tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63874192364326462062024-03-13T19:34:24.650-05:00Notes from a Knew-It-Allnotes from a knew-it-all--
the blog of YA author ELISSA JANINE HOOLEElissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.comBlogger302125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387419236432646206.post-59370343833121111222011-08-11T20:54:00.000-05:002011-08-11T20:54:36.598-05:00changing my address...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i-cdn.apartmenttherapy.com/uimages/dc/080210-packing2-kristen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://i-cdn.apartmenttherapy.com/uimages/dc/080210-packing2-kristen.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>I'm setting up my author website, and I'm packing up the blog to the <a href="http://elissajhoole.com/">new location!</a></b> </span><br />
<br />
I'll still blog sort of weekly (ish), but I'm also going to have content that is specific to my writing and my book, <i>Kiss the Morning Star</i>, so come on over and take a look around! It's still changing...I'll be emptying out boxes and playing around with the decor for some time, but I'd be happy for you to pull up a box and say hello! :)Elissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387419236432646206.post-24843094221170005142011-07-27T11:08:00.000-05:002011-07-27T11:08:02.505-05:00"I will always, always, always wasting away the time."<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3094/2743376540_3698fa0462.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3094/2743376540_3698fa0462.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/quietdelusions/">Quiet Delusions</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>This summer has been one of dabbling--I've been playing guitar, learning to cook a little, and for whatever reason, I've been working on three different writing projects all at once. Not, probably, the best strategy when it comes to building focus and digging down deep into a story and making it big and real and saleable and full of high stakes and layers and awesome. <br />
<br />
It is, however, a pretty good strategy for getting back to the fun of writing when all that stuff starts to feel a little bit scary and serious.<br />
<br />
So one of the projects I'm working on is this fantasy story I drafted a while back--before I had an agent, before I had a book deal. I drafted it in between two revisions of KISS THE MORNING STAR, and for whatever reason, writing this story was the most enjoyable experiences I've ever had writing. I love my little trio of heroes, I love the mythology and the magic of my little world, and I love the setting of the story, which is mostly in the real-world city I live. It incorporates many of the things I love about home--the Lake, the crazy seagulls, and the beautiful stone "castle stage," which has always seemed to me the perfect place on earth to perform a Shakespeare play, and it's where my characters are performing the comedy <i>Twelfth Night.</i><br />
<br />
Anyway, I was reading through all the files of notes and beta comments and early drafts in my folder for this story, and I came across one I had almost forgotten, which was titled "Bonsai Remix". What craziness I found when I opened the file to see this weird, mix-and-match junk poetry version of my first draft, which...hilarious and nonsensical as it may be, yielded some interesting thoughts and some fun lines. My hazy memory and a few google searches brought back <a href="http://critters.org/bonsai/">this funny little bonsai story generator</a>, and I picked out a few silly lines to share with you, including the title of this post, which seemed pretty apt for me, especially perhaps for this summer of dabbling. <br />
<br />
(But sometimes...just sometimes, not "always, always, always"...the "wasting time" is really dreaming and thinking and turning over ideas that lead to a good story. And sometimes dabbling in an old story to find back the fun of it all is so worth it!)<br />
<br />
So here are a few more goofy nonsense lines of my bonsai story...will you share some of yours? :)<br />
<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #f6b26b;">She slowed down, still wheeling and she was some serious wtf.</div><span style="background-color: #f6b26b;"> </span></blockquote><blockquote style="background-color: #f6b26b;"><div class="MsoNormal"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:EnableOpenTypeKerning/> <w:DontFlipMirrorIndents/> <w:OverrideTableStyleHps/> <w:UseFELayout/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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</style> <![endif]--> And a little puckering mouths gaping open and snapping closed, each crooning somehow melted together said the “transition apartment” that came with vampires or pacifists or pacifists or reading or anyone who had thrown that way.</div></blockquote><blockquote style="background-color: white;"></blockquote>Elissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387419236432646206.post-76391613953785168022011-07-12T08:00:00.001-05:002011-07-12T08:00:01.768-05:00practice makes...well, persistence, for one thing. and probably improvement.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii1aoPIqOWluF8jmqYxYHVo7HpSu6iSSHbbQDyrEHjsfyH1hdv9eIgRP_Zp5aex9NDhNz6Vj60v3pBcVT2-RspPPceZZ60MCXwHw0OlsZQjz6zpViU5sKLYGMWLyWRU1uOSTk6mpjHEBQs/s1600/IMG_6400.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii1aoPIqOWluF8jmqYxYHVo7HpSu6iSSHbbQDyrEHjsfyH1hdv9eIgRP_Zp5aex9NDhNz6Vj60v3pBcVT2-RspPPceZZ60MCXwHw0OlsZQjz6zpViU5sKLYGMWLyWRU1uOSTk6mpjHEBQs/s320/IMG_6400.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my second loaf of homemade bread, better than the first</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I used to be a sandwich artist. Back when the bread had a u-shaped notch in it and there were no cucumbers or spinach or avocados or even a choice of cheeses. So when I first started, everything was a mystery--slicing tomatoes was clumsy and a bit dangerous, cutting a pan of bread took me an hour (and six bandages). But as with most learned skills, practice made perfect--or at least, practice made pretty good and pretty efficient and pretty predictable. <br />
<br />
Writing is...a little different. My hands could learn the best way to pick up the precise amount of lettuce to spread on a footlong sub for a perfect sandwich, but there isn't a formula for writing a novel, or even for getting a first draft written. Writers talk about being "plotters or pantsers", they talk about outlining, they talk about fast-drafting and taking it slow. They write out of order or they write only after six years of intensive research and planning. They write on napkins, or post-its, or in longhand with a sparkly gel pen. They write a first draft that sounds like the author talking to himself about what the book will eventually be. They write crappy first drafts, comforting themselves that they can fix all in revisions, or they write with great care, hoping to not waste their time writing unnecessary words in their first drafts that will later be cut.<br />
<br />
And however they do it, a writer gets a novel written. It might be brilliant. And the next time they do it--same process, same everything--it might not work at all. In fact, the only thing that might work for that next book is to do things in a completely opposite way. It's anything but predictable.<br />
<br />
From here on I have to get personal. I can't pretend that I can tell anyone how to write a book or what the best writer's process is because the truth is? I don't even know what my own process is. It changes with every book I write. And while it can sometimes be scary and frustrating because...um...<i>aren't I getting any better at this by now????</i>...it can also be exciting and gratifying because...um...<i>I get so bored with jobs that are the same all the time!</i> That pan of bread that took me a an hour and six bandages to cut later took me five minutes with my eyes closed. But it also took all the joy and beauty out of my life forever. (Okay, hyperbole aside, that's not even true. I love the smell of fresh bread and I also like knives...but my point is repetitive jobs kill my soul.)<br />
<br />
So. Let me tell you about my processes for some of the books I've written. My first novel took me six years to write. (Actually, I'm really fuzzy about dates because I gave birth to two children in that period of my life and probably didn't sleep for more than three consecutive hours at any point, but yeah, it was like six years from start to finish. Ish.) The novel was a book for adults about a woman who is learning to paint but finds herself only able to paint pictures of public restrooms. Stop judging. I only pitched it like that once or twice.<br />
<br />
Anyway, for that book, I knew my character. I spent, oh, fifty-some pages getting to know her. I had an idea of what might happen in the book, but I'd get to that later. Every day, I revised everything I had written up until that part, and then I'd go on and write another page or two. It was sort of like I was writing by the seat of my pants, and that was exciting, but the whole time I knew exactly where it was leading. I knew the climax of the book, and I knew how it would end. I can't actually remember how much it changed from that original vision, and I can't bring myself to read it to find out, but really, it doesn't matter. Having the ending in mind was what allowed me to pull through the book to the end. And finishing that draft was the miracle moment--the accomplishment that assured me that I could write an actual book, the accomplishment that <i>still</i> reassures me every time I sit down to write--<i>I can end this!</i> Except. It was messy and unwieldy. Was there a plot? Maybe, if you squint.<br />
<br />
My second book, about a boy who steals his history teacher's car, was like...I planned that book out within an inch of its life. I had a notebook filled with plot diagrams, and I knew every scene and how it would lead to the climax and then what would happen afterward. I wrote the first draft in less than a month, and the pace was like a race car flying along. Writing a book has never felt easier. So I was like, OH OKAY! From now on when I write a book I need to know everything that happens, and it will be so much easier and better! Except. Later I realized that the book was so thin...it felt like I could still see the little plot diagram there beneath the surface. Also I hated the simplicity of its themes and how...direct it was. Back to the drawing board, process-wise.<br />
<br />
I wrote another book. This one, at that time called <i>The Dharma Bum Business</i>, but now known as KISS THE MORNING STAR! Yay, happy little book! I took about nine months to first draft this, and it was a wonderful and frustrating experience. I knew I wanted a strong plot structure, but I also knew I wanted layers and depth and emotional connections and complex themes and gray areas and also there was this little problem with my characters who absolutely wouldn't do anything I intended them to do and did absolutely everything they could to surprise me on the page so that I scrambled to align the ending I envisioned to their journey. I ended up writing three very different endings for the book--vastly different from each other--so different I can't even imagine how I got from one ending to the other without hopelessly unraveling the whole story. And <i>then</i> I changed the point of view. I've cut so many scenes and added so many others from the first draft...I've changed the geographical path of Anna and Kat's road trip by about a thousand miles. It wasn't easy, but it was totally worth it...and it taught me a million lessons about writing that I hope I'll be able to remember for every other book I write.<br />
<br />
I've written two more complete first drafts and two more partial works-in-progress since then, and I have to say, my process has changed--I still spend some time plotting and scribbling notes and noodling about with character voices and researching before beginning a draft, but I have less of a focus on <i>what exactly happens</i> and more of a focus on the emotional journey of my characters, the stakes and the conflicts they face, and what parts of their struggles are universal and will resonate with readers. I've started writing a pitch before I get too far in, to sort of sell the idea to myself, and to focus on the concept--what I'm trying to say. I write some parts fast and some parts agonizingly slow. I write a lot of so-called "unnecessary" words--words and scenes and whole chapters I will hack from the manuscript at a later date--and while it may seem inefficient (and I hope to get better at figuring out where my story really begins, for example), for me, I think writing those words really is important, even if it's not necessary for anyone to ever read them. I'm getting a tiny bit better at figuring out which of the words in my book are those words, too. A <i>tiny </i>bit. <br />
