In Answer to Your Email

A stranger recently asked me this in an email: How do you ever know if your writing is any good? She said she had been working on a few pieces of children’s writing for over a year but was too scared to show anyone. Most writers are the same. We fear that perhaps what we’re writing is in fact rubbish. We worry that we’ll embarrass ourselves if we show anyone. (While we also secretly dream that what we’re writing is actually unbelievably brilliant.)

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If you’re writing privately for yourself as a creative outlet then it doesn’t really matter if your writing is clumsy and there’s no need to ever show anyone. If you’re hoping instead to one day be published then you must show someone your work. There is no way around it. Someone has to read your story if you want to be an author.

I’ve written about finding the right people who will give you honest feedback here but if you’re really nervous perhaps start with someone who you know will be kind regardless of the quality of your work. Then move on to someone who actually knows what they’re talking about. Be prepared for some criticism and when it comes remind yourself that it’s part of being a writer. Criticism provides an opportunity to improve.

In the past I’ve had plenty of thorny ‘opportunities to improve’. I cringe when I think of some of the work I sought feedback for and some of the underdeveloped submissions I mailed to publishers. I cringe but I have no regrets. I am grateful for the feedback that helped me to develop as a writer. And I continue to chase feedback so I can continue to grow.

The short answer to the email is this: The only way to find out if your writing is any good is to share it. Don’t let fear hold you back. Redraft until you’re sure your writing is as good as it can be, take a deep breath, and …share.

If you want to be an author you need to be brave.

Good luck. xxx

In Answer to Your Email © Katrina Germein 2011

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Giving Up

Recently I found myself overwhelmed, cornered by the usual problems that prey on writers and mothers like me: no time to write, no time to think, no time to exhale, no time to be the kind of parent I want to be blah blah blah. I won’t go on because whining is boring and I think I’ve squashed the worst of it now. But I will confess that at one point I did wonder if being a writer was something I still wanted to do. I wondered what it would feel like to stop. Just quit. Forever. I speculated that perhaps I’d feel lighter. Perhaps I’d feel freer with one less thing tantruming for my attention, one less thing to make room for.

At first when I noticed myself  slipping into the bog of business I tried lamely to convince myself that I’d be okay without writing for a while. The writing could wait. I asked it to kindly take a seat and wait patiently in the corner. “Please be quiet,” I said. “I’ll be with you later.” But that didn’t work. I continued to feel agitated, pestered by voices and stories wanting to be written. What was worse though was that after a time those voices and stories gave up. No one was listening to them and so neglected and shrivelled those stories lost their true voice. But they didn’t go away. They continued to mew in the corner, prodding me occasionally and making me cranky. Not writing was making me cranky and it occurred to me that giving up writing altogether was maybe the solution.

I wouldn’t have to give up being an author after all. Once an author always an author right? I could probably stop writing and swan around calling myself an author for at least another few years. Big Rain Coming was reprinted again at the start of this year, Littledog came out in paperback in April and My Dad Thinks He’s Funny has just been shortlisted for the Australian Children’s Choice Awards. I could give up writing, still be an author, and have one less thing to worry about.

But it’s not actually about being an author. It’s about being a writer.

The funny thing is that the one time in my adult life when I stopped to question whether or not I could continue to keep writing  was a time in my life when I wasn’t actually writing very much. The more I pushed writing away the more trapped I felt.

I’ve written before about my flaky writing process. When I write I feel free. It’s not about making strict rules for myself around word counts and daily hours. It’s about listening. It’s about relaxing and letting my sub conscious work for me. But I think lately my whole self has been too stressed to listen. I need to tune back in.    I need to write.

For me writing is like exercise. I’m actually a whole lot happier when I dedicate time to it but after a break it’s extra painful. I procrastinate and make excuses because I know it will hurt.  Writing is harder when I don’t engage in it regularly.  This post has taken me a week to write. (I’m a slow worker.) But as I’ve written this I’ve been visited by lots of other ideas. I’m listening again, because I’m writing again, and the shrunken mewing stories are regaining their power. And wow. It feels good.

