Advance Review Copies

Posted by Lynne Griffin


I knew they were coming, still the feelings were intense when I opened the package. Cotton candy kind of feelings that leave you not knowing what to do. Should I read it. Should I go show it to someone. I was over the moon, yet nothing about my life changed when I opened my mail at ten in the morning on a Monday.

So I wrote a note, thanking my editor for all she did to secure great quotes and lobby for my marvelous cover. And I parked it on my desk so I could admire it.

Then it hit me. It was two years from the time the first word landed on the page to the date of its sale to St. Martin's. A full eighteen months in production, six more months until it sits on book store shelves. I needed to get back to work. I have a manuscript that needs revision.

The Essence of Us

by Hannah Roveto

I didn't know it was Wednesday this morning. Between the holiday weekend and the trips to Staples and Target and signing my name to a thousand papers, between a store grand opening and some national media outreach for my client, and between the pages of the revisions I have been doing between it all, I lost track of the days, as we all do.

Funny, but the post forming in my mind even over the weekend was about rushing, about looking ahead so often that you forget to look around at where you are and what you are doing. Living the moment.

The reason for this kernel of an idea was an article written by the wonderful Kathleen McKenna in a local magazine on some writers' group that has been churning out pages of material for quite a long time, the result of which are books like Tethered, Life Without Summer, and... yes, more to come, we are sure!

To Amy's post last week, many people have approached me to comment on the story, offered their support and best wishes, which has been lovely. Over the weekend we were at the beach, kids swimming to and from the float, when a neighbor with whom I have one of those nice wave-in-passing relationships made it a point to come over specifically to say she'd seen the story. So used to looking ahead am I that I said yes, the group is wonderful, and in a rush of words, explained that I am finishing my revisions (last inning!) and expect to send agent queries this month. (Didn't I once swear I would never make excuses?)

A slow smile came across her face as she said, "You're doing something that is all yours, something just for you all the time. I think that's wonderful."

All my forward-motion, rush-to-what's-next line of thinking came to an abrupt halt. The bustle of the beach, the shouts of the divers off the raft sharpened. I thanked her, and inside thought, hey, it IS cool! The smile didn't come off my face for hours.

Whether or not it's writing, it is important to do something that speaks to your soul, to follow that desire to do... something... to be someone beyond how you are defined in relation to other people. Every stolen minute or every stolen hour (or couple of hours!) with a story is a bit of Being Hannah, and that makes it all the more pleasurable. When I returned to my revisions the next day, I enjoyed them more than I had for weeks. And today is Wednesday, and I am writing now, working some, and writing some more before the door bangs open this afternoon. In the moment. Doing what we love, all for ourselves. What is better than that?

So What's It Like?

By Amy MacKinnon

My email inbox is more full than ever before.  I've heard from long ago friends and complete strangers, all of whom have been supportive and kind.  To know there are people out there actually reading Tethered is a little jarring though, like someone poking around the shadowlands within me.

Neighbors I've never met have stopped by to ask if I'm the one who wrote the book and then wished me well.

My father called the other day to say when he started his car, the radio came on, and my voice filled the space.  "You're like a Hollywood celebrity, Amy," he said.  There was a catch, but he swallowed it.  "Your mother and I are real proud of you."  I didn't tell him it was a very local show and the interview lasted only six minutes; we all want to believe our children are somehow special.

I've scrubbed the bathrooms and the windowsills, I've managed to vacuum every other day.  The laundry still gets away from me.

I walked past my local Barnes & Noble the other day and was a bit wistful to see the display window filled with books that came out the same time as mine.  This is my turf, I thought.  In the next moment, I accepted that my book was one among many and as Lynne says, we each have our own journey.  With my next step, I noticed another display window.  In it was a poster-sized photo of me and copies of only my book.  It reminded me to keep moving forward.

Most people don't know who I am, don't know that I've written a book, and don't care.

I've received my first 1-star review on Amazon.  I expected it to hurt.  Instead, it made me wonder about the laws of attraction.

I received my first newspaper review from the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.  This from a writing instructor.

My children and I finished their back-to-school shopping.  They'll be leaving me in a week's time, gone for hours each day.  I'll miss them terribly.

Yesterday at my local library, the place I learned to read, a librarian asked if I was the author of "that book."  She said there was a wait-list and she looked forward to reading it.  Another woman approached me with her two children in tow, "I saw you in the paper, you wrote that book. Congratulations." After I mumbled a thank you, she then turned to her kids and said, "This is a real live author, she wrote a book..."  Something to that effect.  I was too embarrassed, too shy to hear anymore much less do the proper thing and greet her children.  I promise to do better next time.

Yesterday, I went to the doctor's, the pharmacy, supermarket, and corner store.  No one knew or cared who I was.

Also yesterday, a package arrived from New York, something from my agent.  I opened it and was stunned to discover a gorgeous fountain pen inscribed with the title of my book and its pub day. She believes in me and that is why you need an agent.

Tomorrow I'll be doing a reading in Cambridge, MA with Brunonia Barry, author of The Lace Reader.  It's sponsored by two favorites: Grub Street and Porter Square Books.  Those will be some coattails.

I received a charming note from Ann Patchett in response to one I wrote her.  It's tucked away in the first copy of Tethered I received from my publisher.  If my house were on fire and my children safely out, I would race back in to save both. 

I sleep through the night now.

Inspiration

Posted by Lynne Griffin

Tethered is in bookstores, you can order it online. Amy's words are dressed in their Sunday best, her flap jacket stunning in gold, green, and black. Advertisements are appearing in papers, announcing its arrival. Interviews are posted on blogs. Readers are beginning to weigh in on her creation.

Over the last few days I've felt a bit like a sister watching her sibling show off her new baby. I've held back a few tears when family members openly gushed about her accomplishment with genuine love. When she opened her copy of Tethered and eloquently read those haunting first lines to a crowd leaning in to savor her prose, I felt proud. And when the crowd jockeyed for a turn at congratulating her as she began to sign personalized copies, I smiled.

