The Future of The Future of Us

"It's 1996, and less than half of all American high school students have ever used the Internet.

"Emma just got her first computer and an America Online CD-ROM.

"Josh is her best friend.they power up and log on -- and discover themselves on Facebook, fifteen years in the future."

I loved it, The Future of Us, by Jay Asher and Carolyn Mackler.

I love that the plot is driven by high school junior Emma's obsession to have a good marriage fifteen years ahead. Emma's motivation is clear: her own parents are divorced and remarried, with lots of complications.

The effects of divorce is just one of the social issues Future explores. There's also homosexuality; stereotypes; teen sex, drinking, drugs.

Who will Emma end up marrying? Will she be happy? What will Emma and Josh do about the future they can see? The six-day mystery unfolds in 65 short chapters, through alternating narrators Emma and Josh. Each chapter is so compelling and fluid that moving through the book is smooth and fast. I never found a good time or place to put it down -- wanted to keep going, had to remind myself to slow down and enjoy each word.

I can see Mackler's call for respecting individuality and complex family dynamics (The Earth, My Butt, and Other Big Round Things). And there are threads of Asher's theme of how one small "ripple" affects a lot of other people (13 Reasons Why).

While I might have traded out a couple characters for a little more 1996 -- what everyone was wearing/eating/drinking/watching/doing -- I cherished the details, like the songs that "played" in the story, and the "Wayne's World" part, and the problem with Pluto.

The Future of Us is tight and real, funny and sad. These talented writers marry wit and philosophy, delivering a thought-provoking tale of two teens trying to thrive in a quickly-changing world:

"No matter how small the ripple, the most vulnerable part of the future is going to be our children."

Like!

The Bitter Fruit of "Osage County"

Drugs. Denial. Deception. Suicide. Abuse. Incest and infidelity.

The Weston family has it all, in Tracy Letts' Pulitzer-Prize winning tragic-comedy, "August: Osage County."

Every so often, we come across art, after which are not the same, nor would we be the same without having had the experience.

Oregon Shakespeare Festival Director Chris Moore's rendition of this play is exactly that art. From the opening music to the skeletal set and carefully-cast characters, every element of "August" is rich, significant.

Why am I liking this? we wonder in the dark. What about this is so compelling? And what does this say about us as viewers?

Tension. It's piled up high, like mashed potatoes and gravy. Each character has conflict with every other. There's sharp wit and sharp tongues, and we want to see the actors unravel, to see their resolve. We want to know that we could survive all this, too, should it happen to us. We learn that our lives are not as bad.

We are all human is the message the play delivers. To what degree is unimportant. "There is a little bit of the Westons in each of our families," Moore writes in the playbill.

Pain. Love. Lies. Commitment: "August" explores what makes us family.

Crickets, cello, Violet's creep down the stairs: the exceptional irony in this play is Moore's tying together all the little details to show one family's falling apart.

Real Magic: Erin Morgenstern's The Night Circus

It is absolutely enchanting, Erin Morgenstern's The Night Circus.

The setting alone--Victorian Paris; London; Munich; New York; and Concord, Massachusetts--pops with color and costumes and caramel apples.

The characters are rich, mysterious, and the plot--a game gone bad between two old old magicians--is different, interesting.

It's a wonder of a read, one that will take you somewhere you've never been, one you'll be thinking about days after you've read (and re-read) the last line.

There, the magic does not end. The alchemy behind the book--Morgenstern's process--that is really something.

The story started as a completely different concept in 2005, morphing into its ultimate manifestation years and revisions later.

30 agents rejected the sweeping, lyrical manuscript that eventually landed Morgenstern six-figures and a movie deal.

The MC, Morgenstern claims, was invented last. How, I wonder? How was that possible? This Celia, she is integral, holds the circus in her very palm--the cover itself.

(While we're on design, you must check out the illustrations that separate the five parts. Hint: it's what you see on one of the Circus rides.)

Better than The Magicians? The next Harry Potter? Twilight rival?

Morgenstern laughs away comparisons.

And she should.

The Night Circus is its own story, a real-life unfolding of paper, of turning of gears.

Brushing off the Dust

A month or so ago, I pulled up the very first story I ever wrote, a simple little YA story that no one but my writing partner, Christy, has ever read.

