Monthly Archives: May 2012

This is Dedicated to the One I Love…. Who Would You Dedicate a Book To?

Mom and Dad

This week I have been writing the dedication to Am I Like My Daddy?  Who would have thought it would be so difficult?  I knew exactly who the book would be dedicated to.  That was not the question.  While there are others that I would like to mention, space allows that I be a bit more selective.  The problem was that I had to get the words just right.  You don’t get a redo when the book goes to press.  I imagine that what I have written is already too long, but I hope I have a bit of latitude.  My words are sincere and grateful.

 

You will have to wait for the hardcopy to see my dedication, but I am curious…. If you wrote a book, who would you dedicate it to? 

 

Am I Like My Daddy? Update

Dad and I

I thought I’d give you an update about my picture book, Am I Like My Daddy? as I sometimes get the question, “What’s happening with your book?”, which in my mind translates to, “Is this thing ever going to be published or are you just playing with us?”  I giggle.  In October 2011 I was offered a contract for my picture book, and in October 2012 the book is scheduled for release.  This is actually really great, as some picture books take two years for release.  We are right on track.

 

My fabulous illustrator, Amy Kuhl Cox, is finishing the final touches on one illustration, but otherwise all of the 16 interior pictures and cover are complete.  I have been reading the virtual storyboard layout of the book to my older elementary ed. students in our last library classes for the school year.  They have proven to be a wonderful audience with very insightful questions.  I began our classes with the discussion of target audience and how most of them, thankfully, are not the intended readers.  (and most of those that, sadly are, have already heard my story in grief group).

 

I am about to write a short and a long bio for the publisher to be used in marketing of the book.  Their graphic designer is laying out the book, and I hope to meet both Amy (from South Carolina) and the publisher (in Illinois) for a meeting of the minds in early June.  A month before the book comes out a video on kickstarter.com will go viral that will promote the book (a site for creative projects).  I’ve already created my piece of the video, discussing how I came about the idea for the story, etc.  I am also about  to drive my husband crazy soon taking pictures for my headshot as I know already I will be quite critical.  What woman isn’t?  :-)   Well, maybe Angelina Jolie, but I digress…

 

My last library class of the year ended with this quote from a fifth grade boy named Andrew.  “I don’t have a question, Mrs. Blesy.  I have a comment.  That is the best picture book I have ever seen.  No, really…it is.”   Departing from my usual attempt at brushing off a compliment I simpy told him he was sweet and thank you.  What a nice way to end the school year…

Lory’s Place Run/Walk/Run: Honoring the Memory of a Loved One

Last Saturday my family and I participated in the annual Lory’s Place 5K Run, Walk, Rock in St. Joseph, Michigan.  Lory’s Place is a grief education center that provides free services for families going through periods of grief.  There are specialized groups that meet for everything from the loss of a baby to those dealing with the suicide of a family member.  I became involved personally with Lory’s Place two years ago when I took volunteer facilitator training to work with their children’s groups.  Having experienced the loss of both of my parents, working with this non-profit group was no leap for me.  It had been twenty-five years since the loss of my dad when I went to the weeklong training.  I didn’t know what to expect, but the first thing I was asked was to tell my story.  My Story?  You want to hear My Story, I thought.  No one had ever asked me what my story was before.  There are people who know of the loss of my parents, of course, but no one has ever asked me to share whatever specifics I was comfortable in sharing.  I can truly say it was a life changing moment for me.  Although I had already written an early draft of Am I Like My Daddy? at that point, it has been my involvement with Lory’s Place that has fully emotionally invested me in wanting to know more about my own dad and wanting to help other kids keep their memories alive.  Listening to others during training tell about their stories and listen to mine was the first time in twenty-five years that I truly felt like I was in a room full of people who truly got it, who truly knew what it was like, in particular, to lose someone young and early in life.  It was so liberating, and if I had had a facility like Lory’s Place when I was young, maybe I wouldn’t have some of these memory gaps.  Though my schedule now only allows me to sub occasionally at Lory’s Place instead of going to the regular “Little Mates” group, I will never stop advocating for this organization and others like it around the country.

