Tag: writing

IF I LIE Cover Reveal

I’m not even going to try to build this one up. I’m so excited to share the cover, summary and new publication date for IF I LIE that I’m barely containing myself from showing it to people at Starbucks. Oh hai, you look like you can read because you know, you’re breathing, so you should look at this.

Without further ado….

Here’s the synopsis that will be on my galleys:

______________________________________________________________

A powerful debut novel about the gray space between truth and perception.

Quinn’s done the unthinkable: she kissed a guy who is not Carey, her boyfriend. And she got caught. Being branded a cheater would be bad enough, but Quinn is deemed a traitor, and shunned by all of her friends. Because Carey’s not just any guy—he’s serving in Afghanistan and revered by everyone in their small, military town.

Quinn could clear her name, but that would mean revealing secrets that she’s vowed to keep—secrets that aren’t hers to share. And when Carey goes MIA, Quinn must decide how far she’ll go to protect her boyfriend…and her promise.

______________________________________________________________

IF I LIE debuts August 28, 2012. 

Add to your Goodreads shelf here.

********

I’ve heard so many horror stories about authors getting covers they hate. As a former graphic designer, it would have been too easy to get set on my own ideas, but  I tried not to have any expectations where IF I LIE was concerned.

So when my editor, Annette Pollert at Simon Pulse, sent over the cover image, I held my breath and clicked on the file, having absolutely no idea what the team at Simon Pulse had come up with.

The emotions evoked by the cover are so perfect, so absolutely IF I LIE that I can’t imagine another image that could convey so much about my story. The black and white image of Quinn and Carey. The title in red. The sheer simplicity of the whole thing floored me. Every time I look at IF I LIE, I feel a little tug on my heart for these two characters. A huge thank you to the designer, Angela Goddard, and the team at Simon Pulse!

I can’t wait to hear what you think!!

<3

Guest Post: Stephanie Kuehn on a Lesson Learned

I met Stephanie Kuehn last year when we drove to SCBWI together. She’s alternately deep and quirky, which makes her the perfect friend and crit partner. Plus, she’s a hugely talented writer that you will all read someday. She writes stories with plot twists that will simply blow your mind – trust me, you will be reading her books.  Read on to see what lesson Stephanie has learned in the last year, and don’t forget to leave a comment below for a chance to win a $20 Amazon gift card.

*

*

*

When Cory asked me to come up with a post about a writing lesson I’ve learned in the past year, I was stumped. I mean, I don’t have a publishing success story to share. No book of mine can be found on a shelf anywhere. I’m just…me. I write. I go to school. I like to watch football and bad reality television. I’ve got kids.

So what, right?

Well, it turns out So What actually is my lesson.

It’s a lesson I owe to my school advisor. See, he’s kind of our campus wild card, both
intimidating and eccentric. He rarely smiles. He repeats things. He likes cat memes and black
licorice. He’s also known for a particular question that he likes to ask during dissertation
defenses. According to school lore, after listening to a doctoral candidate present the research
they’ve toiled over for years, my advisor will sit back, clear his throat, and shout out:

“So what?”

Ack.

So What is a scary question! I’m okay with “how” and “when” and “where” and “who,” but So
What means “why did you even bother?” In academic research, this translates into transcending
theory and finding real-world relevance, but I think there’s a parallel process to be found in
writing. Stringing 75,000 pretty words together into something with a beginning, middle, and
end isn’t enough. It just isn’t. A story has to resonate. It has to matter. In some way, somehow, it
must be relevant.

Maybe this is obvious to everyone else, but it wasn’t for me. I have an analytical mind. I mean, I
have an undergraduate degree in theoretical linguistics, of all things. Clearly, I like to understand
things just for the sake of understanding them. And, in truth, I don’t always care about relevance.
I have no problem becoming thoroughly absorbed in the fanciness of…just saying stuff. But
writing a novel isn’t like finishing the New York Times crossword puzzle. It’s not just that you
did it, it’s what you did that counts.