At first, I thought it was incredibly primitive, as in "primate," as in, a monkey must have written the thing.

There was not much action, hardly any plot, underdeveloped characters with way too old vocabularies, too much "telling," a whiny MC.

I mean, compared to the political-dystopian-colonialist MS I just finished, this really was monkey business.

But also, the little story had some fun stuff: a vessel for telling the story that teens would really like, an uncommon but exciting setting, an MC with potential, an ending that I love.

Then, I started tinkering with it a bit--polishing up voice, working the setting, adding some dimension to the MC with dialogue. I made sure I answered the questions I asked at the beginning.

I started tinkering a lot--changing the direction of some plot points, making the MC more likeable/relateable, adding detail to the MC's motivation, the reasons for her action/reaction.

Now what I have is kind of a mess. But it's a better mess than it was when the monkey wrote it.

I'm going to tinker some more and see what comes of it, and be wide open to that whatever.

How about you? What are you working (or re-working) on?

Can It Be About Secondary Characters?

Several months ago, I was talking with one of my writing partners about how we both loved our secondary characters, far more than we liked our MCs.

What's with that?

Is it okay?

Well, I finally got around to watching "The Black Swan" last week while Man Down with a kidney infection, and I realized why I had put it off for so long: I am not a fan of Queen Amidala (Natalie Portman). Yes, I do respect her long hours at training for the part--the ballet she took, the weight she lost, the craft she honed. But, simply, I am not in love with her, and have never been, not even in "Where The Heart Is."

Instead of going into all the blab about why I'm not a Portman superfan, I'll tell you that I am head over heels for "Swan" secondary characters Mila Kunis (who had me at "Book of Eli") and the talented and gorgeous Frenchman Vincent Cassel, who can give one look that can win an Oscar. So for me, these two carried me through the movie. Them, and plot, and setting.

The other night, my little family went to see Bill Rauch's rendition of Gilbert and Sullivan's "The Pirates of Penzance" at the outdoor Shakespeare theater. It was magic: the sword fighting and swashbuckling and disco dance breakouts. The female lead sang way too high, though, and none of us could understand what she was saying (though she did have her some swanky kimono PJs), and the lead male was meh.

But the Pirate King! Aye, my friends! This lad was really something!

And Ruth, the nursemaid, was equally fantastic. And the rollicking Modern Major General? Unforgettable!

It probably shouldn't be so that a reader or movie watcher or play goer not like the MC. But it does seem to happen, and if it does, it's better to have some really amazing sidekicks to go with it.

If You Missed It...

Here they are--the inspiring, wise words of "Myths and Misconceptions" on WriteOnCon.com:

"Writing is really hard. It's a career...You can't ever stop reading, and learning." Holly Root, Agent

"Live! And have experiences." Martha Mihalick, Editor

"Being happy and supportive for other people will put you in a better mind frame for your own career." Molly O'Neill, Editor

So good!

Not Buying It

When we got to the part of To Kill A Mockingbird where Tom Robinson is found guilty of raping Mayella Ewell, my kids were livid.

"What?!?"

"That's not right!"

"It's not fair."

"This book is so dumb."

"Why did she write it like that?"

It had taken a long time to hook my kids into this read--the catalyst for that would be Boo Radley--and when they were finally willing to settle into setting, to know the characters, Harper Lee blew it for them at the climax.

"Well, wait," I told Dominic (13), Daney (12), and Rees (10). "What do you think this book--the Book of the Century--is about?"

They told me it was whether Tom was let go or given the death penalty.

"Is that everything?" I asked. "What does that have to do with killing a mockingbird?"

This was a different read for our family. It was not fantastical Harry Potter or spirit-of-survival Little House on the Prairie. As the kids get older, we read deeper. The last book we read together was The Boy in Striped Pajamas.

But this--this timeless, timely tale--this was the most slow, the most rich, the most complex (I'm gearing them up for Grapes of Wrath).

"Could it be," I asked, "That this book has less to do with what happened to Tom Robinson than what Scout and Jem think about it? That they felt like you do: that it wasn't fair. And why wasn't it? What does that say about how things were? And are things ever that way now?"

