Louisa May

Last night I was at loose ends, so I started flipping through all the rich material in the Norton Critical Edition of Little Women: snippets from Alcott's journals, relevant editorial correspondence, contemporary reviews, and modern critical analysis. It was a VERY illuminating experience for a writer facing her own impending deadline and beset by her own self-doubts.

I had already known that Alcott undertook the writing of Little Women only reluctantly, after her editor asked her to write "a girls' book" - "Never liked girls, or knew many," she grumbled. I hadn't realized that this same editor was quite unappreciative upon receiving the opening chapters: "Sent twelve chapters of "L.W." to Mr. N. He thought it dull; so do I." In a much later self-comment on her own journal, she wrote, ""the 'dull' book was the first golden egg of the ugly duckling."

What most astonished me was that she wrote the entire second half of the book - Meg's wedding, Laurie's failed courtship of Jo, Laurie's successful courtship of Amy, Beth's heart-rending death, Jo's romance with Prof. Bhaer - all in two months. She began the second part of Little Women on November 1st, 1868, reporting to her journal, "I find I can do a chapter a day, and in a month I mean to be done." And indeed, she sent the full manuscript to the publisher on New Year's Day - proud that she had resisted readers' pleas for her to mate Jo and Laurie: "I won't marry Jo to Laurie to please any one."

I will no longer complain about my deadlines. If Louisa May Alcott could write a chapter a day, I can certainly write a chapter every two or three days. And if her "dull" book did so well, maybe I shouldn't despair quite yet of the dullness of mine, but just keep on writing.

No Poltergeist, After All

Two weeks ago I wrote about a possible poltergeist in my church: I had arrived at church with a key to the church on my key ring, and left that same night with NO church key on my key ring, but two STRANGE keys that I had never seen before, presumably keys that would open the gate to some magical kingdom.

Alas, it is my sad duty to report that I subsequently found the church key in the pocket of my skirt when I wore that same skirt a few days later, and I discovered that the other two keys open the regular lock and deadbolt lock of the door at Grandpa's house. I had no idea that I had keys to Grandpa's house, but apparently I did.

So there was no poltergeist. No keys to a magical kingdom. Just humdrum reality.

Some people are reassured - nay, gleeful - when the laws of natural science end up being vindicated yet again. Indeed, some people devote their lives to debunking claims of the extraterrestrial or supernatural, finding ho-hum explanations of crop circles, flying saucer abductions, ghostly visitations, not to mention anything to do with fairies, elves, gnomes, and sprites. Oh, and God.

Not me. I'm with Hamlet, who said, "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

But a poltergeist in residence at my church is not one of them.

Showing Up

The more prosaic way to say it is Woody Allen's, "90 percent of success is just showing up" (which I've also heard quoted as "80 percent of success is just showing up"). A more poetic way is this, from artist Philip Guston, quoted by Gail Godwin, reproduced in the wonderful collection of meditations for writers, Walking on Alligators, edited by Susan Shaughnessy:

"I go to my studio every day, because one day I may go and the angel will be there. What if I don't go and the angel came?"

I've been stuck on my book-in-progress, Mason Dixon: Fourth Grade Disasters. Is it as funny and sweet as the first book in the series, Mason Dixon: Pet Disasters? Is it funny and sweet AT ALL? Is there, well, is there a PLOT to the story? A plot that would make anybody keep on turning the pages to find out what happens next? For two days I could hardly force myself to write it, and if the writer can't force herself to write it, that doesn't bode well for the reader, who will hardly be inclined to force himself to read it.

Then today I made myself show up. Just made myself do it. I sat down and read through the first few chapters and found out exactly what I needed to do to raise the level of interest and dramatic tension in the book. Then I started writing a new scene for chapter 8 and all of a sudden, a whole new plot possibility presented itself. Two, actually.

I don't know if I could honestly say that an angel came. But my hand was racing across the page in delighted anticipation of what was going to happen next. And that does bode well for my eventual reader.

Right now, I believe that 100 percent of success is just showing up.

Solving Problems

One of my summer pleasures is going to Rockies games at Coors Field. I'm somewhat surprised that I've become such a fan, as I was raised as a child to loathe and abominate all sports, whether as participant or spectator. But then I went to one Rockies game with my sister and her husband when they were visiting from New Jersey, and it was tons of fun. I have to confess that my favorite part has nothing to do with watching the game itself: it's singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" in the 7th inning stretch. I'm also partial to the singing of the National Anthem. And the part where the crowd gets to vote, via applause meter, for which song to hear played during a break between innings.

My least favorite part is driving home. For some reason, although we drive to Coors Field with ease, I have never figured out how to get home from there. So what we do is just turn on some random street (a different random street each time, in hopes of a better outcome this time around) and drive through deserted stretches of Denver (lots of warehouses and empty parking lots) for a long time until I somehow stumble upon a chance to get on I-70. I make a wild guess at which direction is the one I want, to take me to I-25, and from there, I can figure out the rest.

