Eric Devine's Blog, page 20

Sneak Peek at Dare Me

As promised, here’s the cover reveal and sneak peek at Chapter One of DARE ME.

http://www.teenlibrariantoolbox.com/2013/05/cover-reveal-and-chapter-1-of-dare-me.html?m=1

That moment with your audience

Every year I present to various schools that use my first novel, This Side of Normal, as a text within the Biology curriculum. I love these opportunities because I get to speak with teens I don’t work with, and have the opportunity to connect with them about storytelling. This past Friday I attempted this with an auditorium of freshman.

When I pulled up to Shaker High School I tweeted this:

Little did I know just how prophetic these words would be.

I know how checked out students can be on a Friday afternoon, and this group came in riled up and ready for the weekend. I watched the cliques form along the rows, saw the unimpressed looks, the phones out, the boredom.

This is a fear-inducing moment, that instant when you realize the story about to be told had better be one awesome experience or the next forty minutes are going to be painful for everyone. That “A game”? Yeah, bring it.

And so I did. My presentation is on Prezi, so score one there. I didn’t tell the kids to put their phones away, because that’s like asking them to hold their breath–it’s only going to last so long. Another score. Then I asked them to relax and let me entertain them before the weekend hit. They eased back, and I began.

I tell my story of realizing I have type 1, how I handled that at home and at school. I tell wacky stories and bounce around the room. Literally. And on this day I did so with more gusto than I would normally. And the audience was into it. They laughed at my jokes, answered questions when I asked, and overall had a good time.

Then came the true test–No, not the pitch for my other books, that came at the end. I cannot talk about diabetes without discussing my daughter, Kaygan*. However, this was the first time I did so in front of a room of strangers, of teenagers who wanted to be into the weekend.

I pulled up the slide with the following picture:

The room was silent as I explained. To their credit, this group of kids who had read my book, and may or may not have been interested in what I had to say, treated with reverence, what were, for me, some of the most difficult words I have ever uttered.

That was the moment. Not the one where I knew I had to earn this presentation, but the one where I knew they cared. Because, really, that’s what my presentation is about. Caring enough to share, to pay attention, and to tell powerful stories. They got it, and then I talked about Tap Out and gave them a sneak peek at Dare Me.

The presentation was nerve-wracking and painful and a little sad, but ultimately triumphant. Just like the novel they had all read. There’s something to that. And I have the freshman of Shaker High to thank. Here are a couple of their tweets to me:

Keep it classy, Blue Bison.

*For those of you who have followed Kaygan’s diagnosis and adjustment: she’s now on an insulin pump and doing very well. She’s the same diva, but with one exceptional accessory. 

Pitch Perfect

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In Daniel Pink’s latest book, To Sell is Human, he offers updated suggestions for the elevator pitch (see a synopsis in the video below). Since I spent the weekend finalizing Dare Me, I started thinking about the need to begin pitching and marketing my work. Therefore, I’ve outlined the six pitches Pink suggests, and have completed each for Dare Me. Let me know which one you like best:

Pixar:

Once upon a time _____________. Every day, ______________. One day _______________.  Because of that, _____________. Because of that, ______________. Until finally _______________.

Subject line (as with an email)
Rhyme
Questions
Twitter
One word

Here goes:

Pixar: Once upon a time, three friends, Ricky, John and Ben were considering how to spice up their upcoming senior year of high school. Every day they hung out, Ricky had suggestions, as if he had a need, not merely a desire. One day he pitched the idea of year-long, anonymous, daredevil stunts, as an ongoing senior prank, and the boys envisioned an awesome future. Because of that, they began their adventures with death-defiance, and saw the popularity of their disguised selves skyrocket. Because of that, an offer of money arrived–a financier agreed to pay them for their stunts if they agreed to his dares–and the boys took it without regard for the consequences of signing on the dotted line. Until finally the dares went too far, and the point of no return had nothing to do with popularity or money, but whether or not the boys would live to enjoy either.

Subject Line: This video is f******* crazy!

Rhyme: A dare requires that you make men, or liars.

Questions: How much is your life worth?

