Devon Trevarrow Flaherty's Blog, page 72

Owning a teeny-tiny publishing company, I have to wear many hats. One of my most favorite hats of all is design. Now, many indie-published authors should consider hiring someone to design the cover (and possibly publicity material), just like they should hire an editor. Lucky for me, I not only have a professional editor in the family, but I also personally have experience (and moderate training) with design. My experience stretches back more than fifteen years, even though it is less extensive than a true professional. So, when I am working away on the average day and A) am really excited about a new project or B) just can’t seem to write another line, I often wander into the design program on my computer and play around with covers. This is why, frequently, the cover art is the first thing that appears on my book pages. (Plus, playing with the images for a book often helps me clarify and/or brainstorm the story itself.) It also highlights some of the real benefits of being a self-published author.

Before I get to those benefits, however, I want to point you to the Book Cover Archive. This is a great website that has just pages and pages and pages of great book covers. It is not only great for coming up with ideas for a specific cover, but is great for honing that cover-sixth-sense (or looking for books to read). Check it out here.

Now, back to the cover-related benefits of being a self-pubber:

For me, (now mind you, I am an artist/painter,) the cover of a book is integral to the book itself. A cover not only sells the book, it also lets the reader know what to expect from tone and content. On top of that, covers can contain clues or details that may or may not be as evident in the text itself. When in control of my own cover (as a self-publisher), I then get to sort of loop that cover into the cohesive piece of art. For me–as a visual artist as well as a literary one–this is extremely important. I have seen, in my mind’s eye, the story unfold, and have a real aesthetic bone to pick with the reader. For example, my novel The Family Elephant’s Jewels used to be under the working title The Date and the Cockroach. When I decided to change the title, I figured I could move that phrase into the book as a section heading. That didn’t work out, but I was still able to maintain the idea of the date and the cockroach–a metaphor for the main character–in the cover art.

So, why do we usually leave it to the professionals, then?

Standards. Let’s be honest. Most self-published covers look more home-made. The average writer doesn’t have an understanding of the difference between a cheap-looking cover and an amazing, professional-looking one. It’s largely in the details, of which the general public does not have a working knowledge.
Tech. Most writers also don’t know what programs to use, how to use them, how to take needed photos, how to format those photos, how to acquire permissions… There are reasons people go to school for specializations. Your cover artist won’t know diddly about the Hero’s Journey or an agent cover letter, but that’s cool.
Sales. Flowing out of these other reasons, a professional cover is going to (theoretically) help with sales, or at least not hinder them. I imagine most bookstores won’t stock a terrible cover (especially if it looks homemade), and readers on the internet will be unimpressed, as well. To be honest, this is probably the number one reason to go with a hired designer, and a reason to make sure they’re good.
Innuendo. There are all these little things in every field of work that grow on us (in that field) like barnacles. Over time, we not only take in the information of our field, but also the connotations and the meta-narratives and the feelings, etc. This is true in book cover art just as it is elsewhere. If your cover artist is worth their salt, they will have an almost spooky sense of “You just can’t do that,” or “This is the way we represent that.”
Aesthetics. Cover artists should have a sense of art, beauty, balance, color, etc. that most writers do not have. You may think that’s a lovely shade of puce, but it is so not trending right now.

It would be nice, I suppose, if writers with traditional publishing houses could work more closely with their cover artists and marketing team because the author could gain an appreciation they often lack and the final product could be more of a complete artistic piece. In my perfect world, the cover is not just a sales poster, but a piece of the story’s whole. Or at least it should be and could be. Until that happens, us self-published people could work closely with our hired cover artists to arrive at the same ends. Or, like me, you can get some training and experience and go rogue.

My life is my rebellion.

Let’s get this settled once and for all.

Where is the line between YA (young adult) and MG (middle grades) literature? What ages are we talking here, let alone themes and appropriateness? (Please note that this debate has been worn out just about everywhere else on the internet, but I have not settled it for myself. So here I go.)

The distinctions are soft, clearly. Any rules that I found–whether it be from publishers or librarians or writers–are of the probably or likely sort. There are no hard and fast rules, and most readers and editors can spot the difference without them. As Upstart Crow Literary said, “This is why editors ‘know it when they see it.’ They’ve internalized all the little triggers that determine what kind of novel they are dealing with. And the author shouldn’t be worrying about any of this, anyway—the author should just write the book that the novel in question wants to be” (http://upstartcrowliterary.com/blog/?p=1824). However, this doesn’t work for most writers, since we are either on our own for publicity and marketing, or we are asked to supply our category with our very first inquiries. Perhaps we should write without these considerations, but we certainly can’t ignore then afterwards.

Because like it or leave it, marketing does determine your category, to some extent. So how does a writer like me–sort of lost in our own story even though we know all the nitty gritty–work it out?

First off, good fiction of any category allows for some flexibility up or down. Not all kids (or adults) at a certain developmental stage read the same way. For that matter, not all kids of the same age are in the same developmental stage. Plus, who wouldn’t want a YA book of universal appeal? A great book can be enjoyed by readers of any age, but an MG book should speak first to the audience at the right level, YA to its audience. And while we’re on the topic, once you get past picture books (or maybe even before that), the author should not talk down to the audience, even for YA.

MG and YA, by the way, describe audiences, not genres. MG and YA can be science fiction, fantasy, historical, biography, general fiction, whatever.

So here are those soft definitions.

Picture Books: Named, presumably, for the inclusion of illustrations, that stipulation has changed recently with the explosion of illustrated MG and even YA books, and is completely inadequate for graphic novels and comics. These books are meant for kids not yet to the chapter book stage.

Early Reader: Once kids get to the chapter book stage, these books are short, often serial, and frequently educational. The age given here is 6-8.

Juvenile Fiction: The section in the library where MG is shelved. From what I can tell, no one uses this term anymore outside of libraries, and it encompasses more than just MG.

