Quoth the Raven: A Toast to the Toaster

by Ramona DeFelice Long

…wherein a half-century plus of tradition and tribute comes to an apparent end at the gravesite of Edgar Allan Poe.


Last Tuesday, January 29, was the birthday of Edgar Allan Poe. He’d have been 201. Try to picture all those candles.

But candles have not been the tribute of choice of one Poe devotee. For more than sixty years, a mysterious visitor dubbed the Poe Toaster appeared at the gravesite of the master of the macabre. On January 19, in the early morning hours, the Toaster paid his tribute. He wore a black cloak. He left behind three roses and a half-bottle of cognac. Every year, since 1949, the same traditional display. That’s a lot of flowers and booze, but who is more deserving of both the toast and the mystery than Poe?

If you live in the Mid-Atlantic region and read a newspaper, you’ll know that speculation about the Toaster has run rampant the past few years. It’s like Deep Throat—some people surely know his identity, but those people aren’t talking. I hope they don’t. I don’t want to know. If the Toaster wanted public recognition, he’d have sought it. He didn’t, so I respect that and hope the mystery of his identity will remain honored.

But that’s not to say the Poe Toaster does not deserve credit. Sixty years of doing anything consistently, particularly something that requires you to prowl around Baltimore in the wee hours in January, deserves some kudos.

So here’s to you, Poe Toaster. If you are to appear again nevermore, a grateful salut for your devotion.

 

Sidebar:

The Toaster may have retired, but Poe continues to enthrall writers, both with his work and his mystique. I wrote the above post in my public library. When I was finished, I was curious about how many Poe works were included in the county collection. The monitor nearly blew up when I did a general search on Poe, so I limit searched and limit searched and limit searched until I came up with a list of fiction works about Poe. That’s right—only fiction written about Poe. Here are a few of the titles. If anyone has more or would like to recommend, please do so.   A Poe Reading List is a good resource for the next midnight dreary.

The Pale Blue Eye – Louis Bayard

Entombed – Linda Fairstein

Not Quite Dead – John MacLachlan Gray

The Murder of Edgar Allan Poe – George Hatvary

In a Strange City – Laura Lippman

The Lighthouse at the End of the World – Stephen Marlowe

Poe & Fanny – John May

The Poe Shadow – Matthew Pearl

The Professor’s Wives Club – Joanne Rendell

For Edgar – Sheldon Rusch

The Mask of Red Death – Harold Schechter

Nevermore – Harold Schechter

The Facts in the Case of E. A. Poe – Andrew Sinclair

An Unpardonable Crime – Andrew Taylor

The Abuse Excuse

by Ramona DeFelice Long

RamonaGravitar...wherein I manhandle a character, and then question myself as an author and my choices in abusing people, even fictional ones.

My WIP’s main character, “M,” had a moment this week. A bad moment.

M went to see this guy she should not have gone to see, as amateur sleuths are wont to do. M has lost people she loves in what everyone, especially her know-it-all brother the sheriff, insists were simple accidents. She’s convinced of the opposite, but no one believes her. And it doesn’t help that some people say that she’s cursed. No. Not helpful at all, that one.

So, she goes to see This Guy, the husband of a friend and someone she should avoid for about a thousand good reasons. But she’s sure he knows things about the accidents, so she questions him. And things get a little hot. So hot that she very nearly slaps him. By very nearly, I mean she raises her hand to the proper pre-slap position, but stops herself. Hitting This Guy will bring her down to his level, and she may be cursed, but she’s not a lowlife. So, she lowers her hand and walks away.

I was proud of her. So proud, in fact, that it took me a moment to see that keeping her on the high ground completely flat-lined the action of the story.

You know that dramatic arc illustrated in workshops, where the line climbs higher as story tension mounts? My arc was shooting upwards and then it plummeted, because M is too damn nice for her own good, and for the good of the book.

I had to reverse the plummet, had to get M off her high horse and back into the fray, to do… what?

She couldn’t hit him. That was already decided. But, what if I made him hit her?  That would fit his character. And it would reverse the plummet.

So, I tried it. She stopped herself from slapping him, but instead of letting her walk away, he hit her.

No, wait. Not hit her, as in punch her. He wouldn’t go that far. He grabbed her arm. Hard. She pulled away. No, wait. She tried to pull away, so he gripped harder. He yanked her closer. Then he told her off. No. No, he did more than that. He threatened her. Her and her loved ones. Then she pulled out of his grasp. Or…instead, she tried to pull away, but he dug his nails into her arm, so she had to twist out of his grasp, and his fingernails scraped her arm. Better yet, his nails gouged in her arm, leaving a trail of bloody marks.

Whoa. Now we’re cooking. This lights a bunch of new fires. This Guy seems capable of violence, which is news to all. The grab will leave a mark. If her brother the sheriff sees this, he’ll go ballistic.