Give up writing. What was I thinking?

Have you ever considered giving up something you love?

Giving Up © Katrina Germein 2011

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Picture Books & Publication – Part 2

The previous post was about the relative ease of finding a publisher for my first book. This post is about finding a publisher for my fourth book. (Not so easy!)

Finding a home for Littledog. How the manuscript became a book…

In 2006 I began tinkering with a draft about a girl who wanted a pet. I was aware that the theme was unoriginal but saw in it a timeless appeal. The little girl would ask her mother for a pet and the mother’s repeated response created a refrain for the story.

“I don’t think so,” said Mum. “We’re too busy.”

The story was boring and wooden. It lacked energy and depth. I abandoned it.

Months later, while holidaying at the beach with my family, a small black and brown dog began visiting us. He pushed into the yard from under the gate and my children played with him. He came and went as he pleased for a few days. We named him Littledog. One morning Littledog went running with me and it was during that run that the story for the book Littledog began to brew in my head.

By April 2007 the Littledog manuscript was complete; it was 576 words long. I sent it to a major Australian publisher and three months later received a standard form rejection letter.

In July 2007 I resent the story to another publisher. I am embarrassed by the opening paragraph. The first two lines were horrible.

In our family there are four people, and one dog.

There’s me, my mum, my dad, my little brother Sam, and our dog, Littledog.

Littledog found us one afternoon during our holiday.

He was waiting at the shack when we go back from the beach.

In September 2007 I received this feedback from the publisher:

In other words, we don’t want your story; there, squatting among some kind words, was rejection number two.

I decided to try working in more repetition. Perhaps an engaging refrain would bring something unique to the text and set it apart from other lost dog stories.

I toyed with these:

We don’t need a dog

We can’t keep the dog

The dog’s not ours

They were all too negative. I tried

Littledog wagged his bottom and Sam hugged him.

Finally I settled on:

Littledog just wagged his tail. His whole bottom wagged too.

This refrain remains in the published story as shown here below.

I rewrote parts of the manuscript and tightened the story so that even with the inclusion of the new refrain the manuscript was 570 words, not 576. I resent the story to another publisher

In November 2007 I received a standard form rejection letter.

I phoned a fellow children’s author friend to moan, sulk and vent. Why wouldn’t anyone publish a book about a dog? Children love dogs. We think we’ve heard it before but our children haven’t and if they have they’d like to hear it again. My friend and I whined about what we perceived to be the trend in Australian children’s publishing towards edgy ‘issues’ books that were popular with judges on award panels. “Esoteric drivel!” my friend proclaimed, which was sweet of her because it made me giggle.

I had to blame someone so I chose to blame publishers.

By the end of the phone call I’d resolved to keep trying, firm in the belief that stories children can relate about timeless themes such as summer holidays, the beach, family and pets, are ever important and fun.

Later I also calmed down enough to stop blaming the publishing industry and appreciate that maybe the story had been turned down for other reasons. Perhaps it wasn’t yet good enough?

So I redrafted, redrafted and redrafted again. I made many little changes to sharpen the writing. I read it aloud over and over.

When I was finished the first lines read:

Littledog found us one holiday evening.

He was waiting at the shack when we got back from the beach.

These sentences remain in the published book as shown here below.

Littledog was now 545 words long. I submitted the manuscript to another publisher and received a standard form rejection letter.

In February 2008 I redrafted once more and trimmed the text until the story was 519 words long. I sent it out for the fifth time.

After a few months there was an email from an editor. She thought the story was ‘delightful’ and she planned to take it to their acquisition meeting in August.

In August 2008 I received a letter of offer from the publishers, Scholastic Australia.

In December 2008 I signed the contract. Yeeha!

During 2009 Littledog was beautifully illustrated by Tamsin Ainsley, then beautifully designed and then printed.

In Feb 2010 Littledog was released nationally! Hooray!

So, was it worth it?

Definitely!

