When Your Work-In-Progress Stops Talking

Sometimes you don't see eye to eye

I'm having problems with my work-in-progress.  We've stopped talking. 
But before I tell you about all the bad things in the relationship, let me tell you about the beginning. 
Back then, everything was good.
We met in the most unexpected way. I was driving home from a weekend visit with my Mom and Dad when I hit traffic. Lots of traffic.
There I was, sitting in the car, not moving at all, somewhere around exit 105 on the Garden State Parkway, when "blammo!" I heard a voice. I heard a first sentence. I saw a character. She told me her name. There was another character. He told me his. And a place! They showed me where they lived. It was somewhere I'd never been. Then more people came into the story. They talked and talked. 
Fortunately traffic was horrendous. The normal three hour drive took over eight hours so we had lots of time to get to know each other. By the time I got home, I was breathless. After saying a quick hello to my husband and the dog, I raced the to computer.
Over the next few weeks, it was magic.
My w.i.p. told me secrets. There were some turns and twists. There was an ending. It was exactly the type of ending that this story should have.
A few days ago, I went to my computer expecting words to flow, but instead of talking, there was silence.
Not a peep. 
At first I thought it was a blip. I was patient. But the next day, it happened again. And then again.
"What did I do?" I asked. "Did I take you in the wrong direction? Do you want to go someplace else?" 
But there is no answer.  I've tried nice music (We're working on a play list). And chocolate (many many kinds of chocolate). I've talked very sweetly to all the characters.
No matter what I do, I get nothing.
Our time together is stressful. The joy is gone.
Another story whispers. It's just a chapter. But it wants me to write it. I feel like I'm cheating. Yet how long do you stay with your uncommunicative w.i.p.? How do you know when it's time to give up?
For me it comes down to belief. I still have faith in this story. And I think there's something there that wants to be told. 
Now if only I can convince those characters . . .

Shhh. Here's the Secret About Why I Haven't Blogged

I haven't blogged in a long long time. I've been busy writing. Here's the cover for my next book. The amazing art was done by John Hendrix. I truly love this cover. That's the Jersey Devil on the sign up there pouring pancake syrup. Check out all those lovely details.

If you look, you'll see that the boy in the cover is holding a microphone. He's a famous musical prodigy, who froze on stage during a televised talent contest and he's hiding out from the paparazzi in the Pinelands of New Jersey. But it's a small town. And so it's very possible that people will find out.

So here's my question:
If you knew that a famous superstar entertainer was hiding out in your town, would you tell?
Would you whisper it to your best friend?
Shout it out to the cool kids?
Tell your boyfriend?
Your teacher?
Your sister?
Your neighbor?
Or would you help the famous boy hide out?


Statistically, most people would tell someone. While I was writing, I did some research on secrets and here's what I learned. Most of us are not good are keeping them.
One study reported that its participants kept a secret for an average of 72 hours before they spilled the beans.  That's a mere three days. Heck, I can keep a chocolate bar for longer than that.
Another study found that having a secret takes a toll on us physically. Researchers divided the participants into two groups. They asked the first group to recall a big secret. Then they pointed the participants to a hill and asked them how steep they thought it was. They did the same thing to the next group, except they asked that group to remember a smaller secret. The group with the big secrets had big problems. They thought the hill was steeper and harder to climb. That same group also had a harder time judging distance. The researchers concluded that the group with the big secrets were "physically encumbered."
It seems that old adage about feeling burdened with a secret is true.


By the way, thanks to my writing buddy C Lee McKenzie and her RAOK blitz for getting me back into blogging. Sometimes you need a push from your friends.

 
 

If you lose your way...

 I got my notes from my editor regarding my next book, Piney Moon.  They were sent by email and were written on MS Word, but they might as well been written with one of those bright, glowy pens. They were filled with great comments and good, hard questions. As a writer, it's the kind of stuff that lights you up, points you in the right direction and makes you want to dive back into your own story. Before her notes, I was worried about this one. I felt like I was losing my way.

Last night, when my niece Andrea called to fill me in about her wedding plans, I ended up telling her about my editor's notes and about my losing-my-way fears. She reminded me about one of our "special days". When she was growing up, that's what we called the days we spent together. 