Over the past twelve months, I’ve tried to embrace the So What spirit in my writing. I won’t
lie. It hasn’t been easy. I’ve had to push past my comfort zone. I’ve had to let go of fanciness
and allow my words become messy and painful and scary and uncontrolled. I’ve had to stop
worrying about how I’m going to clean up my own mess or who’ll want to read it or whether
it will make me look clever or smart. But the process has been invaluable, because somewhere
along the way…I found my voice.

That’s a good feeling.

So when I reflect back on the year, I see many things that haven’t changed. I still go to school.
I’m still a mom. I still like to watch football and bad reality television. But I also see that I’ve
grown as a writer.

For that and for everything, I am humbled and grateful.

Guest Post: Matt Blackstone on a Lesson Learned

Matt Blackstone is one of our Bookanistos, one of two brave guys in a huge group of women. Matt is both funny and honest. If you get a chance, you should go read his blog. He’s written some great posts about obsession and the I Love Your Guts three-part series in which he revealed a lot about himself, His debut novel A SCARY SCENE IN A SCARY MOVIE, about a teen with OCD, just came out in July. Read on to see what lesson Matt has learned in the last year, and be sure to leave a comment for a chance to win a $20 Amazon gift card.

*

For years—three, maybe four, okay probably five—all I wanted was a book contract.

I would’ve  done anything to get it: put my soul on the open market, do cartwheels on flaming stones, eat a jar of mayo, denounce my love of the Phillies, accept bribes and teach my 10th graders that reading is for suckers, that Cheetos are healthier than carrots, that the principal is a rhinoceros, that true love is a bunch of hokey boloney unless it’s on The Bachelorette, that the economy has never looked so sexy, that cooties are real, that college is the devil, and that I am really a very manly woman.

If only I had a manuscript to edit.  An acceptance letter, however corny the story, to open and read and frame, instead of a mountain of rejection letters piled so high on my desk that if I breathe or cough or sigh with enough gusto the entire mountain will collapse on me like an avalanche and crush me and cover me in my own rejections and failures and nobody will hear me scream and I’ll die a slow and painful death, which newspapers will find fascinating and therefore report, on the front page in big bold lettering, “MAN DIES OF FAILURE; NOT HEART FAILURE, JUST FAILURE”—but since nobody reads newspapers anymore, nobody will hear about it until Comedy Central gets its hands on the story and Steven Colbert proclaims, with a wag of the finger, “Nation, I thought Bill O’Reilly was a loser, a real Loserasaurus [audience cheers]. . . I did, I really did, but then, Nation, [Colbert chuckles], but then I heard of Matt Blackstone,” as the audience, howling like hyenas, chants his name instead of mine: “Ste-ven. Ste-ven, Ste-ven . . .”

And then an agent finally said yes—at first I thought the email said, “jes,” as in Jessica, which isn’t my name—a few editors also said yes not jes, and I was spared the headline and the Steven Smackdown.  Still, it was hard to talk about.  It made me irritable, itchy, like red ants were crawling up my thigh.  I didn’t recognize my voice; no matter what I said, I sounded fancy—no, foncy—like I had a British accent, played a smashing game of Polo, and ate only “mixed greens,” and only with a salad fork.  I told myself, “Self, yeah you, you’re not British; tell them the truth: your favorite food is hot dogs, you own one pair of jeans, suffer (sometimes for weeks) from writer’s block, and like to sing “Poker Face” while washing your face in the shower.

But, I’ve learned, you have to talk about it.  You have to sell yourself, even if the self you’re selling isn’t Mr. Foncy Ponts.  This I realized early on in the process—and again a few months before my book came out and my book reading/signing schedule was . . . well, it wasn’t really a schedule, per say . . . it did say, “Matt’s Reading Schedule” at the top, but . . .

Cue the headline.  Cue Steven Colbert, adjusting his glasses, trying hard not laugh: “Nation, in the history of civilization, there are many men who rose above their circumstances and truly lived the American Dream—Abraham Lincoln; Jackie Robinson; John Boehner, saddled with an unfortunate last name, became the Speaker of the House [audience chuckles]—and then, Nation, there are those who saw the promised land, enjoyed the view, got this close [pinches the air] . . .  and failed miserably.  Like this guy.  Matt Blackstone.  [Cue my author photo].  Now, Nation, I may look like a cold-hearted newscaster, but underneath I am an emotional, vulnerable creature who weeps at sunsets and injured puppies and authors with ‘Matt’s Reading Schedule’ at the top of the paper [covers his smile with his arm] and nothing but naked paper underneath.  In the words of an ancient philosopher . . . ‘Whomp, Whomp.’  Nation, say it with me: ‘Whomp, Whomp.’  Everybody now: ‘Whomp, Whomp . . .’”

