Archive for September, 2009

When I wrote Green Dragon Codex I really hoped kids would enjoy it.  I had to hope, as I had literally no experience to fall back on.  I’d never written anything for kids.  Nothing.  Nadda.  Zilch.  Then one morning I woke up with a contract to deliver a children’s novel in nine months.  (A lot of things preceded that morning, by the way; contracts are not in the habit of creeping up on us writers as we sleep.)  Finished the book in three months and waited the rest of the time, worrying that kids would find my writing about as interesting as a lecture on lowest common denominators delivered in monotone Latin (which is, I’m certain, one of the 666 layers of hell). 

The book’s publication did little to alleviate my worry; however, gradually I’m starting to get a sense of how kids feel about the book, and the news seems to be good.  Better, the good news has been pretty uniform.  And best, sometimes the news has been better than good.  A few online reviewers that let children review the books have post reviews on GDC, and thus far they have all been extremely positive, scoring the book in the “Great!” or 8 through 10 on a scale of ten range.  It was even named a FlamingChoice Award Winner. 

But without question the greatest praise was delivered to me a few days ago in the form of a mother’s put out complaint.  Her daughter—six, I believe—now wakes her every morning at six am and begs her to read GDC.  This poor woman really tried to express the humor of the situation when she told me, but that good natured exterior was a thin crust over genuine sleep-deprived irritation.  

I told her I was sorry for the unfortunate circumstances, but I couldn’t remain such a hypocrite so I retracted the apology and admitted that I wasn’t sorry at all—rather, I was resisting a strong impulse to do a happy dance on the nearest table.  Every writer wants people losing sleep to read their stories; little girls ensuring that entire households lose sleep is even better!

So, if my book has upset the tranquility of your routine, please let me know.  Quoting Kai-Lan (those who watch television with children may know who I’m talking about), it makes me “Superhappy!”

MrsBucket, also known as Lori, asked the following:

A couple of questions about the downloadable study guides: Did you write them? Other than theme, they don’t really address reading strategies; is that something you think children should be taught? I’m interested in how you, as a children’s writer, think children should approach books. Vocabulary, comprehension, et al. are good, but what about deep reading (i.e. critical theory)? Do you think that’s something children can and should learn or no?

I did write them.  As for reading strategies/deep reading (which are synonyms for the same types of moves), these are tactics or methods to achieve comprehension, not separate things.  Readers adopt particular strategies to help them decode a text; readers read deeply rather than superficially to comprehend the meaning of the text more completely and intimately.  So, the way I interpret your question is: “Why didn’t I include more proscribed critical reading methods in the study guide?”

Two answers.  First, I did give some basic critical reading strategies in the form of a reading journal that teachers can have their students keep.  In the journal I suggest that students: 1) summarize the chapter, which is a distillation thought process that involves creating a heirarchy of information, essential to understanding any text; 2) record words they did not understand to be learned later or looked up in the dictionary, which teaches both intertextuality and rereading; 3) a section where students record questions they have about the chapter, an exercise of self-monitored comprehension; and 4) a few sentence response to each chapter, an exercise of reflection that introduces basic, non-threatening reader-participant awareness.  The guide recommends that this journal be kept for each chapter, so you can see that there are quite a few opportunities to learn these basic critical reading strategies and processes.

Also, deep reading entails certain types of thought, such as analysis, synthesis, and problem-solving, among other metacognitive processes.  Contained within the comprehension sections of the guides are questions and prompts that require all three of these specified modes of thought.  Analysis is addressed through many what and why questions, including some that encourage readers to privilege certain characters, actions, or situations, which all requires analysis.  The “Crystal Ball” sections of the guide ask readers to predict what will happen in the future in the story, which requires a logical identification and analysis of past events.  The “Exploring Theme” sections often ask students to synthesize  material from the story with their own experience and contemporary culture.   Finally, the children are frequently asked both to identify and critique problem solving shown in the story and to solve similar problems on their own.

I guess I’m saying that the guide does, I feel, facilitate deep reading in many different ways appropriate to the primary educational audience of the book.  

My second reason for structuring the guides the way I did (emphasizing the reader’s comprehension and response over proscribed reading tactics)?  Because the book is for 8-13 year olds (the primary audience), I’m less concerned that they learn specific ways to read critically than that they become aware that such options exist in a text.  When children read, some of the moves and cognitive processes adults make unconsciously take conscious effort.  Reading deeply is more difficult for children and, frequently, not possible at certain depths.  I had very little interest is giving a bunch of theoretical tools that the kids weren’t yet equipped to use. 