Middle Grades (MG): Meant for ages 8-12 (or 7-11). Usually involves preteen characters (or slightly older) in situations of interest to preteens. The problems are largely external and revolve around one inciting incident. They may still be educational. Most books in this category are shorter (under 100 pages, or up to 60,000 words (avg 35,000)). The chapters may be shorter and the type larger, as well as the vocabulary and sentence structure simpler. MG includes no graphic description, and love is limited to “puppy love,” at most a kiss. There is no need to dumb down language or talk down to the audience.

Bridge the Gap (not a real category): There are always books that ride the line. One blogger suggested that authors just get out of the gray area (from Kidlit). Age a little up or down and you’ll be riding a lot smoother.

Young Adult (YA): Meant for ages 11 (or 12)-17 (or 18). The category is further (sometimes) broken down into Young YA and Older (or Edgy) YA (for 14-plus). The conflict is largely internal and the subject matter more mature, but still a clean read up to around age 13. At 14, language, gore, violence, and sex are more acceptable. Subject matter can also be romantic and controversial and usually deals with developmental issues (plus, the antagonist thinks very little outside of him/herself). The realization is that the world is complex . Protagonists are typically 12-19 years old. Length is over 60,000 words (or 50,000 words).

Note: Young protagonists do not a children’s book make. Sure, most YA and MG feature characters of the appropriate age, but the protagonist can be middle aged, elderly, or infant, just like an adult book can be about a child or a teen. However, publishers in general don’t like this idea, which makes agenting an adult book about a college kid nearly impossible. (I would know.).

Another Note: While the categories can be differentiated by things like edginess, darkness, and graphic description, this does not exclude MG (or even children’s books) from having deep subject matter. As far as difficult subjects are concerned (including abuse, death, abandonment), it is the handling of such material that makes it MG or YA, or even adult. Good storytelling necessitates some darkness.

Yet Another Note: There really is no “Adult Fiction” category, but I find myself using the phrase all the time to distinguish from YA. However, I think the term comes off sometimes as meant for mature audiences, if you know what I mean.

I like Tobin Anderson’s assertion that for MG he writes to the target audience, and for YA he writes from the vantage of the target audience. Categories are less about defined content than they are about the audience that would want to read, and enjoy, the book you are writing.

Beyond character ages and word count, ask yourself questions like these:

What is the quality of the prose?
How complex is the writing? The vocabulary?
Does it spend more time on abstraction or concrete things?

And keep in mind that–despite how it would be in my perfect world–it is difficult for authors to move around in these categories between books. The fact is that readers identify the last name with an appropriateness level, which makes it best for an author to stick to one or the other. That doesn’t mean I’ll be following my own advice…

And in parting, a quote. “Regardless of genre—science fiction, mystery, historical or contemporary—if your characters are learning about themselves and the world in the same way as your readers, your audience will find you” (from the blog Write For Kids, http://writeforkids.org/2014/01/the-difference-between-middle-grade-young-adult/).

I am a Harry Potter fan. (To see my review of the series, see here.) I was as curious as anyone about what Rowling would do after such astounding success and fame, and was happy to hear that there was a book on the way. I was as dubious as anyone when she announced it was not YA, not fantasy, but a general or literary fiction novel. But I gave her a break because I had to: I have always wanted to be a genre-crosser myself. My first book was general/literary fiction. My second is fantasy and my third back to general/literary. Before long, I will be veering into YA and winding up somewhere in science fiction, memoir, and nonfiction.

Can this be fair?!?

I wasn’t standing in line or anything (especially since the early reviews seemed reluctant, unimpressed), but I put the book–The Casual Vacancy (published by Little, Brown and Company in 2012)–on hold at the library and waited. Eventually, the never-ending list moved ’round to my name and I sent my husband to pick it up. And I read it. And like all the rest, I was tentative and mostly unimpressed.

Now, plenty of people complained that it was not enough like Harry Potter or that it was too dark. On the first point, I mostly read literary fiction, so I didn’t need it to be like Harry. On the second, I also read a fair amount of dark–or at least emotionally complicated–fiction, but I admit to enjoying likeable characters. I was pretty into one or two of Rowling’s characters in Vacancy, but all the rest left me feeling either unattached or disgusted (but not intrigued). The hook was not very interesting to me, either (small town, sudden council vacancy, warts come out). Some sub-plots were better than others. However, I really can’t do better than the Booklist review by Ilene Cooper:

“J. K. Rowling has said that she considered writing The Casual Vacancy under a pseudonym. Had she done so, Rowling probably would have learned what it’s like to be a midlist author—unpublicized, unnoticed, and unhappy. Like many midlist titles, this one is perfectly fine, but in no way outstanding …. As everyone knows, Rowling is very good at creating worlds, and here she effectively shows the stifling (for some) and satisfying (for others) constraints of village life. Somewhat less successful are her characters, who wouldn’t seem out of place in a British soap opera: not surprisingly, it’s her several teen characters, the tortured and the torturers, who jump most from the page. As for her prose, well, that was never Rowling’s strong suit, and it lumbers more than it soars. To give credit where it’s due, one of the world’s richest women wrote her book and is willing to take the critical lumps when she didn’t have to do anything more than stay home and count her money. She must like to write.”

My only quotable from the book: “He never seemed to grasp the immense mutability of human nature, nor to appreciate that behind every nondescript face lay a wild and unique hinterland like his own” (p99).

So why did I then go out and put her next book–The Cuckoo’s Calling by Robert Galbraith and published by Mulholland Books in 2013–on hold? Was it the pseudonym that lasted like a day? Did I want a rounder review? Was I just that ripe to read PI fiction? I have no idea.

At any rate, take this next part with a giant grain of salt because the truth is, I don’t read private eye fiction except for Sherlock Holmes. But I found this murder mystery to be completely mediocre. I liked one of the characters, wanted to like another, and everyone else fell flat. I agree with many other reviewers (but not even close to all) when I say that there were no real clues until the big reveal, and then you are still wondering how the whole investigation got started in the first place. Lots and lots of story cliches and character cliches. And there was a whole buncha obvious going around, while anything not obvious was left unexplained and unsatisfying. Plus what’s with the distracting and dead-end sex scene near the end? Lots of dead ends, really.