 

It was a pleasure to take my entire family to the Lory’s Place 5K last weekend.  My children walked their first 5K while my husband ran.  My Aunt and Uncle (my mom’s brother), visiting for the weekend, also walked.  Lining the finish line were white rocking chairs for spectators to use.  Our family sponsored a chair in the memory of my parents, as seen in the picture above, and I proudly gave my family a tour of Lory’s Place (named for a local doctor who died in a car crash).

 

What do you do to honor the memory of a loved one?  I’d love to hear your ideas.

Rejection: I am Not an Armadillo

 

Copyright by Jerry Segraves

 

I am not an armadillo…

 

Anyone who knows me well knows that I wear my heart on my sleeve, and I make no apologies for that.  I am who I am.  With age, comes wisdom (and gray hair, but that’s despite the point).  I understand most times why things must be as they are, but sometimes the emotional response isn’t as tempered as you might expect of an ahem-year old woman.  So, why not become a writer?  Why not throw yourself fully into a profession where there are zero guarantees to balance hundreds of hours of work, where the answer will most likely be “no” or non-existent?  The answer is this:  I am ahem-years old as previously stated.  I can’t keep “growing up” forever.  Writing is a dream.  And I’ll be damned if someone tells me I can’t do it.  So there.

 

 

I have recently finished my first middle grade novel, yet second novel as I wrote a young adult novel last year.  Novels are hard.  So are picture books, but in a much different way.  In novels you have a cast of characters, the major plot, subplots, setting, tension, etc. that must all intersect in such a way to engage the readers and make them invest in the character and storyline.  I recently had two opportunities for critiques that I jumped at.  Any early feedback from insiders is invaluable.  Here is what I learned.

 

 

1.  My main character Bernie (aka Bernadette) is not likable.  A rather no-nonsense, get to the heart of the issue, yet well-respected NY agent said, “I have to say, she’s still coming across as too prissy, unreasonable…She’s reading unsympathetic right now and that could be a killer.”  Ouch.  A very kind, (meaning she can say nice things, too!) senior editor at a well-known NY publisher said, “Bernie is a difficult character to develop empathy for.”  My first reaction was…well…, honestly it was, “You suck, Marcy.  You’re never going to get this right.  You’ll never make it as a real writer.”  After my moment, my second reaction was, “You’ve got to be kidding me.  I love Bernie.  Everyone loves Bernie.”  But those NY agents and publishers get 1000’s of emails a week. If they don’t like what they see in the first few pages (or paragraphs), you’re cast aside.  I need to grab the reader immediately, not in chapter two.  I need to tell the reader what I already know about Bernie, and I need to do it right off the first page.  Better yet, I need to show the reader why Bernie is strong, yet lovable.  The insiders were right.

 

 

 

2.  Also confirmed after these two critiques was that kindness makes me work harder and negativity ticks me off, raises my blood pressure, but also produces the same response.  The agent said nothing positive.  Nothing.  As part of a webinar, I paid to have the first 500 words of my 31000 word novel critiqued.  She found only flaws and countered it with, well, with nothing…  The second critique, again paid for, as part of the Michigan SCBWI conference (awesome event!), done by a senior editor at a well known publishing house, said many of the same things about my first chapter but started with the positives.  There was even a section entitled, “The positive aspects of the work.”

 

I understood the message of both individuals.  I so appreciate the opportunity to fix these issues early in the submission stage.  I also don’t need my hand held.  I know these professionals don’t have time to coddle, nor should they.  Some people appreciate the meat and potatoes of a critique.  Sorry. Nope.  Not me.  Tell me something nice first.  Then I’ll work harder.  Is it that hard to say, “While I think this manuscript needs work on ….., I do like… ?”  If I don’t ever hear that I start to feel like those American Idol hopefuls who sing before the judges waiting for their golden tickets only to be so obviously rejected because they stink.  But no one in their inner circle has ever told them how bad they truly are.  No, I am not one of those people.  I hope that if I were I’d have someone nicely pull me aside and say, “This writing thing really isn’t for you.”

