Pick up the joy

An actual phone conversation, me in Minnesota, other voice 485 mile away in NE:

Kirstin: Hi, my name is Kirstin, and I'd like an estimate on a whole-house cleaning plus carpet cleaning [for my dad's place, after his auction].

woman at Servicemaster, not in my hometown: Could we start with your name?

Kirstin: K-I-R . . .

woman: I know you.

Kirstin: You do?

woman: I used to work with your mother, and I used to babysit you. You sound just like your mom. I heard about your dad, and I'm so sorry.

The world is a small place--and this is the millionth time it's been brought to attention. This time around, it was me she knew. When it happened a couple weeks ago--when I called a *freaking 800 number* to change the gas payment--the woman who answered was a student of my dad's. Nebraska doesn't have a lot of degrees of separation, but still. What are the freaking odds with an 800 number?

So--after this kind woman helped me out, I talked to my husband, like really talked. We don't get to talk, because our lives are nuts. Then I saw an orchard oriole and his mate in my tree--not your everyday bird, and really beautiful besides. Then I planted flowers and filled bird feeders and ran on my treadmill (hope my boss doesn't see this post--I think today is a duty day). Other joyous things? I don't have to grade papers for three months! I get to be a writer now, and I have tons of great projects to work on. I adore my agent, my editor's thinking about my next book, and my fingers can type. My husband and child are healthy, I have amazing friends and family, and the world is still here (though it may end on May 21, beware).

It's so easy to get lost in the craziness. I do it too much. For today, I'll put down the problems and pick up the joy.

Diversity in YA Fiction--smart people doing smart things

Malinda Lo is really smart, and she's an elegant writer besides. She and Cindy Pon, another brilliant YA writer, will launch the Diversity in YA Fiction tour tomorrow in San Francisco. What are they doing, exactly? Talking about how diversity works (or doesn't) in YA, talking about cultures, talking about whatever you'd like to talk about, most likely. Tomorrow's focus is Asian Americans in YA. Each tour stop highlights different cultural groups and really great books, which is the whole point, yes? YA books = flat-out awesome, and no, I'm not biased.

I wish they were coming closer to me than 8 hours away. If you're near SF, Austin TX, Chicago, Cambridge MA, NYC (twice), or San Diego, you should see them. Diversity in YA novels is something we should all care about, no matter our color or culture. There are YAers out there who care a lot, because they want to see their faces in the books they write. Can you blame them?

Eyes wide open

You thought I wouldn't write about the royal wedding--but how can you pass it up? Side note: I find it *astounding* that people wear crowns for real, not as jokes or birthday celebrations. Who'd want to be responsible for it? I'd probably leave it in the bathroom or something.

To task: Kate Middleton seems pretty dang sensible, and she seems to have her eyes wide open. She's a princess with a good head on her shoulders, if you believe the media. If you're going to become a princess, 29 is a good age to do it. She's known Wills for a long time, and she knows what she's getting into, which is an antiquated, stiff, public, and formal life. But she seems destined to not succumb to the bullshit. She's her own woman, it looks like. Good for you, Kate.

This is not unlike publishing (ha, you didn't think I'd be able to make it writing-related, did you?). Some folks get anointed to be a prince/princess by the marketing machine. Crowns and Book Expo America and New York Times ads, oh my! Some folks don't get chosen, which can hurt, of course. But there's tension for the royalty--what if the next book isn't as good? What if the marketing dollars aren't there next time? What if the royalty hates being in public? The pressure is no fun. I can hear other writers saying it right now: "Whatever, bring it on! It's all about sales!" I don't disagree--I wouldn't say no to that kind of crown.

As writers, we need to keep our eyes open and be realistic. We need to remember that we do this for the joy of it. The marketing crown is definitely nice, but when the crowds go home, we need to be doing it for love. Kate married William because she loves him and wants to be with him. We write because we want to be with our characters, we want to spin tales others will enjoy. The pomp and circumstance is lovely, but what's underneath is better.

Fancy dresses rock, and hats rock harder. But so does unraveling plot points and jumping up from the computer, screaming "Yes! I did it!" (I don't do it often, and only when there's no one around). For me, that's where it's at. Would I say no to being a publishing princess? Of course not! But I've got to do it for the love of it, or it's not worth the tiara.

Morgan is BACK!

That makes her sound like a horror movie monster . . . and her parents might agree.

But yes, Morgan and the cast of THE SKY ALWAYS HEARS ME are back, in an e-anthology to be published this fall by Jessica Verday and Rhonda Stapleton. All of you who've wondered about a sequel? Here you go, though it's only 20 pages. Theme of the anthology? Firsts.

More info here--can you believe those other authors? Wow. It's an honor.

I'm *so* excited to write this story. More than anything, I can't wait to figure out if she's with Rob--but she might be with Tessa. There will also be buffalo and The Really Big Empty. And more fortunes.

Tentative release date: October 4. Can't wait!

(And yes, I'm a month late in announcing this news. Story of my life right now.)

Public revision

Writers revise ALL THE TIME. If you’re a writer of any stripe, you know this—or if you’re a student, we beat it beat it into your head: nothing is perfect the first time.

When my son pulled up the pilot of BONES this week, one of his fave TV dramas, I got to thinking about writing besides the printed stuff. Think what kinds of revisions the writers have gone through since 2005, when the pilot aired--tons of them. And lots of it has been (gulp) PUBLIC.

In the pilot of BONES, our main character is socially unattached (a continuing character feature), but also kind of sloppy and rude. Her relationship with her FBI partner isn’t very defined, nor are the relationships she has with her coworkers. Is she likeable? Maybe. Will people watch it again? Maybe. A show’s pilot is, of course, the writers’ first draft. I’m sure there’s a heap of stuff that get revised before a show goes on the air, but it’s still a rough draft.