Amy's baby is out in the world. She's the one that endured the labor pains of writing a first draft, submitting pages to three virtual strangers three years ago, and then revising it until she was certain it was her best work. She tackled the agent search like no one I've ever known and she didn't quit when she was asked to edit once more. So why am I so over the moon?

Because Amy is an inspiration, and her novel a testament to the power of commitment. She does not have a published novel because she is lucky or because she spent her time wishing it were so. She believes in the beauty and sway of language. She set her sights on a big dream and then did whatever she could to make it a reality. She's still dedicated to doing whatever it takes to get her book to readers.

The word sister is defined as a woman who is closely allied to another, as in the same faith, society, or community. How lucky I am to have added not one, but three very talented and generous sisters to my family. It's Amy's time now, and I know I speak for all of us at the writers' group when I say we wish Amy the best on her journey. Lisa's and Hannah's time will come soon.

Your time will come too, if you embrace our philosophy.

Learn craft.

Persevere.

Think positively.

Support others.

And dream.

Writing Routines

Post By Lynne Griffin
Painting By Carolyn Jundzillo

Pastel buds bursting or about to burst, days warm enough for long walks ending at the beach for a dip, the local ice cream shop is open for business. In my beautiful seaside town, spring arrived just in time for the schools' April vacation. Though my son still has an entire term to finish, like most teenagers, he's in a summer state of mind.

Parents tell me, one of my most useful tag lines in NEGOTIATION GENERATION is if you can predict it, you can prevent it. If a child, or adult for that matter, behaves the same way time and time again, that's person's behavior is predictable. So when it comes to my writing routines and my children being off from school this summer, I can already predict they're going to have to change. The children and the writing routines.

My present writing routine includes seeing everyone off to jobs and schools, coffee in hand, I tackle responding to email and planning upcoming programs. Once the to-do list is under control, I start reading and editing the pages I wrote the previous day. That puts me in the writing zone, and pulls me into the story, and then it's time to write new pages. Without distraction, I can write for hours. Afterschool activities for my son and commuting for my husband, leave me plenty of time to arrive at my writing saturation point. I stop and then take care of other correspondence or household responsibilities until the house becomes alive again.

As of May 9th, things will change. My daughter will be home from college and in another month my son will finish his sophomore year. I have a lot of summer experience telling me I'll have to alter my routine. Everyone knows teenagers love to sleep in. So on the days neither is up and out to a job, along with my husband, I plan to write first thing. Hours of revision to my work-in-progress complete, I'll be able to handle the inevitable distractions that come once they're up and the phone starts ringing, plans ricocheting around the house until things get settled and their off for a few more hours.

Like a mother knows she should sleep when her newborn is sleeping, I know to write when my teenagers are out of the house. You never know when they'll return, with friends in tow. Since I love having a home where my children's friends feel at ease, I plan to be in a state of mind to welcome them. I know I'll only feel this way if I get my writing in. Nothing agitates me more than having my writing plans thwarted, for any reason. I can let it go one day, maybe two, but repeatedly losing time to write puts me in a foul mood. Fortunately my children respect this.

Here's where my predicting the challenge of writing in summer comes in handy. As a family, we've already begun a conversation about general routines for summer. Who will work and when, and when friends can come over and when the house is a no friend zone. My children--and their friends--support my writing and love the fact that I've written a book, they're proud to say I'm a soon-to-be-published novelist. I fully expect little will get in the way of me achieving my writing goals this summer and I'm certain of this because not only am I willing to make changes to my writing routine, but I've honestly and without hesitation told my family what I need them to do to aid me. Of course, I also predict there will be snags in the plan, but overall I expect it will go well.

So how do you predict your writing routine will change when the beach and your children are calling? What seasonal changes can you make to ensure you'll still achieve your writing goals?

Talisman

Posted by Lynne Griffin

It was sky blue satin with the words I love you stitched in black across the center. I kept my little heart-shaped pillow in a drawer in the kitchen, where my mother let me have all manner of child's play. Things to keep me occupied while she cooked our family meals. My precious pillow was my birthday gift to every family member when his or her special day arrived. I'd give it away, only to take it back the next day. My gift giving skills needed work.

Skunkie replaced my pillow as my beloved object; parenting experts like me call him a transitional object. My stuffed animal was all soft black fur and had the signature white stripe down his back. His face was sweet and loving. When I later found out real skunks true reputation, I was amused, thinking about all the years I fearlessly hugged mine tight.

Comfort items. Loveys. Transitional objects. To a child, these things offer security. Literally and figuratively, they provide something to hold on to. Is it any wonder that in an industry where insecurity and self-doubt can run high, that I've had cherished items that I keep to see me through to getting an agent, to signing a contract for a book deal? Or two.

More than two years ago now, together with my friends at the Writers' Group, I attended a talk given by an agent who acquired popular nonfiction and literary fiction. This gracious woman invited all who attended her workshop to submit to her, when each writer felt their work was ready. I kept said agent's business card in a prominent location on my desk for five months. Each day I'd look at it, thinking at least I had one agent who would look at my work. Her business card was a talisman, my lucky charm.

Later I did submit to her and she did offer me representation. Though she isn't the agent I signed with, I will always hold her in high regard. She was kind and told me loads about the industry--and she gave me hope in the form of a business card.

I'm not a superstitious person, so I don't believe my success is tied to any such object. Should I lose the business card, or my little pink deli ticket, or the birthstone necklace I treasure, the one just like the jewelry worn by a character in Life Without Summer (the last two talismans deserve their own posts) I would be fine, I'd sleep at night. These tangible items merely give me comfort, they let me believe that some day my dreams will become, like these trinkets, touchable, substantial, real.

