precise, less immediate in your writing. Sometimes, I think, that feels good to a writer – safe. So, what is a filter? Filters are words like “felt”, “seemed”, “noticed” that put the reader at a distance. Some examples:

Filtered: “She heard the door slam and she felt her heart jump.”

Unfiltered: “The door slammed and her heart jumped.”

Filtered: “It seemed to her that everything was going wrong. She noticed he was always yelling.”

Unfiltered: “Everything was going wrong. He was always yelling.”

Do you see how the second sentences are more immediate? You’re in the action. It’s happening. You, as a reader, don’t have a buffer – or filter – between you and the story. I think, sometimes, writers hesitate to commit. It’s a bold statement to say “Everything was going wrong.” Wouldn’t it be better to soften it a bit by saying “It seemed to her that everything was going wrong.” There is a place for softening, and for taking care in your writing – in legal documents, in workplace memos, etc. In my opinion, novels should be experienced directly by the reader and I really dislike it when an author pushes me back.

(2) Showing vs. telling. Oh I know. You’ve heard this a MILLION times. But telling is still there all the time, when – often – it really doesn’t need to be. It’s harder to show, though. Again, it requires more precision. It requires courage. It means you have to trust your reader. Example:

Telling: “When she spoke to him she could tell he was shy.”

Showing: “When she spoke to him, he wouldn’t meet her eye. He fiddled with a thin strip of leather around his wrist.”

You see – this requires trust in the reader. I have to believe you, dear reader, will picture the boy not meeting somebody’s eyes, and you’ll figure out he’s shy. Of course, there will be other, contextual, clues as well in other sentences and paragraphs and, if you think about it, this is how you form opinions of people in real life. Nobody wears a sign that says “I’m shy” but they may not meet your eyes, or twirl their hair while they speak to you. Those, and other factors, will lead you to form an opinion about them.

Telling: “He dressed like a crazy person.”

Showing: “He wore, not just mismatched socks, but two different shoes, as well. These were easy to see because his pants were three inches too short; held up by suspenders with small skulls all over them. The skulls glowed in the dark.”

So, the first assertion – he dressed like a crazy person – leaves much open to interpretation. Some people might think he’s dressed in a hospital gown – like he really was in some sort of facility. Other people might have very different images of what a “crazy person” dresses like. It’s not a precise description, and it doesn’t really add to character development – not nearly as much as the second description anyway. I can later draw on details from the second description to add depth to the story. Maybe the skulls on the suspenders mean something. Maybe it’s something sinister, or maybe this person works in forensics, with human bones. Who knows? Not me … I just made it up … but I hope you can see what I mean.

Going back to why writing can ruin reading - once you’re aware of these things (and especially if you work hard to do them yourself) – it’s really difficult to get past them and just enjoy a story. You might want to, but the filters jump off the page at you and yell “Look at me!” and you mentally re-write the sentences to remove them. When you encounter unnecessary telling, you think “Show me! Trust me! Let me figure this out for myself!”

Or, at least, I do.

How about you? A while ago, on my Facebook page, I posted a story about book abandonment. What makes you abandon a book? Or, if you’re a die-hard finisher, what makes you wish you could close a book and walk away?

Love to know! Meanwhile, I’m reading Fever, by Mary Beth Keane, and I have no intention of stopping it. A great read, if you’re interested in historical fiction.

 

 

Food Angst – the Hallowe’en Edition

No wonder it’s hard to have an eating disorder. FOOD IS EVERYWHERE! All the time, at all times of the day, for all ages, in every situation. Food, food, FOOD!

I realize other things, like alcohol and gambling and drug use, are also huge and terrible problems but, for most of us – and especially for children – they are less pervasive. Children really shouldn’t be running into alcohol at elementary school – if there is alcohol at your child’s school, might I recommend digging into that a little deeper?

But food … well food is most definitely at school. There’s food that’s sold – milk, pizza, subs, etc. There’s food that’s not allowed (no peanuts please!). There’s food that parents pack and, while you might think this would be the least controversial food of all, I am here to tell you it is NOT.

Especially not on October 31, and the days immediately following.

Here’s the email message that went out from our school administration on Friday: “As we are encouraging healthy eating at school, we ask that you consider NOT sending Hallowe’en snacks  as a treat for your child in the days following their evening of trick or treating.”