I wasn’t okay with that.  I had to get my book out there.  I believed in its message (I wrote A SCARY SCENE IN A SCARY MOVIE for the outcast teens I teach).  I believed that teenagers would enjoy and benefit from the story.  I believed in my ability to present it.  And I was tired of Colbert mocking me.  I wasn’t going to be a Loserasaurus.

So I sat my butt in a white chair at the end of June and I emailed.  I called.  I visited stores.  I stopped by libraries.  I wrote letters.  I contacted schools (and all their English teachers).  I emailed the state of California.  And half of New Jersey.  I skipped breakfast, and then lunch.  I called principals, superintendants.  I mailed letters and books and flyers (Linda, at the local post office, thanked me for keeping her in business).  I reached out to my friends, and their friends, and friends of their friends and their Facebook friends, and spent entire days on Gmail.  I slept when I could no longer see.  I ate dinner at my desk.  I don’t know for sure how much time elapsed, as days blended quickly but passed slowly, but I was told it was more than six weeks.

My wife staged an intervention.  Threw me in the shower.  Reacquainted me with washing machines and deodorant.  Escorted me outdoors. Showed me the sunshine.  Introduced me to the sound of birds.  The taste of strawberries.  The satisfaction of sleep.

Now, as I write this article, I am two weeks from the start of school.  My precious teacher summer is almost over.  But I learned an important lesson about self-promotion and hard work.  And what it takes.

My Fall schedule now includes visits to 15 stores, 11 schools, 6 libraries, and 3 festivals.

A total of 35 events.  Can’t even keep a poker face.  The number makes me smile.

Links:

http://www.MattBlackstoneBooks.com

Twitter:@MattBlackstone

List of appearances: http://www.mattblackstonebooks.com/appearances/

Seventeen Magazine

Book Info:

Rene, an obsessive-compulsive fourteen year old, smells his hands and wears a Batman cape when he’s nervous. If he picks up a face-down coin, moves a muscle when the time adds up to thirteen (7:42 is bad luck because 7 + 4 + 2 = 13), or washes his body parts in the wrong order, Rene or someone close to him will break a bone, contract a deadly virus, and/or die a slow and painful death like someone in a scary scene in scary movie. Rene’s new and only friend tutors him in the art of playing it cool, but that’s not as easy as Gio makes it sound.

Go buy your copy of A SCARY SCENE IN A SCARY MOVIE now!

Guest Post: Kate Hart on a Lesson Learned

Kate Hart was my first beta reader, and the first friend I found on Absolute Write. I’m betting a lot of you already know her from her Field Trip Fridays over at YAHighway.com, plus there’s the Twitter companion version at her site. Or maybe you know her from Help Write Now, the auction she organized that raised $21,047 for Southern communities hit hard by storms. Kate has an ability to scour the internet and somehow cull the nonsensical and hilarious. And one day soon you are going to all be as lucky as I’ve been, and have the chance to read one of her books. Read on to see what lesson Kate has learned in the last year, and don’t forget to leave a comment below for a chance to win a $20 Amazon gift card.

*

*

I did a lot of creative writing in high school. I did much less in college, and after graduation I stopped completely. But lots of people knew I’d aspired to be an author, and periodically the question would pop up: “So are you still writing?”

No.

“Why not?”

I don’t have anything to say.

*

My senior year of college, I got a B in a seminar taught by multiple professors. I flipped out– not only was it literally costing me scholarship money, it meant I wouldn’t graduate summa cum laude. The reason? One of the teachers gave me a C for pulling in outside resources for a paper. Not for plagiarism, not for failing to cite my sources, but for using sources at all.

I had cited outside sources on every other paper that trimester. I was a history major. Citing sources is kind of our thing. So I contested the grade, and won. But I also had an alarming realization.

Without outside sources to inspire and back my argument, I had very little to say.

