Why we write

I don’t do many school visits. I’m an under-the-radar kind of YA author, and I don’t mind that. So when I do go out and connect with readers, it’s both daunting and exciting. 

"The Final Word" was the last meeting of the school's Book Club

My “visit” (via Zoom) to Hamilton District Christian High School checked every box: engaged students who asked excellent questions, enthusiastic and supportive teachers and teacher/librarians, some tough questions about the art and craft of writing, and some laughs. I loved every minute.

Writers don’t write for the accolades or to be told how wonderful they are (and anyone who reads reviews of their books on Goodreads knows how pointless that would be!) We don’t write for sales, or a market trend (at least, I hope that’s not the motivation...) We write because we’re full of stories we want to share. Because our characters become real to us. And we hope our stories and characters will resonate with readers, too.

That’s what this school visit was all about. LARKIN ON THE SHORE resonated with this group of young readers, and with their teachers – proof, if anyone needs it, that YA lit is just as appealing to adults as it is to the teen audience.

So I’m sharing a few scenes and words from my school visit. A little self-promotion, perhaps (because if I don’t do it, who will??), but also an encouragement to all the readers out there: When you find a book you enjoy, tell your friends, spread the word and, if you can, connect with the author. That’s why we write.

From the teacher-librarian who invited me to speak to her students:

“I have to tell you that I keep receiving such positive feedback from our group! I even had a parent tell me that her daughter, who has been to several author events, came home raving about you! Everyone loved hearing about the publishing process and they were thrilled about how approachable you were! I feel like I have been riding this wave since [your visit]! 

Thanks again for closing out our Book Club year on such a high note! I love recommending your books to our students and teachers who want a good YA read!!”

Gold Sticker: LARKIN ON THE SHORE and the Whippoorwill Award

A gold sticker! 

Okay. There are big lists and little lists, and for an author, they all matter. Today I got a supply of stickers for the cover of LARKIN ON THE SHORE – stickers to announce that this book was awarded a 2020 Whippoorwil Award, a list curated by educators throughout the United States. (And oh, how I wish we had something similar in Canada!)

“The Whippoorwill Award for Rural Young Adult Literature is a curated list of high-quality literature. The award is intended to provide texts that can spark critical conversations about rurality. Award books must meet the general criteria for excellent in YA literature in its genre, portray the values of rural spaces, knowledge, cultures, and histories, and contribute to diverse representations of people and places.”

LARKIN ON THE SHORE is set in a small town in rural Nova Scotia. It’s the place where Larkin goes to heal – and she does heal there - but it’s also a place that threatens her well-being. No, not in a “I Know What You Did Last Summer” kind of way. But in that small-town culture in which everyone knows everyone else. People talking. People making judgements. People with histories and secrets. All set in a landscape of empty spaces and nature and farms and the shore.

I’m so happy this award committee of educators saw the importance of the meaningful, intentional choices I made when setting this book where I did. I hope teachers and librarians will help get this book into the hands of young readers who live this kind of rural life or who want to experience it through the words of a story.

Yes, a book with a gold sticker!

Two memories, and choosing the one that matters

Two memories popped up on my FB feed today – one from my teaching life, and one from my writing life.

The first is from my last (very tough) year of teaching at Conestoga College. I remember it so well - the student walking up to me, grinning, holding out this large tea, and the rest of the class laughing and breaking into applause. Just a little moment of kindness and fun.

 It was a tough time back then – unexpected financial pressures, unhappy people in the family, gruelling work schedule at a job I didn’t really love anymore, and a lot of difficult juggling. I was a drudge. Depressed. Struggling. Trying to be everything to everyone when all I really wanted to be was a published author. And that dream was slipping further and further away.

The other memory that popped up was my first book signing, two years ago, after presenting at the CANSCAIP Packaging Your Imagination conference. I was living my dream: having a published book, and presenting at a conference which I had attended for years as an unpublished nobody.

Two memories. 

Okay, despite literary awards being awarded, and books being named to lists, and writers/creators turning up on Zoom at the speed of light, let's face it: for most of us, this pandemic is wreaking havoc on the writing life. My own writing life is a shambles: a book that disappeared into the abyss last winter, another project relegated to numerous slush piles, and a work-in-progress that I fear will never get into print. It was all looking so hopeful, but now, who knows?

