Thursday

The conference started off with an interesting panel on writing style, after which I talked with Lisa Mangum about a requested manuscript of mine that’s apparently disappeared in some vortex at Shadow Mountain.  She said she isn’t in the vortex neighborhood (acquisitions) any more, but that believe it or not there is  bottom to the singularity and, yes, a fourteen month wait probably is a good sign in this case.  Having decided I would take what I could get in the optimism department, I headed to a presentation on open source software that made me aware of a few tools that may be very, very helpful.  (I’d never even heard of GIMP, which is apparently an open source graphic program in the vein of PhotoShop, for example.)  After this, I attended a panel on Mormons writing, reading, and editing horror fiction, mostly because Michael Collings (formerly of Pepperdine) took part, and I always love hearing him speak and teach.

Nathan Hale (who works with Shannon Hale on the Rapunzle graphic novels but is not her husband, brother, or othersuch, but is a scion of the Hale theater dynasty) then gave the day’s keynote address, which was a blend of three presentations that wasn’t exactly seemless and was better for it.  It was fun, as were the substantial number of flying fish (the helicopter rather than the standard species).   

Then came my first panel of the conference: Putting Romance in Fantasy.  Other panelists included Mette Harrison (who was a fine moderator in addition to contributing a great deal), Ami Chopine, Lesli Muir Lytle, and Anna del C. Dye.  We talked about romance as a concept apart from romance as a genre, which I thought was important, and I even thought to bust out one of my favorite Oscar Wilde quotes.  A number of people complimented me on the panel over the weekend, so I must have said something constructive, which is the goal.   

Soon after I took part in my second panel of the day, which addressed why so many mothers and dogs and such die in children’s stories.  My friend and former editor Stacy Whitman (who is moving to New York, hurray!) served as moderator and panelist as she pitched questions at two good friends, Julie Wright and Paul Genesse, and myself.  Much of the time was spent establishing the difference between a trope and a cliche, which is a really important distinction.

Oh, I almost forgot.  That night I was invited to a goodbye dinner for Stacy at Bangkok Grill in Orem (about 8th south and 3rd east, I believe).  It was quite a gathering.  Stacy went to BYU with Brandon Sanderson, Dan Wells, Howard Taylor, and a bunch of others now in the writing/publishing world, and they kindly let me attend with the rest of the clan.  It was kind of a thing to see, about twenty-five or thirty of us, a surprising number published writers (some very famous).  Here’s all you need to know: 1) Bangkok Grill is very good (Howard knows his Thai food) so you should go.  Frequently.  2)  Talking about methods of procuring and utilitzing tape worms for medicinal use is not the best subject for dinner conversation, but it can and does happen.  3)  If you think a writer is an especially capable, interesting, or admirable kind of person, never, ever go to dinner with a gang of us.  I fit in that night.  That means you will be disappointed to the brink of suicide.  4) Eating spicy food at night does not hinder my sleep, for which I am profoundly grateful.       

Friday

I was on the first panel of the morning, which filled up despite the hour (9:00 am) because of a really strong lineup: Guest of Honor and NY Times Bestseller Brandon Sanderson, the certified and certifiable schlock genius Howard Taylor, good buddy and perpetual puzzle James Dashner, and Larry Correia and Karen Hoover, neither of whom I knew but both certainly held their own on this heavyweight panel.  I hope I did the same, because this session earned a lot of praise—perhaps because it ranged from imbibing Essence of Payton Manning (you will live a happier life if you don’t ask) to the redneck fairies in Larry’s work to Brandon’s taking “Rapunzel’s hair” and “Sponge Bob” and transmuting them into a story about a space elevator constructed of impervious, semi-divine keratin which facilitates the discovery of a race of sentient sponges.  Yeah, if you weren’t there, you missed out.  That fifty minutes will never be replicated.

Marty Brenneis was the day’s keynotes, and he showed how George Lucas’s special effects company did every single cool thing you’ve ever seen on film.  It was a blast!  (Very literally.)  

At noon I was scheduled for a signing, which eventually happened though it looked for a long time that it wouldn’t.  There was some miscommunication between event organizers and the BYU Bookstore, and myself along with quite a few other authors found none of our books were available to buy.  When I discovered this the previous day I allowed my frustration to get the better of me for a while, but a very kind and patient woman named Tami arranged for me to sell on consignment and all went swimmingly.  They even got a sign with my name printed out in three hours!  I’m telling you, that girl is magic.  I signed some books over the course of the hour and talked to more people, so it turned out great.  A few other ladies at the bookstore helped me along with Tami though I didn’t catch their names.  Thanks, ladies.       

