Writing for Children: “Real” Writing

Before I announce the winner of Andra Watkins’s photo book, Natchez Trace: Tracts in Time (see interview post here), you have to put up with a soapbox rant.

With this being Children’s Book Week, I’m reminded of conversations I’ve had over the years with people about writing for kids. Some conversations have been fruitful; others frustrating.

When one questioner asked what I worked on, and I responded, “A novel for kids,” the follow-up question was, “When are you going to do some real writing?” Translation: “When are you going to write for adults?” Because adult writing is “real” writing.

I doubt anyone asked J. K. Rowling, “When are you going to do some real writing?” while she wrote her Harry Potter series. I can’t imagine anyone asking John Green that either.

Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against writing for adults. I’ve written books for adults. I simply prefer to write middle grade and young adult novels. It is a conscious choice. That is why my grad school program was Writing for Children and Young Adults. Catchy, huh?

Still, I’m always amazed at some who have expressed the view that writing for children is somehow inferior to that for adults. After all, they’re kids, right? What do they know about quality? Those who expressed that view to me, cited books and movies with fart jokes and such to make their case, then blithely state, “This isn’t Shakespeare.” As if there weren’t adult books and movies with fart jokes (Dumb and Dumber; many Adam Sandler movies; click here if you doubt that)—creations many adults would label “as far from Shakespeare as East is from West.” Again, I am not putting these down. I have seen many Adam Sandler movies. But I sense a double standard here.

I’ve also heard people talk about how “easy” writing a book or curriculum for children is. In regard to curriculum writing, someone once asked me, “You get paid to do that?” I wish I was kidding. But that remarks harks back to the view that writing for children is somehow inferior, especially if my getting paid for it is a question in someone’s mind.

When in the midst of writing anything for a child, I think of a car seat. Why, you ask, would I do that? Consider how picky many parents are about car seats. They want the best car seat money can buy to keep their child safe. They wouldn’t dare buy something they assume is inferior. So why not have that same view about what a child reads.

Trust me: a child will think about the stories he or she has read a lot longer than he or she thinks about that car seat. Who among us is unable to recall a story that enthralled us when we were kids? More than likely, we can instantly name wonderful stories we read decades ago.

That’s why kids deserve my best efforts. The people I know who produce books for kids have the same viewpoint.

And lest anyone think that writing a book for kids is easy, perhaps you should take a look below at the Goodreads question-and-answer session with Jacqueline Woodson, who won the 2014 National Book Award, the 2015 Newbery Honor, and the 2015 NAACP Image Award for Outstanding Literary Work—Youth/Teens for this book:

Congratulations on winning the NBA award! What comes next for you?
Jacqueline Woodson I’m not working on anything right now. Brown Girl Dreaming took over three years and more than 31 revisions (I stopped counting!)

Woodson’s response shows an admirable dedication to quality. This is not to say that every book has to have that number of revisions. I’ve never revised a book that many times!

I’m also reminded of Markus Zusak’s most celebrated book: The Book Thief. In his TEDTalk (click here), he discusses his revision process for it. He has the same dedication to quality. His book, by the way, was a Printz Honor award winner in 2007 and was on the bestseller list for years.

 

Okay. The soapbox rant is over. Time to give away Andra’s book.

It is my pleasure to announce that the winner of Natchez Trace: Tracts in Time is none other than . . .

Than . . .

Than . . .

Than . . .

Naomi of Bmoreenergy!

Congratulations, Naomi! Please confirm by commenting below. Also, please email!

Journal and pen from cauldronsandcupcakes.files.wordpress.com. Children clip art from vinesspeechtx.wordpress.com. Jacqueline Woodson from autostraddle.com. studio360.org. Book covers from Goodreads. Markus Zusak from thehouseofbooks.com.

A Writer’s Process 9(b)

We’re back with the always-leave-’em-laughing Shelby Rosiak. Grab a bagel and get comfortable. If you missed part one of our discussion on humor in writing, please click here. Up to speed? Then, let’s do this thing!

