Eric Devine's Blog, page 8

Single-mindedness, summer, and a new home

The view out of my new home, looking at my former house.

For the past 18 days I haven’t written anything besides to do lists. My life has been nothing but projects around my new house, and attempts to enjoy the remainder of summer. And I couldn’t be happier.

My hands are sore as I type this, cut and swollen from the enormity of black locust weeds I’ve cleared. My back and legs and arms are sore from dragging limbs, from cutting, from stooping and crouching. But it’s that good pain that comes from work that results in accomplishment.

What my hill looked like up close.

How the black locust looked at the edge of the pool

Locust thorns

This is all a kind of a misnomer for me. I’m not handy. I don’t have a green thumb. Many people are shocked at the “manliness” I’ve exuded with this new house. People think of me more in my usual repose, reading, writing, telling stories.

But writing is hard work. It’s a grueling, sometimes nasty daily exercise that has prepared me for the pain I currently feel. I have this tendency to dive so deep into my work that nothing else matters. Nothing else is even visible. In the three weeks leading up to our closing, I did just this, all day long. I wrote for 4-6 hours and then the rest of the day as I packed, never once did I stop  thinking about the story. I forgot to eat, to shave, to remember to be human.

That skill set is not “manliness”. It’s not even OCD, as my wife affectionately tells me. It is single-mindedness. It is an ability to block it all out. To forget everything in search of one pursuit. It is a trait that can destroy, but it is also one that can produce phenomenal results.

Fortunately for me, I’m at the tail end of summer. I soon have to switch that focus off my home and back to work.  And that is wonderful. Because even though I don’t have a book coming out this year, I already have three events lined up for the fall, and one in the spring. I’ll also be busy with the next round of revision for LOOK PAST, and whatever I must do with my other novels and their various states.

But right now I’m thinking about my lawn, and how it needs to be mowed, and a drainage pipe I might install, and what the hill will look like in the winter, and sleigh riding. And so yes, I have a lot on my plate, and miles to go before I sleep.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Aftermath of my work

Barely Existing

I have barely existed for the past couple of months. First, I finished out the school year, and then mentally prepared for the revision of my next novel, after reading the 12-page revision letter I received from my editor. Then I hesitantly strategized, mapping out a way through all I had to do. Once exams were over, I opened up the manuscript and dove in.

I have worked steadily since then, but for the past few weeks, with the sale of my house and our subsequent move looming, this has been my schedule:

Up at 6 am. Drink lots of coffee.
Write for 5 hours.
Try not to collapse.
Pack.

It’s been absolutely brutal. I am trying to keep so many balls up in the air it’s stupid. I mean that. It’s utterly ridiculous what I’m doing: rewriting a novel while selling my home.

Which is what I’ve done. Because my strategy was good, but you know what was better? Burning the whole thing down and starting over. Yup, amid one of the most stressful events in one’s life, I threw gasoline on the fire. The result? A damn fine draft.

I’ll begin reading it through tomorrow, but I already know it’s awesome. And not awesome as in my editor’s going to read it and say, “Yay, no more revision necessary!” More like. “Good. Now, do this…” followed by maybe only ten pages of suggestions.

But at least I’m here. Fifteen minutes ago I wrote the last line, and it will change, but so what. I made it all the way through. And this story has taxed me like nothing else I have ever written.

I have broken the mold of my author brain and have used all the soupy goodness to create something that I can only hope will resonate in enormous ways. Because that’s the goal. Each book is different. Each book is better. And LOOK PAST is going to blow your minds. Sure, you won’t be able to read it for over a year, but yeah, it’s going to kick much ass.

I know this because it’s already kicked the shit out of mine. Which is also the goal. If this were easy, we’d all be writing novels. This work, because it’s capital W, effing, Work takes a part of your soul to complete. Not just hours. But time, energy, care, compassion, and a constant self-doubt that propels you to seek out new ways and better ways to tell the story. Because if you don’t, what’s the point?

And so I exist again. In the sense that I can write this and now go pack up my bedroom. But, hey, wait until you see the view from my new office. 

Thank you for your patience as I have worked my from the dead back to the living.