But, do I want him to see it? Or do I want M to hide it, because she was not supposed to see This Guy in the first place? And then there is This Guy’s family. There are children in the house. If she gets This Guy in trouble, will he take it out on someone even more innocent? And what about her friend? Has This Guy ever manhandled her?

Yeah, baby! Danger. Violence. Threats. Hard choices. All good stuff, and all I had to do to accomplish that was knock M around a little.

Pause.

This is not the first time I have abused a character. I’ve written a guy getting pistol-whipped. I’ve written a girl who runs off with a couple of guys who make her “do things.” I’ve written a young boy who can’t swim thrown into the Gulf of Mexico by a drunken shrimp boat captain. I’ve written a man repeatedly bitten by a snake. I’ve written a boy forced to fight his two adult uncles. I’ve written an unstable person who inadvertently hurts an animal. I’ve written a woman psychologically abused during an affair. I’ve written a young man who survives a shooting that kills his father. I used one bullet there—through the boy and into the father—to make his survivor guilt a heavier burden.

In all of these, the point of the story had been the abuse. Never, until the moment with M, did I write an abusive moment because I needed an exciting plot point. But after my initial relief of fixing the scene died down, I wondered if I’d just written myself into a moral dilemma. Was this unbearably callous? Abuse a character to advance a plot? Where had that come from?

But here’s the odd thing. In the story, it had happened. It was unexpected, a surprise to everyone, but he’d done it.  He grabbed her arm. That genie was not going back into the bottle. It was written and there was no going back. Why? Because it felt right to the story. Because, in real life, things like this happen.

When I work with new writers, one of my standard suggestions is to remind them about missed opportunities. Sometimes action offers an opportunity to make a story richer and deeper. Sometimes it offers an opportunity to talk about what not everyone feels comfortable talking about.

There are writers, and readers, who refused to write or read women in jeopardy, or kids in jeopardy, or animal abuse stories. I get that.  If there’s torture or graphic violence in a story, I’m gone. While I doubt anyone would consider my arm-grabbing scene as graphic violence, there are those who might give me grief for going there.

But I did. And now I have an opportunity to elevate the story by asking some questions that  a woman in real life, in this situation, would ask.

Starting with, what does she do now?

If This Guy had punched her, the answer would be simple. She’d go to her brother. But This Guy grabbed her arm in a heated argument. A grab is different from a punch. Or is it? Does it mean he lost his temper, or that he’s a woman beater? If she doesn’t tell anyone, and he hurts her friend, is that her fault? Or would that make things worse? Now that she knows he’s got a scary temper, what is her responsibility? But wait, she’s a victim. Why am I assigning responsibility for something that is not her fault?

I am still pondering the answers to those questions, but not to what happened. Violence happens, and we as authors should not be afraid to write about it. With one simple change in a scene, questions opened up, difficult questions that real women in real life face every day. Those questions can’t be asked, or answered, if a character always takes the high road and walks away.

What do you think?

Ramona

Busy, Busy!

by Ramona DeFelice Long

It’s a busy spring, with so many writerly events.

Registration opened this week for the Pennwriters 2010 Writers Conference, May 14-16, in Lancaster, Pa. I’ll be there as an instructor, teaching workshops on short story and novel beginnings.

In keeping with my blog post about a writer needing to continually study and hone the craft, I’m planning to be a student at the following events:

Saturday, February 6 – A Master Class in writing for children taught by Elizabeth Mosier. This course is sponsored by the Delaware Literary Connection.

Saturday, February 20 – The Bay to Ocean Writers Conference, sponsored by the The Eastern Shore Writers’ Association, at Chesapeake College in Maryland.

Friday – Sunday, March 26-28 – Writers At The Beach: Pure Sea Glass 2010, sponsored by the Rehoboth Beach Writers Guild, Rehoboth Beach, DE

It’s All Material

by Ramona DeFelice Long

….wherein I have to weigh my news addiction against my duty as a good citizen, and could I get a screenplay out of it?

A few months ago, I was called to jury duty. After an opening lecture about free parking (which was not, repeat, NOT, guaranteed to all prospective jurors, because there are not, repeat NOT, enough gratis spots in the garage) it was announced that our pool was for a criminal trial that would last eight weeks. After the audible gasp died down, a roll call was taken. It wasn’t to check attendance. It was to answer this question: Yes or no, could you devote eight weeks of your life to serve on a jury?

There were over one and fifty hundred people in the room. Less than twenty people said yes.

I was one of the yes-ers.

Think of the writing material! Short story vignettes, at least twelve of them. I could keep a journal, the bones for an epistolary novel.

Or….scenes from Twelve Angry Men began playing in my mind. I’ve never written a screenplay, but who doesn’t love a good courtroom drama?

