Wow, I’ve managed to ramble for 100 blog posts already! No published book yet, but lots of new knowledge and insight from my trials and errors.

I had a chance to share some of what I’ve learned with Jennie, my book coach. She asked if I could help her prepare for an interview she was giving about the role of a book coach. Here’s her request:

[The interviewer’s] questions are around this idea of trust — how do you trust a coach — and also, why CAN’T I do it by myself?? I could talk about this for DAYS of course, but since you have just experienced this transformation — and in such a compressed period of time — I would love to hear your answer to that.

What were you trying to do before that didn’t work? And what was the difference in hearing the feedback from me? And do you think your transformation is a result of your being READY to hear these lessons? I mean — not everyone is ready.

I’m sharing my response to Jennie because it summarizes my writing journey and reminds me where I’ve come from. There’s still a long way to go–but (dare I think it?) maybe I’m on the downward slope?

Here’s my answer to Jennie’s questions:

Ok, what was I trying to do that didn’t work? Write a book. 🙂

My history: years ago I started writing a novel—a contemporary retelling of Macbeth. I tried to put into practice what I’d learned on my own (and what I’d been teaching my students as a high school creative writing teacher: plot diagrams, character development, setting, description, sensory detail, showing not telling). I never really wanted to do it on my own—I’m not a DIY person for anything:), but I never found my answer for help. I signed up for community writing courses, but they focused on short stories and on prose writing and got me nowhere. So I’ve always been open to help.

I did what you’re supposed to: polished the manuscript, had it professionally edited, used Beta readers (even changing from a male protagonist to a female protagonist—talk about starting over). I listened to every piece of feedback I could get (even if I didn’t want to hear it). I researched how to write a query letter and then I researched literary agents. I got a few requests for partials and one for the full manuscript and I landed an agent! How thrilled was I! How disappointed when she couldn’t find a publisher and she seemed quite mystified, too.

But, I figured, if I did it once, I could do it again.

This time, I applied for a Humber College creative writing program and got accepted. That was my effort to get professional mentorship, which is what I always knew I needed. Why? Because I knew there were parts I was struggling with on my new novel. For example, plot. I had a kickass plot graph. Only, I wasn’t sure how to translate that into scenes. More importantly, I knew that I had to show the development of my character—I teach my students how to analyze character development, so I was surprised I had trouble writing it. I knew where my character was starting from and how she would change in the end, but I didn’t know how to show the “steps” she took to get to those realizations.

This surprised me because I hadn’t had these problems with my first novel—and then I figured out why.

William Shakespeare had done the hard work for me: he had given me the plot and even the character development. I simply echoed his story with twists of my own, which, while creative, turns out not to be the same as making up your own story from scratch.

The program wasn’t the perfect fit for me, no matter how supportive my mentor was. The advice I got was: write a “shitty first draft” and go from there. Well, I did that. Many a time. But by then, I’d wandered too far down the garden path.

I spent so much time trying to make the manuscript fit what I thought my mentor wanted and because I obviously didn’t understand what he was getting at, I floundered. I worked for years (working mom, trying to fit in writing when I could). I restarted, from scratch, at least three times. I literally cried when I thought I was almost finished my revisions, came to the end and realized that there was no good reason for the antagonist to do what he did at the beginning, which meant there was no reason for the journey or quest for my protagonist (still thinking that “what the character wants” was external). I was trying to fit a square peg in a round hole. Of course, I didn’t realize that until I met you [Jennie]. I had beta readers say the novel was good and they liked my prose.

So I wrote the best query I could and put it out there, fingers crossed. I got some very pleasant rejections, including that I had a good “voice” for my character, but obviously it wasn’t enough. I read advice online (sometimes that in itself was too overwhelming) which warned not to send too may queries. If you get all rejections, maybe you need to reevaluate. It was heartbreaking to think that three years worth of blood, sweat and tears would be for naught, so I told myself I needed help on my query letter.

That’s when I stumbled on your blog, describing your process in helping another writer, and I thought, that’s exactly what I need!

So, was I ready to learn? Yes. I’d been ready for years, but thought colleges and universities were my only hope—and that didn’t work out for me. I had been considering applying for an MFA in Writing, to try to learn what I needed to do to improve.

Until you came along, I thought I was doing everything right. Not right enough to get myself published, I knew, but I honestly didn’t know what else to try.

What you taught me was the missing link: story.

I believe that I knew how to write well—but I learned I didn’t know how to tell a good story.

