Matthew Aaron Browning's Blog, page 4

Writing is Rewriting

This whole novel writing without novel selling thing has been a blast, but…

For those of you who may be new to my little corner of the Internet, let me catch you up before telling you how I plan to spend my summer rewriting pretty much everything I've ever written.

2008: I started writing my first novel.

2011: I finally finished what I thought was a decent draft of that novel and began querying literary agencies (far too soon, I might add).

2012: After several rejections and revisions, I had a solid version, attracted some attention and signed with an agency!

2013: As my agent shopped that novel around, I wrote a second one. First one got good feedback but no offers.

2014: Second novel entered the pitch realm along with first novel. Had similar fate. Meanwhile, I was invited to participate in Brent Hartinger’s Real Story Safe Sex Project. Wrote a short e-book prequel to the first novel, with safe sex themes and sexual situations. Made it available for free download. Got decent reviews, which perhaps would’ve been better if the first novel were already available for immediate consumption. Oh well. Also, I wrote a third novel.

2015: Third novel entered submission realm along with the other two as I began stewing ideas for a fourth novel. Feedback on second novel remained quiet. Got closer than ever to an offer on first novel. Got really excited. Then got a pass. Started to really grind teeth over the traditional publishing process (and its glacial speed) and also over my apparent suckyness as a writer. (Maybe it’s because I use words like suckyness?)

That brings me to the present. The teeth grinding is over, because you can’t let it last too long. I mulled over the feedback on the first novel from the editor that liked it enough to move forward within the publishing house, and then reread the manuscript for the first time in a year. The feedback was totally on point. So I shelved plans for novel four and went back to square one. I just finished yet another revision (I think we're on like #93 now) of novel one, and truly think it’s in better shape than it’s ever been. It’s latest round of submissions commences now.

Meanwhile, book four will remain shelved for, potentially, the summer as I revisit first book three (because the story is a bit fresher for me) to whip it into stronger shape, then book two (which has also not been revisited in about a year).

"Writing is rewriting" is such an overused phrase, but overused phrases are overused for a reason. In this instance, it's because it's true. And so it goes.

And so must I go. Because I #amrewriting.

Stanzas 4: Together We Move On

This is the fourth entry into Stanzas, a feature on the blog in which I share some of the poetry and lyrics I've written over the years, along with the stories of what inspired them.

Together We Move On

Don’t be afraid.


The stars are rearranging


And the moon at night


Will lead the way until the dawn.


The tears we cry


Form a river to the ocean.


Leave the past behind you,


Together we move on.


 


A new horizon


Is waiting somewhere in the distance.


We’ll sail upon the water


Until all the pain is gone.


The wind will keep our secret.


The mist, it never speaks a word.


So leave the past behind you,


Together we move on.


 


I wrote this in 1999, a very transitional year for me. I was starting to accept certain things about life and about myself. My worldview was changing ("The stars are rearranging"). It's yet another poem about escaping. There are some natural elements here – water, wind, mist. I was really into that sort of stuff at the time. This is a fairly simple one, but I think it says a lot. It's a favorite.

Books as Baby Shower Gifts

Lately, I’ve found myself immersed in children’s literature. I primarily write Young Adult fiction, so I’m never too far from books with a youthful slant, but I’m talking about even younger than that. As discussed in this post, the cool folks at Read Aloud West Virginia are all about such books right now, and I was excited when their mission spilled over into my day job.

Then, I started shopping for a couple of good friends who were expecting their first baby. I could’ve gone the traditional route – headed to their online gift registry and picked through the remaining items. But it was already so late in the pregnancy that I imagine all that was left was either really cheap odds and ends or really expensive stuff nobody but their own parents would buy. So I asked myself, what would a writer give as a baby shower gift?

The answer was obvious: children’s books!

Then the fun part started – deciding which books among the zillions out there would make the cut. The first choice was easy, my own personal favorite: The Wizard of Oz. It was doubly easy because the expectant mother and I share a love (obsession?) with all things Oz.

Then I turned mostly to classics: The Velveteen Rabbit, Goodnight Moon, The Giving Tree and Green Eggs and Ham (because all kids need a little Dr. Suess to get them started).

Finally, I threw in a couple more recent books. Toot by Leslie Patricelli, because it’s cute and hilarious and real. And Duck and Goose Colors, because mommy is also a graphic designer and they, you know, like colors and stuff. Don’t they? In the final analysis, I thought it was a nice representation of books to start out with and grow into. 