Cue blood boiling. Cue warpath. Cue me saying a rather inappropriate word to describe the likelihood of me NOT allowing my sons to each pick one tiny (and I do mean miniscule) box, containing about eight Smarties, and put it in their lunchbox on the day following Hallowe’en, which just happens to be a Friday. Who doesn’t deserve a treat on the Friday after Hallowe’en?

You see, much as I believe the state has no business in the bedrooms of the nation, I also believe the school has no business in the lunch boxes of their students. I even qualify that a bit by not sending peanuts or tree nuts to school. I believe in an allergic child’s right not to die at school, and I believe in their parents’ rights not to fear their child dying every day.

However, I equally believe in my right to send my child 23 grams of candy on the day after Hallowe’en.

This is a subject I could talk about for a long, long time. I’m completely fine with schools deciding what food they will and won’t sell / allow to be sold to students. I like the idea of teachers not handing out treats and candy in class. I support schools sending home the garbage generated from lunches sent to school. However, as to what I send, from home, for my child to eat – well, I think that decision is best left to me.

Here are just a few reasons why nobody else should monitor / comment on the contents of a child’s lunch box:

- Food allergies / sensitivities – if it isn’t your child, you don’t know what he can, or cannot eat and what that leaves for a parent to send to school.

- Cultural / religious / value-based food choices – unless you live in a household, you have no idea.

- Temporary restrictions for medical or behavioural reasons – family’s lives are complex; nobody can know everything that’s going on in a home.

- Personal circumstances – when a family is dealing with an illness, or a stressful situation, they might be lucky to send a lunch at all. Having an outsider comment on the quality of the lunch is not helpful.

- Not knowing all the facts. I hand make pretty much everything that goes to school with my children. As a result, my homemade cookies are “healthier” than many pre-packaged granola bars. Don’t ride my child for his homemade cookie.

There are other reasons, too, quite apart from the big, overriding one which is that young children have very little say in what is sent to school with them, but they are the ones publicly humiliated when a teacher identifies their snack as “unhealthy” or the Hallowe’en candy they bring as “bad”.

If a teacher or a staff member, believes there is a genuine health concern with what a child is being given to eat, there are ways to address that appropriately (and quietly, and discreetly, and not in the classroom, to a six-year-old, in front of 20 other children).

I’ve sent a note to school explaining that since my children are rarely-to-never allowed to bring anything pre-packaged to school, Hallowe’en represents a rare opportunity for them to do so, and that I will be sending them with a (nut-free) treat that they pick out.

I have asked that they not be chastised for this.

The answer? “I would hope this would never happen.”

My answer – It had better not.

 

The Kids Are Alright

No wonder we worry about our kids. First of all, it’s natural, biological, instinct – whatever you want to call it. Then there’s the media.

Oh, the things we hear about youth. They’re obese. They’re glued to screens. They’re lacking social skills. They’re unemployed. They don’t know how to spell, or write, or communicate. They don’t know what a typewriter is – what is wrong with them?!?

And, the thing is, it’s really easy to believe these things, and fret about them, and worry, and let them become huge and terrible and true … unless you actually get out and spend time with kids.

Because, in my experience, kids are great.

I have two, and I love them, and of course, I think they’re great. Look what my son did, just for fun, on his own, no prompting from me:

Every time I walk up to our front door, this makes me smile. And I’m sure it makes other people in our neighbourhood smile. It’s a little thing, but I love it and I love that he did it, just because he wanted to (and because I don’t have time to decorate the house for Hallowe’en – there’s that too!).

But this isn’t just about my kids. I’m on the frontlines of the Pizza program at my sons’ school. This means serving 75 pizzas each week to a school of 900 students. I see a lot of kids every week. And, you know what? They’re mostly smart and polite and friendly. Some bring their own money to buy slices of pizza, and they can conduct a transaction properly. They make eye contact. They smile. They chat. They joke.

Not all of them are like this, but 98 per cent are. My experience in retail tells me that’s a better percentage than with adults in the “real” world.

