I turn 24 in a week and a half. I haven’t bought a motorcycle or shaved all my hair off — both of those seem more fun. I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting. A lot of angsting. A lot of questioning all my life decisions.

24 has always been my favourite number, ever since I was a kid a struggling to master my times tables. It’s not a milestone to anyone else, but 24 to me has always been something to work towards, to dream of. I’d have life together at 24, I thought. I’d be a real adult. I might even have kids.

None of those things are true. The other I grow, the less together I feel. At 18 I thought I had it all figured out, and in some ways I did. I married the most amazing man in the world, the Jim to my Pam, and we are incredibly happy together, even five years on. People still mistake us for newlyweds on a regular basis.

At 18 I thought I would be an anthropologist or a journalist. Now, I’m a college drop-out who works in a detective agency while writing on nights and weekends.

At 18 I thought I’d be a published author. I’m closer than I was then, but it still seems so far out of reach. I’m contemplating starting over in a new genre, even.

At 18 I thought I was set. I had my whole life planned out. I didn’t anticipate diversions, like not graduating, or the constant struggle I have not to get a real job and give up on my dreams.

But at 18 I didn’t have a clue how amazing those diversions could be.

At 18 I didn’t think I’d ever travel overseas. I didn’t think I’d ever afford it, but my new husband and me, we saved and saved until we made it happen. And it’s going to happen again.

At 18 I thought I’d have a mortgage I’d never completely pay off. Instead, we bought a house with our best friends and at the rate we’re going, we’re going to pay it off in six years.

At 18, all I had were dreams. All I had were the glimpses of what life could be. And at nearly 24 I can say, life is harder than I ever thought it would be. But it’s also better, more satisfying and rewarding than those simple dreams ever were.

At 24, I’m not perfect. I’m still way too hard on myself. I still find myself putting my goals above my relationships. I still haven’t figured out how to keep the shower grout clean. But maybe that’s okay.

Because at nearly 24, what I’ve learned more than anything is I still have so far to go.

Beth at nearly 24

Beth at 18

Here we go! This story has been waiting in the wings for quite awhile. I’m very excited it is now getting its turn.

What is the working title of your book?
The Sea Wolves.

Where did the idea come from for the book?

I’ve been trying to write this story since I was a teenager — a story about the sea and all the conflicting emotions that come with it for me. There have been many plots and many characters but it wasn’t until 2011 that I came upon the right ones.

I was on my big USA road trip with friends and we were in Washington State. We had plans to go on a whale cruise, to see the orcas that live in the Salish Sea. We wanted this so much. It didn’t happen. We ended up stranded on San Juan Island, waiting for the next ferry. No boats were going out and we didn’t have any idea what to do. We spent several hours wandering around Friday Harbor, and then it began to rain, as it tends to do in that part of the country. We ducked into the first building we saw, which ended up being the whale museum. It was there that I first learned about the Pacific Northwest folklore surrounding killer whales. It was there that my story began to brew.

What genre does your book fall under?
At the moment I’m calling it a supernatural thriller, although I’m not sure I’m far enough into it to have much of an idea what it is yet.

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

This is Anna:

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?
It will take me a draft or two before I can distill the story to that extent. This is the best I have so far:

On the anniversary of her father’s death, Anna Delmore attends a funeral. People are dying on Skana Island, swallowed up by the icy sea, the same way Anna’s father was a year ago. The islanders believe hanging whalebone over their doorways and stringing red beads in their hair will save them from death, but Anna doesn’t believe in the islander’s magic. No, she believes the threat comes not from the sea, but from the islanders themselves, and that superstition can be deadly.

 When the islanders mount a hunt to kill the orcas they believe responsible for the deaths, Anna will have to team up with the faithful son of the local police chief, and maybe find a glimpse of magic herself, in order to stop them.

 Based on Pacific Northwest folklore surrounding killer whales, The Sea Wolves will appeal to fans of Laini Taylor and Maggie Stiefvater.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

Agent, hopefully.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?
Still workin’ on it. First drafts generally take me 6 months, give or take.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?
As above, anything by Laini Taylor or Maggie Stiefvater, although they are infinitely more talented than I am.

Who or what inspired you to write this book?

The sea, the sea, always the sea. All my firsts happened in close proximity to the ocean. All my best moments and some of my worst moments happened within view of the waves, as an adult and especially as a teenager. All the heartache, all the confusion, all the insight, all the beauty and pain. It has always been about the sea for me. And now I get to write about it.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?
Sea monsters and stories, murder and revenge, superstition and magic.

