Busted! -- Five Writing Myths

This seems to be a summer for reconnecting with old friends. I recently ran into someone I hadn't seen in years, and the questions about writing flew thick and fast. This is not an uncommon occurrence, and after a few minutes my heart sank as I wondered, "Will these few fun, precious moments be eaten up by nothing but the same-old, same-old?" Fortunately, we did get to move on to other topics, but I knew the questions, assumptions and misconceptions would live to raise their heads another day. Here are five of the most common myths:

** Publishers are basically printing presses. No, quality publishers are in the business of bookselling. They have their own mission statements, areas of interest, and business plans. They don't publish "anything good" that just happens to land in their mailroom. If you send the next Harry Potter to a house that publishes only plays and nonfiction on theater arts, you're wasting everybody's time. Publishers need writers, but they don't exist for our sake. Writers work long and hard to find their editorial match.

** Editors will fix my work. Actually, when we speak of "editors" at publishing houses we mainly mean acquiring editors, whose job it is to find and purchase top-notch book manuscripts for their employers. If you want a crack at rising above the competition, your book has to be as perfect as you can make it before you try a submission. Many rejections happen because the work simply isn't ready, and grammar and punctuation do count. Editors will work with you on that "perfect" ms. once they buy it. Books do go through copyediting to catch errors before publication. But if you submit work that you know or even suspect can be improved, it'll probably bounce right back to you.

** I need to find an illustrator for my picture book. Alternatively, I (my child) can draw pretty well, so I (she) will do the art. No to both. Publishers hire the illustrator, and that is in your best interest. That way, you'll have a pro (and if you're new, often a fairly big-name artist!), and the publisher (instead of you) will be paying him or her the big bucks. Illustrating is intensive work, art supplies cost a lot, and you probably don't have the resources to hire the quality you want and need. If you are a professional illustrator you can illustrate your own book; publishers often like to sign author/illustrators. Simply being a pretty good hand at drawing, though, isn't enough. Those seriously interested in illustration need to research and qualify themselves in that field just as they do in writing.

** I'd be good at writing for children, since I (have children, am a teacher). Having or teaching children will plunge us back into a kid's world in a hurry, it's true. But viewing those cool little people from an adult's perspective doesn't mean you can get inside the skin of a child and think age-level thoughts and feel age-level emotions. We need to be sure we can step beyond "fond mama" stories, "teach them a lesson," stories, and our own nostalgia for the childhood stories we remember -- or perhaps idealize. More important than having, teaching, or being around children is the ability to tap into the thoughts, emotions, frustrations and dreams of your own childhood.

** Children's writing is easier than adult writing. No way. It's all hard. (Don't judge by celebrity books; the hype and big names will guarantee sales, unfortunately often in spite of weak writing.) Beyond that, writers for adults don't usually have to ask themselves how to connect with adults. They don't (usually) have to tell a complete story in 200-500 words and still make it flow, or write a novel in as few as 25-40,000. They don't have to watch vocabulary and sentence structure, age-appropriate cultural or historical references, age-appropriate pyschology, or be up-to-date on contemporary children's lives. They don't have to work years and years on a ms. that when published looks incredibly easy -- because of all the work! It's all hard.

And, based on the amount of conversation it generates, incredibly interesting. :)

No, I'm Not!

I am a Daffodil What Flower Are You?

Okay, this quiz I don't get. I answered the questions with my usual I'm-reading-writing-doing-something-else-solitary-or-possibly-hanging-out-with-a-FEW CLOSE-people-style, and it says I'm a daffodil -- the first one to the party and perfectly capable of making myself seen and heard! Say what? I didn't really expect to get "shrinking violet," but I thought I might get something delicate and blue, pink, lavender, or creamy white. Not yellow. I don't LIKE yellow. All I can say is -- ???????

Book of the Semi-Month Club

Chapter books are the skinny books second and third graders read before they move up to longer middle grade novels. -- Anastasia Suen

Thank you, Anastasia. Let me explain.