Instead, I took a response-based approach.  Sometimes the best way to teach a method or technique, especially to learners new to such skills, is to start with the results of their cognitive processes.  By examining the thoughts and feelings (what they comprehend) from the text, kids gradually become aware that their understanding is not exactly the same as their classmates’ and their teacher’s.  Further discussion results in evolved understanding of the text, which promotes the realization that their current comprehension is not a perfect given, but instead came from somewhere.  For this age group, this realization is what I’m going for.  I want them to know that options and factors do affect the way we read.  That they understand which factors and how these function takes greater metacognitive awareness and is more demanding, and they have a whole lifetime of reading and school to learn that.  And they will—as long as they understand the basic truth that comprehending what we read takes effort, tools, and intent.

To put all this more simply, I didn’t want teachers telling kids how to read this book.  I want kids to read it however they are currently equipped and to enjoy it—then I want them to take the understandings they have gleaned, discuss those, and reverse engineer their own understanding of their cognitive processes.  I don’t care if they do things perfectly, efficiently, or even correctly.  By continually examining “What is the effect of this?” in groups, kids are led gently down the path “So how did I get here?”  If students are asking themselves that question, even without realizing it, the guides have done their job.

Does that makes sense?  I hope so.  As always, if anyone has other questions—or wants to argue with me about my answer to this—Bring it on!

The interview I did for akgmag.com is now up, so check it out.  It may be your only opportunity to learn what song I last sang out loud while alone.  (I’ll bet you money it was not the song you most recently sang out loud while alone.)

Now, back to work.  Oh, and for any of the students from the Children’s Lit class I will address tonight, if you’ve found your way to this blog, you’re on the right track.  If you posted a comment (as instructed) then you’re a step ahead of others.  If you keep coming here periodically, and do the rest of the things I told you, you can consider yourself on the inside track to publication.  Hurray!

My report:

The LUW’s Annual Roundup was, as always, well worth participating in.  The best part—other than seeing old friends and meeting some new ones—was the location.  It was the first time I’ve been to the Homestead in Midway, Utah, and it was the most pleasant conference setting yet.  The Homestead’s rooms are located in lodges and largish cabins scattered about the grounds, which gives the place a distinctly European feel.  They even have a natural hot spring ninety feet deep inside a stone chimney, which I think was called the Crater (very cool), though I didn’t do more than view it.  (Other guests went swimming.)  My room was large and comfortable, and the meals were of unusual quality.  The best attribute of the Homestead, however, was it’s natural setting.  Every outdoors glance was rewarded with peaked mountains with forested sides dappled in yellows and reds from the onset of autumn.  The drive to and from the conference was thus an unexpected highlight of my weekend.  I’d forgotten how magnificent fall leaves can be.

As for the conference itself, my workshop went about as I expect, which means I am pleased with the results.  People thanked me heartily for teaching it and asked many questions afterward, which is always a good sign.  I think we sold out the bookstore’s stock of Green Dragon Codex as well.  (No complaints there.)  I spent much of my free time with some friends, including Eric Swedin (writer and professor at Weber), James Dashner (children’s and YA author, whose The Maze Runneris coming out on Oct. 6th, so buy it because it’ll be great—and who is neither particularly dashing nor a Jane Austin character, despite the misleading nature of his name), and Heather Moore (LDS fiction writer and professional editor).  I also met some great people for the first time, including a woman named Taffy, which configuration was a first for me (for the record, a man named Taffy would also have been a first).  Got some marketing pointers from Richard Paul Evans and learned the Sandra Dallas is a very smart and very funny woman, which is always a great combination.

So, I’m glad I went and I am glad that it is over.  And anyone who attended my workshop, if you enjoyed it, I would greatly appreciate a short recommendation.  Thanks!

Oh, an interview I gave to akgmag.com (a free site for and about writers) should be available soon.  When I know when, you’ll know.

Two major projects all but done, and now on to a third (after writing this blog post while watching Magnum P.I.), while a fourth stays on the horizon for the moment.

This morning I finished revising and editing the sample chapters for my newest proposal package. Overall, I feel pretty good about the work I’ve done. The book is clearly YA, a little older than my most recent children’s novel, which was itself a little older than Green Dragon Codex.  (I have a feeling that middle grade is a stretch for me, or at least for my much-cherished stylistic and content extremes.)  The one thing that does worry me a bit about the sample chapters is the length of the first chapter: 6,000 words.  (The next two chapters come in a touch lower combined.)  That’s a long chapter for a YA book, and an especially long first chapter.  My worries are alleviated somewhat by confidence that it’s a really good 6,000 word first chapter that happens in stages, and so should work out just fine—I think.  And to be honest, there’s just no way I see to cut it into sections or to cut it down more than I have.  I’d rather have it be longer than strategy dictates than kill the living story.  So, barring major issues raised by an alpha reader or two, the chapters are ready to stand out.

