Eric Devine's Blog, page 21

How to be an Author

For years I have relied on two books regarding the craft of writing: Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones and Stephen King’s On Writing. I have always known there are others, and have realized that I could learn a thing or two from them, but I’ve just been busy writing and applying the advice from these two that I haven’t sought more. Now, I have another.

Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird is almost 20 years old. I read it this past week and the advice resonated with me on so many levels. It is truly a gift on honesty and insight.

While reading, I experienced the serendipity of finding numerous articles on the craft. These, along with Lamott’s work, and that of Goldberg and King have led me to a few conclusions about what it takes to be a writer.

 1. Mental Instability

I don’t mean this in a derogative way. I just recently commented to another author that I have always been “a little off my rocker.” It’s true, I’ve never quite fit in terms of how I see the world, how I perceive things. This doesn’t make me special, just someone who sees through a different lens. But it is this slant of vision that allows me to tell stories. It is the same off-kilter characteristic that pervades all of the books and essays I have read from authors, who try to detail just how and why they do what we do. Because it is an odd way to live–inside your head–telling stories that no one hears until you have them down in print. And that’s only if you let them. But the process hinges on this way of being, and it seems I am not the only one for whom writing is therapy.

 2. Meditation

Another word that has a certain connotation that may not apply. I’m not talking about sitting with legs crossed, eyes closed, measuring one’s breath. Although, I haven’t tried such, so who knows? What I mean is a certain receptivity to people and events that occur under the surface tension of everyday life. In short, we notice the little things others do not, and then we think about their meaning on a grander scale. I often get so lost in thought, while at work or home, that it appears as if I’m not paying attention to anyone around me. This couldn’t be further from the truth. I didn’t realized I had this trait until my wife pointed it out to me after high school. She watched me wend my way through the halls, my face blank. I used those moments for bad poetry. Today, I get lost, catching snippets for my novels.

 3. Routine

I don’t think this aspect applies to authors only. I believe every successful person–however you define such–will have a certain degree of entrenched routine. All of the writers discussed habits of turning writing into an automatic expression of thought by simply writing daily, at a certain time and for a certain duration. I didn’t fix on my time and duration until after my children were born, but I am locked in now. It’s not without sacrifice, though, and I think an unspoken element of routine is commitment. I do not enjoy going to bed an hour after my five-year-old, but to be up early and to have the consistency to write, I adhere. Monday-Friday mornings are alight with the sound of my keyboard in the silence of my home.

Sum of Parts

Obviously this is not an exhaustive list, that isn’t the point. I merely hoped to showcase some of the criteria that seems to be swimming inside authors. If you find a loved one demonstrating these qualities, offer them some space and a keyboard or notebook. I think what may come will surprise and delight.

 

One project at a time?

Sorry, I had to use a Tard image, because I love his grumpy face. Also, he answered the title question perfectly.

I am currently working on three projects, one of which I’ll provide a bit of a teaser for at the end, so keep reading. It seems insane to be working on three books at once, but it also is the only way to survive. I must be ahead of the curve and always prepared with new material. Plus, it’s a hell of a lot of fun to move form one intense world to the next. Here’s a peek at each.

First, my next novel, Dare Me, will be released in the fall by Running Press. I don’t have an exact date, but I do have a cover image (hint, hint). I have to complete at least one more pass of the manuscript based on my editor’s notes. Fingers crossed it’s only one. From inception to now, I’ve had two major passes that physically hurt. But the pain is worth it because the finished project, a story of YouTube daredevils going from daring to death-defying, will be fantastic. It is not as dark as Tap Out but the intensity remains. When it’s complete, I’ll offer some teaser excerpts.

Second, as I’m finishing up Dare Me, my agent is reading the novel I wrote this past summer and fall. It has a tentative title, and my first reader loved it. He was even surprised by the ending, which I think amazed both of us. But I cannot give away too much, because until my agent gives the green light, the manuscript is just that, not quite ready for the “novel” label.

Third, I am currently working on a novel that is far and away the largest departure from my comfort zone. Yet, also something I’ve always wanted to write. I’m researching as much as I’m writing and am having a great time watching this story come together. Here’s hoping I can see it through in the next couple of months.

Last year at this time I never would have thought I was going to be this far down the rabbit hole. But now, I find it to be the only place I want to be. I hope you continue to enjoy and share Tap Out, and I look forward to offering you more work so that you can continue.

*Teaser*

You made it this far, so here’s a tiny slice of the cover to Dare Me. Enjoy:

The Unique Aspects of Authorhood

Recently I went to another author’s book signing. When my eldest asked where I was going that evening and I told her, her face folded into a look of contemplation.