Twitter: Pride goes before the fall, unless you’ve been asked to jump. #DareMe #Iaccept

One Word: Gamble

Expectations: Writing vs. Teaching

I have expectations as an author and I have expectations as an educator. One is not necessarily exclusive of the other, but I haven’t had the opportunity to see the two merge. That is until last Friday, when I delivered a presentation/lesson on plotting for fiction writing at a school different from my own (Queensbury for the locals).

As an author I expect to nail the nuts and bolts when writing. At this point I should have an easy ability to construct a story premise out of thin air and see how the foundation for it will emerge to support the rest. Once the foundation has been poured, I trust in my ability to design as I see fit. The story that rises will hopefully not be a cookie-cutter model, but rather, a distinct and intriguing dwelling. This can often take an extensive amount of revising, but that is fine, because everything stands on a firm base. I can tear down and begin again until it is complete.

As an educator, the goal is not about me. It is about what I can extract from my students. The constant thinking is: What can I do to tease out their knowledge of the topic? Along the way I facilitate this extraction and fill in the spaces where gaps in understanding exist. In short, I make them work in order to understand. If the following adage is true, this approach makes sense: “We remember 10% of what we read, 20% of what we hear, 30% of what we see, 50% of what we see and hear, 70% of what we discuss with others, 80% of what we personally experience, 95% or what we teach others.”

Therefore, on Friday, I approached a Creative Writing class hoping that I could provide them with a way to build a foundation for story-writing through a lesson that centered on the higher end of the percentages.

It was intriguing, because I was not Mr. Devine. I was Eric, and I was there as an “expert” someone who has written multiple novels and short stories. This lent a credence to the lesson that I otherwise would not be afforded as a teacher. The irony, though, is that I don’t think I could have pulled off as good of a lesson if I only wrote and did not teach.

Regardless, my blend of advice from Anne Lamott and  her ABDCE structure, combined with Jo Knowles’s storyboarding, mixed with one of my short stories and then the students’ own designs, made for one fantastic class. Every student in the room walked away with the bones of a fully formed story–the structure.

I left feeling very accomplished, because as an author, I knew it was sound advice I had given, mostly because it wasn’t all my own. However, as an educator, I had no idea if what I did had any impact, because the time for feedback from the students was limited. Even though the majority of the lesson was focused on the 80-95% realm, I had no idea if it would stick.

I checked my work email on Sunday and found a message from a student in this class, who offered thanks for my appearance and then discussed his writing and shared links to his work on a popular teen writing site. He wanted feedback. He wanted to know if the structure was sound. He had worked his way through my lesson and then viewed his previous work in a different light. He had taken what he had learned and applied it.

Moments like this are few and far between for an English teacher. It’s difficult to know if students fully “get it” because comprehension and communication are processes that continue to develop through adulthood. But this was evidence that I had succeeded on both fronts.

I could not have been happier. My two expectations converged with success. Maybe I know what I’m doing? At least I did in that moment I did.

That’s an expectation I can live with.

The Anticipation of What’s Next

For the second year in a row I have had the opportunity to work through the dark and cold of winter, to emerge into spring with the anticipation of my novel’s publication.

This past week, while in NYC, I had the opportunity to meet my agent, Kate McKean. She’s sold two of my novels and has helped transform me into the writer I am today, so it made sense to finally talk face-to-face. We had lunch and the opportunity to sit and discuss. Meeting Kate was more like talking to an old friend than it was having a business engagement, which was ideal. This is a weird, artistic, and very personal field. Yet, it’s still business. So for this to work, a lot of pieces need to click. And they did. So, thank you, Kate.

However, during our conversation, one question affected me more than the rest: “So what’s next?” This wasn’t a cautious curiosity. Kate wanted to know what I’m working on, because the expectation is that I am working on something. Because that’s what writers do. And even though people ask me this question all the time, it has never felt as profound as when I was seated across from someone with the power to turn the answer into reality. So I was happy that my response was greeted with laughter and then intrigue. Yeah, I’ve got some interesting things coming down the pipe, and I have no doubt Kate will keep asking the same question.

