Inspirations

A little inspiration from The Writer’s Almanac:

It was on this day in 1936 that the novel Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell was first published. When she handed the manuscript over to editors, it was in terrible shape, with more than 1,000 pages of faded and dog-eared paper, poorly typed and with penciled changes. But they loved the story. They asked Mitchell to change the original title, “Tomorrow Is Another Day,” because at the time there were already 13 books in print with the word “tomorrow” in the title. They also asked her to change the main character’s name from Pansy to Scarlett.

Mitchell later said, “I just couldn’t believe that a Northern publisher would accept a novel about the War Between the States from the Southern point of view.” But Gone with the Wind broke all publication records. It sold 50,000 copies sold in one day, a million copies in six months, and 2 million by the end of the year. The sales of the book were even more impressive because it was in the middle of the Great Depression. The hardcover of the novel cost $3 a copy, which was fairly expensive at the time. Its sales injected millions of dollars into the publishing industry. The year it came out, employees at the Macmillan publishing company received Christmas bonuses for the first time in nearly a decade.

I’m ashamed to admit that I have yet to read Gone with the Wind, though I will one day. Who can resist a book that’s not only won the Pulitzer but that’s also had the NYTs crowing praise like, “This is beyond a doubt one of the most remarkable first novels produced by an American writer. It is also one of the best.”

Write on, all.

I’m teaching quite a bit this summer, and one of the things that writers always talk about is their fears. Fear of failure. Fear of success. Fear of self-revelation. Fear of your sister realizing that awful character is her. Free-floating fears, too, that morph into whatever shape currently needed to keep the writer from taking whatever plunge is required just now.

I am a person who has always been afraid. My six year old self was so afraid of wrecked cars that it seemed I could hear a chorus of screams whenever we passed a junkyard. This caused a lot of trouble in my family because we had to pass a junkyard on the way to picking my father up from work, and I would be hysterical about it before we ever arrived. My father finally decided to address it by taking me to the junkyard and showing me there was nothing to worry about. I clearly remember being carried into the area, all those cars smashed and wrecked, crumpled bumpers and shattered windows, and all that violence.

But once I stopped sobbing, I noticed—huh–they weren’t screaming. They were just lying there, quiet and spent. There was a dog in the junkyard. He was black and friendly and he let me pet him. A few weeks later, I was walking home from school and suddenly came upon a parked car with a big dent in it. I stopped, poised to freak out, but I just looked at it and it didn’t scream. It was fine.

This might sound like the beginnings of a schizophrenic break, but the truth is, I had accidentally wrecked my mother’s car a couple of years before. We had come home from the grocery store, and my mother carried my baby sister and two bags of groceries into the house, and told me and my other sister to sit still and she’d be right back. Seizing the day, I scooted over and said, “Let’s drive!” and pushed down the emergency brake. The car was on a little slope, and it started rolling down the driveway and smashed into the side of the house. There wasn’t much damage. I mean, I don’t think so. I remember pulling the brake, but nothing after that. Neither of us were hurt.

Physically.

My son has had a tortured season of baseball. He loves the game. Loves it. But he wasn’t playing the game as well as he wanted to play it. He’d approach home plate, bat in hand, and hear all of the voices–real and remembered–around him. Stand like this. Hold the bat like that. No, like that. Move back from the plate. Strike! The rules and the voices had become like an anesthetic to his innate understanding of the game, his love of it and, yes, his talent. I told him weeks ago that he needed to forget all of that–bag the rules–and just try to hit the ball, trust himself. He balked at that; he had to follow the rules or he’d be in trouble, and he wouldn’t hit the ball if he didn’t–duh, Mom.

It wasn’t my peptalk, or my husband’s, that finally got through to him. It was something he did all on his own: walked up to the plate, just stood–stood where it felt right–blocked out the voices, went for it–high ball or not–and…whack! A solid hit out into left field. Later, one into centerfield, and then a hit that landed him a triple and brought home two runs.

Several games after this milestone, he’s one of the team’s best and most reliable hitters.

Most of us who are aspiring authors have plenty of voices around us: critique partners and other friends, spouses and other family, and sometimes even agents or editors. These voices can escalate when we’re close to something good, because these are people who want us to do well, offering their very best advice to help us round the bases of publishing.

But there comes a time when you have to recognize that it’s you and the bat, standing quite alone at home plate, facing the pitch.

Oh my god, you guys. You have no idea how much I want to tell you my news. But it has to wait until papers are signed, the t’s are crossed and the i’s dotted. Then I’ll spill it.

But I wanted to blog about something we aspiring writers rarely hear. And yet we must be prepared for. We must prepare for the YES.