*

When I got back into writing, I relied heavily on other bloggers for my prompts, or compiled links on various topics, or gathered funny stuff from around the internet. Then I joined YA Highway, and Field Trip Friday was born. A few months later, the Twitter companion started on my blog.

I was learning a lot and reading a lot and it made me bold, so I took a risk. I wrote a book that was like smashing my heart between the pages, a book that said some things about girls and boys and sexism and sex. It got me an agent. But after multiple close calls, it didn’t sell. I couldn’t talk about that on my blog, and I sure didn’t feel qualified to give advice, so I started making graphs based on publishing data.

Because I had nothing to say.

*

But a curious thing happened. I compiled links about a few controversies, and realized I couldn’t lay the information out there without some elaboration. I started getting overwhelmed with links, and realized culling the extraneous is inherently a statement of importance. I started a few graphs that were supposed to be silly, but turned into rather damning statements on various parts of the industry.

I was saying things. And I didn’t mean to.

*

Suddenly I realized not only had I been giving a speech unawares– I’d been doing so naked.

It was yet another alarming realization.

But it was also freeing, as getting naked tends to be. Everyone’s already seen my opinions, so what does it matter if I put a bathing suit over them? Maybe I’ll give them a tie or some killer boots. This blog post here needs some tassels. You! Work-in-progress! You get a cowboy hat!

Sure, people will comment on the color and cut and style, and some will like them, and some will hate them, but the body underneath is solid. It has muscles made stronger by exercises in rejection and bones made of research and teeth sharpened with facts.

It’s already out there. It’s too late to hide. Especially when it was never really hidden in the first place.

*

A fact finding mission with no goal is pointless. Historians don’t research just for the hell of it– they’re trying to support a thesis. But sometimes, sources disprove your theories. Sometimes what you find isn’t what you expected.

And sometimes, you find you had plenty to say all along.

*

“Are you still writing?”

Yes. Let me tell you all about it.

Guest Post: Myra McEntire on a Lesson Learned

Myra McEntire is freaking hilarious. I followed her on Twitter long before I had my book deals, and she was one of those kind authors who would tweet back at me when I made some inane comment. She was one of the masterminds behind last year’s “Do the Write Thing for Nashville” auction that raised a whopping $53,000 to support flood victims in Tennessee. And I don’t think anyone was surprised by her generosity. She’s just that kind of person, and I’m glad I’ve had the chance to get to know her better these last months. Her book HOURGLASS came out this year and it’s filled with hot boys, a strong heroine, and lots of plot twists. Read on to see what lesson Myra has learned in the last year, and don’t forget to leave a comment for a chance to win a $20 Amazon gift card.

b

I never thought the biggest lesson I’d learn this past year would be about kindness.
And I really never thought the lesson would be driven home by Alex Pettyfer’s mole.

The situation:

My debut novel, HOURGLASS, came out this summer. Even though I was warned not
to, I set Google alerts with my name and the book’s name, scanned Goodreads for
reviews, and checked blogs of reviewers who I knew were reading.

I prepared myself for the outcomes of these searches. I was actively looking, so I
was asking for trouble, right? Not every book is for every person. Taste is subjective.
Reviews are full of opinions. I knew being hurt at some point was inevitable.

What I wasn’t prepared for was what I came across by accident. Do you know you
can search Twitter?

I wish I didn’t.

I stumbled my way into a conversation about my book, my plot choices, and my
complete lack of writing talent. I believe the words “ZZZZZZ” and “snooze fest” were
used. One participant asked, “I mean really, how many times can the heroine throw
the hero over her shoulder?” (In HOURGLASS, only once, and he totally deserved it.)

As I watched the conversation in real time, my stomach turned, my face got hot, and
I did that weird thing where you shape your lips into a smile, but they don’t really
stay. They shake, and get rubbery, and then the point comes where you can’t tell the
drool from your tears. That’s when I screen capped the whole thing and sent it to my
closest friends to garner support. I also showed it to my husband.

He was shocked. “How can they say those things about you? And some of the stuff
they’re saying about your story, they aren’t right, are they?” They weren’t right. And
the very best part was that only one of the three had actually read the book.