As I write, I can tell you that the business card has been safely tucked in a drawer, its job fulfilled. The little pink ticket has been placed in a baseball card protector, courtesy of my sweet son. And the necklace is in my jewelry box--you'll see me wearing it on book tour. My latest talisman sits in a paper holder on my desk. It's a small poem torn from a newspaper by my father, sixty years ago. Titled, My Wonderful One, I found this yellowed clipping in a letter he wrote to my mother. I'll include it somehow in my work-in-progress. For now it offers me hope that I will finish my next novel. That my story will find its way to readers. It's tiny and seemingly unimportant, but it spurs me on. It helps me believe.

Novel Problems

Posted by Lynne Griffin

How do you feel when you hear the words problem, conflict, argument or confrontation? To some, thems fightin words, to the writer they are part and parcel of writing a strong story.

Rarely in my roles as wife, mother, business woman and teacher do I shy away from problems. I'm not one to think problems are bad things, merely situations that need a closer look and a creative plan for resolution. With clear and kind confrontation, my husband and I grow closer after we solve a home maintenance problem, or a disagreement about our stance on a parenting issue, or a difference of opinion over a business decision. Once the problem is identified, only then can we develop a strong, well thought out plan of attack for working things out.

Like any relationship, readers can have problems with novels too. And for the writer, to know them in advance is to solve them. Turning the other way, thinking you can avoid facing the fact that something doesn't work is as unwise a thing to do with your story, as it is to look the other way when a friend is upset with you.

In the magnificent novel Atonement, by Ian McEwan, the novel lives and dies on the strength of the character, Brionny. The central potential problem of this novel, in my opinion, is that it rests on whether or not readers will have empathy for this lonely girl, with a vivid imagination and a crush on an older boy, who propels the story forward by altering lives. Trust me, McEwan delivered.

As did Donna Tartt, in her wonderful novel, A Secret History. One potential problem in this novel related to stakes and tension. Because the author tells the reader in the first chapter who murdered a major character, Tartt had to work hard to keep the stakes and tension high enough to keep readers reading.

From the very beginning, writing Life Without Summer, I was given feedback that the structure I chose was a potential problem, as was my novel's theme. I looked at this as a gift, and I actively used readers' concerns in crafting and revising the novel. Without a doubt it is a better book because I took the challenges on. I think it's better to know the potential problems of your novel, facing them head on as you write, then to be blindsided by them later when the novel potentially falls apart. Likely there will be enough minor details and/or plot elements to contend with later on.

I've come up with a few examples of potential novel problems, ones I believe are important for writers to be aware of, right from the start. Feel free to add others in the comment section of this blog post.

• If you're writing a voicey piece, how will you sustain it throughout the novel so readers won't tire of it?
• If you're writing a novel over a long period of time (Think London, by Edward Rutherford) how will you transition the work to move time forward and still keep readers interested?
• If you're writing in multiple points of view, how will you help the reader keep characters straight? A confused reader will put your book aside in favor of one that takes the reader by the hand.
• Again, if you're writing from multiple points of view, how do you avoid having readers like one character better than another. You don't want them sighing when the next scene or chapter involves the less likable one.
• If you're writing a period piece, how do you make it relevant to today so that readers can relate?
• If setting is central to your novel, how will you vary it enough to keep readers from skipping descriptive passages?
• If you've come up with a wild idea for a plot line, is it believable? Is the reader pulled into the fictional world so deep they'll buy your explanations for how plot unfolds?
• In the crowded marketplace, you've got the first page or two to hook readers, does your beginning reach out and grab?
  
• With any work, how do you make the middle of your novel interesting enough to keep readers hooked until the end?
• Does your ending satisfy?

When it comes to potential novel problems, I suggest a bring it on philosophy, rather than turn the other way tactic. That's one of the many reasons I treasure my friends at The Writers' Group. In knowledgeable and compassionate ways, they tell me like it is. And I know my work is better as a result.

The Heart of a Seed

Posted by Lynne


The faith waiting in the heart of a seed promises a miracle of life which it cannot prove at once.

~ Rabindranath Tagore

In 2000, my mother was flattened by a stroke and in her suffering she handed me the seed that would become my second novel. The character she inspired is not her in most ways. Nor are any of the other characters, found in my work-in-progress inspired by people I've known, real people. Or the plot points I’ve chosen, real events. Yes, I’ve taken details—other seeds—from my life and placed them in my protagonist’s home or let them slip from the lips of my supporting characters’ mouths. They are merely seeds. The dictionary definition of which is: that from which anything springs; a first principle; the original source.

My protagonist and her husband meet in a museum. My husband and I met in a bar, but the idea for my fictional couple’s meeting place stems from the little known fact that I told my grandmother I met my husband in a museum because our reality would have been unseemly to her back then. She later told me she knew the truth, but liked my fib much better. “It’s more romantic,” she said. Seed.

A major symbol in my work-in-progress is curtains. Swag, tab and pinch pleat. With their names as unique as pets, one of my characters adores designing and sewing them. Though my own mother never designed anything, and could barely thread a needle to sew a button on, she did love to change the curtains in our home. I remember she once said to me, “You wouldn’t wear the same clothes for six months, why would you want to look at the same curtains.” Seed.

Last fall when Life Without Summer sold to St Martin’s, my enormous delight was tinged with a spot of regret for not pursuing my fiction career sooner; I will be forty-nine when my debut novel hits shelves. Through the years I’ve looked in many places to find my personal form of artistic expression. Then came raising my children, launching my business, and writing my nonfiction. Still I wonder why I didn’t pursue this creative passion years ago.

Then last week, fully into writing a first draft of my second novel, it hit me that my age is actually a gift I couldn’t exchange now. I was reminded that I have no shortage of seeds to inform and give authenticity to my work. As I write, details spring from my life experience. Right there just underground, is a memory that is exactly what I need to round out a scene, the particulars act as motivation for a character. Digging deeper, I pull out a fabulous name from my childhood for a key character, and I unearth from a family vacation, the perfect setting for a cliffhanger. My days and nights working in an intensive care unit as a nurse, while putting myself through grad school, give me the fine points I'll need for two high stakes pivotal scenes. These details are organic, and though borrowed from another life, I have faith they will give genuineness to this one I am creating.