A ‘Devine’ Lesson

edevine:

A post that has validated so much for me as an educator and an author.

Originally posted on The Nephilim Rising:

Image:  Taylor Marie McCormick

“What is a teacher? I’ll tell you: it isn’t someone who teaches something, but someone who inspires the student to give of her best in order to discover what she already knows.”

Paulo Coelho

I have been in a bit of a funk, it is a mixture of Mercury Retrograde, the Full Moon coming, and the bit of drama I dealt with (the critic aka hater). I just felt like I was stuck in the middle of a hurricane but no one was effected except myself, and there was not a soul in sight to save me. I allowed myself to get stuck in a mental rut, and I existed there for a few days before I had no choice but to shield, and pull myself out of it. I am still actively fighting to refocus myself. While in the midst of this madness I have…

View original 2,310 more words

Summer is Coming

It’s the end of May, which means soon will be my favorite month of the year. This June I will turn 37, will begin revising what will be my 5th novel, and will finish out 13.5 years of teaching.

And this year, following June, I will move out of the first home I purchased and have lived in for 11 years, and will move into a new home.

I’ve also been working extremely hard at finishing a first draft of a novel so that I have space for the editorial letter that I will soon be receiving.

All of this has coalesced into a weird time for me. As an author, things are always a little weird, but lately I’ve been talking about my projects, when typically I never do until they’re sold. I may be gaining that thing called confidence. Possibly. All I know is that when I began telling my daughters about a dog named Sprinkles from my manuscript, they melted. As did my students, who I also told. And then when I read the description of Sprinkles to my eldest daughter, she fell in love.

I don’t ever do this. Aside from my first reader, my agent, and my editor, no one sees my work. Just like no one ever used to see the office in my house. That was a closed door, but now as it’s been sold as a fourth bedroom, it’s wide open and I write at my kitchen counter.

Yeah, my life’s gotten strange and opened up and oddly accessible by others. But it’s good. The change is refreshing and as far as writing has gone, very productive.

I have no clue how the next month will play out or how the writing will look in my new home. But if this trajectory continues, I’m good. Because even if I’m breaking so many of the rules I’ve set for myself when it comes to writing–not talking about it, needing a separate space, etc–I’ve found that they’re not necessary any more. I guess this is what happens when you trust in yourself and not the routine.

At least that’s the story I’m telling myself.

I hope you all had a pleasant Memorial Day weekend and that June ushers in warmer weather and a hint of the freedom of the summer to come. If you need me, I’ll be hanging out in my kitchen :)

Fun Times at the Hudson Children’s Book Festival

Between spending ungodly hours prepping my house for sale, and without a book being released in the fall, I haven’t felt very authorly lately. However, the Hudson Children’s Book Festival this past Saturday helped alleviate that feeling.

I had only heard good things about the festival, I didn’t know anyone who had attended. But still, I applied over the winter and was accepted, and then didn’t think too much of it because I had so much time to prepare. And then spring arrived at it was time to drive an hour south and hang out with the Hudson community and the authors and illustrators they had brought in. So, the night before, I checked the site, and was wowed by the names in attendance. Go, Hudson!

When I arrived, the school campus was already buzzing with activity and I quickly grabbed my gear and found my table. And surprise, surprise, I was seated next to the amazing Jennifer Donnelly. You know, the author of A Northern Light and  Revolution and the The Waterfire Saga series, among others. Yeah, her. I immediately turned all fanboy and gushed about her work, which I’ve loved for a while. Then I got my table set up and the floodgates opened.

Are you at @HudsonCBF? Come find me. pic.twitter.com/n1EkzYPIIA

— Eric Devine (@eric_devine) May 2, 2015

Excellent turnout @HudsonCBF pic.twitter.com/WNFEw0T4Zn

— Eric Devine (@eric_devine) May 2, 2015

My other table mate at HCBF! Super cool author Eric Devine with his book Press Play! pic.twitter.com/QlABPnr00n

— Jennifer Donnelly (@JenWritesBooks) May 2, 2015

Prior to the event’s start, I had asked a volunteer what the crowd number would potentially be. She said, “In the thousands.”