An hour later came my second panel of the day on writing authentic child characters.  Other panelists were Julie Wright (a much better moderator than she gives herself credit for), Dene Low (Laura Card), Laura Bingham, Bron Bahlmann (who is sixteen and truly deserved his seat!), myself, and James Dashner doing his best Jeff Savage impression as Jeff didn’t make it.  (For the record, it was more of a James doing Jeff doing a spot-on James Dashner impression.)  Again, things went well.  I didn’t know Dene or Laura very well, but they were both impressive.  Bron made me feel both old and a touch slow, which is a striking concoction of inferiority.  I’m a bit embarrassed that I laughed when James explained his process of secondary character creation, but it wasn’t insulting at all, at least, it wasn’t meant to be.  It was a result of perplexity.  James just writes good stories, much in the way the wind blows.  He’s so instinctive where I’m analytic.  He’ll tell you frankly he doesn’t know how or why about much of his process and, equally frankly, it’s like an itch I can’t scratch.  I gotta know how that brain works!  I swear, if he’s ever foolish enough to take a nap near me when we’re alone I’m going to find some scissors or something and poke around in his brain.  James, you have been warned.

I wrapped up the day with a really interesting presentation by Bryan Beus, a visual artist who reminds me a lot of myself in his approach to art.  He presented on archetypes and the monomyth in narrative from a largely visual point of view, which I found fascinating.  It really was like looking at a very familiar subject through lenses just that much different from what you’re used to.  We talked for a minute afterward and it was clear that there was some methodological kinship there.  I’m really glad I went.

Saturday

I’m always a bit drained by the third day of a conference and I was only on one Saturday panel, so I planned on keeping things short.  The day started off pleasantly when Brandon Mull and I parked near each other and walked into the Wilkinson Center together.  We caught up a bit and talked shop.  Brandon is one of the very successful writers who has and continues to pound the pavement like a madman.  He’s visited, I don’t know, a thousand schools over the years?  Whatever the actual number, he’s a legend in the local children’s writing world for his energy and work ethic.  When you add that to a terrific storyteller and a genuinely nice guy, you get someone who’s always nice to cross paths with.

Again, my panel was the first of the day (though my second on romance, go figure).  Where before I was the only guy on the romance panel, this was all men: moderator John Brown (who I got to know at dinner on Thursday), fellow Dragonlance writer Dan Willis, and L.E. Modesitt Jr (Lee) in addition to myself.  I thought this panel was fantastic, though Lee did disagree with me a few times (ouch!).  I can’t complain, honestly.  This was a good panel with the four of us dealing with pretty nuanced stuff, from sociological theory to narrative craftsmanship.  There was a lot of interplay and, I think, really actionable information for those in attendance.  I was glad to be a part and look forward to future events with all these men (though the topic of romance seems unlike as a future place for us to meet up). 

Then I spent an hour or two talking with a lovely nineteen-year-old woman about her book—or, you might say, abusing her by suggesting so many options for revision it certainly gave her a headache.  I’d use her name, but she insists she’s a thirty-plus married with two children.  I don’t want to expose her identity as a bald (and very young)-faced liar.

Then I went to two panels on worldbuilding.

Then I came home to write to you.    

Other things I’ll report (which you may or may not want to know):

* People ask me to take pictures with them, and this happened three times at LTUE.  I always agree, but still find this to be extremely odd.  Rather like taking pictures of a can of soup.  There is nothing particularly off putting about a can of soup, certainly, but neither is it possessed of a rare aesthetic quality.  Whenever I’m asked to take a picture with someone, a single thought fills my head: stop looking so confused.

* James Dashner’s entrance in a room is sometimes accomplied by applause, only some of which is sarcastic.  Brandon Sanderson’s is accompanied by greater applause, none of it sarcastic.  Mine is accompanied by no applause.  All of this strikes me as logical.

* Paul Genesse wrote some very generous things (perhaps overly so) on his blog after our Thursday afternoon panel.  He actually posted it that day—after being on four panels!  Like Brandon Mull, Paul too is a machine in synthetic flesh.     