Friday Harbor

And I tag… well, I may be the last person on the planet to do this meme, so I don’t have anyone to tag. But if you want to have a go, let me know and I’ll tag you officially.

In my never-ending quest to reduce my writing process to a series of extended metaphors, I’ve begun to describe the blank page as a door, a door through which the story can be found. A big, fat door, locked up tight with a keyhole you can stare through, but you’ll only ever see glimpses of the world beyond.

As a writer, it’s your job to get through that door. All that stuff you see in your head only gains life when you get it down on the page. Until you fill that blank page, you’re not a writer but a dreamer, which is an admirable thing in itself but a completely different thing.

There are a number of ways you can through a locked door, the most simple of which is with a key.

The key, for me, is the perfect first line. That juicy line filled with voice and atmosphere that instantly transports you into a scene. You slip it in the keyhole and the door springs open, like it was just waiting for your touch. Much of the time, though, I have a whole keychain full of different keys, and I’ll try half a dozen out before I find the right one. This takes time. I can spend days musing on the perfect first line, days when I could be writing. It’s not always the perfect strategy, especially when you’re time-poor. In that case, you need something faster. You need to kick that baby down!

This is what some people call the Sh*tty First Draft method of writing. It works for a lot of people. It’s about just muscling in and getting down whatever comes into your head — all stuff you will need to fix later. It’s not pretty, but it works. It’s how I wrote my first book, but the longer I go on the less satisfying I find this method. I need something that doesn’t take days to get just a few words on the page, yet doesn’t leave a huge mess after I break down the door. One method I’ve found I like to call picking the lock.

Also known as freewriting. Awhile ago I was introduced to the concept of a working document. It’s a separate document in which you write about the story instead of just going ahead and muscling your way in, or sitting there daydreaming for hours. You write about what you’re trying to achieve in the scene, why you’re struggling with it, what you want the reader to know or not know. You write snippets of dialogue or description, character sketches and plot summaries. Whatever you want, as long as it is about your story and you are getting things down. It’s a way to sift through the stuff in your head, to slowly twist that lock until you find a way through. It’s slower than breaking down the door, but it’s quicker than sifting through a hundred keys.

Because, in the end, the blank page isn’t actually locked. It’s your brain that’s locked. It’s your own fear, your own internal editor, that is holding you back.

None of these methods are better or worse than the others, and there are other methods out there as well. It’s all about getting through the door to the story on the other side. It’s all about getting words on the page, fast and messy or slow and careful. It’s about tricking your brain, becoming a writer and not just a dreamer. It’s about finding what is right for you.

So, writer friends, I’m curious: How do you get through the door?

I have dozens of notebooks and computer files full of stories written while I was still a kid. Well, dozens of beginnings of stories. I’d start a story and the same thing would happen every time. My real life would suddenly get interesting and I would find myself less interested in living a pretend life. Because writing, for me, has always been that, first and foremost: A way to stave off boredom. A way to entertain myself when I run out of books.

The problem with this is there are always other things to keep me entertained, especially in a world of internet and Netflix and ebooks. It’s so easy to crowd your mind out with all that other stuff, and forget to fill it with your own marvelous imaginings. Of course, if you’re a writer, other people’s imaginings will never be as satisfying as your own. Eventually you will rediscover The Itch. But think of all the wasted time you spend being entertained when you could be entertaining yourself!

We recently went on holidays (that’s what we Aussies call vacation) to Queensland (which is kind of the Florida of Australia). We spent our days riding rollercoasters, or at our retreat playing with puppies, or watching movies, or playing boardgames. It was wonderful and it was exhausting and there wasn’t a moment I wasn’t entertained. I didn’t do any writing.

By the time I got home I was Itching like crazy to write again, but of course at home there are other timesucks that are less entertaining, such as work.

Lately I’ve been spending a lot of time fantasizing about working part time, or quitting altogether. I don’t have enough time to write! I say with frustration. Of course this is a great lie, but more than that, it ignores one of the most essential parts of my process: Boredom. I need boredom in order to write. As exhausting as full-time work can be, and as creatively unsatisfying as my current role is, it provides a huge chunk of grey time in the middle of my day. Time for ideas to percolate. Time to make me want to dream of another world, another life.