You also pointed out to me something I couldn’t see because I was too close to it: my writing style, forged as a journalist, was all about telling, not showing. I honestly thought I hadn’t fallen into that trap. I would describe the mom with her hands on her hips, frowning, rather than say the mom was angry. Not telling? Check. I didn’t know until you pointed it out how I was telling the reader my character’s thoughts, not being inside her head.

Once I learned where I was going wrong, I just did what you told me to do.

The reason why you are so integral to my writing process now—why I would recommend any writer find a book coach—is the continual feedback. You helped me shape my story before I started writing it. Then you’re giving me feedback as I go along, to make sure I don’t veer off track. You see things I can’t. Oh, and you’re encouraging, which, as a writer yourself, you know is important because, well, to be frank, no one else cares.

How do you trust a coach? How did I know you should be the one I should turn to? Because I bought into your philosophy about what “story” is—something I suspected I knew little about but could never have articulated it before—and your process of understanding your story before you write. It just made sense to me. I felt like, finally, I see clearly now what I have to do.

Growing up, I was always jealous of my friends in sports because they had coaches to tell them exactly how to improve, and organized clubs that had a clear direction about how to get to the top. You want to play in the NHL? You follow these levels of competitive hockey and you get coached by the best coaches and if you’re good enough, you get your shot. Obviously, thousands of people fall away long before that and most don’t end up making it, but they always knew the path they had to take if that’s what they wanted.

Not me. Not for writing. My high school Writer’s Craft teacher said I had talent and that I’d go far. I applied to a Creative Writing program for my undergrad, but my practical-minded parents convinced me I’d actually be able to get a job as a journalist—not a fiction writer—so I listened to them. Ever since, I was on my own. I think I read every “how-to-write” book out there, but it wasn’t enough, because I needed someone to tell me about my specific work. I needed that one-on-one feedback. Like what my sports friends got from their coaches.

In a nutshell:

Why DIY didn’t work for me: I couldn’t see my own errors, no matter how much I was looking for them.
Why a book coach works for me: I have someone who’s knowledgeable, objective and encouraging to give me specific, detailed feedback on my work—not vague platitudes about writing in general.
Caveat: the writer has to buy into the book coach’s philosophy of writing.
The key: Story is about the character’s internal desire. Understanding that was the lynchpin that moved me forward.
The conclusion: hire a book coach!

Where does it end? Not the book–I know how it ends. (Finally!)

What I mean is the backstory. Where does the backstory end? More precisely, where does my job of unearthing each character’s backstory end?

I fully accept that each character, no matter how minor, has to have his/her own memories which will then inform how he/she reacts to the plot at hand. I’ve taken time to develop David’s life story, and now I’m working on another character, Ayaan.

But what I realized is that David and Ayaan’s stories aren’t enough, because they’re unbreakably linked to the lives of their parents. Just like Lyra is isolated and alone thanks to the decisions her parents have made, so too, are David and Ayaan affected by the choices of their parents.

Which means, in order to fully understand David and Ayaan, I need to understand their parents. Which means I need to know their names and occupations and philosophies of life. But of course, how they came to see the world–and therefore pass that vision onto their children–comes from their parents/background/childhood/upbringing. But of course how their parents raised them reflects the way they were raised. And so on and so forth…

For example, I use David’s grandmother, Mama Jua as an important influence on both David and Lyra’s lives. Why she does what she does is because of her backstory. Yet all of it still has to be connected to David and Lyra–otherwise I will get lost in the morass of memories and lose focus.

So, I have David appear in Lyra’s life with a dire warning. To make this believable, I have to know why David would risk his life for a stranger. He’s a part of a resistance group, but going after government targets to warn them is not part of the group’s M.O. So why would he do it? Because, in part, he’s opposed to his mom’s hands-off, non-confrontation, more subversive methods of resistance. Why does he hate it? Because his mom Emmanuelle has been wholly focused on her hands-off, non-confrontation, more subversive methods of resistance at the expense of her son.

Well, why is his mom so neglectful of David? That’s because of her own upbringing with her mother, Mama Jua. Now I need to figure out what happened when Emmanuelle was a child. She was hurt by her mother’s frivolous neglect. She felt abandoned when her mom would attend society parties and teas, which, according to Emmanuelle were vapid and empty, so she vowed when she was older, she’d make sure her life had value and purpose. What she doesn’t see is that the end result of her “meaningful” resistance efforts (no time for her son) is the same as her own childhood.