And she was right. From 10-2 there was a steady flow of people coming through the doors. And they BOUGHT books. It was astounding to see. And all the orders for all of the authors were handled by a local Indie bookstore, The Spotty Dog. That alone is an amazing feat but combined with the organization of ordering for each of the over 75 authors, it’s truly remarkable.

The highlight of the day was talking to the teens and the parents as they came through and said, “I’m reading that right now. It’s awesome!” Or, “My friend loves Tap Out!” “I need Press Play, I didn’t pick it up at Teen Reader Con.”

Additionally, there was an excellent mix of girls and boys. Readership among teens, across gender lines, in Hudson, is certainly not an issue. And they all had preferences about the books they enjoy, the genres, and why. It was so amazing to hear a tween riff on the importance of Fantasy YA, while her older sister did the same about Contemporary Realistic. There are some amazing things happening both inside and outside the classrooms for these kids, and it is precisely these kinds of events that keep them coming back for more.

On a beautiful spring day thousands of people turned out to spend time with books and authors. After such a long and difficult winter, the Hudson Children’s Book Fest was a nice way to come out of hibernation. I intend to go back next year :)

The Hudson Children’s Book Festival has some serious swag. Yup, that’s their logo in dark and milk chocolate. pic.twitter.com/E9QPRqVeCK

— Eric Devine (@eric_devine) May 2, 2015

Home prep, just like revision.

My home, pre-dawn, and through the rain.

I’ve been prepping my home for sale for the past three weeks. That may seem like a long time to prepare one’s home, but when it comes to the details, my wife and I are very much on the same page, and that one feels a lot like revising a novel.

You start with the mess of a story and you immediately get rid of the excess, the unnecessary.

We did precisely this with all the garbage and extra clothes. It was a mountain, but the house was so happy to be rid of it.

From there, in revision, you systematically work your way through each scene, identifying the best parts, and accentuating.

We painted doors and trim, patched and painted holes and divots, and repainted entire rooms. And then we organized each one, identifying what focal points needed to be highlighted and rearranging to accommodate.

This is an exact parallel to realizing that your story is not for you, it is for the masses, it is to be read. Yes, use your words, your beautiful lines, but you arrange them for the benefit of others.

Then there was the final cleanup, the scrubbing and polishing and eradicating those things that could be looked over, but shouldn’t be. Like inside the fridge. Or, more painfully, like painting over the height markers for my daughters, etched on the doorway to my office.

This is that final pass of your manuscript, where you omit all those phrases that never seemed to work all those other times you read, and however beautiful, you do it.

Working alongside one’s wife for three weeks might seem incredible challenging, even downright scary or intimidating for some. Not for me. Yes, it’s been difficult, because there was so much work, but I wouldn’t trade a minute of it. We were able to collaborate, reminisce, laugh and cry, all over our shared experiences in this space we have called home.

This is similar in the experience of revising my work. Sure, I do a lot on my own, but often it is under the guidance of either my agent or my editor. They spend as much time with my words as I do, and I have to trust their instincts and insight, because like with a home, you can lose sight of the forest for the trees. And often it is a necessity to be able to see both. I enjoy this process, watching the effect someone else’s appreciation of my story. This is where the fullness of the writing takes shape.

And now we put our home on the market, which is so very much like submitting a manuscript for consideration. You just never know. So many factors go into why a story is selected or rejected, that it is not always a reflection of the author, but of market needs, of trends. Yet, it is still ALWAYS about the writing. Same with a home. It is always about the presentation. And like with my words, it’s not perfect, but that’s not the goal. Interest, engagement, excitement, those are.

So fingers are crossed, as they always are in my life :) But the journey of writing a story has its own reward, as does preparing a home. I’m enjoying reaping the benefits of our work, and looking forward to what’s next.

The spring break that wasn’t

The corner where my writing desk used to reside.

I’m selling my home. I’ve lived here for the past 11 years, have brought both my daughters home to this address, and have written all of my novels here. And yet, I’m selling. And it’s killing me.

