Goodbye, Cursive: Why I’ll Miss You

I spent second grade trying to please Mrs. Rebscher. She had a paddle, and she wasn’t afraid to use it on any seven-year-old who got out of line. Under her watchful eye, we worked hard on our penmanship. Graduating from printing to cursive was proof we were growing up.

If Mrs. Rebscher could see what a mess I’ve made of my handwriting, she’d be reaching for that paddle. My signature is almost as bad Jack Lew’s loop-de-loops, my day-to-day cursive only slightly more readable.

Still I was sad to learn that longhand is going the way of the typewriter. The Common Core State Standards don't require it, so more and more schools are swapping out the teaching of cursive for lessons in keyboarding, which is deemed practical, fast, and efficient - the same advantages that cursive once had over printing. Before long, cursive will be like Gregg shorthand, a quaint and old-fashioned novelty, or like calligraphy, an art practiced by people with too much time on their hands.

I understand we have to move on. But my sadness is not just nostalgia. There are good reasons why I’ll miss cursive:

·        Longhand reveals who we are in ways that printing does not. If you want to check this out for yourself, write the sentence She sells seashells by the seashore. Then go here for a little analysis. Through this short exercise, I learned that the slant of my letters affirms that I’m open and like to socialize. The size of my words indicates that I’m well-adjusted and adaptable. The way I write e’s and l’s shows that I’m somewhat skeptical and unswayed by emotional appeals (sorry, PTL Network).

·        Handwriting changes as we change. It documents our growth. As years intervened between Mrs. Rebscher and me, I quit connecting some of my letters. My loops have gotten larger. Other letters have compressed. My handwriting may not be all that readable, but I like it. It’s me, all grown-up (mostly). 

·        In losing cursive, we’re not just losing a way of writing. We're losing a way of thinking. Longhand encourages right-brained messiness. Poetry, brainstorming, revision notes – for these, keyboarding just doesn’t cut it. And the kinesthetic activity of the hand on the page, joining letters, makes us feel close to our work. That’s why there are still authors who draft whole books by hand. One of them is Claire Messud, author of The Emperor’s Children. In a recent interview with Poets and Writers, she reports how writing by hand brings her close to the text. “It sounds silly,” she says, “but it used to be that when I was reading aloud from a book at a reading I basically knew it by heart.”

Revision for the Rest of Us: Five Strategies for Writers

In prepping for a stint at the Kachemak Bay Writers Conference next month, I came across this from author Katherine Paterson: “I wish for every writer in the world an editor like Virginia Buckley.”

I was among the lucky ones; Virginia Buckley edited my first two novels. As Paterson notes, she had a gift for seeing beyond a messy draft to a real story. Guided by her gentle prodding, revision was easy. One of my deep regrets as a writer was letting an agent convince me that I needed to cast my nets beyond her shores. I would have learned much more, much quicker, had I stuck with Virginia.

These days, editors like Virginia Buckley and the venerable Maxwell Perkins (check out Susan Bell’s The Artful Edit to learn more about how he helped Fitzgerald shape The Great Gatsby) are hard to come by. Editors are busier than ever. So are agents.

If you have the money – a few thousand dollars or so - you can hire a freelance editor. If your concept of publishing is to throw your book at the wall and see if it sticks, you can forego editing altogether.

For the rest of us, here are five editing strategies:

·        As Bell explains in her book, there are two types of editing. She calls them macro and micro; micro is often called line editing. Once a draft is finished, it’s tempting to jump straight to micro-editing: clarifying sentences, correcting language, fixing discrepancies, adjusting the balance between showing and telling. But most drafts are best served if the writer first takes the macro-view, finding and fixing problems with intention, theme, structure, foreshadowing, character, and continuity of tone.

·        Editing is not mopping the corners. It’s probing the entire structure, from the ground up. Treat your book like a house constructed by a well-meaning faulty builder. Search from foundation to rafters to find the weaknesses. Trust me: they’re there.