That’s why so many writers find inspiration while in the shower or while driving. It’s why some writers position their desks to face a blank wall. Creativity emerges to fill a void.

Travel is one of my favourite things in the world. I love it. I get so many ideas when I travel. My life and my stories are so much richer because of the places I’ve been and the things I’ve seen. But when I’m traveling I can’t write. I’m too entertained. The writing comes later.

I’m still dreaming of a few extra hours in the day, but I’m learning to value my grey cubicle walls and my time without internet. I’m learning to nurture my own boredom in order to nurture my creativity. And if one day I do get to quit my job in order to write? MacFreedom will be my very best friend.

The view from our cabin. That’s the ocean in the distance.

My girl

The consequence? Our beautiful puppy now has a nasty bite on her muzzle. A quick trip to the vets and a round of antibiotics and she’s okay, thank goodness, but it was a bit of a scare.

Mika has a boo boo

It’s never easy to see the people you love get hurt, especially when you are in a position of authority. All night I thought of what I could have done differently, how I could have kept her safe. I shouldn’t have left the harness behind. I should have crossed the road instead of walking by the dog. But the thing is, the only way to keep people — or puppies — totally safe, is to wrap them in cotton wool and keep them locked up inside all day, and that’s no way to live.

It wasn’t nice for Mika to get hurt like that, but she’s certainly learned from it. She’s learning manners, the correct way to approach other dogs, and that not all dogs are as nice as she is. These are skills she needs if she’s going to do all the things doggies like to do, such as go to the dog beach and meet other puppies. In the long run, Mika will be a happier puppy having learned this lesson.

The incident made me think of a lesson I learned recently about crafting memorable characters. Through many, many drafts, I discovered the only way to create meaningful change and growth in my characters was to give them challenges that reflected their deepest fears, brought out their worst traits, and forced them to be vulnerable.

As writers it’s certainly tempting to keep our characters safe, to wrap them in cotton wool and put only small hurdles in their paths. But stories are about growth and change, and these things do not occur in a vacuum. People only change when they are forced to do so. The strongest tissue only grows in response to a deep wound.

When creating characters that have real power to affect the reader, we should strive for nothing less than complete emotional honesty. Probe your characters for their deepest injuries, their most potent fears, and then exploit them mercilessly. Only when you let our characters get hurt in a meaningful way will believable change and growth occur.

P. S. I think this is especially important when you’re writing YA fiction. Teenagers live with their deepest selves so close to the surface, so raw and vulnerable, at the same time as they are being exposed for the first time to all the pain that exists in the world. It’s an emotionally tumultuous time and you’re doing your readers a disservice if you only skim the surface of what it’s like to be a teenager.

P.P.S. This past week Nova Ren Suma has been hosting a bunch of authors on her blog responding to the question: “What haunted you at 17?”. Go check it out if you’re interested in an excellent example of emotional honesty in writing.

P.P.P.S. Check out this awesome essay by Carrie Ryan on connecting internal and external conflict to create really memorable stories.

A first date

I’m dating a new manuscript.

It’s exciting. It’s scary. I’m trying to take it slow.

Starting a new story is a lot like starting a relationship. You don’t just jump straight to marriage. You have to get to know each other first. You have to make those first moments special. The hard stuff comes later.

The first date is about chemistry. Some stories are shy. They have to be coaxed out of their shell. Others are loud and they’ll talk your ear off if you aren’t careful. Over time you start to get an idea of what kind of story can go the long haul. Not all of them will. It’s just a fact. Some stories look good, they talk pretty, but when it comes down to it, they’re just not the story for you.

Sometimes that chemistry isn’t apparent right away. Sometimes it’s love at first sight. Sometimes you fall hard and fast, sometimes slow and beautiful.

My manuscript and me, we had our first date yesterday, over coffee and biscotti. We’re not rushing into anything, but guys? I think it’s love.

First date notebooks. A fairly good representation of the new novel.

To quote the ever-wise Odd Thomas: “I am twenty years old. To a world-wise adult, I am little more than a child. To any child, however, I’m old enough to be distrusted, to be excluded forever from the magical community of the short and beardless.”

When I was at university I spent a lot of time studying Post-Colonialism, about people torn between holding onto their own culture and assimilating with the imposed culture of the colonists. The subject fascinated me. I found a way to sneak it into every subject I studied: politics, media, anthropology. One of the best essays I ever wrote was on Post-Colonialism in Battlestar Galactica.