Oddly, the critics appear to like this one better and are anxiously awaiting the next Cormoran Strike novel, due out later this year.

My one quotable:

“…to become endowed, in fact, with that unpredictable, dangerous, and transformative quality: fame. To have had it so often in the back of his car and not yet have caught it from his passengers must (thought Strike) have been tantalizing and, perhaps, infuriating” (p102).

Moral of the story: I’ll stick with re-reads of the Potter series and let the rest of Rowling’s writing go on without me. Sincerely hope others enjoy.

Anna Karenina, by Leo Tolstoy, the translation by Joel Carmichael published by Bantam Books in 1981. The original was published in 1877.

This is a solid book. It’s one of those real classics that fully deserves to be a classic. And, amazingly, it’s pretty great reading for the modern reader, as well. You do get bored with Russian politics and agrarian theory, but there is much besides the story to be gleaned–and enjoyed–here.

First comment: Anna Karenina, as a title, is a misnomer. Besides how the title, movies, all the book covers (and maybe the critics?) treat her, the novel is really the story of three main marriages (and a couple minor ones, besides) careening through Russian high society in the late 1800s. I mean, Anna doesn’t even make an appearance for more than 50 pages, and she is completely absent from the last section (of eight). The book leaves her storyline constantly, spending hundreds of pages with the life and loves of Kitty and Levin, let alone the ongoing tragedy of Dolly and Oblonsky. For contrast, we have the Prince and Princess Scherbatsky, Nikolay and Marya, and another relationship that never even blossoms. (And really, Anna herself could be counted twice for marriage, so, four main marriages?)

What the book undoubtedly is, is insightful. It is insightful into Russians (I think we can safely surmise), but it is also startlingly insightful into the human experience. Tolstoy is so deft at handling such a range of experience and emotion, that I often paused to wonder how he could write Karenina without having lived all of these contrary lives. For example, there is this amazing passage about Levin on the brink of fatherhood and what that is like, and then, in no time at all, the tables are turned and there are these astounding insights into what it is like to be a new mother. I almost blushed, never realizing before how intimately a man could intimate on this almost spiritual experience. In all, Tolstoy must have been smart, had a great memory, and more than anything, been a keen observer of the human species, of life itself.

On the other hand, there are many times when the universality of the characters are weighted down by the sheer 1800s Russianness of it all. It was hard for me to keep attentive when the peasant question or the Balkan conflict went on for page after page after page. This peek into Russian society was interesting (helped me understand this whole Slavic night life thing), but only to a point. And my only other sticking point: the characters were largely negative. I never liked Anna at all (does anyone?), and I wanted to like Karenin and Levin and Dolly, and even Kitty… but Tolstoy makes it so hard. Of course, plenty of people would argue you don’t need likeable characters to make a great story, as long as they are interesting. Ehn… a couple characters I can really root for always pushes a book higher up on my to-do list for the day, as well as gives me a better memory of the book, later.

I’m not going to complain about the number of characters. This translation makes identifying them easy (without Russian nomenclature) and I was able to recall most of the important people when they came back around. I am also not going to complain about longwindedness. Old books take longer to say something we whip off in less, even plot-wise. Oh well.

And to top it all off–to turn an engaging story and incredible insightfulness into a true classic–is the writing itself. The best writing, in my opinion, slips in unnoticed and then takes the reader’s breath away at intervals. Of course, we are dealing with a translation here, but Tolstoy’s writing is both clear and beautiful, a desirous combination, to be sure. It’s a long book, weighing in at a hefty 860 pages, but it is one you want to keep reading, not just for the characters, but for the sheer joy of reading and a daily romp in a world composed of exquisite language.

For my review of the 2o12 movie starring Keira Knightley, see here.

“…he knew that for him all the girls in the world were divided into two kinds: one kind was–all the girls in the world except her, and those girls had every human frailty and were very commonplace girls; the other kind was–she alone…” (p39).

“‘Yes, my boy, women are the pivot everything turns on’” (p42).

“‘Yes, lost,’ Oblonsky continued. ‘But what is there to do now?’ / ‘Don’t steal rolls’” (p43).

“‘All the diversity, all the charm, all the beauty of life is made up of light and shade’” (p44).

“‘What did I do, and what could I have done? It was you who found enough love in your heart to forgive–’” (p103).

“…as if some inner voice were saying to her, just as Vronsky came to mind, ‘Warm, very warm, hot!” (p106).

“‘I think that–if there are just as many minds as there are heads, then there are also just as many kinds of love as there are hearts’” (p145).

“‘We can never be friends, you know that yourself. But whether we shall be the happiest or the unhappiest people in the world–all that depends on you’” (p147).

“…the memory of these bad actions of his did not torment him nearly so much as those trivial, but shameful memories. Such wounds never close up” (p159).

“Anna–would retreat somewhere into herself and some other strange, alien woman would emerge, whom he did not love and was afraid of…” (p199).

“When Vronsky had looked at his watch on the Karenin’s balcony he had been so agitated and preoccupied by his own thoughts that all he had seen was hands on a dial, without realizing what time it was” (p202)

“‘Since “fables won’t feed nightingales,” he said’” (p218).

“…she realized that she had been deceiving herself in thinking she could be what she wanted to be” (p250).

“‘The principal task of philosophy throughout the ages has been to discover the necessary connection between personal and social interests’” (p263).

“‘I need some physical exercise or else my character will definitely go bad’” (p264).

“The main thing was that it was a golden bridge for her to return by” (p303).

“In order to fall asleep you have to work, and to feel gay you have to work, too’” (p322).

“All these rules might be irrational and bad, but they were beyond question” (p326).

“‘…when you know only your wife, as someone once wrote, and love her, you know more about all women than if you had known them by the thousands’” (p333).

“Levin saw that what his brother found unbearable was simply life itself” p376).

“‘Love them that hate you, but to love them that you hate yourself is impossible” (p422).

“‘Whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad’” (p437).