<br />
I can't predict the exact process that will help me arrive at a perfect <strike>sandwich </strike>first draft, but I'm getting better at figuring out the things I need to know before I start and the things I'll figure out as I go...the questions I should ask before I begin and the questions that will keep me moving on to the next scene...the times I should write fast and sloppy, trusting revision to fix it later, and the times I should go back and fine-tune some of what I've already written in order to make it feel worth it to go on...the times when I should follow my characters into unexpected places and the times I need to wrestle them back onto the plot diagram.<br />
<br />
And I hope that, even though I can't write a first draft with my eyes closed yet (or indeed, without needing multiple bandages, but that's just because I'm a klutz), I <i>am</i> improving.<br />
<br />
How about you? Do you first draft with the same process, or is it messy and evolving, too? Do you plot or go by the seat of the pants? Do you need to know the ending or do you let the events unfold? What questions do you need to know the answer to before you begin? Elissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387419236432646206.post-26124598625605687112011-07-10T15:04:00.000-05:002011-07-10T15:04:44.390-05:00two quick lovely things...I just wrote an actual real post about writing, but I'm scheduling it for Tuesday because I want to let it simmer in my head a little while longer and because Tuesday is sort of the day I typically post when I actually typically post, which I know, I know, I'm not stellar about being typical or scheduled or anything of the sort.<br />
<br />
But. Real post about writing--the process of creating a first draft--coming Tuesday. And in the meantime, I wanted to shout from the rooftops how excited I am about two cool things.<br />
<br />
One, this book:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/7656231-a-need-so-beautiful"><i>A Need So Beautiful</i></a>, by <a href="http://suzanne-young.blogspot.com/">Suzanne Young</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Um. never mind the weird face I'm making, okay? I'd take a better photo but that would involve me taking a shower, and then I'd probably never get any writing done during these few brief hours that I have the house to myself. I love Suz, and I loved this book. It had a great pace, a sexy and refreshing love story, a unique concept, and more than anything else, I <i>connected</i> with Charlotte--I put myself in her place and wanted to know what I would do in her situation; I could feel her pain and her temptation and her indecision and her sadness...and I <i>cannot wait</i> for the sequel. Especially after the very last chapter, aaackkk!<br />
<br />
The second really cool thing was that yesterday I had the exciting chance to go down to Hamline in St. Paul and hear my agent, <a href="http://greenhouseliterary.com/">Sarah Davies at Greenhouse Literary</a> give a talk about taking a story from ordinary to extraordinary, a concept that anyone who reads the stories she writes on her blog knows she has a good handle on. And then I got to meet her for the first time (she didn't recognize me right away--I am much taller in writing!), and I left all inspired and impressed and informed...couldn't stop smiling all evening. :) Here we are on the Hamline campus, shortly before D. and I sprang her from campus for a tiny jaunt to a Dunn Brothers Coffee shop and some nice conversation.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6122/5921229094_669116f6ef.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6122/5921229094_669116f6ef.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<br />
<br />
Thanks, Sarah, and I hope next time you make it to Minnesota, you can see a little bit more of our awesome state!Elissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387419236432646206.post-21282698610063509132011-07-01T13:06:00.001-05:002011-07-01T13:06:38.416-05:00a brief word from the bickering boys...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwUstmkG-gTNb8GudXifaUj0j06j4iUnMItiWN23jf7ZRly_7OxSEIJwojSty51VKAduM6cTNzgh6ErC2LpuVtOZ5A7ukq7-YmZs6Mxf6WVh_23qrHIb8xCFNA_2DfUYQwkBVn52YMti6d/s1600/IMG_6430.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwUstmkG-gTNb8GudXifaUj0j06j4iUnMItiWN23jf7ZRly_7OxSEIJwojSty51VKAduM6cTNzgh6ErC2LpuVtOZ5A7ukq7-YmZs6Mxf6WVh_23qrHIb8xCFNA_2DfUYQwkBVn52YMti6d/s320/IMG_6430.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Coming home from daycare, my children got into a knock-down, screaming fight about...the EXACT number of shady spots in our front yard.<br />
<br />
Jabber (screaming): NAME the third one! NAME IT.<br />
Monkey (screaming back): I'LL SHOW YOU WHEN WE GET THERE!<br />
J (inhuman growl of rage): NAAAAAAME IT.<br />
M: I'LL SHOW YOU WHEN WE GET THERE!<br />
J: I DON'T BELIEVE YOU THERE ARE ONLY TWO SHADY SPOTS TWO SHADY SPOTS TWO SHADY SPOTS<br />
M: THREE SHADY SPOTS THREE SHADY SPOTS THREE SHADY SPOTS<br />
elissa: (explodes*) WHO THE HELL CARES IS THIS REALLY WORTH SCREAMING ABOUT I JUST FREAKING PICKED YOU UP FROM A MORNING AT DAYCARE AND I AM SUPPOSED TO BE FEELING FOND AND LOVING FEELINGS ABOUT MY LONG-LOST CHILDREN BUT RIGHT NOW I AM NOT FEELING THOSE FEELINGS AND I DO NOT CARE ONE FREAKING BIT HOW MANY SHADY SPOTS ARE IN THE FRONT YARD SO NO MORE TALKING NOT ONE WORD UNTIL WE GET HOME. GOT IT????<br />
(long quiet pause)<br />
M: Until we get home?<br />
elissa: Be quiet.<br />
M: Until we get home?<br />
M: Until we get home, Mama, and then we can talk?<br />
M: Mom? MOM. Until we get home?<br />
J: MONKEY'S TALKING!<br />
M: BROTHER'S BREATHING!<br />
J: I HAVE TO BREATHE! IT'S HOW I STAY ALIVE! IF YOU DON'T BREATHE THEN YOU DIE!<br />
M: BROTHER'S YELLING!<br />
elissa: BE QUIET.<br />
(quiet pause; we pull up at curb outside of house)<br />
M: (pointing them out) one. two. three. four. four shady spots.<br />
J: (shrugging amiably) Huh. There ARE four shady spots. YESSSS!<br />
<br />
*I know, I know. Mom of the freaking year I am not.Elissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387419236432646206.post-24542635950307806562011-06-28T12:30:00.001-05:002011-06-28T14:36:15.959-05:00out of my computer...and into the world!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ZjxNe975XnIveTdK_wqattYcj1I7-IFh8ZntAHk53VEAHwsTVt_Sba05_YDzXc_OGKxf_44ETFpLwE4YR0zPTtyVqBrAqwmIPKAYI0jRE6voAaYTadKVOiVqFUU9tzFyZweI7lCTIXGH/s1600/IMG_6250.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ZjxNe975XnIveTdK_wqattYcj1I7-IFh8ZntAHk53VEAHwsTVt_Sba05_YDzXc_OGKxf_44ETFpLwE4YR0zPTtyVqBrAqwmIPKAYI0jRE6voAaYTadKVOiVqFUU9tzFyZweI7lCTIXGH/s320/IMG_6250.JPG" width="240" /></a>So last week I got my copyedits. I actually got them in the mail the day before we left on our little trip, and I was a bit worried that they wouldn't arrive before we left, and I'd have this mess of dealing with getting them back from the post office or whatever, but then HURRAY! they came right on time, looking only slightly...battered. :)<br />
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The outsides were intriguing enough! (I love getting mail, real mail, in my mailbox...brown paper packages tied up with string, you know!)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRqygc8oLe7R67-WTAECHYwRDXIYHvR5vRfOsH01B0ZZQgDs6pdnzYLRvCfn3BE7Jr70705OSZLkHNUmWxP7OA1mxKJ5vo_9T3B8BZQlWIwn3WpcOB1niKP94KwnsrGvF0ji1NU2pQtIcD/s1600/copy+edits.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRqygc8oLe7R67-WTAECHYwRDXIYHvR5vRfOsH01B0ZZQgDs6pdnzYLRvCfn3BE7Jr70705OSZLkHNUmWxP7OA1mxKJ5vo_9T3B8BZQlWIwn3WpcOB1niKP94KwnsrGvF0ji1NU2pQtIcD/s320/copy+edits.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>But then! Inside! My manuscript! With pencil marks and a post-it from Michelle Andreani at Marshall Cavendish, who READ MY BOOK! (and, at one point...I'm not going to spoil it for you because that's how nice I am, she MAY have written the word <i>Lovely. </i>LOVELY!) Read my book super carefully, too, like...did you know I have a character named "Norman Whatshisface"? Did <i>I </i>know I had a character named "Norman Whatshisface"? Well, Michelle does. She also knows that, despite the fact that I had it written BOTH as one and two words in various places in my manuscript, <i>earlobe</i> is one word. And bandanna has TWO N's. And <i>so</i> many words either have hyphens that I did not use, or don't need the hyphens I did use...and also she kept careful track of when I capitalize the word "god" and when I do not (it was confusing!)<br />
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You know what else was awesome? Michelle (my new bff) used a colored pencil to mark all the changes and suggestions and questions and typesetting marks. And do you know what color she used? My <i>favorite, </i>of course. (This would be purple.) So my mistakes were even aesthetically pleasing!<br />
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All these little excitements, though, were really nothing in comparison with the thrill of marking changes on the physical paper, thinking--this is it. From here on, my story exists outside of my computer file. (No, I did not go through my computer file and make the changes.) At my editor's suggestion, I read through the entire manuscript out loud, and as I read through each sheet and made neat, upside-down pile next to my desk (I feel like I should have Michelle look this over--does upside-down have a hyphen???), the words were getting closer and closer to being an actual book.<br />
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An actual dream come true. :)Elissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387419236432646206.post-91123938756259507382011-06-24T22:49:00.001-05:002011-06-24T22:51:15.796-05:00The road ahead...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5315/5854890197_9fa2b06ef5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5315/5854890197_9fa2b06ef5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>My family has been a bit obsessed with Laura Ingalls Wilder lately. That's not the point of this post. But seriously, we seem to be experiencing some Laura-immersion lately, as we read aloud from <i>The Long Winter</i>, look at our photos from the museum in Walnut Grove, and now, we've begun watching the first season of the Little House TV show. The boys are transfixed.<br />
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In the episode we just watched, Pa had to walk a hundred miles to find work, along with many other farmers in the area, after a catastrophic hail storm ruined the wheat crop. On his way, he meets up with another farmer--a man we have just seen in an emotional parting shot with his wife and his son. The wife begged him not to go; she says he's going to get himself killed. The parting with the young son is poignant, with the whole, <i>You're the man while I'm gone, so take care of the farm and take care of your mother</i> thing going on. He's a "powder monkey", we later find out, the guy who sets off the dynamite inside the holes that Pa and another farmer are going to drill in the rocks of the quarry.<br />
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I'm sorry to spoil the episode for you, but the thing is, from the moment we see this goofy tough guy with the heart of gold dancing around in mock fisticuffs with his little guy, who declares his father the best powder monkey in the whole country...the moment you see the love in his wife's eyes--her desperation nearly hidden by her playful teasing--you know the dude is going to blow himself up.<br />
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Or anyway, you know once you've seen this strategy used a few times. Just like Keek says in the book I'm currently <strike>devouring</strike> reading, <i>And Then Things Fall Apart</i>, by <a href="http://arlainatibensky.blogspot.com/">Arlaina Tibensky</a> (this quote is from the ARC, so it may differ from the final book), "In movies when there is a dog, I always kind of brace myself for the moment when the dog will eat poison, get shot, get run over, drown, etc. And then when the dog dies (they always do; that is their function in the film, to die), I weep...."<br />