If Tom Robinson were let off, how could we review the essence of human nature? How would we know how difficult, if not impossible, it is to set aside reason from prejudice, even if a man's life is at stake?

What kind of folks will Scout and Jem grow to be? How were they different from most of their community? Why did their dad, Atticus, choose to foster that? Why does it matter?

Again, I believe that the difference between commercial and literary fiction comes down to conclusion. Mockingbird didn't end as we'd thought it would. It didn't end happy. We were dissatisfied, unravelled, even.

Days after we finished, the kids are still talking about the book. Yes, they were glad they got to "see" Boo. Because of that one scene, they raised the book to a B-, A-, A. But they're still walking around, grumbling that Tom Robinson got the chair. And that is why Harper Lee is a genius.

When You're Stuck in Your Story...

...Go back to the beginning. Work on what you have done. Tighten up. Rearrange. Add plot. Add dialogue. Flush out secondary characters with depth and dimension. Make setting sing.

You will see where you have been. You will remember where you are going.

Even if it wasn't tacking a thousand words onto your end, you will feel like you have done something.

Instant Gratification: The Current Trend in Introduction

My kids and I were eight chapters into reading To Kill A Mockingbird (so we can see the OSF production of it this spring), when sixth-grade Daney groaned, "What is this book about, anyway? There is no plot, there is no conflict."

She was right.

Harper Lee took her sweet Southern time aquainting her readers with Scout's tiny life in Maycomb County: her admiration for her older brother, Jem; her relationships with summer visitor, Dill; the ladyfolk; the ghostly man-child, Boo Radley; her father.

We get the hot, dry dust, the simple-minded, struggling townspeople.

But it's not until page 85 when conflict rips us from the slow days of Scout's scounting about, and throws us into the political upheaval that becomes the essence of the book.

"This is like Dracula," Dominic (13) agreed. (He's reading the 500-word tome for his spring book report.) "It didn't get good until page 300, when stuff started happening."

"What did Bram Stoker write in the 300 pages of 'nothing?'" I'd asked.

"Setting," Dominic said. "And setting. And setting. He took a long time setting it up."

So right now, my kids are seeped in two worlds: in 1930s Alabama, and 19th Century Transylvania. And though they're finally capitivated, it cost a lot of hearing them complain in getting them here.

We writers could never do this today. We could never "waste" a third of our stories on establishing setting. The present trend is to drop blood, or mystery, or vengance, or some kind of conflict right on page one.

What does that mean?

What are we missing out on?

Variety?

So, I'm writing sci-fi, for a huge change, and I'm thinking about the differences between it and other genres.

For me, so far, it comes down to setting and word choice. Character doesn't seem to change much, and plot isn't enormously effected.

I'd love to hear what your thoughts on it all.

So I Finally Read THE HUNGER GAMES

Dave's brother, Michael, the dad to three teen girls, is an avid reader. Every time I've talked to him in the last year, he's asked if I've read The Hunger Games yet.

Then there's my 11-year old daughter, Daney, who's read the whole series -- twice. Not to mention the entire YA community who has devoured these books.

Why did it take me so long? First, I am always reading, always editing: student papers, college admissions essays, research, the San Francisco Chronicle, writing group fabulosity. When I do get to read for fun, and I definitely should do more of it, I tend to go for adult fiction. The next book on my nightstand is Lisa Genova's Left Neglected. So there's all that, plus, I don't love dystopian.

It took me a month to get through The Hunger Games, mostly because, though I was blown away by Suzanne Collins' brilliant, unique premise, I wasn't super invested in Katniss. She was not warm. Callous, even. Superior. And though I told myself this had to do with her survivor's spirit, I didn't care if she lived or died.

Several chapters in, however, I appreciated Collins' integration of huge themes: sociology, war, government control, the confines of poverty. Maslowe's hierarchy drove the characters' actions: safety, survival, food. There was more, too: fusing the Greek Olympic Games with America's obsession of reality TV. Our focus on appearance (the mention of plastic surgery, even), with a deeper theme of Shakespeare's self-sacrifice through poison. Love: Our human strength (and weakness). DNA manipulation.

For me, the book picked up speed in the end. I had bought into Katniss' winning The Games through her care of Rue, a genius complication to the plot.