The seeds are there; planted over many years, they wait for all of us. Mature writers, like experienced gardeners, know when the time is right for harvest.

Postscript—The opening quote was a seed for this blog entry.

Full Circle

Posted by Lisa

"I saw the stringy-haired girl one time.In a bowling alley in New Hampshire. It was raining out. The drizzle woke me and stayed for the day, a guest my parents never invited to our Lake Winnipesaukee cottage.That day my dad drove the five of us to Wolfeboro, to give us something to do. My sister, brother, our neighbors, Kathy and Scott. I was twelve, I think. Or thirteen. My dad gave us money, for snacks, sodas, shoe rentals, and three straight hours of strings.


The girl in the bowling alley was my age, thereabouts. She watched me, the whole time. I wondered what she saw. I glanced at her often, wondering why her dad looked so young and why her mom never spoke to her. She was someone lonely, with sad eyes that even a day of bowling wouldn't change. She was longing for a friend, longing for a lot of things. I think she would have liked a Coke. I sipped mine through two skinny straws.

Like any writer, anywhere, images stay with me. I have a picture of that girl – in my mind. It's next to a little boy I once saw trying to surf on washed up driftwood. We all have those photo albums. Sometimes I flip through the pictures. They tell snippets of stories. Things that never sat right with me. Things I didn't understand. I worried about those people. I write about them now, giving them names, and circumstances. I make up worlds for them to live in. I need to fill in the answers for the questions I had about them.”

The above was from a blog entry I made aver a year ago, and for over a year, I have been trying to complete a YA novel. It’s changed, tremendously, as my writer’s group can attest, but the story, the plot, has never been clear to me. This has made it hard, torturous, really. Plot, I’ve discovered, is my weakness in writing. Why did I choose to set my story in New Hampshire? It was all because of that stringy-haired girl. Only, where was she in my novel? Believe it or not, nowhere.

Over the last few days, I have been struggling with plot (arrgggh! No great shock in that). Like a mouse in a maze, I keep hitting dead ends. Today, I realized, I must listen to that stringy-haired girl; she’s in my novel, finally(with hair not so stringy anymore), but she is why I started this novel, and she must help me finish it. I have to listen to her. Will she give me the answers I need?

I certainly hope so.

Presents

Posted by Lynne

There's a Griffin family conversation that happens every year around this time. Someone asks, "What do you want for Christmas?"

Tom always says, "Socks and underwear." Caitlin, "Books and candy." Stephen, "Music."

And I say, "I don't need anything, I already have everything I want." To which I get booed for being "cheesy."

I say this every year, because a person with a supportive, loving husband and two healthy respectful teenagers is already more than blessed.

For more years than I can count I could've said, "I want a hard-working, well-respected agent. One who understands my work and hopes to help me build a career. A woman preferably--one who knows how to talk about books, and publishing and even ventures into easy family chit-chat." No, I could not ask for this gift out loud. Even Santa doesn't know how to wrap up a present so perfect.

As far back as 1998, I dreamed I'd find a nonfiction book deal under my tree. A parenting book, please. This wish was one I hadn't done as well to hide, everyone who loves me knew about this dream. I'd never ask for it though, because I knew it couldn't be found in stores or borrowed. This gift would have to be earned through hard work and perseverance--no one could give it to me.

For more than seven years now, long before a single word graced the page, I could have asked for a published novel. I'd read of the miraculous stories of actresses discovered at soda fountains, why not a writer who pondered her stories in a seaside town in Massachusetts. Silly dreamer, best to keep that secret wish just that.

You'd think that this year when all my private desires have been realized that I'd say the same thing to my family when asked what I wanted for Christmas. Certainly now I truly don't need anything else. Instead, this year before I had the chance to contain it, one word popped out of my mouth. My secret wish no longer wished to be secret.

time

I want time to read the work of great writers. I want to aspire to be a better writer, to take the gifts I've been given and nurture them. I want time to write my next story, to spend time with the make-believe people I can already call family. I want time with my family and my friends, the people who know who I really am and how deeply grateful I am to be living a literary life.

I suppose all I've ever really wanted is time, whether I said so or not. Funny how the gift of twenty-four hours a day has always been there. Exactly how to spend that precious present has always been the trick.

So I'm asking for time this year. And I'm wishing all of our blog friends and readers Happy Holidays. May you be blessed with the clarity to see the gifts of time hidden within every day and the wisdom to know how to use it.

Huge thanks to the amazing foreign rights department at St Martin's Press who continue to give me gifts. This week my novel, Life Without Summer sold to Germany.

Questions & Answers with Gregory Maguire

Posted by Lisa

Last spring Grub Street Writers in Boston gave me the wonderful opportunity to interview Gregory Maguire, a fascinating and inspiring writer. Here's the interview, originally published in the Grub Street Rag...

For years, Gregory Maguire didn’t think of himself as a writer. He considered himself a person who liked to make things, who rearranged items in a pleasing fashion, whether elements in a plot, or colors and fabrics in a piece he was weaving. Majoring in both studio arts and English, Gregory says he knew one day he would have to concentrate on one thing or another.

Gregory Maguire is the author of Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West (1995), Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister (1999), Lost (2001), Mirror Mirror (2003), Son of a Witch (2005), as well as several children’s books. He received his Ph.D. in English and American Literature from Tufts University. In 1986, he co-founded Children's Literature New England, Incorporated, a non-profit that focuses attention on the significance of literature in the lives of children.

Gregory has lived abroad in Dublin and London, and now makes his home in Concord, Massachusetts.

How did you become a writer?

I steadily avoided ever taking any kind of degree that would prepare me professionally to have a job. Even when I was five, the only job I could think that I might like to have would be maybe a baker, and stand behind a bakery counter and sell doughnuts to kids. By the time I was about eight, I realized I wanted to be an artist of some sort and I didn’t want to work in an office. I didn’t want to have colleagues or a boss. I wanted to make things.

