Books for Boys

A college professor of mine once lectured about how it was harder for boys to read books with female protagonists than it was for girls to read about males. I’m not sure I’m going to get her argument right—seeing as how I heard this lecture a couple of decades ago (yikes!), but the gist of it is that most of what we read is from the male point of view, so women from a very early age become adept at seeing though a male lens. (Think of how often you see the word man or the pronoun he. Men for most of history have been the default sex in literature. This likely applies to race too.) When a girl reads a book with a male hero, even if the point of view is first person, she doesn’t have a problem imagining herself in the guy’s shoes. But when boys read a book with a female “I,” according to this professor, it can be jarring.

Who knows if this is true. (For the record, I’m a female.) For research purposes, I did a little survey. Okay, the truth is I asked my teen son this morning while he was eating breakfast:

Me: Does it seem jarring to you when you read a book with a girl narrator?

Son: Um. I don’t know. Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know.

So there you have it.

I’ve heard editors at conferences say that girls will read “boy books” (see Harry Potter) but it’s generally accepted that boys won’t read “girl books.” (Have you ever seen a guy carrying around a copy of Twilight?) Everyone’s looking for what they call crossovers, series like Hunger Games that both sexes seem to enjoy. But for the most part, it’s girl readers who are driving the industry, with some editors giving up on boys all together, saying that boys either don’t like to read or they’re drawn to non-fiction. This trend is not surprising to me. I’ve read a ton of contemporary YA novels, many of which star girl protagonists caught up in love triangles with gorgeous, supernatural guys. Or girl protagonists surviving in bleak post-apocalyptic landscapes while caught up in love triangles with gorgeous, not-supernatural guys. Can’t imagine many boys gravitating toward any of these books.

Not sure where I’m going with this, but I’ve been thinking about it since I finished reading Ship Breaker by Paolo Bacigalupi. This is a book by a male writer about a male hero with a stereotypically masculine-looking cover, all brownish and gritty with a grim guy’s face hovering over an oil tanker. I confess that I probably wouldn’t have picked it up if it hadn’t been for the prominently displayed medals on the cover. (It won the Printz Award in 2011 and was a finalist for the National Book Award.)

Not exactly my thing—with lots of technical description of the inner workings of ships and some violent interactions between our hero and his enemies and a chase on the high seas that echoes the pirate adventures of Treasure Island—and yet, I found myself after a few chapters sucked into the story. It’s another post-apocalyptic novel but one I haven’t quite seen before, a world decimated by super storms and environmental disasters and a poor boy and his crew trying to eke out what they can as scavengers of ruined oil tankers. But the heart of this story is the boy’s growing awareness of the unfairness of life, of the stark differences between the haves and have-nots, and the role that luck and fate and smarts play when you’re trying to survive. Still mulling over the questions raised and glad I gave an obvious boy book a chance.

Okay, so maybe this is where I’m going with this post. Now I’m thinking of other boy books I’ve liked. If you know a teen boy (or a teen girl growing weary of Twilight-related novels) take a look at these:

1.      Ripper by Stefan Petrucha. An orphan boy in turn of the century New York City, who dreams of being a detective, stumbles onto a mystery involving Jack the Ripper. Page-turning adventure with a Steampunk feel. What’s Steampunk, you  might ask? Even after being told numerous times, I still don’t quite get it, but this trendy genre features gadgets and sci-fi-ish urban settings. Think: Golden Compass and movies like Wild Wild West and Sherlock Holmes.

2.      Maze Runner by James Dashner. Clear your schedule for this page-turner. A boy wakes up in a freaky forest at the edge of a maze. There’s a group of other boys, shades of Lord of the Flies, all named after famous thinkers in history. Our hero, Thomas (after Edison) is compelled to figure out the maze and solve the mystery of why the heck he’s there.

3.      Anything by John Green. I’ve blogged about his books before and ended up sounding like a gushing, over the top groupie. I love every single book this man has written. Please Lord, bestow on me one tenth of his talent. See, I’m doing it again. Here, read this for elaboration on John Green’s genius.