While I'd hoped to see more dialogue, at least internally, I accepted the plotty narrative, and thought over and over toward the conclusion that Collins is a Big Thinker, that the editor was lucky to find this one-of-a-kind, multifaceted story.

Will I read the other books? Probably not. But I'm glad I (finally) got to this one, and can see how it was an enormous success.

Based on Book One, I asked my daughter: Does Katniss marry Peeta in the end, and together they take down the Games, then have a baby? To keep the depth and twists, Prim must die somewhere, so that Katniss has nothing to lose. And there has to be some revisitation to a song.

Daney giggled at me, which means that at least some of these happen. Where Collins must excel, then, is at the telling of how. I admire and envy her craft.

What It's All About

There's a poster in my third-grader's class: "Give a seed of a story, not the whole watermelon."

I teach this to my community college composition students.

And I try to do it in my own writing.

It's the very essence of a story: the content.

How do we cover it though, and how do we cover it well?

Author/editor Nancy Lamb shared this tip at the Big Sur Writing Workshop: "If it doesn't move the story forward, it goes."

Okay, relevance. We move the plot forward. But how?

Exactly.

How is one of the two (hard) questions that bring us deeper in content. The other is why. Both deal with character motivation, conflict, backstory,and meaning/significance.

We do it by showing character action/reaction to dialogue/scene.

We all have the who, what, where, when down, right? So taking these elements further, with why and how, is really the heart of the story.

It's tricky, yes. But that's what makes the story good. Because the things that happen to the character (the plot) and how they affect him is what the reader cares about.

At the end of the story, the reader has to be able to say, "So...the character lives happily ever after with his true love, because he deserves that." Instead of the reader thinking, "So... what?" Which is empty, unsettling.

Content is everything.

Here's The Query

If it can help you at all, please take a peek at the query letter that led to the contract. There are two things I want you to know: that I got some help on this from a real author who knows how to kick some query bottom, and that there's a typo -- a typo! Thank you, Holly, for taking me anyway.

Up next: How the Story Has Changed Since


Dear Ms Root,

I've read on many website interviews that you're seeking YA Paranormal Romance. Thank you for considering my 51,000 word Drain.

This manuscript was solicited at a conference by an editor, who nominated it for SCBWI WW's "Outstanding Work in Progress."

Additionally, this summer, my fictional piece "Bakersfield Baptism" won first place at the Pacific Northwest Writer Association's Literary Contest/Conference.

Currently, two prominent editors are considering two of my YA manuscripts.

Thank you again for reading.


Someone is going to drown. There is definitely that.

When a school prank goes fatally wrong, sixteen year-old Kat Atkins sees it. Before it happens. A self-defined “accidental emo,” Kat has been shuffled through foster homes. But in The Middle of Nowhere, Oregon, Kat discovers that she has a “gift.” Right. Like being able to see a drowning is gift-worthy.

As Kat struggles between maintaining her independence and learning to trust adults, as she falls hard for local baseball hero Steven Scarpaci, and as she tries to save a bullied boy from the school beast, Kat begins to unravel a mystery from the banks of the Umpqua River, where despite her best efforts, a life will be washed away forever.

Drain delivers with voice and irony: a book about the curses that come with certain gifts, and about the gifts that can be found in those curses.

Per your the Waxman Agency's website, the first ten pages are pasted below. I am grateful for your time.

All Best,

Jennie Englund

Tainted Tea & Delicious Unpredictability

My favorite tea, Candy Cane Lane, which only comes out during the holidays, made its appearance this weekend at the Co-op, only the shelf was bare. By the time I got there, shoppers had snatched it all up.

After Dominic, Daney, and I bought our other stuff and packed it into the car, the kids told me they'd found a big box of groceries just sitting on the Co-op floor, which included three boxes of Candy Cane lane. So they'd grabbed one.

That was the first surprise.

Then, they went on to say that when a man picked up the box, they'd realized the tea was his. Instead of giving it back to him, though, they shoved it in a rack of raisins.

And that was shocking!

The mom in me was sad. I thought I'd raised kind, honest kids. I sent them back into the Co-op to get the tea for the man.