I made drawings. I made sonnets. I made plays. Anything I could touch and turn into something else, I did. I had the problem of having a modest amount of talent in a lot of directions. It was hard to settle on being a writer. At some point there must have been some sense that my writing skills were strengthening. I don’t remember that happening but I know it must have happened.

Tell us about writers who influenced you as a child.

When I was about twelve or fourteen, I began to notice how chapters were put together and which sentences stood out to me. I realized there are aesthetic beauties in the art of writing that are separate from the enjoyment of narrative. One of the writers who was a great influence on me is Jane Langton. She wrote a series of books, beginning with The Diamond in the Window, in which children of a somewhat impoverished background go through a series of dreamlike adventures at nighttime and in the daytime lived their normal everyday lives with family squabbles, trouble with money.

I was absolutely captivated because the entire book is a kind of metaphor about what the arts do, which is give us a broad and almost mystical other-worldly vision of our own lives. We go into a novel to lose ourselves and accidentally find ourselves more deeply than we intended. And I thought, wow, that’s why I want to become a writer. I want to influence people’s ability to approach their own lives with a little bit more nourishment, and a little more energy, and a little bit more courage. Though I don’t think I would have put it that way when I was 14.

What is your writing process?

It’s a little bit different for each book. I write fairly cleanly as writers go. That being said, I still go through anywhere from three and seven drafts of a book, but by draft very often I mean I am doing copyediting on myself.

One day I was on a train, and I was about halfway through writing my new book. I hadn’t really plotted the second half, but suddenly I began to see what was going to happen. It was like seeing a set of rooms: there’s the dining room, the kitchen, there’s the back pantry, the backyard, there’s the yard next door. I had a set of index cards with me and I just started writing what happens, one thing after another, and, in a sense, I outlined the entire second half of the book in minutes.

Once an outline is done I make a graphic chart of it that has several strands with the three or four main characters. I see where they come up in the book and then I will be able to look back and think of it as an aesthetic arrangement. Do I need more foreshadowing of what going to happen on page 80? Do I need something happening on page 20 so it doesn’t come out of the blue as much?

What I used to do for many years, for Wicked and for the books that immediately followed, was to work in the kitchen and use the doors of my kitchen cabinets as the sections. That’s why my first four books all have five sections, because there are five kitchen cabinet doors.

At Grub Street, many writers dream simply of being published. How does it feel to have met with such tremendous success?

One cannot attach any kind of shininess to the fact that I happened to have hit it. It is just luck. There’s no morality attached to luck. It’s not a question of virtue. It’s not a question of skill. It’s a matter of luck. It’s a matter, a little bit, of intelligence. I knew if I did Wicked well it would do well. If I did it poorly it may do well anyway. There are any number of novelists whose every sentence is polished and burnished and has a pearlescent sheen, and they have not had the luck that I’ve had.

What were your low points as a writer?

There were two low points and both had to do with Wicked.

One was eighteen column inches of my first New York Times review of Wicked. It was so bad I actually wept bitter tears of regret and venom. And I thought my career was over before it had begun. I thought maybe I should have stayed with drawing or playing the guitar. Maybe I had been feeding the quarters into this particular meter for nineteen years too long.

The other time was the night that Wicked didn’t win the Tony’s for best Musical. By then I had become such good friends with the creative team and many of the cast that I felt it personally.

What are you working on now?

I’m working on a sequel to Son of a Witch. I now conceive that there will be four books in what I call The Wicked Cycle: Wicked, Son of a Witch, the one I have now, which is kind of a palate cleanser. It’s short. It’s a dish of lemon sorbet in between the rich first two courses, and the final flaming dessert. I’m trying to keep it short. I’m trying to keep it intense. I’m within about ten pages of the end of the first draft, and I don’t know whether it’s working at all. It’s very nerve wracking.

I also would like to write a play after almost thirty years of writing fiction. I did have a small idea for the opening scene about six weeks ago. Now that I’ve seen Wicked so many times, I’m beginning to see things visually on the stage rather than in a kind of omniscient way, looking down at a plot.

I would like to do something new.

A to Z Travels

Posted by Lisa

(You've got to try this writing exercise: starting each sentence with consecutive letters of the alphabet. Grace Talusan taught it to me. She's a Grub Street instructer and writer extraordinaire)

New York City

Amazing, isn’t it? Brilliant writing was their first step in the right direction. Couple that with tenacity, and the end result was editor interest in both Amy and Lynne’s newly completed novels.

Don’t think for a minute that either of these members of our writers’ group had it easy. Either of them could have thrown up their hands in exasperation when they received feedback at our meetings. Forge ahead, now matter the challenge before them, that’s their philosophy, their way to meet with success.

Grub Street has an annual conference. Held each spring, the Muse & the Marketplace is an event not to be missed. I went for the first time in 2005, at Amy’s suggestion. Juggling writing with work and family, at first I wondered how it could be done. Kudos to writers for organizing events such as these that “show” and “tell” writers it can be done.

Looking back, I realize how far each of us in the writers’ group has come since those early days. Making the commitment to becoming a writer is truly a journey, in time, and knowledge, and confidence, and skill. Next entries, for both Amy and Lynne, will document recent trips to New York. Over the past week, each has traveled to the Big Apple to meet with their editors. Publishing their work is a dream come true.

Quoting Oscar Wilde,

“Ordinary riches can be stolen, real riches cannot. In your soul are infinitely precious things that cannot be taken from you.”

Risking failure is a chance any writer takes. Show me a writer, and I’ll show you a fool. Taking those dreams and turning them into reality is what Amy and Lynne did.

Usually, people hear someone’s writing a novel and they roll their eyes or nod politely. Very often, they imagine the whole idea must be a big waste of time. When regular people “pretend” they're writers, the rest of the world frowns. Xeroxing your butt at the office gains a person more respect than taking time to write during your half-hour lunch break in corporate America.

You are a regular person, just like Amy and Lynne. Zero in on their blog entries this week and learn that for regular people, dreams can come true!

