Cancer

The C-Word

My biggest shadow-fear, it lurks
At least inside my mind
Threatening to suck life’s juices
And cast aside the rind.

It haunts the corners of my day
And nudges every door.
At dawn and dusk my knees can feel
It press up through the floor.

And though it strengthens every pain,
It sharpens every noise.
It gives each moment deeper tang,
And deepens all my joys.

My children’s cries become more sweet;
Dawn glows more vividly.

But in the lonely dark I meet
My patient enemy.

I discovered at one point in this long illness that I had some major emotional baggage that was impeding my recovery. It was this: I felt duty-bound to die young. My life has been so easy, my children healthy, my marriage deeply satisfying, etc. And besides, both my mother and her mother died young of cancer. And there are people my age dying of cancer all the time. Of course, it was my destiny to die young of cancer. It was only fair.

With the help of a couple of counselor-friends I was able to pull this belief out of my subconscious and really look at it. And of course I see it now as the lie that it is—and yet I still have to fight against it regularly. It’s part of living, I think, to have to face the absurdity of happiness in the face of other people’s misery, wealth in the face of poverty, peace in the face of war (both internal and external). I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t grapple with that regularly. But I think I’m doing it more healthily now. A lot of it comes down to what I believe about God. And here’s what I believe:

God knows that there is misery in the world. He expects me to do what I can to alleviate it in small and, if possible, big ways. (What those ways are is an ongoing dialogue between Him and me.) BUT he does NOT want me to atone for the fact that there is misery in the world—because He has already done that. He expects me to accept all the gifts He has given me with full, humble, gratitude and joy. And He expects me to enjoy them to the fullest as well.

I am determined to rejoice to my fullest capacity in all areas possible, and I’m determined that this is the very best form of worship there is. (And I’m not talking about a pursuit of pleasure with wild abandon. Because when you analyze what truly brings joy, you realize that selfishness and pleasure-seeking isn’t it. But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong to take pleasure in righteousness!)

Meanwhile, in conjunction with changing my outlook, I took another step to help me get over my sub/conscious obsession with cancer by deciding to have genetic testing done. There is a test, called the BRCA1/BRCA2 test, that can determine whether you have a certain genetic mutation which has been shown to bring an increase in likelihood of cancer. (If you have the mutation, you are 85% likely to get ovarian or breast cancer in your lifetime. If you don’t, your chances are the same as the rest of the population, whatever that is.) Because of my family history, I was a good candidate for the test, and chances that I have the mutation are at least reasonably high. Also because of my history, medical insurance will cover the testing. And, as I’ve already met my deductible, why not? (But it’s a very expensive test, and my 20% is still awfully high.)

There are all sorts of questions you have to face when you have the prospect of gaining new knowledge. Meaning, of course, what will you do with that new knowledge? So as we have awaited the results, we have talked about preventative (prophylactic) surgery. What would I do? Have everything to do with being female removed? Take out some and leave others? Replace some with silicone substitutes? Weighty decisions.

Today I got the results of the test. And the result was exactly what I predicted it would be . . . negative. (You thought I was going to say positive, right? Because of my fears? But ever since I have brought all this out to a conscious level, I have felt deep down that I would NOT have the genetic mutation, that God actually didn’t plan on taking me young with cancer.)

Anyway, as the genetic counselor said, we don’t know whether my mother and her mother had the mutation, so we can’t be sure that I’m “off the hook.” But we do know that I don’t have this particular increased risk, and I’d say that’s better news than the opposite! So I am praying today in gratitude, and rejoicing in my life.

Girl Stuff

A few months ago someone forwarded me one of those “too-often-forwarded” e-mails. This one was about sandals. It was a pledge that women are supposed to take for the summer about how they will keep their toenails painted neatly all summer or not wear sandals. I’m not sure whether the person who sent it to me was trying to give me, in particular, a hint (and I wouldn’t be surprised, since I don’t pay much attention to my toenails), or whether she was just forwarding it to everyone. But I’ve been thinking about it while I put on my sandals today. Are there actually women (and are there a lot of them?) out there who are so seriously bothered by the state of other women’s toenails? Have I been offending a large portion of the population by not keeping my toenails manicured every summer? Are there other ways that I am offending people in my personal grooming that I haven’t been aware of?

I am all too aware that I have shortcomings when it comes to girl stuff. I don’t know how to put on makeup. I have no idea how to accessorize. I can’t see why people ever enjoy shopping at all. I didn’t know until a roommate told me in college that there is a rule about not wearing white until after Memorial Day (????). I know I’m backwards about these things. And I can’t shake the feeling that there are lots of other little rules and things that I’m unaware of and which make people wince when I break them.

What are they? What are they, people, and tell me this: am I seriously offending people right and left? Someone come to my rescue and teach me these things!

For example, how (and why) do people reshape their eyebrows? (Other than if you have the uni-brow problem, I mean.) I can tell that lots of women do it, but I’m not sure why. Should I be doing it too? Are my eyebrows proclaiming to everyone (at least everyone who speaks the Secret Chic Language) that I am sloppy? What should I be doing to them? And how? Do women really use those skinny little pencils to color in their WHOLE eyebrows?

And how do women keep their legs looking smooth and hairless every day? Do they shave every single day? Or is there some secret I don’t know about?