 

Laini Taylor, author of the young adult novel Daughter of Smoke and Bone, also spoke at the SCBWI event last weekend.  She shared how she likes her editors to start with the positive points first when she submits her revisions.  How refreshing to hear another author say essentially, “Please me nice to me, and then tell me what I should fix.”  (my words, not Laini’s)

 

 

I would love to share this post with agents and editors, but, alas, they’d probably laugh at me, and tell me to grow some thick skin.  Take it or leave it.  I am who I am.  Now, I have work to do.  I have to make you love Bernie as much as I do.   :-)

Half-Hearted Mother’s Day: Another Piece of My Story

 

My mom, sister, and I

I have written often of my dad who died when I was 13.  My memories are incomplete and led me to create my picture book, Am I Like My Daddy?  There are huge lapses in my memory from that time in my life, and for some reason I have had a compelling need to fill those gaps recently.

 

 

However, I have only briefly written of the fact that I also lost my mom.  When I was 24, my mom died unexpectedly from sarcoidosis.  At the time I was living on my own, teaching elementary school in a town an hour from my home.  I was speaking to a friend on the phone when the operator broke into our phone line to ask if I would accept a call from my grandmother.  I knew.  I knew that something had happened to my mom.  My boyfriend (and now husband) came to be with me, and I left for home to join my sister and step-dad who holds a special place in my heart.  Really, it was surreal.  Here we go again…but this time as an adult…

 

 

I have memories of my mom.  As any daughter/mother team knows, the relationship can be complicated, and I would be lying if I didn’t acknowledge the fact that we had the ups and downs of that relationship.  She died when I had barely escaped the terrible teenage years, after all.  But I have many happy memories, too.  And I miss my mom.  A lot at times.  At times when I had no idea I would.  Obviously I missed her at my wedding and at the birth of my children.  But I also miss her when I’m sick.  Yep, I can still be that drama kid who wants her mommy when she’s not feeling good, no matter my age.  I want her to know about my writing accomplishments because I know she would have been the biggest cheerleader.  She was fiercely proud of her daughters and told us often in cards that I still have.  My kids have lost a grandma, and I wonder what kinds of things they would do together.  Would she expose them to culture, like she tried to do with her small town Midwestern family, taking us to see operas when we were young?  And perhaps unwillingly.  My mom “speaks” to me often.  I know that sounds completely nutty.  However, I often hear certain songs at just that right moment that make me feel her presence, and to me, I feel her comforting words through the songs.  Does that make sense?  On the morning of my wedding, as I prepared for the big day, I heard a new song on the radio.  I sat down on the bed, stunned, as I listened to the words to Holes in the Floor of Heaven by Steve Wariner.

 

“Well my little girl is 23
I walk her down the aisle
it’s a shame her mom can’t be here now
to see her lovely smile

They throw the rice
I catch her eye
as the rain starts comin’ down
she takes my hand says daddy don’t be sad ’cause
I know momma’s watchin’ now

And there’s holes in the floor of Heaven
and her tears are pourin down
that’s how you know she’s watchin’
wishin’ she could be here now
and sometimes when I’m lonely
I remember she can see
there’s holes in the floor of Heaven
and she’s watchin’ over you and me.”

 

 

 

I could go on and on with examples of her presence, but I’ll save that for another post.

 

 

I have children now.  I love them madly, and being a mother is the most important job I have ever had or ever will, but Mother’s Day makes me feel so blah.  My husband asks, “What should we get for my mom for Mother’s Day?”  And I ask, “What are you getting me?”  And he teases, “You’re not my mother.”  He always comes through, encouraging the kids to make me a card or buying me something nice, but I still feel blah.  I can’t think of any better word to describe it, but I know why.  My Mother’s Day is fractured.  I am a mother.  But I don’t have a mother.  I understand the cycle of life.  What is born must die, but I think the fact that I lost both of my parents when I was so young makes me feel cheated and, sometimes, even bitter.  Don’t feel sorry for me.  I am at peace.  It is what it is, but I don’t have to like it.

