And then what happened was...

I was reading an interesting post by literary agent Chris Richman of Upstart Crow Literary in response to a question someone had asked him about the pros and cons of MFA programs. What caught my eye were the following perspectives:

In my opinion, a writer who considers, enrolls in, or has completed an MFA is off to a good start. I tend to assume they’re willing to work on their craft, accept feedback, and approach their writing as something more serious than a hobby.

and

...a former colleague of mine from my days working in grad school practically refused to read anything published by a graduate of an MFA program. He felt these works had a shared pretentiousness about them that stunk of writing groups, self-congratulatory short stories, and purple prose.

I recommend the reading the entire post, including the comments. Mostly, I was interested in the references to writing groups which, once again, are considered a mixed bag. I agree. I don't like the "one size fits all" approach to anything—not writing groups or MFA programs. Nothing about writing applies to everyone. I certainly don't agree with the perception that all MFA programs are competitive; at least, it's not true in my program.

I do think that in an MFA environment, writing groups are great for learning how to hone craft and think critically about one's own writing. Beyond that, I don't know. Thus, my interest in those who dance to their own inner beat.

At last year's SCBWI Western Washington conference, Jon Scieszka said something along the lines of, "In a writer's group of 12 people, two will be useful." I can't remember the breakdown, but the remaining 10 suffered from disinterest, fatigue, jealousy and a need to turn the story into something he or she would write. I think this last pitfall is the one I'm most familiar with. It's awfully tempting, but also easy to spot (in oneself and others).

What Scieszka suggested sounded most like Patrick Jennings approach, which is to spend time with actual readers—the kids. Scieszka said that it was through many revisions and readings to kids that he polished THE TRUE STORY OF THE 3 LITTLE PIGS.

More and more, it's that touchstone that I'm missing in many of the online and in-group discussions that focus on what adults like about kids lit and what the major players are putting on the table. It's a business, of course, and this makes sense. As a counterpoint, though, I'd love to hear other voices, little giggly, outrageous ones that tell it like it is.

All of these very adult tools for creating kids lit—writer's groups and industry blogs—may have their place in the grand scheme of things, but nothing can replace the value of the true experts.

And on that note, screw the studies...I'm off to drive the Booker T. Bear van to deliver books for tomorrow's Ft. Lewis KidFest.

Arrrgh!!

I can't get anything done these days...certainly not blogging. I've got more to unleash about crit groups (which is ironic considering I use them--sorry pals), but thesis and work are getting in the way. Fortunately, writing about creepy stories and legislative activities overlaps. What doesn't fit so much is blogging. Frankly, it's hard for me to write things I won't regret later on.

The good news is that I've joined the board of the South Sound Reading Foundation, which puts world reading domination within grasp. Along the way: forming a non profit children's bookstore and gunning down Google's attempts to usurp copywriting and Amazon's bullying (yes, I am still upset about the now-resolved dispute with Macmillan.)

Well...back to writing about affordable housing, the decline of civilization and (other) horror stories for my thesis.

By the end of the week...it's back to the topic of critique groups.

More Thoughts on Crit Groups

In my continued quest to understand the role and usefulness of critique groups, I visited the website of Randall Platt (HELLIE JONDOE, THE FOUR ARROWS FE-AS-KO). Having just read HELLIE, I was mightily impressed by its unique voice and raw energy—enough to make me want to know more about the writer.

Maybe it's what Patrick Jennings touched on as a byproduct of too much critiquing, but Randall Platt's writing avoids the pitfalls of homogenization. It hits that sweet spot between non-certified organic and processed crap. It's polished without losing its unique character.

Other writers have this ability too, of course, and many have been in long standing critique groups, but I suspect they've arrived at a similar conclusion: crit groups can wreck the writer's voice and vision. Proceed with caution. If necessary, run.

