Archive for the ‘Unpublished writing’ Category

Good news: ONE IS ENOUGH won an award!

Friday, April 16th, 2010

In my last post, I was so busy gushing about the conference awesomeness I forgot to mention the best news of all!

My manuscript for ONE IS ENOUGH, a picture-book biography about Emmanuel Ofosu Yeboah, was one of those nominated for the SCBWI Western Washington 2010 Outstanding Work-in-Progress awards! Here’s the official slide:

This award is given by the faculty manuscript consultants, who select their favorite manuscripts–those they feel show the most promise of being eventually published–for the honor. I am especially tickled because my consultation was with an editor I really like personally who works for a publishing imprint whose list I would be incredibly honored to be a member of. Better yet, her revision notes make perfect sense to me. Of course, I still have to find a way to implement them.

Congratulations to all of the honorees! Now let’s get back to our keyboards, use what we’ve learned to polish those manuscripts until they shine, and then summon the courage to send them out into the world. I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed!

Ah, sweet rejection

Tuesday, March 30th, 2010

My goal for this year is to receive as many as rejections as possible. I can be a little—okay, a lot—perfectionistic about where and when I send out submissions, so the intention of this goal was to push me to accomplish the part of publishing that I can control, submitting, and let go of the part I can’t control, selling. Unfortunately, this hasn’t worked out so well, as it seems most places either aren’t even reading the work or are only replying if interested, and are thus denying me of the small satisfaction of the rejection letter as proof I did SOMETHING. So, I think I will have to revise my goal and tweak my process so that I can celebrate, and tangibly see, every submission, whether I receive an answer or not. How do you do that without wasting paper? I’d love to hear your ideas!

There’s some good news, though (well, kinda)! Yesterday I received a rejection letter for a very beginning-level easy reader I’d sent to Scholastic’s Cartwheel imprint. I suspected it was probably not perfectly right for them, but I love them so much I just had to try (fighting that perfection thing again). Well, it was a rejection, but it was personalized, friendly, and discussed my particular manuscript and why they decided to pass. In fact, I have to agree with their assessment, although I still believe there’s a place for this manuscript with a different list. So, yes, it’s a little disappointing, but I’ll still send out a big virtual thank you to Scholastic/Cartwheel. I finally have something for the rejection file, and can at least revel in the success of failing!

‘Success is going from failure to failure with no loss of enthusiasm.’ —Winston Churchill

Sunday Scribblings #194: People Who Dared

Sunday, December 20th, 2009

The prompt over at Sunday Scribblings today is dare. My first instinct was to write a spontaneous short fiction vignette—that is what prompts are all about, right? But, while I consider writing fiction a useful practice to improve my skills as well as a rewarding creative endeavor in its own right, my real passion is nonfiction. So, today I’ll share the true stories oftwo people who dared.

First up: Florence Nightingale. We all know her as the “lady with the lamp,” the heroic nurse who tended British soldiers during the Crimean War. But her story is so much more interesting than that. Even as a child, she nursed her dolls, pets, and even the local poor. As a young woman from a wealthy family, she did not have to work. She was attractive, and had many marriage proposals, one from a man she truly loved. Yet she turned them all down to do the work she felt compelled to do. In Victorian England, nurses were considered to be among the lowest levels of society: ignorant, dirty, and often drunk. Florence dedicated her life to changing this perception, not only caring for her patients with tender dedication, but also by lobbying for and making system-wide improvements in hygiene, administration and record-keeping, statistical analysis, reporting, and hospital construction. She dared to defy the expectations of everyone around her, and initiated a new order in health care.

Second: Emmanuel Ofosu Yeboah. He was born in 1977 in Ghana, West Africa, with only one leg. At the time, disability was considered to be a curse. His father left, and friends urged his mother to kill him. She did not, and instead raised him the same as able-bodied children, doing chores and going to school. As a young man, he was disturbed by how many disabled people were forced to beg to survive. He decided to show his country that people with disabilities could do useful things. In 2001, he dared to pedal a bicycle almost 400 miles across Ghana, with one leg. He drew the attention of the people, the media, and the government officials. In 2006, Ghana’s Parliament finally passed the Persons with Disability bill, which stated that people with physical disabilities are entitled to all of the same rights as the rest of the country’s citizens. “I want to spread a message to change perceptions,” he said, “and the only way to do that is to lead by example.”

These are two of the true stories that give me the courage I need to continue to dare to make my own mark on the world by writing about and sharing them with others. How about you—will you dare to make a difference in the world? Come on—I dare you!