Why would anyone wear lip gloss? Why oh why? Is there something I don’t know about that sticky, gunky stuff?

And how do they keep their bra straps from showing all the time? I’d really like to know the answer to this one because it’s driving me crazy. Maybe most of them don’t have as narrow shoulders as I do and they don’t struggle with it like I do. Who knows? It’s not like I can stop people on the street: “Excuse me. I notice your bra strap is not creeping into your scoop-neck T-shirt. How do you do that?” (And, by the way, that’s another mystery. Where are people buying these T-shirts that manage to look unwrinkled, just tight enough but not too tight in the armpit, and long enough to stay down? And how do they figure out which necklace to wear with them so that it doesn’t look like they are just wearing a T-shirt like I always look?)
One thing I know for sure and that is that I am hopelessly backward when it comes to fashion. I go to the mall and realize that I am one of those people I used to look at with pity when I was a teenager because they were dressed so “out of it.” (Back then the losers wore bell-bottoms.) I know I’m out of it because nothing I would ever actually wear is for sale at the mall. However, I don’t know HOW out of it I am. Am I out of it in a “boring, adult” kind of way, or am I sticking out as badly as the flower children did to me in the 80’s? Do the teenagers in the ward feel sorry for me, standing up there in front of the congregation leading the music on Sundays? Do I make people wince? I honestly have NO CLUE how out of things I am. I am just plugging along, hoping a big grin will make it all OK.

Is there a class I can take about these things? I missed “Basic Girl 201” somewhere in my education, and I’ve never been able to make it up. (I’ve heard of those “image consultants.” Believe me, I’d do it if I could afford both the class and the wardrobe they would recommend.) I’m just glad my husband loves me anyway (and that he doesn’t seem to wince when he looks at me—maybe he’s just as far out of things as I am) and glad I’ve had no daughters on whom I would potentially perpetuate my cluelessness.

Like a child

Thank you to those of you who still pray for me and haven’t forgotten my health struggles. Yes, I’m still having issues, although I have to acknowledge that in a lot of ways I am much better. I’m still having problems with brain fog (I’m picturing Tom Hanks waving his hands around his head saying “Brain Cloud! Brain Cloud!” Can you name that movie?) which make it hard for me to read, think, write and type. Also breathlessness. Other than that, I am doing quite well. My stamina is pretty darn good and I am maintaining a normal schedule. Yes, I do plan to go on trek next week. I am trusting God—He called me to go on trek so by golly He’d better see to it that I make it, that’s all.

So in church last week I was pondering my dilemma, which continues to be not knowing how to pray about this problem of mine. I have been promised that I will heal. There doesn’t seem to be much point in asking in every prayer that God will heal me. I know He will. And it doesn’t seem all that appropriate to ask Him to heal me “today” or “soon.” I can’t believe that just my asking will change His timing. (Although I can’t say that I haven’t asked those things as well.)

So here’s what I thought.

What I want—or, what I feel justified in asking, anyway--is to be without fear while I wait for this promised blessing, to feel God near me or to have some sense of light breaking through while I walk in the darkness. Fear is an interesting thing. I know that it is the opposite of hope and peace, and that it implies a lack of faith and a lack of living in the moment. I’m not even sure what it is that I fear. But I have no doubt that I need to banish it. So as I pray, I ask to have it removed.

Which doesn’t seem exactly right because there are so many scriptures that admonish us to “fear not” and “let not your heart be troubled”—that must mean that whether I fear or not is UNDER MY CONTROL, not God’s. That I have the power inside myself to resist the temptation to fear. (So it's wrong to just lob that ball right back at God, saying "OK, if you won't take away the burden, at least take away the fear.)

Hmmm. So how do I get rid of it then? Maybe that’s what I should pray for: guidance on HOW to do it. Sometimes I manage to do it, to banish fear and live moment-to-moment. I actually conscientiously set aside the panic of not feeling well and of having frightening symptoms and somehow put myself into a place of “nevertheless” as I go through the day. During those times when I manage to do it, I visualize myself being in the hollow of God’s hand (cue too-often-for-Mormons-music).

While I was trying to picture myself in God’s care, the image came to me of me being carried by Him in a little basket. Which reminded me of an infant car seat—you know, the kind that you haul around until one arm is six inches longer than the other while the kid placidly gazes at the world going by. So I pictured myself in this car seat, watching the world going by, trusting that my parent was taking me somewhere interesting, and that all I need to do is sit back in the carseat and watch the world.

And with this image came the realization that this is what becoming like a child really means. It is to be carried, and to be complacent about the fact that I’m not causing the forward motion myself but that it is happening, and that the destination is worthwhile.

I can do that, I think.

("I can do that; that I can do." Name that movie, too.) (It is, after all, Name That Tune Friday.)

Sam Payne

"Though I tried to write songs about
God in his starry home
They sound like they're all about me."

I've been listening to Sam Payne lately. Specifically, his album called Railroad Blessing. I grew up on his father's stuff (Marvin Payne) and really like the poetry in Marvin's lyrics, so I had high hopes for Sam's stuff--and haven't been disappointed. There's a lot to think about here. (And, by the way, I don't listen to his music just for the lyrics. The music is great, too. Some of it is very complex, some quite simple. My favorite song, which is actually not on this album, is "So Unfamiliar," which I heard on a Timpanogos Songwriter's Festival sampler.)