A couple of hours later, I’d finished casting my international jury duty movie starring Gabriel Gael Garcia, Daniel Craig, Hugh Jackman, Hugh Grant, Olivier Martinez, Rodrigo Santoro, Jon Hamm and George Clooney. To avoid the title Twelve Handsome Men, I added Sandra Bullock as the Foreperson. (What?  She’s having a very hot year.)

The judge would be played by Meryl Streep, of course.

Suddenly, the yes-ers were called out –and instructed to go home. We were to report back tomorrow, to this particular floor, to this particular hallway. Then the bailiff handed out parking validations, no questions asked. I felt like I’d been handed a Golden Ticket by Willy Wonka.

That night, I thought about the type of trial that lasts eight weeks. There were no messy murders in recent memory, so I figured something complex and corporate. CEOs with hearts of stone. An evil computer geek trying to take over the world. Sure, that’s been done to death, but it’s still a thrill to witness computer geeks get their comeuppance for being so much smarter than the rest of us.

I added Jim Parsons to the cast, as the defendant/bad guy.

The next morning, a bigger bailiff, wearing a sidearm, sent us to a particular set of benches, in a small area beyond the elevators. When all the yes-ers had reported, the bailiff said we could use a particular restroom now, but we had to come straight back. No wandering around the courthouse. Then he stood in front of us like a human Jersey barrier.

Finally, we were led into a courtroom. Someone who had brought in a laptop was scolded. Someone who’d forgotten to leave his cell phone in his car sheepishly offered it up to be  confiscated. We turned over our parking stubs. When the bailiff gathered only 12 tickets for 20 people, he questioned the non-ticket holders. Some had taken the bus. For a second, I wondered if he was going to validate the bus driver.

People in suits began filing in. Some smiled, very pointedly, at us. Others very pointedly pointed their backs at us. Soon we were told to All Rise, and the judge came in, and it was explained why we were being treated so particularly.

We were in the jury pool for a capital murder trial.

I went into brain freeze. I gather this is a fairly typical reaction because the judge assured us that everything she was about to say would be given to us to read, in writing, a little later.

I learned later (through Google) that the crime had occurred several years ago, but it had taken almost four years to locate the victims, hone in on a suspect, and build the case.

The judge read the name of the defendant. She read the charges. She read the name of the victims. She read the names of attorneys attached to the case—the prosecutors (the smilers) and the defendant’s legal representation (the ignorers). She read a list of witnesses, experts and cops who would testify.

The list was very long. The part of me that was not in shock realized that my cast would have to be much bigger. Lots of extras and unknowns.

Then she started reading questions we would have to answer in voir dire, and I threw out thoughts of movie making.

Could we look at crime scene images? Did we know anyone addicted to drugs? Were there alcoholics in our families? Had we ever been a victim of domestic violence? Lost property to arson? Been kidnapped? Filed for a protection from abuse order? Smoked crack? Could we go to locations where the crimes had occurred? Could we look at autopsy photos of the abused corpses? Could we consider recommending the death penalty if a verdict of guilty was determined?

Could we refrain from reading a newspaper, searching the Internet or watching television news for the duration of the trial?

Say…WHAT?

That brought me up short. Not the other, far more gruesome questions. I know my stance on those. As difficult as it could be, I knew that, if selected, I would give real and serious consideration. I would pay attention and try to do a good job.

But eight weeks of avoiding news?

I read the newspaper every morning. (My husband is an editor, true, but still, I am a newspaper reader.) I also Google everything. And everyone. If I’ve met you, chances are, I’ve Googled you.

This was cause for major personal introspection. And honesty.  Home at night, could I fight the temptation to cruise the ‘net and maybe meander across a story about my trial? Could I truly go eight weeks without…peeking?

The only way, for me, would be a total media blackout.

I had lots of time to consider. I pulled the second to highest number in the pool, meaning I’d be the second to last person interviewed. I was there for the duration.

Late in the afternoon, the remaining potentials were gathered in a room. We didn’t talk about the case, but several people talked about serving. One young woman said it would be great to spend eight weeks away from her jerk of a boss. Another man quietly said he’d been laid off for months, and the ten dollars a day jurors would be paid, for eight weeks, would add up to how much? Several older men were chomping at the bit to serve.

Me? I was still questioning my willpower.

And then I pictured Judge Meryl. If Judge Meryl said I couldn’t read the paper or Google, I wouldn’t do it.

In the end, to use some fancy legal jargon, it became moot. The person before me was chosen as the 4th alternate. We were thanked, presented a certificate that freed us from jury duty for two years, and sent home.

Part of me felt ripped off. I never got to say, in a court of law, that I’d be willing to sacrifice my news addition as my civic duty.

So, could you do it? Eight weeks without peeking?

And, if I wrote that into a screenplay, could media withdrawal work as a secondary storyline?