* The Brandons Mull and Sanderson signed books for my brother and his wife.  I will now be even cooler to their family.  (My nephew, who will be four tomorrow, thinks I’m pretty awesome already, so just wait until he can read the dedication to GDC.)

* Best panelist of the conference: L.E. Modesitt Jr.  Yeah, yeah, that guy who kind of sort of disagreed with me about some stuff.  I may not agree with him on everything, but I do most things—and the guy knows his craft and knows how to talk about it.  I admire and respect his balance of intellectual orientation in the disciplines of economics, politics, and other social dynamics with the truly idiosyncratic nature of telling a story.  He’s one who does it right, if you ask me (though he’d be the first to point out that a million other ways can be just as right).  The Brandons, Howard Taylor, and Dan Wells among others are always standouts, but this weekend’s cream was Lee (which, unfortunately, rose only on Saturday as he was supporting his wife with an event she is holding this weekend).  If you ever get a chance to hear Lee talk about writing, don’t pass it up, I’m telling you.    

* My friend Eric Swedin and I still have yet to appear on the same panel, which is beginning to threaten mathematical probability as we know it.  My five panels were, I believe, more than the allotment to anyone not a very special guest.  For his part, Eric is so omni-present at this thing that it is unofficially known as Life, the Universe, and Eric.  (This may become official next year depending on Eric’s generosity and the conference’s poverty.)  I’m impatient to sit with him at the same covered table brimming with mics and free water, do you hear me!

* At my book signing a lady picked up my book, started to read, and in about a minute laughed long and hard out loud.  That was cool.

* Yup, LTUE was all good.

If my tidbit ethos alone is insufficient bait then don’t forget the main courses: Brandons Sanderson and Mull, L.E. Modesitt, James Dashner, Howard Taylor, Mette Ivie Harrison, Lisa Mangum, ad infinitum.  (Well, maybe not that long.)

And here, once more, is my schedule:

Thursday, Feb. 11th

2:00 pm: Putting Romance into Your Fantasy—Do you have to have a love story in Fantasy?  Why or why not?  If you do, how do you balance it with the action and adventure?  Other panelists will be Mette Ivie Harrison, Ami Chopine, Lesli Muir Lytle, and Anna del C. Dye.

4:00 pm: No More Dead Dogs (or Moms)—Why do mothers and dogs always die in children’s literature?  How do we pull at the heartstrings and give child characters independence without killing off dogs and moms?  Other panelists will be Julie Wright, my old editor Stacy Whitman, and Paul Genesse, all good friends so this should be fun.  Also, Stacy andI kind of invented this panel last year.

Friday, Feb. 12th

9:00 am: How to Become an Idea Factory—Where do you find ideas?  How do you go from an idea to a story?  Other panelists will be Brandon Sanderson, Howard Taylor, James Dashner, Larry Correia, and Karen Hoover.  There are some heavy hitters on this panel, so don’t miss it.

12:00 pm: I’ll be having a book signing.

2:00 pm: Writing Fantasy and Science Fiction for a Discerning Audience—How to write believable child characters.  Other panelists will be Julie Wright, Laura Bingham, Laura Card, and Bron Bahlmann Wilcox.  Just a heads up, I think I may take this one in two different directions.  It seems the panel is asking two questions: how to make speculative elements feel authentic, and how to write authentic children characters.  If you’re interested in either question I think you’ll get some interesting insights.

Saturday, Feb. 13th

9:00 am: A Guy’s Take on Writing Romance.  Other panelists will be L.E. Modesitt, Dan Willis, Aleta Clegg, and John Brown.

Thursday

9:00 a.m.—Killer Openings: How to write a gripping, engaging and interesting first paragraph.

2:00 p.m.—Putting Romance into Your Fantasy: Do you have  to have a love story in Fantasy?  Why or why not.  If you do, how do you balance it with the action and adventure?  (No, I’m not kidding.) 

3:00 p.m.—Writing Strong Female Characters. (Clearly, my reputation as a specialist on women has preceded me.)

4:00 p.m.—No More Dead Dogs (or moms): Why do mothers and dogs always die in children’s literature?  How do we pull at the heartstrings and give child characters independence without killing off dogs and moms?  (I think my friend and former editor, Stacy Whitman, and I invented this panel at LTUE last year.)

5:00 p.m.—Worldbuilding 101

Friday

9:00 a.m.—How to Become an Idea Factory: Where do you find ideas?  How do you go from an idea to a story?