Oh, we’re old hands at dealing with rejection letters. They used to ruin a day, or possibly week. But they mostly amuse now. Of course it’s a rejection. Next.

You’d think getting the nod from a publishing professional would be an occasion to rejoice. And it is. For those of us slogging away at our dreams, few moments will be as blindly awesome as hearing someone who is in a position to publish your work say, “it’s good.” Note that I said few moments. The birth of children and having someone commit to loving you forever is also amazing. But hearing YES. Man alive.

Thirty seconds later, however, is a whole ‘nother story.

I subscribe to a monthly e-newsletter written by Jurgen Wolff called the BRAINSTORM E-BULLETIN. What I like about Jurgen’s newsletter is that he takes tips from all around him and then extrapolates for the writer. This month’s tips are rooted in life lessons inspired by a communication designer, a novelist, a Forbes magazine article on innovation, a psychological study and a famous lateral thinker. Jurgen takes each of these tips and then makes them actionable for all of us, too–an extra step I appreciate.

This month’s most interesting nugget for me was the psychological study. Here’s the blip from Jurgen’s newsletter:

Last week, I blogged about learning from positive rejection. But let’s face it, not all rejection–even positive rejection–provides valuable gems you can learn from. Agents might call your work “luscious,” “exceptionally good,” “tremendously promising,” “magical,” “evocative.” You might be labeled “a very gifted writer,” “a great talent,” with “a lot of potential” and “a fresh voice.” They might say, “we’d love to see other works,” or “please do query us again,” or “you got it going on, dog!” (Sorry, crushed American Idol aspirations leaking into my blog post there.)

But.

You’re not always going to get the golden nuggets. Rejection won’t always make sense. And it can be flipping frustrating to be rejected when elements outside your abilities are pointed at as the reason for rejection–like that the children’s picture book market has veered away from original fairy tales even though yours is extremely well written, thank you very much. It can be frustrating when you receive praise and then get the standard “not right for us” line without further explanation when it seemed your work would be exactly right for that agent/house. It can be frustrating when the agent you’ve gone back and forth with a few times, making nips and tucks per his/her suggestions, suddenly decides to leave the business to groom poodles in France. It can be frustrating to come thisclose and then…nothing. It can be frustrating to get one of a million mass-printed postcard rejections that offer zilch. Once, I even received someone else’s rejection letter. Poor guy, I wonder if they ever let him know, or if he was sitting around for a year waiting, hoping, wondering, feeling meloncholy, getting pissed off, kicking his well-groomed poodle. And isn’t that one of the biggest frustrations of all–not hearing back after you take the time to research agents and query?

I’ve just come back from a few weeks overseas, mainly in France, where my family originally comes from. It was great being back there, seeing everyone, spending time in both Paris and the South (where the family hails from). It was lucky too that my stay coincided with some particularly beautiful spring weather, with the countryside looking spectacular, full of the scent of warm grass and masses of flowers. France is such a beautiful place, which satisfies all the senses so well-including, of course, its marvellous food! and I always feel a great sense of well-being when I’m there.

But the trip wasn’t just about seeing family or even indulging in the sensual pleasures of a French spring; it was also about filling the treasure-chest. The writer’s treasure-chest of ideas and images and inspiration, that is. I was not only thoroughly relishing all the myriad beauties of the country; I was also writing them all down, attempting to capture them in words, to see and feel everything strongly, to file it away for use later. Trying to capture the exact way the sunlight fell on leaves; or the divine smell of lilacs by the side of the road; or the sudden plop of a frog as it jumped into a pond, the quick movement of the first grass-snake of the season just a few steps away; the bright Van Gogh yellow of fields of canola; the slightly cracked sound of the bell around the neck of a Pyrenean cow; the smell of fresh cheese in the markets; the saucissons hanging up in the butcher’s shops, the delicate beauties of cakes in the patisseries; the delight of a name like boutons d’or, as the French poetically call buttercups(the name means buttons of gold); the ancient Roman theatrical mask embedded in the very wall of a very old church, and the way the floor of that church ressembled a river bed, studded with pebbles.

In Paris, it was the shop windows that really got me,

Therese and I are starting to get it together again after returning from our annual writer’s retreat. For the fifth year in a row, we–along with fellow writer-buddy Elena Greene–rented a cottage in a beautiful setting, left instructions for spousal units to feed and care for offspring, and gave ourselves permission to immerse in writing. (Here are Therese and me . . . me looking a little worse for wear due to a couple of glasses of the Fingerlakes’ finest vintages.)