Ramona

“Never give up. Never surrender.”

by Ramona DeFelice Long

….wherein I use the catch phrase from a spoof of Star Trek to discuss studying the craft of writing.

There’s a great moment in the movie Galaxy Quest* between Dr. Lazarus (played by classically trained actor Alan Rickman, playing classically trained actor Sir Alexander Dane) and the ship’s… I mean…show’s captain (named Jason, played by Tim Allen, star of Home Improvement). For the unfortunate few who have yet to see this film, run out and do so at once, because you are missing out.

This particular great moment is when Jason (who has removed his shirt) is fighting off a ginormous rock monster and the rest of the crew…I mean…cast is watching helplessly. Dr. Lazarus offers some wise advice:

Dr. Lazarus: “You’re just going to have to figure out what it wants. What is its motivation?”

Jason: “It’s a rock monster! It doesn’t have motivation!”

Dr. Lazarus: “See, there’s your problem, Jason. You were never serious about the craft.”

I work with a lot of new writers, and experienced ones, too, and being serious about the craft is advice I would steal from Dr. Lazarus. You may not be fighting rock monsters, technically, but figuring out motivation, how to seal up plot holes, use secondary storylines, and engage a reader from word one can feel like a battle if you don’t have an arsenal of knowledge at your disposal. Writers learn by writing, but we also learn by continuously studying and applying knowledge.

So, while everyone is announcing their resolutions and personal goals for the new decade, I’d like to throw one into the ring: Pick an area of weakness in your writing. Set yourself a course of study to address and conquer that weakness. Do it for 2010. In 2011, you can choose a new area of weakness. And so on.

In 2009, I studied short stories. I’d received a grant from the Delaware Division of the Arts based on a short story project, so it was only right and fitting to use the grant funds for that purpose. I attended the Rosemont College Writers Retreat and spent a week honing my short story skills.

But not everyone can afford or spend a week in a college dorm and focus on one area of writing (although I highly recommend you give it a try.) So here’s a more do-it-yourself version, and my own plan for craft study in 2010.

I have a weakness in scene writing–specifically, knowing where to break off a scene and end a chapter. Because, I suspect, I’ve written so many short stories, I have a tendency to wrap things up very tidily. In a short story, this is a good thing, even if the ending is open-ended and left for the reader to interpret. In a short story, a reader wants some sense of resolution, some answer to “Why did I just read all of that?”

However, in the middle of a novel, a big dose of resolution is the antithesis of a good thing. If the reader feels a sense of closure, what will she do? Shut the book. Go to sleep.

Choosing where to end a scene is tricky. You don’t want your scenes to end at a place where you reader feels that she can stop now, snuggle under the covers and go night-night. You want your reader to reach the end of the chapter and say, “Darn! How can I sleep now? Captain Jason’s in the middle of fighting a rock monster!”

This is not my first round with studying scenes. A couple of years ago, two writer friends and I began a do-it-yourself study course. We met every month at historic Greenbank Mill and called our course Let’s Make A Scene! We traded copies of novel openings and dissected them, studied various books on scene writing, and basically talked about what constitutes a scene. I’d started work on a mystery novel, so it was good for me to discuss and then apply the knowledge.

But like many good intentions, thanks to time and summer and life, our study group dropped off before we got to the part about studying scene endings! Aargh!

Now, as I edit my mystery, I see that I need to do more work. This fall, I attended the Seascape Writers Retreat and learned that I’m a dribbler. I reach a point of high action or a confrontation at the end of the scene, but instead of ending there (and driving the reader to turn the page), I add a few more lines. It’s a habit, because I did it over and over. I’m sure it’s from short story training. In a novel, that kills the dramatic tension of the moment.

So now I have to retrain myself. I’m thinking of calling the study group and begging for a refresher course.  If not, I’ll do it solo, and if anyone reading has advice, I’ll gladly take it. This year, I conquer my personal rock monster.

Happy 2010. I hope you all continue to study our craft.

By Grapthar’s hammer, let’s make Dr. Lazarus proud!

Ramona

*Thanks to DreamWorks for the photos. In case anyone is on Team Jason, he gets revenge against Dr. Lazarus, and calls him a “scene-stealing hack.” Heh.

 

The Envelope, Please!

by Ramona DeFelice Long

….wherein I end my year as an Artist Fellow with some thoughts about winning grants, applying for grants and  why it’s true that just being nominated (or applying) makes you a winner.

This time last year, I spent many minutes watching for my mailman. End of December is when the Delaware Division of the Arts, and many of its counterparts in other US states, sends out notifications about artist grants awarded for the upcoming year.

In Delaware, individual artist grants come in three sizes–Emerging, Established and Master–and in five disciplines–Visual, Performing, Media, Folk and Literature. Back in August, I  completed the easy (really, it is!) online application and then did what writers are advised to do about submissions:  Hit SEND (or shove the envelope in the slot) and forget about it.