What about you guys? What would your choices be if giving books to a tiny person just beginning their journey in this world? 

Stanzas 3: Wander

This is the third entry into Stanzas, a feature on the blog in which I share some of the poetry and lyrics I've written over the years, along with the stories of what inspired them.

Wander


"Oh, Francis, it's so good to see you," they said.


"It's been such a long, long time.


Come and sit with us here at the table


And stay with us for a while."


 


Francis sat down and told of his travels,


Describing these places with fondess and praise.


Francis could talk of such things for hours


Or, given the chance, perhaps even days.


 


Someone said, "Why all this fuss about Francis?


What of the things that we've done since he's gone?"


But another said, "Nothing has changed but the weather


And the page of the calendar, the day that we're on."


 


Everyone reveled in Francis's stories.


They ate their supper and returned to their beds.


They envied dear Francis underneaeth the surface,


Deep in the most secret parts of their heads.


 


Francis looked 'round and knew he was different


And wouldn't return to that old town again,


Stuck in a time of new things still imagined,


Frozen like a photograph for remembering when.


 


"Going so soon?" someone asked before leaving.


"Wouldn't you like to stay for a while?"


Francis just smiled and said, "Thank you for asking,"


Turned and kept walking mile after mile.


 


Francis knows that summer turns to autumn.


The trees, they sense the coming of the night.


They drop their leaves and age with winter,


And the leaves will return along with the light.


 


The world keeps turning, the borders expanding,


New things keep happening all over the land.


Some people stand up and move along with it.


Francis likes marching in that kind of band.


 


Often he'll turn and look over his shoulder


And think of the places he's leaving behind.


Some people wonder, but Francis, he wanders


Off to see what all he can find.


 


I wrote this in 2007, so it's a little more recent than the others I've shared so far. It's another "escape" kind of poem. Where I come from, people don't often venture too far from home. It's a way of life that always had me feeling a little left of center growing up. When I started writing this piece, I had no idea who Francis was going to be. Somewhere along the way, he became me.  

Stanzas 2: I Carry On

This is the second entry into a new addition to the blog, called Stanzas, in which I'll be sharing some of the poetry and lyrics I've written over the years, along with the stories of what inspired them.


 


I Carry On


I drive these same roads


Back and forth every single day.


I could close my eyes


And still be able to find my way.


I know the scent of coming rain


And how the currents sway


So why


Does this not feel like home?


 


This is the house


I have lived in for so many years.


This is the pillow 


On which I have cried a thousand tears


Lying on the bed


That's kept me safe from all my fears


So why


Does this not feel like home?


 


Home


Is a place in my mind


I've yet to find for real.


Home


Is somewhere far beyond


This loneliness I feel.


Since I can't seem to find it


Lost among the days long gone,


For now I carry on.


 


This is my private room


Where I could hide and just be me,


Inside these four white walls


Where I lost my virginity.


This is the closet


In which I hid the darkest part of me


So why


Does this not feel like home?


 


This is my body


Feeling all the pain and passion deep within.


My heart is used to keeping


All the secrets crawling through my skin


And the visions


Torn between the pleasure and the threat of sin


So why


Does this not feel like home?


 


This is the simple question


I'm searching for the answer to.


I'm holding on to hope


Since there's nothing else to hold on to


On the chance that someday


Maybe my dreams will all come true


And I'll find


A place that feels like home.


 


Home


Is a place in my mind


I've yet to find for real.


Home


Is someplace far beyond


This loneliness I feel.


Since I can't seem to find it


Lost among the days long gone,


For now I carry on.


 


I wrote this in 2002, when I was 22. It was the last thing I wrote before moving out of my childhood home and venturing off into the scary world of adulthood. I guess it's my goodbye to that era of my life and a sort of prelude to the next chapter. It's interesting to read this one all these years later. I'm still carrying on… 

Stanzas 1: Armored

My first forays into creative writing were as an angsty teenager, when I discovered poetry and lyric writing as a valuable release for the pent up emotion, frustration and confusion that my fourteen-year-old self was muddling through. I’ve always been very private with the writing I did during those times, but recently reread some of those old pieces and thought they deserved to be shared. So I’ve decided to periodically post some here on the blog, under the Stanzas label, along with the backstory that inspired them. I’m starting with one that’s very personal to me. I wrote it in 1997, when I was seventeen, and it perfectly describes where I was at that time in my life. It’s called Armored.

Armored


Another night and I’m


Sleeping armored,


Trying hard to feel


Safe inside.