I said to her, “Honey, I’m not the only author around here, you know? There are a lot of us.”

She laughed and said, “I know that, but nobody else at school has a dad who writes books.”

I could only assent to this, knowing the families at the small school she attends.

She then said, “It’s just…” I swear I watched her pick the word out of her brain. “It’s…unique.” And she smiled a much broader grin, proud of her accuracy with word selection.

My smile matched hers, because it was nice for me to know the degree to which she understands the world, as well as because of the bit of perspective she provided.

Being an author is unique, in spite of the fact that there are millions of us. Each book is its own slice of life, a story within a story. I can remember so much about what occurred within my personal life via frames of reference to what I was writing.

I also get to create and express myself in ways that most people do not. There is an amazing liberation in this, one that I fully believe most people would find addicting. So often, if we are wise, we censor ourselves, because it’s the right move for a myriad reasons. However, the walls of decorum come down when it’s a character, not me, who gets to speak.

And, I know many people find it nerdy, but writing is damn cool. I am successful in an activity that I love, get to meet all sorts of amazing people, and have opportunities to enjoy the unknown, the whatever’s next. That is not always the case for people, personally, professionally or both. I am lucky.

So yes, it is a unique job, and yes, I’m sure my daughter didn’t imply a fraction of what I just wrote about. Or maybe she did. Because she’s living this life, right next to me. And this uniqueness is contagious.

*For Fun* Here’s a list of 10 “Unusual Jobs”. I’d be willing to clean a crime scene, and think being a Whisky Ambassador has to be phenomenal.

Imagination

I recently read an interview in which an author of Young Adult fiction was asked, “Why are you the only one who could have written this story?”

The implication of the question seems to be that this fictional tale is a metaphor for the author’s life, that her experiences (non-fiction) are simply being recast as fiction. I don’t like that notion. While author’s do draw from their own lives–I’m not arguing that we don’t–whatever happened to the element of imagination?

I’m currently reading Death, Dickinson and the Demented Life of Frenchie Garcia by Jenny Torres, and in the story is a scene where the protagonist (Frenchie)–a smoker–is asked to take a deep drag off a cigarette because another character (Andy) wants her to describe what she feels. He can’t get past the taste of cigarettes, but loves the idea of how it seems to feel so relaxing. Frenchie takes that drag and describes it as such:

And when you exhale, it’s like you’re letting everything go. Like the smoke scoops up all your worries and expels them from your body and they’re gone for that second.

Whether you’ve ever smoked or not, there’s a truth in those words, because you’ve seen others feel this way, or have felt this way yourself. Now, is Torres a smoker? Once was? Had a family member or friend who smoked? I don’t know and I don’t care. Because there is an honesty in those words, and that’s all that matters. Because that is the heart of storytelling: delivering a truth.

Truth comes to us in many ways. Through our lived or vicarious experiences, but also through our pure imagination.

In Tap Out I wrote many difficult scenes, because they were violent or vulgar or heartbreaking, and one of the worst is the scene where Tony attacks his mother. Both my agent and editor noted this scene with asterisks and questions in the margin. It’s as raw as they come.

I didn’t live like Tony, never saw such violence firsthand, or ever heard of something similar from others. I made it up. It’s pure imagination. I was close enough to Tony’s heart and soul, as if he were real, and so I knew what he would do. That’s all there is to it.

I don’t know what that says about me, or any other author who has the ability to go there. But it happens. And in beautiful ways as well. The Art of Racing in the Rain comes to mind, and The Life of Pi, as do so many other titles.

So, for me, had I been that author, I might have said, “I don’t know that I am the only one. I think I’m fortunate to know what I know, and to use that in writing, but to also have the wherewithal, the imagination, to fill in the blanks as necessary.”

Tap Out and the 2013 Quick Picks for Reluctant Young Readers

Hey, here’s just a quick post in case you missed this on twitter or facebook. Tap Out made the cut for YALSA’s 2013 Quick Picks for Reluctant Young Readers. In essence, this means that librarians feel if you are looking for a title for a teen, who doesn’t like to read, the books on this list might be a great place to start. The titles are as diverse as the readers who will find them and love them. I am thrilled to have Tap Out on the list, because I believe it is a perfect fit, and the chance of librarians and teens finding this title is that much greater. I’m still holding out hope for an at-risk teen connection, and possibly that may arise from this as well.

I would also like to thank Running Press for putting the support needed behind my work so that librarians knew of its existence and had the opportunity to examine its value. And of course thank you to the librarians who nominated and then voted for Tap Out. Your work is important and I am glad to be a part of it.