“…he clung to his pseudosalvation as though it were salvation” (p547).

“And the most passionate and impossible romances rose up in Dolly’s imagination” (p650).

“‘What does it mean–blame? Could it have been any different?’” (p678).

“‘I can’t unite them, and that’s the only thing I want’” (p683).

“‘Is it possible to tell anyone else what you feel?’” (p807).

“No, as far as he’s concerned, my flavor’s gone wrong’” (p810).

“And the candle by which she had been reading that book that is filled with anxiety, deceit, sorrow, and evil flared up with a brighter flame than ever before, lighted up everything for her that had previously been in darkness, flickered, dimmed, and went out forever” (p816).

“But knowing by experience that with the present public mood it was dangerous to express any opinion contrary to what was generally thought, and especially to condemn the Volunteers, he also just looked at Katavasov” (p825).

“He was in the position of looking for food in a toyshop or a gunshop” (p835).

I have been waiting more than a year for the new Haven Kimmel book, The Farm, to be released by Waterstones in England. That’s why I penned into my blog calendar to make March 2014 Haven Kimmel Month. I was going to re-read all of her books (two memoirs, a children’s book, one YA, and four novels). Then I was going to read the new one, review everything, and blog extensively on authors who have disappeared.

Yep. You guessed it. Not only has the release of The Farm been pushed back to 2016 (perhaps…), but Kimmel is a disappeared author.

I am drawn to Kimmel for various reasons. She grew up in and her memoirs and novels center around the state of Indiana, where I spent my college career and still have friends. Her adulthood (at least up until her disappearance) was/is spent in Durham, NC, where I live and which I love. I have been to a couple of her readings, where I found her approachable, down-to-earth, funny, and very smart. And of course, most importantly, I think she is a brilliant writer. Her memoirs, A Girl Named Zippy and She Got Up Off the Couch, are her most famous works, but I firmly feel her novels are far superior. They are the “place” trilogy (think Stephen King’s fictional locations and the various stories that take place in them) The Solace of Leaving Early, Something Rising (Light and Swift), and The Used World, and Iodine. I also think her books got better as she went. She had started as a poet, but after Zippy hit the shelves in 2001, she released the rest of her works in only seven years (including the YA and kids books, as well as a piece in an anthology). (See this article for a more thorough biography.)

On May 18, 2009, Kimmel posted on her blog a regular ol’ entry where she answered fan mail and received hundreds of comments. On May 24, at 5:07pm, she posted this: “FIN. As of now, comments have been disabled on this blog.  For that matter, this blog has been suspended on this blog.  Thank you all for your friendship and your loving support. HK.” After that? It has been nearly impossible to find anything out about her and one can not locate her or contact her at all. The only things out there are a few echoing voices wondering where she has gone and the skimpy page at a British publishing house called Waterstones that claims they are publishing her next book in 2014, 2016, well…

I suppose that if she were more famous, stories about her whereabouts would have been cooked up and posted all over the internet. But let’s face it, even famous hermits do truly disappear after awhile. As for Kimmel fans, they are left with absolutely no story, no reason for her disappearance, not even a statement of retirement or a promise to return.

I have thought much over the years about fame and its rights and its responsibilities. I have, you might call it, a “heart for Hollywood.” While not a very star-struck person, I am intrigued by the lives of those who have such recognition, blessings, and curses. This means that I am also very interested in those celebrities who disappear, and also in the philosophical or ethical questions this poses: What obligations do celebrities have in relation to their fans? What responsibilities come with the perks of being paid by the public? with being invested in by your fans, supporters, and even critics?

I waffle back and forth in what I think about this, even though I am careful in my considerations: I would like very much to have to live them out one day, myself. If I manage a large fan base, significant monetary compensation, and a mid-level writer’s amount of fame, what responsibilities will come along with that? There is something in me that wants to respect the disappeared celebrity and their space, but another part of me is frustrated when a celebrity does not feel they need to answer to the public for the public part of their lives. Sincerely, I do not need to know Kimmel’s shampoo brand, but as far as her writing career goes, I am invested. I would have appreciated, at the very least, an explanation and an assurance that she isn’t lying in a ditch somewhere (figuratively and literally). And I want to know if there really is another book in the making.

I feel this way when authors go all nom de plume on us, as well (like J. K. Rowling). For one, the jealousy in me rises just about as high as it can get and I want to scream, “Give me the opportunity to have thousands (or millions) of built-in readers!” At heart level, I can understand their desire to experiment with their talents and to wonder if it can be accomplished again, by them. Like, am I that good? and, while I’m at it, can I come out from my pigeon hole? (For an interesting article on why authors disappear, see here.) At aspiring celebrity level, I am wrenched by this seemingly flippant dealing with fame (and sometimes fortune). After all, have they forgotten that what they have is only bestowed on a very small proportion of the population, even though it is sought by so many? Think of Aragorn in The Lord of the Rings. There is plenty of animosity toward him because he lives the life of a ranger when he should be taking up the mantle of the king. The Middle-earth-ers have a sense that he owes them something by being royal, even if he doesn’t want his destiny. There are plenty of other royal characters in literature and film who face this same challenge.

J. D. Sallinger was born in 1919. He achieved success early in his career and Catcher In the Rye was published in 1951. He gave his last interview in 1980, and stayed disappeared until his death in 2010. The movie, Finding Forrester, was inspired by Sallinger. This successful movie was about a fictional novelist named William Forrester, who won a Pulitzer before disappearing into his New York apartment and the life of a hermit. Harper Lee published her first book, To Kill a Mockingbird, won a Pulitzer, and gave very few interviews before never publishing again. Late in life, she made this statement in response to a world that still could not accept she had never reprised her American classic: “Two reasons: one, I wouldn’t go through the pressure and publicity I went through with To Kill a Mockingbird for any amount of money. Second, I have said what I wanted to say and I will not say it again.”

These stories strongly suggest to me that authors are required to fulfill–not an invisible contract upon publishing, but–a more vague responsibility to their talent and an obligation to share their extraordinary talent with the world.