·        Editing happens in rounds, each one circling closer to the book’s truest and finest form. Don’t think you can do it once and be done.

·        When editing, don’t be the writer. Be the reader. Get distance from your manuscript. Though you’ve worked hard on your draft and you’re dying to move forward, don’t do it. Wait. Wait several weeks if you can. Then come at the book in the most objective way you can find. For me, this entails uploading my manuscript on my e-reader. That way, it looks like a book. When the waiting is over, I read with pen in hand, jotting notes in a simple lined, spiral notebook. Because I can’t fix as I go, I avoid micro-editing too soon. I write in longhand so I can get wild and messy on the page, bracketing, drawing lines and arrows to connect ideas, circling important points, writing in the margins. When I’ve finished re-reading, I have several pages of notes to guide my revision.

·        Engage trusted readers. Not your family, not your friends. No one who’s worried about hurting your feelings. Your trusted readers should be smart and tough. They’ll be fallible – but so are you. Either address or dismiss each comment they make. For every comment you dismiss, you should be able to articulate why. 

Hybrid Publishing: An Interview with Adam Glendon Sidwell, author of The Buttersmiths' Gold

It may be that we’ll look back on 2013 as the year of The Big Shift in publishing, the year the market tipped in favor of the Indie Author. 

Who’ll curate? How will readers find books they love? How will authors find time to write and publish and promote? These are among the questions I explored with Adam Glendon Sidwell, whose second book, The Buttersmith’s Gold, came out last week. 

On the day it launched, Sidwell’s first book, Evertaster, rose to number 51 on the Amazon Bestseller List. “And the funny thing is,” Sidwell wrote in a post for A Storybook World, “there was no one to do my marketing but me.” Sidwell had “an amazing agent” and together they had tried for years to place his work, but as editor after editor championed his story, the final decision at each house they approached was the same: “We don’t know how to sell your book.”

Evertaster was a hybrid venture between the publishing house you created and
your literary agency. Tell us a little about how this worked. In what ways has this
collaboration been helpful for you and your book? Will The Buttersmiths' Gold be
a similar collaboration?

My agent at Trident Media Group, Alyssa Henkin, provided the editorial insight and review that helps when putting a book together. Working with Alyssa is great, since she also was an editor for years at Simon & Schuster. We worked on the manuscript for two years together. Then they take care of all the copyrighting, and ebook creation, and I handle the print product. The world of publishing is wide open right now, and cooperation like this is possible. The Buttersmiths' Gold will be a similar approach.

The Buttersmith’s Gold is being marketed as a novella, which isn’t a term one
hears much in association with children’s books. Tell as how you decided on that
genre, and what it means to you as the author.

I'm calling it a novella simply because it's a shorter book -- 124 pages. Don't worry, it's not a Latin American Soap Opera! I wanted to do a story about Torbjorn and Storfjell from the first book, but this wasn't a sequel. The Buttersmiths' Gold is a spin off story, and you see novella being used to describe shorter books all across genres. It was the most fitting description.

What do you think are the top ways in which young readers found out about
Evertaster? In what ways are you replicating and refining the marketing reach for
The Buttersmiths' Gold?

It's really been word of mouth. Often from my mouth to their ears, but something they hear about with a lot of buzz. I've been sure to build up the Facebook page and the excitement surrounding the book there. Then I had a book trailer that explains the general idea succinctly. And after that, I spent a lot of time touring and meeting people. It was great. I will continue to tour with The Buttersmiths' Gold.

To what extent do you find young readers embracing the e-book format? In what
ways do they find out about e-books as opposed to printed books?

I was surprised to find out how far behind the e-book format lagged the print version! Only about 6% of my book sales are ebook. Which says a lot about young readers on ebook -- they're not there -- yet.

What advice do you have for writers who wonder how to balance the demands of
marketing with the time they need to create their books?

If your marketing is selling more books, keep doing it. Don't get caught up in time-drainers though. And you better ask me that question again after I've finished The Delicious City -- because it's the exact question I'm asking myself right now! I hope I'll have an answer for you then!