That’s when I removed the search for my name and my book from my Twitter feed. I
also turned off my Google alerts. I deleted the screen caps and tried to put the whole
thing behind me.

The object lesson:

A few days later, I was discussing Alex Pettyfer with someone I’d just met. I was
pissed off at Alex’s complete lack of enthusiasm about the opportunity to play Jace
Wayland in The Mortal Instruments movies. The Internet and most fandoms were
behind him 100%, but he remained non-committal and acted kind of bored/insulted
by the whole thing.

So I poked fun at his mole. The one between his nose and his lip.

It was an offhand comment, and was intended only for the ears of the person I was
talking to. No one was around to hear it. Saying it was “safe.”

Except, two weeks later, I was driving down the road, and the comment came back
to me. It bounced off the walls of my brain, became a lump in my throat, and settled
somewhere in my heart region.

How was what I said about Alex Pettyfer any different from what the girls on
Twitter said about me? I don’t know him – he could be perfectly lovely. I might not
care for his mole, but there are likely thousands of women out there who would
probably lick it off his face.

It doesn’t matter if I said it about Alex P. or someone I saw in the grocery store
parking lot. What I said was ugly. It didn’t lift anyone up, or bring anyone joy. It
made me look petty and mean, and what’s most important, it made me feel petty and
mean. Because it was petty and mean.

Anything that touches me like that and sticks around deserves consideration,
so I took a big step back and reevaluated some things. Asked myself some hard
questions.

1) What kind of person did I want to be on the inside, where it counts?
2) When I went to bed at night, did I want to feel shame about being funny or
amusing at the expense of someone else, or did I want to feel happy because
I’d loved someone well that day?
3) In the grand scheme of life, what matters more – what people think of my
book, or what people think of me? What others think of me, or what I think of
me?

Ultimately, I’m glad I came across that Twitter conversation that night. I’m glad I
made an ignorant comment about Alex Pettyfer’s mole a few days later. And I’m
really glad, for whatever reason, that those two things connected themselves in my
wee brain.

The lesson:

Kindness matters. And if that’s all I learned in the past year, then every single
second of sadness and shame was worth it.

____________________________________

Remember, HOURGLASS is available now. Go get your copy now!

Guest Post: Jodi Meadows on a Lesson Learned

Last year for my blogiversary, Jodi Meadows wrote this amazing guest blog about why you shouldn’t quit. It was a lesson she learned through a lot of trials, and Jodi’s post inspired a lot of people. In fact, a lot of people linked to that post to offer their writer friends support – they bookmarked it even – because it reminded them that the road may be long, but it will be worth it. If you’ve talked to her, you know Jodi is exactly like that post – inspiring and supportive.  Her book INCARNATE comes out in 2012. Lucky us, we get to pre-order it now. Read on to see what lesson Jodi has learned in the last year, and don’t forget to leave a comment for a chance to win a $20 Amazon gift card.

What I’ve learned this last year . . . Hm. You mean besides the fact that my editor is allergic to cats, which Kippy instinctively seems to know, so she sits extra on NYC-bound items?

Besides that? I’ve learned the value of doing something else.

I’ve been fortunate enough to be able to write full time for the last several years, long before my agent and editor said yes. For many of those years, I’ve had another hobby — one I decided early on I never even wanted to try to go professional with. The yarn habit is for me.

As with any job — whether you write full time or on your lunch break — there’s always something that needs to be done. A manuscript needs to be finished. Or rewritten. Or edited. Or reread one last time. There are queries to send, emails to answer, or numbers to obsess over. Interview questions to answer, guest posts to write, subtle but effective promotion to figure out. Contest results to tally, industry gossip to stalk, and blogs to read. Did I mention writing? Because you still have to do that.

When you work from home, your office is right there. It’s so easy to turn on the computer (or wake it up if you’re like me and find the idea of turning off the computer a completely abhorrent idea) and check for an email from your agent, even though it’s 1am and you know from thorough stalking that she goes to bed at 11pm every night.

Step. Away. From. The. Computer.

I love my job — it’s the only job I ever wanted — but sometimes a break is necessary. (Even if I think I don’t want it.)