4.      Across the Universe by Beth Revis. A good example of a crossover. Book alternates between boy and girl narrators. The girl has been cryogenically frozen on a ship leaving the dying earth for a more sustainable planet. Unfortunately someone thaws the girl out early. The boy is the king-of the ship-in-training trying to figure out the mystery of the girl and the secrets behind the community he’s supposed to govern. (There’s a reversible cover on this one. The “girl” version has a boy and girl kissing ala Sleeping Beauty. The “boy” version has a blueprint of a space ship.)

5.      For the philosophical/questioning kid in your life, try this year’s Printz winner Where Things Come Back by John Corey Whaley, (full review) or

6.      There Is No Dog by Meg Rosoff (see review)

7.      Like history and/or mythology? Check out Tracy Barrett’s latest novel The Dark of the Moon, (also a crossover) a cool twist on the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur, and

8.      Alan Gratz’s Samurai Shortstop, about a boy in turn of the last century Japan struggling to reconcile his samurai past with his interest in baseball

9.      A soon to be published novel by the writer of this blog… (I’ve got to clamp my hand over my mouth to avoid spilling the beans yet on this one—the deal I’ve been tiptoeing around for months now—can’t say anything more; promise to reveal all soon, but one teaser: it may possibly star a male narrator…)

  

A Dream Comes True Part 1

Yesterday I found myself walking out of a bookstore with my husband. It was a pleasantly sunny day and we’d been strolling around for a while holding hands. Across the street was an impressive-looking stone tower. We stepped off the curb to head toward it and I burst into tears. Let’s just say I’m not the type of person who cries in public. But there I was, blubbering and half laughing and staring at the stone tower and at the other impressive stone buildings lining the street, while weirdo waves of nostalgia and pride and love washed over me.

I had been on this particular street once before.

It was seven years ago during a vacation in New England. My son used to be good friends with a sweet little girl who moved away when her father took a position in the art and architecture department at Yale. Even though I grew up in Connecticut, I had never seen the campus, so when the mom invited our son to spend an afternoon with her daughter, I sort of invited our family along too. We met at a local pizza restaurant (New Haven, apparently, is known for its pizza) and then while the kids caught up, we went on a cool tour of the campus.

The college is a pretty impressive place. It’s smack dab in the middle of a very urban setting, but unlock one of the metal gates (the mom had a key!) and step through a stone archway, and you’re in a different world of courtyards and stained glass and gargoyles jutting out of gothic style buildings. “I wanna go here,” our son said to us at one point, and I think I may have smiled at him and said: “Dream on, kiddo.”

The funny thing is, he did.

If you’ve been reading this blog, you may have gotten a sense of how I feel about pursuing a dream. I’ve wanted to be a writer (which entails having my novels published) for as long as I can remember. It hasn’t been what anyone would call an easy journey, but out of sheer determination (some might say stubbornness bordering on lunacy) I persevered. The last few years of this seemingly endless process—writing, revising, submitting, and absorbing the blows of countless rejections—I’ve watched my son go through a similar (although MUCH shorter!!) process choosing and applying to college. The main similarity, I’ve noticed, is that we were both doing a ton of work and then having to step back and let some outside force evaluate us.

Somewhere along the way our son announced that he’d like to apply to Yale. Everyone said it was a total crapshoot. The place admits roughly 6% of its applicants and for even the very top students it’s something like a lottery. Most likely he would not get in, but what the hey, my husband and I told him, why not take the chance? It would be risking failure to do so, but not applying meant never knowing what might have happened.

Long story short: he was accepted. Which is why we were in Connecticut yesterday and I was strolling around holding my husband’s hand and gawking at stone towers and sobbing like a goofball on the streets of New Haven. There was the same tower our little boy had skipped by with his sweet little friend. There was the pizza restaurant where we met for lunch. There were the same elaborate metal gates, and since we were on an official tour, we were allowed inside the hidden courtyards, where older kids walked purposefully off to class or sat on slate roofs sunning themselves.

I have never felt such an awesome sense of gratitude in my life. When my husband and I walked out of the bookstore, I looked at the tower and then below as our son emerged through one of those arches, hands in his pockets, like he’d been striding across that campus for years.

Listen, faithful readers, if you have a dream—I don’t care how much of a crapshoot people tell you it is--I am here to tell you: What the hey. Tell the Universe what you want and take your shot.

PS. That writer dream of mine is about to come true too.