The little tidbit I quoted above speaks to me as a writer. I think that's one of my biggest weaknesses in my work--everything is about me. I'm trying to deepen my love for things and people, so that my poems can be more about them, more about God and his creations, and less about myself. I know it would be wrong to take myself completely out of things--for it is in specificity of experience that truth is found through art. But I want to learn to look harder, without the glasses of self-consciousness clouding my view.

Coffee Shops

It is a great daydream of mine that I am somehow able to dip into other lifestyles for a few days or weeks or months. Dipping into other lives is a passion for me; it’s why I read fiction. I hope that there will be time in the next life for us to sample different life situations for a few weeks (just as I hope there will be a chance to read all the great books I missed). I keep an informal list in my head of the things I’d try: a summer on a farm, a year in a cabin in the forest, a few months on the coast in the northeast, a few months in a high-rise in a happening city (with plenty of money for plays and concerts), a few weeks as a power executive, etc. etc.

Near the top of the list is the coffee shop culture. Berkeley was a great place to be a coffee drinker. There were some really cool coffee shops with inviting tables and interesting looking people and books around. I wonder how many people “do” coffee shops un-self-consciously. Could a person possibly go get their latte or whatever, find a table and sit down without thinking to herself, “This is the coffee side of me”? Maybe if I were a coffee person it wouldn’t seem like such a big deal. I suppose nonchalance comes from habit and oldness, and coffee culture would never get old for me.

While I was living in Berkeley, I, of course, sampled the coffee shop thing. I got really cool girlfriends to come with me and we got our flavored steamed milks and pastries and sat at little tables and tried to talk about cool stuff like books and ideas and stuff. It was fun, but it never felt quite right. We were, after all, housewives who were just escaping for the evening, and who had to be back by 9:00 or our husbands would start getting anxious. Also, I was as often as not wearing maternity clothes (and not the stylish kinds I saw on the power-office chics on their lunch breaks in San Francisco) and, as is usual for me, my hair and makeup and clothes never looked right and especially not the Berkeley kind of right which involves a lot of looking like you don’t mean it. So it was all sort of an exercise in pretending. It was fun, though.

There’s a coffee shop not too far from my house, in the same strip mall as the Kid To Kid and the copy store, so I pass it regularly. (Poor South Jordan. A coffee shop in a strip mall isn’t really the same, is it?) I see people (mostly teens) hanging out at the little tables out front and I wonder what it would be like to have that kind of time in my life, to be able to go and sit at a table outside in the middle of the day and just sit and sip and chat with interesting friends. Sounds awfully nice to me. Even if I could make time for such a thing, it would be time I had blocked out and sandwiched in between things, and that doesn’t really feel the same, does it? The sort of “and is the time that we have scheduled for doing something totally unscheduled.” And I look at my life plan and I realize that I probably won’t ever have time like that (except perhaps when we’re retired and empty-nested—but even then I think we’ll be busy volunteering and missioning and definitely writing and taking classes) but I don’t mind much. How much worse would it be to have an empty life in which days need to be filled?

Still, it sounds nice, for once-in-a-while.

Maybe someday (when the kids are in school?) I’ll make it a goal to schedule one day a week or month to remain absolutely empty, for filling with activities that occur spontaneously. Sounds nice.

Meanwhile, what is the Mormon version of the coffee house thing? I was thinking maybe the Letherby’s (ice cream) thing, but it’s not the same. It will never be the same for Mormons because we are just too darn busy. Too many day planners. Too much to do before the next meeting.

I wonder how much we miss by being so anxiously engaged.

But this is not a tirade against busyness. Because I’m busy, but I love every single one of my activities (except the doctor’s appointments), including the church meetings. I don’t mind having a full life. I’m remembering what they said about President Kimball, who “when he was with you, acted as if he had all the time in the world, but in between people he ran.” That’s the trick, I think: to bring some of the coffee shop into every interaction I have during the day. Mindfulness.

Earrings

Yesterday I wore my brand new earrings, which Roger gave me for my birthday and which I adore, to church. I did not tell people that the symbol on the earrings was, according to the packaging, a fertility symbol. No one seemed offended. (I felt very fertile all day.)

I did not wear my toe rings to church.

Day Four

I sat down with Stephen Fraser and heard more about the kinds of things he’s looking for and the ways he likes to work with authors. I was interested to hear him talk about how he likes to help in career building for his clients; that is, suggesting new directions for them instead of letting them get “branded” and continuing with all the old stuff.

Then I sat down with Carmen Deedy. She’s a fascinating woman to watch speak—very energetic and charismatic, always chomping a hundred miles an hour on her gum. I bet it was very distressing for her last year to be sick and have to cancel her class. I feel a great sense of loss that I missed her class last year, although I did learn from Rick Walton. She spoke about the manuscripts she was taking back to her publishing house (Peachtree) from her class and I was sad at that lost opportunity.

Her advice to new writers, which she rattles off quickly like a mantra: “Write what you know; write what you love; know your audience.” She recommends that we stop and analyze why we want to write for kids. (“Because you think it’s easy?”) So I thought about that for a while: why do I? Mostly because it’s fun. It doesn’t feel like work, although I put work into it. I don’t dread it the way I dread going back to certain adult short stories in various stages of completion that I have lying around. I think that’s a pretty good reason. (Carmen says she does it because she loves kids.)