One of the things about writing real, living characters is that you have to live, too. I’m as guilty of workaholicness just as much as the next girl. Sometimes it’s hard to pry myself away from the computer. But my yarn hobby is portable. I can knit a fingerless mitt or sock anywhere. My spinning wheel lives in the living room — away from my computer — and most years I go to my local fiber festival where other yarnies gather to sell all manner of yarn things.

I’ve been crocheting/knitting/spinning (yarning) almost as long as I’ve been writing, and I’ve been treating writing like a full-time job for going on eight years now. But for a long time, yarning was just another thing I did. It made me happy. It wasn’t writing, though often inspired my writing. But now that writing is not just work, but Work That Pays Me, I find my hobby even more important. (If you have a day job and writing is your hobby, that is what yarn is to me. Except, again, I don’t want to go professional with it.)

It keeps me from getting lost in my work, and gives me another thing to create when I’m stuck on a story. And while it can be hard to avoid getting stressed over a yarn thing I want to accomplish (have I mentioned my work ethic, which is as strong as the sun’s gravitational pull?), I refuse to feel guilty if I’m ahead or behind, or unable to do a certain thing. It’s a hobby. I want to be good at it, but it’s okay if I’m not. Yarning is not my job.

My hobby allows my brain to work in different ways. It inspires me. It’s part of my real life that informs my writing. Having another passion doesn’t take away from my writing. It adds to it. It makes me a better writer.

Pre-order your copy of INCARNATE now!

Guest Post: Kathleen Peacock on a Lesson Learned

A couple of years ago I met Kathleen Peacock on the boards at Absolute Write. I got to know her through silly posts about anything that came to mind at odd hours. I remember a lot of randomness and cheerleading. Kathleen is so wise and kind. And funny. Her book HEMLOCK comes out in 2012 and I can tell you, I can’t wait to get my grabby hands on it. Read on to see what lesson Kathleen has learned in the last year.

bbb

Holding on to the Moxie

mox-ie:

1: energy, pep 2: courage, determination 3: know-how
Merriam-Webster Dictionary

I was sixteen when I came across the word “moxie” in a Dean Koontz book (The House of Thunder, if you really want to know). I remember rolling the word over my tongue and filing it away for the future. Moxie. I liked it. It was something I wanted to have.

It conjured up mental images of someone who strode through life. Someone who wasn’t afraid to take chances and who was determined to try even if the odds were stacked against her—heck, maybe because the odds were stacked against her.

Sometimes, if I reached hard enough, it felt like my fingers could skim the word. When I decided I would write a novel—instead of, you know, just dreaming about it—it felt like I had become moxie personified.

It felt like nothing could stop me.

No matter how many hours it took and no matter how often I read that the odds of getting an agent— let alone a book deal—were on par with winning the lottery, I had faith. I knew that it would somehow happen (in hindsight that may less have been an example of a sixth sense and more an example of being delusional). I finally had my dose of moxie.

Then the book sold.

And doubt—which had been my companion for far more years than moxie had—started to settle in. What if everyone at KTB had all eaten bad takeout and were delusional when they bought my book? What if I let my editor (who I adored) down? What if my agent (who I also adored) had second thoughts about taking me on? What if everyone laughed when the book came out? What if only ten people bought the book and those ten people all left one-star reviews on Goodreads?

My friends and family tried to reassure me. My agent tried to reassure me. My editor was nothing but awesome and supportive. Deep down, though, that doubt gnawed at me.

And then, one afternoon, when I was worrying about revisions, I confessed to my agent that it never seriously (and we’re talking seriously as opposed to the occasional moments of doubt that even the most confident people get) occurred to me that the book wouldn’t happen, that I always had faith I would get an agent and it would sell.

Smart little agent that she is, she filed the story away and then slipped it into the conversation the next time I sounded stressed.

For some reason, hearing my own words paraphrased back at me had the effect of a switch being flipped. I didn’t just remember how it felt to feel that way; as we talked, I started feeling that way again. I felt calmer, more certain that I was on the right path and that this wasn’t some sort of universal fluke. I had my moxie back (and I really wanted to listen to “Battle Without Honor or Humanity” from the Kill Bill Soundtrack).