1:00 p.m.—Style in Speculative Fiction: SF was long denigrated for being a literature of ideas, not of good composition.  How has that changed?  What constitutes “good style” in SF or fantasy, and what is the difference between the two?  What special stylistic challenges (for instance, exposition) face the SF or fantasy writers that aren’t an issue for mainstream writers?

2:00 p.m.—Writing Fantasy and Science Fiction for a Discerning Audience: How to write believable child characters. (I think I’ll be on this one, as I’m something of a voice in the wilderness on this topic sometimes.)

Saturday

9:00 a.m.—A Guy’s Take on Writing Romance.  (Wow, how unbelievably romantic I must be!  And I never knew.)

I would use a different term, something in the realm of “completely awesome”.  I don’t know why, but seeing that odd, contorted version of my book gave me a million different happy feelings.  I immediately told the CRM—Community Relations Manager—that I would very much like to trade one of my boring, correctly bound versions of the book for their “defective” copy.  They kindly agreed.  So I’ll head back there tonight to switch books. 

I can’t wait!  Merry Christmas Mr. Me!

*****

Today I received a very cool package in the mail: a fantastic drawing of a dragon by a talented student at Bell View Elementary, where I gave me first assembly.  And I do mean fantastic.  You guys are going to love it.  As soon as I can figure out how to scan it and upload the image, I’ll share it.  With the image I’ll give the student’s name and grade, and I’m sure any and all compliments would be appreciated—and certainly deserved.  Just wait until you see this dragon….

*****

Finally, a good cause for a good friend: Stacy Whitman, my original editor at Mirrorstone, is starting up her own small press right here in Utah.  That alone is enough for me to support her and make this post worth your interest, but it isn’t all there is: the press is dedicated to cultural and ethnic diversity, particularly in children’s and YA fantasy.  In my own writing I tend to use a variety of cultures and ethnicities instinctively (likely because of my many positive and inspiring experience with minority students), but that isn’t exactly common across the genre.  There’s a place in the market for such books, and Stacy is determined to fill that through Tu Publishing.  Here’s a message she sent for those who want more information:

If you guys are on Facebook, you might have already seen me posting about the small press that I’m starting, Tu Publishing. If you’re not, I’m working on starting a small publishing company that will fill a gap in the market, to publish multicultural fantasy and science fiction for children and young adults. Our website is http://www.tupublishing.com, if you want to know more about our mission.

To get started, publishing books takes a lot of money, even on a “shoestring” budget. That’s why I’m doing a Kickstartercampaign—to raise enough money to get started and give a reward to everyone who donates. If enough people donate $5, or $15, or $20, we’ll be able to reach our goal. For every donation through Kickstarter, the donator gets a reward: bookmarks, early copies of books we publish, books donated to libraries, etc. For a really big, pie-in-the-sky donation, I’ve even promised an author visit. So they get something for their money, and with enough people banding together, the project can become a reality.

The project has had almost 3 months to run. So far, we’re up to $4031 of $10,000, with just under a week left. So we’ve got some ground to cover—no money exchanges hands if we don’t reach $10,000.

Here’s the link to the Kickstarter page: http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1586632165/tu-publishing-a-small-independent-multiculturalhttp://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1586632165/tu-publishing-a-small-independent-multicultural

It’s completely secure—payments are handled through Amazon payments.

With my job experience and expertise, I know I can make this company a success if we can reach this goal. With $10,000, we’ll be able to start acquiring books, and then after we’ve gotten a book or two out, I’ll be able to approach a bank for a Small Business Administration-guaranteed loan. (That $10,000 will be supplemented by my own income and perhaps a few small investments from other people—the $10,000 is seed money, basically.)

Anyway, I just wanted to make you aware of this, in case you hadn’t seen it on Facebook. I know money is tight everywhere right now, so if you can’t fit it in your budget, I understand. But if you do have a few bucks to spare and think this is a good cause—making sure that there are more fantasy and science fiction books out there that feature characters from all backgrounds—you’ll get something back for it.

Another way you can help is to blog or Twitter or tell your Facebookfriends about it, giving them the links above. The more people who know about it, the more people who might have an extra $5 or $20 to spare.

Thanks, everyone! Happy holidays!

Then it struck me: I’ll do a blog post and generouslly allow others to waste their time reading it!  I feel quite magnanimous at the moment.

