Why You Should Take A Break After Finishing A First Draft

Me, to my MS, right after I finish writing it:    

My MS is as beautiful as Keira Knightly *nods*

What it probably actually looks like:

Moral of the story? Take a break. Step back. Look at it with fresh eyes. Because when you do, you'll see everything you missed when the draft was shiny and new. And it'll be so much better when you're done. So good, in fact, that you'll probably do this:

The Power of Storytelling

I realize it's been a while since I've blogged. Sorry about that, guys! But something happened the other day that I just can't stop thinking about, and I wanted to share it with all of you. (I tweeted about it at the time, but I have so much more to say on the subject than can be included in just 140 characters.)

So on the way to work on Monday, I saw a truck for a stairlift company. It had a picture very similar to this one on it:

The instant I saw that picture, this is what popped into my head:

Carl from the wonderful Pixar movie Up

The image of Carl scowling while riding his stairlift stayed in my mind for a couple of seconds. But since I was thinking about Up already, my mind very naturally went to my favorite part of the whole movie: the montage of Carl and Ellie's life together. And I seriously burst out crying while driving down the highway. If you've not seen it before, I've put the video below. Or maybe if you have seen it and you love it as much as I do, you'll want to watch it again anyway. 

Wow. I just watched the video to make sure the whole thing was there and it was loaded properly, and I was crying my eyes out. *grabs box of tissues.*

So anyway. *sniffles* The point I'm trying to make here is that there is very real power in good storytelling. I seriously saw a picture of a stairlift and, within a matter of about 10 seconds, I was bawling. Because of a picture. Of a freaking stairlift. If I'd never seen the movie Up, would I have reacted this way? Definitely not. I probably wouldn't have more than glanced at the stairlift truck on my way by. But because the image I saw on the side of that truck was associated with something else in my mind, all of a sudden I have an absolute flood of emotions running through me.

This is what truly good storytelling can do to us. (To us, or for us?) It can take the most mundane things and make them really mean something. It can turn an otherwise boring commute into something special (if exceedingly sad).

That's such a large part of why I decided to become a storyteller, guys. I mean, I write books instead of making movies, but I feel that words are every bit as powerful as images if they're used correctly. When one of my CPs told me that my most recent book made her cry, that was pretty much the best compliment I could ever remember getting. The fact that my words made her care so much that she started crying filled me with such happiness. Such pride in the years I spent on my writing to get to the point where I am today.

And I hope that, some day, my writing is good enough where someone will be driving down the highway or walking down the street, see something that reminds them of one of my books, and they'll feel something. Could be they burst into tears (if that's the case, though, I hope they're not driving too fast...safety first, you know), or burst out laughing, or even just smile a little. As long as my words, my places, my characters matter to them, I'm pretty sure I'll have accomplished what I set out to do the first time I put pen to paper.  

The Writer's Voice

**UPDATE: I was picked for the agent round of this contest! Go Team Krista! You can read my revised entry here.**

It seems I'm one of the lucky 150 to make it into the next round of a rather awesome and exciting contest, "The Writer's Voice." (You can read about it here.) Thanks so much to all of the people involved in putting this contest together! You guys are awesome! :)

(A note to my regular followers: two blog posts in one day? I'm sure you're as shocked about it as I am! I suppose it was bound to happen someday.)

And now, without further ado, here's my entry!

Title: LUMINARY
Genre: YA Fantasy
Word Count: 91,000

QUERY

Seventeen-year-old Caya Filar, like everyone else in her city, sees only in grayscale. Colors exist as magical energy, once worked by Luminaries like her father. But when a prince, terrified of magic he couldn't see, slaughtered the Luminaries and stole the king's throne, colors became something to fear.

Now little better than an outcast, Caya steers clear of the king's guards. She knows they're eager for any excuse to brand her a Luminary and execute her, whether she can see color or not. And there's no chance of leaving the city with guards patrolling the walls, murdering anyone who tries to flee. Keeping her head down, she works in a shop to feed her family—at least until the shopkeeper's son proposes. His respectable name might help her overcome the stigma left by her father's Luminary magic. 
 
If only the stone in her engagement ring had stayed gray.

FIRST 250

Every day as I left to work, Avara tried to make me feel guilty and I tried to make her feel useless. It was a daily routine for us. I kept my head high and my shoulders back as I made my way to the grand foyer, knowing she was there.

