In my efforts to help Oldest enjoy writing more, I sometimes sit down with her and my other girls and have them help me brainstorm short stories. We'll use story dice when we get stuck, or sometimes we'll even roll them at the beginning and pick random ones to incorporate into the story. Their school teaches them the basics of story structure and character, so they're pretty good at coming up with a coherent narrative consisting of at least one main character, a problem of some sort, and a resolution. I'll transcribe for them to remove the mechanical issues of spelling and physically writing, so those don't set up roadblocks for Oldest's brain.
This is our favorite collaborative story. I think they were probably 5&7, or 6&8 when we wrote this one. (You should know that for some reason, my girls think the name Bob is freaking hilarious. They use it whenever possible.)
Once upon a time, there was a jumping clown. He liked to ride his unicycle and make funny faces at crying children and actors.
One day an actor named Bob came to town. He was sad because lightning had burned down his house and now he didn't have any place to live. Lightning was the name of his pet bird. He burned the house down on accident--he was a phoenix.
The jumping clown was also having a rough day. He jumped all the time because he was scared of his shadow and didn't want to touch it. And THEN he found out he had to be a shadow monster for Halloween, because his Mommy said so.
Bob and the jumping clown (whose name was Billy Bob Joe) met in the grocery store. They were both there to buy fish, but there was only one left. The authors proceeded to argue about who should get the fish. Then they decided neither of them should get the fish. Instead, Mrs. Chubby Kitten-Whiskers bought the fish and Bob took Billy Bob Joe fishing.
First, they caught a boat.
Second, they caught an apple.
Third, they caught a book about famous libraries.
And lastly, they caught Mrs. Chubby Kitten-Whiskers.
Bob and Billy Bob Joe decided to go home and eat grilled salad sandwiches instead.
Bob told Billy Bob Joe about how Lightning had burned his house down. "I have nowhere to live!" he moaned. And he cried a little--okay, a lot.
Billy Bob Joe told Bob about his fear of shadows and how his Mother insisted he had to dress up like a shadow monster for Halloween. "And I don't want to!" he sobbed. "I'm terrified! And I'm terrified of jumping all the time."
"I've got it!" said Bob. "We could switch places! I'm not scared of shadows, and I need a place to live. And I happen to know of a play that needs an actor to play the part of a kangaroo!"
Billy Bob Joe agreed to Bob's plan. He became the most famous jumping actor in the land.
Bob loved his new home.
And he got rid of Lightning--just in case.
Tuesday, August 23, 2016
Monday, August 22, 2016
Writing as a Mom
I have 3 girls, ranging from tweenager-hood down to preschool ages. And my middlest (no, that's not a typo. She is truly oh-so-much a middle child) voiced an interesting complaint about books.
I should probably preface this by saying that my two older girls are both avid readers. They both read 3-4 grade levels above their age groups. And they read pretty widely; they're experimenting and finding authors and genres that they like.
So. Back to Middlest's complaint. She said, "You know, Mom, it seems like all the girls in books like pink and fancy things and that sort of stuff. And I hardly know any girls that are actually like that! Why do so many grownups think that all girls are into pink and princesses and...I don't know, fancy, foofy things?"
I had a few thoughts flash through my head as she said this. First, I am so PROUD of her that she's reading thoughtfully and identified WHY certain books weren't resonating with her.
Second, I admit to being a little confused, because we don't have a lot of those kinds of books in our house, except for early readers, because at that age, 2 of my 3 DID love pink and princesses and fairies and anything that sparkled. Although they also loved adventures and humor and strong girls. No fainting maidens in my house.
And third, I felt a little sad that she is already running into that wall of conformity that starts to shut girls out, to tell them they aren't capable; that they are too dainty to do adventurous things, incapable of understanding math or science as well as boys their age, or that it's just not acceptable to like something a little different.
So of course we talked about it. We discussed how important it is for kids who read MG or YA in particular to find books that they can identify with, that can help them feel valid in their world. To know that they aren't alone. That was huge for me when I was their age; because of my undiagnosed depression and Asperger's I spent too many years of my life feeling like I was the only person in the world who didn't fit into the puzzle. I don't want that for my girls. So I read them things with amazing, smart, funny girls in it. Stories with boys who are kind. Stories where girls can use science to save the day. Stories where a princess doesn't want to marry the boring prince and instead runs away to live with the dragons (I love love LOVE the Enchanted Forest Chronicles!). Stories where kids can be friends, even if they like different things, eat different foods, come from different ethnicities. Anything that tells them that whoever they choose to be, whatever they choose to love, it's okay. (And if you have suggestions, please comment!)
