Last summer, Quinnen was the star pitcher of her baseball team, the Panthers. They were headed for the championship, and her loudest supporter at every game was her best friend and older sister, Haley.
This summer, everything is different. Haley’s death, at the end of last summer, has left Quinnen and her parents reeling. Without Haley in the stands, Quinnen doesn’t want to play baseball. It seems like nothing can fill the Haley-sized hole in her world.
The one glimmer of happiness comes from the Bandits, the local minor-league baseball team. For the first time, Quinnen and her family are hosting one of the players for the season. Without Haley, Quinnen’s not sure it will be any fun, but soon she befriends a few players.
With their help, can she make peace with the past and return to the pitcher’s mound?
Was there one writing workshop or conference that led to an “ah-ha!” moment in your craft? What happened, and how did it help you?
After querying two projects and having plenty of full requests but no offers, I felt stuck in that place I’m sure many other writers have found themselves in. You’re so close, but still not there yet.
There’s something holding you back, but no one has been able to articulate it. And since you’re the writer, you don’t have the capacity to objectively evaluate your own finished product. Of course the story works for you; you wrote it!
It was at this point in my writer’s journey—after feeling frustrated with being so close and still not there yet, that I applied to Vermont College of Fine Art’s MFA program in Writing for Children and Young Adults.
The ah-ha moment for me came during the first residency, and was followed by many ah-ha moments in the subsequent ones.
|Coming in 2017|
In workshop, each time we met, two writers had their work critiqued by the group. You might think my ah-ha moment came during my own critique, but as I remember, it came from looking closely at the work of my peers.
Suddenly, it started to click—what all those agents had been trying to tell me, but which I had failed to see. I wasn’t letting the reader along on the journey with the character, not entirely.
You see, on the surface there was nothing wrong with my writing. Like so many English lit majors, I knew how to write at the sentence level. But what I didn’t know—what I was only just beginning to learn—was how to tell a story. Maybe still that language is not perfectly precise.
What I was failing to do was let the reader in on the journey of the story. I was trapping the reader outside of it; it wasn’t a lived, breathed experience for them.
I could see this difference as I read my peers’ work. Some of us were still in the same stage as me; perfectly suitable writing, but not a lived experience. And others, with interiority and voice, had allowed the reader to become an active participant in the story.
Later in the program, Rebecca Stead came as a visiting writer and lectured on this participant quality. She spoke of how writing is providing the 2+2 of the equation, and letting the reader put that together to make four.
Like so many beginning writers, I was always writing out the full equation. Not letting the reader to inhabit the story and do the work.
This revelation was one that shook the big picture. It didn’t allow for an easy or quick fix. What it meant was that I had to start all over in my thinking of how to tell a story, what to share with the reader and how.
Like so many things in writing, it was just the beginning.
As a contemporary fiction writer, how did you deal with the pervasiveness of rapidly changing technologies? Did you worry about dating your manuscript? Did you worry about it seeming inauthentic if you didn’t address these factors? Why or why not?
Coming from a librarian background, I tend to have the long haul in mind. The truth is most books will have longer shelf lives in libraries than they ever will in a bookstore. Who wouldn’t want their book to be serendipitously discovered by a teen three, five, ten years after it was published?
As a teen librarian, I assessed the teen fiction collection annually, having to—gulp—discard the books that were no longer circulating to make room for new books.
In truth, some books don’t have a long shelf life because they are so technology-obsessed that they date themselves within a few years.
As a middle grade writer, I have it a little easier than YA authors, with technology being not quite as big a part of a ten-year-old’s life. That said, there are certain technologies that don’t seem to be going away, and it’s not in my interest to avoid anything my characters would be using in real life.
In The Distance To Home, text messaging plays a key role in the plot. While I’m a little wary of using branded applications, like Facebook and Twitter, whose purposes and uses have evolved quite a bit in the past five years, it’s important at the end of the day to be true to your reader’s world.
Anytime you avoid their reality, you risk the chance of a reader feeling jolted out of the story by something that feels inaccurate or false.
|This revision kitty always rests on freshly printed manuscripts.|