Sure enough, I was only about halfway down the curved staircase when I heard her usual sound of disgust. "Stubborn as ever," she said softly, and I followed her voice with my eyes. She was leaning against the doorframe of the parlor, arms crossed over her stomach.

"Not stubborn." After months of the same argument, my voice came out flat and disinterested. "Just not in favor of starving to death."

"You're making things worse. You have to see that." 

"Yes, because so many people were clamoring to marry us before I took a job."

She glared at me. No matter how many times I used the line, she had no response. Yet she still picked the fight, pretending nothing had changed in the six years since King Elun stole the throne from his brother.

The uprising happened the night of Avara's debut ball, ruining her plan to be betrothed by midnight. She'd known Elun's guards were coming for our father, hunting down anyone who could see the colors of magic. But all she'd cared about was getting a ring on her finger, no matter the cost.

If she hadn't argued for so long, we probably all would've gotten out of the city alive.

Shiny

So did you ever come up with an idea for a novel, and you loved the idea, and you thought it could really go somewhere, but something about it just felt wrong? Like, not something small or easy (changing a character's name, or making some tweaks to the plot, etc.). Something BIG. And it's like it's there, just on the edge of your brain, and if you only concentrate hard enough, it'll come to you.

Except you spend hours, days, weeks basically going like this:

And NOTHING! Absolutely nothing. So frustrating. So you put the story aside and you move on. Clearly, it's not going to happen with this one.

So you come up with some other new stories. For some of them, maybe you just write down a few sentences, because all you have is the basic premise. Something to let percolate and come back to later. Others, your brain is absolutely on fire and you write down plot and setting and character studies and maybe even start some chapters. But maybe your heart isn't in it. Because it's not the story you want to write. So you start to act like this:

And you sigh a lot. And you worry that maybe you're going to get frown lines. And then you actually do get worry lines from all the worrying about frown lines. And you have absolutely no idea what you're going to do because everything ever is wrong.

Until you're driving to work one day, listening to the Rock of Ages soundtrack, and suddenly, you're all, "I've just had an apostrophe." And Captain Hook says, "I think you mean an epiphany, Smee." Well, I mean, that was these guys:

But whatever. Same difference. Suddenly, out of nowhere, while you're singing Don't Stop Believing (ironic, I know), you know exactly what was wrong. And you were right. It was a BIG thing. I'm talking you had the entirely wrong person as the main character big. But if you change it...oh, the possibilities! So you write down notes and ideas and bits of dialogue like an absolute mad woman because it's just flooding your brain, and you want to get it all down as quickly as you possibly can. Then you read over everything you just wrote and can't help but go:

Which then makes you think of Doctor Who. Which only makes you even happier. And suddenly, that tarnished, old idea is shiny. Life is shiny.

Okay, I realize I probably got a bit too specific for this to apply to any of you. But, you know, if you take out the odd details, how about then? Ever go from confused and depressed to, "I'm brilliant!" in the space of a moment? Because that is one of my favorite parts of creative writing. That feeling of shiny elation when a plan comes together.

A Bit of Humor

As I did back in this post about my dogs, I'm going to tell you a quick story. Just for fun.  :)

So a week ago, the neighbors' kids were over at my house, because they were going to be taking care of Mickey (my guinea pig) and Bartleby (by gecko) while the hubby and I were out of town. They'd taken care of Mickey before, but Bartleby is pretty new, so they had to learn the ropes. 

Before they left, they asked if they could look in my office. This is because my office is full of many fun and wondrous things. For example, neighbor kid #1, an eight year old girl, oohed and ahhed over all the clothing I have for my American Girl Doll, Felicity. Neighbor kid #2, a six year old boy, found a plastic sword and ran around like a swashbuckling pirate. 

Anyway, while they were in my office, they saw a cross stitch sampler that my grandmother made me long ago, which was hanging on my wall. The following conversation ensued:

8yo neighbor girl: That's so pretty!

Me: My grandmother made that for me when I was four years old.

8yo neighbor girl: How long ago was that?

Me: Twenty-four years.

6yo neighbor boy: You're twenty-four years old?

Me: Twenty-eight, actually.

