HollyRobinson

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The Incredible Weirdness of Being a Writer

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I went on a writing retreat recently. Nothing fancy; this wasn’t one of those places where you’re in a cabin in the mountains and people bring food to your door. This was a low-budget apartment rental with a friend, but it had everything I needed: a kitchen, a gorgeous harbor view, and absolute quiet.

The purpose of writing retreats for me is to tunnel into a project, usually when I’m trying to start something new or finish a book. Works like a charm. However, as I settle into these retreats, there is always this strangely terrifying moment where I think, “What the hell do I think I’m doing?”

It’s such a debutante activity, this whole writing thing. With so many activities vying for our attention, who needs another book in the world? What makes me think I’ll find readers, or even a publisher? Why aren’t I doing something more productive, like working for actual money or volunteering my time to do good in the world?

And yet, I stayed. I wrote. I edited. For forty-eight hours that weekend, I churned out new words and tossed out old ones. I came up with new plot points and emotions for my characters. I resisted, sometimes, the urge to Google various diseases or check Facebook. I came away from the retreat feeling like I’d failed, then read the pages when I got home and thought, “Huh. That’s not half bad. I bet I can revise this into something.”

If you decide to be a writer, there will be times in your life where you will have to commit to the writing. Over and over again, especially after rejections, you will have to commit to keep at it.

What does that writer’s life look like? The one where you commit to the process?

It looks weird to most people. For me, it has meant being a freelance writer instead of a full-time public relations executive (my previous life). That translates into driving an ancient car and being grateful that my husband has a steady salary and provides our family with health benefits.

It has meant staying in on Saturday nights and skipping that movie or party, and editing manuscripts even while technically watching my son’s gymnastic class or my daughter’s field hockey meet. It has meant that many days I never make it out of my sweat pants. And it means suffering a crisis of confidence every time I show a manuscript to critique partners or editors and they say, “This isn’t working.”

Committing to your writing means having the confidence in yourself to keep going, even when all of the signs point to the irrationality of your activity. It means believing that the written word is worth putting on the page, even if you’re the only one who will ever read it. It means believing that writing books is a valuable creative endeavor, even if those books never actually end up between covers.

Being a writer means that you actually write, a lot, and don’t just say you’re going to or you should have or you want to. Over and over again, you must commit to the act of writing instead of spending your time some other, more pleasurable, productive, or profitable way. It means reaching inside of yourself until sometimes you feel turned inside out, and that’s a good feeling, but it can feel awful, too, because you are exposed and vulnerable, especially if your writing does get published.

The decision to commit to your writing is a weird one, no matter how you look at it. But sometimes it’s the only decision that is worth making, because it’s who you are and what you want to be, not just when you are young and passionate and idealistic, but when you are a grown-ass person who has a mortgage and ought to know better.

Sometimes, being a writer is the only life worth living.

How to Revise a Novel: 5 Practical Strategies

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I sent the complete draft of my new novel to my agent in September. When I got her editorial notes some weeks later, there were more things to revise in the book than things to keep.

I thought about tabling the project. Or even trashing it. Sometimes fixing a book means turning the whole thing inside out. It can seem daunting, or even impossible. But, once you get going, it’s actually pretty fun.

Yup. I said “fun.” And all artists go through the same process. For instance, I recently saw a great Peabody Essex Museum exhibit that highlighted Georgia O’Keeffe’s fashion style as well as her artwork. In looking at the detailed shapes and stitching of her clothing choices, it’s easy to see O’Keeffe developing—and revising—her artistic vision. To her, the spaces between shapes on the canvas became as important as the shapes and colors themselves. Here’s what she said about her painting, “Pelvis with the Moon,” pictured above:

“I was most interested in the holes in the bones—what I saw through them—particularly the blue from holding them up in the sun against the sky…they were most wonderful against the Blue—that Blue that will always be there as it is now after all man’s destruction is finished.”

Think about “the holes in the bones.” That’s what we want to do when we revise a novel. We want to look at the structure, of course—the bones—to “see” the book’s shape. But we must also see through the holes between the bones to understand the meaning behind the scenes and characters we’ve created, if we’re going to build a compelling, 3D fictional world.

Here are four easy revision strategies to help you do that:

1. Write the Book Jacket Copy. You have probably already written an outline. (If you haven’t, now’s the time.) Now try writing some punchy book jacket copy. Wrestling with this will help you see the book’s essence more clearly (which will help readers, agents, and editors see it, too.) What is your book really about? Keep that short, punchy summary in mind as you rewrite.

2. Change the Point of View. Maybe your book is in third person. If so, maybe you’re too emotionally distant from the characters. Try changing the book to first person. (If nothing else, this will help you weed out all of the “she thought” and “he wondered” sorts of static phrases.) Or, if your book is in first person, maybe there aren’t enough tactile descriptions or suitable action. Rewrite the book in third person and see how it changes things. Finally, try rewriting your book from a totally different character’s point of view.

3. Read It Aloud. This takes a while. But reading a book aloud will help you catch all sorts of “puffy” phrases, as Stephen King calls them, and will show you how to revise the dialogue so that it sounds more true to character—and to the reader.

4. Start Your Book in a Different Chapter. Like most writers, when I begin a novel, it’s almost always too soon in the action. There is probably a better scene to start with, one with more emotion, and impact. You can catch up on the earlier part of the book with a few flashbacks—or you may find you don’t need that stuff at all, because the pertinent information will be expressed by your character’s actions or dialogue later on, after the reader is hooked.

5. Keep Only Key Scenes. Examine each individual scene. Is it really necessary? If it doesn’t advance the plot, create a “fatty file” on your computer and stash those unnecessary bits of the book there. Maybe you’ll need them, maybe not. But trust your reader to infer and understand lots of what’s going on with fewer scenes.

That’s it! Now get revising, and let me know how it goes.