I don’t know what to say in conclusion, except that I was so disappointed with the postponement of the release of The Farm (and my disbelief that it will ever be published), that I have decided to suspend indefinitely Haven Kimmel Month and my reviews of her works. Just like that. No further word on it.

I always celebrate Oscars Night. For one, I like movies. For two, and more importantly for me, I can pretty easily digest a whole year’s worth of pop culture by participating in only a few televised events per annum. For three, I rarely pass up a celebration which can involve traditional food (ahem, pizza rolls and sparkling juice). And four, it has been a personal tradition, since I was a girl. Whereas I can’t relive the fun of the Olympics without cable TV (and balk at at whole every-other-year thing), I can participate in the Super Bowl and Oscars festivities by piggy-backing on someone else’s party.

Here are my non-bookish thoughts on Sunday night:

Ellen is really funny. I think we could hang.
While Hollywood has been clinging to the classy glam thing for the last several years, I kind of miss people showing up in gowns made from things as far flung as credit cards and swans.
Is it just me and my sister, or do the fashion reporters love to gush about the small things (like a color or a ring), but completely ignore the giant things that are making the rest of us gape unabashedly. Yes, she looked lovely most places, but the designer made her look like a 12-year-old boy in a gown!
I am never left without the clear realization that the Oscars are extremely myopic. I mean, wouldn’t it be more fun if the awards celebrated many different areas (like the Nobel Peace Prizes) or even encompassed more arts or even were more inclusive of films? When one film takes home so much attention and honors, it becomes a groaner, for sure.
Too much red carpet. Some of the people at the Oscar party I attended wandered off to do the dishes to escape the boring pleasantries and endless interviews. If they would just tech it up like everything else, you know, with clips and montages and info and history…
Apparently the scene in Frozen where Queen Elsa sings “Let It Go” and magically makes a new gown out of ice and snow has had a much bigger impact on the fashion world than anyone is willing to admit. Seriously, how many Oscar gowns looked like they were made by Elsa?

My Oscars Month of reading is over. I only managed to get through two of the books. I flew through The Great Gatsby, but then juggled the behemoth of Anna Karenina with my very busy life for three weeks. It is finished. (Review forthcoming.) I am now moving back to my regular, Best Books TBR. But if you are interested in reading books with Oscar-lauded movies to accompany, see this post from early February. I’d love to hear about it so I can live vicariously through you.

Great Gatsby took both awards it was nominated for (costume and production), which makes one wonder what would have happened if it had been up for more. Everything else (sic) was split unevenly between Gravity and 12 Years a Slave. I spent the majority of the broadcast devising ways to get on stage after my novel has been co-adapted by myself and designing what I might wear so that I get highlighted in all the mags and don’t fall over while walking.

In February, I joined something like 10,000 authors entering the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Awards contest. I did it with some reservations, because really I love self-publishing so much I am reluctant about a contract with anyone. However, a pay check and reader feedback–oh, and recognition–this is all important to my career. The catch with the ABNA: the first round (eliminating something like 90 per cent of the competition) is based solely on the pitch. So, just like most editors and agents these days, they make the major cut without reading a single word of your fiction. Takes me back…

Also, I attended the first in what may become a string of readings at Francesca’s dessert shop in Durham. They are happening on the third week each month, hosted by a guy I know, and without a personal invite and close proximity to my house, I probably wouldn’t attempt it. But so far, so good. I haven’t been to a reading jam in so many years I decided to just watch. In March I will be reading a novel excerpt from Benevolent and then hopefully making my way into excerpts from my current projects as the series continues.

Details? Third Sunday of the month (except Easter; that would be the fourth), 7:00pm at Francesca’s on Ninth Street in Durham. Readings under five minutes of any sort, but flash fiction especially encouraged. Feel free to come and read or just to watch.

I have decided to suspend movie reviews on this blog, because they don’t seem to fit the overall theme. Plus, I am drowning in content. I have so much to share about the writing and publishing experience on top of all the book reviews, I am just going to keep my movie reviews to myself, along with my social commentary (:)). I did want to take a moment to acknowledge that Philip Seymour Hoffman has died (which you undoubtedly already know). He was a personal favorite of mine, and is featured in several of my favorite films. I had always (once he outlived Twister) said he would be my first pick for a dream movie team. So sad that his brilliant career was cut short by the pitfalls of Hollywood and a famed life.

As for reading, I have read two books with my daughter for school book reports. The first was stipulated “science fiction,” so we picked up a copy of My Teacher Is an Alien in the town where the author is from (Syracuse, NY). For biography, we found Boy on our home shelf, peeking out of my collection of Roald Dahl.

My Teacher Is an Alien, Bruce Coville. Coville is a prolific writer of children’s science fiction and fantasy, with over 80 titles (plus short stories and anthologies), although My Teacher Is an Alien is one of his most famous titles (with the Sixth Grade Alien and Space Brat series). (I remember seeing copy of Alien way back from my own junior high experience.) Alien is number one in a short series that includes My Teacher Fried My Brain, My Teacher Glows In the Dark, and My Teacher Flunked the Planet. I didn’t expect much from the book, but I and my daughter were pleasantly surprised. Believe it or not, the book was fresh and creative, and the story fairly engaging. I think the ending is what made it a worthwhile read for me. Up until then, I was only okay with it. Definitely a recommend for any kids interested in alien fiction and just getting into chapter books.

Boy, Roald Dahl. Roahl Dahl is a personal favorite author, the genius who brought us such greats as Matilda, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The BFG, Witches, The Twits, James and the Giant Peach, etc. Boy, his autobiography about his childhood, was on the shelf in the kids’ section (at our house), but I was a little afraid to read it with a nine-year-old. Not only did Dahl write for adults, as well, but his Omnibus (sitting right next to it) is clearly not for children. Heck, even his children’s literature is often not appropriate for sensitive children. But I love his stuff, so I read it out loud intending to edit as I read. It did need it, but not for the reason one might think: the difference a hundred years and a culture (we’re talking Norwegian/British) has on sensibilities and language can be profound. For example, there is an entire chapter on “fagging,” which is a term used for assisting an RA. Between the smoking and the boarding school abuse, it took some explaining to my children, but despite how appalled she was by the tyranny of the school masters and older children, my daughter really enjoyed the book (despite herself, I might add). Her project was on the “Childhood Pranks of Roald Dahl,” which highlights what is especially enjoyable about this book: seeing from where all his amazing ideas sprouted.