In the Moment

By Amy

The clarity of that moment comes to me now. I was working at the Massachusetts State House, waiting for the ancient elevator to carry us down four flights, when it struck me that I would never be pregnant a first time again. So many days and weeks had been spent trying to hurry along the process so I could hold a baby -- my baby -- in my arms instead of just my heart; I couldn't wait. I was through with feeling ill and exhausted, having my hair and complexion sapped of all luster. But standing there, I felt her squirm and was imbued with wonder. It was then I cupped my belly and tried to slow time. Cherish this, I thought.

For years, since childhood really, I'd wanted to be a mother. I read and read about all the different ways my body would change, exactly how that new life would appear at each stage inside my womb, the quirks and symptoms that go along with pregnancy. I knew what to expect. If you've ever been through it, then you're probably laughing by now. There are no words to describe just how relentless morning sickness can be. No one ever tells you how a miscarriage presents until it comes to pass. The overwhelming fatigue and instantaneous passion for someone who isn't yet fully realized can't be found in a how-to manual. But you have a vision nonetheless, a shadowy sense of what it is you're creating.

There are a million and one different paths a pregnancy can take. Many are spiritual, some terrifying, others are much too unpleasant to ever be discussed. There's a general template to be sure, but there are a plethora of variables, not one journey.

You know where this is going. If you're in the process of writing your first book, the one you know in your heart will be the one -- and you do know when it's the one -- cherish the process. There is only one first time. Enjoy the writing; as difficult as it may sound, wallow in the revisions; make an adventure of obtaining an agent; and when you do, feel at peace when it goes on submission. It takes a long time to grow a book. Savor the good and desperate times alike. It will all be sweeter for it.

My baby is a teen now and beautiful beyond even I imagined. If I allow it, quiet everything within me, I can transport myself back to that time by the elevator. A crystalline moment when I held her inside of me and she was mine alone, not yet of this world, vulnerable to its interpretations and shaping.

It will be the same for each of us with our books, I think. Someday, not long from now, though it will feel a lifetime, we'll find ourselves looking back and being thankful for having that moment of clarity to hold close. Enjoy.

Songs and the Mountain

Posted by Lynne

She's petite and soft spoken for a woman with such power behind her words. Her name is Ann Packer and I was privileged to attend a reading she gave to introduce her latest novel, Songs Without Words.

At the historic Harvard Bookstore, I browsed, I shopped and then I took my seat. The staff whisked Ms. Packer in to a room out back like she was a movie star. I could imagine her back there shedding her jacket, opening her book to her marked pages, reviewing her chosen paragraphs.

Out she came, taking her place at a podium far too big for her slight frame. And she read. She shared bits that introduced Liz, a woman who identifies herself first and foremost as a mother. Then Sarabeth, Liz's childhood friend, who struggles to find her way, and has since the trauma she experienced as a teen; her mother committed suicide. And finally Lauren, the character who makes a terrible choice, one that will be the catalyst for the chasm that forms in the women's friendship.

While I listened, I observed. I will get to do readings of my novel soon, and I wanted to see what worked for the crowd and what didn't. When she finished reading, it was time for questions. My favorite part is listening to readers questions--I have to contain myself, only asking one or two. I love knowing what readers think and what authors share about the writing process.

As you probably know, Ann Packer is also the author of the wildly successful The Dive from Clausen's Pier, a favorite book of mine. She told the crowd that Dive took her ten years to write, Songs, five. The audience, as if well practiced, let out a soft sigh. A studious man, with his leather bound journal and fountain pen asked what sustained her over the ten years. How did she hold on to her identity as a writer, when it took that long and she had no contract or agent for Dive?

She paused. Her pause was longer than was comfortable for me. Did she even know what sustained her? Does any writer really know?

"I chose to write," she began. "I created the mountain, so I needed to climb it. And as for my identity as a writer." She looked right at the man. "If I stopped writing, then my identity as a writer would really be in jeopardy."

With that the program was over. Ending on an inspirational note, I took my books--Dive and Songs--and I made my way toward her. She signed the books and we exchanged pleasantries. Like a student who takes the first test of the semester and celebrates her A, I told her my debut novel would be published by St Martin's soon. Her face lit up and she said, "What's your name, I'll watch for your success."

I told her my name, she'd watch for me. I practically skipped back to my car. And all I can say to other writers struggling to hold on to their identity is this. Every writer--no matter how successful-- has a mountain to climb. Keep climbing your mountain. The view is prettier with every step.

Lessons Learned

By Amy

Have you seen this yet? He's Professor Randy Pausch of Carnegie-Mellon University and he's dying.

Prof. Pausch wanted to share some life lessons with his students in the time he has left. Not every dying man has wisdom to impart. These days, I spend a fair amount of time around the terminally ill. Some want a warm sweater on even the most stifling day, many cry for their long-dead mothers, and nearly all reach out a hand to strangers passing by, desperate for human touch from just about anyone. It's difficult to hug some of them, impossible not to. None speak of great accomplishments or obstacles overcome. I hear only regrets.

But Dr. Pausch isn't so desperate, at least not so far as we can see from this video. Instead, he's sanguine about his life's course, grateful even. He doesn't want our pity, so I'll honor that. Instead, I'd like for the writers reading this to focus on one lesson in particular Dr. Pausch has learned in his 46 years.

Brick walls are there for a reason: they let us prove how badly we want things.

As a writer how many brick walls have you encountered? How many unfinished manuscripts do you have, how many rejection letters for that book under the bed, how many days and weeks have you spent wiping away the tears, drinking away the grief because you've slammed headlong into that damn brick wall. Again. Do you still want it so badly your gut twists, so much that you fall asleep at night dreaming about your writing, wake several times through, and then in the morning linger in that dream state because reality is too much to bear. Do you want it that much? Do you?

Well, then you'll probably find a way over, under, around or through that brick wall. Because you're a writer. That's what writers have to endure. It's not exciting or romantic, but when you get beyond the wall, you'll know you've earned it. Each of us has a brick wall in our path -- or a journey peppered with them. This is the life we chose, the one that chose us. Accept it, embrace it, learn from it and know how badly you want it.