Until Christmas. Because mixed in with gift boxes and holiday cards would be The Envelope.

This is one of those times when size is important. An over-sized manila envelope means you have to fill out various forms and follow certain instructions because, yes, you were awarded a grant! A slim white business envelope means thank-you-for-trying–better-luck-next-time-please-try-again.

I’ve been on both sides of the envelope, as it were. Last year, happily, my envelope was a fattie.

Ten Delaware artists received fellowships in 2009.  Here are my fellow Fellows.

So, what does it mean to be an Artist Fellow?

In practical terms, it means that you are awarded a sum of money (thank you, taxpayers of Delaware!) that allows you to set aside time and resources to focus on a particular project.

In outreach terms, it means your work is showcased in a couple of ways. The Artist Pages noted above is a new venture put up by the DDOA, with narratives written by local writer Christopher Yasiejko

Also, in July, an exhibit of works by Fellowship winners opened at the Biggs Museum of American Art in Dover and ran through September.

In performance terms, it means you give a public reading. This is the fun part. I was very fortunate to know two other Artist Fellows, and it was extra fortunate that our awards happened to cover the three literary disciplines: Robert Hambling Davis in Creative Non-Fiction; Abby Millager in Poetry; and yours truly in Fiction.

We combined our literary forces and chose to have our public event at the historic Deer Park Tavern (historic because it was cursed by Edgar Allan Poe.) Bob read excerpts from his memoir about growing up in rural Delaware. Abby read a selection of poems both amusing and moving. I read from a short story based on my French Catholic family in Louisiana.  Then we hosted an open mic, and enjoyed the work of other artists brave enough to stand before a crowd and read. Which, if you have ever done it, is no small thing, to share your work live and see/feel/hear the reaction.

Those are the concrete ways a grant helps an artist, but there is also the less  tangible. Receiving a grant is different from being published. Seeing your work in print is a great thing; it means you’ve met the standards and your work has been found worthy of sharing with the public. Sometimes there is even a paycheck involved, but pay or no pay, your name in print is a good, good thing.

A grant is a different type of affirmation, because it’s awarding support before the work is done. It tells you that your idea or project has artistic merit; it also tells you that, in this case, the state of Delaware believes in art and artists and shows that by supporting YOU and your fellow Fellows for the year.

Which brings me back to my “wherein” statement posted at the top. Everyone, in every state, should apply for a grant. First, because it supports the grant system and the organizations that function to assist and promote artists. Second, because the process itself is a boon to you, the artist. How?

1. You will have to focus on a project (a good thing) that you vow to work on for a year.

2..You will have to write a biographical statement (another good thing) that highlights your study or achievements in your field.

3. You will have to develop an Artist Statement (a really good thing) that expresses in writing how this particular project will help you to grow and learn as an Artist.

So, even if the envelope may be small this time, the fact that there’s one in the mail means you helped yourself by applying. Like they say on the Red Carpet, it’s an honor just to be nominated. In this case, it benefits an Artist to give a grant a try.


DLC Interview with Elizabeth Mosier, part 2

by Ramona DeFelice Long

Continued below is an interview with Elizabeth Mosier,

author of  My Life as a Girl. Libby’s full bio can be found at the start of the interview, posted yesterday, with more about her and her work at her website.

This interview was conducted for the Delaware Literary Connection. For more information about the DLC, contact me at ramonadef@yahoo.com

Part 2

RL: Do you belong to a writers or critique group? Do you share your work with anyone for review before sending it out to an agent/editor/publisher?

EM: As I tell my students, it’s not a draft until you’ve shared it with a reader and learned from their reaction.  Though I’m not currently in a writing group, I’m lucky to have several trusted readers, including my husband and colleagues from Warren Wilson College (where I completed my MFA) and SCBWI.

RL: As a writer, are you a planner or a pantser? (Definitions for the uncertain: Planner is a writer who maps out or outlines a story in advance or during the writing process. Pantser is one who sits at the keyboard and lets whatever happens, happen.)

EM: How about a plantser?  I have a general sense of where I’m going — an idea I’m trying to illustrate, or a picture I’m trying to understand.  But I never know what I’m really writing about until I’ve completed a draft.  I spend most of my writing time in revision:  reorganizing what’s emerged, burying what I’ve learned so the reader can have the pleasure of discovering it as the story unspools.

RL: Part 2 of the above question: In your daily, non-writing life, are you a planner or a pantser?