El Space: What advice led you to the biggest writing breakthrough recently?
Shelby: A. M. Jenkins told me, “Step away from the computer and try writing by hand,” and that has made the biggest difference in my writing career. I feel more free on real paper, less inhibited, less judgmental. I can cross things out, write in the margins, make notes to myself, repeat myself. You can’t delete if it’s on paper, and deleting is a single line strikethrough, not completely missing from the page.

I have several different notebooks going on, so I’m not hugely picky about paper, but I almost always write with a fountain pen. There’s something about connecting liquid ink, delicate nib, to paper that is unique to a fountain pen. If you’ve written with one, you know what I mean. If you haven’t, then try one! I’d say about 90% of my work is done on paper and then transcribed to the computer (the boring part).

El Space: How do you balance humor and seriousness in your work in progress?
Shelby: I asked Alan Silberberg this exact question about his novel Milo: Sticky Notes and Brain Freeze, which is a hilarious story of a boy coming to terms with losing his mother, a decidedly unfunny topic. He said, essentially, that you just go on instinct. I think that’s true as well, but I think the balance is really struck in the revision process. You have to think, Is this the character or is it me? Have I created this situation only for the punch line? Feedback from my critique group and classmates helps tremendously in finding that balance.

But it’s still not perfect. I once wrote a short story—I know you’ll remember this one, L.—about a vegetarian zombie named Trixie.

El Space: I do! An absolutely hilarious story.
Shelby: The piece was intended to be purely absurd. I just let loose and tried to be as funny as possible—Trixie missing half her face and holding a bag on Sun Chips, a zombie with his head under the Slurpee machine at 7-Eleven pouring it directly into his mouth—and while I put structure in the story, I would say about half of the workshop group didn’t get it. Many mentioned that they wanted more motivation. I was like, “Dude, the main character is RUNNING FROM ZOMBIES! What better motivation is there?”

El Space: I remember that discussion. I did a couple of facepalms at some of the comments.
Shelby: Others wanted more character development, still others wanted more of what you’d find in a traditional story. Part of me was thinking You’ve totally missed the point, but at the same time, you can’t exactly affect a French accent and decry, “You don’t understand my art!” A reader’s reaction is always legitimate, and it was a good exercise writing that story where I really wasn’t able to find that balance for some people.

One more piece of advice I got from A. M. Jenkins—well actually, this was more life changing than the one I mentioned above; can I change my mind?—came after she read dozens of pages of my work and finally said, “Stop being funny—it’s holding you back from your best writing.” That was a huge revelation for me, since part of me thought that funny WAS my best writing, and it took that to see that I was capable of a lot more. It’s easy for me to hide behind the humor. I don’t have to take risks; I don’t have to feel vulnerable. But that’s not what good writing is about. Once she pointed that out to me, I think my writing drastically improved, both the serious AND funny parts.

El Space: Glad you had that breakthrough! I see what you mean by life changing. But now, I’m dying to know: what books do you find funny?
Shelby: More than books, I tend to find authors funny. In YA, definitely Libba Bray (all of her work), John Green (all of his), and Sherman Alexie (The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian); middle grade would be Roald Dahl (a serious master of humor), Louis Sachar (Holes), Alan Silberberg (Milo), Emily Ecton (Project Jackalope), M. T. Anderson (the Pals In Peril series); picture books—Mo Willems (Pigeon), Jon Klassen (I Want My Hat Back); adult—Christopher Moore (Lamb), Douglas Adams (The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy), and many others that aren’t immediately coming to mind.

Actually as I’m coming up with this completely off the top of my head, I’m noticing that nearly all are male writers. I wonder why that is? THAT would be an interesting topic to look at!

It sure would be! Alas, we’re out of time! We’ll have to talk about that another time. I’ve enjoyed this discussion immensely. Thank you, Shelby!

If you have questions for Shelby about her process, would like to share a joke, or mention a book you find hilarious, please comment below. Thanks for stopping by. On your way out, you might watch out for those banana peels on the floor. I hear they’re very slippery.

Project Jackalope cover from the author’s site. Other book covers from Goodreads. William Riker and Jean Luc Picard facepalm from onlyhdwallpapers.com. Fountain pen photo from Wikipedia.