Thank you.

ALA Midwinter Anxiety

I’m anxious. It’s not cabin fever, in spite of how cold it has been, but rather I’m uneasy because of ALA Midwinter.

I so enjoyed my time at ALA Anaheim over the summer, I am envious of what I know is an absolute blast for the authors, librarians and publishing industry employees. Especially for the authors. I am jealous of the atmosphere, the camaraderie, the readers, fans and immersion in everything BOOKS, that when I check the #alamw13 feed, I so want to be there.

But I’m happy for those who are there, especially the authors from Running Press. I know for some they are having that first experience that I had, and it is well deserved. So I can find the silver lining, and that is good. But then there’s how I feel about the YALSA Quick Pick List for Reluctant Young Adult Readers.

Tap Out is on it, along with, I believe, 100+ others. After the voting today, how much would I like to see my work on the top ten? I’m not sure how to quantify such desire. Not the same as how bad I wanted to get published, but on par with how much I desired positive reviews. And sales. But that’s the thing, being on the top ten would affect both reviews and sales. So there’s that, and the unbelievable recognition.

And the quick pick list isn’t even close to the big show of the Caldecott, Coretta Scott King Book Awards, Newbery, Printz, William C. Morris and more. I cannot imagine how those nominees feel. I hope they are anxious, because I would be a knotted mess.

But, in all sincerity, it is awesome that Tap Out is even on anyone’s radar. There are so many unbelievable YA books that I am lucky to have been noticed and considered. I am thankful and grateful, but also expectant. I believe this is just my nature. I strive, succeed and then strive some more.

I don’t believe it’s an inherently poor way to live, but it is one that keeps me on edge, keeps me anxious and keeps me wanting more–from myself.

So fingers crossed, here’s hoping. And if not, it’s all good. There’s always next year.

The Only Constant

2013 has gotten off to a rocky start. There was the flu I am still recovering from, and most recently, a boiler and fireplace that are acting up, kitchen cabinets that are snapping their hinges and putting holes in the wall, and a stained hutch that looked better in the mind’s eye than in the light. Quite simply, my house is a mess and I don’t have the wherewithal to fix it, because I’m still recovering, and yeah, still writing. A lot.

I am currently waiting on edits from both my agent and my editor for two separate projects, and I’ve just begun a third. One that requires extensive research. For the most part research isn’t something I’ve had to go out of my way to complete. I work with teenagers. I’m equal parts field researcher and educator. Tap Out did require a fair amount of gym time, interviews, and hours on YouTube, but where I’m going requires a fair amount of people opening their hearts and their lives to me. I will be much more intrusive and not nearly as passively observant.

And I feel ridiculous taking this on, considering how in shambles things are for me. But if I wait for the right time to move ahead, to stretch my capabilities, that time will never materialize. The one constant I’ve found in writing is that I have to say yes. In spite of everything else, say yes, and then write it. Because if it’s what my heart desires, then I have to feed that emotion. It doesn’t always work well, but it fulfills a need and a purpose that serve a greater end, one that even I only vaguely understand.

Trust me, I spend a significant amount of time behaving just the opposite. I live a regimented, disciplined life, plotting out piece by piece, not to dissimilarly than a novel. But this world is not under my control, and rare is it that I have a chance to follow a whim. That is why, amidst the ridiculousness that is my life, I reach out to people, I write and I write and I write. It is cathartic and it is a bit of therapy. It allows me to explore and learn and grow. It is easy to stagnate, and writing keeps me fresh and vibrant.

Regardless of the superstition I feel over the fallout of 2013, I’ll get over it. In no time I’ll be in my groove, the house will be in order and I’ll laugh about the rocky road the beginning of this year has been. But I’ll get to do that because I’ve looked past the immediate to what lies beyond, and I feel it’s phenomenal. It will take a hell of a lot of work to get there. But I cannot think of anything worthwhile that didn’t require such.

Goodreads and the week that didn’t exist

Last week didn’t exist for me. I went to work Monday. That was it. From there it was a series of appointments with my doctors and a lot of sleep. When I was awake, I wasn’t very with it, and was completely useless as a father and husband.

A week later, I’m doing better. Not great. My first day back to work was exhausting, and I’m still ready for bed around 7 pm. But I can function, speak coherently and have returned to writing.

However, during this malaise I did have one accomplishment: I overcame my fear of Goodreads. 

When I first heard of Goodreads, I immediately signed up for an account and started adding the books I could remember reading–it happens that way, I just read so much. Then I realized that there was an entirely different purpose to Goodreads, the reviews.