So, what is it like to hold your first published book?  I said before that I couldn’t explain it, and now that a few days have passed I don’t feel that has changed, though I’ll give it a go.  The first thing that struck me was a strange sense of appropriateness.  There’s no other way to say it.  It was like, Oh, of course.  I’ve known about the cover for months, and the text for years.  I’ve held other books in the series that possessed the same texture and so on.  So the tangible artifact that is my book struck me as, well, expected.  That isn’t really good or bad; it was just as I anticipated.

Then I thought about everything I’d done in order to hold that utterly expected book in my hand, and everything it had taken to create the expectation.  That’s when I really started to feel something.  And you know, it wasn’t pleasure or joy or celebration, or anything like unto them.  It was relief.  I’d finally reached a point, after all the years and millions of words, where I had something substantial enough that it couldn’t evaporate.  Whether GDC is good or horrible, it’s there and it’s staying, and so won’t be denied.  I finally feel that I have something to say, “You want to evaluate what I’ve done in my life?  There, read that, then you tell me.”  If nothing else, it proves that all this time and effort has resulted in something.

Now to see what impact that something has—great or small, positive or negative.  The question is a little daunting, and I’m eager to start getting answers.

*****

With my part in this year’s CONduit finished, I can say that it was enjoyable and perhaps mildly productive.  I am a touch dissatisfied with my workshop, if only because it was the first time I’ve done this one in an hour form, and I discovered it just isn’t enough time.  I really need at least an hour and a half to give attendees the one-on-one feedback the workshop is designed for.  People came up to me afterward and complimented me on the workshop, so it can’t have been awful, but I wasn’t satisfied with it.  My panels, on the other hand, went pretty well.  It’s always fun to give and take with other writers who really know their stuff, especially with those you’ve come to know and like personally.  Dave Wolverton/Farland was on both panels with me, which was cool because he’s a great writer and a better guy who I’ve gotten to know a bit over the years though we’ve never been on the same panel before.  Jessica Day George was moderator on my panel today, and she’s always a lot of fun—as long as you can keep up with her energy.  Dan Willis, a friend and fellow Dragonlance writer, was on my panel yesterday.  (That was my first time moderating, by the way.  Thought I did okay, but if anyone reading this was there, I’d like your opinion—honest and carefully worded please.)  That was the extent of my events. 

Went to a few other panels, but mostly I did my events and looked to get signed books to the people who really helped GDC come about, namely Stacy Whitman, initial editor for the book (and the brave soul who took a chance on me in the first place); Rebecca Shelley, another writer in the Codices line who first recommended me to Stacy (which took a huge leap of faith); and James Dashner, who was courageous—or foolish—enough to give a cover blurb for the book, and so proved himself a great and perpetually friendly guy, even if he is not a Jane Austin character.  Saw some other old friends, met one or two new ones, talked about Shakespearean super villains, heard Michael Collings make a good case for grammar being fun, met my first Jawa (and I mean a real Jawa, glowing gold eyes and all, which threw a few if us on my last panel; I have met plenty of stormtroopers and even Darth Vader once, but until today no Jawas) and in general enjoyed myself.  If any of you were there, tell me how you enjoyed it.  As always, I welcome comments about my contribution (just please don’t draw arterial blood; a few welts are okay). 

Oh, and yesterday I was interviewed live on Dungeon Crawlers Radio.  The hosts were a couple of Dragonlance fans, so that worked out pretty well.  Anyone interested in the interview should be able to hear it in the upcoming days, as they’ll be posting excerpts from their live coverage on their web site.  Simply check Dungeon Crawlers Radio.  I’ll also post here when I know the interview is up.  

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times….

Well, not the best of times really, but definitely the worst.  Maybe even the worstest. 

To begin with, you must understand that I am a whiner.  This is not a good thing (though it can certainly be cathartic), especially given that I am not being completely facetious.  I knew going in to the editing process that, as an author, I needed to try to bring three things to the table to make myself particularly attractive to publishers: 1) Be able to write good content on the suggestions of others; 2) Make deadlines; and 3) Be easy to work with.  I hereby declare that I have two of these down pat.  As for the other… well, I aspire to have two and a half of these down pat.