The Night of One Hundred Thieves first draft? Check! Determine if it is a novella or a novel? Plllt.

First things first. What the heck is a novella?

Is it Italian? Does it have a moral or a “satirical bent?” Is it produced in parts? The answer to all of these internet jabs at the definition of the novella is, sadly, no (at least, not anymore). But the posturing highlights an issue: very few people seem to know or be able to articulate just what the difference between a novel and a novella is. I can tell you what these people can do: tell you, with their noses in the air, that it is not a length thing. Or, with their noses to the grindstone, it is a length thing. Oh my!

We haven’t gotten anywhere, have we?

Here are some of our options.

First, that the differences in the forms is, firstly, a matter of length. Obviously, no matter how snooty you are, this has to be at least somewhat of an indicator, as no 3000 page character study or 3 page completely plotted piece would be called anything but a novel (or poor choices) and a short story, respectively. I don’t care how Italian or satirical a piece gets, if its too long, it is no longer a novella. Capice? Here are the sometimes arbitrary standards I found:

Hint Fiction: less than 25 words (Six-Word Fiction, 6 words)
Flash Fiction: 25-1000 words (Dribble Fiction, exactly 50 words; 55 Fiction, less than 55 words; 69ers, exactly 69 words with title; Drabble Fiction, exactly 100 words; Micro Fiction, 500 or less; Twitter Fiction, 140 characters max)
Sudden Fiction: Over 1000 words
Short Story: less than 7,500 words
Novelette: at least 7,500 words but less than 17,500 words
Novella: at least 17,500 words but less than 40,000 words
Novel: 40,000 words or more, “book length”
Epic: somewhere over 100,000, usually

Second, that the difference in forms is something ultimately more fluid, more subtle. The main issues with this wonderfully snobbish definition is that no standardized definition seems to exist, for this categorization. Examples? Not even, really, as most clearly accepted novellas are things we have never read (unless you are defining them by length, which won’t work here). Let’s assume that all of these begin with the requirement that they are fictional writing forms. This is the best I could come up with:

Hint Fiction: Less is more, with a lot of the writer in the story. Neat and to the point. Suggest a larger, more complex story.
Flash (Micro, Sudden, Postcard, Short Short, Very Short, Nano, Minute, Furious, Fast, Skinny) Fiction: Extreme brevity. Condenses a story into the fewest words possible. Emphasizes plot with a twist at the end, and has a beginning, center, and end. Hard, clean, core of the story. A complete story where every word is absolutely essential.
Sudden Fiction: Any short short fiction falls under the definition here of Flash Fiction. Distinctions vary widely and are based almost solely on word count.
Short Story: Fully developed theme, but less elaborate than a novel. Few characters. Unity of effect. Concentrates of creation of mood rather than plot. A self-contained event focusing on a single effect.
Novelette: Can be light, slight, romantic, trivial, or sentimental.
Novella: Complicated, but low on conflicts. Allows time for character and plot development, but meant more for a shorter read, possibly in one sitting. Can end on the brink of change. Many do not have chapter division. Compact and pointed plot. Often realistic or satirical. Room for subplots and development of a few characters. Can be moral or educational. Usually rotates around a single character. Can be combined to create a series, like novels.
Novel: Fictitious, prose narrative with elements of realism. “Room for multiple subplots and development of more characters. multiple major characters, sub-plots, conflicts and twists…. Plot moves forward by different actions, thoughts, results, situations that are evoked by different characters involved in it. It has several twists in the main story, and the reader often feels that the main story has been deviated and affected by the involvement of different sub-stories and sub-plots, or by the involvement of new important characters” (http://hunbbel-meer.hubpages.com/hub/Difference-Between-A-Short-Story-Novelette-Novella-And-A-Novel).
Epic: Long composition, which centers around a single character who undergoes great achievements, or is told in an elevated style. Often includes multiple books in a series. Themes of grandeur and heroism. Action depends on the fate of a tribe, a nation, or the human race.

Of course, a big problem with the defining of the literary forms is that a majority of the defining is relative. For example, I found an abundance of definitions, like these: “Shorter than a novel,” “A brief novel or long short story,” “About a third in length of a novel.” A novella, especially, is often defined in terms of a novel and a short story, but all three are left quite ambiguous in concept.

There there is the more general idea that each longer form needs to justify itself in terms of length. I like that rule, but it still doesn’t tell me if a crappy novel is a crappy novel or a crappy novella. Plus it would be fluid to the point that it lacks distinction. Even so, writers would keep this in mind when choosing how to edit (and write) their literature.

In reality, writers have to turn to contest and publisher requirements for their definitions, which are almost always determined by length, and can vary. Which leaves us with the reader, who needs our categorization when a writer or publisher markets their book. It used to be that they could hold the book in their hands, observe the size, the weight, and even flip through and check out the font size, margins, spacing. But with the rise of the ebook and online book sales rocketing, I really appreciate the online dude who pointed out that part of our service as modern writers for print and online material should be to give an idea to our readers of the book’s length, since they often can’t hold it in their hands (even when purchasing physical books online). I also sympathize with him that the only real way to standardize this is to list the word count. Word count varies less than anything else, by far (including page count), and is more clear than the mud puddle that is our defining of the writers’ forms. However, it will take time and a fair amount of consistency for writers to pick up on the meaning of word counts.