Morning light and there


Is no comfort


From those demons


Inside of my mind.


 


Building walls and


Closing windows,


Mere attempts to keep


Wolves at bay,


Where I can’t hear their


Weak works of wisdom,


Where I can’t listen


To the things that they say.


 


I cry tears and


Sit in the corner,


Still waiting


For the memories to fall.


Does the sun shine?


Does the moon rise?


I don’t remember


The world at all.


 


For days are years now


And it’s still with me.


I cannot hide but


Only shiver in fear.


The words echo


In my mind and


I can’t stop thinking


It’s my own voice I hear.


 


Why are these walls so


High around me?

Why am I armored


When it’s me I’m hiding from?


Now I’m trapped here,


Sealed forever,


And from myself


There is nowhere I can run.

 

While I haven't added to it in years, I've kept all these pieces compiled under the title Unarmored, in reference to this piece and the fact that, as a whole, they lay bare who I really am/was/will be. Reading this one now, at 34, I can honestly say that life is better without so much armor. I hope you liked this. More to come…

What is a #bookie?

The folks at Read Aloud West Virginia have taken to social media to spread the word about their important mission of creating a state full of readers. They do great things to encourage reading by and to school-age youth, like providing reading packets and books to schools and organizing volunteer reading programs. 

Their latest venture to raise awareness about reading is to encourage people to share their favorite children's book with a #bookie – a spin on the ever-popular selfie, only with your favorite book in the pic! So when I heard about it, I had to upload the gem you see here. I've been an Oz nerd for as long as I can remember, so the choice of book was easy. However, deciding which copy of the book I own would make the #bookie…well, that was another story. I opted for a well-worn Little Golden Book edition because it's the earliest version I can remember. There's some sentimental value attached to it, and last year, Read Aloud West Virginia contributed to the magazine I edit as part of my "day job" with an article about the importance of reading aloud to kids. Some colleagues and I shared our own favorites. Here's mine:

Check out the full article here, beginning on page 20.

Also, check out Read Aloud West Virginia on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter and upload your own #bookie! And if you're going to be in or around the Charleston, W.Va., area in March, consider attending ReadAPalooza2015!

 

Novel Writing Takes How Long?

“The first draft of a book—even a long one—should take no more than three months, the length of a season.” – Stephen King, On Writing

Nice advice from Mr. King there, huh? And probably an achievable task if writing is in fact your full-time job. For many of us, especially those of us whose career is still in its relative infancy, that just isn’t the case. Or maybe it’s just me.

My first book took three years of on-and-off work to complete a solid first draft, which was rewritten again, again, and again. Of course, when I started it was something I did as a hobby between work, graduate school, and life.

My second book took about a year. It started as a NaNoWriMo experiment that was later scrapped and rewritten. But I still had a solid draft by the end of a year. Still a long time, I suppose.

I recently finished my third book. I started in the spring and churned out the first half of it in about two months. I was excited. I bragged about how easily this one was coming. Then, somewhere during the summer, I hit a wall. I knew where I needed to end up, but I couldn’t get my characters there. I took a break that lasted longer than I wanted it to. A couple months later I came back to the project and shook up my usual process. I prefer to write linearly, but since that wasn’t working I skipped to the end and worked backwards. It did the trick. By the end of November I had a complete – and rather strong – draft. Beta feedback was promising. Agent Steve had only a few suggested revisions that I was able to address during the holidays.

I suppose if these examples are any indication, novel writing does get easier with practice. It’s like anything else: the more you do it, the easier it becomes. Riding a bicycle. Playing the piano. Writing a novel. Sure there are plenty of factors: quality of your story, time commitment on your part, the tendency for life to totally screw up your schedule. But each book has come more easily than the last. Maybe by Book #4 I’ll finally fit within Mr. King’s suggested seasonal timeframe.

For now, here we are with a good working draft of another new project. 

Meanwhile, what about you guys? How long has it taken you to get a solid first draft of your book(s) written?

 

Top 10 Books of 2014

‘Tis the season for “Best of 2014” lists! From The Washington Post to Publishers Weekly, it’s easy to find groupings of the year’s best works scattered all across the Internet. Far be it from me not to join in the fun. So, in random order, here are my 10 favorite books I read this year.

Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel: Nominated for the National Book Award in fiction and a fixture on several Best Of lists this year, this spellbinding novel follows a traveling theater troupe as it roams across a post-apocalyptic landscape. Weaving the stories of several characters together, seamlessly shifting the narrative from before and after a flu virus wipes out 99 percent of the human race, this book was easily my favorite of the year.