When she was 10 and I was in my early twenties, we decided to take a drive from her house in central Jersey to Seaside Heights (aka the Jersey Shore). We were so busy talking and singing and laughing that I wasn't paying attention to where I was going.  I'm not from New Jersey and they were country roads  -- and there were no street signs. Of course, we got lost. Since it was before the days of smart phones and Google maps and GPS systems, we had to stop and ask directions many times.

The directions weren't always easy to follow.  "Make a left at the yellow pick-up truck", said one gas station attendant, "but make sure it's the one that's parked underneath the crooked tree..."
I nodded, pretending I understood. Soon I noticed that the gas station attendant wasn't even looking at me. I turned around and saw Andrea holding a purple sparkle pen, writing everything he said in her Hello Kitty notepad.

Thanks to the 10-year old, we found our way to Seaside. It was an afternoon in early spring. The Snookiless boardwalk was crowded just enough to make you think you were someplace special. At the first arcade game, we won a giant basket filled with toys and candy. We moved onto a different game and won again. This time, it was a huge stuffed animal. Our wining streak lasted. Stuffed animals, gift baskets, toys-- that day, we won it all.

On the way back to the car, we stopped at a palm reader (I'm a sucker for psychics). Honestly, I don't remember anything she said to me, but when it was Andrea's turn, I held my breath. Not that I necessarily believe in the veracity of boardwalk palm readers, but still, Andrea was just a kid. What if she was a scam artist? What if she said something bad? This could get uncomfortable.

As soon as she told Andrea that she'd someday have a great job and an excellent education, I exhaled. Then she stared at my niece's palm and made that 'tsk tsk' sound. "Finding your true love will take a long time," she sighed. "Many many blind dates."

Years later, Andrea and I still marvel at our luck at the boardwalk games, and we've laughed at the "many many blind dates" comment over and over again throughout Andrea's dating years.

There probably should be some tie in here between losing your way in writing and losing your way on the road, and I wish I could say something clever about being fearless in both circumstances. But since both of them still make me nervous, I'm not sure I can draw that conclusion. However, if you do manage to get lost in either writing or driving, I have one piece of advice: Travel with someone who knows enough to bring a sparkle pen.

Hurricane Irene, Evacuation and a Reading List

A hundred steps from my house is the Barnegat Bay. There's a lagoon (NJ terminology for a large canal) across the street. On the next street, there's another. I'm surrounded by water and way too close to the bay to ignore the warnings. So I'm leaving my home and heading inland.
It will be my first evacuation. 
I'm taking the necessities-my favorite scented soap, my hair straightener and a giant bag of York Peppermint Patties.
But I'm also thinking about what I'm going to read.
All my life reading has been a way to escape. And I can't think of a better way to get through a difficult weekend than a getting lost in a good story.
Here's my reading list for the storm:
Dead End in Norvelt by Jack Gantos
Beauty Queens by Libba Bray
I haven't decided on my middle grade books yet. I so wish that Paul Acampora's Rachel Spinelli Punched Me in The Face was out this week. That first chapter I read on his blog tugged at me. It comes out next week so I'll have to wait.
I still need to get some middle grades.
What book would you take with you to read during your evacuation?

Learning Little Hawk's Way of Storytelling: Interview with Frank Cipriani

Frank Cipriani is a writer, an amateur ethnobotanist, primitive survival enthusiast and a professional educator. I met him at the library where I work. He mentioned he was working on a book proposal about one of my favorite things, storytelling. Frank had to opportunity to learn about storytelling from Kenneth Little Hawk, the renowned Mi’Kmaw First Nation storyteller and was collaborating with Little Hawk and his wife, Beverly Miller.

His book Learning Little Hawks Way of Storytelling by Kenneth Little Hawk and Beverly Miller as taught to Frank Domenico Cipriani was released this summer.  

By the way, this book was blurbed by one of my childhood idols, folk singer, Pete Seeger.  Here’s what Pete Seeger said. “What Little Hawk has to teach is exactly what America has to learn.”

Frank stopped by Ramble Street for an interview so let’s meet him.

Welcome Frank. So how’d this book come about? How’d you meet Kenneth Little Hawk and Beverly Miller?