But this last time, when we went to see the Rockies play the Cardinals, my son Gregory surprised me by telling me, "What you want to do is turn right on 20th Street." Why 20th Street? Why right? I didn't ask. I just obeyed. He had obviously done some research ahead of time. And sure enough, RIGHT AWAY there was an on-ramp to the HOV lane for I-25. We were home in no time flat.

This might be a breakthrough for me. Sometimes when you have a problem, there is a solution to the problem. And if you make a small effort to find the solution, something that has been a constant source of low-grade irritation in your life disappears, just like that. This might even work for something that is a source of major stress and anxiety.

I'm going to explore this more and get back to you on it.

Wisdom from a Friend

Despite my checking my email every five minutes for the past two days, I have gotten no new reviews of One Square Inch to counteract that somewhat disappointing review from Kirkus, the review that made me blush by quoting a couple of eloquent and lovely lines drawn from the book that the reviewer charged were implausible as utterances out of the mouth of a sixth-grade boy first-person narrator.

But then I got something even better, a wonderful email from one of my most favorite children's book authors, Sally Warner, who writes some of the most beautiful and moving books of anybody I know (she writes funny books, too, really funny ones, but the beautiful, moving ones are the ones that are lodged in my heart right now, books whose titles alone can break your heart: It's Only Temporary, Sort of Forever, A Long Time Ago Today.

Sally wrote me that the reviewer's comment on my book was "a bogus comment, because kids don't speak at all in real life the way we write them, anyway. Real conversation, whether child or adult, would be virtually unreadable."

And then, even more wisely, Sally wrote, "In much the same way that children like to read about other kids who may be braver, more adventurous, or stronger/prettier than they are, I think they also like to read about kids who are better able to articulate what they, the readers, are feeling. In fact, they're counting on it! That is, what they FEEL is every bit as deep as we could imagine, but they often can't sort it out. So the 'too knowing' character does that for them."

Doesn't that make you want to sit down and start reading one of Sally's books right now?

Okay, Kirkus reviewer: my too-articulate narrator is giving kids what they are COUNTING on getting from a book. Yay for me! And yay to Sally for being more articulate about this than I was able to be.

Of Wind and Sails

Needless to say, a lukewarm review does much to take the wind out of one's writing sails. And my sails were already on the limp, sagging, drooping side. And I have such a huge writing ocean to traverse between now and the end of the summer.

Yesterday I did nothing but feel sad - about my "mixed" review, and then while I was at it, about everything else that was disappointing in my current life. For good measure, I reviewed all my recent losses and wallowed in them. I didn't bring a chapter of the new book-in-progress to my critique group meeting last night, because I knew they would hate it and find it as deadly dull as I did and then I'd never be able to force myself to continue writing it.

But then it was this morning. A new day. A day not yet marred by any "mixed" reviews. I got up at 6:30 (in summertime I don't have to get up at 5:00) and made myself my Swiss Miss hot chocolate. I read through the book-in-progress and axed the subplot that wasn't working; I realized that without its dragging the story down, the rest of it the book so far was fine - more than fine, quite dear and darling. I wrote a good new scene and finished up Chapter 6. I think the book is going to have 13 chapters, so I'm almost halfway there (though admittedly I had a good bit of a previous draft that I could salvage for the first half and nothing for the second half - but still).

I'm heading back toward the open waters. Wish me Godspeed.

"Mixed Review"

I just got the first review of my fall middle-grade novel, One Square Inch. It's from Kirkus, and it's what my editor called "mixed, but mostly good."

I think it's mixed, but mostly bad.

On the good side, they said it's a "poignant tale," and that certain elements of the book "are affecting and emotionally true." They also said that the book is engaging. On the bad side, they said that the story is too depressing to attract a large audience - pretty damning, that! And that the first-person voice of the book is too sophisticated for a sixth-grade boy.

The thing that hurts is that I think both of those criticisms are true. The book IS depressing. The voice IS too sophisticated.

Of course, part of me also wants to say: but look at all those other horrendously depressing books that win major awards! Look at all those books that are not poignant, but downright grim, hideously bleak and hopeless. And they command a huge audience. And aren't most first-person narratives a tad too sophisticated for us to believe that they could be utterances from the mouth of an actual kid? Huh? Huh?

But I'm still sad.

Another part of me wants to say: but this is really not the FIRST review of the book, but the SECOND review. The FIRST review was its being chosen a month or two ago as a Junior Library Guild selection, which is a very nice honor that it has already received, despite its alleged depressingness and overly sophisticated voice.

But I'm still sad.