My wife and I spent all of spring break (we’re both teachers) clearing out the detritus of 11 years, painting and fixing and finishing all the projects I’ve put off for years. I didn’t write at all. Instead, each day was filled with 12-15 hours of manual labor, and every part of me hurts. I have cuts on my hands, along with chemical burns from cleaning solutions. I bent my arm the other night and it locked into the T-Rex position. After I shattered a glass, I knelt on it while caulking, and in spite of the blood, just kept on going. Because that’s how we live now. The deadline is ticking.

And we’re not yet done. There’s still more painting and patching and caulking and raking and on and on. But it will be worth it. Our home is morphing into something less personal, more polished, and ready to sell. Our sites are set on our next house that we will make a home. And so if you find me only sporadically online, know that I’m busy with another project, one that is at times as intricate as writing a novel.

Come July, when hopefully we’re in our new digs, I will settle into a summer of writing and editing. I have a lot in store, but like with our home, it’s a process, and every bit needs attention to detail.

For Dan, How to Be Descriptive.

I don’t offer writing advice. Mostly because I don’t feel like an expert, which I know may seem weird as an author and English teacher. But, largely, that’s because I’m always questioning what I know, which may be fundamental to learning anything. The second, and more broad reason I don’t like to give advice, is because I think the process of writing is different for everyone. So the caveat that always applies is the following: this is what works for me, and it may or may not work for you.

And so, with that said, let me offer some advice :)

Recently, following a school visit, I received letters from the students, thanking me for visiting, which was awesome, but also asking for writing advice. One particular student, let’s call him Dan, asked the following:

“How do you write with such description? I just can’t.”

Huh, how to be more descriptive. That’s a knotty question, and one I think is excellent for every writer, regardless of his or her stage in the game. However, I think the question is better framed as “How do I provide just the right amount of description?” For some, like Dan, this may mean more is necessary. For others, possibly less. But for all, it is always about hitting the sweet spot of details for each scene. And every scene has different demands. And every writer has a different way of meeting those demands.

For me, I don’t go for extensive character description. I don’t like to completely paint physical characteristics. I enjoy leaving that up to the reader, because, I feel, it can engage the reader more fully with the story. They have to do a little work, and that’s important. Being involved and not passive is exactly what should be going on in good writing.

Therefore, my focus for detailed description falls to character action and setting. I am a firm believer that seeing what a character does is for more important than how a character looks. And providing a vivid backdrop on which this action takes place is simply necessary.

So, the question is how that is done. My answer: close your eyes and be the character.

When we write, we are not ourselves. Sure, we’re the person in the chair, hammering away at the keyboard, but we are also the girl or the boy, the villain or the hero. We have to be. We must get inside not only their heads, but become them, mind and body.

With your eyes closed, you can envision the scene unfolding, much like a movie. What do you see? What do you hear and feel? Is there anything to be tasted or smelt? It is not that you have to incorporate all of the senses, but it is important that all description not be limited to sight. The word “imagery” can be deceptive. It is truly about all five senses and creating that real-world, 3-D like quality. The reader does not feel distant from the story. The reader is in the story, and to do that means proving just enough detail, exactly as it needs to be, but not too much, nor too little.

Yes, it sounds a lot like a recipe. It is. And that is how you should build your story, ingredient by ingredient, for each scene. Some need more noise, others, touch. If you are living your character’s life, you’ll know intuitively.

Of course I could be blowing smoke, so let’s take a look at Dare Me. The following excerpt is from the first few pages, where Ben is about to perform the first dare.

I turn and look. Nothing but cornstalks and pavement, blue sky and puffy white clouds. Perfection. I focus on that image and the stillness, the quiet. If I don’t, I’ll chicken out. My mind’s already filling with scenarios for how this will end badly. But school starts tomorrow, and I agreed to this, however it goes.

I pull the ski mask over my face and slide out the window.

The wind whips even though Ricky’s only going like thirty miles per hour. I can’t hear what John’s saying. His mouth’s moving, but it’s like being in a dream, all background noise, nothing real. He jacks his thumb into the air, an obvious sign for me to get on the roof. I take a deep breath, steady my elbows, and push myself up.

My feet tingle and my heart hammers, but I keep going. I grab the roof rack and pull and am flat on top. The wind pours over me now, but the space around my face is calm. Unreal.