Time to Write

“Time is grit.”

That’s how author Leigh Newman recently answered a question that writers often get asked: How do you find time to write?

Grit. It’s one of the best answers I’ve heard. But if you’re looking for more, here are seven keys to making the most of whatever time you have to write, whether it’s ten minutes or ten hours a day:

• Know yourself: When David Vann’s working on a book, he writes every morning, seven days a week. Leigh Newman gets up at 4 a.m. Others do their best work at midnight. Figure out when and how you do your best work. Arrange your other obligations around whatever time you can spare.
• Be present: This isn’t just butt in the chair – it’s senses to the world. Figure out what most helps you feel present – a walk, a few yoga poses, meditation, a single deep breath. Half an hour, two minutes, ten seconds – it’s not the amount of time so much as the grounding itself that matters.
• Revel in language: Language is your instrument, your palette, your stage. Read a poem. Sing. Share a quote. It takes precious little time to embrace words.
• Study your craft: Read from your aspirational writers. Challenge yourself with a book on writing well in your genre.
• The 80/20 rule: Whether you’ve got ten minutes or ten hours, aim for 80 percent of your time actually writing, and 20 percent on everything else - the things mentioned here, plus other stuff like networking and promotion.
• Set limits: Identify your personal time-suckers, the ones you have control over, things like surfing the internet, social media, checking sales figures. Box these in tightly. Not only do they rob time from your passion - they also activate parts of your brain that aren’t conducive to creativity.
• Order your operations: After a little “be present” grounding, I start my writing sessions by copying words, lines, and phrases from poetry. Then I read in a genre I’m not writing at the moment, with a timer set so I don’t linger. Then I write, and write, and write. 

Don’t like routines? Discover what works for you and make it happen. That’s the grit.

You don’t have to write every day or every week or even every month. Sometimes a writer’s best move is to wait. But if you tell yourself you’ll write when you have time, or when you feel inspired, you’ll likely be waiting a long, long time. 

All Ate Up: Five Humble Precepts for Writers

All ate up.

I’m told this is an old Indiana expression, used to describe someone who’s consumed by something. She’s all ate up, you might say, for instance, of a writer who’s obsessed by results.

In one sense, writers have to be all ate up. Goals and optimism and perseverance and dedication – these are essential to your work. But it’s ever so easy to get all ate up over results – not your work, but how your work is received. When you think no one’s looking, you’re checking your Amazon rankings, your earnings summaries, your Twitter follows, your Facebook likes, your BookScan sales. When grants and awards and fellowships are announced, you’re wondering when your turn will come.

Last week it was announced that Eowyn Ivey’s book The Snow Child was one of two Pulitzer finalists in fiction. Knowing Eowyn, I doubt this was a result she in any way expected. Besides being a fine writer, Eowyn is gracious and kind. At every opportunity, she’s thanking and acknowledging others for her success. She wrote the best book she could write, and now she’s on to the next one.

I started thinking about other authors I know who’ve won national or international recognition. Debby Dahl Edwardson, National Book Award Finalist for My Name Is Not Easy. Melinda Moustakis, Flannery O’Connor Fiction Prize for Bear Down, Bear North. David Vann, Le Prix Medicis Etranger for Legend of a Suicide. Joan Kane, Donald Hall Poetry Prize for Hyperboreal. Seth Kantner, Milkweed National Fiction Prize for Ordinary Wolves. (These, by the way, are only a few highlights from among the many awards this distinguished group has collectively received, and – not to slight anyone – other writers I know have received prizes and awards not mentioned here.)

I doubt that any of these writers expected the particular recognition they received. They aren’t people who obsess over winning or results beyond producing their best writing, day after day. They aren’t “all ate up” over the many aspects of publishing that are beyond their control.

Pondering what I admire about these prizing-winning authors, I’ve distilled out five precepts to help all of us keep from getting “ate up” over the wrong things:

·        Writers control products, not perceptions. When building a platform becomes a whole lot of striving, it’s time to back off.