Which leads us to it. What books are often called novellas, which we might be able to relate to?:

Candide, Voltaire
Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Truman Capote
Three Blind Mice, Agatha Cristie
Billy Budd, Herman Melville
The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Robert Louis Stephenson
The Time Machine, H. G. Wells
Of Mice and Men, John Steinbeck
Ethan Frome, Edith Wharton
The Turn of the Screw, Henry James
The Metamorphoses, Franz Kafka
The Old Man and the Sea, Ernest Hemingway
A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens
Animal Farm, George Orwell
Billy Budd, Herman Melville
The Body, Stephen King
A Clockwork Orange, Anthony Burgess
Coraline, Neil Gaiman
The Dead, James Joyce
Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad
The House on Mango Street, Sandra Cisneros
The Little Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupery
Of Mice and Men, John Steinbeck
The Pearl, John Steinbeck
The Stranger, Albert Camus
The Turn of the Screw, Henry James
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, Philip K. Dick
I Am Legend, Richard Matheson
Animal Farm, George Orwell
The War of the Worlds, H. G. Wells

I’m pretty sure a very large number of these books are called novellas because of their length, and also are not commonly called novellas at all, but novels. I’m dizzy.

I have written a book. It is 48,300 words, which by the length requirements above is tightly a novel, loosely between a novel and novella, and by some definitions of length still a novella (up to 50,000). It has 40 characters, obviously some more developed than others, and a complicated, single plot (with what might be considered some small, minor ones). It is a light fantasy. It has a conclusion, but not all loose ends are tied, and leaves off at a pivotal point in a larger legend. It has longer section divisions, as opposed to chapters. While the “plot moves forward by different actions, thoughts, results, situations that are evoked by different characters involved in it,” each development is quick and every setting description and character look is integral to plot and character development. It could be read in one sitting, depending of course on the reader.

In terms of exploring the forms and discussing their definition, I think we’ve made some headway here. In terms of uncovering the real, hard and fast definitions, we have gotten nowhere. I have not even answered my original question, whether The Night of One Hundred Thieves is a novel or novella, enough to sit well with me. I mean, what am I going to call it when I market it this summer? Which leads to my most pragmatic of explanations: the definitions given here, by length and by more ambiguous terms, are only helpful as guidelines (and hard fact only when dictated for a submission). Readers seem to have increasing interest in the shorter forms, but as of yet, most readers will think novell-what? Which means, decision of what to call a 48,000 word book is going to based largely on marketing strategy and I, for one, am going to start listing word count online.

As to whether it is a novella or novel? Both. Or neither. Or… oh, well.

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald and published by Simon & Schuster in 1925. Notes and preface by Matthew J. Bruccoli.

Let me just say, one of the best things about reading this book was its history in the forward. Not that I would wish this on anyone, but knowing that The Great Gatsby–widely accepted as the best American novel of the 20th century–had such inauspicious beginnings, well… Let’s just say it made me feel both okay and renewed my sense that success in writing and everything includes, not just talent, but a little fairy dust, as well. You aware of this story? Let’s just highlight: It took thirty years for The Great Gatsby (which, incidentally, Fitzgerald meant to call The Red, White and Blue) to go from a moderate run, to out-of-print, and then back again to a student’s edition during a 1950s Fitzgerald revival. By then, Fitzgerald was dead. (He was too young. If he hadn’t died, we would probably have a few more great American novels, including The Love of the Last Tycoon, which was unfinished at the time). And now? “the most widely read, translated, admired, imitated, and studied twentieth-century work of American literature.” Incroyable!

And here is my favorite Fitzgerald quote from this edition: “I wish now I’d never relaxed or looked back.”

Sure, Fitzgerald was the alcoholic we all supposedly knew him to be, but he was mostly a serious writer and also part of the French expatriate scene. He published over 160 short stories (!) and was working on another great novel, The Love of the Last Tycoon, when he died prematurely in his forties. He was a very careful writer, big on re-writes and on thinking every thing through, very deliberate. I recall reading once that he went through hundreds of titles for The Great Gatsby before settling on the one that was used. And even at that, he tried to change it to Under the Red, White and Blue while it was at the presses. I like what Bruccoli says at the  conclusion to his preface, “Literary miracles are the work of writers who come closer than other writers to expressing what is on their minds through innate genius augmented by control, technique, craft” (pxvi).

I have to admit that another thing about the Great Gatsby gives me hope at the author’s expense. Mistakes. They’re here and there. Of course, someone recently squashed my sheer joy over this by pointing out that in the twenties there was hardly the internet and now we have no excuse, but I am just going to ignore that and say that the few obvious errors coupled with literary errors (and writing “retina” instead of “iris” or “pupil”) has me smugly overlooking the five or six errors which I have highlighted in my personal copy of Benevolent. Plus, I am still alive, so I can change those and move on and let other people discover more and other errors.

Of course, The Great Gatsby is a wonderful, beautiful piece of American literature, and I thoroughly enjoyed reading it. None of it (or at least not much) was lost to me, as a reader ninety years later, although the modern reader has to overlook some of the literary devices that were once novel and are now cliche (such as the story-within-a-story thing, or the revealing dream(s)). I enjoyed not only the prose and the story, but also the themes of love, time, and hope.

The writing style is very clean, in most ways, but also includes passages of startling beauty. Sometimes I was fully immersed, and the scene had nothing of the foggy, negative feel I often find in those types of passages. Like, “At the grey tea hour there were always rooms that throbbed incessantly with this low sweet fever, while fresh faces drifted here and there like rose petals blown by the sad horns around the floor” (p158).

It’s funny, I am torn about this book after reading it simply because it doesn’t rise to my personal all-time-favorites, but it is such a wonderful book. And, actually, I feel exactly the same way about the 2013 movie. I think then, that my real critique just boils down to personal preferences, and I wish that instead of students being forced to dissect this classic, adults everywhere would be picking it up for a thoroughly enjoyable read.