Then, on Friday, I received word that Dare Me is scheduled for publication on October 10th. Pre-order is available, and the cover image will be released soon. I know I teased before, but seriously, the reveal will be worth it.

With this news in hand, I immediately examined the calendar, strategizing for when I should hold a release party and signings. It’s six months out, but I’m already getting excited. And I hope all of you who are reading this are as well. Because the fun for me is the process. Write, release, and celebrate. Without you, this isn’t nearly as exciting.

I like this cycle, this building anticipation. And I like that its reach has expanded. Because, who knows what’s next?

The Big Apple

I haven’t updated this week. Here’s why:

We took the girls to NYC and I barely had time to catch my breath, much less post. But we’re home now, and the girls are thrilled with their American Girl dolls and their memories of our trip.

I’ll report back next week, when break is over and my feet aren’t so sore.

War Stories

I’ve been rejected by over 200 agents.

I’ve failed to sell as many books as I’ve sold.

These are two of my war stories from writing. I have plenty more, like how I lost my first two agents. How I spent the entirety of one Christmas vacation editing a novel. The list could go on and on.

Over the past month I’ve also heard many war stories from parents and nurses about dealing with type 1 diabetes. I’ve shared my own:

I had to use a syringe after I’d dropped it on a filthy bar’s bathroom floor.

I was so embarrassed about my disease I never talked about it.

We tell these stories, not necessarily because we enjoy what they reveal about our failures, but rather what they demonstrate about life. There is a universal desire to speak about how we have been there and have done that, not to boast, but to educate, to possibly save someone from the same mistakes we have made.

But these stories come at a price, as does anything told honestly. We are vulnerable after the telling, and may appear weak to others. But I don’t care about that. I have always been a staunch advocate for telling the truth, even when I couldn’t. I believe that transparency is fundamental in understanding our own lives, but that doing such is most often easier said than done.

I am an awful person when I am editing for a deadline. I might as well move out of my house.

My heart breaks every time my daughter says she likes having diabetes. I know she’s coping, but I also know what’s around the corner.

In Tim O’Brien’s masterpiece, The Things They Carried, he dedicates an entire chapter to “How to Tell a True War Story” and the message is thus:

“In a true war story, if there’s a moral at all, it’s like the thread that makes the cloth. You can’t tease it out. You can’t extract the meaning without unraveling the deeper meaning. And in the end, really, there’s nothing much to say about a true war story, except maybe ‘Oh.’”

Writing and chronic illness are not Vietnam, and I do not mean to belittle the atrocities of war. However, there is truth in O’Brien’s words for us in these battles. We may not be able to listen to the story told and immediately know how it applies to our own life. And possibly we never will. But we may also, out of the blue, have a sense of recognition so profound that the “Oh” is more epiphany than confusion.

Keep telling your war stories. They matter. Possibly more than you’ll ever know.

 

I Dare You to Help Me

Last September through December was filled with signings and interviews and a release party for Tap Out. The signings were as expected, for the most part–at the library and at book stores. But also with the addition of my favorite, the signing at McGrievey’s.

Thematically, the release party at Legion Training Center was ideal. Signing copies of Tap Out in an MMA cage? Yeah, that works.

But this upcoming September, Dare Me will be released, and I want to make sure that I find the right venues to connect with people for whom Dare Me is an ideal fit. Therefore, I’m looking for suggestions.

Below is the premise of my novel, compliments of my editor. Please read and think about who would want to read this novel, what venues I should contact, and what you’d like to see for the release party.

I planned all of the events for Tap Out and realize I most likely missed something, because I had no outside input. I’d rather not do that again. So drop a suggestion, regardless of whether you’re from the area or beyond. I’ll gladly give you credit for the idea and a signed copy of the novel once it is available.

And now, thinking caps on:

When Ben Candido and his friends, Ricky and John, decide to post a YouTube video of themselves surfing on top of a car, they finally feel like the somebodies they are meant to be instead of the social nobodies that they are.