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

Yes, the title is an overt reference to the movie Planes, Trains and Automobiles, the 1987 movie starring John Candy and Steve Martin. But this post isn’t about that movie.

My parents once told me that our family took a long train trip when I was a baby. Funny. I don’t recall that excursion. But since they never mentioned a second train trip, perhaps taking my older brother and me on the train filled them with such horror, they couldn’t bear to take us again.

Recalling some of our antics during long car trips to visit relatives, I can see why they would wish to avoid being on a train with us for days on end. They were forced to live in the same house with us, but were wise about not inflicting us on the public very often.

Now that I’m an adult, I can take myself on a train trip across the country. Alas, I’m too type A for a leisurely train trip. I like to get where I’m going as fast as possible, you see, which is why the airplane is my favorite mode of transportation next to my car. Unfortunately, some airport security lines are about as slow as taking a leisurely train trip these days.

Now that I’ve mentioned all of the means of transportation in the title, I can finally get to point of this post: pacing. I’m cutting paragraphs and scenes out of my work in progress for this reason.

As I pondered the problem of pacing, I asked Nancy, another friend from VCFA, for her definition of a well-paced novel. She had this to say:

A well-paced novel never loses your interest, but is not a constant roller coaster either. But even in the quiet moments, the story and characters are building and growing.

That makes sense to me. How about you? What would you add to that definition?

While you consider that question, I’ll mention a novel that YA author and Nerdfighter John Green described as “brilliantly plotted and perfectly paced” in a review written for The New York Times. It is

You can read Green’s review here. If you read the book, perhaps you agree or disagree. I’m on the side of agreement. As I followed the journey of heroine Katniss Everdeen, I couldn’t turn the pages fast enough, even in the slower moments. The action and the quieter moments worked like a waltz—the rhythm perfectly measured.

Another book I consider well paced is Sabriel, a young adult fantasy novel by Garth Nix, book 1 of his Abhorsen trilogy. You can find out more about this book here.

From the first page of the prologue (and Nix makes a good case for its inclusion) to the last page of the epilogue, the pacing never flags. Yet it’s not so frenetic that you feel exhausted at the end of the book (like I felt at the end of watching Bourne Ultimatum). Nix, like Collins, includes quieter moments as heroine Sabriel catches her breath or basically tries to survive during the harrowing search for her missing father.

My problem with pacing comes with my tendency toward the sagging middle. And I don’t just mean my own sagging middle as a result of quick pacing at the dinner table. (Now there’s an image you probably didn’t want.) As you know, many stories have a three-act structure (the setup; the confrontation; and the resolution). (For a great post on plot and structure, see Ingrid’s Notes here.) The action of the story rises toward the climax. But in the second act of my WiP, I included scenes that do little to advance the plot. In fact, they stopped the forward momentum. It’s like being forced on a long, leisurely train trip when what you really need is a quicker mode of transportation to get to the end of the line.

Blake Snyder, author of Save the Cat! The Last Book On Screenwriting That You’ll Ever Need, cautions, “It’s not enough for the plot to go forward, it must go forward faster, and with more complexity, to the climax” (150). As I read that, I went, “Huh?” until I realized what he meant: Make stuff happen. Keep raising the stakes.

Another friend sent me a link to a post written by another well-known YA novelist, Libba Bray. It’s hilarious, and I urge a read. But this quote from the post really struck me:

Thinking takes TIME. Thinking forces you to question everything you take for granted, to get past what feels too easy, too pat in order to get down to what feels real and right and true for your story.

I don’t have a magic formula for writing the well-paced story. But what Libba says also makes sense. Pacing takes thought and an instinct for “what feels real and right and true.” Even if a beta reader points out scenes that sag in your WiP (as my beta readers did in mine), you still have to know how to pick up the pace. For me trial and error works. For some of you, maybe you troubleshoot early on through an outline.

Regardless of how we define well paced, I think we can all agree that good pacing, like good taste, is something you sense right away, especially its absence.

What books do you consider well paced?

Train photo and book covers from Wikipedia.