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We start to recognize the signs of impending narrative tragedy: a dog, a cute kid told he has to take care of his mother, a stoic but heartbroken wife, a warning gone unheeded. We prepare ourselves, emotionally. And then, even though we know it's coming, still we weep. We feel sadness, but we aren't completely shocked and horrified by the awful event. It doesn't actually traumatize us because we knew it was coming.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5023/5854779258_220d516007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5023/5854779258_220d516007.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laura's writing desk, Walnut Grove, MN</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Unless you're a little kid, still learning how to recognize these cues, like Monkey, who was paying attention to the television the way he pays attention to everything--by seeming like he is completely ignoring it. Suddenly, he's on my lap, weeping, his little bottom lip all stuck out and his eyes gigantic and terrified, watching the smoke from the deadly explosion rise up into the blue television sky. It's my job, then, to keep him from being traumatized, to hold him and explain about how it's not real life and help him see how brave the little boy is in the end and how Pa promises to check on him and his mother in the future.<br />
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This is a confession, though not a secret: when a book really has me hooked, when I am completely wrapped up in the characters and their lives and their conflicts, when I truly <i>believe</i> in them...when the foreshadowing is subtle but deep, and the suspense builds in the book so that I can't stop turning pages even though I fear to turn another page...<br />
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...usually at about the halfway point, when it becomes too much to bear, and I feel myself on the edge of being traumatized, I'll flip quickly to the end of the book and glance at the pages--not to read, but just to sort of reassure myself that life goes on, in the end. And after that moment, when I get my little reminder that yes, the story will go on, and probably it will be resolved (I don't need a happy ending, but I guess I'm looking to make sure that the rest of the pages aren't empty and blood-stained or something?), then I can keep reading. And weeping.<br />
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And those books stick with me, much more than the ones that I can continue straight through without ever needing to flip ahead to check and make sure my heart won't explode in a few pages. So...how do I write a book like this, that makes a reader so incredibly invested that they think they might be traumatized if something catastrophic happens in the next fifty pages?<br />
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One way, of course, is to write characters that are so three-dimensional and real that I actually can't bear to see their hopes and dreams crushed. I have to care about them deeply in order for any of this to matter. But it shouldn't be easy to see what will happen (for example, the "powder monkey" saying good-bye to his wife and child, recklessly he's stuffing those dynamite sticks into his pockets, that moment when everyone seems truly happy and like it all is going to turn out fine...that's too easy. But that's also a short television show from many years ago and a minor character!).<br />
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I can compare it to something else that makes me anxious--driving. When we were on our trip last week, we climbed up into the Black Hills, to a campground near Deerfield Lake. The roads there were all steep and winding, breath-takingly beautiful and horribly dangerous. Snaking around the curves, headed into the setting sun, both David and I leaned forward, squinting through the bug-splattered windshield, trying to figure out which way the road was going to veer next--and sometimes completely surprised at the direction it takes!<br />
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But what a satisfying thing, to finally pull into that campsite in one piece...to smile at each other and say, wow, that was a beautiful ride, and we made it to the end! And how thankful we are that we get to drive back down with the sun at our backs. :)<br />
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So how do you build suspense in your writing? What suspense methods do you think work really well? What authors do it best? What books make you want to flip ahead and make sure the world doesn't end?Elissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387419236432646206.post-8245207487232370182011-06-21T13:18:00.000-05:002011-06-21T13:18:20.363-05:00Road Trippin'<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7xmvMcVok2mi9TJqXk-vWI_vV9OvLJWYs4etQoaqWZ7dFF-DcoLlBI86qCYkNObuDxW57oMD94VFvBjLQRm8NvDHYHGrRY4ufmW-n_PwVzn8APJxNinFPRThXI5j5wEX82JmYDof9tOee/s1600/IMG_6342.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7xmvMcVok2mi9TJqXk-vWI_vV9OvLJWYs4etQoaqWZ7dFF-DcoLlBI86qCYkNObuDxW57oMD94VFvBjLQRm8NvDHYHGrRY4ufmW-n_PwVzn8APJxNinFPRThXI5j5wEX82JmYDof9tOee/s320/IMG_6342.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our campsite at Sage Creek Campground in June, 2000</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Very early in our relationship, David and I took a road trip to Kansas to visit my dad. Later road trips have included a summer-long ramble out West with no firm destination, spending all our time either in the car or the tent, a mad dash from Oregon to Minnesota and back, without stopping for anything but gas and fast food, a road trip with friends up to Vancouver, British Columbia, and various shorter trips all over the place.<br />
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We made a lot of discoveries along the way. We discovered, for instance, that I make a good navigator: ("Okay, so according to these three maps I'm consulting at once, you are going to want to make your way over to the left lane for a left exit in one mile. There will be two exits off to the left before the one you are looking for. Once you take the exit, you will take another left, followed by an immediate right. Not this exit, but it's coming up next. And turn! Now, remember left, followed by immediate right. YES! And we're set for the next hundred miles, unless you'd like to stop for something to eat, which can be done in twelve miles, forty-six miles, or possibly seventy-two miles, although information on that tiny town is a bit sketchy"), and that he is <i>not </i>a good navigator ("Yeah! TURN RIGHT THERE! No, I mean, LEFT, but...yeah...back there. Um. Let me figure out how we turn around.")<br />
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He is a <i>calm </i>pilot ("No problem, honey, I don't mind being boxed in by giant trucks on a winding mountain road while the rain lashes against the windshield and the lightning makes the world seem like a strobe light disco party. It's okay that I haven't slept in twenty-two hours and I've had to pee since we were in South Dakota and the whole world looks fuzzy. You go ahead and take a nap"), and I am <i>not</i> a calm pilot ("HOW THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO GET OVER TO THAT EXIT WITH NO WARNING OMG THERE ARE CARS EVERYWHERE WHY IS EVERYONE GOING SO FAST THEY'RE CROWDING ME WE'RE GOING TO DIE AAAHHHHHH! *sob sob sob*").<br />
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But most of our experiences with road trips ended when we had kids. Not because we didn't feel confident in our abilities to take kids on a road trip, and not because we were trying to deprive them of the experience of travel but rather because kids are expensive and travel is a luxury, and also because, as a grown-up, vacation time frequently gets used up with things like painting the house or catching up on all the laundry. <br />
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But we finally did it--we put the kids to the test to discover if they were good road trippers, too. And they are! D. drove the whole way, and while I had additional tools at my fingertips as navigator (GPS...so shiny! and wi-fi capable kindle...so connected!), we still adopted our usual, figure-it-out-as-we-go attitude. There were a few things we really wanted to see. One was the Laura Ingalls Wilder museum in Walnut Grove, MN. We've been reading the Little House series out loud for the last year, and both boys are pretty fascinated by the prairie life. The museum was excellent, and the hands-on exhibits kept the boys enthralled.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3027/5855555730_a3623f37b7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3027/5855555730_a3623f37b7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sage Creek June 2011--a Kiss the Morning Star scene come true!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We also wanted to make a stop at the Sage Creek Campground in the Badlands--or maybe I need to say that I wanted this. This was a place where D. and I camped a million years ago, and I think we had one photo of it from that trip. But it became more important to me when I was writing <i>Kiss the Morning Star</i> and wrote an important scene that takes place at that campground. I wanted to see it again, but this time thinking of it as the site of Anna and Kat's adventures. It wasn't so much that it needed to be perfectly accurate (there are definitely some details that are...maybe we'll call it romanticized!), but I wanted to just...envision them there. It was really cool, though, to find the perfect precipitous cliff for a key moment where Anna and Kat almost step off the edge of the prairie and fall into a chasm in the dark. I didn't know if there would be such a place, but then we found this awesome spot. I had to run over and take pictures, so of course D. took pictures of me taking pictures because we are picture-taking crazy.<br />
<a href="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5115/5855040941_ef6f3831e1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5115/5855040941_ef6f3831e1.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
Speaking of picture-taking crazy, if you want a closer look at our road tripping experience, I spent like all day yesterday uploading and writing notes on photos, so <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/32155717@N05/sets/72157626883582473/detail/">here's our flickr set from the trip</a>. <br />
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And now...must get busy on these copyedits! <br />
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(And, happy summer! I will try to get back into blogging and reading mode!)Elissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387419236432646206.post-30356451672663431602011-05-24T21:37:00.000-05:002011-05-24T21:37:08.804-05:00spring is like a perhaps deluge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcHaiP6e78UrnaXfUdD9PNFIAPwa3uTrus0dNuHp5rQKPpTzPVQg1xjH5rZ0-xQpbywTz7m-svOvlpIBRXaTVf1DqRz6jGphs9O9jstNhHHPZKPmDGq-R5ayfJUC4ZOGY35tHO62iyS_z5/s1600/notforgotten.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcHaiP6e78UrnaXfUdD9PNFIAPwa3uTrus0dNuHp5rQKPpTzPVQg1xjH5rZ0-xQpbywTz7m-svOvlpIBRXaTVf1DqRz6jGphs9O9jstNhHHPZKPmDGq-R5ayfJUC4ZOGY35tHO62iyS_z5/s400/notforgotten.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Elissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387419236432646206.post-74395566702389993792011-04-20T19:47:00.000-05:002011-04-20T19:47:12.447-05:00yum! my first paycheck...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5185/5638688473_767d716a75.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5185/5638688473_767d716a75.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>At the midpoint of my spring break, which I've also designated a writing-free break, I took the family out to our favorite brew pub for dinner to celebrate depositing my very first advance check into our (previously nonexistant) savings account. Monkey was simply thrilled to have his "vewy own KNIFE!"<br />