But when I saw these two memories on my Facebook feed this morning, I felt a little nudge (or perhaps something stronger) and a voice inside telling me to get over myself. Get on with it. Look at the big picture and be grateful.

Because, as I sit here in this crazy year that is 2020, it's that moment of kindness in the classroom nine years ago that resonates with me the most.

 

You Are Here

I saw a poster years ago: an image of space, the huge expanse of the Milky Way, with an arrow and the tiny words, YOU ARE HERE.

It stayed with me because I have always felt awe, respect and a fair amount of fear when thinking about my place in the universe. Thinking about where I fit into the great unknown (or frontier, if you’re a Star Trek fan) makes me uncomfortable.

 

Am I making a difference? Do I count?

 

There are so many unknowns in our pandemic universe right now, and it’s making me feel even more lost and anxious – you know, masks, distancing, isolation, impending Second Wave, the end of March Break, when will I feel brave enough to get my pandemic hair trimmed. Yeah, all that.

 

You are here. That’s our universe right now.

 

But…

 

It turns out, I’m still here. Still cuddling my new grandson, and hugging my kids – once they finally made it out of Ontario to spend a cozy 14-day quarantine with us at our summer home in Nova Scotia.

 

Still playing my dulcimer on the deck at sunset. Still reading books. Watching the Jays. Lamenting the end of my beloved Maple Leafs’ season.

 

Still watching the herons gather on the sandbars at dusk, and a shy eagle grace us with an occasional fly-over. A mother deer and three fawns on the front yard. Still here.

 

Still writing, even though the big universe isn’t noticing my words or stories right now. Even though my book fell into the pandemic abyss. That’s okay. I know it’s still here, on a shelf in a bookshop, in a library (and in my heart, because every published book feels a bit like a beloved child, doesn't it?).

I'm fortunate, and I know it.

 

Earlier this summer the NEOWISE comet appeared and I watched with awe as it hung in the night sky over the Northumberland Strait. It reminded me of that poster from years ago. It reminded me that the universe is big and I am small. 

 

But I’m still here. I hope you are too.

A Writer's Life look back: Why is YA fiction so dark?

I posted this piece seven years ago, five years before my YA novel Skating Over Thin Ice was published. I was working on that novel then - the story of a young musical prodigy looking for direction when her career path starts to falter. It's a quiet story, a gentle story of searching for happiness. No violence (okay, one hockey fight). No sex (yes, some hugging and hand-holding). No aliens (well, there are these three girls nicknamed The Sirens...)

The novel wasn't written as a response to the viewpoint expressed in this 2013 blog post - I was already writing it at the time - but it did worry me that THIS was the publishing landscape I was headed for. Rejection seemed inevitable. Who'd want to read a gentle story about a girl who figures things out, slowly, aided by a kind best friend (Fredrik, the gay son of the Swedish ambassador), a unexpected ally (Nathan, a famous junior hockey star) and her grandfather (a world-famous violinist, and her musical partner in Trio St. Pierre)?

Nope. No violence, no sex, no aliens. What chance did such a story have? 

(Skating Over Thin Ice did get its chance. Thank you, Red Deer Press, Ontario Library Association Forest of Reading and USBBY Outstanding International Books List).

As a YA novelist, I'm always interested to see what's being published and reviewed and sold. 

I'm not sure much has changed since 2013. 

********

Posted July 29, 2013:

The world is a troubled place right now, and YA fiction appears to be enjoying the darkness. No, not just enjoying it - relishing it. Gorging on it. Drowning in it. (I could go on...)

But - is all this dark, violent, dystopic exploration of unhappiness really what the kids are reading? Or is it just what YA writers and publishers think the kids want?  (I don't know the answer - I'm just asking the question...)

I guess I should be happy that the Era of Vampires appears to be waning. Okay, I read the Twilight series to stay current, and although it didn't thrill me the way it did my teenage daughter, I could see the appeal.  Ditto the Hunger Games and its sequels. Engaging fantasy, strong female character, a bit of romance. Before those two entries, kids worked their way through the increasingly dark Harry Potter. And of course there has been a fair share of lightweight Young Chick Lit as well. Trends come and go - we all know that.