And all this got the wheels in my head turning, of course. Because Oldest has ADD and Asperger's like me-well, all 3 of my girls have the Asperger's at least-and along with that, she has extreme difficulty writing. Her brain cannot make the connections to organize her thoughts in order to put them on paper. If you don't mention writing to her, but ask her to tell you about a story she's read, she can verbalize her thoughts, although they'll be a little disorganized. But whose wouldn't? Anyhow, I digress a bit.
After years of fighting with her school and finally getting her an official diagnosis, Oldest, by now, loathes writing. She's addicted to books, however. I'm constantly prying them out of her fingers after she's been tucked into bed, sweeping my hand sneakily under her pillow when I tuck her in, and occasionally doing random room checks late at night to make sure she hasn't snuck out of bed to read, huddled by her nightlight. And yet she HATES to WRITE. (Thanks, idiots at school who refused to believe she has a problem...)
So I'm thinking about involving her and Middlest in my next project. I have no idea what the book would be about; I'd bet they could come up with a pretty good plot on their own. I'd really like to write something where the protagonist has the neuro issues that my girls do, without the book screaming "I am about autism!" Something that girls like mine could identify with, when they see how the character's thoughts work in this strange and amazing what that an autistic brain does, especially since autistic girls are still drastically underdiagnosed because they are so good at copying others and masking their symptoms in order to gain social acceptance. I don't want them growing up the way that I did, feeling like I was stuck on the other side of a one-way mirror.
I should probably preface this by saying that my two older girls are both avid readers. They both read 3-4 grade levels above their age groups. And they read pretty widely; they're experimenting and finding authors and genres that they like.
So. Back to Middlest's complaint. She said, "You know, Mom, it seems like all the girls in books like pink and fancy things and that sort of stuff. And I hardly know any girls that are actually like that! Why do so many grownups think that all girls are into pink and princesses and...I don't know, fancy, foofy things?"
I had a few thoughts flash through my head as she said this. First, I am so PROUD of her that she's reading thoughtfully and identified WHY certain books weren't resonating with her.
Second, I admit to being a little confused, because we don't have a lot of those kinds of books in our house, except for early readers, because at that age, 2 of my 3 DID love pink and princesses and fairies and anything that sparkled. Although they also loved adventures and humor and strong girls. No fainting maidens in my house.
And third, I felt a little sad that she is already running into that wall of conformity that starts to shut girls out, to tell them they aren't capable; that they are too dainty to do adventurous things, incapable of understanding math or science as well as boys their age, or that it's just not acceptable to like something a little different.
So of course we talked about it. We discussed how important it is for kids who read MG or YA in particular to find books that they can identify with, that can help them feel valid in their world. To know that they aren't alone. That was huge for me when I was their age; because of my undiagnosed depression and Asperger's I spent too many years of my life feeling like I was the only person in the world who didn't fit into the puzzle. I don't want that for my girls. So I read them things with amazing, smart, funny girls in it. Stories with boys who are kind. Stories where girls can use science to save the day. Stories where a princess doesn't want to marry the boring prince and instead runs away to live with the dragons (I love love LOVE the Enchanted Forest Chronicles!). Stories where kids can be friends, even if they like different things, eat different foods, come from different ethnicities. Anything that tells them that whoever they choose to be, whatever they choose to love, it's okay. (And if you have suggestions, please comment!)
And all this got the wheels in my head turning, of course. Because Oldest has ADD and Asperger's like me-well, all 3 of my girls have the Asperger's at least-and along with that, she has extreme difficulty writing. Her brain cannot make the connections to organize her thoughts in order to put them on paper. If you don't mention writing to her, but ask her to tell you about a story she's read, she can verbalize her thoughts, although they'll be a little disorganized. But whose wouldn't? Anyhow, I digress a bit.
After years of fighting with her school and finally getting her an official diagnosis, Oldest, by now, loathes writing. She's addicted to books, however. I'm constantly prying them out of her fingers after she's been tucked into bed, sweeping my hand sneakily under her pillow when I tuck her in, and occasionally doing random room checks late at night to make sure she hasn't snuck out of bed to read, huddled by her nightlight. And yet she HATES to WRITE. (Thanks, idiots at school who refused to believe she has a problem...)
So I'm thinking about involving her and Middlest in my next project. I have no idea what the book would be about; I'd bet they could come up with a pretty good plot on their own. I'd really like to write something where the protagonist has the neuro issues that my girls do, without the book screaming "I am about autism!" Something that girls like mine could identify with, when they see how the character's thoughts work in this strange and amazing what that an autistic brain does, especially since autistic girls are still drastically underdiagnosed because they are so good at copying others and masking their symptoms in order to gain social acceptance. I don't want them growing up the way that I did, feeling like I was stuck on the other side of a one-way mirror.