EM: I’m a planner!  I shop with a list, make weekly meal plans, schedule exercise, send birthday cards on time, plan family vacations six months in advance.  To me, a schedule is like a good syllabus: a framework that supports your goals (for the semester, for your family, for your novel), allowing you to relax and experience, to think and dream.  I’m an excellent and cheerful administrator, often tapped to be in charge.  Which is why I had to wean myself from work I’ve enjoyed in the past — directing Bryn Mawr’s summer writing program for high school students, filling in as Acting Director of Creative Writing and Acting Director of Admissions, running concessions for community theater, chairing the school craft night and science fair – so that I can get my writing done!

 

RL: You do a lot of outreach (book talks, signings, school visits) in the Philadelphia literary scene. Do you have a favorite or pet event that’s the most fun or has special meaning to you?

EM: I love to teach, probably too much for my own literary health!  But nothing compares to the experience of visiting a class of students (as I did recently at Country Day School of the Sacred Heart in Bryn Mawr) who’ve read your work and prepared questions for you.  Connecting with readers is what every writer wants.  Despite rumors to the contrary, writing isn’t about fame or fortune – it’s about communicating something and being understood.

RL: How does conducting workshops for young writers help you as a writer for young readers?

EM: When you work with young children and teenagers, it’s more difficult to underestimate them in your work.  But most importantly, kids remind you that writing is a form of play – and that, under the best circumstances, it’s supposed to be fun.

DLC Interview with Elizabeth Mosier

by Ramona DeFelice Long

I recently had the pleasure of interviewing author Elizabeth (Libby) Mosier on behalf of the Delaware Literary Connection.  Because the interview is long, I am posting in two parts. Today, the Q&A delves into Libby’s background, writing about the paranormal, and some thoughts about the young adult market/genre. Tomorrow, there will be more on writing habits and outreach in the Philadelphia area.

About the author:

Elizabeth Mosier is the author of the novel, My Life as a Girl (Random House) and numerous short stories and essays that have appeared in literary and commercial magazines including Seventeen, Cimarron Review, Child, the Philadelphia Inquirer and Poets and Writers.  A graduate of Bryn Mawr College and the MFA Program for Writers at Warren Wilson College, she has taught fiction and nonfiction writing to audiences from elementary school to adult, in a variety of settings including Bryn Mawr, the Bennington College July Program and at area elementary and middle schools as part of the Young Writers Day program.

Libby led a YA Workshop at the DLC’s 2009 Writer’s Conference at Wesley College in Dover and will be conducting another in February, 2010. She is currently working on a Young Adult novel with a paranormal twist. She blogs about writing, teaching and life at her website.

The interview:

 Ramona Long (RL): Your first novel, My Life as a Girl, featured a college age protagonist who grew up in Arizona (as you did) and attended Bryn Mawr (as you did.) You discuss on your website those similarities, so we’ll and move on to the novel you are currently revising. It’s called Ghost Signs, and my razor-sharp journalistic skills lead me to ask if you are delving into the paranormal with this story?

Elizabeth Mosier (EM): Very perceptive, Ramona – even psychic! Seriously, I’ve always been fascinated by ghost stories, which I think of as one way we make sense of death.  What –and where– is the soul?  Is there life after death?  Ghosts seem to offer answers – and the “mediums” who communicate with spirits appear to be conduits to otherwise imperceptible truth.  But are such powers really paranormal?  What if the medium (in Ghost Signs, 17-year-old Cassie Schulz) is faking?  To pursue these questions, I researched fraudulent mediums and created a skeptical narrator (Cassie’s 15-year-old brother Jack).  The fun in writing fiction is that I don’t have to prove or disprove the existence of a spirit world.  Instead, I’m free to tell the story through the lens of adolescent psychology, and to suggest a connection between psychics and artists, in terms of the way they “see.”

The Schulzes are, in Jack’s words, “the neighborhood Bohemians” — Mr. Schulz restores houses and Mrs. Schulz paints murals.  In this unconventional family, the present resonates with the past, the dead communicate with the living, and coming of age means finding your artistic voice and vision.  Cassie finds hers through poetry, and Jack by photographing the faded images that often reappear on old buildings after renovation or heavy rain – the “ghost signs” of the book’s title.  Even in a “normal” town like Wayne, Pennsylvania, secrets are revealed everywhere you look.

RL: YA seems to be a fluid, ever-changing genre. Over the past few decades, it has splintered from the broad “teen reader” category to include Tween, Teen, Young Adult, and now New Adult. What do you think this says about this general age of readers and the authors who want to write for them?

EM: The YA category is a marketing invention, and the current segmentation of the category into Tween/Teen/Young Adult/New Adult is less a reflection of reader preference than of bookselling strategy.  Though the publishers’ decision to target a particular reader determines to some extent the content, cover and media interest in a book, I advise my students to focus on what they can control:  that is, writing the best book they can write for the audience they envision.  For young adult writers, this means attempting to render an adolescent sensibility – authenticity, immediacy, heightened sensitivity and emotion, narcissism (!) — through technical choices that will shape the reader’s perception of the story as “true.” For assistance, I go to Sylvia Plath, whose ironic tone in The Bell Jar signals truth telling; to Laurie Halse Anderson, whose present-tense narration in Speak keeps the reader riveted; to Beth Kephart, whose lyrical prose in Undercover perfectly captures the time in young adulthood when we awake to the world.  Better to learn about writing from the masters than to try to anticipate the next marketing trend.