To get 75 pizzas divided up and served out to 33 classrooms, we need help. Our student volunteers take delivery of the pizza, make up the orders, hand them out to the kids who come to pick them up for their classes. We, as adults, often stand back and watch as a grade six volunteer helps a grade two student – finding out what class they’re in, handing them their pizza, sending them on their way. These volunteers learn quickly, follow orders and problem-solve. They’re eager and cheerful. They speak politely to our pizza supplier. They’re model “employees”.

For the last couple of summers, I’ve been struck by the age of the employees running just about every activity our family attends. Mont Cascades water park, public pools, most tourist attractions, etc. If not for the under-20 crowd, I think we’d all be staying at home quite a bit more often.

I’m lucky to meet kids all the time. At school, on our street, at writing events and workshops and even just riding the bus, and in stores and restaurants.

They’re smarter than I ever remember being at their age. They’re polite. They’re socially aware. In the grocery store recently, I watched a teenage couple tell cashier on her break to go ahead of them in line – “You only have a couple of things, and you’re probably in a hurry because you don’t have much time.” I know “busy” adults who wouldn’t do the same.

I guess what I’m saying is, yes, let’s worry about the things we can do to help or harm our kids. Let’s pay attention to the problems and challenges they face. But let’s give them credit for being fully formed, whole and great individuals.

Let’s trust them and let them amaze us.

We’re going to need to, because – let’s face it – our generation, and the ones before us, haven’t done such a shit-hot job making things right in this world. I, for one, want to believe the kids are alright and they’ll figure things out for all of us.

 

 

 

The danger of “They”

Friday night I drove my son to Scout Camp. It was a long drive - an hour-and-a-half each way – into landscape I love. Wakefield, Quebec was approximately our halfway point. Kazabazua was where we turned off 105 and, as we went deeper and deeper into the hills and trees, the Kaz started to look like a metropolis by comparison.

It was a stunning night, with a near-full moon partially obscured by black-edged clouds and the Gatineau river ribboning beside us. On the way home, driving through this cold, crisp, Canadian scenery, I listened to a lovely interview on the Current, with a woman determined to save the cheetah. You can listen to it here, if you’re interested.

I enjoyed the whole interview, but my takeaway was when she talked about the culture of “they”. Initially she figured if she just told everyone about the plight of the cheetah, “they” would do something. “They” would save the big cats. “They” couldn’t let them go extinct, could “they”?

Until, of course, she realized she was going to have to be “they” and now she works to save the cheetah.

I imagine some of you are nodding right now. Who hasn’t waited for “them” to initiate, or fix, or do, or rescue something?

Why are we so fixated on them and not us? I think there are a couple of reasons:

(1) It’s hard to do these things. It’s hard to put yourself out there. Everybody is already busy. Isn’t there somebody else who’s paid to do this? Shouldn’t there be? There must be …

(2) We underestimate ourselves. We don’t get that we are they. We are the experts. We are strong, powerful, smart. We can make change happen. We can do things.

I first began to realize this when I would go to a doctor, who was my age. Or younger. When I researched lawyers, and found I had gone to school with half of them. When I heard my contemporaries being interviewed on the radio as experts. We run the world now.

And if we’re paid and trusted to arrange people’s mortgages, and handle their divorces and teach their children, then I guess we can, and should, and need to, step up to other things too.

My most recent example is starting a science initiative at my sons’ school. Our school council is lucky to have good funding (partially because of the pizza program which I, along with a group of other “we”s – not “they”s – run). The council funds many things, but none of them were science related. I have one son, in particular, who is dying for more science exposure. And so there I was, at the last meeting, fighting for the funds to be allocated. And the basic thing is, the funds can be allocated, but they need to be directed and spent wisely. “They” should do that, shouldn’t they?

Except, of course, I looked around the room and saw a bunch of other parents – mostly moms – who looked just like me and I thought, “Oh, crap – we are they.”

So, I’m working on it with some great co-workers. The mom who agreed to be the official head of the committee admitted this initiative scares her. But her kids need more science. She’s even started her own personal science club after school for her children, and their friends, and she told me she sometimes has to Google “gravity” and other similar concepts the day before so she can figure out how best to explain them to the kids.

We’re blundering ahead. We’re not science experts, and we’re not teaching experts, but we’re determined, and we’re good organizers, and we can put scientists and teachers and money together, and we’ll end up with something much better than nothing – that I know for sure.