Hence, we bring the story back to David. But not yet to Lyra. The novel is about Lyra, so I have to get back to Lyra.

There’s got to be more. So now I have to look at why Mama Jua chose tea parties over her own children. Now I have to delve into Mama Jua’s memories. Her husband had just left her; in their society, divorce was frowned upon, so she felt utterly humiliated. To save face and social standing, she tried to “fit in”. She did it, thinking if she could make the stuck-up ladies of the town accept her, then her children’s lives would be easier–they wouldn’t be teased or bullied for being raised by a single mom.

Yeah, ok, that’s bittersweet and all. There’s a link to Emmanuelle and then to David, and David helps Lyra, but is that enough?

Yeah, I didn’t think so either.

So I took another look at Mama Jua’s story. Somehow, I have to make her story fit more closely with Lyra’s narrative. That’s when I realized Mama Jua’s motivation for helping Lyra: she takes Lyra under her wing, in part, out of regret for how she raised her own daughter Emmanuelle. She knows she made mistakes, acted on misjudgments, so now she wants to make it right–as much as she can. She can’t re-do the past, but she can care for Lyra the way she realizes she should have cared for Emmanuelle.

And that’s the answer to my question. Where does it end? Where do my backstories end?

When they’ve come full circle to Lyra.

‘Cause in the end, it’s all about Lyra. 🙂

My husband asked me the other day how far I am into my novel.

You know what? I couldn’t answer.

I had no idea–and that’s because I’ve been writing the scenes out of order (see previous blog post “Jump Around”).

Turns out that’s a good thing. Turns out there’s a side benefit to jumping around in the narrative: the book is less daunting to write.

Consider: a blinking curser at the top of a blank page, knowing you have 300 of those pages to fill.

Consider: a blinking curser at the top of a blank page knowing you have, at most, 20 pages to fill.

Since I’ve been jumping around in my narrative, I’ve been focused only on one scene at a time. I don’t feel the daunting pressure of having 250 more pages to write, 200 pages more to write, 198 more pages to write…

And I may not get to 300 pages. Maybe I’ll finish my rough draft with 200 pages. Or 195 or 276.  I’ll just write the scenes I need to write and then stitch it together and see what I get. Without knowing exactly how many pages I’ve written, I find I’m not obsessing with it (“oh my God, I still have 80,000 words to write?!) It’s less about what I still have to do (a depressing emotion) and more about what I’m doing now (a much more fulfilling feeling).

There’s still a boatload more work to do–and that’s just for my rough draft, let alone revisions and editing and querying and marketing–but I kinda like not thinking about it. I kinda like not knowing exactly how much is ahead of me.

I kinda like this ignorance. I kinda like the bliss.

Remember the rap song, “Jump Around” from the early ’90s? No? Not a rap fan? I’d bet you dollars to donuts you’d know it when you hear it (go ahead! Google it, listen, and then tell me I’m wrong.)

It’s what I’m hearing in my head now, as I get down to the nitty gritty writing of my novel.

My book coach Jennie was pleased with my efforts at the ending. Despite my initial skepticism, I now agree with her approach: writing the end will give me focus throughout–it’s my destination, so now I work on the journey.

“You’re ready to write forward,” Jennie told me. “How would you like to do that?”

Ummm, I’ll, uh, write forward… You know, one scene, one chapter, then the next until I hit the end. Chronologically. It’s how we read, after all. Beginning, middle, end.

Or I could jump around, Jennie suggested. “Try writing the big scenes,” she said. The emotional ones, the significant ones. She felt I have a strong enough outline to keep me on track if I write out of order.

It felt jarring to even consider such an approach. A story is linear; I am linear. Beginning, middle, end. How can I write how Lyra feels about what happened in a previous scene if I haven’t written the previous scene?

But then I realized I had less trouble writing the closing than Chapter 2. Maybe I would like nailing down the climax. Maybe it would be more satisfying to see the conflicts in her relationship with David before I tackle how they hook up. Maybe that will influence how they hook up.

It’s a strange notion, but I’m giving it a shot. I tried it the other way before (many, many times) and I don’t yet see my novel on bookstore shelves, so why not try something different?

Jump around, jump around, jump around.

Ever read The Fault in our Stars by John Green? It’s a YA tear-jerker, a story about a teen girl, Hazel, living with cancer (she hates the image of “battling” or “fighting”) who falls for a 17-year-old cancer survivor, Augustus, but is afraid to get too close to him since she knows her diagnosis is terminal.