I’ve always been interested in the spaces between. Between nationalities, between cultures, between the world of the child and the world of the adult. Young Adult literature explores this well, but it has its limitations. When you’re seventeen, you’re still very much a child. You live in your parent’s house. You may be starting to make some decisions for yourself, but you are far from independent. There are so many firsts that don’t happen until you leave school and decide what you’re going to make of yourself outside of those structures.

I’m not going to talk about what New Adult is now, or its financial viability. Those things have been explored well elsewhere. I want to talk about what I hope New Adult becomes.

I want to read books about being alone for the first time. I want to read books about realising for the first time the gap that exists between your dreams and reality, between who you are and who you want to be. I want to read books that explore that period where you are no longer part of “that magical community of the short and beardless”, but you haven’t yet fully assimilated in the dominant adult culture. There’s freedom involved in this stage, yes, but there’s also the sudden, uncomfortable encroach of responsibility. There’s so much tension inherent in growing up and so many stories waiting to be told.

I want to read about these things occurring within the structure of a horror novel, of a mystery novel, of a literary novel, of a magical realism novel. I want the amazing genre diversity currently represented in the Young Adult world to expand into the world of New Adult.

I want to read about people who are changing, who are becoming, not yet there, but almost. I want to read books about people between.

Publishing is changing. The world is changing. My hope is that these changes mean more voices can be heard, more experiences can be represented in the books we read, and in the books we write. Because, as this age group is discovering, change may be difficult, but it’s also incredibly rewarding.

These are my hopes for New Adult.

Lately I’ve been having arguments with people inside my head. This is problematic. What’s more problematic? My opponents are always right, and oh, how I hate to be wrong.

The arguments are about my crit notes and the imaginary people are my beta readers. Oh, they exist in real life, but I’m not crazy enough to fight their excellent reasoning to their faces. It just takes me time to bite back my pride and recognize the brilliance of their critiques. Because, something you will find when you’ve been doing this awhile? When you find the right critique partners they are pretty much always right.

So, here’s my advice:

1. Find yourself some brilliantly incisive critique partners. This is a process of trial and error, and sometimes you will find that just because someone is a great writer/critter/friend, doesn’t mean they are the right beta reader right for you. It’s a personality thing, as much as anything.

2. Polish, polish, polish your work until it’s as shiny as you can possibly make it on your own. Then admit it can still be better. That’s what your critters are for. It’s always handy to find some humility before you press send.

3. Send it out and watch your beautiful work of staggering genius be picked apart like a package of chips in the presence of seagulls. Mostly, they will be nice about it. They like chips, after all. But it can still be a horrifying thing to watch.

4. Take a break. Let your critters know you received their thoughts and thank them profusely. DO NOT start arguing or defending yourself. Not yet. Not ever.

5. Begin having arguments with imaginary people. Sort through the critiques in your head. Stand in the shower for hours at a time, lie on the couch or in the middle of the rug, clean your house and drive your kiddos to soccer practice, all the time watching your ego fight it out with your critique partners. Ask yourself why your reader felt a certain way. The problem they point out might be indicative of a bigger, underlying problem. Or maybe something else needs to change to make that one pointy part of your MS make sense.

6. Suck it up. (a.k.a find your courage)

7. Start revising.

8. Thank your critters again for being such marvelous, smart, generous people who have helped make your manuscript just that much shinier. Ask for clarification if you need it, but never, ever fight about it. At least not to their faces.

P.S Trust your critters. Know that they only want what’s best for you and your book. But if you find someone is being meaner than they need to, or if the critique seems more personal than impartial, or even if you just have different visions for the work, feel free to set the critique aside. But first examine yourself. Don’t take offense, and don’t react out of ego. It’s not about you. Seriously, it isn’t. It’s about your book, and making it the best possible book it can be.

P.P.S. I want to thank Shari, Kip, JRo and Raynbow for being the best critters and writer buddies a girl could ask for.

Love!

Very briefly, I started querying Restless last year and very quickly stopped after receiving some professional feedback that made me rethink the entire novel. I just finished a HUGE rewrite. It took me six months. Among the many things changed, the climax and resolution are quite different than they were before. I won’t tell you exactly what changed, but one particular thread did not end as happily as it did in the first draft, and it started me thinking about resolution.