Magical realism assignment: garden prompt

Monday, December 14th, 2009

In the interests of pushing myself out of my comfort zone, I recently finished a class in magical realism. It was drastically different from anything I’ve done (or even read, really) before, and the results were, well, interesting. The final assignment was this: “For this assignment, take the notion of a garden (well tended or neglected, your choice) and play with its realities. Find the most mundane aspects of it and elevate them to magical heights. Take the miracle of a seed and turn it into something ordinary and bland. Juxtapose ideas to rebel against expectation. A garden, after all, is not what you see above the surface, but what builds it from beneath.” And here’s what I came up with:

Invasive Species

She doesn’t even know I’m here, in her beautiful garden. But I’ve been hiding in plain sight for years. At first, she could not have noticed, no matter how hard she tried, how carefully she tended her plants and flowers, turning the soil and pulling weeds. I once was but a seed, deep under the ground, waiting.

Finally, the time was right. I split my shell silently, sending my tendrils out into the garden, urging them to take root wherever they would. I knew she would not see me then, either. She loved her garden, but she cared for it sporadically at best. Once a year she would give it a good look, fixing the most obvious problems, and making a note to watch the rest. But the rest of the time, she took its bounty completely for granted, playing with her young daughter on the patio or rocking with her husband on the swing. By the time she noticed me, I was sure, it would be too late. The garden would be mine.

My tendrils continued to spread, silent thieves in the night. Some found fallow soil, withered, and died. But others took root in her fertile ground. I could feel them winding their way through the flowers, stealing their nourishment, choking them out. It fed me, and I grew.

Eventually, feeling among the flowers, she noticed me—a small lump that did not belong there, had not been there last time she looked. Had it? I could see the recognition on her face, the brief wave of panic. I was afraid too, it was too soon, too soon. My roots were not deep enough yet. They could still be pulled if one knew how.

Denial. Best friend to all that is evil. She had looked me in the eye, and decided to ignore what she knew to be true. “I am too young, too busy, to have to deal with this,” she told herself, and she pushed my existence to the back of her mind. She was not yet brave enough to face me.

“Grow, grow!” I urged the tendrils, just beginning to bloom into full-grown plants in their own right. “The garden is almost ours.”

Any idea what I’m talking about? Think it needs an ending, or is it better left right here?

WooHoo!

Wednesday, August 6th, 2008

I just got back from my first ever SCBWI Summer Conference in Los Angeles, and besides all of the:

  • inspiration and information to be soaked up “like gravy on a biscuit,”
  • wonderfully creative, talented, generous, and adorable people,
  • frivolous fun with friends old and new. . .

the best part of the whole conference is that my teen nonfiction manuscript about how to save the world got nominated for the Sue Alexander award!

So, now I’m feeling this awesome pressure and responsibility to GET TO WORK! (Along with an irresistable urge to break into my happy dance.)

Busy, busy, busy…

Thursday, May 8th, 2008

I haven’t posted any new articles for quite awhile now, so you’re probably thinking I’ve been sitting at home all day eating bon-bons and watching Oprah. No way! I’ve actually been taking a conscious break from article writing to focus on a book… or two. What started out as an idea for one middle grade book has now become a picture book biography of Emmanuel Yeboah AND a teen how-to guide for Youth Venture! I’m not sure working on two so totally different books at the same time is a good idea, but they’re slowly moving along.

I also joined the Advisory Committee of our regional SCBWI chapter last year, and was very busy helping to organize our 17th Annual Writing and Illustrating for Children Conference. It was one of the most daunting, eye-opening and rewarding experiences of my life, and I truly can’t wait to do it again!

And now, back to work…

Book Review – Swimming with Maya

Monday, August 15th, 2005

I picked up this book because the picture on the cover looks like my own daughter. When I read the back notes and learned that she was dead, I quickly put it back down. I didn’t want to read about Eleanor Vincent’s devastating loss. For some reason, though, I felt compelled to try to comprehend her experience.

What I found was indeed distressing, but inspirational at the same time. The book is in many ways a postmortem tribute to Vincent’s daughter and an exploration of the healing effects of organ donation. Taken in its entirety, however, this book is really about a journey through the process of healing from a lifetime of psychological traumas. The extreme grief over her daughter’s sudden death and the struggle to cope with it lead Vincent down buried paths of pain going all the way back to her childhood. She emerges transformed. She lost her daughter, but therein found herself, and we can’t help but applaud her success.