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<a href="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5306/5639262068_bf2a1f7620.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5306/5639262068_bf2a1f7620.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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Strangely, my wild rice burger had a sad face made up of chipotle sauce. Maybe because I ordered it without the pile of fried onions? The sadface was a bit counter to our purpose there, but we said a toast and clanked glasses of "Daddy Pop" (and draft orange cream soda--yum!) and celebrated being a "real" writer.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5224/5639266116_145862d541.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5224/5639266116_145862d541.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I said, "Thank you, family, for being flexible with me so that I had a chance to write this book," and Jabber looked up from his new copy of the second <i>Diary of a Wimpy Kid</i> to say, "Whaaaat? You <i>wrote</i> a <i>book???"</i> I guess he thought I was just playing tetris all this time at the computer?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5103/5638692511_7923aeb6ac.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5103/5638692511_7923aeb6ac.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Monkey gleefully requested the slice of lemon that balanced on the rim of Jabber's glass, and then he took huge bites of the sour fruit like he has since he was just a tiny baby, pausing in between each bite to shudder comically, his little mouth twisting up into a pucker.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5142/5638698535_65919955a6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5142/5638698535_65919955a6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>We made a stop at our favorite bookstore (<a href="http://www.fitgersbookstore.com/">The Bookstore at Fitger's</a>) for some new picture books (and to feed Jabber's Wimpy Kid addiction), and we read the wonderfully onomatopoetic and alliterative <a href="http://www.marycasanova.com/pages/books/bk_utterly.html"><i>Utterly Otterly Day, </i>by Mary Casanova</a>, while we waited for our food to arrive. <br />
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(Yes. I am making a very strange face there. Not to spoil the book, but there is a rather frightening scene involving a cougar!)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5107/5639272540_10600ef4db.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5107/5639272540_10600ef4db.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Now I'm going to go back to reading (<a href="http://cindypon.com/fury-of-the-phoenix/"><i>Fury of the Phoenix </i>by Cindy Pon</a> and <a href="http://www.untilhannah.com/books/invincibleSummer.php"><i>Invincible Summer</i>, by Hannah Moskowitz)</a>, playing guitar (mainly two Brandi Carlile songs about seven times slower than she plays them), and watching old movies I've somehow never seen (last night was <i>Poltergeist</i>--great fun!)<br />
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I'll start on the schoolwork on Sunday night, as usual, and next week will be back to business in the home stretch to summer. Elissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387419236432646206.post-69020030532015743832011-04-15T19:38:00.000-05:002011-04-15T19:38:32.060-05:00how to think...<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2j__u0KEJOpQdfbybUsKSEDb_MbLph9yPVxCh7nsAVFKGL0CShp_jfkw72-T-pL5EX8L24zssI6SivlFFpeX-poEOP6CHFQ87_Y8bq5csqOl1bIJaQ2E6ArRiZh9eV2h7OxZU3fKkLnqk/s1600/IMG_6072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2j__u0KEJOpQdfbybUsKSEDb_MbLph9yPVxCh7nsAVFKGL0CShp_jfkw72-T-pL5EX8L24zssI6SivlFFpeX-poEOP6CHFQ87_Y8bq5csqOl1bIJaQ2E6ArRiZh9eV2h7OxZU3fKkLnqk/s400/IMG_6072.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>How to Think/We Need Time To/Be Real creators/Turn unconventional Ideas Into News./Unite Spectacular Cosmic Leaps/dance, fool, enchant/Imagine Disaster and/Survive The World/then Stay That Way</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Sometimes I have these days...like today, the last day before spring break...when I decide to make paper airplanes out of my lesson plans and take a little side trip. April is National Poetry Month, so all of my classes have been working with poetry in one way or another. My eighth graders have been reading one poem a day, and we've had some wonderful discussions about them--about what they mean and how they're formed and how to read them. My sixth graders have been playing with language, experimenting with poetic devices, making games out of rhyme and rhythm, and writing simile and metaphor riddles. We've spent some time looking at the found poetry at <a href="http://newspaperblackout.com/">Newspaper Blackout</a>, and today I decided we'd make some cut-out poems using old newspapers and magazines.<br />
<br />
I thought maybe we'd spend twenty minutes on it. We spent the whole 80 minute block doing it, and although every student approached the assignment with a different style and level of enthusiasm, almost all of them managed to put together some interesting combinations of words and phrases. Some of them are amazing!<br />
<br />
I spent my own prep time today creating a found poem out of an old <i>TIME</i> magazine, and this week (while we're on break), I'm going to post some of my students' poems on our <a href="http://inthemiddlereading.blogspot.com/">In the Middle (of a Good Book)</a> blog, which has been languishing since the start of the new quarter, as I'm now lacking a blogging elective class and haven't quite figured out how to organize my bloggers into an extracurricular force of awesomeness.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, here's a taste, with two of my favorites, from Abbey and Caleb. Enjoy!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5109/5622012181_9d6101e5d1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5109/5622012181_9d6101e5d1.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container"><tbody>
<tr></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>When you finally/ get me I turn into a/ massive disaster/</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i> that makes you want to/ Try harder./ Thank you </i><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5142/5622013933_15553f5f17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5142/5622013933_15553f5f17.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Live it that way/tough guys enjoy people who kill the/love storys that look/bigger and better/to fix/what's wrong/with/me</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Elissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387419236432646206.post-17623768746478784972011-04-03T21:44:00.000-05:002011-04-03T21:44:08.355-05:00when everyone applauds...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.engageselling.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2009/01/bender-applause.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.engageselling.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2009/01/bender-applause.jpg" /></a></div>This evening, after we had tucked in both kids and turned out the lights, Jabber popped up from his little blanket cave and said, "When everyone applauds for you, do you clap, too? Because whenever people clap for me, this is something that puzzles me."<br />
<br />
It's kind of a typical Jabber-question, pretty obviously something he's been turning about in his serious little brain for several weeks or possibly for the duration of his last three lifetimes. "Well," said D, "I guess that depends on the situation. When was the last time people were applauding you?"<br />
<br />
And Jabber told us about the integrity assembly, and how "I didn't know what to do with my hands when everyone else was clapping." I had to go over there and squeeze him tight because really. What <i>do</i> you do with your hands when everyone applauds?<br />
<br />
I am trying very hard to be more graceful at receiving compliments and congratulations (and improving, I think!), but it has always been a struggle. I <i>know</i> that the correct answer is always a smile and a "Thank you!", but that's always hard for me to pull off in real life, though it's getting better. I remember at my confirmation in ninth grade, I stood on the staircase of my church in a receiving line, and the congregation filed past us, shaking our hands and congratulating us. I realized afterward, in a state of dire embarrassment of course, that as I was shaking all those people's hands, I had also been nodding, smiling, and repeating, "Congratulations!" to them like a complete idiot. <br />
<br />
So there's my first possible response in the face of a compliment: complete and total idiocy. I'll usually get the smiling part down (probably with a blush to accompany it), and then something that makes absolutely no sense at all will come out of my mouth. These moments are probably not that big of a deal--the other person probably forgets about it after a brief moment of thinking, "Oh, I embarrassed the poor dimwit. Perhaps I'll saunter over here to the cake table." But in my head, they replay over and over again. Me, stammering nonsense.<br />
<br />
Another common response is an attempt to deflect the compliment or make it sound like I don't really deserve it. Oh, you like my hair? "Gah! It's so unruly today, and it's a little too long." My shoes? "Oh, yeah, they were on clearance at Target. Super cheap. And look more closely--this buckle part is pretty ugly, no?" It's worse if it's something I did or created that I'm being complimented on. I did a wonderful job acting in that performance? "Oh, I totally flubbed my lines in Act II, and did you see the way I tripped when I was supposed to be chasing Lysander?" Well, no, Elissa. They didn't notice. Not until you pointed it out.<br />
<br />
So what's the problem, responding to praise? Do I really feel like I don't deserve it? I...don't think that's it. A lot of the time, I'm actually proud of the accomplishment, or I actually do like the shoes or the hair (after all, I bought them and...got the haircut, haha.) And really, when someone puts forth the effort of pointing out something they like or appreciate, they really don't deserve to have it thrown back in their face like that. Is it because I don't want to seem like I'm proud? Like I have a big head? Does it come back to that thing all the girls used to start their sentences with back when I was in middle school: "Not to brag, but..." Or is it just that it feels awkward to have the attention--like Jabber standing at the front of the gym, seeing all the rest of the kids applauding and wondering what he should be doing with his hands? <br />
<br />
So I started thinking about this in terms of my writing. I haven't been published before, except for one poem in a very small journal that nobody ever read. The truth is, not that many people have seen my writing. So I really haven't had to deal with the response people might have to my writing. Writers whose books are out there in the world talk a lot about how to respond to negative reviews or comments (i.e. <i>not at all!</i>), but now I'm imagining myself at some public event related to my book (eep, hives!), and instead of managing a winning smile and a confident, "Thanks!" I'll be grinning, drooling, and muttering, "Congratulations! Yes, I love this weather!" OR I'll point out all of my misplaced modifiers and continuity errors if they dare to say nice things about my writing. (I hope there won't be misplaced modifiers or continuity errors, but if there are, I don't need to call attention to them!)<br />
<br />
Maybe instead, I could burst into applause?Elissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387419236432646206.post-32876584638611380012011-03-26T19:03:00.002-05:002011-03-26T19:28:29.389-05:00readaloud ruminations<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://images-mediawiki-sites.thefullwiki.org/01/2/8/5/7098409549510416.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://images-mediawiki-sites.thefullwiki.org/01/2/8/5/7098409549510416.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>I love to read aloud. In fact, most of the people who have spent any time with me have probably heard me read to them--"Listen to this," I'll say, and read a bit from whatever I'm in the middle of. I read to my students; I read to my children every night: Sharon Creech's <i>Ruby Holler</i>, Beverly Cleary's <i>Ramona</i> series, Judy Blume's <i>Tales of a Fourth-Grade Nothing</i>, and all of the Laura Ingalls Wilder books.<br />
<br />