I learned quite quickly in the editing process on GDC that I am not inherently easy to work with during revision.  When I’m asked to make changes I disagree with, it bothers me.  A lot.  I’m not proud of it and not comfortable with it; I know that, in terms of my career goals, it is substantially counterproductive.  But I’m also realistic enough to know that something that bothers me this much isn’t going to change overnight–nor did it change over the course of a single book, at least not enough to become anything approaching a non-issue.

So, you can imagine my reaction when I met with Stacy Whitman and she started giving me this thoughtful, apt list of hateful ways it would be wise for me to change my story.  We were having lunch, and I was about ready to bite down on the table in agony when she told me the really bad news: she was leaving Mirrorstone.  Like the rest of the publishing world, economic (and other) factors had Wizards of the Coast restructuring, the result of which was the suspension, or whatever the proper term is, of one of their two children’s imprints.  Luckily, my book wasn’t with the half on the cutting block.  Very unluckily, Stacy straddled both imprints, and rather than lose a limb she decided to move on. 

Yup, the editor who had read and loved my book enough to champion it was leaving the publisher and, by necessity, me with it.  The rest of the editing process was to be handled by Stacy’s boss, Head Editor for Mirrorstone, Nina Hess, who at that point was nothing more to me than a total stranger with a vaguely Nazish name.  (Please, no hate mail, as I mean no insult to those with names of Germanic origin.  Or to tender hearted Nazis.  It was just me being petulant, which if you’re going to visit this blog with any degree of frequency you’d better get used to.)

So having lost the great advocate of my book, I was thrust upon poor Nina, who was now handling Stacy’s load of work on top of her already substantial duties.  When we first talked via email she had not even had a chance to read my book, and final revisions were due in about two weeks  (and no, I am not exaggerating).  Though Nina kindly extended the deadline, it was not a pleasant experience.

So we started to feel out a way to get the book done in a timely fashion.  To my profound irritation, Nina agreed with all the recommendations for change Stacy had made, but on some issues where Stacy and I agreed, Nina wanted more changes.  So I ended up compromising in two complete rounds, which given my previously stated disposition felt a lot like being trodden upon by a pee wee soccer team all shod in spikes only to roll over and yell, “Hey, let’s go again!”

I kicked and screamed a bit, perhaps more than was called for, if I’m honest.  Some times Nina gave in; others she didn’t.  When she held her ground, I’m proud to say, I walked a trench in my floor rather than carry on the debate.  The only exception is when I insisted on changing the name of the wyrmling in GDC–after I’d read it in the galley proof.  Now, for those who don’t know this, making compositional changes at the galley stage is not a good idea.  It makes everyone cross at you, and deservingly so.  These types of changes should have been addressed earlier.  But I just couldn’t bear the name, and so Nina very generously worked with me to find a compromise that, I believe, we both like quite well.  As for the appelation about which I threw the hissy fit, it shall remain unspoken for eternity to eternity.  (Though, oddly enough, it had a bit of the Bismarck flavor about it as well.  Despite the purely coincidental nature of this post, really, I don’t have anything against Germanic culture! In fact, in Monty Python’s Philosophers’ World Cup, I always cheer for the Germans. How can you not if you want to win? You always pull for the side that will cheat, and with Nietzsche and Kant, it’s a total no brainer. If you haven’t seen the game, watch one of the truly great sporting events in human history by clicking above.)  

So, after all that I’m just waiting for my release day, when I know one of you out there is going to contact me–that day mind you–and say, “What do you mean of coarse I will?  Of coarse?  What moron edited this?”

To you, Sir or Ma’am, I reply with pride: I am said moron what did edit thus!  Unless you’re referring to coarse rather than course or hollowed in place of hallowed.  Then it was certainly Stacy or Nina.  Definitely.

Next time: A Way Not to Start a Writing Career (L.T., this one’s for you).

So, once I had the contract for GDC something hit me: I now had to write the book.  A kids book.  I wasn’t certain I could do that.  I’d never done it before, and as I’d written quite a bit in the previous few years, I assumed there was a reason I’d never written one before–I just hoped that reason wasn’t an utter lack of capability. 

It was a difficult process for many reasons.  First and foremost, trying writing a book 1/3rd the length of the shortest novel you’ve written previously, for an audience you’ve never tried to address, using shared-world restrictions, tropes, and compositional limitations (a two POV limit, for example, both pretty much prescribed).  All of this was new and, I confess, I didn’t much like any of it.  (The moral of our story is don’t sign a contract to write a children’s book when you don’t write children’s books, and haven’t read children’s books since you were, yourself, a children.  Unless you have to, of course.  Then by all means.) 