The writers very obviously revised her as the show went along, though sometimes in subtle ways—her hair, the jewelry she wears. And those little things tell us a lot. In the pilot, she has messy hair. Now it’s pretty sleek, and her clothes are less sloppy. Her demeanor is kinder. Yes, she’s different because we’ve been watching her since 2005, but she’s also different because writers wanted to make her different. They had to try out different versions of her to see which one was best for the show. All of it in public.

Imagine if you write for TV. You and your team scribble and plan and tweak, but your pilot sucks. Back to the drawing board for the next episode, and you try something else. Suckage. Then you tweak again and this time it’s better. But then—-whoops!—-the dialogue is even suckier, and you have to change the dynamic between Character X and Character Y, or they’ll always sound like your aunt and her dog Mr. Jingles. Back to the drawing board you go.

By the sixth season, you're more comfortable. You’ve hit your stride, and people like your show. But you also know (another gulp) your rough draft is something my kid can yank out of the Netflix file drawer. Eeek. I am grateful to all things holy that nobody can do that with my rough drafts.

Just a note: when I was looking for a photo to go with this post, I searched Google images for “revision”. I got tons of photos of boob jobs. Not a way I’d define the word, but OK.

Letting my freak flag fly

I have white hair. LOTS of it. Tons more than my spouse, and he's five years older. Do I have cool white hair? Not so much (someday, hopefully). Do I have a writing audience that may be creeped out by someone with white hair ("eeew, she's trying to act like she's young like us!")? I hope not, but who knows?

So--what to do? The cultural answer is obvious---COLOR THAT SHIT UNTIL YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT COLOR YOUR HAIR IS. But I don't like maintenance (evidence here) and I don't like dark roots. I do like my blonde streaks, however--they remind me of the natural ones I used to have. The salad days are over, honey. Get used to it. That's the voice of realism. Not like a fiction writer lives in the real world, but I should try.

SO--I've decided not to color anymore, at least until my resolve dies. : \ I may be back at the salon by next week. But this public pronouncement may help me keep my promise. Why not be honest about who I am? If I end up with hair like this picture, I will have done the right thing.

Picture stolen from here.

Outlaw Boots, pair #7: Keith Arnold Cronn (1943-2011)

The last six weeks have been wild. My dad's been seriously ill since last spring, but things went downhill fast in the first half of February, and he died on February 13th. Not like we didn't expect it, and he wasn't going to recover from his illness, but still. No good. After that, my life got sucked into the details dead people leave behind (yowza), leaving little head space to write. Those previous blog posts were in the midst of it all, in hopes of kick-starting myself, but by the 4th post . . . yeah.

HOWEVER--lucky for me--I didn't have a February outlaw (I'm behind), so I thought I'd use him. My dad wrote poetry, and he's the reason I became a writer in the first place. His love of words (and stories, too) was passed on to me as a teeny tiny girl. He taught me that language is FUN. Not your average lesson, but one of the best I've ever had. He also taught me to be curious, which is equally valuable.

Though I have no book cover for him, I will repost my own trailer for SKY, because my dad took the majority of pictures in the first part of it. I asked for his help because he documented Central Nowhere (and Western Nowhere) in beautiful ways, and because I knew he was sick even then, and I wanted a public memory of him. The music's by my brother, which is also cool. It's not very often a person can collaborate with family on a book trailer.

Without further ado, why my dad wore Outlaw Boots:

--Who's your most outlaw character--why?
Me. I've been an outlaw all my life, which should be evident by the cannons in my garage (seriously--cannons) and the picture you chose (Have you ever seen an outlaw with combed hair? Of course not). My first outlaw act: sticking my fingers into a washing machine pulley when I was 18 months old. Hello, severed tendons. My best outlaw act: knocking out 3 bottom front teeth in a tangle with an electric fence. I loved popping my bridge out at you kids. Remember? Completely.

--Are you an outlaw too? How do you know?
I already said yes--will you please listen? You didn't listen when you were a girl, either. Let's not get into that, Dad.

--What kind of shoes does your outlaw wear (you or your character--maybe outlaw boots?)?
Practical boots, including cowboy boots, the kind that are good for kicking around in the Sandhills. Oh, and hunting boots with thick socks.

--Pirate, ninja, nerd, other outlaw title for you/your character:
Rebel. Not always good, but always true.

--Best thing about being an outlaw:
Hanging out in my garage. He had two, one specially built, and they were full of shit and spare parts and inventions, aside from the cannons.

--Favorite outlaw/badass food:
Anything with jalapenos.


--Favorite outlaw/badass role model/why:
Hmm. Inventors (he did make some good ones) or people who tinker (but also some crazy shit). My best buddy Alrae (friends for 40+ years). My dad, Duard, who always did his own thing. My students and fellow teachers at Cozad High School. Poets who stick to meter and rhyme, not that free verse crap (gak--eek--but he loved it).

Pretty good example of an outlaw, I'd say.

I keep wondering what he's doing--maybe walking in Western Nebraska, taking in the beauty and the emptiness. Maybe he's sitting across from me at my kitchen table as I write this. Who knows? Maybe he's hunting, one of his favorite things. But if all the animals (and people) are dead in the afterlife, do hunters ask the deer to play hide and seek? Hey, Deer, want to play hunting? Sure. Close your eyes, Mr. Hunter, and count to 100.

Be at peace, Dad. You were a complicated man with a tumultuous life, so this wish is my most fervent. I miss you so so much, and I love you. I wish I could give you one more hug. I hope you are joyous.