 

 

But to honor Mother’s Day, I would like to publicly acknowledge my mom by listing those things that make me think of her.  Thanks for sharing in another part…of my story.

 

Estee Lauder Perfume

Red Bandanas

Amazing Grace

Gone with the Wind

Navy Blue

Hull Pottery

Hummels

Yelling at Bo Schembechler on Tv Whenever MI Played Illinois

Meatloaf

Ice Cream Cone Cupcakes

Statler Brothers

Perfect Handwriting and an Insistence Upon Perfect Written Grammar

Conversations at the Kitchen Table with Her Best Friend Donna

History

Pride for Her Children

 

 

Where the Wild Things Are: Maurice Sendak Dies, But His Work Lives On

 

My copy of “Where the Wild Things Are” by Maurice Sendak

Today the word is viral that Maurice Sendak, the author and illustrator of several books, most notably Where the Wild Things Are, has passed away at age 83.  The popularity of the story of misbehaving Max and the “adventures” he has when he’s sent to his room have made his work instantly recognizable by millions of children and their parents alike.  I personally found his monsters somewhat scary, but children delight in their appearance, a bit different look from many picture book illustrations they are used to viewing, I’d bet.  In 1964 Sendak received the Caldecott Medal.  Defined by the Association of Library Services, the Caldecott is “awarded annually by the Association for Library Service to Children, a division of the American Library Association, to the artist of the most distinguished American picture book for children.”

 

Today…

 

Dig out your old copy of Where the Wild Things Are, or perhaps your child’s new copy.  Take a walk down memory lane.  Or create a new memory.  Celebrate the work of Maurice Sendak.  Whether the book brings frightening feelings of his scary monsters or excitement over the break from traditional picture books, pay homage to the man, his imagination, and his talent.  His legacy lives on.

“He likes it! He likes it!”

“He likes it!  He likes it!”  So says Mikey from the Life Cereal commercials of our youth….  That’s how I feel today, so I felt apt to quote little Mikey.

 

A few weeks ago I finished writing my middle grade novel and gave it some serious rewrite comb-throughs.  I spent time deepening character descriptions and settings, making sure that the plot flowed smoothly, etc.  Before going through the novel again and again, I decided that is was ready for beta readers, sort of like the first responders in an emergency, those people who will warn you of the defects before inflicting poor innocent agents and editors with nothing but dribble.

 

 

Today I heard from my first of three beta readers, my husband.  Now, “experts” will tell you, “No, no!  You can’t expect your spouse to give you fair feedback.”  In a sense these people are correct.  How many times have wives said to their husbands, “Honey, does my butt look big in these jeans?” and expected our husbands to tell us anything but, “Of course not.  Your butt looks perfect!”?  I do understand the nature of a husband having to fudge the truth in the quest for a harmonious marriage, but wives can also read their husbands well.  At least I can.  And today he finished reading my novel.  He had a few constructive points, but overall gave me positive feedback.  I know, I know.  You still don’t believe me, do you?  I am not an American Idol hopeful who sings out her heart to Steven Tyler expecting him to tell me he loves my voice because everyone in my family loves it, but really I suck.  No, today I felt my confidence restored because I can tell when my husband is being most sincere.  Even though I have a picture book debuting in the fall, I still have that part of me that fears being a one hit wonder.  I want a career writing.  I feel like I need to prove that I am a writer, a real writer, to myself, my husband, to my friends.  And today I felt rejuvenated.

 

 

In the next week or so my other beta readers will report back.  Of course, as we are individuals with different tastes, they may have less supportive things to say.  I  need to hear those things at this stage of the process. I want the manuscript as polished as it can be before I start sending out query letters to agents.  I’d rather not incur 99 “no’s” again.  You may check back in a year and find that I am still a single title author.  This is the second novel I have written in a three year span.  The first one still sits in a binder on my office shelf after receiving a multitude of rejections.  But I will keep writing.  I will keep reading.  And maybe, just maybe, an agent or editor will say, “I like it!  I like it!” 

 

 

If that happens, rest assured I’ll be back to tell you…..  Have a glorious day!