The length aspect had me petrified from the beginning, but it turned out to be the least disconcerting challenge.  I found that trying to fit my story into the larger narrative arc of the line (and the world) changed my conceptual approach to the story (as did the fact that I’d already condensed a trilogy to a single book with much diminished scope).  I suppose I took an episodic view of my narrative; I started to conceptualize it as an entry in a larger entity, and thus was more easily able to accept a relatively modest scope.  That didn’t make me happy, certainly, as my storytelling instinct is to go Dostoyevsky or Dante or Robert Jordan (that is to say, epic and massive).  But it didn’t move my nose too out of joint, as it were.

Writing for a middle grade audience and dealing with composition restrictions, however, had my nose upside down and bleeding.  GDC (like most fantasies, regardless of audience age) is about good and evil, but I wanted to make recognizing each difficult without calling into question the clear, distinct, and oppositional existence of both.  This involved every character in the book operating, quite frequently, with less knowledge of what is going on than the reader.  While some of the story is of the “What is going to happen?” structure, some employed the mystery paradigm of “How and why is this so?” and “When will the characters realize what I, the reader, know?”  To built this type of narrative where the reader witnesses a story that is substantially more complete than any individual character’s perspective allows requires seeing plot events from multiple points of view.  Only having two points of view to work with, and having them prescribed, made this much more difficult.  Also, because the book was to be part of a larger line (all written from the same ethos of R.D. Henham), I was constrained stylistically, which no author enjoys.  At least, so I assume from my frothing rages whenever I felt I had to discipline myself from doing anything too unorthodox.

As for writing for ten year olds, I wasn’t sure how to do it and am not sure I can do it now.  I hope that when I have a story that ten year olds will like, I naturally write it in such a way to make it appealing to them.  But my stories dictate the manner in which they are written.  I could no more take a story conceptualized for adults and “write it differently” for kids than I could the reverse; the “same story” for a different audience is a different story.  GDC is a children’s story, so I hope and believe I constructed it in terms of content, context and subtext, diction, and syntax fitting for that audience.  I suppose I’ll only know after the release, and I get to hear from the readers what they think and feel about the story.  In short, I’m not certain it’s possible to know the audience for any book, really.  I just did my best and followed C.S. Lewis’s advice (which is rarely a bad idea): write a story you would have liked to read as a child.

That being said, I tried to at least catch up on the basics of what was going on in children’s fantasy fiction.  The last middle grade book I’d read was probably The Cay by Theodore Taylor back in fifth grade.  I wasn’t in touch with anything in YA or children’s literature beyond the first three Harry Potter books, which I’d read to see if they justified the hype (they don’t, but no popular revolution is entirely justified by the catalyst, and I think Rowling’s work is as deserving of unreal providence as nearly any other writer’s might have been, so good on her).  My understanding of children’s literature was decidedly classical (meaning ancient and surprisingly British in flavor), as it consisted of vintage Lloyd Alexander, Madeline L’Engle, Roald Dahl, Peter S. Beagle, Lewis and Tolkien, Robert Louis Stevensen and the like.  So I started sampling the best and most successful (and yes, they are sometimes the same) of more recent children’s fantasy.  Neil Gaiman’s Coraline (my favorite children’s book of all time), Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials series (masterful story and writing, though not a children’s series), Eoin Colfer’s Artemis Fowl books, Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Brandon Mull’s Fablehaven series, etc. 

It was very much like studying for a test while taking it–in a class you’ve never before attended.  Yet somehow, that initial draft turned out quite well.  Mirrorstone gave me nearly a year before the rough draft was due.  I had it to Stacy in three months.  (See March 3rd’s post for hint about patience if you want to know the content of the following nine months.)

Next time: A Tale of Two Editors, or Vivisection Isn’t That Bad (Even for Whiners)

Life, the Universe, and Everything (LTUE) is a speculative fiction conference held every February at BYU in Provo, Utah. It’s a great conference (in which I participate yearly) so you should make plans to go if you’re in the area. (Did I mention it’s free?) Stacy Whitman, then the editor for Mirrorstone in charge of the Codices, was one of the guests at the conference that year. The Dragon Codices were just getting started with the first book in the line, the Red entry, still eleven months away from release. It just so happened that Rebecca Shelley, a good friend now and pleasant acquaintance then, was the author of said Red Codex. She was also a contributing guest at LTUE. When I learned Rebecca and Stacy would both be at the conference, I knew it was too good a chance to pass up and asked Rebecca to introduce me.