Carmen recommends we put ourselves in a child’s world and think in child’s language. A kid will go up to a man with one leg and say, “Hey, Mister, how come you only got one leg?” Visualize situations from a child’s point of view, such as the moment your parent barges into your room when you’re in the middle of a fantastic lego construction and says, “I’ve called you THREE TIMES! WHERE have you BEEN????”

***

Guy Francis “read” one of his books, which was hilarious. He is an illustrator, not an author, so he held up one of his illustrations and described it: “Well, there’s purple over here, and yellow over here. I got the idea for making the rug orange from my grandma’s basement carpet . . . “ Seems like a fun guy, does Guy.

Dave Wolverton read from his latest, Wizard of Ooze, which sounds like it is probably a great boy book. The last line he read, about two characters caught in the sprinklers: “Looks like another fine mist you’ve gotten us into.”

***
The “surprise” plenary session was just silliness (and, I felt, a waste of time). Carol and Cheri showed baby pictures of the faculty and sang their silly song. I like Carol’s and Cheri’s silly songs, but I think this could have been done in the closing few minutes later in the afternoon and we could have gotten in another valuable session in this slot. (Same goes for the banquet. I was glad not to have missed anything since I had to go home sick, but if I had stayed for it I would have been very disappointed to discover that there was no speaker. And the “follies” afterward sounded fun but, again, of no value for those hungry to learn.) I imagine the logic was that people are tired by Friday (meaning mostly morning workshop people), but for those of us who paid for afternoon sessions, I think that Friday’s “plenary” was a waste of my time and money.

***
I attended Rick Walton’s session on writing humor which turned out to be not about writing humor but really a sum-up of Rick’s graduate treatise on humor and what it is. It was interesting for what it was (as is anything Rick says, really), but not very helpful when it comes to writing. I can sum up what he said, as far as it applies to writing humor, thus: “Humor is surprise without threat or promise. To write humor, set up an expectation, then surprise us, but make sure there is no threat or promise involved.” Again, I was hungry for more how-to and felt disappointed. I liked Rick’s shirt, though. It said, “My imaginary friend thinks you have mental problems.”

***
We met again in the auditorium for “Last Words” from each faculty member. Here they are:

Steve Fraser: “A great work starts when you appreciate the value of your work.”
Margaret Miller: “Don’t send a manuscript in until you totally love it and it’s the very best you can do.”
Jeanette Ingold: “Write what you love to read.”
Randall Wright: “You have my permission to take the time to write. (You wouldn’t feel guilty taking time to sew a coat for a needy child. Why feel guilty about writing a book that some child will wrap himself up in?”)
Krista Marino: “You are still a writer, even if you don’t sell a book.”
Martine Leavitt: a quote from Ursula LeGuin about how a writer becomes a writer: “No one asks a trombone player how he becomes a trombone player. He goes and gets a trombone, takes lessons, practices, etc.”
Dave Wolverton: “Get a great support group and use it.”
Guy Francis: “Put a lot of mileage on your pencil.”
Dandi Mackall: John 13:17: “Ye know these things—now blessed are ye if ye do them.”
Rick Walton: “Every writer has a certain amount of garbage in him. Come back next year with something to show for your year.”

All in all I have mixed feelings about this conference. Not as good as last year’s, for me, but then I was sick. I did come away motivated and with more ideas (also with more connections) and, after all, that’s what I paid for, so I guess it was a success for me.

Day 3

Day 3 (Day 4 for morning people, but there were no afternoon sessions on Wednesday)

I sat for a few minutes with Dandi Mackall. I really like her. She smiles a lot. She’s probably in her late fifties but has this huge, long, dark hair that probably weighs several pounds. Really warm and friendly. Apparently she has published over 400 children’s books (!). The ones I read ranged from pretty good to outstanding. I asked her about how she found out which editors to send her first manuscripts to, since she writes such a variety of things. She says people should go to bookstores (not libraries—you want the new stuff) to see who is publishing what. She recommended a website, cbc.org, to get a list of editors. Also Jeff Herman’s Guide to Editors, Agents and Publishers is good, though often outdated since it comes out only once a year. It’s helpful because it tells the personal preferences of editors and agents. Haroldunderdown.com is a good site for finding out latest news on who is where. An editor who has just changed houses is often a good one to send stuff to because she is hungry.

Then I sat with Krista Marino, editor for Delacorte. I asked if they publish early chapter books and she said, “Not usually, but we did inherit Nate the Great. I suppose if it were as good as those, we’d consider it.” Someone asked her what makes a good book great. Her answer: “Voice.” She said anything written in first-person present tense is usually a turn-off. Also that we shouldn’t send to more than one editor at the same house simultaneously. She says many first-time authors have agents.

***
The plenary was Stephen Fraser, agent at Jennifer DeChara Literary Agency. I was quite ill on Thursday but this speech was why I came down anyway. Steve had been an editor at Harper Collins before he became an editor. He seems like a really nice, down-to-earth guy. (I liked him a lot better than Edward Necarsulmer, or whatever his name was, from last year.) His speech was entitled, “A Good Manuscript Has a Home,” and he spoke about the nature of really great ideas, and how we know it when we have one and, if it is great, it will get published.