Who the Heck Am I? A Look at Two Creepy YA Novels

Just the other day I was feeling nostalgic about my teen years, reminiscing about how fun that time was with my whole life stretched in front of me and no real stress or problems except worrying about an upcoming test or figuring out what to wear to a party. Which probably made my teen readers snort and roll their eyes. Actually, the teen me of (cough cough) 20--who am I kidding?--30 years ago would’ve snorted and rolled her eyes too. That version of me is sometimes hard to tap into, but seeing as how it’s my job to write for teens, I tend to put myself back into that fun time of life probably more often than the average adult. And here’s what hit me, especially after reading a couple of chilling YA novels, which provided an additional reminder: being a teen is not always that fun.

It’s no surprise that young adult literature is often called dark. High school’s full of good old-fashioned conflict: peer pressure, bullies, controlling nagging adults who don’t freaking understand you, and the boy who rips your heart out and spits on it. Never mind the surging hormones and inopportune acne breakouts. AND all of this is whirring around while you’re grappling with the biggest issue of all—trying to figure out who you are.

This is the subplot, if not THE plot of many YA novels and the two I recently read that nudged me to remember some of the not so fun aspects of my own high school years (interesting digression/confession: I once punched a girl in the mouth. Me! An obedient book-wormy Catholic school girl who’d never gotten a detention or even a tardy slip. But senior year this girl had been tormenting me for months, and one day I snapped and popped her in the face.) I don’t know how the authors would characterize their books, but I’m gonna shelve them in Horror.

Glimmer by Phoebe Kitanidis has a grabby (and be warned: r-rated) hook: teen boy and girl wake up in bed, um, naked, not remembering how they got there. Wary and freaked out, they resolve to hang together for a few days, at least until they can unravel the mystery behind their mutual amnesia. They stumble into this bizarre town called Summer Falls that reminded me of Madeline L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time. Do you remember that scene on the planet where It lives, with all the kids bouncing balls in the driveways and all the fathers marching off to work at the same time? Well, the town in Glimmer is that place amped up. With a twist. Summer Falls is just a little too perfect and the main characters aren’t the only ones having trouble remembering stuff. Which might be a good thing. Or not. There’s a horror plot at the center involving vengeful ghosts, but what packs the real punch is the idea of forgetfulness itself. Because what’s more chilling than not knowing who you are?

Well, here’s something: questioning your own sanity.

Shift, the debut novel by Australian writer Em Bailey, twists the search for identity around in a thought-provoking way. Main character Olive’s got the usual teen problems—school’s a drag, mom’s a suffering single parent, and there’s a group of mean girls led by former best friend, Katie doing their best to make Olive feel like crud. Add to that she’s grappling with some kind of breakdown and must take meds to keep her life from spinning out of control again. Enter new girl Miranda, who just seems off to Olive and her only friend Ami. The two girls watch as Miranda latches onto Katie and takes that saying, "imitation is the highest form of flattery" to its extreme. The real trouble is: is Olive’s perception of Miranda accurate or is she on the verge of losing her mind?

Yikes, I was biting my nails reading both of these books and more than a little relieved to have my own angsty teen conflicts far behind me.

In case anyone’s wondering, I never punched anyone again… that I remember.

Cue: creepy music.

The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight Or How I Fell in Love at a Wrestlemania Party

Ah. Sigh. Swoon.

I just read a lovely young adult novel about young adult love and I am still sighing and swooning and sorta wishing I were a young adult again and on the verge of falling in love. Every once in a while—when you’re slogging your way through adult life, preoccupied by adult details like paying bills and planning meals (rice tonight with the chicken, honey? Or should we do potatoes?) and staying on top of what your own young adults are up to (please for the love of God, dear son, finish the online class you signed up for and promised to complete last summer because it’s an Ohio graduation requirement and you won’t get your diploma unless you freaking do it) and debating with yourself about whether or not the bathroom cleaning can be put off for yet another day—you read a lovely young adult novel that vaults you back into the past. It is a past when your biggest worry was what to wear to tonight’s party. Or whether you should go to the library to read that 19^th century British lit novel or take it outside on the lush lawn in front of your dorm while frat boys fling Frisbees over your head.