As well as that, I played a game a few weekends back called Heavy Rain. It’s a fairly unique game in that there are numerous possible endings. You play as four different characters as they attempt to save a young boy from a serial killer, and according to your split-second decisions made at high-pressure moments, not all of them may last to the end. In fact, in some endings, the killer is not found and the boy is not saved.

In the ending I got, the boy was saved, the killer died, but the protagonist also died just before the end of the game. It all hinged on one of those split-second decisions that I didn’t realize was so important at the time. I didn’t get the perfect ending, and I was surprised by how much that devastated me. I don’t get that sort of reaction on reading a novel that ends on a bittersweet note. I think it’s about responsibility — in real life, and in this game, you’re always thinking about what could have been. What could I have done differently? Is it my fault? Why didn’t I…?

Interestingly, the next weekend I went back and replayed that pivotal moment. I got the perfect ending, the protagonist lived and it felt… hollow. It didn’t feel right. On reflection, that first ending really was the perfect ending. There were consequences to my/the character’s choices. The ending was tragic, but it was also hopeful. It was bittersweet, not sickly sweet.

I  think as readers and as consumers of entertainment, we want to see our lives reflected. Even when we’re reading a book about supernatural creatures, we still want it to ring true in an emotional sense. I may have felt differently ten years ago, but I don’t want the characters to get everything they want. I want them to lose sometimes, and I want them to learn from their loss and grow.

I’ve made a very particular choice with the ending of my novel that not all readers are going to like. It might take some tinkering to make it work, but I’m pretty convinced it’s the right choice, for my book and for my characters. A few years ago I would have written it differently, but these days what I’m seeking is the emotional truth. I’m looking for hard decisions and endings that aren’t perfect, but feel real.

Maybe that will work against me, but I’m hoping my readers (even if those readers are just friends and family) will come to the same realization I did while playing Heavy Rain. Sometimes the most satisfying ending isn’t the one where everything ends up happily. Sometimes the most satisfying ending is about losing, and growing, and learning to move on.

I love this photo of a storm rolling into Death Valley. Oh, wasn’t that an exciting drive.

I’m the kind of perfectionist who starts things, realizes I’m bad at them, and then gives up.

I’m the kind of perfectionist who looks at something hard, realizes it can’t be done perfectly, and never even starts.

I’m the kind of perfectionist who once started a math exam and realized I didn’t know all the answers, so faked sick and spent the rest of the day in sick bay.

I’m the kind of perfectionist who sometimes gets so swallowed up in my own imperfections that I get lost in a sinking hole of depression and I’m looking for a light switch but there’s nothing, no hope, so I just crawl into a fetal position and give up.

This is going to be a very honest post.

I’m going to be honest, because I know there are other people like that out there. Maybe you are one. Maybe you’re married to one.

I’m going to be honest, because I’ve found the light switch, and while sometimes I lose it, I have to believe that it exists and I will find it again.

The light switch is this: I am not perfect, and that’s okay.

I am not perfect, but I still have value.

My writing isn’t quite good enough for publication, but one day it will be.

The light switch for me, after years of starting things and not finishing, after changing majors a dozen times, after deciding I wanted to be an anthropologist, and then a journalist, and then a criminologist and then a nothing because it was all too hard… the light switch was finding something I loved enough to let myself fail.

I have written two very imperfect books, and dozens of imperfect drafts. I have shared my imperfections with others, with my critique partners and with you guys, reading my blog. I have found a way to get to the finish line, to write ‘the end’, knowing I’m not quite there yet, but believing I one day will be.

I’m an impatient person. I like instant gratification. I like results. I clean the big things first, so I can see I’m making a difference. But life isn’t like that. Good things don’t come easy. My friend Lesley sent me a post from Kristen Lamb’s blog on maturity and patience. She talks about failure and hardship being the fertilizer that eventually lets you succeed.

All these books, all these drafts, they are teaching me things that will pave the way for the book to come, the book that IS good enough.

Maybe it’s about faith. Maybe it’s about your want outweighing your fear. Maybe it just takes time and experience to realize the world won’t end, people won’t stop loving you, just because you aren’t perfect. Maybe it’s about recognizing that failure is ESSENTIAL.

You HAVE to fail in order to succeed.

You guys know the stories, so I won’t tell them again. Every writer in history has written bad words. Every writer in history has been rejected. And those failures, those imperfect drafts, those rejections were ESSENTIAL to their eventual success.

I’m not perfect. And that’s okay.