6yo neighbor boy: Were you one of the original pilgrims?

Me: -___-

I guess age is all about perspective!

What's In A Name?

I have frequently changed my mind about what my Official Author Name is going to be. At some point, I'm going to have to actually make a final decision and stick with it.

So I was kind of hoping that you guys could help. I created a survey (it'll probably take you all of a minute to complete it) with the different options I've considered over the years. If you could please choose the one you think sounds the best (and there's the option to tell me why you think it sounds the best), I would greatly appreciate it.

Click here to take the survey.

Thank you!

On Bullies, Apologies, and Making A Real Difference

I'm going to take a break from my normal posts to talk about something that's very important to me. It's a tad long (even for me), but I hope you'll stick with me. 

Here goes. 

I had a dream last night that surprised me. I was at a bookstore near where I grew up, signing books. And that's not the surprising part. I have dreams about that sort of thing often, and they're always wonderful. That's what every writer dreams about, right?

No, the surprising part was that a boy (now a man) who made fun of (bullied, teased, tormented, tortured) me in elementary and middle school showed up. He smiled and said, "You don't remember me, do you?" So I gave a small, polite, embarrassed smile and asked his name. Recognition and anger flitted across my face when he gave it, and he said, "I guess you do remember me."

"Yes, well, it's hard to forget the person who systematically destroyed your self-esteem for six straight years. So, you know, there's that." Insert not-so-polite smile here.

And he winced, and said he was sorry, and that he'd come to apologize. That he'd wanted for years to apologize for what he did to me, but he didn't know how to get in touch with me until he saw my picture on a poster at the book store. I told him Facebook would've maybe been a better option than showing up at my book signing, and that he was holding up my line.

Yes, there was a line. Because it was my dream, and in my dreams, I always have long lines at these things. ;)

So I woke up, and as I clawed my way out of the haze of sleep, I found myself wondering what on earth had caused this dream. This is a person I haven't spoken a single word to since eighth grade. Seriously, guys. That wasn't even in this millennium. But apparently my subconscious isn't ready to let the past go, even if the rest of me is.

And I really am ready to let it go, though that wasn't always the case. For the longest time, I intended to be published under my maiden name. It was a pretty unusual name, and I wanted all of the people from my past to know that I'd made it. That I'd done something with my life. That I was somebody.

Then a little over a year ago, I found myself wondering why I care. What does it matter to me what people I don't know and haven't seen for years think of me? It's not as though I think of them. (Except, I guess, in my subconscious, but I didn't know about that until I woke up this morning.) It's not as though I need their approval for anything ever. I didn't become a writer so that I could get back at people who were mean to me or to prove anything. I became a writer because I've wanted to be a writer for as long as I can remember. Since before people decided I was fat and needed to be laughed at and embarrassed and made to feel like garbage on a daily basis.

So why am I dreaming up apologies from my former nemesis? Would that help? Would it really change anything fifteen years later? Because, honestly, I don't think it would. What good does that do? How does that help me? I don't need apologies to feel good about myself. Not at this stage in my life. 

However, I couldn't seem to let this dream go. I couldn't help thinking about what I would actually do if such a thing came to pass. And I figured it out. I would tell him that apologizing to me doesn't do anything. But if he has kids, or nieces and nephews, or God children, or anything else, he could try to teach them not to do to others what he did to me. That he could teach them to respect other people. Even if those people are overweight, or unattractive, or don't have nice clothes, or aren't super smart, or are gay, or are "different" in any other way you can imagine.

Trying to help me is a waste of time. I figured shit out on my own. And with the help of some amazing people, including the best friends I could possibly have, and the most wonderful husband I could ever have imagined. So no, I don't need an apology. I'm already good on that front. At this point, I don't need any help.

But there are plenty of people who do. People who feel like they'd rather die than have to go to school and face everyone. People who are constantly on edge, knowing that insults and barbs are coming, and it's only a matter of time. People who cry every single day, because they're hurt in some way every single day.

There are kids being bullied and teased and made to feel like shit about themselves right this second. So what would I say to this person if he magically showed up and apologized? 

You want to make up for what you did? Do everything you possibly can to keep it from happening again. Even if only one other person doesn't have to go through the crap I put up with, the world will be a slightly nicer place. That's what would really make a difference.