Overnight, the video becomes the talk of the school, and the boys are sure that their self-appointed senior year of dares will live in infamy. Every dare brings an increased risk of bodily harm, but Ben cannot deny the thrill and sense of swagger that come with it. The stakes become even more complex when a mysterious donor bankrolls their dares in exchange for a cut in the online revenue the videos generate. But at what point do the risk and the reward come at too high of a price?

Seriously, shoot me a suggestion in the comments, via the “Contact” form, on Facebook or Twitter. I appreciate any help.

In the middle of this…

On 2/27, the day after my daughter was diagnosed with type 1, I was in the ICU with her when my phone chirped. Since we were in a lull, and I was mostly coherent, I checked what sounded like a tweet. Sure enough, here is what I saw:

Emma is one of my Running Press siblings. Her YA novel, CODA, set to release in a couple months, and the advanced reader copy I have is making its way around my classroom. The kids love it. Therefore, I felt it necessary to check this link, in spite of my surroundings.

I read, and found at the bottom of the post this question posed to Emma: 10. What else about the book might pique the reader’s interest?

She lists a number of things in response, and then adds some bumps for writers, including: “Eric Devine, my publisher/editor sibling, author of TAP OUT and the newly-announced DARE ME. I think he’s editing the latter right now, but if he has a minute I really want to know more about it.”

Now, here I was, in the hospital, my mind nowhere near writing or publishing, even though I was, indeed, in the middle of editing. But could I pass up this opportunity?

No. But at the same time, I’d yet perfected my elevator pitch of Dare Me. So what the heck could I do in 140 characters?

I flipped over one of the endless sheets of paperwork we’d received since Kaygan entered the hospital and I focused with all the creative energy I had for a few minutes and managed to come up with this:

I sent it off hoping for the best, praying I didn’t sound like an idiot, because Dare Me, while about all of these things, also has a wonderful undercurrent about family and friends and what we are willing to do for each other and how much we can sacrifice. And, as in all of my stories, there’s a search for one’s identity. But I couldn’t cram all of that into such a small description. And I didn’t have the time for multiple tweets. So there it went. And Emma replied:

That made me happy, and in that moment I needed a little happy.

Therefore, I sincerely thank Emma for providing an opportunity to speak about my work, which I just submitted the  last substantial edits for (fingers crossed). That means I’m moving into the fun territory of cover reveals and guest posts and all the promo that goes into launching a book. I am as excited as I was for Tap Out, but less scared. At least this time I know what to expect. That fear of the unknown always gets me.

And it’s fortunate that at this same time Kaygan is doing well. She’s responding beautifully to multiple injection therapy, and the paperwork is already complete for her insulin pump. Onward and upward.

And if there’s one bit of wisdom I’ve learned through this it’s that we are always in the middle of one thing when something else emerges. That’s life, and just something we must make room for.

The Rabbit Hole I Fell in Last Week

It is impossible for me to fully and articulately capture what my family and I experienced last week, mostly because I am still too emotional about the events. Therefore, I’m relying on a combination of Google images and pictures taken from my wife’s phone in order to keep this post shorter than the full-length chapter that my narrative of it would be. Long story, short: type 1 diabetes sucks, but family is stronger.

“D” day.

My five-year-old, Kaygan, had been “off” for a couple of weeks, sleepier and crankier than usual. But it wasn’t until last Tuesday when she was crying that she wanted me to take her to a doctor because she was so tired that it clicked. This is a classic sign of type 1, and I grabbed my trusty glucose meter and did what I had to. The result sent us to the hospital.

The E.R.

We were admitted rather quickly and the hospital’s meter confirmed the reading mine had displayed. My daughter was diagnosed with type 1. She cried, as did my wife and I, but we then pulled it together because this little face needed us to be strong.

Overnight

Sleeping in a hospital is near-to-impossible. Sleeping on the pull out chair, even more so. Sleeping on a pull-out in the pediatric ICU is a form of torture–you nod off only to be awoken by a beep of a monitor, a nurse checking vitals, a child crying. Fortunately, my wife swapped with me, so I could have a few hours in the cherished position next to our daughter. 