At my local library, I was teaching a survival camp for kids. My friend, Barbara, suggested that we teach storytelling as well. She had seen Little Hawk and suggested I go see him. I did. He's unforgettable. I had seen other storytellers before, but he was astounding.

Little Hawk is a Mi'kmaw/Mohawk storyteller. His Mi’kmaw people still live in Nova Scotia, although his great-grandmother left the tribe to settle in Mohawk country. He was educated in the traditions of both his people by his grandparents, and he was named by them. Little Hawk has traveled the world telling stories in Europe, Africa, Australia and, of course, North America. He’s performed at the White House, Lincoln Center and the Museum of Natural History and was featured in the Ken Burns’ documentaries, The West and Lewis and Clark.

How is this book different than other books on storytelling?

It’s a book that teaches storytelling by telling stories. I haven't seen another book that does this. Many books tell specific stories, even Native American ones, but I don't know of another how-to book on storytelling that is actually a story in itself.

This book has a very interesting byline. It’s by Kenneth Little Hawk and Beverly Miller as taught to Frank Domenico Cipriani.  Why “as taught to” instead of the usual “as told to”?

‘As told to’ doesn’t make sense for this book. It implies dictation. Look over the book. Much of that sort of language is missing.

Traditionally, native people would not ‘tell’ people to do things. They would “invite” them. So, we needed a word for my role in the collaboration that reflected that invitation to share. My job was to take the lessons I learned from Beverly and Little Hawk over the years and create a story arc consistent with their teaching. The book is my interpretation and research, but all of it is based on their instruction.   

So what was the process like?

Little Hawk and Beverly have this wonderful air about them. You feel transported when you're with them. I would try something, storytelling-wise, and they would tell me stories back. Through that I would learn. I did follow the trail, the life of this story. Little Hawk and Beverly's wonderful place, the stews that Beverly would cook, Little Hawk's home, it all has this feel of being in the world that should be, a world which is harmonious with the ancestors, with nature, with our own true selves.

Sure, we used cars to get to the hut, sure, we had some modern conveniences, but both at our hut site in the woods and at Little Hawk's home, that feeling of respect and reverence was always prevalent. I thought of writing in a more conventional sense, but the story really flowed "through Spirit", as Little Hawk would say.

Wait.  You learned how to tell stories from a world-renowned Native American storyteller in a hut in New Jersey?  Where?

We built a wonderful hut in a park in our town. We made a deal with the town, that if we created programs for kids on the land, they would not sell the land to developers. Over the years, it’s been a site for many interesting native gatherings, storytellings, and even religious services. One day, we had the Chief of the Mountain Band Tsalagi, the Keeper of the Flame for the Lenape, and numerous other dignitaries there. After they spoke, the kids at the hut served them meals prepared at the fire. The Keeper of the Flame told me that ‘For the first time in my life, I feel like I am really home.’ It was a great honor. 

 What an unusual opportunity. Sorry for interruption, Frank. Please tell us more about the experience.

 Grandfather Little Hawk has the ability to carry people with him to that perfect place, where nature is balanced and humans have lived the same way for ten thousand years, in harmony with their surroundings.

So I learned from him, lived a whole life, and wrote down what I observed. I think that it's true that he took me on a spiritual journey to that place. Then Little Hawk and Beverly suggested corrections to the language I used to "translate" the experience. For instance, in an early version of the book, I say that "Dancing Rain told the little children to sit in their older siblings' laps". That may be what I saw, but the truth is that Dancing Rain invited the children to sit. It was simply not a part of the culture to tell people what to do.

Because it is not traditional to tell people what to do, the only way to instruct is by example and storytelling. Instruction is in the first person, or the third person, never in the second. So for instance, Beverly never said to me, "Use props to illustrate this point". Instead, she’d say, "Once, when Little Hawk's audience was a little too quiet, I handed him a conch shell to blow." This is the traditional way to teach, by offering a story of a time when something was learned, or a problem was solved. It implies that the listener has a choice. 

So now that you learned the art of storytelling, have you tried it?

At my first book signing, I was very nervous. Before that, I never told a story in public. It went very well, we sold many books and I got invited back. So, I guess the book really does work.

I’m still in the process of reading this book. I’m learning a lot. Thanks so much for visiting Ramble Street, Frank. Come back again soon.