I took a glance at the ones for Tap Out. Painful. There were some strong opinions about my work and about me, and I did what any rational person would do, I freaked out. And then I never went back to Goodreads. What was the point?

Well, there is one, but I’d missed it in my fear. The author end of Goodreads. Yes, this site that collects reviews and makes it easy for people to connect over books and find titles similar in taste also provides marketing services to authors. All you have to do is ask.

So I did. Something I should have done back in August for the pre-release of Tap Out. We live, we learn. So now I am running a giveaway on Goodreads for a signed copy of Tap Out. At this point there are close to 300 people entered to win. That’s pretty fantastic, I think.

I have not reached Goodreads expert status, yet. But I am aware that there are many options for connectivity on the site, and I will certainly look into each. But for now, I’m just happy to have overcome my trepidation. It’s just too bad it took the flu to get me there.

Inside my head…literally

This is a CT scan of my sinuses, which I had taken on Monday because my allergist was certain I had a lingering sinus infection. Apparently, this shot indicates that I don’t. I woke up Tuesday morning shivering uncontrollably and took my temperature. It was 101, not outstanding, but as I typically run at 97, a bit high for me. Therefore, I was home from work yesterday and am home today. I’ve been sleeping 12-15 hours, eating what I can and taking pain killers. I also watched The Dark Knight Rises and read a fair amount of The Miseducation of Cameron Post. I’ve also had a fair amount of time to think.

First, I probably have the flu, a weaker form of it because I got my flu shot, but a nasty virus nonetheless. This irritates me because I did what I was supposed to and it didn’t pan out. But that’s life for you.

Second, I have awesome health care. I had two expensive exams when my allergist could have easily figured on infection, written a script for antibiotics and washed her hands of me. I love my doc for caring so much that she looked deeper.

Third, I also love my colleagues for pitching in and helping out. Emailing lesson plans in the fog of sickness is not easy, but they made it work and my students are being taken care of.

Fourth, I feel sorry for my daughters, who saw me so vulnerable. It was not easy for them, as I received a clandestine note from my eldest stating, “Feel better Daddy. I feel sorry for you and love you.” That hurts, but at least this virus will pass.

Last, I love my wife for taking care of EVERYTHING around the house, from meals to homework to school uniforms, and on and on. We share responsibility and my sense of guilt over not being able to do my share is enormous.

I’ll get back to writing as soon as my brain allows. This post was rather taxing, so I know I need more time for the big projects. Until then, I’ll keep my eyes open to the world around me, and the different ways it unfolds when one is incapacitated. Perspective is everything.

Or so I think.

On Letting Go

I’ve had a nagging problem with editing my next novel, tentatively titled, Dare Me. To properly edit, you have to be able to see your work’s failures. Objectivity is key. But I haven’t been able to achieve that objective distance because I’ve had something else on my mind: Tap Out.

My rough and tumble novel has been out for almost four months. It’s not as if the fanfare has died away, but the energy behind foisting it upon the world has been spent, and now the story is moving on its own volition, with readers finding it and posting about it and passing it along. And like a child, I must let it grow, let it walk alone, while I sing its praises and offer support.

At the same time, I must give my attention to my baby, Dare Me. For the past month, I did this, hiding out in my office while the swirl of Christmas built outside my door. I dove in with my editor’s notes in hand and cleaned up my mess and got my characters straightened out and ready for the world. And like any parent, when I was done, I needed a drink.

Still, however, that nagging was there. I knew I’d edited well, but something continued to crawl under my skin.

Because of the holidays there was little time to give this consideration during the week from Christmas to New Year’s. And then there was snow, two storms here in the Northeast. And I had to shovel.

Stephen King discusses in On Writing how writers should always be writing, but how after finishing a project they should also take a little break to recharge. I tend to heed King’s advice because he’s Stephen King, and I think he knows what he’s talking about. Therefore, I was out in the snow, not writing, not editing, just scraping away my driveway, and I came to clarity.

I love Tony and Rob and my cast of characters from Tap Out, but I have to let them go. I have to make room in my heart for Ben and his friends and the insane antics they get involved with in Dare Me.

This, apparently is the life of a writer: Love, let go, and love again.

And I do. I love Tap Out. I love Dare Me. I love the novel that will follow both, and the one after that… and on and on.

With this notion I reread Dare Me. I forgot that I’d ever written anything else and focused only on Ben and his friends and the stunts and the pressure and the conflicts. I didn’t need to edit. I just needed to read and enjoy. And I sure as hell did.

So I continue down this road with you, my wonderful readers, and your tireless support. You don’t need to let go of any of my work, but please make room. Tap Out isn’t going anywhere, but understand that the wild ride has just begun.