10% Happier by Dan Harris: ABC News anchor Harris had a panic attack during a live broadcast of Good Morning America back in 2004. It led him on a journey from nonspiritual skeptic to, well, a nonspiritual skeptic devoted to the practice of meditation. Part memoir, part intro/guide, this book presents meditation and its spiritual and religious ties strictly from the point of view of a nonbeliever who questions the validity of everything and comes to his own resolution. I’ve long been a fan of Harris as a journalist, and now I’m a fan of him as a person.

Jackaby by William Ritter: Ritter's debut mystery novel introduces us to an intriguiing new sleuth in Mr. R. F. Jackaby. Set in 1890s New England, it has a classic mystery feel with a supernatural twist. Billed as Sherlock Holmes meets Doctor Who, it's no surprise I was drawn to this delightful book. Of course, such lofty comparisons tend to raise expectations, and I'm happy to report mine were met. Oh, and the cover is gorgeous, too.

The Silkworm by Robert Galbraith: With the mystery of Galbraith’s true identity solved following publication of “his” first book (it’s actually Harry Potter scribe J.K. Rowling writing these), this book was an instant hit – and an instant purchase for me when it came out. I enjoy a good mystery novel, and Rowling has created a lovably gruff detective in protagonist Cormoran Strike. Amazon called it “compulsively readable,” and I’d have to agree. Nothing earth-shattering with this one, just a fun who-done-it?

Grasshopper Jungle by Andrew Smith: A plague of six-foot-tall praying mantises overtakes the human race. Sounds like a straight-up science fiction gore fest, huh? Not in this hilarious, emotional and bizarre tale that truly defies categorization. Teenage protagonist Austin battles his own raging hormones and sexual confusion/frustration while trying to save the world. An excellent read.

Hollow City by Ransom Riggs: The second in a trilogy, this sequel to Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children continues the story of Jacob and friends as they make their way toward London, picking up right where the best-selling first book ended. I was a latecomer to the Miss Peregrine series but flew through both the original and this follow-up with page-turning zeal.

The Thing I Didn’t Know I Didn’t Know by Brent Hartinger: Russel Middlebrook is back, a little older and (maybe?) a little wiser. After following Russel through his teens in books like Geography Club and its sequels, Hartinger now introduces us to a twenty-something Russel struggling to figure out who he is and where his life is going. A breezy and insightful read, as all the books in this series have been, The Thing I Didn’t Know I Didn't Know accurately portrays the questioning, longing and stupid decisions that we all experienced in our early twenties. Dubbing this new foray “The Futon Years,” plans are already underway to continue Russel’s adventures into young adulthood. Here’s hoping we follow him well beyond that! I can already see it: “Russel Middlebrook – The Craftmatic Adjustable Bed Years.”

Noggin by John Corey Whaley: Another National Book Award finalist, this clever read finds its teenage narrator awakening with a brand new body five years after having his head cryogenically frozen. Hijinks ensue as he readjusts to life as a teenager when everyone around him has moved on. I really enjoyed this…and more than once flashed on this Golden Girls episode:

Choose Your Own Autobiography by Neil Patrick Harris: NPH does nothing in the traditional sense, and penning his memoir is no different. Inspired by the Choose Your Own Adventure books, Harris weaves a hilarious, insightful, and fun journey in which you, the reader, are in control of his destiny. There’s intrigue, danger, magic, a hefty dose of humor, and even some fancy recipes. Admittedly, the gimmick did wear on me a bit as I progressed (you’ll have to do plenty of backtracking if you want to read every page), but it was still a fun, original twist on the celebrity bio.

I Said Yes to Everything by Lee Grant: I’ve always been a fan of actress Dinah Manoff, who you may remember from movies like Grease and TV shows like Empty Nest, so that’s what drew me to the memoir of Oscar-winning actress/director Lee Grant – Dinah’s mother. A candid tale, Grant bares all her insecurities here, especially those resulting from being blacklisted (her first husband was a Communist). Her reemergence as a bankable star and, then, documentary filmmaker is fascinating. In addition to Grant’s juicy personal life, this is also an insider’s account of an interesting era in Hollywood.

So this is an abbreviated list of favorites! (I read plenty of other books this year that were fantastic but 10 makes for a nice, even-numbered list.) Feel free to share your favorites in the comment section. I’ve got a little over a week left in 2014 to discover new books and bump something from this list!

Writer vs. Cat

When authors have pets…