Good writing is clear, speaks to its audience, flows, is original, is controlled and even, is from your experience and heart, is authentic. Good writing is a work of art. Take the time it needs to become what it should. Don’t send it out unless you are confident that it is fantastic.

Sorry, that’s all I have for Thursday. I was very sick. If anyone attended another session, or the banquet and follies, and would like to make my notes here complete by adding yours, please e-mail me at daryoung@yahoo.com and I'll put them up here.

Happy Birthday to Me!

Today is my birthday. I am thirty-seven. That really sounds rather old to me, but I don't really mind. It's kind of weird going from "young marrieds" to "young mom" to "young family in the ward" to "family in the ward" or "lady in the ward." That's me--just a lady in the ward. (Still have a hard time thinking of myself as woman or lady. I'm still "girl." Will I always be?)

I won't get around to posting my next installment of the conference today. I didn't go down on Wednesday because there were no afternoon sessions on Wednesday. Also, I got quite sick with the flu or a reaction to my tetnus shot or something on Wednesday and was still ill yesterday. I made it down for the first lecture but had to leave and come home (thus missing the banquet--darn it!). So I won't have much to report, but I'll report it here when I get to it.

I did get a nice consolation prize for being sick, though. While I was resting last night (instead of banqueting), I got two fantastic writing ideas, one for a YA novel and one for an early chapter book. You may know that I have never dared try a novel before. But now I can't wait to get started. (Don't know when I'll get a chance, though.)

I love to get new writing ideas. I hate, though, the point at which I have to commit to a project, especially a longer one, at the expense of others. Which should I start first? Don't know, don't know. Meanwhile, wish me a happy, productive, and, most of all, healthy year, won't you?

Writing for Children, Day 2

I began the day by visiting with author (who happens to be LDS) Martine Leavitt. I asked her what she thought of having an MFA. (She got hers from Vermont College.) She answered that she felt that the MFA was extremely valuable to her—also, very expensive. She had already had books published before she entered the program.

She mentioned that she had heard that the average time it takes a writer to get published in the children’s market is ten years from the time they start writing seriously.

She said she used to struggle sometimes about the amount of time she spent writing instead of doing service, for example, but has since decided that “writing is a form of service. You are the voice of a child.”

***

Then I met with Margaret Miller, editor at Harper Collins (who spoke at the plenary yesterday). I asked her opinion on whether a writer with a manuscript that is getting personal and praising rejections with the phrase “but it’s just not right for me” should switch to looking for an agent. She said that’s not a bad idea, and that if she were a writer she would be looking for an agent at the same time she was looking for a publisher. But she thought my problem might be a lack of research on my part about what kinds of books individual editors like. (I agree. But the research is hard. It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.) She recommended I google each editor whose name I get from the SCBWI list to find out what they edit. (I have tried contacting publishers of individual books to ask who edited them, but have had no success.)

***
Before the main session, Jeanette Ingold read from her most recent book. As I mentioned before, she’s not really my type of speaker and, I discovered, not my type of writer. (The nine-year-old asks her former violin teacher why his eyes are shining. Right.)

Dandi Mackall read from a middle grade novel and I was amazed at her ability to do great voice. I’d like to read some of her stuff for more ideas.

Krista Marino, Editor at Delacorte Press spoke about how editors are just as emotionally involved in the books they edit as the authors are. (Delacorte does no picture books, BTW.)

***
I went to Ann Cannon’s workshop on “How to Create and Use Back Story for a Novel.” She said her thoughts were more for when you need to bulk up a novel because you haven’t written enough. Some ideas that the class brainstormed: “As questions about your ms, your MC, etc. Why? Why? Why?” “Add more details, especially sensory.” “Find lose ends, things you’ve mentioned once and can go back to and pick up.” “Reinforce some things, especially aspects of characters.” “Add in a subplot.” “Look at backstory.”

Ann recommends we go back and look at minor/secondary characters and see if we can change or add to them so that they can play a bigger part or at least carry more weight. She recommends writing character sketches, things like what the character watches on TV, what makes him angry. She had us think of a character in a current work of ours and imagine him getting angry (why?) and write a scene about it.

“If you want forward motion, give a character a problem to solve.”

Be careful of flashbacks, especially too early in the story. The reader is only coming to know and like the real story; flashback is confusing or boring.

Resolution: keep from rushing to it. Keep adding problems. Let one problem grow out of another.

***
My last workshop wasn’t my first choice, but the one I wanted had been canceled. So I went to Dandi Mackall’s on Rhyme and Rhythm. I really like Dandi, but I didn’t want to waste time on stuff I already knew. (Yes, half the class hadn’t heard of scanning and we needed to spend a few minutes explaining just exactly what was wrong with “Tommy crossed the busy street, tripped and fell and hurt both of his feet.”) But there were some interesting things.

Rhyming books are shorter as a rule than other books, averaging about 200 words.

All picture books should be poetry, rhyming or not (I agree!).

Try not to use the same old words that rhyme. Avoid say/day. How ‘bout macramé? Consonant endings are more pleasing to the ear in rhyme.

Imagine what you want reviewers to say about your book: “Fresh, lyrical, great read-aloud.”