Buying Books as Holiday Gifts? 5 Quickie Reviews for Last-Minute Shoppers

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As a fiction writer, I’m normally reluctant to review other people’s novels. I know how hard the whole process of getting published is, from confronting that first blank page through editing, publication, and marketing. So basically I want to pop a bottle of fizzy for ANY writer who makes it to the finish line. But if you’re buying books as gifts or getaways for yourself and need ideas, here are 5 quickie reviews to inspire you:

News of the World, by Paulette Jiles

Category: historical fiction, literary fiction

By far the best book I’ve read this past year, News of the World is, on the surface, a simple adventure story along the lines of True Grit: a cranky ex-Civil War soldier is charged with bringing a young orphan girl from Witchita Falls to San Antonio after the girl has spent most of her young life as a captive of Native Americans. The journey is rife with all sorts of juicy difficulties, from bandits to suspicious townspeople in the places they stop. But what I loved most about this book, besides the beautifully understated writing that somehow amplifies the action, was the relationship that developed between the reluctant captive and Captain Kidd. I won’t lie: I cried buckets at the end of this book. People who love adventure stories, gorgeous writing, and historical fiction will be fans.

 

Bring Her Home, by David Bell

Category: thriller

David Bell is clearly inspired by Harlan Coben, that juggernaut of a thriller-maker. Like Coben, Bell writes about everyday characters caught up in situations beyond their control who generally make things worse by getting involved where they shouldn’t. (It’s the adult version of those horror movies where you scream at the kids, “Don’t go down in the basement alone, for Pete’s sake. What are you, an idiot?”) In this case, Bell’s hero is Bill Price, whose wife died of a fall a year before. When the book opens, Price’s teen daughter has gone missing and everyone is searching for her. Naturally, dark secrets emerge about what the girl might—or might not—have been doing, and about Price’s own marriage. The problem I have with this particular book is that the coincidences mount up until again you’re yelling, “Oh, come on!” and the main characters themselves are downright thick in the head. I mean, really, we’re supposed to believe that Bell doesn’t recognize the girl in the hospital? (I won’t say more to avoid spoiling the plot.). However, there is a certain propulsive energy to Bell’s writing—he has that Dan Brown knack for creating deliberate cliff-hanger endings to chapters–that kept me turning the pages. This is a perfect gift for people who like to read in bathtubs, on airplanes, or on the beach: not too taxing, but pretty entertaining.

 

Woman No. 17, by Edan Lepucki

Category: literary fiction

The writing in this novel absolutely sings. The images are creative, the characters are unique, and the Los Angeles setting is very Raymond Chandler-noirish. The plot, too, is arresting: a young artist, S, is hired as a nanny for a woman in the Hollywood Hills named Lady Daniels. There are, of course, secrets in the pasts of both women, and those emerge as the women become entwined in various creepy ass ways, especially after S becomes involved with Lady S’s older (and mute) teenage son. Some readers might take exception to the fact that all of the characters in this novel are, to some degree, unlikable and self-absorbed. This didn’t bother me. I love a good flawed character. But give this book only to people who are ready to read about characters who are probably far out of their comfort zones.

 

The Birdwatcher, by William Shaw

Category: literary mystery

Okay, I won’t lie: this book has a few flaws, but I absolutely adored it, simply because I am a huge fan of those British mystery series set in foggy coastal places, like Hinterland and Shetland. In this novel, the main character, William South, is a detective and avid birder. When one of his neighbors is knocked off, it turns out that South has some connections to that guy from his past—and those connections might tie South to a crime he may or may not have committed as a troubled youth. The mystery is finely paced by British standards, which means it is not that rip-roaring pace we’re used to in American mysteries, but the character development is so much deeper that your patience will be well rewarded. This book is perfect for people on your list who love mystery novels with lots of atmosphere.

 

The Captain’s Daughter, by Meg Mitchell Moore

Category: women’s fiction, literary fiction

If you have women on your gift list who are fans of Elin Hilderbrand, they’re going to love Meg Mitchell Moore. In The Captain’s Daughter, Moore has written a lovely, and emotional story of Eliza, who grows up in a small town in Maine, the daughter of a lobsterman, who ends up making it into an Ivy League college and marrying well enough to be living the posh country club life. When her father falls ill, she travels back to Maine to take care of him and figure out how she got to where she is at this moment in life, as a mother and wife whose marriage is suffering. This may sound like a typical women’s fiction plot, but Moore is a gifted writer whose characters always surprise you. She even has a soft spot for the usual rich bitches that populate novels like these, and nobody writes better about parenting. If you don’t want to spring for a hardcover, buy that person on your list one of Moore’s other novels, now in paperback—I loved The Arrivals and The Admissions. All of her novels have that same exquisite writing, generously optimistic spirit, and spots of high humor that make you feel like maybe the world isn’t going to hell after all.

Getting Unstuck and Finding Your Fiction Portal

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I am no fiction virgin. I have published six novels to date—one on my own, and five with Penguin Random House. Yet, until recently, I have never felt more stuck as a writer.

What happened? I really don’t have a clue. Yes, my agent has been hanging onto my latest book for a while. But I’ve always been a writing workhorse, so I decided to start another manuscript while I was waiting. I mean, what better excuse is there for starting a new novel than National Novel Writing Month?

Yet, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get unstuck. It was like my brain had frozen or overheated or, I don’t know, locked some secret door, preventing me from accessing whatever neurons I need to write. Every day I’d sit at my desk, but the words refused to come.

I didn’t panic at first. But then, as the days and weeks went by, I became grumpy. Then angry. Then desperately sad, to the point where I felt like I was sinking deeper and deeper into that hellhole of despair, the one familiar to many writers who become convinced that our time is up and we’ve written our last books.

This is the sort of despair that feels as if you’re wading through a muddy pit of writhing snakes. You are trapped in a cloying sort of darkness, entangled and bitten by every mean thing anyone has ever said to you about your writing.