Friday, August 12, 2016
Grimmerye
Grimmerye is a project I've been working on for the past two years, so it's near and dear to my heart. In Grimmerye, I played with the backstory for two Grimm villainesses. I wanted to discover what else could be under the surface, to find the human side of the women who did these terrible things with seemingly no provocation. The challenge I posed to myself was, under what circumstances could their murderous, thieving, kidnapping ways not only be justified, but in the traditional hero(ine)'s best interest?
Note that I'm not telling you which stories I based mine on, because it's not meant to be evident at first. Discovering which story you're in as a reader is part of the fun.
I had the opportunity to run the first few pages and query by an agent recently, and got some interesting advice. He said that it was good, but because it's a series of stories, it would be a hard sell for a first time author. I had to agree--short story collections are a hard sell unless big-name authors are involved, and that's what Grimmerye currently is at its lowest level.
Enter the advice of my best critique partners: find a way to take the two stories and unite them into a coherent single narrative. So while one of my other manuscripts is being looked over by Pitch Wars mentors (check out for info on Pitch Wars if you don't know what it is), I'm working on finding a way to loosely tie the first two stories together with a third. I have a crazy idea up my sleeve that just might do the trick, and it will be challenging to write. Exciting!
Anywhooo...Here's the first 213 words of the first story. I throw you right into the story with a bang on this one, appropriate to this particular antiheroine's narrative.
I lay awake in my bed, unable to sleep, dreading the morrow.
My birthday. My stomach churned at the thought of it.
For as long as I could remember, the Woman had celebrated all of our birthdays—and there were many of us—in the same fashion. She would wake the unfortunate child in the morning with a clawed hand grasping the poor girl’s throat, screaming in her face, spittle dripping like venom from Her lips as she recounted Her story. The Woman had no use for boy-children; they were sent away to their fathers as soon as they could be weaned. She kept those of us who were unfortunate enough to be girls and paid just enough attention to us to make sure we didn’t die—at least, not until after She’d discovered if we would prove useful to Her schemes or not. After that, She didn’t care about our fates; most of the older girls had been dragged off in the night by nameless village men whose faces blended into one dark, leering grimace that haunted my sleep. On occasion, girls simply vanished, and if one of us dared to ask the Woman where they had gone, She merely shrugged indifferently.
None of us would have dreamed of calling Her “Mother”.
Note that I'm not telling you which stories I based mine on, because it's not meant to be evident at first. Discovering which story you're in as a reader is part of the fun.
I had the opportunity to run the first few pages and query by an agent recently, and got some interesting advice. He said that it was good, but because it's a series of stories, it would be a hard sell for a first time author. I had to agree--short story collections are a hard sell unless big-name authors are involved, and that's what Grimmerye currently is at its lowest level.
Enter the advice of my best critique partners: find a way to take the two stories and unite them into a coherent single narrative. So while one of my other manuscripts is being looked over by Pitch Wars mentors (check out for info on Pitch Wars if you don't know what it is), I'm working on finding a way to loosely tie the first two stories together with a third. I have a crazy idea up my sleeve that just might do the trick, and it will be challenging to write. Exciting!
Anywhooo...Here's the first 213 words of the first story. I throw you right into the story with a bang on this one, appropriate to this particular antiheroine's narrative.
I lay awake in my bed, unable to sleep, dreading the morrow.
My birthday. My stomach churned at the thought of it.
For as long as I could remember, the Woman had celebrated all of our birthdays—and there were many of us—in the same fashion. She would wake the unfortunate child in the morning with a clawed hand grasping the poor girl’s throat, screaming in her face, spittle dripping like venom from Her lips as she recounted Her story. The Woman had no use for boy-children; they were sent away to their fathers as soon as they could be weaned. She kept those of us who were unfortunate enough to be girls and paid just enough attention to us to make sure we didn’t die—at least, not until after She’d discovered if we would prove useful to Her schemes or not. After that, She didn’t care about our fates; most of the older girls had been dragged off in the night by nameless village men whose faces blended into one dark, leering grimace that haunted my sleep. On occasion, girls simply vanished, and if one of us dared to ask the Woman where they had gone, She merely shrugged indifferently.
None of us would have dreamed of calling Her “Mother”.
A Little Something New
Along with book reviews, I'm going to start posting snippets of my personal works-in-progress (WIPs) on this page. It should go without saying, but please don't post any of my writing anyplace else online without my permission. If you like something and want to share it via Twitter or Facebook (or any other online platform), I'll probably love that idea. Just message me and check in first. Thanks!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)