Dandi asked an editor about when a picture book ms is really good and the editor almost acquires it but decides not to, what is missing? Answer: rhythm.

They say that a picture is worth 1000 words. Don’t let that be true of your work. Make your words worth more than that.

She passed out a handout on the rules of rhyme. It had five rules: 1. No off-rhyme. 2. Meter must match. 3. No unnatural wording (“of which I speak”). 4. Use variety. 5. A story is still a story.

Free Admission to BYU’s Writing for Chidren Conference

Just for you, dear loyal blog readers, I am offering a special feature this week. I am going to report, moment by moment, on my experience at the BYU Conference on Writing for Children. You’ll get the agony of rubbing shoulders with hundreds of hopefuls, each of whom wants to manipulate every conversation with the editors and agents in attendance. You’ll get the ecstasy of hearing your name (well, mine) called out as the winner of the door prize. All this without leaving the comfort of your own home (or paying for that thankful of gas to get down to Happy Valley). So buckle up—here we go!

Day 1

I arrived in time for the “mingle,” in which we get to spend 15 minutes huddled in a group around one of the featured celebrities. (These are the editors/agents who flew in from New York to speak to us and pick up some promising manuscripts, as well as local authors who have been conned or bribed into speaking or conducting workshops.) For my first session, I sat down with Cheri Earl and Carol Lynch Williams, who organize these conferences and teach workshops at them as well. The conversation wasn’t all that interesting to me, though, having gotten off on “how do writers earn a living while they’re waiting to make money on their work” and kind of got stuck there. I did get a chance to ask Carol how her writing program (Vermont MFA) was going but she was reluctant to give details, saying only that it had been a bad year, both for her personally and for the college/program. She recommended that I ask Martine Leavitt, another writer/presenter in attendance, for her opinion on the program.

For the second rotation I sat down with Carmen Deedy, who was being inundated with questions by very novice writers (“Do I have to make illustration suggestions for every page?” “Will people publish my picture book if I don’t have an illustrator yet?”) I realized while listening to the conversation that I have become a writing snob. I couldn’t believe my uncharitable feelings for people who were asking legitimate questions. I was ashamed at myself and tried to repent. I can forgive those people asking things we’ve all wondered at one point or another. But I really struggle with forgiving the conversation manipulators: the people who jump in to tell the speaker all about THEIR book. Hello?!? There are fifteen of us here? And we all want to hear from Ms. Deedy? Not you, OK? Even though it’s obvious you have the next Harry Potter on your laptop there, sweetheart.

Excuse me. I don’t sound humble and repentant, do I?

I was really happy to run into some AML people during the mingle. I saw Stephen Carter, Scott Bronson, Laura Card, Darvell Hunt. Probably some others I’ve forgotten (sorry). It was fun to see these people, none of whom I had known before as being writers of children’s stuff. I also saw a few other people that I’ve met before (at last year’s conference, mostly) like Kerry Spencer and Lisa Hale.

***

Then we all moved into the auditorium for the plenary session. First there were the prizes. My friend Scott Bronson won a writing prize for the daily prompt. (It’s the same one I won on the first day last year, only his prompt was different.) Not wanting to break my tradition of winning a prize on the first day, I also won a prize today—the drawing. (I was one of three or so whose names were drawn.) I like this tradition, I think.

Then Rick Walton and Ann Edwards Cannon read some of their work. I enjoyed their readings but I would have preferred if the organizers had repeated last year’s feature of having different presenters simply field questions.

Then we had the plenary speech by Margaret Miller, an editor from Harper Collins. Her speech title was “Editors Love You.” She spent a while talking about what happens to a manuscript from purchase to publishing. One thing I noted was that editors often consider the future potential of an author in addition to looking at the ms itself. That is, “it may not be a fabulous book, but if you can tell by reading it that the author has a fabulous book inside of her, you might be more likely to purchase it.” Or, on the flip side, it might be an ms from a previously-published author who seems to be on the downside of her career and so an editor refuses it.

***

The next hour we went to breakout sessions. I attended Martine Leavitt’s called “How Not to Write a Boring Story.” She began by stating that the things she was going to talk about applied to when we already have a draft done and shouldn’t be considered before we’ve written the first draft. She listed eight questions we should ask when we feel like our stories are floundering, or they need more structure, plotting, or suspense. Here are the 8 questions:

1. What does my main character (MC after this) want? She read a long quote that was good by someone whose name I don’t remember but here’s the gist: “Each scene and action and word should have some aspect of the protagonist’s desire. . . Unconscious desire drives the story but MC may repeatedly change his conscious desire.” We need to see that desire in action. It should be communicated, somehow, from the first page. What does happiness look like to this character?

2. Why can’t my main character have what she wants? What keeps her from it? Don’t make how her character will get out of it obvious. It’s OK if even you (author) don’t know at first.

3. What will happen if MC doesn’t get what she wants? This has to be big. RISK is important. What’s at stake? Stakes need to go up and up as the story progresses.

4. How does the MC struggle to get what she wants? This is the bulk of the book, probably 90% of the story. This is where plotting comes in. One common structure is to have the character try and fail three times, then succeed.

5. What additional hardships does this character face? One common weakness of novice writers is that they fall in love with their MC and then can’t bear to make them hurt; they go easy on them.