It took me a while to realize that the source of my despair wasn’t just a new crisis of confidence, but the fact that I had NO FICTION PORTAL at all.

For me, a fiction portal is any story or novel in progress. This portal is nearly as essential to my existence as oxygen. If I’m writing, well, I can handle almost anything else in my “real” life better. The fiction portal gives me a place to escape to, one where I control everything from the weather to why people fall in love with each other (or not).

Clearly, I needed to find a new fiction portal. But how, when it felt like every avenue was closed off to me?

I did find one in the end. I’m writing again, and much saner. Here are some strategies that worked for me, not in any particular order:

  • Read three books in a row without writing anything new. Doesn’t matter if it’s fiction or nonfiction. One of the best ways to be an inspired writer is to be an inspired reader.
  • Look at another manuscript you tried to write, anything that failed and has been put in a drawer or stashed in an attic box. Pick three paragraphs you like out of that abandoned book and use them to start something new.
  • Clean out your office and closets. Sometimes, a clearer physical space will help unclutter your mind, too.
  • Sign up for a writing workshop. Having a new audience will give you a fresh perspective on your work, and workshops are often free if you find one through your library or local bookstore.
  • Try writing in a completely different genre.
  • Read quotes by famous writers. Here’s one of my favorite sites for quotes by writers about motivation and rejection: http://writersrelief.com/quotes-for-writers/#Rejection
  • Finally, get plenty of sleep and exercise. It’s impossible to feel like your head is on straight without getting plenty of sleep. And who knows? You might just dream your next plot line.

I found my new fiction portal this time around by starting something completely different: a YA science fiction novel. I haven’t read science fiction since college, so it’s fun to just let my mind roam in that direction without any pressure. Who knows where this book will take me? Maybe nowhere, but at least I have a new portal beckoning me out of my everyday life.

How to Write Historical Fiction: It Will Take More Time than You Ever Dreamed Possible

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I hated history class in high school. All of those boring dates and dead people, blah blah blah. I memorized what I needed to, then took the tests and promptly forgot everything. Who cared? I was alive in the vivid present!

I never took another history class. Not in college, because I didn’t need history to get a biology degree and become a doctor. And not in grad school, because by then I’d switched gears, earning an MFA in creative writing and trying to write a novel.

Fast forward thirty years. I am among the lucky few living the dream of so many aspiring writers: I have published six novels, all contemporary fiction, five of them with Penguin Random House. I have also ghosted many books for celebrities. The writing always came, if not easily, then steadily.

And then, somehow, I met the poet who wouldn’t leave, and discovered I knew nothing at all about writing historical fiction.

This poet, Celia Thaxter, was one of the best known female poets of the late 19th century, and I met her in a painting first. Well, in a print of a painting by American Impressionist Childe Hassam. He had painted Celia standing in her garden, surrounded by tall flowers, the sea behind her. I asked the docent who she was, and discovered that Celia had grown up on the Isles of Shoals—a collection of small islands off the New England coast—where her family built the first grand resort hotel, Appledore House.

On the day I saw that picture, Celia climbed right out of it and came home with me, begging me to tell her story. Her story was intriguing, I had to admit, if only because she kept a salon that drew popular writers, musicians, and painters of the day. She knew Hawthorne and Emerson, Charles Dickinson and Harriet Beecher Stowe.

But that wasn’t what drew me to her. No, the thing that got me was this: Celia, like me, had a posse of women writer friends who traded manuscripts and wrote each other letters about their lives. I went to the Boston Public Library and began reading through one collection of letters—over 250 of them to her best friend, Annie Fields—and realized that Celia had her own doubts about the value of her work, the health of her marriage, and parenting her children, one of whom had serious disabilities.

She was, in a word, human. I suddenly wanted to tell her story. Because I’m a novelist, that meant putting Celia in a novel. But how do you write historical fiction? I had no idea.

And so I began searching out her letters in other libraries. I also read botany and gardening books, because Celia was a famous gardener, and biographies about other writers in Celia’s life, like Lucy Larom and Harriet Beecher Stowe, plus Emerson’s works and Thoreau’s, too, just because.

In addition, I began visiting all of the places Celia had ever been or lived, including the house in Newtonville where she was so unhappy, struggling to raise three small boys with no money and a husband who was allergic to work. That’s the house where Celia wrote her first published poem, and I managed to talk my way into it when the owner caught me loitering in her driveway.

All of this research took over a year. Finally I drafted a hundred pages of a novel and fired it off to my agent, who said, in a word, “No.”

But I couldn’t let Celia go. So I read some more, spent some nights out on the Isles of Shoals, and started gardening, trying to see why gardening was so damn important to this woman. I grew hollyhocks because she did, and showboat Dahlias the size of dinner plates. Digging in the dirt, it seemed, was something that freed Celia’s mind, and it began to free mine, too.

I decided the book should have dual plot lines, one with Celia in the 1800’s, at her grand resort hotel on the Isles of Shoals, and the other set now, with a woman struggling with similar issues: a troubled marriage, a problem child, the hard work of balancing a career with motherhood. Now all I needed was a way to connect my two characters. Yeah, a plot would be nice.

And so I was off. Five hundred, six hundred, a thousand pages came and went in my various drafts, until finally I sent the finished book to my agent a month ago. Last week, she emailed to say that the book still needs work.

She is making notes on the manuscript to help me, and I am grateful. At the same time, I can’t help wondering why I decided to hit my head on this particular brick wall. Why didn’t I just write another contemporary novel? What if I spend two, three, four years on this book, but it ends up in a drawer? What will I do then?

The answers to these questions are the same ones I’ve given to aspiring writers in my university classes and author signings in the past: We write fiction because there is nothing else we love to do more. We write a particular book because it haunts us and won’t let go.