The Next Morning

Kaygan woke up rested, and happy to be feeling better. She got to eat, something she hadn’t done beyond a few crackers in over 12 hours. However, she would soon find out, quite sadly, that this day was the beginning of an entirely new existence.

Supplies and Education

I have had type 1 for 23 years. When I was diagnosed, I received an injection and was sent home, told to come back the next day. My daughter was seen by an Endocrinologist, a team of Pediatric med students, a Nutritionist and a Certified Diabetes Educator, who came loaded with swag, like the bear pictured above, books, and lots and lots of medical equipment. We learned–or had refreshed–the ins and outs of care, and Kaygan began to realize that all the things I do, she would have to as well.

Home Sweet Home–Kind of

Less than 24 hours later we were home. Mostly because of the incredible staff at Albany Med. But also because of the combined experience and knowledge my wife and I possess. She’s been with me since I was 16, so she’s as much of an expert, but both of us had to pull out all of our parenting skills once Kaygan was settled and had her first meltdown. The words that haunt me: “I don’t want to do this!” I don’t blame her. Because no one does. But damn it, we have to, and we had to help her come to terms with this.

Our other daughter

Through all of this our eldest, Grace, was amazing. Supportive, encouraging, caring–every attribute a parent wants to see from his or her child. But the next morning, after going to school, we got a call from the school nurse. Grace was puking. A lot. So my wife went and got her. We parked her on the couch, and then proceeded to put up a wall of disinfectant between her and her sister. A new type 1 patient and puking do not mix. Thank, God, Grace understood. She truly lives up to her name.

Visits and Trust

My in-laws came to stay with Grace so that we could visit the school nurse, principal and her teacher. I’ve been on the other side of reviewing 504 plans, but never have I realized how much trust and faith go into these documents. As parents we have to believe that the school will follow what we’ve discussed and put in print. Fortunately, I have absolute faith in my daughters’ school.

Coming around

Following the visit and then shopping and then soul-searching, my wife and I were thrilled to see the turnaround in our girl. She was eating and adjusting to the fact that injections–or “polka dots”–follow meals, and finger sticks or “finger pokes” are an ongoing affair. Somehow, in such a short amount of time, it was becoming routine.

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Bowling and Beyond

Sunday came and we finally left the house as a family, attending a bowling benefit for the brother of boys in our girls’ school. We walked in, nervous for the physical drain the activity would be, but happy to be back with the community, who was, at that moment, supporting a family that is plagued by much greater medical problems. It was humbling and reassuring. And yes, Kaygan did get a strike.

The Tooth Fairy and our sneaky dog

Sunday night we settled in, prepared to tackle the week, and Kaygan lost a tooth. In typical fashion she was excited for the fairy and the money, and my wife and I put one more thing on the list. I tucked the girls in and as my wife said good night, Kaygan requested her tooth, which was in a plastic bag on the couch. I found the bag being inhaled by our chocolate lab, Nola. The tooth was gone. I panicked, found a bag of popcorn and ripped off a piece, hoping it would pass. I put the impostor tooth into the special pouch for the fairy and then told my wife what had happened. She demanded we search again. With my sad-faced dog looking on, amazingly, the tooth emerged, on the coffee table, and very clean. Happily, I admitted to our daughters what I had done and we had a good laugh, thinking what the fairy would have brought for a kernal.

And, I don’t know, something in that bit of normalcy–for our family at least–made me feel as if we were turning a corner. A slight one, but a new path for sure.

Monday

Kaygan returned to school. Nerves fried, my wife and I hung on. And all went well. The entire school was thrilled for her return and she came home beaming. She bounced around the house had her finger poke, took her polka dot and proceeded to play and dance with her sister. Just like she’s done in the past. But now, a week later, in better health than she’s experienced in a while.

It’s a beginning of a life that will hold ups and downs in a way that not even I, with my decades of experience, will be able to comprehend. But my wife and I will try, because that’s what you do for your children. Whatever it takes. Every day. 

I’ll post to update on Kaygan and, of course, writing. But it’s obvious to me, even at this early stage, that my perspective has been altered. And that is fine. We live, we learn, and then I write. This is our life, and thanks for taking the time to follow along.