I would suggest that as a reader you were very much with Ben there, not merely watching him. You felt his anxiety, juxtaposed to the beauty of the day. He’s doing stupid things and you understand his terror as it unfolds against the whipping wind.

So, if that works for you, Dan, and any others, cool. If not, there are excellent books out there like Stephen King’s On Writing and Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird. Pick one up and see if the advice there strikes a chord.

If you liked this advice and would like more, please don’t hesitate to ask.

And, as always, keep writing.

 

Fordian Fun

By the end of my day presenting to grades 7-12 at Waterford Jr/Sr High School, I was backed into a corner by a mob a middle school students looking for signatures and selfies. “They sold out of books. Sign my arm,” one kid said, and so I did. The bell rang and a teacher told the group they needed to get to class. They didn’t budge. With phones in hand they wanted pictures. They got them, and then I packed up, went home, and collapsed.

Fortunately the drive wasn’t far. I live in the town in which I presented, which boasts a K-12 school for the tight-knit community. To say the day was a success would be a gross understatement. Because as I sat, after hours of presenting, my phone began a slow and steady explosion that would last the rest of the weekend. The students had found me on Twitter, and the teachers and parents, and others in the community, on Facebook. And all were positive:

Was very honored to have @eric_devine come to our school today. Your speech was amazing!

— Noah (@NoahPowers24) March 6, 2015

the fact that there is an author who understands the struggles of being a teenager makes everything better thank you @eric_devine!

The Stories We Tell Ourselves

Writing and being an author is not easy work, and for the majority of us, it isn’t all that lucrative. Certainly not in the way I hear many people talk about it :) In spite of this, I, and so many others, forge on, because it is never solely about the money, and two events occurred recently that underscored what it is truly all about.

I had my eldest daughter with me at her younger sister’s gymnastics class, and she wasn’t too thrilled about it to begin with, but as we settled into the bleachers for viewing, a man came in with his son. He knew someone else there and began a conversation with the woman, while his son played away on his tablet. At one point, this guy started talking about his work, and not in a conversational tone. He was literally standing, straddling a row of bleachers and talking at this “friend” of his.  After discussing bonuses won and how “ridiculous” the amount was, he then said, “I make two-hundred thousand a month.” Everyone, including my daughter, looked around like, This guy!

And so we sat and I watched my daughter flip and fling herself all over the place, while thinking about this guy’s work. It’s in sales and from the way he made it sound, wasn’t overly complicated. There’s clearly a need that his company is fulfilling, and if he was being honest, in a very lucrative way. And as one does when you are a writer, I put myself in his shoes and tried to imagine what his day was like, his life, his motivation, his philosophy, his deep thoughts.

I didn’t like what was there. It was cold and calculated and focused on money alone. I slid closer to my daughter, while the man yammered away, seemingly unaware of his son, the rest of the parents, and even to a degree the woman with whom he was speaking.

Now, all of my observations could be biased and wrong and entirely based on misinformation. Yet, even if I’m wrong about him, there is always That guy, and he manages to make our financial endeavors seems small.

However, earlier in the week, I was out to dinner with my family, and my eldest, who is creative and who writes stories and plays and is careful with her language was acting very much like me at the dinner table, correcting her sister on the use of some word and then watching a pair of adults to “see the similarities,” as she said. Yup, she was doing the author thing, where we stare and use what’s there to make up stories, to read the lives we think we see–exactly what I did with the guy at gymnastics.

So I turned to her and said, “Do you really want to be like me?”

She looked up, shrugged, and as she answered, looked down. “Well, yeah.”

My heart broke a little in that moment. I had only been joking. Because as much as I adore being an author and focusing on things that most people don’t, and may never need to, I still wouldn’t trade it for having my attention saturated with thoughts about finances or sales or the hustle. Apparently, neither will my daughter.

And I love and hate that. There’s only so much room in this world for people like us, the daydreamers and the storytellers, while there seems to be an abundance of space for the rest. Yet, I also know that it’s not the big picture, what the others do, that matters. You will never control that. But we can hold tight to our little lives and their stories, and how focusing on the small details, the nuances, may be the best way to spend them.

At least that’s the story I’m telling myself.