I also remind myself–as I hope I’m reminding you—that writing any fiction is a lot harder than it seems, when you’re holding a neatly bound book in your hands that you’ve just picked up in a bookstore. And writing historical fiction (as I should have guessed) takes months, or even years, of research, if you’re going to breathe life into a time and place around a character. You’d better love the research itself. (I do, it turns out.)

The payoff? I don’t know. I wish I could tell you that this is all worth it, that of course you (and I) will publish our novels and see the books we’ve slaved over for so long on the shelves of our local bookstores. But I can’t promise that.

Instead, the payoff for me has been much bigger than just a publishing deal. Writing historical fiction has led me down all sorts of fascinating rabbit holes, and now I see connections everywhere: in the Gilded Age exhibit I recently saw at the Met, in the new Henry James exhibit at the Gardner Museum, in the 19th century houses in my own neighborhood.

This is something I should have learned in high school, but didn’t: those people we read about in history class lived, loved, fought, cried, and laughed together, just as we do. We are all connected. And isn’t that the most important lesson a human can learn?

What’s the Best Way to Make It as a Writer? Don’t Quit: 7 Great Tips for Handling Rejection

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If you’re a writer, rejection is a way of life. Maybe your writing group doesn’t like your current draft. You can’t find an agent. Or, if you do have an agent, your agent doesn’t like your current book. Then all of the editors might say no.

What do you do? You have no choice but to begin again. I know the drill well: It took me over twenty years to break into traditional publishing. Fortunately for all of us, there are strategies we can use to keep going. And that’s what you have to do, no matter how lousy you feel, because the surest way to fail as a writer is to quit.

As a woman who cries easily—even a TV commercial can set me off, never mind an outright rejection of something I’ve put heart and soul into for, oh, two or three years—I thought it might be interesting to see what a guy has to say about taking it on the chin. Here are seven great tips on how to handle rejection from my colleague and online pal Shane Weisfeld, a Toronto-based screenwriter. At the age of 43, he has spent almost 20 years facing the ins and outs of the industry. The 2014 movie “Freezer,” starring Dylan McDermott and Peter Facinelli, was his first produced feature film credit–after 15 years of actively pursuing the business.

 

You can follow Shane on Twitter @ShaneWeisfeld. Meanwhile, take heart from his advice, all of you creatives out there, and keep going! The world never needed artists more than it does now.

1. It’s a Test

You can take rejection crying like a baby or face it like an adult. It’s a true test of your will, determination and mental strength. Instead of the old “why me?” response when you face it, you should be saying “I’m glad I was chosen for this test.”

Writers face rejection. That’s it. You can’t get away from it. As long as you want to be in the arts, you will experience it – whether you’re a writer, journalist, musician, artist, painter, photographer or dancer. It’s like Hyman Roth says in Godfather Part II: “This is the business we’ve chosen!” In our case, the business of rejection.

The more you study and learn the ins and outs of this rejection test, the easier it will be for you to take, and pass, that exam of personal resilience, persistence and tenacity.

2. Start Taking It as Early as Possible

If you’re lucky enough to know what you want early in life, you’ll start going for it right away. However, that means the rejection will start as well. The better you’ll be later on if you start receiving rejection from a young age, because that’s what builds a thick skin and backbone – and it will help you with other things in life as well.

Take professional athletes as an example. Athletics and sports is one of those careers where you have to start practicing from a very early age. By the time these athletes reach their teens, they’re already seasoned in being cut, hearing “no”, and people telling them they need to practice more and that they’re just not ready yet.

With any hardships in life, the earlier you start enduring it, the (mentally) stronger you will become.

3. It’s a Lightbulb above Your Head

When you receive rejection, and a lot of it, use it as a realization. Being self-critical is extremely hard, but it will help you as a writer. If you receive several rejections within a short timespan, use it to reflect and take a step back. Retreat to the drawing board and REWRITE.

Sometimes, and in some cases many times, the people rejecting you do know what they’re talking about – especially if you’re able to get your material in the right hands. If some of these people (whether it’s agents, managers, publishers, editors, producers, executives, writing competitions) have taken the time to give you constructive criticism, feedback and notes – take that and run with it – and come back only once you’ve improved your work.

If rejection makes you go back and rewrite your material to make it better, you should be personally thanking rejection.

4. It Separates You from the Rest

If you can take rejection, you’re already ahead of the game! Most people actually can’t take rejection. The 1% of us in the fine arts have chosen to be guinea pigs. You can be like 99% of people who choose a profession just so they don’t have to face rejection, or you can go with your gut instinct and what you were meant to do, and be that original, unique, 1% that not only takes it, but rises above it.

People are impressed with those who face rejection on a regular basis. It makes you stand out. It means you have been through the fire and back, and that you have stories to tell. It also means you’re not afraid to share your ideas and execution of those ideas. It comes with a cost though, which is explored in tip #6.

5. It Helps with Connections

As a screenwriter, one of the most frequent questions or comments I get is: “It’s all about who you know, right?”

Well, obviously! That’s not the only thing, but it certainly helps. The question is: how do you get to know people? Or rather: how do people get to know who you are? Not just making connections, but building relationships as well. You need to throw yourself out there and get people to read and analyze your material. This is all under the umbrella of perseverance. For all writers. If you’re going to be spending years at this craft and facing rejection, you might as well take that time making connections as well and build up your network.

Rejection isn’t always a completely closed door. Sometimes that door is left open just a bit and it’s up to you to nudge that door open a little more. I’ve made some of my best connections with people who initially rejected my material. There’s always a chance for you to come back better and stronger, and what better way to make connections then with people who can become fans of your writing?

6. Nobody Cares that You’ve Been Rejected

You can have a sob story of how long you’ve been in the trenches, but it really doesn’t matter – your writing in the moment is what counts. Work hard, have more than one writing sample, be open to collaboration – but sympathy is not something writers can use to get them in the door. It’s actually naive and unprofessional to be using rejection to garner the sympathy vote.