It’s the same for the cheetah. Or the world’s oceans. Or poverty in your community. Whatever the cause, there is likely no magic “they” out there to fix it. Even if there are other, like-minded people working on a problem, it never hurts to have another “we” onside.

I said from now on my posts might not always be writing-related, but I can even draw a link to writing here. Nobody else will finish your novel for you. Nobody else will polish it. And, once it’s published, if you wait for “them” to promote it, you might have a long, quiet wait.

So, I guess my thought on this is, the next time you think “they”, ask yourself if there’s a way you can turn it to “we” and see what happens.

 

Belated post and a change

Some of you may have noticed I didn’t have a post on Saturday. This is the first time I’ve ever done this.

When I started this blog on my own (after previously writing a blog with the support of a writing partner), I wanted to commit to a schedule I knew I could maintain. I wondered if posting once a week was often enough, but I didn’t, realistically, think I could post more often. So I said I’d post every Saturday, and I always have.

For some time now, I’ve been wondering about blogging. About this blog, and blogs in general, and similar things.

And then, coincidentally (or maybe not – maybe fatefully?) I accompanied my son’s class on a field trip last week where we saw a group called Mindil Beach Markets (MBM) put on an environmental presentation called The Jellyfish Project.

This presentation had a major impact on pretty much everyone in the auditorium. It was incredibly well done. It was impactful. It was terrifying and inspiring and motivating. I was scared out of my mind and, also, very worried that my son – sitting down the row from me – would be scared out of his mind.

But these guys are pros and they pulled up at just the right moment. And they told the audience – the kids and the parents, like me – that we can do things. We can make a difference.

And the great thing is, my son believed them right away. He came out of that auditorium jazzed and pumped and convinced he can save an endangered species. He can stop climate change and then reverse it. He just has to decide to do it.

I was less sure. I thought “How can we?” I thought “We’ve gone too far” and “There are too many people who don’t know or don’t care.” I thought, “What can I do? Who will really listen to one person?”

I felt that way for a while and then I realized something. I realized those five guys – just one group in just one hour – made me feel that way. I realized if they can change the way one, or two, or three people think, then why can’t I? I can at least try. They try. They’re a hard-working touring band who has made this message; this mission, part of their life. They do these presentations for free. If these young guys can try, I can try too.

So things may change around here. I may be talking a bit more about the environment. I may not have the voice or the reach I want yet, but I can use the voice and reach I have to give some attention to this important topic. If I can make one person make one change, and then they make one person make one change … well that’s better than nothing, isn’t it?

So, first things first – Project Milkweed. My first effort to make a small change. If you lived at our cottage, you might be forgiven for not realizing there’s a monarch crisis, because butterflies are everywhere. But, then again, so is milkweed. Everywhere.

Over the weekend, while at the cottage, I collected a few beautiful, silky pods of milkweed just bursting with seeds, and I dug up a small milkweed plant and brought it home and planted it in my backyard.

The plant looks a little droopy. I feel badly for it being pulled from a nice big hayfield and being plopped in a backyard garden in the city. But I hope it will live and I hope it will feed a butterfly or two next year.

I’ve already posted on Facebook that anyone who wants them can have some of the seeds I’ve brought back, and two people have already asked for them. So, already, doing something (even this very small something) was better than doing nothing. With luck we’ll have at least three extra backyards in the west end of Ottawa for butterflies to visit next summer.

I hope you don’t mind if I talk a little more about change and inspiration and possibilities and ways I’m trying to figure out to help the planet.

And, of course, if you’d like some milkweed seeds, please let me know!

 

Kids’ Lit Café

I’ve said it before, I love the library!

I really do. That’s why I’m so excited to be taking part in the upcoming Kids’ Lit Café, an interactive, family-friendly event featuring twelve authors and illustrators of children’s and teen books.

There will be ample time to talk to each participant about their craft, their books and the publishing process. There will also be:

Workshops!
Crafts!
Refreshments!
On-site book sales by Kaleidoscope Kids’ Books!

And more …

If you’re free Saturday, October 19 between 2:00 p.m. and 4:00 p.m., please drop by. It’s at the Greenboro branch at 363 Lorry Greenberg Drive. I’ve never been to this branch, but I understand (and Google confirms) it’s beautiful, so I can’t wait to see it!