RL: Is there anything about the current state of YA literature that disturbs or dismays you? Anything that you find particularly encouraging or exciting?

EM: I’m encouraged by the relative health of children’s book publishing in this economy, and excited about the variety of YA fiction being published today.  But on a deeper level, the level at which I am the parent of two teenage girls, I worry about the proliferation of series fiction inspired by The Clique and Gossip Girl. The world these books depict – in which adults are cardboard credit-card holders and girls solve their problems by shopping — is not only cynical, but also false.  Why not dispense with the parents altogether, cut these alienated girls loose from the tether of their parents’ social and financial aspirations, and send them on a real adventure, where they might learn something about themselves and how to live?

RL: You have joined the blogosphere.   Why do you think writers are so drawn to blogging? Do you have any particular theme or focus in your blog posts?

EM: I think writers are drawn to blogging because we’re hard-wired for narrative and newly enabled by technology.  Though blogging can be a way of avoiding writing — the literary equivalent of hanging out in a café talking about your novel instead of writing it — for me, it’s a way to keep writing something, even when I’m mired in an unwieldy novel revision.  I find that having a blog makes me alert to the world as I gather material; my blog is a place to put the pieces that aren’t quite stories, aren’t quite essays, that don’t belong in my novel — but which I have selected and shaped in the same careful way.  Several of my posts are about my volunteer work at the Living History Archaeology Laboratory in Philadelphia.  As I write about the lab, I am working out an idea that might, eventually, find longer memoir form.  In the meantime, I’ve come to think of writers as archaeologists — digging, processing, and repairing the glittering and inscrutable relics to find meaning in experience.

RL: One post (“My Mother’s List”) tells  a personal, touching story about a book list your mother gave you shortly before you left home for Bryn Mawr. It was a list of books she thought you should have read by that point in your life. The post describes how you found her list later, filed in your “Resume” file. Now that you are a mother, if you had a daughter leaving for college and wanted to recommend a couple of titles she should have read at this point in her life, what would they be? And why?

EM: I’m glad you asked.  I’ve been composing this list all my life – but as a writer and teacher, I approach the task differently from my mother.  In the classroom, I try to lead my students to great literature, but also to guide each student’s unique exploration of her writing’s content and style. Though I always assign touchstone texts that model technical excellence, the most meaningful exercise I give students is to ask them to prepare (and annotate) a list of the books that have most influenced what they read and write – in essence, who they are. My “personal syllabus” includes:   I Can Fly by Ruth Krauss (illustrated by Mary Blair), a picture book that was my first introduction to simile; Nibble Nibble Mousekin by Joan Walsh Auglund, a version of the Hansel and Gretel tale that demonstrated irony with eerie illustrations that mismatched the sweet-sounding text; Charlotte’s Web by E.B. White, which promised that a perfectly chosen word could save somebody’s life; The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain and Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery, both of which taught me that well-drawn characters could seem so real they’d live outside the page.

As for my daughters, I’ve tried to help them make their own lists by reading alongside them in two separate mother-daughter book groups begun when each girl was in third grade.  There, we mothers introduce our daughters to books with resourceful heroines — classic and contemporary tales that we believe will save their lives:  Charlotte’s Web and Anne of Green Gables, of course, but also A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith, A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle, Chasing Vermeer by Blue Balliet, Because of Winn-Dixie by Kate DiCamillo, From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler by E.L. Konigsburg, Kiki Strike: Inside the Shadow City by Kirsten Miller, The Golden Compass by Philip Pullman, A Year Down Yonder by Richard Peck, I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith.  I was surprised and delighted when my younger daughter’s group – 8th graders now — chose to discuss My Life As a Girl by Elizabeth Mosier for our January, 2010 meeting.

 

Part 2 comes tomorrow. Stay tuned!

For information about the Delaware Literary Connection, please contact me at ramonadef@yahoo.com.

WWID (What Would I Do?)

by Ramona DeFelice Long

 

Upon discovering that the primary character in my novel is actually a fictionalized version of…me.

So I’ve been writing this mystery. I set it in Louisiana (my homeland), with a French-Catholic sleuth (my upbringing), who is of Acadian descent (my cultural heritage), in a fictional town called St. Lucy (my middle name), living on a sugar cane farm (my house), with a raging addiction to coffee (a la me), two bickering brother-types (lucky me!), and masses of crazy relatives (mine again) who like to drop in uninvited, but always bring a coffee cake. (That part I made up. Usually, my cousins show up expecting coffee cake, not carrying one.)