Since I was the girl who usually chose the lush lawn and the Frisbee flinging frat boys, I totally get the fun angsty love plot lines that weave through many young adult novels. Aside: I read somewhere that all of YA literature written for girls can be summed up as following: My life sucks. I meet a boy.

The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight by Jennifer E. Smith does follow that premise, I suppose, but oh, it does it so well. Boiled down to its essence it is simply: girl meets boy on a plane. In this case seventeen-year-old Hadley is heading to London to be a bridesmaid in her father’s wedding. Since she’s still ticked off about her parents’ divorce and hasn’t even met the bride, soon-to-be-stepmother yet, she’s not itching to go and is almost relieved when she misses her flight and has to catch the next one. It doesn’t help that she’s got claustrophobia and dreads the thought of being stuck on an airplane for seven hours. Enter: Oliver, a cute Yalie heading home to England for a dreaded visit of his own. The two strike up a conversation and over the next few hours find themselves happily distracted by each other’s company. There’s clever banter and adorable flirting but there’s also more serious stuff dealing with flawed families, fears, grief, and ultimately forgiveness.

Loved loved this book. Loved Hadley and Oliver. And loved seeing how fate brings them together again and again. It’s something you kinda forget about when you’ve been an adult for a while and consumed with bills and side dishes and toilet cleaning, but once upon a time, you did believe in love at first sight. You did. Because it happened to you.

Here's how: you and a free spirited sorority sister embraced the Wrestlemania theme of a frat party and dressed up as lady wrestlers even though you felt like total fools walking around half dressed in something you wouldn’t be caught dead in normally. So this guy dressed as a wrestler asked you to dance and you did and he was kinda nice, but whatever, and then he excused himself for a minute and gave you his beer to hold and while you were waiting, another guy, who was also dressed as a wrestler, asked you to dance and when you told him you were with someone, he flirted adorably with you and ended up drinking the first guy’s beer and towing you out to the dance floor where you danced with each other the rest of the night, wrestler capes flying. So that guy, guy number two, who truth be told, looked pretty darn cute wearing a cape, ended up being your husband. (Guy number one took the loss of his dance partner in stride and seemed more ticked off about losing his beer. He ended up being the best man at your wedding.)

Ah. Sigh. Swoon.

I must share this blog with guy number two, my husband of almost 22 years. But first, I’ve got to make a decision regarding the side dish for the chicken.

After careful thought I have decided to go with couscous.

(sadly, no photo of hubby and me exists, but here's a pic.

of the two wrestler girls at the beginning of the fateful night.

I'm the one on the right.

Sorry, JB. Please don't kill me!)

Interview with Marcia Thornton Jones

As promised I have picked the creative brain of an author friend and will now share my findings with my faithful blog readers. Today, I’d like to introduce you to Marcia Thornton Jones, author of 132 (!!!) books for children, including the beloved ADVENTURES OF THE BAILEY SCHOOL KIDS series, co-authored with Debbie Dadey; the star-reviewed RATFINK; and CHAMP, the winner of the Maud Hart Lovelace Book Award. Fun fact: I’ve known Marcia for years because she used to be my boss in the Gifted/Talented department of Fayette County Public Schools in Lexington, Kentucky. Also we were in a book club together.

Marcia: Wait. Boss? That wasn’t in my job description, was it? I thought you were my boss…I was there to provide support for you! I’ve NEVER been called a boss before! Let me sit here and sort of enjoy that for a moment….

Okay…That’s over…

Jody: Marcia, you’re cracking me up. Here’s something weird you may not know: I didn’t know you were a writer until one day I happened to see a picture of you in the newspaper above the headline: “The Best Selling Author in Kentucky.”

Marcia: Really? How funny. That reminds me of a story. I was a gifted/talented teacher working on a literature project with fourth-graders. One of the students started writing a story that sounded very much like a Bailey School Kids story. I mentioned the similarities and she started talking about how they were her favorite books. On and on she went, and I figured she was putting it on pretty thick for brownie points. But, no! The student had no idea that her teacher was the writer of those books! The look on her face was unforgettable when another student clued her in.

I’ve had the same things happen with teachers who had no idea I was the author of the books they used with their students. One teacher, when being told I was the author, looked me in the face and said, “No, you’re not.” Then walked away. (Later she apologized. She thought I had been joking).