It all made sense. Rebecca knew me from local writers groups and circles and had seen me win several statewide awards from the League of Utah Writers, including a first place for full-length novel. She knew I could write and that I was serious about the business. Stacy was her editor, so to make a pitch to Ms. Whitman there was no better contact than the foundational author of the first book in the Codices line. It was all perfectly logical.

Except I had never written a children’s book. Yeah, that part I didn’t tell Rebecca. At that point I had already completed six novels, but they were all for adults (with a kind of YA thrown in). None were shorter than 150,000 words. The Dragon Codices were middle grade books with a target of no more than 50,000 words. I’ll do the math for you: that’s 1/3 the length of the shortest thing I’d ever written that wasn’t a short form, like short story or essay. Without knowing if I could even write for kids (or produce a book that wouldn’t demand a wad of paper thick enough with which to beat seals to death), I brazenly asked Rebecca to introduce me to Stacy, and if she felt it appropriate, maybe put in a good word or two.

Rebecca agreed very cheerfully, and was good as her word and better than gold. She recommended me to Stacy after a panel and Stacy invited me to send her a pitch. I then proceeded to write my first ever children’s novel. Now, to clarify: I didn’t write the whole novel, just three sample chapters, a synopsis (two, actually, one short and one more detailed, as is my method), and a cover letter. And it may surprise some people to know that I didn’t actually make a pitch for any of the Codices. Originally, I proposed a trilogy of my own. Still in the Dragonlance shared-world, but beyond that my own creation. At this point I wasn’t even aware that they were looking for authors for further Codices in the future.

So, I sent out my package and a few months later got an email from Stacy. She told me she didn’t have a spot for my trilogy (rend hair and clothing) but that she liked my sample chapters so much she wondered if I could adapt them for the Green Dragon Codex (as my original story involved a green dragon). So I did. I took my original three books and turned them into one book incorporating editorial suggestions Stacy had given me, wrote a synopsis of that, and submitted it.

Then I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Hint: If you intend to publish, get some training into the virtue of patience. It will serve you well in the absence of a really great stress reliever, such as rugby or free climbing or, if you wait too long and turn away from the constructive, some type of dramatic spree of violence that will earn you both five minutes of the evening news and a shiny new headstone. However you cope, if you write to publish, you will spend a great deal of your life waiting for something you really, really want but suspect you probably won’t get. How to deal with this? To each her own, but I have a modest suggestion: try writing something new.

Anyway, a lifetime later (in this case being six or seven months), I get an email from Stacy saying they are offering me a contract. She’d tried to call me, but, honestly, I’m glad we never connected. I wouldn’t have wanted to ruin my ultra-manly reputation by bursting into tears over the phone.

Um, yes, I cried. Sobbed like a baby. In my defense, you should realize that the very fact that I write for a living is a strange mix of cosmic joke and divine mercy. Whatever the mix, it became a kind of salvation. I never wrote growing up and never wanted to (though I loved reading from fourth grade on). Never enjoyed it as a boy or teen, never enjoyed it at school. By the time I turned twenty I had never written anything longer than five pages in my life, and cannot remember a single written piece in which I invested myself. What I had done was endure a number of difficult experiences as a teen that resulted in my leaving school and work and, in a peculiar way, the world of the living (I might share more on this if someone asks, but probably not otherwise). My writing, to be completely honest, was a desperate outlet from a really dark time and place in my life, and to this day I don’t understand how it all happened or why. What I do know is that separated from school and all my friends, apart from the vibrancy of society, and unable to see any possible future distinctive from my purposeless present, I started writing. No training or education, no acquired skill, not even a genuine desire or understanding of why I started. But I did.

Some five years and more than a million words later I was offered my first contract. It was a wonderful moment that grew directly out of that darkest time in my life when I couldn’t imagine wonderful moments coming again. The five years in between I had nothing to encourage me but what I taught myself, my love of story, and my desire to achieve something, and with every rejection letter I received that seemed less and less likely.

So maybe you’ll forgive me my tears.

Tomorrow: The difference between getting GDC accepted for publication and publishing it. Oh, yeah, there’s a difference.