But the writer in me was thrilled. While I sat in the car waiting for the kids to straighten out the situation, I was thinking what a good story this was. That Dominic and Daney were usually pretty level-headed, that they always did the right thing, but that this was the very opposite of anything I'd expect of them.

It's exactly what I need to do in my writing!

This week, I am going to think of surprises I can put into my story: unexpected things the character does, or says. The root of those decisions. How she recovers.
I'm going to work on plot twists that keep the reader interested, excited, perplexed.

I'm going to drink Candy Cane Lane and taste irony and imperfection and regret.

Yum.

My Dad, Super Editor

Last night, my dad called with his edits on my revision. This is the first of my big things my dad has ever read. And I'll tell you what: he was incredible!

"I liked it so much, I was sad when it ended," he told me. "Your wrote stuff down and I'm seeing it in my head. It's amazing!"

There was lots of love for Drain. And there were some good tips, too, especially about car stuff like fuel lights, back seats, and putting it in Drive.

He caught a big problem with some characters' names: Willy Ray, Wade, and Billy Wade. Yes, I really had them exactly like that. Duh.

Halfway through the story, my dad had emailed me this: "I really like Kat so nothing bad better happen to her!"

There were tips on character, on preserving mystery, on word choice. My smart Poppa also brought up probability stuff and likeliness.

It was so great, having a 63 year-old man's insight into a literary YA novel. I loved working with my dad on this.

A Really Remarkable Read

Every so often, I find a book that's so interesting, so unique, so compelling, I can't put it down. I read when I'm supposed to be grading. Or writing. Or making dinner. And when I'm not reading it, I'm thinking about it.

Room is one of these books.

Emma Donoghue crafts a journey that five-year-old Jack narrates from a lifelong captivity in an 11-by-11-foot shed into the Outside.

After Jack's birthday in Room, Ma feels an urgent need to escape, with Jack as the pivotal piece of the Plan.

The book is divided into five parts (Jack's favorite number)--Presents, Unlying, Dying, After, Living--the essence of which is the adjustments moms make for their children, the subconscious selflessness beyond sacrifice physically, mentally, emotionally.

Ma is real. She tries to be strong, and she is, mostly. But the burden she carries of doing what's best for her son sometimes overcomes her.

Jack is intuitive, bright, and curious. Readers will love and admire his courage and clarity, his sensible names for common things: "persons," "littles," "switching off."

An unexpected vessel to Jack's healing in the Outside is Legos, with "so many tiny pieces all colors, it's like a soup," which he discovers and builds with Steppa, his step-grandpa.

Room is the place where certain moms live: the un-boundaries where the health, happiness, and safety of their children comes at a high but never counted cost. A place where these moms do the best they can with what they have, even if it's a Plant, a Lamp, and a Snake made of eggshells.

Halo Update

Halo

is unplugged.

Too much fighting during it.

Before it.

After it.

Fighting over the game.

The controllers.

The characters.

Fighting with Nerf.

Fighting with Legoes, even?

One week.

No Halo.

No fighting.

Yes, But Does It Have Literary Merit?

My boys were begging me to buy the new "Halo: Reach" game for the X-Box their uncle had just given them.

All I'd heard about the "Halo" games was bad, bad, bad. Bad premise. Bad violence. Bad language.

But I checked it out anyway. 4 1/2 out of 5 stars. A new "team" approach. Great graphics. For around 60 bucks.

The economics weren't an issue. Dominic said he'd pitch in $15, and a $20 gift card came with the purchase, so I'd really only fork over $35.

Like everything else that comes through our door, though, I wanted the game to have some kind of literary merit.

We bought it.

"Play with us," the boys then begged, after they'd "tried it out" for a couple of hours.

I did the usual Mom Thing: "I'll just watch you guys play."

Nope, they wanted me to play.

So there I was, sitting on the edge of the sofa, controller in hand, bumping my character -- Noble One?-- into a rock over and over and over.

"Mommy, follow me," Dominic told me.

I couldn't find him. I just kept running, er, jumping my guy into rocks and water and over bridges.

"Mommy, you're shooting me," Dominic said as kindly as he could. "Now you're just running into a wall. And why is your night vision on? And why are you throwing granades at yourself?"

Okay, this "Halo," it has absolutely no literary merit. But I can't tell you how long and hard we all laughed at my "skills."