Jody: So Marcia, apparently you like to keep your success on the down low! But I could understand why after that day I kept you company at the Kentucky Book Fair, and you were mobbed by third grade fans clutching their favorite Bailey School Kids books.

Marcia: Actually, it was something that rarely came up. Teachers and students are pretty focused on sticking to their own curricula. Plus, I didn’t want anyone to feel this was some kind of conflict of interest.

Jody: You might remember that at the time I had a third grader myself who was a rabid reader of the series. One of the highlights of my daughter’s life was coming with me to my book club and sitting next to MARCIA THORNTON JONES. (Marcia, you were extremely gracious and patient with my daughter’s questions. As you are being now, in this interview!)

Marcia: Your daughter is an amazing girl with so many life highlights. It’s a highlight for me to know both your kids!

Jody: Thanks! So my first question is probably something you get all the time: where do your get our ideas? Corollary to this: what’s the back-story behind BAILEY SCHOOL KIDS?

Marcia: I love how the creative mind works. It never ceases to amaze me! Each book I write has a unique origin. VAMPIRE’S DON’T WEAR POLKA DOTS was based on a bad day I had with my students. I told the school librarian, Debbie Dadey, that I needed to grow ten-feet tall, sprout horns, and blow smoke out my nose just to get their attention. Being frustrated teachers, we thought that sounded like a great idea so, for a joke, we sat down and started writing that story. From that one ‘bad day’, we eventually developed a series based on the idea of ‘unusual’ adults in the fictional town of Bailey City called, “The Adventures of The Bailey School Kids.”

Some of my books, like CHAMP and RATFINK, are products of journaling freewrites. Both of those books started with a what-if situation. What if there was a kid that, more than anything, wanted to please his dad but ends up doing something that resulted in a horrible accident? What if there was a kid who has a secret that the school ‘bully’ finds out?

Other ideas have come from family history, my pets, fan letters and brainstorming with kids during school visits. The book I’m working on now grew out of a very vivid dream I had. I woke up and was telling my husband about it. He said, “You should use that in a book.”

To be honest, though, most ideas come from sitting down, putting my fingers on the keyboard, and just letting them flow. I usually end my writing day with the thought, “Where did THAT come from?”

Jody: Speaking of BSK, you’ve written a ton of these books with your friend Debbie, which makes me wonder how the writing process works when you’re co-authoring. A friend and I tried to write a novel together and it sort of fizzled it out in the middle and we both lost interest. Did this ever happen to you and Debbie? What are the challenges to writing with a partner? And were there challenges when you switched to writing books on your own?

Marcia: Debbie and I figured out this whole business of writing together. I think that made a huge difference. When we first started we sat side-by-side and basically ‘told’ the story; typing it in as we ‘spoke’ the character parts. That fast back-and-forth led to very natural dialogue and plot-driven stories.

After Debbie and her family moved from Lexington we had to develop a new system. We call it the hot-potato style of writing. Everyone knows that if you get caught with the hot potato you lose. Well, our manuscript becomes the hot potato to us. When working together we develop a loose outline and then take turns writing a couple chapters at a time with the understanding that we are free to make any changes in what the other person has written. We pass it back and forth via e-mail. Knowing that the other writer is waiting for it keeps us motivated and disciplined. This ‘hot potato’ method of writing with someone is both a benefit and a challenge. A benefit because it keeps me disciplined. A challenge because I have to put everything else on the back burner, especially since Debbie is a very fast writer!

Many people think that since we’ve been so successful as a team that we must have similar writing styles. We’re actually very different writers, but together we formed a third writing style and voice.

When I work independently, my process is much slower because I delve more deeply into character development and theme. Writing, to me, is like sculpting. First I start with a big chunk of raw material; those vague ideas, characters, images, and snippets of words. Then I begin to add more to shape its form and provide support through structure. Usually I do too much and have to shave off pieces or lop off big chunks. Sometimes I have to mush it all together and start over from scratch because it ‘just isn’t right’.

The entire time I’m focused on molding the raw material, supported with a stable structure, into something both meaningful and aesthetic. I’m also thinking of the intended readers. I want them to feel a connection to the character and an understanding of the character’s predicaments. Above all, I want them to have fun--to enjoy spending time in the world of my characters!