If you haven’t read it–READ IT! It’s so good (warning: have a box of kleenex nearby).

I have read it before, so when Jennie, my book coach, used it as a point of reference to help me with my own novel, I knew what she was talking about.

It’s narrated from Hazel’s first-person point of view, but the story works so well, Jennie said, because it could easily have been narrated from Augustus’s perspective. She pointed out how well-rounded Augustus is, how real. He is his own person who happens to orbit Hazel.

Everyone is a hero in his or her own story. The concept is not new to me, nor is applying it to literature, nor even, is using it in my own writing. In my previous versions, I had David, Lyra’s love interest, fleshed out with a family, a backstory, even an internal desire. (The irony: I knew secondary character David’s internal desire better than I knew protagonist Lyra’s internal desire).

Here’s where I went wrong (ok, maybe not wrong, but not quite right enough): I only used David’s backstory at the end, when I needed it to flesh out Lyra’s story. I didn’t think about how his own past would be reflected in his interactions with Lyra throughout the story.

So when Jennie asked me to write my next scene, one with my new-and-improved (and entirely different) David, she reminded me that every time I write something about David, I have to know his perspective, as he were the star of the show. I don’t write it all, obviously, but if I know what he’s thinking and why, then how he reacts to Lyra will feel real, whole and, most importantly, believable.

To prepare, I went back and re-read The Fault in Our Stars. Every time I came upon a scene with Augustus, I imagined his own perspective, what he might be thinking that Hazel wouldn’t (at this point) know. This exercise works because I already knew the ending, so on my second reading, I could envision what Augustus was thinking.

Example: Augustus shows up at Hazel’s wearing a basketball jersey of a Dutch player. He takes her on a picnic, spreading out an orange blanket and offering her a Dutch cheese sandwich. Hazel (and, by extension, us) guesses what Augustus is up to, but she (nor we) know for sure until the reveal of the big surprise (a trip to Holland). On second reading, knowing Augustus’s plan, I can see how the author wove in Augustus’s own motivations, how his own backstory made that scene possible.

What’s even cooler is that the same concept worked for another character, a rude, pathetic, belligerent man. I’d forgotten this character’s motivation, his internal desire, but by re-reading with different eyes, I see how his behaviour makes complete sense. This character, too, had his own story, one in which Hazel and Augustus play secondary roles.

This depth is what makes the novel come alive.

I’ve worked on Lyra and her background; now I need to figure out David’s life before he meets Lyra. The best thing about fiction, though? I can make it all up so that it neatly mirrors Lyra’s life.

‘Cause after all, it’s still Lyra’s story. Everything else–the plot, the secondary characters–are all put there in service of Lyra’s quest.

I’ve just got to do it in a way that won’t make you, the reader, realize it’s all so carefully crafted.

Give David his own story–as long as it helps Lyra.

No problem. This will be easy. Easy as… quantum physics.

Yeah… so… I got nothin’.

No hard-won wisdom, no brilliant insights, no aha-moments of my own to share with you.

Nothin’ to say on the blog today.

I got Blog-block, the Internet version of writer’s block.

I daresay, after wasting countless of fruitless hours reading inane drivel online (which is actually remarkably satisfying when one is trying to avoid the real work of writing a book), that very few people suffer from Blog-block. It seems that everyone always has something to say, even if they have nothing to say.

But alas, I have succumbed.

So instead of pounding out my own inane drivel for you to read, I will leave you now. I’m doing you a favour, of course; you now have more time to go and read a good book. 🙂

To all my teacher colleagues at this end-of-school- (aka-s**tload-of-marking)-time of year,

I’m thinking of you. 🙂

My book coach Jennie has me working on the end of my book (better to know where you’re going). We were discussing the “aha!” scene, the moment when the protagonist finally gets it.

Gets what? Gets whatever it is s/he was looking for. Remember that a character has an internal desire, something that started before the novel does. Something has gotten in the way of that desire–both her misbeliefs (her own thoughts and fears) and external obstacles (plot).

In Lyra’s case, she wants control over her own life. She wants to make decisions for herself and she wants to not move again when her parents insist they have to pack up and leave immediately.

Her misbelief is that she feels she has no control–and even when she does, she messes up. When she tries to exert control in the opening scene by defying her parents and refusing to go on the run, catastrophe ensues.