Perseverance is the key ingredient to reaching your goals, but you have to let the writing speak for itself. It may take you years for things to start happening, but the industry people you’re trying to impress only care about the WRITING and quality of the material (and not being a nutjob, of course. “Good in a room” counts!)

What happens outside of the writing is your own internal story, which you can certainly share with others, especially if that’s what has allowed you to reach certain goals… but don’t think people will say “yes” to you just because of that.

7. Turn Your Dream Into A Burning Desire

There are people who have hopes and dreams. Then there are those who have this obsessive, burning desire to make it at what they’re so passionate about. These are the people who can’t see themselves not doing this “thing” for a living. The people who aggressively go out there, hustle, and keep coming back stronger year after year after year after year after year… those are the ones who find a way to reach their dreams and goals.

If this is you, then rejection will be much easier to take, because nothing should stop you from reaching your long-term goals, which could come in baby steps. You have to be so intent on making it that no amount of rejection will break you or question your ability, talent or confidence.

It’s one thing to have a dream, but a whole different ballgame if you’re realistic about it, in the form of a question that goes something like this: “Do I want and need this bad enough that I’m willing to not only spend years at it, but in those years, to face a mounting plethora of back-breaking and bone-shattering rejections that comes along with it?”

I asked myself that a long time ago, and there has been no turning back ever since. I’ve been able to take rejection all these years because the writing fire burns inside of me so intensely, and because my willingness to persevere is way stronger than the idea of people saying “no” or the fear that it won’t happen for me.

You Finished Your Novel. Now What?

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So you finished your novel. Congratulations!

Now what?

If you’re like me, the first thing you’ll do is celebrate, maybe even all by yourself. Last week, for instance, I reached the end of my current manuscript and washed slices of my favorite pizza down with a couple of glasses of Prosecco because my husband was working late and I was in a coma.

However, whether you’re pursuing a traditional publishing deal or self publishing, there’s a long way to go before your book appears in stores or even on Amazon. Here’s what might happen next:

Make Time for Beta Readers

My husband is a software engineer; when he finishes writing a bunch of new code, it’s in the “beta phase,” also known as Betaware. Likewise, once you complete the entire first draft of your book, you’re only at the end of the development phase. Now it’s time to collect your Beta readers. These people aren’t necessarily critique partners in your workshop (though they can be), but should be astute readers eager and willing to point out things like plot holes and inconsistent points of view.

The Magic Is in the Revision

Even though you have already written three, five or even eleven drafts (yeah, I like prime numbers), trust me: your Beta readers will come back with insights and critiques that will make you feel like an idiot. That’s okay. The magic is in the revision. And, if you’re lucky, a few months will have elapsed, so that you can look at your project with fresh eyes as you dig into the revision.

Want Good Dialogue? Don’t Just Read It. Speak It.

You will smooth out a lot of rough/silly/unnecessary dialogue if you read it aloud. Better yet, have someone read it with you, so that you can “hear” the conversations.

Ready, Set, Proofread!

By revision three, five, or eleven, depending on your patience and/or contract deadline, you will be pretty dang sick of this book. Yet, there is one more important step to take before sending it out to an agent, an editor, or whatever service you’re using to self publish: proofread it! You can hire a typo hunter or copy editor for this pesky job. Or, if you’re set on doing it yourself, print out the entire book—yes, PRINT IT OUT—and read it carefully for errors during that final polish. You’ll be astounded by what you catch.

Have a Distraction Handy

Once your book is finally off to the agent or editor for professional feedback, there isn’t a lot you can—or should—do. This book will still come back for revisions. It might even be rejected. Either way, you need a distraction. Arrange a vacation, weed your garden, shop for a new car, clean your closets, whatever. Your book is still going to come back needing another rewrite (or seven), so prepare for that by clearing your head—after you have another celebration!

Yep, I Failed. But Maybe That’s a Good Thing.

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Last year, I did the Couch-to-5K program and ran my first 5K. My time was almost laughable—35 minutes and 12 seconds, with a pace of 11.20 per mile. In other words, women pushing baby strollers were passing me. But, hey, it was my first race. I was determined to keep running and planned to do the same race in 2017. I couldn’t wait to see how much faster I’d be!

That race was Saturday, June 10. And I failed.

This particular 5K is a grand event that raises money in the name of 1st Lt. Derek Hines, who was tragically killed in the line of duty in Afghanistan at age 25, for a Soldiers Assistance Fund. By now, this Flag Day race draws an impressive crowd of runners each year to Newburyport, MA. There is a moving ceremony with military personnel speaking about their personal experiences, and this year there was even a Black Hawk helicopter doing flyovers, followed by music and a barbecue.

When I ran the race last year, I was terrified. I had never done anything like a 5K, never mind one with such fanfare and so many people cheering from the sidelines. This time I felt more relaxed, having put many miles on my sneakers in the intervening year. I already knew the course and had my strategy in place: no racing at the start, baby steps on the hill, try to do the last mile faster. Etc.

So what happened? I ran the course TWO MINUTES SLOWER. Sure, it was hotter than last year, and every runner likes to use heat as an excuse for a bad race day. And yeah, I’d ordered an XL in the t-shirt and it was like running in a dang dress.

But I was disappointed in myself, enough to do that thing I always poke fun at “real” athletes for doing: running a play-by-play description of the race aloud for my husband and friends, lamenting where I could have gone faster and made up time. Woulda, shoulda, coulda: that sort of pointless hit-your-head-on-the-wall defeatist dialogue.

My race day also happened to be my daughter’s birthday, and for her birthday, she and her brother were celebrating by running a 30K race. Yeah, you read that right: 30K. On trails, and up hills in Oregon, where she lives. (Oh, and she’s training for a 100K. In Colorado.)