Jody: I love that sculpting idea. Lately I’ve been thinking of writing as digging up a fossil, but your metaphor shows that the writer has a little more control. Not that I feel that way about the process all the time…. Something I always wonder about successful writers is the up and down stuff that happens on the way to success. Like, I’ve heard stories of JK Rowling getting a bunch of rejections before hitting it big with Harry Potter, and every writer I know has at least one forever-to-be-unpublished novel hidden in a drawer somewhere. Did BSK rack up any rejections before Scholastic snapped it up? Do you have a book or two that has never sold? Any advice for us “pre”-published writers out here who are still plugging away?

Marcia: I have enough rejections to wallpaper my walls. BSK was sold to the third publisher, and we collected quite a collection on other stories before selling VAMPIRES.

I continue to be a ‘collector’ of rejections (can they be sold on e-bay?). I have no secret words of wisdom other than to develop a thick-skin, always have chocolate on hand, and to remember that there is power in persistence. I live by the motto that the only true failure is to never try at all. With that in mind, I view my hefty pile of rejection letters as a symbol of my success because each letter means I did what so many people only talk about doing--I completed a story and sent it out into the world.

Jody: So true. That's what we have to hold onto. But those rejections... Bleh! I know you write full-time now, but you’ve had a “day job” in the past (teaching, and when you were my awesome boss!) and you have lots of speaking engagements/school visits taking up your time, so how do you balance out your writing with your other commitments?

Marcia: Balance, discipline, and confidence are three things I constantly struggle with. Sometimes I do pretty well. Other times, well, other times I do really well at napping, reading, and watching TV!

Something that works for me is to set goals. By setting goals, I mean I write them down, review them everyday, and then check them off. That helps keep me focused.

The number one best piece of advice I have comes from Jeff Davis in his book THE JOURNEY FROM THE CENTER TO THE PAGE. Davis challenges writers to make writing appointments…and keep them. “If you keep appointments with your hairstylist or with that friend who hounds you to have lunch each Wednesday, then why not keep regular weekly, if not daily, appointments with your muse? (She’s probably more fun and less gossipy. Maybe)” (page 16)

Davis’s whole idea of giving your time ‘shape’ led me back to doing what I did as a teacher. Like most teachers, I completed weekly lesson plans. I always started by putting in the non-negotiables (like recess and lunch J ). Then I blocked in times for specific lessons. By doing this, time had a definite shape. There was that big block for math and one for reading and music and art, etc..

Now I do the same thing for writing. I give my time shape by starting with a weekly blank schedule and then blocking in the non-negotiables (like appointments and family responsibilities). After that, I start filling in exactly when and how I’m going to complete my stated writing goals. I do all this in a Word document, and I use different colors to highlight categories of activities. By the end of the week, I have a visual that shows definite shape to how I spent all my time. I always strive to have more ‘writing shapes’ then anything else.

I don’t always do this, though if I did I would be much more productive. I definitely fall back to ‘shaping my time’ when I find myself drifting away from writing for whatever reason.

Jody: Love these ideas and will definitely need to check out Davis’s book. I’m always searching for ways to be more productive! Okay, lastly, you and I both know the publishing industry is changing—with e-books and publishers expecting more from their authors in terms of promotion and use of social media. What’s your take on that?

Marcia: The publishing world is changing so fast that I think everyone is scrambling for a foothold. One thing that worries me is how easy it is for people to self-publish in the e-world. Reader beware on this one since self-publishing makes it more and more difficult to find quality literature. Many people (both readers and writers) don’t truly understand the value of the editing process. That’s when many mediocre stories are made to shine.

Another problem that needs to be addressed is ethical publishing practices. There needs to be a system in place that protects writers and readers from various forms of piracy.

However, I can see where e-publishing is tempting considering legendary publishers can take years to publish a book; or even years to reject a book. That’s pretty hard, as a writer trying to make a living, to accept. So I think the process of legendary publishing will need to adapt in order to compete.

I understand that using social media can be beneficial. I have a Web site; I’m on Facebook, but let me be honest. I write for kids. I really don’t think social media reaches my audience, and it shouldn’t, should it? I feel very uncomfortable when an elementary-aged student contacts me using social media, and for liability purposes, I do not engage in online conversations with them.