I'm a bit of a purist about language. Not that I never enjoy its evolution. I find it interesting, say, that "include" has morphed to mean not "designate as part of a group" but "designate the group in its entirety." I mean, at one time you could say, "The spectrum includes red, green, and blue," and be completely correct. Now, in order not to be misunderstood, you'd better say the spectrum "includes" the entire ROY G. BIV, well, spectrum (ignoring the fact that as of late poor indigo has been receiving the Pluto treatment). And while I find some verbing of nouns pretty cringe-worthy (I drag my feet about accepting "we partnered together"), I have no compunctions at all about saying I "Google" this or that. And I jump on the buzzword and acronym bandwagons pretty quickly. Efficiency and all that.

But there are at least two definitions in children's literature that are slip-sliding all over the place to the degree that nobody knows what they mean anymore. I may vent about the other one another day, but today's subject is chapter book.

A chapter book is NOT "any children's book with chapters." A chapter book is exactly what Anastasia says it is. It's a bridge book between higher-level readers and true middle-grade novels. It's not that the edges of these categories can't blur; I can deal with that. You know what I think it is? It's condescension. The use of "chapter book" to cover anything with chapters (sometimes even YA novels!) assumes that no book for children could be an actual novel, because aren't novels for adults? Kiddie books are, well, kiddie books. It's the condescension that really gets my goat.

So, with that lengthy introduction I will now turn to today's book, which is a chapter book. I think I'd probably better give a SPOILER alert here, too. Martin Bridge in High Gear by Jessica Scott Kerrin is another installment in the adventures of Martin Bridge, elementary schooler and greatest fan of superhero Zip Rideout, Space Cadet. In the story called "Science Fair" Martin faces all the problems inherent in group projects. Working with Alex is a piece of cake; they're best friends. Adding Laila to the group is iffy but in the end okay; she may be bossy but she's dependable and gets the job done. But then there's Gibson. Gibson the lucky. Gibson the lazy. Or is he? Gibson doesn't always show up when he's supposed to. But when he does, he delivers. Need some research books? Gibson will bring you a whole library -- because he got them off a special display rather than having to hunt for them one by one. Need to print labels in your not-so-neat printing? Gibson gets the job -- and shows up with a label-maker. When the teacher comes along to check on them, Gibson manages to say something that gets him the credit for a great idea. What Martin never quite grasps is that Gibson might be working smarter rather than harder, and Kerrin has captured the irrational anger we often feel toward people who don't work as hard as we do but get better results. It's comforting that the teacher does listen to the group's complaints, and in the end says, "Gibson will get a separate grade" while awarding Martin, Alex and Laila an A++. Readers are left to wonder what mark Gibson might have gotten, but they will enjoy seeing how Gibson's luck runs out at the end. Whether Gibson is truly avoiding work or is a master of efficiency may be a matter of opinion, but nobody sails down the road of life without hitting a few mud puddles.

In the second story, "Bicycle," Martin's family gets a visit from Great-Aunt Laverne, who is always "wagging her knobby finger" and telling everyone they need to "learn a thing or two." Martin's bike is falling apart, and much to the dismay of G-A Laverne, his parents have just now saved enough to buy him a new one -- which is promptly stolen when someone cuts the chain for the lock. Clucking her tongue all the while about how kids today are spoiled, Aunt Laverne puts the family onto Bicycle Recycle, a shop where Martin becomes a volunteer fixing up bikes to give to needy kids with the understanding that he'll receive one on his last Saturday there. The day comes and he gets his bike -- bright blue with flame-orange decals -- but at that moment another boy bursts into the shop, eyes all aglow because he's sure the bike is his. The other boy, though, got his dates mixed up. He's a week early, and devastated by the news. Martin, realizing that Cameron is a boy who doesn't get a lot of things, much like Aunt Laverne when she was a girl, intervenes: "I'm pretty sure this is Cameron's bike." By this point, readers will be cheering loudly. Martin Bridge is one cool kid.