When I told my bionic girl about feeling like a failure, my daughter said, “I don’t know, Mom. I look at those runners who come in way after I do, and you know what? I admire them. They’re out there running for a lot longer than most people, and working harder to achieve the same goal. You should just be proud that you did it.”

Okay, that pep talk momentarily made me feel worse. Old, lame, obsolete, you name it: suddenly I saw myself as others must: as a red-faced, chubby, over-the-hill dame who can barely make it up a hill.

The thing is, I fail at a lot of things. My garden needs weeding, my laundry needs doing, my crow position in yoga is more of a squat-and-topple, and the novel I’m writing refuses to behave. In fact, I fail a lot more than I succeed.

On the other hand, after I’d fumed some more, after I’d had time to consider my daughter’s wise words, I suddenly had this thought: it’s better to be failing at things you’re trying than to just be lounging on the coach and watching other people do cool things.

So here’s what I’m telling myself: I have a rich and busy inner life, and I can vacuum later. I’m writing a novel and learning as I go. Yoga is all about being in the body you’re in. And I just ran a 5K in 90-degree heat for a great cause. So what if I was slower than last year? I was in there, giving it my all, pumping my arms and legs up that hill, wiping sweat from my brow, and making it to the finish line.

If you’re not failing, you’re not risking anything. And is that really living?

Or, as Winston Churchill said, “Success is not final, failure is not fatal; it is the courage to continue that counts.”

Debut Novelist Leah DeCesare Talks about Making the Switch from Nonfiction to Fiction, and How Cutlery Can Help You Find Your Perfect Love Match

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Leah DeCesare’s nonfiction parenting series, Naked Parenting, is based on her work as a doula, early parenting educator, and mom of three. In 2008, she co-founded the nonprofit, Doulas of Rhode Island, and in 2013 she spearheaded the Campaign for Hope to build the Kampala Children’s Centre for Hope and Wellness in Uganda.

Now DeCesare is launching her debut novel, Forks, Knives and Spoons, a fast-paced and often comic read about how to find love when you least expect it. Here she talks about what it was like to make the switch from nonfiction to fiction, why Santa Claus kept making his way into her novel, and just why it’s so important for writers to support one another.

Q. So I have to ask: in this novel, your character Amy goes off to college and tries to convince her friend Veronica that they should use the “Utensil Classification System” as a guide to finding a suitable boyfriend. Did your father give you this guide when you left home, like Amy’s gave it to her? Do you believe the UCS holds true?

A. That idea of labeling guys as forks, knives, and spoons is the nugget from real life that I spun the rest of the story from. The August before I left for Syracuse, out to dinner with my parents, my dad spontaneously gave me this last ditch talk about guys. At school, my girlfriends and I elaborated and invented and really USED this system, so that concept stayed with me. But there was no STORY around it, so when I finally sat to write this book, I really had to build the characters and their arcs, and let the Utensil Classification System (the UCS) become a backdrop and an organizing idea serving the characters and their growth.

I’ve asked myself the question if I believe the UCS works. In short, I kind of think it does hold true, with some caveats, as the characters discover: “It’s not an exact science.” Recently, my dad (only half-jokingly) told my 18 year-old daughter that he was going to have to give her the “Forks, knives and spoons talk” before she heads off to college next year. I think I’ve preempted that, though, since she has read the book.

Q. Which came first, the concept of a utensil classification system or your desire to write a novel? How did the concept and your ambition come together?

A. Since the time I was very young, I wanted to be a writer. I would write poems and stories, and even sent off the first five chapters of a novel to a Big Five New York City publishing house when I was ten years old. (My first badge as a writer – a rejection letter in fifth grade!) So, my desire to write a novel far preceded the UCS. When I hit my forties, I thought, “What are you waiting for? When are you going to write a book?” I reorganized my priorities and time to fulfill my dream and lifetime goal. Somehow, I knew this kernel that had lingered in my mind for two decades had to be the book I wrote first.

Q. You have Santa Claus appearing in various guises throughout the story—why? I find him kind of a spooky character in real life…

A. I love this question, and it’s actually a funny story how Santa came to be in the book. As a new novelist, I approached writing this book in a bunch of different (many unsuccessful) ways, and in the process of wrong turns, I really learned a lot. While writing the scene with Amy on the train back to New York City, someone sat down next to her. I remember exactly where I was writing and the moment when it happened. I leaned back and asked aloud, “Who the hell just sat next to her?” I honestly had no idea. The Santa-like figure came from that. He was a little creepy in the first version, but I tried to make him less scary and more of a kind stranger. Once he delivered the message to Amy, I then wove the Santa thread throughout the manuscript a bit more. I guess I can blame Santa showing up on the muses—his appearance at all preconceived or intentional.

Q. I love the way you weave stories of true, lifelong friendships throughout the book, not only between women, but between women and men. What character did you relate to most?

A. Thank you. I think anyone who knows me would say there’s a lot of me in Amy’s character. It makes sense, since it’s her dad in the story who tells her about the Utensil Classification System like my own dad told me. It’s not my story, but I did give her my habit of semi-obsessive teeth brushing, and I am a hopeless optimist (and a bit of a romantic) like Amy is.

Q. Which character was hardest for you to write?

A. I guess I’d say Jenny. I think we all know someone who behaves like her. Her story and self-image made me sad, as a mother and as a woman. I was happy for her in the end.

Q. You’ve written a lot of nonfiction, like your “Naked Parenting” series. How was the process of writing a novel different for you than the process of writing nonfiction?

A. In so many ways they are vastly different writing and creative experiences. I found writing the parenting books much more straightforward and a much easier process. For one, the word count on those books is about a quarter of the size of Forks, Knives, and Spoons. In writing the Naked Parenting books, I learned more about my process as a writer. I found I work better in focused bursts than in doing a little bit everyday. I love to pack my writing stuff and easy meals and hibernate somewhere alone for three or four days at a time; it allows me to get to the point where the work flows and I can be very productive.