I’m even more relieved at finishing the second project: the first of my two presentations for the literacy conference in Idaho.  I’ll probably polish things a bit more, but the PowerPoint is done.  Now, any of you who know me—and some of you do—know that I don’t like PowerPoint.  No, that isn’t exactly correct.  I loath PowerPoint.  I often say I’ve never witnessed a PowerPoint presentation that didn’t malfunction in some way, ruining any sense of professionalism the program may have enabled.  Why am I doing this then?  Kicks, I guess.  It isn’t often that I address general educators (rather than teachers of writing specifically), which has left me feeling somewhat the prophet, responsible for crying narrative salvation in the educational wilderness (it’s startling how unimportant storytelling has become in many classrooms).  Because of this, I’ve done more research and work than was perhaps necessary for the occasion.  I doubt most attendees will expect the child’s author to run them over with educational theory complete with citation—but that’s what they’ll get, at least for much of the presentation.  Hey, I’m arguing for the killing off of the canon (or at least for its significant demotion).  I thought I’d better have a lot of smart people on my side to make that case. 

As of today, I feel I have that.  And I’m glad to be moving on to something else.

That something really isn’t much of a project, either.  I’m just refreshing myself on the workshop I’ll be presenting Saturday at The League of Utah Writers’ Roundup.  (2-4:00 pm I believe, for anyone who’s attending.)  I’ve done this workshop more often than any other, so it shouldn’t take more than an hour or so tonight to brighten up all the material.

As for next on the docket, that’ll be the second presentation I’m giving for the literacy conference in Idaho.  A lotta research; a lotta PP slides; a lotta hassle; a lotta theory behind a controversial claim (that writing fiction is a uniquely effective way to teach meta-cognition).  Uberfun. 

Hope to see some of you at Roundup.

Finally found my way back to this blog to toss a few things out at you…

The next book in the Dragon Codices line is out.  It’s the Silver installment, so if you’ve liked the others in the series, go pick it up.  (If not, just buy Green.  I didn’t say you had to like it, just buy it.) 

*****

A bit more information on my Idaho conference.  It’s called “A Change of Season: The Art of Literacy” and is being held in Meridian, Idaho, on October 1-2.  It’s an educator’s conference sponsored by both The Idaho Council of Teachers of English (ICTE) and The Idaho Council of the International Reading Association (ICIRA).  I won’t be attending the conference, just presenting my two programs.  I’m not sure when that will be, the 1st or the 2nd.  Oh, and there’s been some interest in my visiting schools in the area while I’m in Idaho, so I’ll post more information about that here when I have it.

*****

I just finished the rough draft of sample chapters for a new book.  For those who don’t know, I’m trying to stay productive over the nine months and counting a publisher has been considering a manuscript of mine they requested.  So I first developed a concept for an adult novel and got that package all ready to go; now I’m doing the same for a new children’s series.  Can’t tell too much about it, but here’s a little flavor: it addresses the themes of public education, espionage, and peer influence, and uses lots of funny names, many of which start with P.  If you want more than that, you’ll just have to wait until it gets published. 

Anyway, I finished the first go at chapter 3 yesterday, so starting next week I’ll begin to revise.  Once I’ve gotten the sample chapters as fit as I can, then I’ll write the synopsis and find out what actually happens over the course of the entire book.  After that comes the cover letter and, viola, another proposal ready to go.  With this new package and my adult idea, plus about three finished projects I think are profitably publishable, I’d call the pipeline a bit full. 

Next step?  Hopefully, hear back from this publisher about my book.  If the news is good and they offer me a contract, I’ll be on the phone to agents.  If I don’t get word about that contract soon, or they don’t offer one, getting an agent is still the next step, but I won’t have the convenience of using the phone. 

More letters and months of waiting.  Yeah.

*****

Finally, tonight, I refuse to be productive.  Absolutely refuse.  I am going to go over to a friend’s place to see how she’s doing, and I think I will bring Chinese (and a good Korean dish if I can find one, as she’s Korean).  Then I’ll run over to Chuck E Cheese to watch my nephew dart about like a hyperactive hummingbird on caffeine.  It makes one tired but it’s fun.    

What?  Am I leaving work undone to engage in this evening of frivolity?

Shut up.

I’m feeling much better, thanks, though I’m still a bit congested and a dealing with the occasional spontaneous cough.  Other than that, all hearty and hale and ready for Fall semester at SLCC.  Good thing, too, as I’m back at the Writing Center tomorrow. 

But you know, there’s something about this whole back to work thing that feels odd.  Doesn’t back to work suggest, even presuppose, some leaving behind of work initially?  That doesn’t fit me very well.  It would be more accurate to say that I redistributed my time and efforts from many areas of work to slightly fewer, and I am now expanding the menu back to its original spectrum. 

Crud, I’m busy.