Watch the video and you'll hear Randy Pausch share his childhood dreams, discover how he achieved nearly all of them. His lesson to each of us is that bricks and mortar are no match for our dreams. Not even close.

I promised I wouldn't pity Dr. Pausch. It's hard not to do when you see his three young children. So much lost, yet so much found.

No pity, Dr. Pausch, instead thanks for extending a hand to us.

Training

Posted by Lynne

I played softball for one season when I was a girl. I liked it, but didn't love it. Then came tennis. Loved it, but I wasn't any good. Then swimming. I loved it and I was very good at it, but there wasn't a place I could do it off season.

Finding my exercise has proven challenging for me. In recent years, I've settled on walking, yet I admit to doing it in fits and starts. When I'm in the groove, I walk six days per week, adding in hills as the week progresses. I throw in two to three days of strength training, and boy do I feel strong. My clothes fit well, I sleep soundly and make better quality food choices, too.

Looking back to when I began to write regularly, I was fully aware that I couldn't write a novel or a parenting book unless I started out small. A writing exercise here or a parenting article there, over morning coffee or while waiting for a client I began to believe I could put my thoughts and opinions on paper and someone would care. With each writing prompt, my imagination was stirred, characters starting appearing out of nowhere and a thesis for Negotiation Generation came to me.

I began scheduling in my writing time. Thursday and Friday work days for NG. Five mornings per week for one hour, my novel. The more I wrote, the more I wanted to write. Needed to write.

Soon I was ready for hurdles. The first one looked insurmountable. Getting an agent. With lots of research, a knockout query letter and proposal, I cleared that hurdle only to face-- what at the time seemed like a taller more ominous one--getting a publisher.

With mixed emotions--anxiety and hope--I persevered. I couldn't stop, I was training.

And now my parenting book is published; I'm working on another and my novel is complete (for the moment). I know I'll need even more fortitude to stay in the race, because even though one book sits patiently on bookstore tables and shelves waiting for readers, this marathon, so aptly the name of Boston's Grub Street annual conference, is equal parts muse and marketplace.

In my expanded world view, looking back on the goal to be published, I see that I'm no where near the finish line. I simply turned a corner to find that my strength, determination and need to fine tune my craft are still required. Only the scenery has changed.

I'm training. And I plan to go the distance.

Making a Literary Life Friday: The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

That's right. Kids go back to school. Agents and editors return to New York. And then there's the release of the fall smorgasbord of great books! What great books you ask? Look over at our Hot Links to click on just some of them. Without first looking, guess which one is at the top of our list?

Lisa

Lisa is spending the last few days of the summer with family. Enjoy, Lisa and family!

Amy

I visited several bookstores yesterday (some people see therapists, I go to bookstores; it works) and saw so many titles by people I know! It's the most strange experience to pick up book after book, and know the story behind it, the struggle and passion. It was the third store that choked me up, though. There on the front display and on a nearby ladder was Negotiation Generation: Take Back Your Parental Authority Without Punishment by our very own Lynne Reeves Griffin. Brava, Lynne, brava!

In other humongoidal news, back when we started this blog, one of the first links we added was to Michelle Zink. She was finishing up a book, querying agents, found one who was interested if she made changes. Well, I guess those revisions were pretty fantastic because Publishers Marketplace had this to say about Michelle: "Nancy Conescu at Little, Brown for Young Readers has preempted world rights to The Prophecy of the Sisters, a YA gothic thriller trilogy by debut author Michelle Zink; Steven Malk at Writers House made the six-figure deal. The first book in the trilogy, which blends supernatural elements with romance, is scheduled for spring 2009, with books two and three to follow in spring 2010 and 2011." And to you, we send our best, Michelle!

Hannah

Hooray for Lynne! With apologies to the two local bookstores I frequent, I did order early from Amazon hoping all interest in a forthcoming title would attract attention, mean something. Have not gotten my package yet, and knowing it is out there is making me crazy. I want my Negotiation Generation! Meanwhile, I've managed time again this week on my revisions (and lie in bed thinking of revisions to the revisions or the next revisions, etc.!), and am so, so, so ready for Tuesday.

Lynne
Ready for Tuesday means the first day of college for my daughter, the beginning of sophomore year for my son, and it's my publication date! It's a big day all around, for my family. This week, I sent copies of my book to treasured friends and supportive colleagues. And of course I popped over to the bookstore that has already created a book display. The reality of my book sitting on those shelves is indescribable. I'm ready!

Publicity and Door Steps

Posted by Lynne

When I found out I was pregnant with my first child, the joy was indescribable. Until I realized at the beginning of my ninth month I would have to deliver.

If you are a regular reader of my entries, you know I can't help but compare having a book to having a child. The emotional rollercoaster ride is eerily similar. The highs include pride and gratitude; the lows, apprehension and enormous amounts of hard work. So here I am seven weeks from the publication of Negotiation Generation, and it's just starting to don on me in a real way--I've got to deliver.

I'm over the moon because I'm scheduling events, planning travel; I've seen the galley and have been contacted for some interviews. I can't believe publication is right around the corner. Yet, twenty-four hours a day, (Yes, even while I'm sleeping) my mind is racing with all the other things I should be doing to make the book successful. Will I be able to do enough to get the attention of the media, other bloggers, and most importantly parents?

Years ago when I lamented how hard it was to get an agent and a publisher for my book, a dear friend of mine said to relax. She said, "If God wants to get your book out into the world, you could leave it on your front steps and he could make it happen."

I smiled at the time, wishing it were only that easy. Yet her sentiment stuck with me. Now that I have a wonderful agent, and my book is due out, her words come back into sharp focus. All I can control is what I can control.

Sure I'm busy, though there's a lot that can't be done quite yet. It's too early to announce the book in my fall newsletter, or book radio segments, or visit bookstores. School and community leaders are out on summer break, so trying to connect for possible speaking engagements is challenging. Once again in the journey from idea to published book, there's a whole lot of waiting going on. Something I admit is not my forte.