On many occasions I've read aloud to D. as well, like when we read all of Douglas Adams' <i>Hitchhiker's Guide</i> series or when we finished Neil Gaiman's <i>Stardust</i> on the edge of Lake Isabel in Glacier National Park, pausing in between paragraphs to bang our sticks together to keep the bears on the other side of the lake from wandering over to sample our peanut butter tortillas.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcS1wXKUxFhM-WJ_r7LajafvkkvYEQX5hOWTag1bl6SHFaISOn1u" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcS1wXKUxFhM-WJ_r7LajafvkkvYEQX5hOWTag1bl6SHFaISOn1u" width="140" /></a>I read on road trips--the hour between home and the grandparents' place is frequently filled with the sounds of Cornelia Funke's <i>The Thief Lord</i> and <i>Inkspell</i> or Robert C. O'Brien's <i>Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH</i>. I even read aloud when I'm all by myself--either from my own works in progress or from published authors, especially poetry. All poetry gets read aloud.<br />
<br />
I read to my students--delivering Old Major's dream speech from Orwell's <i>Animal Farm</i> and Jacques' "All the world's a stage" speech from Shakespeare's <i>As You Like It. </i>Some of my favorite moments in homeroom are the times I have read to them: for my sixth graders the light and whimsical prose of Katherine Hannigan's <i>Ida B.</i> and the endearingly earnest voice of Addie from Leslie Connor's <i>Waiting for Normal, </i>and my eighth graders enjoyed the heavier themes of Laurie Halse Anderson's <i>Speak.</i><br />
<br />
<a href="http://wiki-images.enotes.com/thumb/a/ae/SharonCreech_RubyHoller.jpg/200px-SharonCreech_RubyHoller.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://wiki-images.enotes.com/thumb/a/ae/SharonCreech_RubyHoller.jpg/200px-SharonCreech_RubyHoller.jpg" width="132" /></a>Maybe I just like the sound of my own voice--it's certainly possible. But what I love about reading the words of a wonderful author aloud is the music of it, the way the words fall into a beautiful rhythm. I love to capture that music, or at least to try, to embrace the beauty of dialogue, of a well-placed pause. And, okay. I like to have an audience. It's the drama geek in me.<br />
<br />
In college, I studied Spanish, and I read almost all of the assigned readings aloud, practicing my accent, enjoying the <i>musicalidad</i> of the words, the way the phrases would almost dance with each other on my tongue. I think reading aloud not only improved my Spanish-speaking skills, but also my "ear" for the language, and the same can be said for reading aloud in English.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSlDsn16Fd2DFrnQRNdKTud4H4Q7YJgWz7BO-R8G8jC2kZ-cSnvqA" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSlDsn16Fd2DFrnQRNdKTud4H4Q7YJgWz7BO-R8G8jC2kZ-cSnvqA" width="156" /></a></div>Reading the words of great writers influences my own writing, and hearing them spoken--paying attention to the sound of the words as well as their meanings--inspires me to work toward that same sense of rhythm and...even pitch, it seems, that my favorite authors achieve.<br />
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<a href="http://images.barnesandnoble.com/images/95560000/95566148.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://images.barnesandnoble.com/images/95560000/95566148.jpg" /></a><br />
Another thing I love about reading aloud, especially with my kids, is that sense of being able to share what I'm reading with someone else, to hear and see <i>and share </i>their reactions. When Jabber and I read Kate DiCamillo's <i>Because of Winn-Dixie</i>, we read the last four chapters with our arms wrapped tightly around each other, squeezing tight so we could feel the story together. I love encountering new words, learning about different times, and places, and the great discussions we get into (even when they're silly, like my sons' fits of giggles that resulted from reading about how Margi Preus' protagonist has to try to drink his own urine to survive on Bird Island, in her Newbery Honor book, <i>Heart of the Samurai, </i>which we're in the middle of reading right now.)<br />
<br />
What about you? Do you have favorite readaloud books, or memories of reading aloud from childhood (yours, or a child you have read to)? Do you read your own writing aloud to hear the rhythm of the prose, and if so, do you think it helps?Elissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387419236432646206.post-40629324947783314252011-03-12T11:52:00.000-06:002011-03-12T11:52:05.382-06:00Second Annual Ask a Classic Author Event!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/pictures/edith_wharton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/pictures/edith_wharton.jpg" width="231" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Edith Wharton</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Last year, my fellow teacher and Jane Austen fan <a href="http://maryslist.blogspot.com/">Mary </a>and I organized an event at our school where all of our 7th and 8th graders read a classic book during the third quarter, research the life of the author, and then dress up like their author. On the day of the event, they assemble some visual representations of their author's life and workspace, and they sit at their "writing desk" and answer questions from other students, staff, and community members about their life and works. I wish I could post photos of the wonderful costumes that my students came up with last year--there were some students who were absolutely amazing!<br />
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I love the fun spin on the classics, and I love that, with the help of abridged classic books and reader's theater adaptations, <i>all </i>of our students can participate at their reading level, and answering the questions orally helps a lot of students who struggle with taking the information from their research and putting it into their own words for a writing project. <br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i109.photobucket.com/albums/n49/eli_janine/204643.jpg?t=1299949555" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://i109.photobucket.com/albums/n49/eli_janine/204643.jpg?t=1299949555" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is my, "I write serious, inscrutable literature" face.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I had such fun at the event last year, and I'm so excited we're doing it again this year, even though I was a little stressed about putting together my own costume. Last year I went as James Joyce (and I read <i>Dubliners, </i>though I admit I've never been able to manage more than about fifteen pages of his novels before I have to go back and start over...) In any case, dressing as Joyce wasn't perfect, but I at least managed to don a dress shirt, a tie, and a hat. I also attempted to imitate his thick black spectacles, but the best part was actually the wispy eyeliner mustache that I do not have a photograph of and which startled me a little to see how masculine it made me look.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.npg.si.edu/img2/wharton/tranmay.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.npg.si.edu/img2/wharton/tranmay.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Edith at age 19 </td></tr>
</tbody></table>This year I read <i>Age of Innocence </i>by Edith Wharton, and I've greatly enjoyed learning about her life and writing, but the entire time I was reading, in the back of my mind, I was thinking, <i>but how am I going to dress up like her???</i> I mean, look at her clothes. The painting at left is explained <a href="http://www.npg.si.edu/exh/wharton/whar3.htm">here</a>, at this fascinating site that explores paintings of the people and places of Wharton's life. <br />
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<blockquote style="background-color: #f9cb9c;"> "In 1881, when Edith was nineteen, she was painted in London by Edward Harrison May. He captured her keen intelligence, and at the same time her fashionable dress, with its narrow waist, puffed sleeves, and bustle--showing her at once the debutante and also the keen observer who would later become the brilliant writer."</blockquote><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i109.photobucket.com/albums/n49/eli_janine/whartoncostume3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://i109.photobucket.com/albums/n49/eli_janine/whartoncostume3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>So. Kind of a daunting task, to dress like her. I scoured our drama closet for some kind of dress options. My main hope was for something with maybe some lace at the throat and possibly a poofy skirt that I could pretend was bustle. I layered several dresses on top of each other (all of which were, strangely enough, sized to fit a middle school girl, haha!) and sort of sewed in some pieces of fabric to make up for the fact that none of the clothes actually fit me (I am wearing two full dresses plus another skirt/petticoat thing underneath it all), and <i>voila! </i>I have a costume!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i109.photobucket.com/albums/n49/eli_janine/whartoncostume6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://i109.photobucket.com/albums/n49/eli_janine/whartoncostume6.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>I look, maybe not like Edith Wharton, but maybe like a slightly unfashionable guest at a social event that Wharton may have also attended? A guest who is a sloppy seamstress and has lost her corset? Maybe. <br />
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Now. I just need to find a good hat.Elissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387419236432646206.post-82456103521103310572011-03-08T22:40:00.000-06:002011-03-08T22:40:25.091-06:00dreaming in dialogue...writing woes in the wee hours<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmSoveC_e-uZJ1UbCgkkQe_SXyJq6k86oXH5wVhDDtgTJy9UhG43eCR8BabLDa2XYeavhyphenhyphen2KwZ5PzbPEh0Yc5ym6idUlrG5ra6rqxSZWIodYQu_8KI9fie0ddz9Yy443vGR5lJUKQ9eHP7/s1600/_C3N0020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmSoveC_e-uZJ1UbCgkkQe_SXyJq6k86oXH5wVhDDtgTJy9UhG43eCR8BabLDa2XYeavhyphenhyphen2KwZ5PzbPEh0Yc5ym6idUlrG5ra6rqxSZWIodYQu_8KI9fie0ddz9Yy443vGR5lJUKQ9eHP7/s320/_C3N0020.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy for percolating...coffee and ideas!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>For about an hour this morning, as I was trying to wrangle a little more sleep before the alarm went off and catapulted me into my somewhat waking life, my brain decided that I needed some writing lessons--specifically, writing dialogue.<br />
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I had a creative writing teacher once who said that all (interesting) dialogue is an argument--the interaction serves as a way for each of the characters to make his/her point. Somehow, the characters need to be coming at the conversation from slightly different angles, and then they duke it out until they agree. Or until the killer jumps out from the bushes. Or the world ends. Or they start kissing, I don't know.<br />
<br />
In any case, in my dream, I had to write the scene I had been working on before I fell asleep last night, a scene that has been giving me a wee bit of trouble for some time (or...just possibly, one scene in a long string of scenes that have been tormenting me and filling me with paralyzing and agonizing waves of self-doubt about my worth as a writer and indeed as a human being...but anyway, that's not relevant), and instead of allowing me to wallow about in a restful sleep, my brain kept putting me through these dialogue exercises.<br />
<br />
<i>Okay, </i>said my brain, or some cruel dream-time taskmaster, <i>write the scene except Darin doesn't believe anything that Cass says.</i><br />
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And in my sleep, I did it. I held it up, shiny and perfect. "NOW can I sleep, please?"<br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>Now write the scene except Darin doesn't believe anything Cass says, BUT he doesn't want her to </i>know<i> that he doesn't believe her.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
I mean, sure, I can do that. Dream-writing elissa writes in her dream. Sleep now?<br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Now write the scene except Darin doesn't believe her, he doesn't want her to know, but she suspects that he doesn't believe her and not only does this make her angry but it reminds her of the way her brother spoke to her earlier that day and she realizes, with suprise, that </i>he<i> didn't believe her either.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Yikes. Okay...dreambrain working working working...the alarm ticking on toward an abrupt and painfully noisy conclusion...YES! There! Perfect! Dream-writing elissa feels a bit smug. A bit...genius.<br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Now make her start to doubt herself, but hide that from him.</i><br />