The Hardest Part?

I've been thinking a lot about voice lately. How to do it. How it varies, specifically. What makes each one special.

In one of my manuscripts, narrated by 16 year-old MC Kat, the voice is hollow. Sad. Kat's been bounced around from foster home to foster home and lands in The Middle of Nowhere, Oregon. Kat is sensitive, but strong. Young but growing wiser. Completely trustworthy. You could tell her anything and listen to her favorite band with her for hours.

In my other manuscript, Josh, a 17 year-old basketball blue chip from Sacramento, narrates the seedy side of sports. Josh is wise beyond his years, but is jaded and unreliable. It's not his fault, right? Because everyone has made him who he is. Because he has to survive his life somehow.

Two very different tales.

Two distinct voices.

Okay, I'm not a master of voice craft, for sure, but here's what I've come up with that might help you strengthen your MC's voice:

* Know your MC! I mean, really know them: their wants, hopes, and fears; when they're from and where they're going; their favorite shirt; what they drink and how they drink it; 20 adjectives that might describe them.

* Know the other characters. So the reader has no trouble understanding/believing why MC does and says the things she does.

* Know your audience: ages, interests, gender.

* Know how you want your story to "sound."

* Know setting. Does the MC stand out or fit in nicely? It's all part of the story.

* Stay in character with dialogue. Think word choice, sentence fluency, length, and structure.

* Think paragraph length and structure.

* Use flashbacks. What was significant in MC's past that relates to his/her story?

* Make the most of tone, cadence, punctuation. Match it all up with plot. Use other stylistic devices, too: rhythm, repetition, humor...

What else?

How do you define and use voice?

Last But Not Least

Setting is somehow the last thing I put into and polish up in my stories.

From the very beginning, I do have a definite idea about setting, but I don't add much of refine until plot and character are completely flushed out. I think the reason is that I have to know my character first. Then I can write her world as she sees it.

For example, in Drain, my MC (16 year-old Kat) tries to find a quiet place to sort out everything:

I walk away, back toward the church, unwrapping a Jolly Rancher and popping it into my mouth. Outside the gate, I hold the iron spears in both hands. The metal is cold and smooth.

The gate swings open widely when I push it, but the big wooden church doors don’t budge. It’s starting to rain harder, though. Water from my hair is dripping onto my eyelashes. So wandering around the outside of the church, I keep my eyes open for a crack or a crevice I can sink into for a while, at least until the downpour stops.

But after I’ve circled the building twice, I can’t find an opening. I can’t find anything, except some kind of a tomb outlined with seashells.

On my third walk around the church, a flight of steps catches my eye. It’s hidden by dense gardenias, and suffocated by ivy, and it heads down into a cellar or a basement or something. This is just the place, I’m sure of it.

Stepping lightly down the narrow steps, I find a door with an antique knob: tarnished brass, and bumpy, with a key hole underneath. When I twist it slowly, it turns. I crack the door and peek into the darkness. It’s a tiny room with a cement floor, and a big Gothic cross with blackened silver and spirals and vines leans upside-down in a corner.

Widening the door, I find a few chairs stacked on each other, and leather hymnals crammed into a book shelf with empty glass jars.

I sweep my hand along the wall, flicking on the light, a dim single bulb.

From way down here, I hear the tower bell ring five muffled rings.

I’ll give myself an hour.

Closing the door on myself in the little room, I slump against the wall, and I turn the cross right-side up, and I breathe in the leather from the hymnals, and I close my eyes.


This was all put in last. After the story was written.

The setting lends itself to Kat's loneliness, her inner conflict.

She's searching for an opening, literally and figuratively.

She's looking for a place of comfort.

In this scene, Kat is the only living thing among forgotten books and empty jars. And yet she feels at home here.

It is right here, right in this scene, where without even telling her audience, Kat makes a critical decision. Did you find it?

It's when Kat turns the cross right-side-up.

She makes a choice then to serve a greater purpose. She will sacrifice everything she's ever wanted for it.

So setting enriches plot and character, but it also strengthens tone.

This is a sad scene. But there aren't many modifiers or dialogue to show that. It's all in the time, weather, sound, surroundings.