But this past weekend I read about the following four YA books, each reviewed briefly on the Books page of the Globe. Here are snippets of the reviews by Globe reviewer Lauren Bride:

Mermaid in Chelsea Creek by Michelle Tea: "...a grouchy, pollution-sick, slightly frightening Polish mermaid whose broken English is elsewhere peppered with profanity..."

Letting Ana Go by Anonymous: "Following a nameless high-school student for over a year from lighthearted athlete through anorectic compulsion...the diary-entry format could potentially read as a how-to guide for the impressionable without quite giving an antidote or example of how to recover."

When We Were Good by Suzanne Sutherland: "...pitched into double grief...struggling to find her place at punk shows with tough, impressive kids...also finds trouble..."

Rush (Book One of The Game) by Eve Silver: "...electric high-action scenes, a world in peril (this time, by the threat of aliens), and amorphous morality in a broken society..."

Wow.

Confession: I haven't read any of these books; just the reviews. A little research shows that critics (at least the critics who have blurbed for the books) love them. For instance,  "A radiant hybrid of piercing realism, creeping horror, and heartbreaking fantasy - but fantasy with dirt in its hair and scabs on its knees," says author Daniel Kraus (his own book is called Rotters) about Mermaid in Chelsea Creek.

So am I the only writer (and reader) who thinks the current crop of YA characters and their stories sound (as my teenage son calls it) "messed up"?

Is this really what kids are reading - or is it just what publishers are publishing?

The teenagers I know are intelligent, curious, confused, funny and often under tremendous pressure to perform at school, at home and at all the other activities that fill their lives. Are they really reaching for the darkside? Are they really connecting with and finding pleasure and meaning in reading a book featuring a "slightly frightening Polish mermaid"? Is there anything else out there to choose from? Maybe even something with humour, lightness, hope?

Of course, I may be wrong.

Why is YA fiction so dark? I'm open to enlightenment.

"Comparison is the thief of joy," said Teddy Roosevelt. He was right.

The writing life is hard in all sorts of ways. And sometimes we make it even harder on ourselves.

2019 Forest of Reading Red Maple Fiction Nominees on stage at Harbourfront.

Confession: I am a very competitive person. And not always in a good way.

Ask my high school basketball coach, who watched me foul out of more games than anyone should. ("But Coach, she pushed me, so I pushed back..."). Ask my relatives about family card games and my outbursts of frustration (which I will not quote here). Ask my curling buddies about why I moved myself from the competitive to the recreational league (answer: for the benefit of all involved).

So when I scroll through my social media feeds or media outlets and see book lists (that don't include me) or festival line-ups (that don't include me) or review sites (that don't include me) or bookstores (that don't include me) or testimonials from readers, librarians, teachers, other writers (that don't include me), I become that teary kid, nose pressed up against the glass, whispering: "Hey guys? Pick me! Can I play too?"

It's a bad thing for a writer to be that competitive, because it's toxic, at least it is for someone programmed to compete, as I am. Comparing the success of others to my own goals and accomplishments poisons not only my creative process, but also the joy of achieving something that I battled for (yes, it took me 35 years to break in... and here's a small selection of my rejections to demonstrate):

**WARNING** Shameless Self-Promotion follows...

In fact, I've had some successes and I've made some lists: Skating Over Thin Ice was nominated for the Forest of Reading 2019 Red Maple Fiction Award and named to the USBBY 2019 Outstanding International Books List. My new book, Larkin on the Shore, popped up on a "coming this fall" blog. All thrilling! But when I look around, my inner competitive voice kicks in: "Yes, okay, but...".

So I'm working hard to embrace the words of Teddy Roosevelt: "Comparison is the thief of joy."

I'm happy for you all, writing colleagues out there filling my socials with your success. I really am. We're in this writing life together and I'm happy to be on this journey with you.

Keep up the good work, writing/books/media sites, who celebrate and promote our creative efforts and successes.

But now I need to turn away from that window, dry my silly tears, and be joyful about my own writing. Because in the end, that's why I've embraced the writing life: it brings me joy.

And I'm not going to let any thief - especially one that my own competitive spirit has allowed to creep in - steal that from me.