So I guess my lesson for this year (and the one I would pass on to anyone reading this) is to hold onto your moxie. There will be days when it’s hard to find, but you do have it. As soon as you made that leap from “someday I’d like to try and write a novel” to actually putting wordage on paper you proved that you had moxie in spades.

How I Use Scrivener

A few friends have asked me if I really like using Scrivener and what the point of it is, and my answer is that I really, really do like it because Scrivener has a ton of USEFUL functionality. I thought I would share how I’m using the program. FYI, I’m using the Windows version.

BREAKING YOUR NOVEL DOWN:

My mother taught me that a huge project is much more manageable when you break it down into smaller tasks. When you’re using Word, chapters are my smaller pieces. If my chapters are longer, then scenes become my smaller pieces. YET, with Word, all of those pieces are compiled in one long document you have to scroll through. And I can see I’m on page 20 and feel the pressure of having hundreds of pages to go.

What Scrivener does:

In Scrivener, you decide how to manage your project and how to break it down within my project binder. I create folders for each chapter. Within each chapter folder, I create separate documents for each scene. I can do this as I write, OR (if you are an outliner like me) I can jump to my Corkboard view and type a few quick notes on the little “post-it” for each scene or chapter.  When I’m ready, it’s easy to Compile the manuscript into a Word doc with the “Compile” feature in Scrivener.

OUTLINER HEAVEN:

As mentioned here, I’m an outliner. It’s a skeleton at best, but my outline provides a few key points each chapter needs to hit on to keep my plot and emotional arcs on track.

What Scrivener does:

Scrivener is an outliner’s dream. For each chapter or scene, I can include a few quick notes for the highlights it should include. I can do this in the Corkboard view where every chapter looks like a little post it note (that I can type on) or I can do it in a little sidebar box next to my document. Scrivener has several ways to view these notes, too. Aside from the Corkboard view, I can also use the outliner view. This lets me see my outline in neat rows similar to Excel. I prefer the Corkboard view, but it’s great to have the flexibility.

RESEARCH, WHERE ART THOU FILE?:

I do a lot of research. Location research. Character name research. Medical research. Police procedure research. I find images to use as reference for describing settings and characters. I used to store all of this research into separate Word files. Then I’d have to go find them all each time I needed them and keep flipping back and forth between my manuscript and the pictures. And then I’d have a file of just URLs to reference in case I needed to find that website that told me how doctors treat punctured lungs. I’m organized, but I still had a hard time tracking things.

What Scrivener does:

There’s a Research folder. I can import web pages. I can import photos. I can create a folder for a person or place and then drop whatever I like into that folder. Pictures, web pages, character notes. It’s all there in one place WITH my manuscript. I never have to hunt for files. And get this… I can even have any of those files pulled up on my screen next to my manuscript as I type. What does my MC look like again? Oh, wait. Here’s the photo of her. It’s that easy.

EDITING MADE EASIER:

Have you ever deleted an entire scene or chapter? Say it’s Chapter 2 of 40. What a nightmare to have to renumber every chapter and shift everything around. The same can happen if you have to add chapters. These kinds of edits are time consuming.

What Scrivener does:

Every scene is its own little unit in Scrivener. When you’re in Binder view, every scene has its own icon that can be dragged and dropped in the binder. You can move it within a chapter or between chapters. You can select a bunch of scenes and move them around with a couple clicks.  It’s SO convenient.

STAT CHECKERS:

Don’t laugh at me. I have an Excel spreadsheet where I track overall and daily word counts. I track how many words I need to do each day in order to finish a book by X date. And I adjust those figures based on my daily actual word counts. I’d love to not have to do this, but if you’re serious about writing, you better get serious about deadlines. Make them your friend.

What Scrivener does:

I know Word has that a total word count you can track at the bottom left corner of the screen. Scrivener does more. You can track scene and chapter word counts. Better yet, you can set daily word count goals within Project Targets. LOVE this. And, if you like to track which chapters you’ve edited, finished writing, etc., you can also do this in Scrivener. At a glance, I can see where I left off the last time I was working.