I love writers who speak their minds and aren't constrained by what others think. I appreciate those who say hold up—don't let anyone try to change your style. On that note, here's what Randall Platt had to say about the usefulness of critique groups:

Each of us has our own path. And I always tell people there is nothing I teach that I haven't learned the hard way. I was a member of a critique group when I first started out. The emphasis was on critique and not 'group.' It was run by a woman who thought she knew everything, but looking back, did not know squat. Her critique was so brutal, I wonder how I had the courage to keep writing.

So, I decided my path would be to teach myself. I made the pledge to never share my writing with anyone who was not in the position to make it better or pay me money for it. I know that is a harsh view, but it works for me. I have seen many a potentially good writer being ripped to shreds by a less-than qualified person. I wonder how many have quit because of it. 

I will add, though, that in the years following I have met some very talented writers who have great peer critique groups. Now, there is also a difference between 'discussion groups' and critique groups. I think it's great that writers get together and share the current state of the industry. That's called a network.

I know some writers who have writing buddies instead of crit groups, which makes it more about being a good reader than critiquer. Readers are people who dig the kind of stories you write. Their comments aren't intended to turn your story in something they would craft.

Maybe it's a need to play it safe, or the fact that there are gatekeepers between the writer and reader, but kids lit doesn't exactly reward spirited risk-taking. Critique groups can put a damper on that spirit, and it's easy to succumb to the fear of being too this or too that. Being safe, however, no longer reflects the lives of most readers, so I don't think it's the way I want to approach the stories I write.

In the meantime, I'll continue to investigate what makes outrageously wonderful writers tick...

Critique Groups

I can't even begin to count the number of times authors have said they couldn't have written their books without the help of a writer's group. As an MFA student, I workshop all my stories because it's a requirement of the program and my only way of learning how to look at my work objectively.

However, I've always wondered about writers who don't belong to critique groups, those who somehow manage to find their way without three pages of people to thank.

When Patrick Jennings (THE WOLVING TIME, WE CAN'T ALL BE RATTLESNAKES) spoke to us at last summer's Whidbey residency, my ears perked up when he said he doesn't belong to a critique group. It was the first time I'd heard anyone say this.

I wanted to find out more from writers who feel the same way, but there was just one challenge: where do I find them?

I asked several children's writers if they belong to a critique group, and if not, why not? Although those who write solo are in the minority, those who said that they belong to a writer's group made it clear that they use feedback judiciously and with firm guidelines to point out confusions or problems (not solve them).

A few were willing to let me post their thoughts on the usefulness of critique groups.

This is what Patrick Jennings had to say:

I think that they are not useful to me. I don’t want my book to be examined and critiqued by any committee or group, no matter how dear the members are to me. I certainly would never ask anyone to read a first (or second, or third) draft of mine, as many crit group authors do. What cruelty!

I don’t want to write prose with specific readers in mind. I don’t want to feel that anyone is writing my work but me. I don’t want other writers to worry that I am having an undue effect on their work. I don’t want to critique other writers’ works-in-progress. I don’t want to belong to any writing group that would have me as a member.

That’s an old Groucho joke, but I actually mean it. I’m not a good enough editor to criticize other writers’ work. And if I feel the writers criticizing my work aren’t excited by it, I won’t need to hear their criticism. Besides, I need to take my story to the finish line myself to be sure it remains mine. It’s difficult to hear my own voice when it gets all tangled up with others. I don’t believe I ever created anything truly mine till I got away from all critique groups, which was when I left graduate school in 1991.

Not that I don’t think some of my books were not overly influenced during the editorial process. A few were, the weaker ones, most likely. But working with a trusted, competent editor, a person who takes a story on because they believe strongly in it, a person whose livelihood it is to see to it that their belief in a book translates into lots of people reading it and enjoying it, is far different than sitting with a group of peers, whose editorial skills--not to mention their dedication to your story--may be less robust. I’ve been fortunate to have had many superb editors over the years; I’ve also had two excellent, devoted agents in my corner, who read my stuff before I submit and give me notes. That is sufficient editorial input.