But she will learn that she has control–just maybe not in the way she thought. She’ll learn that while she can’t outrun her fate (she can’t rid herself of her phoenix cells and she can’t stop the government from coming after her), she can take a stand.

Where and how she learns this is her “aha!” moment. Where she either finally gets what she wants or accepts that she can’t get what she wants.

Jennie suggests this comes about by showing a secondary character struggling with a similar problem. By witnessing that other character’s decisions, the protagonist can either:

a) be inspired and emulate the other person or

b) recognize that the other person is making the same decisions she did–and now she sees how wrong they were–therefore she can make the opposite choice.

We often look to others to help us make our decisions (isn’t that what stories are for, after all?); it makes sense that characters would do the same.

Not only does it make so much sense, it also makes it so much easier to write. I don’t have to twist my character into unnatural contortions for her to learn her lessons; I only have to set up a situation that mirrors her own: A teen who feels s/he has no control… who thinks s/he can outrun fate…

Considering I have only one other significant teen character, the choice was easy.

Daaaavid! Come on down! You’re the next contestant on “The Choice is Right”!

(Lyra, I hope you’re watching.)

…or delusion, but let’s not argue about semantics. 🙂

Ok, really cool experience: I was invited into my colleague’s Grade 12 Writer’s Craft class to talk about my experience as a writer. Me, considered a writer by other people!

It was a bit strange to play a different role in the classroom–in my own school, with many of my former students. I’m used to knowing the whole class and engaging them with lessons and activities. When I invite guest speakers, I’m conscious of my role as host–not as “expert”.

That Adam, my colleague, thought I could offer a different perspective as a writer made me feel pretty good. Up till now, I kinda figured you have to have, you know, written (read: published) a book before anyone would listen to anything I had to say on writing.

Turns out, I could offer a lot simply from my own learning experience. (Ok, I could offer something. Whether it was “a lot” can only be determined by the students in the class).

I liked that I could share with them not only what I learned, but it made me more open to talking about my failures–or, if I’m trying to keep a positive spin on things, my not-yet-successful writing attempts.

Here’s what I talked about:

• Wanting to be a writer since I was 8 years old (my first “published” story of Santa and his elves. It was published because my mom typed it up. And I got a “Super Kid” Woody Woodpecker sticker on it. Woohoo!)
• Applying to university writing programs only to be dissuaded by my practically-minded parents. “There’s no money in writing”, they said (true). “Better to go into journalism which is still writing but where there are jobs.” (turned out to be false). I told the students that advice, was in fact, like telling someone who wants to learn how to drive transport trailers to go get their motorcycle licence. Both are vehicles, but no where near the same thing. Having said that, I did warn them about the harsh realities of making money (or, more accurately, not making money) as a fiction author.
• I talked about the well-known cliche, “write what you know”. I re-interpreted that: write what you know about how you feel. It’s not so much the details and content of your experiences so much as the emotions you remember from it that you want to reproduce for your characters. I read excerpts from my first book about how details of my protagonist Mackenna’s life reflect my own. I related my own stories about young adult romance and crushed hearts (ahem, Dan) then showed how I used the intensity of those emotions in my writing.
• I talked about what I’ve learned from Jennie, specifically:
  • Add more specific detail to your backstory and your world so everything is logical. I read before-and-after examples in my newest version of Lyra’s story to illustrate the difference.
  • And the other well-worn writerly advice: “show, don’t tell.” I told the students I was convinced I was doing that. I had the nicest prose–even mentioned (and, yes, I quote directly) Jennie said I have “brilliant writing.” That’s when I explained to them that showing means staying inside the character’s head, not having the character tell the reader what happened to her. Again, I read excerpts to illustrate the difference.
• I finished with “advice”. Writing is hard. Rejection sucks. If you keep at it, call yourself a writer. You deserve to.
• Bonus: I offered to give feedback on writing the students are doing on their own time (not wanting to step on Adam’s toes for his class assignments!) I remember needing that outside advice/opinion (hi Jennie!). I’m no book coach, nor do I pretend to be. Just want to give some encouragement to emerging writers. You know what? One student actually e-mailed me. Makes me feel like I can give something back. That got me thinking and now I have plans to expand my site to include some “how-to” tips (for what they’re worth). Still working out those details, but stay tuned…

Conclusion? I loved sharing my own writing process with the students. So, if anyone wants to sign me up as a guest speaker, I now have experience. 🙂