Writing a novel is like solving a puzzle, while writing the parenting books was more like writing longer, linked blog posts. I found the two to be dramatically different. Writing nonfiction is more linear and logical, still creative and fun, but it has the goal of imparting knowledge, of sharing information in an accessible way, while fiction writing feels more wide-open to me.

Q. You have worked as a doula, helping women give birth. Did you have a doula or two when you were conceiving this book? How does the process of ushering a book into the world compare with having a baby?

A. I’ve often thought of different people who’ve helped me along this path as my “book doulas,” so I love that you’ve made that link too. My first book doula was Angela Lauria, a book coach who I hired when I decided to get serious about writing; I wanted definitive accountability as I began. I also hired a structural editor, Jeanette Perez, after some early drafts.

As a novelist, I feel I’ve found my tribe. So many authors have embraced me and continue to be incredible supports. I love connecting with, and learning from, other authors and I’m so thankful for the encouragement and virtual high-fives, for the early readers who provided blurbs and reviews. It has been an amazing feeling of community.

I’m also in a group of novelists all debuting in 2017 called ’17Scribes, and I love how we all help each other out with questions and the learning curve of publishing. I feel like we’re all doula-ing one another through this process.

Q. This novel is set in the eighties. Was that a deliberate creative decision, or just a time period you were keen to write about? How would this novel have been different if you set it in the year 2017?

A. It was a conscious choice to set Forks, Knives, and Spoons in the late eighties into the early nineties for a few reasons. First, it’s a period I know and could realistically convey the college culture at that time, but I also wanted to show some timeless truths about growing up and seeking love despite cell phones and technologies. If it were set in present day, I think some of the incidents could have unfolded differently – or not at all. Certainly, today, handwritten letters and phone calls on the hall payphone are extinct, and finding someone in a crowd outside at a fire drill or at a party is easy by comparison.

Q. And, if you were to give three golden nuggets of advice to aspiring writers hoping to publish their own novels someday, what would they be?

A.

  1. Believe you can do it and go write! Study the craft of writing and keep challenging yourself to grow as a writer.

  2. Seek out connections with other authors for mutual support, encouragement and brainstorming (whether about your actual story or later in marketing your book).

  3. Read and learn all you can about book promotion – no matter what, like it or not, authors must have a role and a stake in the promotion of their books.

Author Margaret Combs Talks about the Impact of Autism on Families and Why We Need Memoirs More than Ever

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There are many fine family memoirs, but few tackle the subject of what it’s like to have your family life impacted by the birth of a sibling with a disability. In her moving new book, Hazard: A Sister’s Flight from Family and a Broken Boy, award-winning journalist Margaret Combs delivers an unflinching coming-of-age story set in the nineteen fifties and sixties—one with a remarkable perspective on autism and a great deal of heart.

In this interview, Combs tells us how she found the courage to write a raw family memoir, what it was like to make the leap from working in radio to writing a book, and the essential role that memoirs play in our culture today.

What gave you the courage and the impetus to make the leap from creating journalistic narratives to writing a family memoir so raw with emotion?

I knew from the beginning that I had to enter this writing differently. There are many nonfiction books out there about families, siblings, mental and physical disability, birth defects, which are geared toward connecting parents and families to helpful information and resources. (Thankfully, I might add–I wish my parents could have had those books.) What I felt was missing was the interior of a family going through this enormous upheaval and especially over the arc of a lifetime. Disability does not end; though there are moments of triumph, it goes on forever, and in my brother’s case, gets more distressing and complex with age. I wanted to bring that side of the story out of the shadows. I developed courage through the writing process itself. More than anything I wanted to lean toward the emotion, and yet, as a journalist, I was conditioned not to do this. Fortunately, I was supported by a circle of writers whom I trusted and respected and they flagged me whenever I retreated into my journalism space – where it was much safer. I relied on them to ask for more, and above all, to help me tell my story with compassion – compassion for my parents, for our entire family, for all families who are going through this today.

How did you decide what shape to give your memoir? What was your process for getting the book to its final shape?

I didn’t start out knowing its shape, and for this I’m grateful. Memoir is a creative writing process. It’s not an expository writing process with a clearly defined outline and a march toward the finish line. In my experience, it’s more of a conversation that leads deeper into a part of the woods you’ve never visited before. Several times, I had to choose whether to follow it there, or to stop, turn around, and run back to safety. I ran in and out of those woods more than once, but ultimately went back in, fortified by the feedback and guidance of other writers.

I started out believing I was writing a story about my brother. I hadn’t yet learned that it was a story about me. I started with a box full of journals that I had kept for twenty odd years, and went through each one, marking with a red tab every place I had written about my brother. He wasn’t the only recurring presence – other organic themes surfaced throughout – but he was a constant presence, and the tabs were the first visual proof I had of how much I carried him with me. I lifted these journal entries out onto one long sheet of paper and they became the scenes that guided me forward. It was this sheet of episodes that I first took to my writers’ group. Some episodes developed into chapters, others became scenes and flashbacks that deepened the chapters.

I relied on my sister, Barbara Ann, many times – she was an ally and could fill in the holes of my memory. I had a mentor, Brenda Peterson, who was leading my circle of writers and asking questions and steering me along, pulling me back when I strayed too far out into the trees. The first chapter of my book is actually the outgrowth of an exercise that I did in one of Brenda’s memoir workshops. She asked everyone to write a scene that explained their entire life. My scene was the day my mother collapsed, a moment when life changed for me, and that became the starting point of my memoir.

After I had several chapters and an annotated table of contents, I wrote a book proposal, presented it to some editors and agents, and happily, Sarah Jane Freymann took it on. But first she wanted me to ponder my ending and she actually asked me to go ahead and write the last chapter. I was so stumped that I attempted it several times, and then in frustration, took a long walk in the Grand Forest near my home. That is where I found my epilogue. The final refined shape of the book came together after the book was accepted by Skyhorse and I worked with my editor, Olga Greco. It was through her guidance that I put the final stitches in place. It was a long iterative process, with many surprises and epiphanies for me as a sibling and a writer.