6. When is it hopeless? You’ve got to bring it to that point. This is the part in the movie where nobody leaves for popcorn.

7. When is the tension relieved? (Don’t relieve it too soon.)

8. What is surprising about the ending? Make sure the surprise has been woven in from the beginning.

***
My final session of the day was with Jeanette Ingold. She wasn’t really my type of speaker—a little too melodramatic or overly polished, as if she had every physical movement she made choreographed. She gave a list of “fixes for when your writing goes wrong.” Here it is:

1. Write the jacket blurb of your book, something that would sell the book. This helps when you have lost focus of what the book is about. It forces you to think about what’s interesting or grabbing about your story, and what it’s all about.

2. Write your story as a poem. This is a good way to capture the mood and gist of what you’re trying to do. “When I’ve begun to get off track, I go back and re-read the poem.”

3. Let your characters tell you about them. Find some quirk about them and ask them about it. Then brainstorm and freewrite the answer in your character’s voice.

4. Free write. Turn off your inner critic.

5. Analyze your main character: is she acting like a heroine or a victim? Avoid victim. You need an ACTIVE MC, someone the reader wants to be or at least can imagine being.

6. Is the MC believable? Do things feel forced? When a scene feels wrong it’s often because it is not something the character would do, no matter how well-written.

7. Bump up the stakes. Something must be at risk.

8. Make things harder for your protagonist.

9. Have a villain.

10. Make him more villainous. Make him stronger. The stronger he is, the stronger you have to make your protagonist. (He should be complex and logical, too.)

11. Get the story into visual form (diagrams, charting).

12. Do your research.

13. Haul out a writing book and work on craft.

14. See if your dialogue is worthy. Try this: pick a book whose dialogue you think is great. Highlight all direct quotes. Notice how few words are actual dialogue. Good dialogue gives you the illusion of lots of dialogue with minimal words. There shouldn’t be anything in your dialogue that doesn’t carry the story forward.

15. Play with your writing. Switch the POV. Switch the tense.

16. Do something else for a while.

17. Turn the problem over to your subconscious. Sleep on it.

18. Know when it’s time to move on. Sometimes we just outgrow our stories.

19. Don’t be afraid of new things. Take some back roads and detours.

***
More tomorrow . . .

"Stay awake; don't rest your head. Don't lie down upon your bed . . ."

I just got back from participating in a Sleep Study. It was quite an experience. The name makes it sound like I was part of a survey or research project, but it was actually a diagnostic “procedure” to determine if I have sleep apnea, which is just another in a long line of guesses doctors have about why I might be still struggling with fatigue and breathlessness. The test is rather expensive, but I have met my deductible for this year (how shall we celebrate) so we figured we might as well keep pressing forward looking for a solution.

I feel kind of funny about it, though. I keep thinking about the pioneers, tribal natives in Africa, peasants in China, etc., etc., for whom the concept of a sleep study would be laughably ridiculous. What a symbol of modern wealth and stresses it is. It’s rather embarrassing to me, really, as if it means I have nothing better to do, or nothing more serious to worry about and spend money on. Nevertheless, there I went.

I arrived at a little house near Cottonwood Hospital at 8:00 p.m. Someone had outfitted this house to be a Sleep Disorder Center. The living room was a reception area. The kitchen was full of medial supplies and computers and had two workstations with video monitors for the technicians to sit at. Also, a TV/DVD player for them to watch movies while they are trying to stay awake.

I was escorted to a bedroom which contained a bed, a chair, a TV, a video camera, and lots of wires. After getting into my pajamas, Klaudia (from Yugoslavia) came and explained what was going to happen and had me fill out papers. Then she left me alone “until you are ready to go to sleep.”

I was lonely. I did yoga. I called Roger. I flipped through the stations of the TV. I went to the bathroom. I told Klaudia I was ready.

Klaudia came in and began a laborious process of attaching wires all over me. Chest, back, legs, face (two on my chin, four around my eyes) and scalp. The ones on my chin, said Klaudia, would monitor whether I grind my teeth. The ones near my eyes would monitor my eye movements. The ones on my scalp record brain waves. About sixteen in all, each wire had to be stuck down with goo, paste and tape. (Except, thank goodness, they didn’t use tape in my hair.) Then each wire was attached to a little box that somehow kept track of them all and fed them into the computer that Klaudia would watch all night. Klaudia told me that if I awoke and needed to go to the bathroom in the night, I would need to press the call button so that she could unplug me.

I asked Klaudia what she does all night. She says that every twenty minutes they must look at the video camera and record what position I am sleeping in. She had two or three other patients in other bedrooms to watch as well. Other than that, she could read or watch TV or whatever. We talked a little about night jobs and how she manages to stay awake all night since she works only three nights a week and takes care of her kids during the day. She said she can make it until one or two in the morning reading, but after that she has to do other things to help her stay awake. I suggested yoga, of course. Klaudia told me that they have three patients in the sleep center every night. I marveled that there are so many people in the valley with sleep problems. I never knew!

I heard the other tech preparing the guy in the bedroom next to me. That guy had things worse than me, I could tell. They were discussing how much Ambian he takes to sleep every night. I prayed for him, and for the very large woman in the other bedroom who had a CPAP machine. I prayed for myself, too. I prayed that, regardless of what this study shows, the results would be accurate and the test would be valid in diagnosing (or eliminating a possibility) my problem. I also prayed with gratitude that I am really awfully healthy, all things considered. So, I’m tired. Things could be worse.

