Sometimes both writers and readers forget that they and their books are not one and the same.
Proof that I am not my books: We are often seen at the same place at the same time.
I put a lot of myself into the books I write. The characters come out of my head — the protagonists, antagonists, comic relief, parents good and bad, the passerby on the street who only has one line. But they are not me.
The dialogue comes from my head — philosophizing, wisecracking, both sides of an argument. But it’s not what I would say.
The writing, rewriting, querying, submission, editing, and marketing of a book takes a lot of time, emotion, and thought. There is a lot of my life and myself in my books. I have a creative vision, and it comes out in my books. But they are not me.
Read the whole post on Project Mayhem >>
This post appeared as part of Middle Grade Month on Diversity in YA, a blog founded by YA authors Malinda Lo and Cindy Pon in 2011 to support diverse literature.
Deadwood, my middle-grade mystery, takes place in a diverse town, like communities I based it on and where I’ve always lived. Culture is not central to the story, which is about two seventh graders who must lift a curse on a tree to save their town from growing disaster, but I wanted to include diverse characters to reflect the reality I pictured.
Still, I was intimidated about writing someone from another culture, so I decided to hedge a little. When I began the novel, the main character of Martin had a Puerto Rican dad but was raised by his white mother and grandmother. I thought if he was raised in my own culture, I had the right to write him.
The story is not about the ethnic background, and it’s been said that Martin “just happens to be” Puerto Rican. But it didn’t just happen to him, just as my other main character, Hannah, doesn’t “just happen to be” white. I decided that these would be the characters, and I grew their voices, personalities, and backgrounds. It didn’t just happen.
Read the full post on Diversity in YA >>
I’ll be appearing at the Penn Wynne Elementary Book Fair on Monday, October 20, in Wynnewood, PA. Looking forward to meeting readers and parents!
When I was a kid, I won a lot of awards. Now that I’m a grownup, I’ve found that trophies don’t get handed out just for showing up. Being honored for work is a feeling I nearly forgot. Thus this award for Deadwood means a lot — the silver Moonbeam Children’s Book Award for Pre-teen Fiction – Mystery. The Moonbeams are given by the Jenkins Group and Independent Publisher, recognizing books from smaller publishers. My publisher, Spencer Hill Press, made a great showing this year — great company to be in.
Here’s the full list of winners >>
It’s Middle Grade Month on Diversity in YA, and I’ll be posting there with some amazing authors, like Jacqueline Woodson, Sarwat Chadda, Crystal Chan, Coe Booth, Sharon Flake, Varsha Bajaj, and more! Thanks to Cindy Pon and Malinda Lo for inviting me to participate.
Leaving Butterfly Hill by Marjorie Agosín
Our Diversity, Our Connectedness by Crystal Chan
My Multicolored Heroes by Sarwat Chadda
Inspiration from Unexpected Places by Sharon Flake
Abby Spencer Goes to Bollywood by Varsha Bajaj
Getting Understanding by Jacqueline Woodson
Growing Grayson by Ami Polonsky
Enter now to win books! >>
I am a middle-grade writer first, but not only.
I read so many picture books when my children were young that I wanted to write one. Finally an idea hit me, and the story flowed out in a sitting. But that was the beginning — that story required many, many more sittings, drafts, and subsequent stories that improved on my first effort. As simple as a picture book manuscript looks, it’s hard to write one.
Switching gears between middle grade and picture books creates challenges, but it has its lessons. Here’s what I’ve taken into my middle-grade fiction from my efforts to write for younger readers.
Read the rest of the post on Project Mayhem >>
Super pleased by a new review for Deadwood from Foreword Magazine! Here’s one of my favorite parts (it’s but hard to choose!):
“…these two strong characters — both of them sporty and clever, with diverse backgrounds — can hold their own. Short chapters amp up the pace and hold attention, bolstering the story’s wild suspense.”
Science fiction writer Jennifer Mason-Black hosted me on her blog Cosmic Driftwood, asking some really thought-provoking questions about magic and ecology.
Read the interview >>
Deadwood is reviewed in the August 2014 issue of School Library Journal, and it’s a good one! I’m so happy to be included.
“…the story is fun and engaging, and the characters have enough depth to make them interesting… budding tree huggers will love the sweet bond that forms between the kids and this unusual personification of Mother Nature.”
Read the whole SLJ review >>
What’s more better than a talking squirrel? A squnk! I see this little critter very rarely in my neighborhood. She’s an Eastern gray squirrel in the black variant, like about 25% of the squirrels in my neighborhood. What make this one stand out is her white-tipped tail.
When I first had the idea for my middle-grade fantasy/mystery Deadwood (Spencer Hill, 2014), I knew it was about a cursed tree with messages carved in its bark. But one of the challenges of this scenario is that trees are not the most active characters. Sure, they’re great at photosynthesis, removing pollutants from the air, and providing the oxygen we breathe, but they’re terrible communicators and they tend to be, well, rooted. They don’t get around much.
So when I began writing the story, I introduced a talking squirrel character who acts as the tree’s representative – its Watcher. That makes sense, right? A squirrel is much more likely to be able to talk than a tree because they actually have mouths. They are scrappy little critters, able to leap from tree to rooftop in a single bound, probably excellent at eavesdropping, which is handy in a mystery. And who doesn’t love talking animals?
Apparently, many people do not, beginning with my agent at the time. When I told her about the story I was working on, she was lukewarm. Lose the squirrel, she said.
But but but. How could I lose the squirrel? Without him, the story seemed so drab, so colorless, so rodent-free.
Read the whole post at Leandra Wallace’s blog >>
Read a deleted scene with the squirrel >>