Oddly enough, I still claim this novel is fiction.

I wrote an entire first draft before I discovered that the sleuth is really me. And by “discovered” I mean that a writer friend read it and said, “Wow, your sleuth is really you.”

And get this—up hearing that, I had the nerve to be surprised. Oh, sure, I recognized  the similarities noted above, but I was going for that write what you know thing. And since I have a good first (second, third, nineteenth) draft completed, I’m not going to ditch it  just because I failed to recognize that I was writing about an Other Me the whole time.

I’m not alone in this. Lots of writers live vicariously through their characters. You’ve heard it before:

“I hate my boss, so I got revenge by killing him in a story.”

“My nosy sister in law? Wait till you read what I did to her in chapter seven!”

“My lying, cheating ex and his wing wang finally got what they deserve on page 8.”

“I put a little family joke in there. Did you catch it?”

The comeuppance led me to do some major thinking about Other Me and her back story and likes and peculiarities, and that is a good thing. Best of all, once I got past that moment of chagrin, I decided to embrace the Other Me and make her a better, more interesting me.

So this is what I did. I gave her a few quirks that I definitely don’t possess. She’s a wild driver with an interest in fancy cars. (The real me has never gotten speeding ticket and my interest in cars never goes past if it runs well.) She wears sexy lingerie, even though she sleeps alone. (So far. For her, I mean. The real me…you don’t need to know this, do you?)  She has more advanced degrees, a better wardrobe, a nicer singing voice and an interest in voodoo. (Okay, that one we share, and that’s all I’m saying about it.)

She also has a lot of dead people in her life. That part, I’m happy to say, is totally fiction.

But now I realize something else. Other Me has two brothers, who will certainly recognize themselves, since I virtually quoted some of their idiotic fights from our childhood.

In real life, I have a sister. Other Me does not.

Help. I might be in trouble now.

Ramona

The Results Are In, and….

by Ramona DeFelice Long

….boy, are they confounding! But interesting nonetheless.

First off, thanks to all who participated. I’m going to do a Price-Waterhouse disclaimer and rattle off facts and figs: 

I ran the survey here, for one week. I contacted my regular list of bloggites with an email that I was trying out this survey. I also posted on the Sisters in Crime list-serve. That was the focus group. A few stray people came in from various other places.

According to the nifty Dashboard feature, the Survey post got several hundred views. Forty or so people posted a vote or contacted me privately with comments.

So now….drum roll, please….here are the numbers. A selection of comments will follow.

Question:  How much time are you, the reader, willing to give an author to capture your attention?

A .        One Line………1 vote

B.         One Paragraph…….6 votes

B/C.     One Paragraph/One Chapter…..3 votes

C.         One Chapter…..4 votes

C/D.     One/Three Chapters……1 vote

D.        Three Chapters….5 votes

D/E.     Three Chapters/Half the Book……2 votes

E.         Half the Book…..3 votes

F.         The Whole $%#! Thing….1 vote

G.        Other…..8 votes  (4 votes for 3 pages, 3 votes for 50 pages, 1 vote for…it was hard to tell.)

I could attempt to do percentages, but that is much too much math for me. I think these numbers say what many of us already knew, or at least suspected: that every reader is different and what pulls a reader into a story is mysterious and nebulous. However, the way the numbers lean, I’d say we should all count on a spanking good opening, because while some people are patient, just as many have a “Life’s too short” attitude about reading a book that doesn’t grab from the get-go.

Here are some pet peeves noted by participants:

  • bad grammar, especially in an opening line 
  • more than one ! on a page
  • dragging middles
  • italicized first line
  • factual errors/incorrect information
  • story falls apart
  • story doesn’t live up to promising beginning
  • mythology is not developed, or is broken
  • too much gore
  • shoddy research/author faking information
  • KidJep
  • clumsy, poor or boring writing
  • prologues
  • prologues known as introductions or prefaces
  • anything resembling a prologue, introduction or preface
  • slamming the reader too quickly into a complex story
  • out of left field change or drop in the middle of the story
  • second acts with characters doing nothing but talking
  • opening written from POV of a victim who dies at the end of the chapter
  • unlikeable protagonist
  • bad writing
  • too many characters introduced too soon

Here are some comments about what grabs and keeps readers reading:

  • “style is all important”
  • “a voice or setting that grabs me”
  • “great writing”
  • “compelling voice or character”
  • “something surprising or intriguing”
  • “have a little magic”
  • “a challenge”
  • “style”
  • “it’s all style for me”

Conclusions?  I’d say pitch your prologue, polish your style and let your enthusiasm for your story shine.

What do you think?

Ramona