I truly enjoy traveling to schools, bookstores, and conferences to sign books and to speak about writing in workshops and teacher professional development sessions. But I have to be honest, those types of promotional tours are GREAT for getting reader and writing conversations, but they don’t usually result in sales spikes. The ones I see that can truly make a difference in the sales of traditionally published books are the publishers. They’re big enough to reach readers all over the world, especially young readers.

Not to say it can’t happen. I would love for some of my writing to ‘go viral’. If you can make that happen, please do! But in reality, the chances of that are similar to my chances of winning a mega-lottery. Yeah, It could happen…

I’ve also known writers who do a tremendous amount of promotions. They spend hours of their time on it. While few have seen a difference in their sales numbers (unless their work has been offered as a free e-book or at a very low rate), they HAVE commented that they’ve spent so much time on their promotions that they haven’t had a chance to, um, actually write anything.

I think it all goes back to your question on balance and purpose. I’m a writer, and I’m trying to be the best writer I can be. I know part of that is to connect with my young readers, and the best way for me to do that right now is through personal interactions during school visits, conference appearances, workshops and signings. That…and by sitting in front of my computer, putting my fingers on the keyboard, and letting the words flow!

Which reminds me...I left one of my characters locked in a room after being kidnapped by goons while visiting the grave of her mother...I better go figure out a way to get her out of there!

Jody: Uh oh, Marcia, then I'll let you get back to work! Thanks so much for talking with me. You were a great first interview specimen and I know my blog readers learned a lot!

Review of There Is No Dog

My family used to help out at a church where we used to live. Every year they set up a big store where underprivileged people could “shop” for toys and winter clothing. It was very organized, with people lining up outside and getting a number, so only a few could go in at time to choose their gifts. The volunteers would organize the tables by age group and clean up between shifts, then when the shoppers came in, we’d pair up and lead them around, holding garbage bags for the stuff they picked out. It was one of those nice holiday volunteer things you could do to give back to your community and I’d always walk out of there feeling blessed and happy that I could help but also kind of cruddy too at the sight of so much need and desperation. The thing was, all of that stuff was donated, and let’s just say that not everyone has the same definition of “gently used” that I do. A lot of toys were broken or dirty. You’d find coloring books already colored in and puzzles with half the pieces missing.

We were only supposed to allow the people 2 toys per kid (but I am happy to note that there was no limit on books!) and the first thing we’d ask is how many kids they had. Maybe some people inflated the numbers, saying they had ten kids, for example, when they only had four. One thing I really liked about that church was they didn’t request any kind of official verification. We took whatever the person said as the truth.

I told one of my friends about this and she rolled her eyes. Obviously people were taking advantage of our good will, she said, and pulling a fast one on us to get more stuff for their kids. But I looked at it this way: if you wanted to stand outside in the cold for three hours to take your turn in front of tables of broken, dirty toys, then I wasn’t about to call you a liar. And anyway, what if it wasn’t a lie? What if the person really did have ten kids? Here. Take another ratty haired Barbie doll, for God’s sake.

It occurred to me later that my viewpoint and my friend’s might pretty much sum up a key difference in how people perceive the world. Do you assume the worst? Seeing it as a tragedy that some bad apples are getting away with being dishonest? Or do you hope for the best? Think, okay, maybe a few people are making up kids, but whatever, a lot of them aren’t, and those are the ones we’re trying to help. This “store” was located at a church after all, and if any place should be erring on the side of too much generosity, it seems to me this is it.

Well, this is probably the longest lead-in to a book review I’ve ever written, and I’m not even sure, exactly, how it relates to the brilliant and irreverent and funny and surprisingly spiritual novel There Is No Dog by Meg Rosoff. Except my lead-in has something to do with religion. And so does Rosoff’s book. Also both have to do with how we view this world and our place in it.

It strikes me that there aren’t many books written for young adults that mention God, never mind that deal with any kind of spirituality. Which is odd because every human (including the teenaged variety) is going to reflect on these topics at one time or another.

Maybe I should mention here another difference in how people perceive the world. Some of us do a lot of questioning, and I guess, some of us don’t. Also there are differences in what we find funny.