Klaudia put a pulse oximeter on my finger. I put in some earplugs, then settled in as comfortably as I could and read until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any more. (My usual night routine.) It was a little awkward packing my pillow just right and settling down with all of those wires. Each time I woke in the night to turn over, I had to adjust the wires carefully. Once, at about 1:00 a.m., Klaudia came and woke me because one of the monitors on my chest needed to be adjusted. I had a hard time getting back to sleep after that. But finally I did, and I awoke again, as is my habit, at about 6:00 a.m. I dozed for not more than a minute or two before Klaudia came in to take everything off and hurry me out the door.

After a year of tests, I know that technicians are not allowed to talk about what they may or may not have learned from watching the test, so I didn’t ask. She did tell me that if the doctor determines that I have sleep apnea, I get to return and do the whole thing again with a CPAP machine. Lovely.

As I arrived home, the sun was just coming up and everything was still and beautiful. A flock of birds flew over the house and I knew that I didn’t want to be anywhere else, any other time (even on my cruise). Now THAT’S a sign of wealth.

As with all medical tests, the whole thing has left me feeling a little tender and raw, like a lump of meat that’s been handled too much. I’m glad it’s Sunday, that I can go to church and be reminded of my connection with God. I keep thinking about my kids and how much I love each one. It’s nice to know that God loves me that much, too, because I’m getting tired of all this. I need a hug from him right now. I suppose a good prayer and a hot shower will have to do.

Passport

Yesterday I got passport photos (they didn’t turn out too bad, actually) and APPLIED FOR A PASSPORT!!!!! Obviously, I have never had a passport before. I am getting one in preparation for the CRUISE I have purchased tickets for which does not actually leave until February but you can never start anticipating too soon, now, can you? The cruise, which will take us to the Panama Canal, is to celebrate our fifteenth anniversary, and is very possibly the farthest I will ever travel from home (unless somehow I write that bestseller and get rich someday and make it to my dream destination of Ireland). And we’ve planned it for the perfect time—during the last third of winter when I usually start getting depressed and so sick of Utah gunk. I’ll have something to look forward to through all of January, and then when I get back it will only be a few weeks until spring! We have booked it so far in advance that the credit card award people will not even let me book my flights yet (“Call back in two months”). But I don’t care that it is so far away. I plan to get my money’s worth in daydreaming about it every single day from now until then.

p.s. Name that movie: "My voice is my passport." I love this movie, maybe partially because I saw it for the first time on my very first cruise. Other most quotable line from this movie: "I'll see what I can do." (Picture James Earl Jones mouthing those words.)

Just Can't Get Enough . . . (cue Depeche Mode music)

We had a glorious rainstorm last night—the desert kind, with thunder and torrents and all. It’s still drizzling a little today but mostly the storm part is over. I love rainstorms. Maybe it’s because I grew up here, in the desert, and I just don’t see rain often enough. It seems to me that, unless the rain has ruined something important I’ve planned, I never feel like rainstorms last long enough. I always, always want more.

When I was a nanny in Pennsylvania (yes, I did that—did you know?) I encountered some Real Rainstorms. There’s nothing like a rainstorm back east, where the water comes down in buckets for hours and hours! Once I ran out and drenched myself to celebrate—and was surprised to discover that, unlike what happens here, when you drench yourself in a rainstorm back east you don’t get any COOLER. You just get wetter. It was really strange. Since it’s always humid there, the rain doesn’t feel any different than the wet air, really. Just wetter.

Anyway, I always want more rain.

Which has got me thinking about other things that I always want more of. Here’s a not-completely-inclusive list:

1. Truffles de France.
2. Education
3. Length of time in a nap. No kidding. It doesn’t matter how long I sleep, I always feel like I could have slept longer.
4. Songs on my Noteworthy Ladies album.
5. Popcorn at movie theaters.
6. Zerbits on P’s belly-button.
7. Jane Austen novels.
8. General Conference. I really do feel sad when it ends.
9. BYU. (Probably related to #2 above, but not necessarily.)
10. Time with my AML and Segullah friends.
11. Eating out.
12. Road trips.
13. Backrubs from hubby.
14. Free time in which I am not sleepy.
15. Grins, chuckles and all-out belly laughs from my kids.

There’s a part in C. S. Lewis’s Out of the Silent Planet (I think—it’s one of the books in that trilogy) in which the protagonist tastes some very amazing fruit. When he’s finished it his instinct is to reach for another one. Then he stops himself, feeling that it would be somehow immoral to take more than he needs. This part speaks to me because I know that instinct to always want more of a good thing. I like to imagine it’s biological, a sort of leftover from hunter-gatherer days. Maybe, though, it’s just an inheritance of the Natural Man. Whatever it is, I believe I should fight it, or rather live in tension with it (the way you use the tension of your legs against the water to keep you up when you waterski). Moderation is really one of the highest virtues, I believe. My yoga/meditation practice has helped me with this, as has my illness. I hope I can keep my more moderate habits intact as my body gets stronger and its old appetites return in full force.

So . . . what kinds of things do you feel like you could never get enough of?