__________

And about the movie, since the whole reason I read this Best Book at this time was because it is up for an Oscar or two this March. It was excellent, and I am disappointed (with all the Australians) that it is not up for a best picture or an acting award, or even cinematography. When I turned it on, I did not know who the director is (hello, ADHD), but I knew almost immediately that it is either Baz Luhrman or a Baz Luhrman copycat. It’s Baz. In that case, it’s no wonder I liked it. I love much of Luhrman’s work; his saturated scenes, his exquisite and artistic visuals, his clean acting and timing, his painstaking attention to music and costuming. Kevin was off-put by the rap music, but when taken as a whole piece, I enjoy it for its emphasis and appeal. I mean, think of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet with its inclusion of guns, or Moulin Rouge passionately riffing on the Beatles. I can say most people will enjoy this movie, and–despite the differences–will enjoy it right after they read the book. (Note: the movie stays remarkably close to the book, anyhow, especially in the particular lines (but they did omit my favorite scene and one of the best relationships).)

_________

QUOTES:

“There was so much to read for one thing and so much fine health to be pulled down out of the your breath-giving air” (p8).

“Life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all” (p9).

“‘They’ll keep out of my way,’ she insisted. ‘It takes two to make an accident’” (p63).

“‘Let us learn to show our friendship for a man when he is alive and not after he is dead,’ he suggested. ‘After that my own rule is to let everything alone’” (p180).

It has been a month of the unexpected, driven by the weather and that nasty flu bug. I’m sure we were in the same boat as lots of people. Work-wise, it was Self Help month here on the blog, and I read only two books the whole month (the second, in one day). See here for those reviews.

More importantly, I finally got around to making a production timeline and then plugged in the books I am currently working on. I imagine that lots of publishers have something like a production timeline, and I figured–even though Owl and Zebra Press is small–that it would be awesome to take what happened with our first book and make a spreadsheet. Then, when another book is begun or idea proposed, all we have to do is plug the project into the spreadsheet and voila!, we have an approximate timeline (and some built-in deadlines) for all things great and small. Even a publication date! And a launch date! And a date by which to send thank yous to featured bloggers! (See? Great and small.) I am so happy with this new spreadsheet, that I have to force myself to close out the file and keep it that way, or I waste long swaths of time just clicking around on it and dreaming of those days in the future…

Along the same line, I plugged The Night of One Hundred Thieves in with a finish-first-draft deadline on January 31st. That came and went, and the first draft is marinating while I have a couple pair of eyes looking it over just to make sure its worth the paper its printed on. Launch date? July.

Now, on to entertainment. Due to a strange more-than-a-week when the kids were first feverish and then banned from a snowy school, we spent hours and hours snuggled up on the couch having an outright Harry Potter movie marathon. For a brief review of the series, see the bottom of the Harry Potter book series review. It was fun to do them all in quick succession. Believe it or not, we caught things we had never caught before, and were better able to differentiate between them and the books.

Frances Ha (2012). 2012, although I’m pretty darn sure it’s up for an Oscar this year. In fact, it was the only movie we could find that is up for an Oscar and is also available through Redbox, Netflix, Amazon Instant Prime, or Hulu Plus. Makes me (yet again) miss the good ol’ days of the corner video rental store. And to get even Frances, we had to type about forty movies into our remote on three (four) different sites. Oi. Sorry; to the point. I really enjoyed this movie. It is one of those the sits right on the edge of wanting to watch it once and wanting to go buy it so I can watch it over and over. The story itself?: okay. The good karma in this flick is all about the main character and the actress who plays her (who is also the writer). In two words: extremely lovable. I also enjoyed the portrayal of affectionate relationships, especially female-female, that did not have to lead anywhere sexual. And just as a note: not for people who only enjoy blockbusters. It’s–ahem–quirky.

Robot and Frank (2012). Ehn. This movie had so much potential that I feel it did not deliver on. Great idea. Great acting. Solid cinematography. But somewhere in there, a “feel good”-despite-the-hard-times flick melted into a slow and depressing movie. I think the issue was the pacing and timing.

Bridge to Terabithia (2007). Somehow Kevin and the kids had never seen this, so we rented if for family movie night a couple weeks ago. Somehow, I have also never read the book, and could only vaguely remember some of the scenes while Kevin could only remember a “sad” feeling in relation to the book. Boy, were we all in for it, pizza hanging from our dropped jaws, as we came toward the end of the movie. We had wailing and balling and lots of questions about death. Yes, that is sort of a spoiler, but I’m pretty sure it is in your favor to know–before watching it with the kids–that it does not end happy, at least not without a lot of bittersweet. Reminded me very much of My Girl, which was a favorite when I was a kid. Also, our kids were disappointed in the ratio of imaginary to real scenes; they wanted more trolls and magic, etc. Good, solid, movie, but bring your tissues.

Jack Reacher (2012). When all the movies on our must-see list were no-gos (see above review of Frances Ha), we went for this one. Even more “ehn” than Robot and Frank. Not that I expected any different. Everything came at you clearly discernible from a mile away.

The Truman Show (1998). For some reason, Kevin and I had recently and independently said we wanted to re-watch The Truman Show. You know, that sort of thing comes up in this day and age of reality shows and missions to Mars and whatnot. We were not disappointed by our old feelings of satisfaction. It is a great movie, and one that promotes discussion and thought as well as in-the-moment entertainment.

The Invention of Lying (2009). This is one from my own, personal collection. Despite that apparently if lying had never been invented (or even pretending, concealing, exaggerating, or acting; all sorts of lying) we would all be as straight-forward about sex and marriage as about anything, I do not like opening up the movie with Jennifer Garner quipping about masturbating off screen. However, the whole idea of this movie is fascinating, and watching it play out is so interesting I could watch it again and again. Of course, I am reliably offended by the assumption that without lying and pretend we would not have a concept of God, but… well, just repeat the ending to the last run-on sentence. Plus, as long as you don’t get too much of him, Ricky Gervais is really funny. A discussion film.

About a Boy (2002). Another one from my own collection. For personal reasons, I am drawn to films with bipolar characters and themes, and this is one that is both serious and light, sad and warming. I love how the look and feel of these characters is true–not to Hollywood–but to what you might find in people just like them. Perhaps a tad stereotypical, but overall something like Notting Hill meets Jacqueline Wilson.