So how do I move forward with publicity while managing my emotions? I review my publicity plan so many times a day I could recite it like a favorite poem. (I imagine that's why it scrolls through my mind while I sleep) Each day, I choose a few tasks to be completed and do my best to close those circles. I reach out to old friends and colleagues to help me connect to parent groups that might be interested in an event. (If you are, please be in touch!)

Best of all--I'm going on vacation. I know the next few months will be thrilling and tiring, so I've decided to get away with my family for an uninterrupted week in a cabin on a lake in Maine. It will be just what I need to empty my mind, re-energize my body and renew my spirit. Not to mention give my full attention to the three people who have supported me for as long as it took to get this book out into the world.

When I come back refreshed and ready to tackle more book launch tasks, I imagine I'll still be filled with exhilaration tangled in self-doubt. I know I won't be able to do everything I want to do to publicize the book. But I know this--I will work hard because I believe in the message. The rest is in God's hands.

Truth and Revision

Posted by Lynne

He is cliches of beauty. Tall, dark and handsome. My soulmate; he understands me or least he's always willing to try. But those are not the reasons I adore my husband. It's because I can count on him to always tell the truth. In the beginning his truthfulness was applied to skirts that accentuated post-pregnancy hips. Or first attempts at complicated recipes gone wrong. Now he tells it like it is about my writing.

I would be blessed beyond measure if I only had Tom's honesty when it comes to my work, but I'm fortunate enough to have a cadre of trusted readers. Amy, Lisa and Hannah are the most generous--and forthright--writers I know. No sugar coating, no gratuitous compliments, though no critique for the sake of boosting their own egos, either. For them, it's all about making the work better, encouraging each of us to grow as a writer.

Along with Tom, Amy, Lisa and Hannah, I have another special reader, let's call her E.

Back in January, thrilled I'd been capable of polishing a first draft of my novel, I sent it off to E. I was naively hopeful. Her first words to me after reading it were, "You asked me to be honest, so I am going to be. It isn't there yet."

Yes, I'd asked for honesty. I honestly wanted you to love it, I thought. What in goodness name do I do with, it isn't there yet. Couldn't this person I trusted tell me where it was supposed to go; I would willingly take it there if only I knew. She gave minimal suggestions, some that felt true to the story, some that did not. With the support of my other trusted readers--chiefly Tom and my writers' group--I shouldered the blow, and got to the job of revising.

I submerged myself in classes, books on revision, and the chair I sit in to write. I'd often ask Tom if he was okay with me, going to that place. If you're a writer, you know the one I'm talking about. The place where you're connected to people you adore who don't exist, to places you love but can't touch. Whether I spent an hour there or twelve, Tom kept saying, "I believe you have to tell this story."

I'd love to end this post by telling you my revisions are complete and my manuscript will be published. The news I received this week was good, but not that good. The truth is I finished a third draft and sent it to my trusted reader E. Her first words to me this time were, "Revision is a wonderful thing." She said my story has come alive.

Her earlier honesty was hard to hear, though truly her words were a gift. My story wouldn't be the story it is now if she hadn't had the courage to tell me the truth. I wouldn't have pushed the story, or myself.

Like a ball of yarn, truth and revision are intertwined. Pull at the knot with honesty, free the tangle with revision, only to come upon a new knot. Anyone who's tackled it knows, it's by no means an easy thing to do--you need the truth to do it.

Second Stall to the Right

By Amy

I go to the bathroom to cry, second stall to the right.

My mother had a “significant stroke” six days ago and all of my waking time has been spent with her at the hospital. The first three days, she lay mostly unconscious, her right side seized by a continuous spasm that left her blankets askew and IV lines vulnerable. One of the doctors said it was to compensate for the paralysis on the left. I’m not sure which doctor, though, there’ve been so many. When she did finally open her eyes, it was reassuring by degrees. Since then, she often doesn’t know where she is or even what stage of her life she’s living – childhood, young motherhood, a random tea party where she pours – other moments are bittersweet pockets of lucidity. To have her again, for only a few moments or even hours will have to do. When she’s aware, I want to burrow myself under her mound of blankets, have her tell me this too shall pass, but that’s my job now -- that and believing she will recover. I have to believe for my father, too, he needs that. Her team of doctors can’t say how much she’ll improve, but most are hopeful.

My father and I arrive early and leave late, meet with doctors on their early morning rounds, check her vitals with the night nurse, call the neighbors and family members throughout the day, reassure my brothers she’s making progress, no matter how small, remind them it’s a marathon, not a sprint. It’s killing them. I wait until my mother’s safely asleep before nudging my Dad to the cafeteria for a hot meal. He hates to leave her side. He’s relying on me now to help him navigate this uncharted course. It’s a terrible thing for a father to depend so much on his little girl, I know this. So I don’t let him see me cry.

A friend called me last night and asked what I was doing to help myself. I know someone you can talk to, she said. She is a lovely friend, one of the first people I called. But she knows I don’t talk, not to therapists anyway. Instead, what has seen me through this period has been writing this essay.

The first line came to me in the middle of the night while I sat in a chair watching the rise and fall of my mother’s chest. The rest has come in bits and pieces since. When I finally found the time – this precious time – to write, I flew to my desk. Thoughts of these moments, putting words to page have been my touchstone. I’ve always loved writing and each of you knows by now how important it is to me. But I suppose I didn’t realize that it's my essence; I am a writer. So many of us have wrestled with the notion of calling ourselves writers before publishing something, as if that title can be bestowed only by public acknowledgement. What I’ve learned this past week is that a writer isn’t a title at all, it’s who we are, what moves and sustains us. Writing is what we turn to in crisis, in joy, when we need to make right a world so fatally flawed with wrong. It’s our catharsis and euphoria and the marrow of our core. We are writers.

I don’t expect I’ll have much time to write in the weeks ahead. I’ll probably go days without it. When I can manage, it will help me through.

When I can’t, you can find me in the bathroom, second stall to the right.