This year we added two other writers to our trio to make us a quintet. I was a little worried that we were going to get in each other’s way scrapping for electrical outlets for our laptops and fighting over the comfy couch. But we spread out to the corners that suited us best, and dug in.

Last year, I posted tips on how to plan a writer’s retreat. The number one rule for success is essential: pick people who are as serious as you are about writing for this indulgence. You’ll throw away time, money, and opportunity if you saddle yourself with folks who want to chit-chat while you want to go roaring through a scene, or worse, view the whole enterprise as a lark. You and your writing buds can be at various stages of publishing, but they must understand that the prime objective of the retreat is to write.

Kathleen and Therese step in for a second to officially welcome Barbara Samuel to the forum. This is her first post.
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“If you are seeking creative ideas, go out walking. Angels whisper to a man when he goes for a walk.” ~Raymond Inmon

I am a great believer in walking. Not speed walking or to win some contest; not to conquer or prove anything (although competition, too, can be good for the soul). Just plain old walking. Walking to shake out the tight spots in a body. Walking to fire up the imagination, to cure the blues, to nourish the spirit.

I especially believe in writers walking. Sitting at a keyboard for unending hours is hardly a healthy act for the body, and sitting in a single room, all by yourself with only a cup of coffee and your iPod for company hardly does a thing for refilling the well. Walking takes no special clothing, and almost everyone can do it. You don’t have to walk fast to get the benefit, or even go anywhere special. Walk out your front door and walk along your street or lane or alley or field. Walk like a dog, imbued with curiosity and pleasure in the moment itself: right now, walking!

Every day around 8:30, my chow mix patters into my office and sits down with a heavy sigh. I ignore him at first, usually, since My Writing Is Important and dogs can be walked at any point during the day. Jack disagrees. After ten minutes, he creeps closer to my chair and breathes on my side. Just that hot, hopeful breath, unbelievably annoying. Still, I can often ignore it a little longer.

At which point, he will raise his glittery gold-red paw and put it lightly on my leg. Please? Which he knows I cannot resist.

We get a fair few fans of Erin Hunter’s bestselling YA Warriors series to WU because we were lucky enough to interview authors Kate Cary and Cherith Baldry, who write the books under the pen name Erin Hunter, as well as the brains behind the series, senior editor Victoria Holmes, who is an accomplished author of YA novels in her own right. Vicky was a guest contributor for WU for some time, providing insights into the growing YA market until the Warriors phenomenon exploded and demanded more of her attention. So it deeply saddened us when Vicky alerted us to a tragedy that had occurred to a devoted fan who, with her parents, was killed in the horrific tornadoes scouring the midwest in February.

According to Lynn Wiman of Vintage Books, a bookseller who knew Emmy:

Erin Hunter has no greater fan than Emmy Cherry. She not only read every book, but insisted that we all read them. I am 50 years old, and reading them. Her grandparents are reading them. Her aunts are reading them. Every child in the Middle School is going to read them. Because they are Emmy’s favorite authors.

But Emmy’s legacy won’t stop there. Vicky will be remembering this young girl in an extraordinary way. This from an AP article published in an Arkansas newspaper, The Morning News:

Emmy, 10, will become Brightspirit, a beautiful silver tabby featured inside the fantasy world of the “Warriors,” a series about cats that battle inside their magic forest home. Shiningheart will represent Emmy’s mother Dana while Braveheart will be father Jimmy in the series’ next book, “Long Shadows.”The tornado, with winds of up to 266 kph, left only a slab where the Cherrys’ house once stood. Family members recovered a few memento’s, including a book report Emmy Cherry once wrote on the series.

Victoria Holmes, one of the authors ghostwriting the series under the name Erin Hunter, said the idea to use the family in a book came after a used-book store owner contacted publisher Harper Collins requesting items for an auction benefiting a storm relief effort.

An online forum for child reading fantasy fiction went further, suggesting the family should have a role in the book series, aimed at preteens.

“At first, I had reservations about whether we should draw it to their (readers’) attention . . . I feel like we don’t always need to be reminded of our own mortality at that age,” Holmes, 36, said from her home just outside of London. “But, equally, ‘Warriors,’ the series, deals with some pretty big issues, including death and tragedy and what happens when you die and how you deal with grief.”

As communities still clean up from the storms, Holmes and the other writers in the series signed books and collected other memorabilia to be auctioned off. The money will go to the ‘Warriors Relief Fund,’ which will be administered by Emmy’s grandmothers.

“The fund is going to be used for anything that Emmy might have wanted to donate money to in her local community,” Holmes said. The first purchase will likely be school uniforms to two boys orphaned by the Atkins tornado.

Holmes will leave London for a U.S. tour next week. While in […]