Picture Books and Publication – Part 2 © Katrina Germein 2010

Have you had similar experiences?

____________________________________________________________________________

Purchase a copy of Littledog

Littledog Teaching Notes

Read a review of Littledog – Readings

Read a review of Littledog – Story Time Books

Read a review of Littledog – Books From The Basement

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Picture Books & Publication – Part 1

Writers like to moan a lot. We moan about the hardships of being a writer. Hardship makes for good a story and we like good stories.

But we also moan because our job is hard, or it can be hard. We work alone so sometimes we get lonely. We write what in our heart so when our writing is returned to us, unwanted, our hearts get broken. But we don’t know how to stop and so with scarred hearts we continue. Sometimes we have successes. And sometimes we have long periods of setbacks which we face alone, as we write alone; sustained by belief that one day it will be worth it. And even if it’s not, not worth it, we can’t stop; we don’t know how.

To begin with my life as a writer didn’t have a very good story. I had nothing to moan about. The first submission I ever mailed contained the first manuscript I had ever written. I simultaneously sent my story to about six Australian publishers and within a few weeks I had an editor on the phone and a contract on the way. Hey presto. A book was born.

It’s not always that easy.

Next week I’ll post the story of my fourth book. It’s a longer story with more room for moaning. But it has a happy ending.

Picture Books and Publication – Part 1 © Katrina Germein 2010

Have you had a similar experience?

Read Part 2.

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The Problem with Happy Endings

There’s a book in our house that I think is delightful. It’s a fun, sweet picture book that two of my three children enjoy reading with me. But my eldest son, the one who has the habit of looking at the world from alternative angles, finds it very frustrating indeed. What he doesn’t like about the story, what he finds so exasperating, is the happy ending.

The book is Cuddly Dudley by Jez Alborough. Cuddly Dudley is an adorable penguin that everyone just wants to cuddle. Dudley becomes fed up with the constant attention and sets off in search of a quiet life alone. The story ends when Cuddly ‘…discovers that maybe being with friends – and being incredibly cuddly – isn’t so bad after all.’ (Book blurb www.walkerbooks.com.au )

It’s not that my son wants a sad ending; he just feels that Dudley shouldn’t need to change. You see in the story when Dudley is away from those who love him he becomes lost and lonely. So when he is reunited with the other penguins he accepts their smothering cuddles with relief. To me this is a charming and satisfying resolution to a lovely, engaging book.

“I knew that would happen,” grumbled my eldest son when we first read the book together. (Ignoring the little joke on the last page.) “That always happens. Why did he have to change? Why couldn’t they? It always happens like that. Every time.  Always.”

It seems my son is bothered by the timeless theme of not realising what you have until it’s not there. He’s had enough of personal journeys of self discovery. My son believes that the other penguins should have just accepted that Dudley didn’t like cuddles. Then Dudley wouldn’t have had to leave and Dudley ultimately wouldn’t have had to change. And they could still all live happily ever after.

Hmm, I imagine that if that’s how the story went then there wouldn’t really be much of a story. However it did start me thinking. Does it really always happen like that? Do we always teach our protagonist how to fit in with others rather than guiding our characters to accept difference and appreciate quirks? Do we compromise our characters in order to create those nice story arcs that publishers and teachers seem especially fond of?

I think it’s more likely that as writers we pen such stories unintentionally. Our brains help us to make sense of the word through writing and therefore lead us to satisfying denouements. Often when I write I am surprised by how conclusions simply reveal themselves along the way. But if that always happens, if we always neatly tie up the endings with peaceful conformity then what messages are we giving our young audience?

A quick look through our family bedtime favourites reassured me that, although common, it doesn’t always happen. Many different books. Many different endings. Many different messages. I’m hoping too that rather than giving our young audiences messages with our stories we stimulate thought for them take away their own messages. I’m glad that I read Cuddly Dudley to my son. I’m glad that the story gave him opportunity to express feelings and helped his me to understand him a little better. Ah, another happy ending.

The Problem with Happy Endings © Katrina Germein 2010

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