Did you consider another way of telling this story? As a novel or film, perhaps, instead of a memoir?

I pondered writing it as fiction – partly to have more leeway in developing the story, and partly because fiction is beautifully safe – it protects the author in a way memoir cannot. I was very intrigued with Eli Gottlieb’s book, The Boy Who Went Away, which is a poignant and gorgeously told story about two brothers, one of whom is on the spectrum. At an awards event years ago, I asked Eli Gottlieb why he had chosen to tell the story fictionally – it was so intimately told, it read like a memoir – and he said simply, “It gave me more freedom.”

Ultimately, I decided to write my story as I felt it and knew it, as a memoir, without distancing from it. It was the only way I felt capable of writing it. However, I wrote each chapter as if it were going to end up in the bottom drawer of my desk and never see the light of day. I needed that anonymity to reach the story, to drill down deep enough and stay with it, until I hit bedrock.

How have your skills as a memoirist been impacted by your work in other genres, such as radio? For instance, do you “hear” your language as you write, since you’ve written so much for stories that were meant to be audible?

Yes, absolutely, I hear the language. My time as an NPR reporter is when I learned how to tell a story, how to bring it to life, often with sound and ambiance. Sound is very emotional and intimate, and I hear it, even when I write an expository article or profile. I lay down the voices first, and then fill in around the quotes – similar to the way a radio script is created – allowing the voices to tell the story.

With memoir, I hear two voices, one in each ear: one is emotional, the other factual, and the craft is to keep them harmonizing together. Facts by themselves do not tell a story, sensory details do. When facts overcome the paragraph, the reader is immediately distanced – the narrator may as well be a lecturer imparting information, or laying out a history textbook: this happened, then this, then this. The memoirist’s job is to ask why, what was the impact of these events, what do I know now that I didn’t know as a child, how do I recreate the emotional truth – how do I make sense of them in a way that not only makes sense to me but to the reader?

Portions of your book appeared in literary journals like the North American Review. Did you write the book that way, as a series of essays or sketches that just kept coming to you piecemeal? Or were you consciously writing a book all along?

Both, actually. I envisioned this as a book, simply because I felt it needed that length to bridge a lifetime. But I started with episodes, which grew into scenes, which developed into chapters. Each chapter had its own story arc, and sometimes that meant it emerged as a stand-alone piece – like “Mercy,” which appeared in the North American Review. I didn’t write the chapters intentionally as standalones. It can be done that way but if you’re not careful your book will end up little more than a string episodes. You have to ask, how is this chapter serving the overall arc of the book? How is it moving the narrator forward emotionally? Or are you just lining up scenes that keep rehashing the same emotion?

The narrator’s emotional growth is the plot of a memoir, more so than the events in the story. It helped me to map out an annotated table of contents early in the process, which helped me see the entire book all at once. As I progressed with chapters I began to see the arc of the story emerge. Once I saw that arc, I moved chapters and added new ones. I’m a visual person, so I printed out the TOC and marked it up mercilessly – and at one point I cut up the text and moved chapters around on my dining room table. It was a way of having a conversation with the book – to have it talk back and guide me.

We have so many ways to tell stories today, from podcasts to Netflix, from blogging to Instagram. What role do you think memoirs play in today’s world?

Memoirs play a vital role. More so today than ever before, in this culture of unprocessed emotion, talk radio, and the shouting of tweets. A well-written memoir processes emotion for the reader and offers wisdom and insight – it slows things down and both the author and reader journey together. The telling of our stories is how we connect as human beings, how we learn from each other, how we help one another gain wisdom and strengthen. It’s easy to pigeonhole people as stereotypes, to see them as “the other”, until you hear them tell their story.

There is a deep and profound intimacy between the printed word and the reader. When a person reads, he or she is alone with the author, and there is no more intimate way to experience a story than one-on-one. Even an audiobook will interject a voice into the mix, usually not the author’s voice, adding a third person’s interpretation. There’s nothing wrong with any of these story methods. Movies can be powerfully moving, and so can radio pieces like NPR’s Storycore – we have many senses through which to take in story. But the printed word to me is the most compelling connection with the least number of people in the room – it plugs the heart and mind of one human directly into another’s.

Your memoir is as much a coming-of-age story during a certain time in American history, from the 1950s to the 1970s, when so much was changing in the political landscape (and for women especially) as it is about how your family coped with your brother’s autism. Why is your story still relevant today? What do you hope other families affected by children with autism might learn from you experiences?

My book spans several decades but it takes the reader right up to the present. So it is contemporary. My intention was to show the entire lifespan with all of the phases, rather than just focus on the beginning. The impact of a sibling with a severe mental or physical health issue extends well past the diagnosis, the early interventions and treatments, the tutoring, the difficult teen years when hormones awaken, the young adulthood when programs come to an end, when counselors say “we’ve done everything we can for him”, when one parent has to quite work to stay home with the disabled young man or woman, and when the parents pass on, the sibling(s) having to take over as parent.


As wonderful as it is to see all of the current early intervention and research on autism and support for young parents, I sense every family is still experiencing the emotions of my parents, the anxiety and worry, the shock of the diagnosis, and many a sibling is standing in the shadows, watching as their parents struggle with the emotional and physical demands of the one affected child. My hope is that my story can help families today in two ways: shed light on the profound way every member in the family is deeply affected, giving voice to those many moments when they feel baffled and alone, and secondly, to help mothers and fathers take a deep breath and remember their other children. Siblings are processing worry and concern by themselves, they’re trying not to rock the boat any further than it is already rocking, and they’re trying to make things better for their parents. They’re taking everything in and holding it close to their hearts.

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