<br />
Simple!<br />
<i> </i><i><br />
</i><br />
<i> Now make her hide that from herself.</i><br />
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Arghhhhh! The alarm sounds. Groggy elissa swims up out of the murky waters of dialogue exercises, disappointed that she didn't actually write all those perfect conversations in real life...maybe it's enough that she did it in her dreams.<i><br />
</i><br />
<i> </i>Elissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387419236432646206.post-15093389985996924272011-03-05T12:45:00.000-06:002011-03-05T12:45:12.137-06:00jabberish interlude...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRZsDXjC1W4QeHbQ67MX4ySnG60gFjKoohGoL7mC_6j8kEifDNZOpMMt7pA-KFQ-hS2-bk30lplXxoO-uuvVcqR5kWQiLQrtEJ4PlKMzpHeC8Khrl7qscHPqYlTSWq7zILPp07qAmaFA4/s1600/25671745_grapefruit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRZsDXjC1W4QeHbQ67MX4ySnG60gFjKoohGoL7mC_6j8kEifDNZOpMMt7pA-KFQ-hS2-bk30lplXxoO-uuvVcqR5kWQiLQrtEJ4PlKMzpHeC8Khrl7qscHPqYlTSWq7zILPp07qAmaFA4/s320/25671745_grapefruit.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Jabber: Yeah, I don't really like grapefruit. But I like grapefruit <i>juice</i>.<br />
<br />
Me: Grapefruit <i>is</i> basically grapefruit juice. If you like the flavor of the juice, you like grapefruit.<br />
<br />
Jabber: I like the flavor of the juice, but...it's just not the kind of flavor I like to use my teeth with.Elissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387419236432646206.post-16770713071668300692011-02-26T19:33:00.000-06:002011-02-26T19:33:46.757-06:00road trip (and road kill) reflections...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjudlkBMQdY0t3d4l2LfZRrxrFGM5Pl4U_uq0W7P5-bCzCMw9RxmmpoTlaEEBVcLDRUZkPsAebIVRxwLKlF9Kaf_zRZTk9lOKNZ5GWuQFxYIMfDG2UcKuQixaYpyowBsFdWsqQz9mPspIy6/s1600/IMG_5892.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjudlkBMQdY0t3d4l2LfZRrxrFGM5Pl4U_uq0W7P5-bCzCMw9RxmmpoTlaEEBVcLDRUZkPsAebIVRxwLKlF9Kaf_zRZTk9lOKNZ5GWuQFxYIMfDG2UcKuQixaYpyowBsFdWsqQz9mPspIy6/s320/IMG_5892.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I finished another round of revisions (maybe close the last one?) on <i>Kiss the Morning Star</i> this week, so I'd like to celebrate by sharing a little bit about the road trip that partially inspired the book, a trip D. and I took about ten years ago and which follows much of the same course as Anna and Kat follow on their "rucksack revolution". We, too, carried some Kerouac in our backpacks, and like Anna, I carried a notebook in which I tried to capture both our actual experiences on the road and also my thoughts about life and love and truth and beauty and all that stuff that seems sometimes easier to think about while I'm speeding along a back road without an itinerary.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjknh66Qm7vKLGcimie7Ywzebdkrp9yzULhdg-8J93QvQMgxURX5ndfPRLMxMG1lHSf2Cqf41qp73S2ZbhLR1wK1AzqrkpaJ8b4evTZTd6vlNy1-wE5xHcCYMY7HHZnlW4TQn-G9xejt0tp/s1600/IMG_5890.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjknh66Qm7vKLGcimie7Ywzebdkrp9yzULhdg-8J93QvQMgxURX5ndfPRLMxMG1lHSf2Cqf41qp73S2ZbhLR1wK1AzqrkpaJ8b4evTZTd6vlNy1-wE5xHcCYMY7HHZnlW4TQn-G9xejt0tp/s320/IMG_5890.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Some of the little details from my old notebook triggered scenes in KtMS, but most of the time, if I tried to put something that actually happened to D. and me on our trip into the book, it ended up not being believable as fiction. One thing that we have in common with Anna and Kat, though, is the Roadkill Count--a gory list on the back cover of the notebook that documents the dead. We tried to categorize the animals ("Coon", "Former Flyers", "Brown Furries", "Possibly a Beaver", and sadly, "Collared Critters"). You might be able to see this in the photo (that's my marked-up edit letter and manuscript underneath my notebook, by the way!), but we also wrote a few annotations ("Hit a few times!" "Big one!"), and on this trip we actually added a less morbid "Live Encounters Driving" section which tallies up to almost as many live creatures as dead ones (except one of them says, "Oops, hit this one!").<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5rF_e7cfL5iMtCczhzNs6JCnyugtAiWu1_W8p3kacpznlN94y7AqVqBQgbKiEQrFsvgt8xEKZ4qj2s-8bJIa8aWYcb735YAN8OzPtDmGoa2AlY4eUYTwJXIebZW3EhLr6xtoZ_k34iehT/s1600/IMG_5891.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5rF_e7cfL5iMtCczhzNs6JCnyugtAiWu1_W8p3kacpznlN94y7AqVqBQgbKiEQrFsvgt8xEKZ4qj2s-8bJIa8aWYcb735YAN8OzPtDmGoa2AlY4eUYTwJXIebZW3EhLr6xtoZ_k34iehT/s320/IMG_5891.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Several pages of our notebook keep track of the little details of our journey, such as where we spent each of the 77 nights we were on the road, and how much we paid for our accommodations. We also kept track of every tank of gas we purchased, the price per gallon, and the mileage we got in my heavily loaded 1987 Mercury Grand Marquis, Berta. The mileage wasn't great, but it is pretty amusing to remember how scandalized we were by the price of gas in certain cities--"It's OVER $1.75 a gallon, what the hell???" <br />
<br />
We also dedicated a couple of pages to silly signs or amusing quotes that we either said or overheard while on the road. (One of my favorites, written in iridescent pink pen, goes like this: Elissa: Oh, it's okay. I'm just checking to see if I have a live hornet in my pants. David: Um. Maybe you should pull over while you do that?)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhkBT8XG07WHysLusaOTLnSrV293zIsLlRoXdx16t_-vWA5HoKE9PwdoYm0vRcSeqNuFscvE7ZiDkRkNAk_WMQZsbVg5ca59iPvjjns2PZZEvVufKK7AWwBOogh2GNp4SUAtmTIn_IQF1P/s1600/IMG_5893.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhkBT8XG07WHysLusaOTLnSrV293zIsLlRoXdx16t_-vWA5HoKE9PwdoYm0vRcSeqNuFscvE7ZiDkRkNAk_WMQZsbVg5ca59iPvjjns2PZZEvVufKK7AWwBOogh2GNp4SUAtmTIn_IQF1P/s320/IMG_5893.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Interestingly (to me, haha!), as I flipped through my road trip notebook, I also found--in a completely unrelated part of the notebook that was from before we left--the little character sketch that inspired me to write <i>Kiss the Morning Star</i> in the first place. The main character of this story was a girl named Harriet, daughter of a minister with a "golden voice." The story began, "When she was fifteen, Harriet read three books on Buddhism for a research paper in English class. She learned that life was suffering. Harriet stood in the shadows between the stacks at the public library, a heavy book in her hands, and thought of her mother, who hated her."<br />
<br />
I like being able to trace the origin of this story, and how it has changed and what it has kept--a little bit of Kerouac, a little about her minister father's voice, a little about the tragedy that shapes Anna's journey. And I like being able to also trace the path of my own journey, so long ago, and to see how it has shaped my writing. Most of all, I like to think about the experiences of the present, and where they might lead, about ten years from now. :)Elissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387419236432646206.post-4083873965182025912011-02-20T12:48:00.000-06:002011-02-20T12:48:24.031-06:00To the girl with all the secrets...<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKGMCAsR-qLpqmKIaSV5NucKC_02fy5ya3hDFqj62IpdiUJBrjHG7EFP9x4aFE8HSDaGYmkfN7W0i1p5eZ8f51ygNVKR3-NQDtV4pyhqPo8cTdau7Ql0vzrdTt2DNOXRNSapryJS-ZQvZf/s1600/IMG_5858.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKGMCAsR-qLpqmKIaSV5NucKC_02fy5ya3hDFqj62IpdiUJBrjHG7EFP9x4aFE8HSDaGYmkfN7W0i1p5eZ8f51ygNVKR3-NQDtV4pyhqPo8cTdau7Ql0vzrdTt2DNOXRNSapryJS-ZQvZf/s320/IMG_5858.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my secret writing hiding spot has grown...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I've been forcing my eighth graders to write about writing--specifically, they're writing their writing histories. I'm asking them to start with their first memories of learning to write, and then tell me the story of everything they remember about writing for school or for themselves from then until now, and then to reflect on their views of themselves as writers and what they hope for their writing in the future. The inspiration for this writing project comes from the book <i>From the Other Side of the Desk, </i>written by my education professor, Linda Miller Cleary, in which she interviews forty eleventh graders about their writing histories in an attempt to make sense of what goes right and wrong for students when learning to write.<br />
<br />
My own reasons for doing the project are a little different--while I am very interested in the events and processes that have shaped the writing skills of my students, I'm also very interested in encouraging them to be self-reflective: to think deeply about their own past experiences with writing and to make a path into their futures. I have found that, for many of them, their prevailing thought about writing has been simply, "Writing is hard, and I suck at it." <br />
<br />
So...each day in class, we've been spending some time writing in journals about our writing histories, and I include myself in that because for much of the time that my classes are writing, so am I. Sure, I walk around and give encouragement and help, but I'm also scribbling in my notepad, and at the end when we share ideas, I sometimes tell them things that surfaced in my own writing that day. <br />
<br />
Surfaced. It's funny how it happened--to all of us, I think. We started out thinking, "Oh, I don't remember anything about learning to write, or about writing in elementary school, or about best and worst writing moments as a child..." and then we started writing a word or two or ten or two hundred...and memories started bouncing up from the bottom. Memories of writing.<br />
<br />
One of the memories that came up for me--something I shared with both of my classes--was about hiding my writing. For the first time in years and years, I remembered how my bedroom in the old mobile home my family lived in from the time I was in third grade until I started seventh grade had a secret hiding place under the carpeting near the heating vent. A little sliver of space where I could slide several sheets of paper, folded up into intricate shapes, where nobody would see the words I had written. Nobody would judge them; nobody would jump to conclusions or make accusations as I processed my thoughts the way I do best.<br />
<br />
I remember that when we moved, when a big truck came and hauled our home away at last, I slipped one last sheet of paper into that hiding place. A letter, to the girl I imagined would live in my room after me. A girl who, like me, might find herself in need of a secret hiding place, and when she discovered it she would find my words waiting to welcome her.<br />
<br />