INTERFACE:

Okay, I’ll admit it. When the first beta of Scrivener came out, I LOATHED the interface. It was single-spaced and kept putting weird returns between my paragraphs. I couldn’t see the edges of my pages. I felt paralyzed by the interface. So I ditched the beta and went back to my cozy, comfortable Word world. When I decided to give Scrivener another shot, the beta had been updated to include much more functionality. I can do everything Word does, except see the edges of my pages (which I still kind of miss). BUT on the upside, Scrivener has a Full Screen view that grays out your background, including that distracting Twitter and email inbox.

So that’s a very basic breakdown of why I’m in love with Scrivener and going to have its babies. I hope this helps some of you if you’re sitting on the fence about what Scrivener can do. If you try it out, I recommend you watch the tutorial videos. They are short, easy to follow and will save you hours of floundering.

*All images are the property of Scrivener.

Best Valentine’s Day Present. EVER.

The Sunday before Christmas, I finished my second book, a YA contemporary called IF I LIE. I sent it off to my agent and held my breath, waiting for her to tell me it sucked. Not because my agent is a jerk (she’s actually AMAZING), but because my confidence had been swirling the drain for a while.

See, getting an agent and then going on submission is tough. In fact, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever voluntarily faced, and I like a good challenge. Most writers become well acquainted with rejection in all its various forms, from “no” to “oh, hell, no!” There were days when I brushed off the no’s and vowed to keep at it. But then there were days when I cried and thought I was stupid for even trying. My family and friends would ask if I’d sold a book yet, and I’d launch into this diatribe about how maybe 1% of writers actually get published. And they would pat me on the back, and I’d act all fierce because I was still in the game, still writing and learning and sweating and bleeding on the page.

But secretly, I wondered, who did I think I was to even reach for that 1% with my grubby hands? There’s nothing terribly special about me. If you asked me to describe myself, my first words would be “I’m a hard worker.” Yay. Let’s all high five on that one. I’m not the sparkling type that lights up a room. I’m not passionate about anything. I don’t spend my weekends fighting for causes. When you get down to it, what could I possibly have to say that matters to anyone?

Do you want to slap me yet? Because I did. Seriously. What a huge, steaming load of crap all that is.

That garbage – all those nasty thoughts – are what a series of no’s can do to you if you’re not careful. Those are all lies you begin to tell yourself when you take every rejection of your work as a rejection of YOU. Okay, maybe I don’t light up a room, but I laugh a lot and I’m a phenomenal listener. I’m passionate about lots of things, including writing and family and friends.

And I have so much that is interesting to say. My experience is unique and colorful and MINE. Did you know I was once in a body cast? Or that my parents’ have nine marriages and eight divorces between them? Or that I used to play daredevil and jump off my roof – for fun? And I have a scar on my elbow from that time I got run over by a car? And what about that sister that I’ve never met?

Every time I sit down to write, I channel all that experience into my work. I take all that emotion, and I dig into it, so I can put it on paper like a mirror for others to look into and recognize themselves. I am so freaking lucky to have an ability that can move people. What a humbling, overwhelming thing.

If you have a gift and you love it and you’re passionate about it, don’t give into the no’s. You have to keep growing and learning and writing. Do what it takes to get better. School, workshops, beta reading, taking criticism and turning it into gold.

Because if you finally get the call that you have an offer – or two (holy freak out) – those no’s are going to become the rocks you had to climb to get where you are. And getting to the top of the mountain will mean all the more. And you will cry when your agent tells you the news. Then you will cry and laugh when you tell your sister and your mom and those people who believed in you. And if you are like me, you will lock yourself in your bathroom and sob when it hits you that the dream you’ve been slaving over is coming true in a very real way.

Trust me on this.

It pays to be a hard worker.

My super awesome, life-changing news…

My YA contemp IF I LIE will be published in Fall 2012 by the Simon Pulse imprint at Simon & Schuster!

Interior of a Heart New Playlist

A new month and a new playlist for this book, which is finally going to be finished this month.  It was time to refresh my tired playlist. Warning: this book is all kinds of sad and intense, so the music is the same. Lots of solemnity + amazing lyrics = me churning pages. I couldn’t find everything on my playlist at playlist.com, but my most listened to songs are here. Obviously I love  my Glen Hansard (he’s also lead singer for The Frames and Swell Season). Enjoy!