Instead of joining crit groups, or Twittering or Facebooking or going to conferences or retreats, I read, write, revise, think, walk, and spend time with kids as much as possible. I visit schools and libraries--local and otherwise--telling stories, talking about stories, mixing it up. Reading a book or spending some hang-time with kids provides far more guidance and wisdom than any critique I’ve ever sat in.

Patrick's comments about not being able to hear his own voice when it gets tangled up with others is a problem I've been struggling with, especially since my genre is not to everyone's liking. I don't think anyone would say it's the intention of writer's groups to water down someone's voice and style, but it's a natural tendency for people to inject their values into the discussion. Depending on the group, the results can be disastrous—a bland or defeated writer and one ugly frankenscript.

One of things I appreciate most about Patrick's approach is his decision to put kids first, rather than professional networking and the opinion of adults. It's a message that tends to get lost in din of industry blogs. So, the next time I find myself being sucked into a vacuum of book buzz or critiques, I'm going to look at Patrick's comments and get my priorities straight.

(Check back next week for more comments by authors who write solo.)

Gotta Keep Listening

We get a belly full of opinions about kids lit from, ironically, adults (including this one). So, how refreshing is it to see the following video created by Ocoee Middle School, performing Gotta Keep Reading! to the tune of Black Eyed Peas' I Gotta Feeling. 



(Try to catch the titles of the books they're holding.)

Wimp Your Avatar

If you've ever had the urge to discover your inner wimp, check out Wimp Yourself.

I did. 

Spread the Word

I've been in such a funk the past two weeks, struggling with judgments about what's appropriate and what feels right for my stories. It's that horrible place just south of purgatory. Today, however, I'm reminded to get over myself and reflect on the true power of words.

I'm talking about the national campaign Spread the Word to End the Word, an effort launched by Special Olympics to eradicate the r-word. Here in Washington State, we're the first in the nation to have passed a law (The Respectful Language Act) that removes derogatory labels from state law. It might come as a surprise to many well-meaning people that words such as disabled and handicapped are demeaning, but the fact is...they're labels that wrongly define a person by their condition rather than their character. Cars can be disabled on the side of the road, but I don't know any broken people.

(By the way, the term handicap comes from the phrase "cap in hand" used to describe someone unfit for work who was reduced to begging.)

Historically, people with disabilities have been dehumanized in ways that would be unacceptable to any other group of people. Moron, imbecile, idiot...these are all medical terms once used to classify individuals with cognitive disabilities. People still feel free to use the r-word--retarded. Sometimes it's from ignorance, a feeling of being charitable to those people, but most often it's used as a generic put down.

I recently had a wonderful exchange with author Randall Platt (HELLIE JONDOE). As an historical novelist, the strength of her stories comes from a rare facility with language. The voice of HELLIE JONDOE leaps off the page with the same force as, say, Kirby Larson's HATTIE BIG SKY. Although they each create very different characters, both craft their stories with exquisitely genuine language. Their narrative skill defines unforgettable. If I had to pick one element of a story that elevates it above all others, it's voice. And these fine writers got it, baby.

Randall's exhaustive collection of historical idioms is stunning; and yet, she would be the first to say that in keeping true to the language of the times, her characters say things that we would now consider derogatory. I didn't find this in HELLIE JONDOE, by the way, but the subject came up in relation to one of her other books (THE FOUR ARROWS FE-AS-KO, which I haven't read yet). She warned me that, since the book takes place 100 years ago, I might be angry about some of the words used to describe a character with disabilities. I have to say that this made me respect her even more. It takes guts to be truthful to an era and to characters, even when they're offensive.

We can't hide realities of the past, and we shouldn't. Writers like Randall raise discussions that need to take place, and it's all for the good. Language is always changing, but writers are responsible for capturing the times without laying judgment on them.

So, while I struggle with just how offensive my characters and stories may or may not be, today reminds me that--for better or worse--words carry tremendous power. Writers like Randall and Kirby show us how to wring the best from some of the worst times in history.

In the meantime, as compassionate human beings in today's society, we can help each other evolve through language. Spread the Word to End the (r) Word.