I suspect that there are some who won’t find Rosoff’s story of “God” as a lazy, self-centered, sex-obsessed seventeen-year-old boy named Bob all that humorous. To which I would have to say: Oh well, you’re missing out on a really cool book.

So, Bob took over the creation of the earth because apparently no one else wanted the job and now after thousands of years, he’s sort of tired of dealing with it. Luckily he’s got a long-suffering, conscientious assistant named Mr. B who cleans up the bigger messes, but most of the time he’s preoccupied with wooing his latest love interest. Which is too bad for earth, because Bob’s intense moods tend to affect the weather in cataclysmic ways.

The book reads like a fairytale, with multiple characters and lessons and thought-provoking questions. Also lots of funny interactions between teens and their parents, as well as some lovely romantic scenes with Bob and his charming conquest. I had to stop several times to reread a particularly lyrical passage or to think about a funny moment that on second thought was actually pretty profound.

Why are we here? What is the point? Why do good people suffer? What happens to us after we die? While this novel doesn’t presume to answer any of this, it gives us questioning people a whole bunch to think about (and to laugh about too.) Thank God.

Digging up Story Bones

On this glorious, bizarrely sunny and 80 degree day in Columbus, I find myself smack dab in the middle of yet another first draft (ten. But who’s counting). So right on schedule I’ve got the usual negative thoughts burbling up. This sucks, who am I kidding? Why am I wasting my time with something that inevitably will never see the light of day? Blah blah blah. It’s kind of sad. Because when I started this first draft, I had such high hopes for it:

1. The idea is the best one I’ve ever had.

2. This book will be THE ONE.

3. I can’t wait to get going on it first thing in the morning. Etc. Etc. (Warning: if you DON’T have these feelings upon beginning a first draft, you may want to reconsider the project. Later, when that excitement has faded, you’ll need every little nibbly remnant to keep you going.)

Another thing that keeps me going is setting a word count. For this draft I’m taking a page from Stephen King and writing 2000 words a day. And every day I meet the goal. I am not saying these are GOOD words. First Draft Land is all about the quantity, people. It’s not magic. It’s not a secret. To write a book you have to sit down and um, write it.

My friends tell me I must have a lot of self-discipline. Maybe. But I think it might have more to do with the stubborn/OCD combo streak that I’m blessed and/or cursed with. I have the hardest time quitting something. And I rarely fail to follow through on something I said I would do. Hence, if I say I’m going to write 2000 words today, then damn it, I’m writing 2000 freaking words. This is not to say that it is easy. But what is?

The truth is, anyone who can read can write a book. Just like anyone who has two legs can run a marathon. It has to be something you really want to do, and you’re going to have to make some time to run every day. Full disclosure: I have never run a marathon. But I have run some 5Ks and they’re hard enough. Two minutes in, usually, I want to die and I’m cursing myself for signing up. What the hell was I thinking? Why did I think I could do this? Still, I keep moving my feet, slapping them down again and again, breathing in and breathing out. I start making little bets with myself: Just get to the lightpost. Don’t stop til you pass the pine tree. I can do anything for thirty minutes, right? And lo and behold, it’s true. I’m not trying to win the race, mind you. I’m not even trying to get an impressive time. I’m just trying to run at a steady clip until I cross the finish line.

If there is a secret to writing a first draft, this is it. At least for me. Another full disclosure: I do not outline a book before I start. Instead, I have an idea or two—a character, a line that gives me the narrator's voice—and I start writing. I set my words. I go. I resist the urge to fiddle and revise along the way. That’s the key.

Stephen King, in his book on writing, entitled, shockingly, On Writing, compares writing a book to digging up a fossil. The first go around, he says, you’re just trying to dig the thing out, as many of the pieces as you can without breaking any, without missing any big important chunks. You certainly don’t stop halfway through and start dusting the bones off and snapping them together. That’s for later—when it’s all laid out in front of you and you can see what you have. Only then do you arrange. See what’s missing. Throw out the bits of rock that you thought were bone. Or maybe those things belong in some other fossil instead of this one.

Looking at it this way, it’s easy to write a book. Just pick up your shovel every day and keep digging.

(The secret to writing a book)