 By the way, Frank Cipriani is an interesting guy. Here's what I found out about him that he was too modest to mention.  

• He has two published two books in Spanish. 
• Became involved in Primitive Survival, started a nonprofit organization that took children on 200-plus mile walkabouts, planted over 3,000 trees
• Is the official Spanish translator for Little Hawk's stories
• Homeschooled his children for eighteen years Lives near the Jersey shore with his family of ten. 
• Writes a weekly column for a paper in Bangladesh
• Was recognized by the State of New Jersey as the county's volunteer of the year in 2009
• Has won several awards for Childrens' Empowerment.

 Book related websites:

To buy the book

Learning Little Hawk's Way of Storytelling Facebook page 
Kenneth Little Hawk's website

Inspired by a Teacher and The Simpsons

 

Working full time and writing is hard. A few weeks ago, I met someone who is so dedicated to his craft that even though he has a day job he spends six hours a day writing on weekdays and longer on weekends.

His day job: New Jersey middle school student. His age: 12. 

I met Chris P on his twelfth birthday. (I met his mom too, who confirmed the amount of hours he spends churning out stories). I was so inspired by Chris that I wanted you all to meet him. Plus when he becomes a famous author, I can say that I gave him his very first interview.  Fortunately he agreed to stop by Ramble Street and answer a few questions.

So please welcome 12-year-old writing prodigy, Chris P.

Hi Chris, so how’d you get started writing?

I love to write. I can throw my emotions into my stories, and just have fun with it. When I first decided to write a novel, I started at 8 pages a day. In language art classes, I hated to brainstorm. I always just started writing whatever came to mind on a subject.

My fifth grade teacher always made me write more than everyone else, because she knew I had potential. If she said one page for everyone, it was two pages for me. I would write and write, and if it wasn’t better than the last, I had to redo it. Then I wanted to write a novel. 

 How many hours do you write a day?  And tell me a little bit about your writing process.

I write at least six hours a day. If I write less than six in one day, I write more the next. I feel that if I break my routine, I’d be hurting myself, because I’d wind up with writing less and less each day. So I write on a strict schedule.

If my friends want to be in the novel, I pick the first three friends who ask. I wound up adding my friends Abby, Nick and Jess. They supported me the whole way. When I ask them, they give me ideas about what I should do.

Ha! I put the names of my friends into my stories too. 

Your mom mentioned that you’ve already sent in your first manuscript to some publishers. How’s your submission process going?

I’ve sent manuscripts to two large publishing companies. They both rejected me. It felt bad at first, but I know that some of the best authors get rejected plenty of times. Someone told JK Rowlings that she wouldn’t make money off of children’s books. Harry Potter is a best seller!

Where do you get your inspiration?

Two things inspired me to write a novel. One was an episode of The Simpsons where Marge decides to write a novel and it gets published.

The other was my fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Mulrane. It was like she could see the futures of her students.

I’ve never seen that Simpsons episode, but I have been lucky enough to meet teachers like Mrs. Mulrane.

What authors inspire you?

One is Rick Riordan, who has written two book series in three years. The other is Eoin Colfer who has written lots of books and is still going. I can’t wait for Rich Riordan’s new book!

What type of stories do you write?

   I mostly like to write "Sword and Sorcery" stories, because fantasy and mythology have always fascinated me. I love the idea of magic, alchemy and armies storming castles. I love to read fantasy books because it’s like a movie of magic and warriors and castles right in your head. I think writing is the best of the arts.

 Thanks again for stopping by Ramble Street, Chris. Keep writing!

Sunrise over Barnegat Bay

I am convinced that my dog believes my husband's name is He Who Must Not Be Awakened. If she has to go out in the early morning or the middle of the night, she cries and whimpers at me.  This morning at 5 am, that's exactly what happened. I woke up without having slept away the stress and tension of the past few days.  My dog, Chi, didn't seem to care. She nudged me down the stairs and ignored my grumbles.
But... I opened up the front door and I saw the sunrise.  I even walked down the street to take a picture -- and I did this pre-coffee.
The picture is dark, but if you look carefully you can see the sea grass in the front, the Barnegat Bay in the middle. And way up at the top, there's a morning star.
Current status: Me: Awake and drinking copious amounts of caffeine.
                          Chi: Sound asleep.