Maybe a year or so later, I was talking to my mom about the day they came for the trailer, and I told her about the letter I wrote. She laughed and said we had sold the trailer for scrap, and I remember how embarrassed I was at the thought of some construction workers or something tearing up carpeting to find my earnest epistle to the imaginary girl with all the secrets.Elissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387419236432646206.post-32334143212969226432011-02-07T22:04:00.003-06:002011-02-07T22:09:04.679-06:00I dropped a stitch! the terror of the ginormous revision...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbnngP8fBYZzWfRngxnE9Qkb9lBAkCmIVoBTdQxwG-q4cxjliV46uLQtMz1ZnH_EDgqbJf44TZu42E0b7CHAIUGyFF8EBdlBesW54EzAGIs7T8I6_9Ac2j8RBP5QjZ96m97sfiuhy1bZx9/s1600/IMG_5828.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbnngP8fBYZzWfRngxnE9Qkb9lBAkCmIVoBTdQxwG-q4cxjliV46uLQtMz1ZnH_EDgqbJf44TZu42E0b7CHAIUGyFF8EBdlBesW54EzAGIs7T8I6_9Ac2j8RBP5QjZ96m97sfiuhy1bZx9/s320/IMG_5828.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I want to write about revision. No, wait. Maybe I just want to hide from revision? Yeah, same thing.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">So anyway, I've spent the past year revising--I'm pretty sure, when you break it all down, (*breaks it down*), I have spent more time this past year revising than sleeping. And a lot of the time, even when I'm sleeping, the better part of my brain (AKA the part not otherwise engaged in drooling over pretty pictures and unlikely scenarios (not like, literally drooling, of course, ew! *flips pillow*)) keeps right on revising.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I struggle sometimes with blogging about writing. I enjoy reading and commenting on other writers' blogs, but I don't really feel like I can write about "the craft" with any kind of authority. What do I even know about writing except how much I don't know? Still, I keep thinking about the revision process, and I keep coming to one big conclusion. Ready? Okay. Revision is...hard.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Yeah.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Brilliant. So as a writing teacher, I spend a lot of time trying to teach people how to make their writing better. We do things like peer critiques, where readers ask each other questions about things they want to know more about, or identify language they really think "works"...that kind of thing. And we do the kind of revision that is more about refining language--identify your lazy words and get more specific. Read it out loud and find the sentence breaks. Check your outline and make sure your paragraphs are organized with transitions and a strong thesis...that kind of thing.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Nobody can ever really teach you how to REVISE, you know? Like, even when a reader (critique partner, agent, editor, your mom--whatever) tells you what's wrong with your novel--that the voice is awesome but everything that happens in it is slightly wrong, or that the whole thing really needs to begin 20,000 words in, or that the stakes aren't high enough or that your central focus seems to want to shift over about three inches to one side and maybe happen in a different state--even then, they can't tell you what to DO about it.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">So far I've revised all of those problems and then some, and I still can't sit here on this blog and tell you what to do when you take apart a key scene about three-quarters of the way through and realize that it's like you've just gone to dig out a dropped stitch and suddenly there are all these loops and strings and holes and you're scared to move and your needles are shaking and more loops are sliding off of them every second and you've spent an entire year on getting this far so the thought of ripping it all out and starting over is paralyzing, and...</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">...well, I'm not sure how else to put it. It's terrifying. But you can't sit there all day holding perfectly still with your needles in the air. So...you start tugging at strings. You pull a few loops. Sometimes it works to cover the wall up above your desk with post-it notes, and sometimes it helps to make color-coded notes on dot matrix paper and spread it all over the floor, and sometimes it helps to cry and sometimes it helps to paint a deck with music stuffed in your ears and sometimes it helps to take a walk and sometimes it helps to take a bath and sometimes you have to write what's supposed to happen next ALL IN CAPS with things like "<span style="font-size: 12pt;">OMG THEY ARE FREAKED OUT" and "</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">WHAT WE THOUGHT YOU WERE JUST A LITTLE MESSED UP BUT YOU ARE REALLY MESSED UP" and even "</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">AND THEN HER PARENTS’ HEADS EXPLODE!" (All of these are either my own actual methods of revision or my own actual excerpts from my current document--I left out the somewhat controversial methods of snarling at my family and going on crazed cleaning rampages...)</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Anyway, no matter how you cope with it, revising is freakin' HARD. And what works for one person may not work for another. What works for me today may not work tomorrow (assuming I eventually post this and get back to work), but the process of making serious, deep changes to a manuscript time and time again (I'm a slow learner) is daunting and difficult.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">But. Here's the good part. As difficult as it is, and as many times as I feel like a big failure when I have to go back YET AGAIN and rework something I thought was as good as I could ever do in a million years, and as much as I despair with my huge pile of post-its and my fourteen open documents...every single time, something crazy happens.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">The book gets better.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">And that feels almost good enough to remember it all the way through until the next revision. Almost.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">*opens fifteenth document*</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">*sighs*</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">(for the record, because I'm afraid this post might be too short and might not contain enough parentheses, I can only knit in a straight line, like a never-ending scarf, and my options for dropped stitches are three: tear it all out and begin from the beginning (after I get someone to cast on for me because I always seem to forget how), live with a hole in the middle of my scarf, or bring it over to my mom's house and make her fix it...but so far, I have not yet made my mom do my revisions.)</div>Elissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387419236432646206.post-608218399954289302011-02-01T19:07:00.000-06:002011-02-01T19:07:40.644-06:00that's what he said...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.myhomeamongthehills.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/02/rooster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.myhomeamongthehills.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/02/rooster.jpg" width="156" /></a></div>Jabber is playing on the living room floor, while D. and I eat our dinner at the table.<br />
<br />
J (muttering to himself): YES! My Lego pilot is sitting in his Calkpit. COCKpit. COCK. PIT. (to me) MOM! Isn't this word really hard to pronounce? COCK. PIT. COCKPIT.<br />
<br />
me (eyes locked on D's, dying a little): Yes, honey.<br />
<br />
J: COCK. PIT. COCK. PIT.<br />
<br />
me (dies some more)<br />
<br />
J: Hey! That's a compound word, isn't it? PIT, like my armpit. and COCK. Whatever that is. COCK. What's a COCK, Mom? COCKCOCKCOCK.<br />
<br />
me (ded)Elissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387419236432646206.post-34674883087268883272011-01-19T19:04:00.000-06:002011-01-19T19:04:22.516-06:00Dear Teen Me<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxpbn1ffcRtIKKzg21pZd45eX4QaOEm2QGvgzCgn65h-d0r8bHfo09hsnoiqHBX6D6yYbDm0_AuiZ5EKeBd80qXgQRUzVtsbUT8S4VOrDRJfn4ESIlm0EyQzPEm5a91c5gz4SBmRTGohYa/s1600/036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxpbn1ffcRtIKKzg21pZd45eX4QaOEm2QGvgzCgn65h-d0r8bHfo09hsnoiqHBX6D6yYbDm0_AuiZ5EKeBd80qXgQRUzVtsbUT8S4VOrDRJfn4ESIlm0EyQzPEm5a91c5gz4SBmRTGohYa/s320/036.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teen Elissa in EGHS Theatre's <i>Twelfth Night</i> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>As I sit around contemplating my final days as a 34-year-old (I think this birthday may feel like a bigger deal than 30 did, aging-wise), it's the perfect time to reflect on my youth, right? A perfect time for my post on the <a href="http://dearteenme.com/">Dear Teen Me blog project</a>--a group of YA writers who are writing letters to our teen selves. <br />
<br />
I've been sharing some of these amazing letters with my 8th graders because seriously, a lot of what these authors are saying should be read by teens--if only so they can laugh at our goofy perms and dated fashion. For real, though, so many of the letters are SO honest and real and...hopeful. Worth a read through the archives, if you've never been. <br />
<br />
And then, when you've finished reading all the super profound ones, you can take a look at <a href="http://dearteenme.com/2011/01/19/for-teen-elissa-from-author-elissa-janine-hoole-kiss-the-morningstar/">my letter to my teen</a> self for a bit of light-hearted reading. Some of you may well remember me when. :)Elissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387419236432646206.post-72409153329939054392011-01-11T22:26:00.000-06:002011-01-11T22:26:20.333-06:00This is Just to SayI am reading<br />
the books<br />
you've been<br />
telling me about<br />
<br />
and which<br />
have kept me<br />
from blogging<br />
and sleeping.<br />
<br />
Forgive me--<br />
they are so shiny<br />
so brilliant<br />
and I love them.Elissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387419236432646206.post-56879535619135189212011-01-03T21:10:00.000-06:002011-01-03T21:10:35.795-06:00Books!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCNSWbBNnZDlE6jS6I4VGC3_ZZqQ_xwSHn2DscYWYWUe9tOXihfTl9h7GzqeUB0ReQrRCGFjM_poIArATDhBGlMKgMtRLr4QOIk17j8YgCS9T8-Aijv24zZNiB5rj5thpA3mhqmoXvKxD9/s1600/144.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCNSWbBNnZDlE6jS6I4VGC3_ZZqQ_xwSHn2DscYWYWUe9tOXihfTl9h7GzqeUB0ReQrRCGFjM_poIArATDhBGlMKgMtRLr4QOIk17j8YgCS9T8-Aijv24zZNiB5rj5thpA3mhqmoXvKxD9/s320/144.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I kept a little list of all the books I read last year. Seventy-nine books total, which is more than my goal of fifty. It has been my aim for the last few years to start reading more intentionally--to actually seek out the books for a purpose instead of randomly reading the books that fall into my lap from the universe, and I'm happy as I look down my list to see only a small handful that feel like a waste of time. Quite a few of them were chosen specifically because I thought I could learn from them as a writer and as a human, and quite a few of the others were chosen because they were enjoyed by people whose taste in reading I trust.<br />
<br />
It really does seem like a lot of books, even if it makes me a bit sad that quite a few of them have already gone missing off my bookshelves at school (<i>Saint Iggy, So Many Boys, Linger, Notes from the Teenage Underground, Full Tilt, Two Way Street</i><i></i>, and <i>Jellicoe Road</i>, off the top of my head...I'm sure some will resurface as the year goes on, but it always is a little heartbreaking to see how many of my books never make it past the first reader.) <br />
<br />
There are some really good books on this list, books that have stayed with me, books I've recommended and booktalked and pushed into people's hands. Books that have forged connections between me and other authors. Some of these books are printed and on the shelf, and some still only exist in document form. Some have created happy moments of discovery for my children (*snuggles Ramona*), and some have caused a few raised eyebrows (like when I was reading <i>Naked Lunch</i> while getting my hair colored...) Some have kept me up at night reading feverishly (um, <i>Diary, Full Tilt</i>), and quite a few have made me cry (<i>The Sky is Everywhere, The Flying Troutmans, Everything Beautiful, Jellicoe Road, Waiting for Normal</i>) or laugh (<i>Youth in Revolt, Then We Came to the End, Be More Chill</i>). Many of them have created fascinating and well-crafted worlds that continue to linger in my mind (<i>The Unidentified, The Shadow Thieves, A Clockwork Orange, The Replacement</i>). <br />
<br />
All of them make me happy to be a reader. :)<br />
<br />
1. A Certain Slant of Light, by Laura Whitcomb<br />
2. Saint Iggy, by K.L. Going<br />
3. Youth in Revolt, by C.D. Payne<br />
4. Beautiful Creatures, by Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl<br />
5. The Naughty List, by Suzanne Young<br />
6. The Realm of Possibility, by David Levithan<br />
7. Shiver, by Maggie Stiefvater<br />
8. Wuthering Heights, by Emily Bronte<br />
9. The God Box, by Alex Sanchez<br />
10. Some Girls Are, by Courtney Summers<br />
11. Put Out More Flags, by Evelyn Waugh<br />
12. The Lottery, by Beth Goobie<br />
13. World War Z, by Max Brooks<br />
14. How to Be Good, by Nick Hornby<br />
15. The Castle of Crossed Destinies, by Italo Calvino<br />
16. Tuck Everlasting, by Natalie Babbitt (reread)<br />
17. An Acceptable Time, by Madeleine L'Engle<br />
18. Everything Beautiful, by Simmone Howell<br />
19. The Giver, by Lois Lowry (reread)<br />
20. On the Banks of Plum Creek, by Laura Ingalls Wilder (read aloud to kids)<br />
21. Be More Chill, by Ned Vizzini<br />
22. Impossible, by Nancy Werlin<br />
23. Full Tilt, by Neal Shusterman<br />
24. Spanking Shakespeare, by Jake Wizner<br />
25. waiting for normal, by Leslie Connor<br />