·        Though some claim it’s motivational, envy is distracting at best, destructive at worst. Cultivate joy for writers who achieve recognition, and don’t fret over when you’ll get yours. Keep producing the best writing you can, and keep making it better.

·        When results do come, acknowledge your team. Increasingly, it takes a village to grow a book.

·        Cultivate gratitude, not gratification. Be aware of how social media can mess with your mind.

·        Cultivate grace. It will serve you in a wide range of matters beyond your control.

Mentoring, Anyone? Five Things Writers Should Consider

These days you’ll find an abundance of mentorship opportunities for writers, from the mentoring relationships inherent to full-blown MFA programs to mentors-for-hire who advertise online.

For several years, I’ve mentored writers both informally and for hire. Recently, I was asked by a chapter of SCBWI (Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators) to design an affordable digital mentorship opportunity, and that prompted me to think about what contributes to a positive mentoring experience.

Here are five factors you should consider if you’re thinking about signing on with a mentor:

• Your expectations: A mentorship should yield improved writing and a refined sense of how you can grow as a writer. It is not, however, a guarantee of publication. Which particular areas you hope to work on with your mentor? Which aspects of publishing you hope to learn more about? As you begin to explore mentorship options, list what you hope to accomplish with your mentor. Take a hard look at these expectations and adjust based on where you are in your journey as a writer as well as how much time you can devote to improvement. Depending on what you hope to accomplish, you might be best served by a series of mentorships, either arranged independently or within the context of an MFA program.
• What you’ll bring to the mentorship: Before you begin working with a mentor, you should have at least a solid start on a project you’d like to improve. You should also have a sense of your strengths and weaknesses as a writer. A good mentor functions as your coach, your editor, and your critic. If you’re thin-skinned, mentoring probably isn’t for you (and writing may not be, either). As with your expectations, jot down what you’ll bring to the membership. Sharing your expectations and your self-assessment with a potential mentor will help both of you decide whether the relationship will be helpful.
• What else you’re doing to grow as a writer: Mentoring is a wonderful way to work one on one with a writer who can help you toward your goals, but you shouldn’t rely on it entirely. Do you read systematically both in your genre and in your craft? Do you write regularly? (One of the benefits of a mentorship, by the way, is that it gives you deadlines.) Do you study with a variety of writers at workshops and conferences? How will your mentorship dovetail with these other activities?
• Your options: Ideally, you want a writer who has experience as a mentor and who enjoys mentoring. You also want a writer who is several steps ahead of you in the game, a person whose writing you admire, and who has a proven track record in publishing and/or sales. As with many other professionals, the best mentors don’t need to advertise much, and they know better than to take on too many clients. Ask other writers whom they’d recommend. If you’ve enjoyed a workshop with a particular writer, ask if he or she does any mentoring. Ask your local writing center and local chapters of writer’s organizations like SCBWI if they offer mentorship opportunities. Although the ideal mentoring relationship might be with a writer in your genre, that’s not essential. I rarely write short nonfiction (except for blog posts), but one writer I mentor only writes essays, and most of the projects she has worked on with me have been published. It goes without saying that a good mentor will be able to provide references and testimonials upon request.
• Your relationship: I’m a big believer in the preventative power of the written word. If your potential mentor doesn’t offer a written description of how the relationship will work, don’t be shy about asking for one. How long will the relationship last? How will you communicate back and forth? How often? Will both macro- and micro-editing be included? If the relationship’s not working out, can it be dissolved? Will your mentor work with you on building a career as a writer? How much will it cost, and how is the cost billed? Every mentor handles these questions differently. For both macro- and micro-editing, you can expect to pay in the $50 per hour range. 

2013 Writeathon over...but you can still donate! Final update: 10:09 pm

My final session:
1599 words
First line: "Lunch came as a big relief." 
Last line: "But Dr. Faustus is the classic.” 
Total revision of "No Returns" during writeathon: 4221 words! 
Thanks so much, everyone!