And things may get a touch out of hand this semester.  For one thing, I’m working a less balanced schedule at the college than ever before, as I’ll only work Monday, Tuesday, and Friday.  I’ll make up for those two days “off” by working extra late, until 7:00 on Monday and Tuesday and until 6:00 on Friday.  This will make my days this semester longer than any I’ve consistently put in before, and I’m not sure how that will affect me. 

Additionally, while my school touring has been pushed back until later this year and early next year, I’m still frightfully busy the next few weeks.  I’ve got two conferences in the next month.  The first, the League of Utah Writers’ Annual Roundup (this year in Midway, Utah) shouldn’t take much preparation.  I am teaching a two-hour workshop, but it’s one I’ve done so many times it takes nothing but a little refreshing of the material the  morning of the workshop. 

The second conference is demanding much, much more of my time and effort in preparation.  At the beginning of Oct (either the first or the second, I believe) I’ll be at a statewide literacy conference for educators in Idaho.  It’ll be my first event in Idaho, thus my first chance to make an impression, so I decided to go with both barrels blazing—literally (about the both, not barrels blazing).  I’ll be presenting not one but two sessions as the conference.  The first will be on Narrative as the Civilizing Agent, meaning how narrative is the mechanism and primary teaching method of moral, ethical, and all behavioral regulation.  The second session will be on Teaching Metacognition through Writing Fiction.  That one should be fun, and a bit less contingent upon theory than the first.

Don’t know how these’ll turn out, and it’s taking a lot more research into sometimes dry, theoretical sources than the reading I do researching my stories.  But it’s interesting to do something this academic again.  It’s a good chance to flex some different intellectual and creative muscles.  If I didn’t have to create these workshops on top of everything else I’m doing and work starting tomorrow, it might even be fun.

I’ll let you know how things go, and get you more specific information on the Idaho event when I have it.

Thursday’s signing/workshop went off just fine, with the workshop, not surprisingly, being more fine than the signing. I have a lot of experience teaching and I really enjoy it, especially in workshop format where there’s a lot of exchange back and forth. But no complaints about the event as a whole. Sold some books for B&N; met some nice people there, including their fine CRM Michelle Sargent, whom I’d only spoken with on the phone previously; saw lots of friends and made a few new ones. The workshop was on characterization as the key to multi-fuction story, and those in attendance were enthusiastic and wonderful participants. We had a number of great discussions, including an interesting adventure into how to categorize plot vs character driven stories, and whether we even should.

For those who weren’t there (and didn’t have important meetings, other events to attend, or car trouble, and I know of instances of all three of these that kept people away), shame on you.  Here’s a sample of what you missed: the secret of what 3 things actually make story, which it seems to me writers had better know; when and why sunshine isn’t always sunny even if it’s bright; why the crime and punishment in Dostoyevsky’s novel has little to do with the murder in the story; opinions on R.A. Salvatore’s melee combat play-by-play; the notion of emotive “flags”; the confirmation of Neil Gaiman’s theory that airports aren’t distinct places at all but rather a generic type of place common to many actual places (read American Gods for more on this); and much interchange on smells, the value of nasty ones, and how much to include in our stories (I say the more and the worse the better). 

My one real regret is that I forgot to use my chaste marriage metaphor.  Well, that’ll give all of you who missed Thursday a reason to come in the future, won’t it.

Do you ever get the feeling that we drastically underestimate how crafty bacteria and viruses are?  If they really aren’t little evil geniuses, then tell me this: why do I always get sick at exactly the wrong moment?  Hmmm?  Christmas, over vacation, the day before a week-long conference, or, in this instance, the day before a workshop. 

Now don’t any of you decide not to come because you’re afraid I’ll pass you ebola or something.  It’s just a sore throat.  A hot, scratchy sore throat that burns whenever I talk, just in time for my workshop tomorrow.  I swear I can feel these little buggers in my body giggling it up.  It feels like a hiccup that won’t come out. 

I am beginning to suspect that viruses and bacteria are far more intelligent than we give them credit for.  Not only do they have an impeccable sense of timing, but they like to see us make fools of ourselves.  Example?  They give themselves strange, scary names (swine flu) to make us panic at something no more dangerous than the standard flu.  They then get our vice-president to start expounding on how this flu in a piggy costume is likely to become the next great plague and that civilization as we know it is over in a “Nightfall” kind of way (I am embellishing this a bit), and then they giggle and we all get hiccups. 

It’s a working theory.

Anyway, if I can make tomorrow’s workshop with these bugs plotting away next to my larynx, I hope you can all make it hearty and hale.  Hope to see familiar faces tomorrow as well as some that are brand new.  (Attractive female faces with weak spots for sore throated children’s writers are particularly encouraged.)  See you then.