26. Schooled, by Gordon Korman<br />
27. Speak, by Laurie Halse Anderson (reread, readaloud to class)<br />
28. Two Way Street, by Lauren Barnholdt<br />
29. The Gum Thief, by Douglas Coupland<br />
30. Heist Society, by Ally Carter<br />
31. Mothers and Other Liars, by Amy Bourret<br />
32. Posing Strange, by Amy Danziger Ross (rereread, beta)<br />
33. Fishboy, by Hannah Moskowitz (beta)<br />
34. Ramona the Brave, by Beverly Cleary (read aloud to kids)<br />
35. Then We Came to the End, by Joshua Ferris<br />
36. Everything Beautiful, by Simmone Howell (reread)<br />
37. Notes from the Teenage Underground, by Simmone Howell<br />
38. Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, by Judy Blume (read aloud to kids)<br />
39. Fool, by Christopher Moore<br />
40. Jellicoe Road, by Melina Marchetta<br />
41. Girlfriend in a Coma, by Douglas Coupland<br />
42. So Many Boys, by Suzanne Young<br />
43. Beezus and Ramona, by Beverly Cleary (read aloud to kids)<br />
44. Peeled, by Joan Bauer<br />
45. Diary, by Chuck Palahniuk<br />
46. The Rules of Survival, by Nancy Werlin<br />
47. hush, hush, by Becca Fitzpatrick<br />
48. A Good Boy is Hard to Find, by Suzanne Young<br />
49. Naked Lunch, by William S. Burroughs<br />
50. The Sky is Everywhere, by Jandy Nelson<br />
51. Superfudge, by Judy Blume (read aloud to kids)<br />
52. Polaroids from the Dead, by Douglas Coupland<br />
53. The Flying Troutmans, by Miriam Toews<br />
54. The Summer I Turned Pretty, by Jenny Han<br />
55. The River, by Gary Paulsen<br />
56. Linger, by Maggie Stiefvater<br />
57. Fudge-A-Mania, by Judy Blume (read aloud to kids)<br />
58. Owls in the Family, by Farley Mowat (read aloud to kids, as prep for teaching it)<br />
59. Death Benefits, by Sarah N. Harvey<br />
60. City of Bones, by Cassandra Clare<br />
61. The Replacement, by Brenna Yovanoff<br />
62. A Clockwork Orange, by Anthony Burgess<br />
63. Ramona and her Father, by Beverly Cleary (read aloud to kids)<br />
64. The Daily 5: Fostering Literacy Independence in the Elementary Grades, by Gail Boushey and Joan Moser<br />
65. The Shadow Thieves, by Anne Ursu<br />
66. The Unidentified, by Rae Mariz<br />
67. Thirteen Reasons Why, by Jay Asher<br />
68. City of Ashes, By Cassandra Clare<br />
69. Septimus Heap #2: Flyte, by Angie Sage<br />
70. You Were Wrong, by Matthew Sharpe<br />
71. Ramona and Her Mother, by Beverly Cleary (read aloud to kids)<br />
72. Somewhere in the Darkness, by Walter Dean Myers (reread, teaching to 8th graders)<br />
73. Guys Read: Funny Business, edited by Jon Scieszka<br />
74. City of Glass, by Cassandra Clare<br />
75. Mockingjay, by Suzanne Collins<br />
76. Point Counterpoint, by Aldous Huxley<br />
77. Forged by Fire, by Sharon M. Draper<br />
78. Slam, by Walter Dean Myers<br />
79. Small Steps, by Louis SacharElissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387419236432646206.post-74029265478332762602011-01-01T10:00:00.000-06:002011-01-01T10:00:00.523-06:00Aiming high...goals for 2011<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGGtgwOv4eHK3XTj4l_GxsvjFysqrDa6pNmLHTC7RdgyV7al2B75tCgVSAlU7KxzRmLY5UVjX_UDVY1cXMCpiDiFK-NzDLhAx78XavhUN0MorkFRPSzmx_h95Nk5Z_dSi1AYbN4BgG1tHR/s1600/_C3N0344.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGGtgwOv4eHK3XTj4l_GxsvjFysqrDa6pNmLHTC7RdgyV7al2B75tCgVSAlU7KxzRmLY5UVjX_UDVY1cXMCpiDiFK-NzDLhAx78XavhUN0MorkFRPSzmx_h95Nk5Z_dSi1AYbN4BgG1tHR/s320/_C3N0344.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>As I wrote yesterday, 2010 was a year of writing successes beyond my wildest imaginings. I'm going to set more goals for my writing for 2011, but what I think I've discovered over the last year or two is that, for me...even when I <i>try</i> to stop writing because life is too busy and my children are too sweet and my job is too important or whatever reasons...I still need to write. Stories come to me in sparkly pen in my journal. I start blogging without a clue what I'm doing. I begin a new novel while in the midst of the most stressful month of my life. I feel like I can't stop writing, even if I wanted to. So I'm going to set a few writing goals this year, but then I'm going to turn my attention to the other parts of my life, too.<br />
<br />
So first. WRITING. In a recent twitter chat about goals, I posted this:<br />
<br />
<blockquote style="background-color: #f6b26b; color: #666666;"><b>I'd like to relax and enjoy the next year as I go through the process of getting book pubbed instead of stressing about future. <a class=" twitter-hashtag" href="http://twitter.com/#%21/search?q=%23kidlitchat" rel="nofollow" title="#kidlitchat">#kidlitchat</a></b></blockquote> I think this is important. I've never done this before, and I need to remember that it's exciting--not terrifying! EXCITING! Sure, there are a million things to think about and as many mistakes I could make, and sure, it's important to learn as much about how to have a successful book launch as possible, but hey. This is my dream, and I want to focus on enjoying this next year of preparation--to be excited about the present, about the experience--instead of worrying about the future, about my writing career, about what reviewers will say, about how my mom will react...just enjoy it. So there's my number one goal for Writing 2011.<br />
<br />
Here are the rest of the writing goals:<br />
<br />
<blockquote style="background-color: #f6b26b; color: #666666;"><b>Revise Cassandra WIP to the point of it being ready to go on sub</b></blockquote>This is do-able, as long as Sarah agrees. I already have a lot of ideas about how to revise it and just need the time and the ability to focus on this book.<br />
<br />
<blockquote style="background-color: #f6b26b; color: #666666;"><b> Finish first draft of In the Hanging Shack and see where that leads.</b></blockquote>I'm about halfway through this right now and have a pretty good outline of the end, so I'm hopeful about this goal. I've never written MG before, but I do love to read it, and I've never written a suspenseful/scary story before, but I do like the idea of pushing myself and my writing always in new directions.<br />
<br />
<div style="background-color: white;">And now, some goals involving reading:</div><div style="background-color: white;"></div><blockquote style="background-color: #f6b26b;"><b style="color: #666666;">I'd like to read at least 50 books in 2011, with at least 10 of those being books written for adults, and at least 5 out loud with the kids. I'd like to read some new authors and some books that will challenge me and influence my thinking and my writing. </b></blockquote> And then some goals involving life:<br />
<br />
<blockquote style="background-color: #f6b26b;"><b style="color: #666666;">Take a road trip with the family. My goal is all the way out to Oregon, but I'd settle for something smaller.</b></blockquote> That one is essential.<br />
<br />
<blockquote style="background-color: #f6b26b;"> <b style="color: #666666;">Do something all alone that makes me nervous to do all alone.</b></blockquote><div style="background-color: white;"><br />
</div>I'm not sure what this one will involve, but I know the steps I've taken in life that have been the most rewarding are ones that involved me taking a solo risk, so...here it is!<br />
<br />
<blockquote style="background-color: #f6b26b;"> <b style="color: #666666;">Draw something. That's all. Just DRAW SOMETHING.</b></blockquote><div style="background-color: white;"><br />
</div>I used to draw all the time, and then suddenly I stopped. Sure, I still draw goofy things on the SmartBoard for my classes, or occasionally for my kids, but I'd like to draw something during 2011 that I either give away as a gift or hang on the wall. IT'S OKAY IF IT'S MEDIOCRE, ELISSA.<br />
<br />
So there. I'm ready for you, 2011!Elissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6387419236432646206.post-63180105357452232322010-12-31T12:39:00.001-06:002010-12-31T13:24:44.457-06:00wrapping it up--2010<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1MA5bUzU1PdsiLJk_30AKVMESV6fCLlt9rWwHWZsarVgetxtOHrstHGiBHFR9-IhEvPMH237VOWqUDXOK79r9nYVtE7Qb_2fPEw2iiOQMUc1F0uaCn02HKDlHeSC9qp-OCFzi1b_KsADE/s1600/_C3N0358.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1MA5bUzU1PdsiLJk_30AKVMESV6fCLlt9rWwHWZsarVgetxtOHrstHGiBHFR9-IhEvPMH237VOWqUDXOK79r9nYVtE7Qb_2fPEw2iiOQMUc1F0uaCn02HKDlHeSC9qp-OCFzi1b_KsADE/s320/_C3N0358.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christmas Fireworks</td></tr>
</tbody></table>One year ago today, I wrote <a href="http://elissajhoole.blogspot.com/2009/12/goals-stuff.html">a post outlining my writing goals for 2010</a>. I...could not even have imagined, 365 days ago, the thrilling successes I would experience--finding my dream agent, selling my YA debut, working with a brilliant editor, finishing a draft of another YA manuscript, meeting so many amazing writers (and having them come here, to <i>my blog</i>, to say hi and offer their support! WOW!)...and so much more.<br />
<br />
I do think it's funny how cyclical writing is, though. Case in point, my first goal last year:<br />
<blockquote style="background-color: #f6b26b;"><b><span style="color: #666666;">I'd like to remain thoughtful, objective, gracious, and rational about anything that happens with this book.</span></b></blockquote>This book? At the time, it was known as <i>The Dharma Bum Business,</i> and shortly after I wrote that, Sarah Davies offered representation, and we started working hard to make the book the best it could be before putting it out on sub to editors. The letter arrived--pages of questions, suggestions, cautions--pushing me to take my book to the next step. I kept those words from my goal in mind (I'm not going to say I <i>always</i> succeeded, but I tried!), and they helped me as I revised the book now known as <i>Kiss the Morning Star.</i><br />
<br />
Thoughtful, objective, gracious, and rational. Well, a year later, and I'm still pushing this book--still working to make it the best it can be, this time working with the feedback of my editor, Melanie Kroupa. A year ago, I was close to putting this book away, "trunking" it. I had gone through many revisions, many rounds of querying agents, and I thought I had pretty much done everything I could for it.<br />
<br />
I have a long and unfinished post saved to my drafts folder about the process of this book becoming what it is, and someday, when the process is actually over, I may post it, but the moral of the story is...time and again, I have believed that the book is as good as I can make it, and time and again, I have been proven wrong. And every time, the bar is higher, and the process is harder. And I say those words like a mantra--thoughtful, objective, gracious, and rational. And now, as I project this manuscript into a future where it will have a shiny cover and real pages and--OMG!--<i>readers</i>, who will be more than willing to give their feedback, I will cling to those words for support.<br />
<br />
So I think that needs to be a permanent goal.<br />
<br />
My other goals from last year were all accomplished:<br />
<br />
<blockquote style="background-color: #f6b26b; color: #666666;"><b>Next goal is about the next book, and that is to finish editing it and send it out there spinning into the world as well.</b></blockquote> Done! And though I still love this ms., it is sitting to the side for now until it fits better into the plan (it's a fantasy story.)<br />
<br />
<blockquote style="background-color: #f6b26b; color: #666666;"><b>Third writing goal is to decide on the next project.... I'd like to get one more novel rough drafted by the end of this year.</b></blockquote> Done! My Cassandra WIP needs another go-around of serious revision, but I finished a draft, showed it to Sarah, and I hope I will be able to wrestle it into a shape worthy of submitting during 2011!<br />
<br />
<blockquote style="background-color: #f6b26b; color: #666666;"><b>And last is for me to keep working on the one story, you know the one.</b></blockquote> Done! Not much done, but this book is making baby steps in and among the other projects, and it still excites me. In addition, I wrote half of my very first attempt at middle grade with my summer-camp ghost story WIP, In the Hanging Shack. So overall, my 2010 was a year of writing. Tomorrow I'll share my goals for 2011, since this post has rambled on long enough, but I think a few more of them will focus on the personal life outside of the writing life.<br />
<br />
Happy New Year, everyone!Elissa J. Hoolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12651430885573630053noreply@blogger.com2