Final carrot – Alan Neal will be there. I know my audience, and I know if you’re in Ottawa you probably listen to All in a Day, and you’d be very interested to meet Alan Neal without a radio in the way.

So come on out and say hi. Pass it on to other people you know who have kids who love to read or write. Nothing compares to the chance to meet and talk to twelve people who have produced real, actual books.

You / your child could be next!

 

 

 

What’s in a name?

Or, more precisely, a title.

When I was in journalism school, our program was responsible for putting out a small newspaper in Halifax, called the North End News. We took turns in different roles and I always liked being a reporter – finding and telling stories. I also always liked doing layout – moving type around using Quark on the huge Mac monitors in the lab. What I didn’t like was being an editor and being responsible for photo captions and headlines. Ugh!

Then again, I was never happy with the headlines my stories were given. The one I will never forget, that has scarred me for life, is “More Than Just Spaghetti”. I had written a careful story about a small business selling specialty Italian food, and the lives of the people who ran it, and I was actually pretty happy with my work, and then it was branded “More Than Just Spaghetti”. Not awful, you might think, but far from good. Very bland. A little silly. It made me not want to clip that story for my portfolio.

So, lesson learned. I might not like writing headlines – or titles – but if I didn’t do it, somebody else would, and I might really hate what they came up with.

Now that I write fiction, I also try to come up with my own titles. It’s not a process I enjoy, but I do think it’s important. Why?

(1) It’s part of getting to know your story. This is also true of creating a one or two-line pitch or a one or two-page synopsis. If you can’t write these things, are you really sure you know your story?

(2) It helps other people get a handle on your story. A title gives a story an identity. We ask “Have you read The Hunger Games?”, “Do you watch House of Cards?” We don’t say, “Have you seen that really interesting new, as-yet-untitled show, about power and politics in Washington DC?” If you want to talk about your project, I think it needs a title. I also think – I could be wrong here, but it’s my theory – that when submitting to agents and publishers, having a title to identify your work is helpful in getting them to invest interest in it.

(3) It needs a title, so you might as well get your two cents worth in there. It’s true that, in traditional publishing, you likely won’t have the final say on your title. I’m OK with that. If somebody else has some great, amazing, wonderful idea much better than mine, I’ll take it! However, if nobody is particularly inspired, and they can’t think of a great title, and you haven’t come up with one either, then your poor book, that you worked on for so long, might end up with a very mediocre name.

My experience, so far, has been pretty positive. Especially since I don’t consider myself a title guru. Objects in Mirror was very much, in my mind, a working title. I wasn’t too attached to it. I figured somebody would want to change it someday. So, when I started to realize that was going to be the title of the book, I had to look at it in a new way. And, you know what? I like it. It’s pretty simple and kind of interesting. It relates to the book, and most people have seen the phrase at some point in their lives. It looks good in print. I’m happy with the title of my book.

When working on my second book, I realized it also needed a title. For a while I just called it “Meg”, after the main character (a-ha! Her name is Meg!). But I wanted to start telling people about it. I wanted to apply for grants and submit it and other people needed to be able to relate to it. So I followed Rachelle Gardner’s “How to Title Your Book” post and, voila, Appaloosa Summer was born.

I like it so far. The funny thing is to hear other people using it. “I enjoyed Appaloosa Summer,” or “How is Appaloosa Summer coming along?” It’s like having the title makes it real. And, no, I’m not wedded to it. As above, if an editor has a great, thunderclap idea for a new title, I can roll with that. But, for now, I like APS (I also like having abbreviations for all my titles – OIM, APS).

Some of you will know I’ve started researching a book on the McKellar Train Crash of 1913. Up until now, the file’s been “McKellar”. Again, not that inspiring. So yesterday, I pulled up Rachelle Gardners’ trusty post and, within a few minutes, had come up with Derailed. It works because the train crash sets in motion a whole series of other events which derail the main character’s plans. Still not the only title I’ll ever accept, but I’m happy to have a title. Except I’m still not sure what the abbreviation will be …

So, how about you? Do you struggle with titling your work? Does it come easily? Do you not bother? And how about chapter titles? The chapters in OIM and APS are simply numbered, but I’m finding with Derailed, the chapters come to me with headings. Don’t know why, but I’ll go with it for now …