Book Deal for Auraseer!

Several years ago, while in recovery from donating a kidney to my older brother, I had the crazy idea to write a story. Little did I know what wonderful madness I'd gotten myself into! Four manuscripts, two agents, and hundreds of setbacks and milestones later, I am thrilled to announce that AURASEER, my young adult fantasy trilogy, will be published by Katherine Tegen Books of HarperCollins in Winter 2016!

Sonya, my main character, is a loose cannon with a very good heart—which gets her into lots of trouble! She manifests other peoples' emotions, a not-so-fun ability to have when in the service of a volatile emperor and also entangled with his rebellious younger brother. Romance, intrigue, and incredibly high stakes abound in this fantastical world similar to imperial Russia.

I can't tell you how much fun I had writing this story!

Many heartfelt thanks go to my critique partners, my champion husband, my ninja agent, Josh Adams, and the team at Adams Literary for their guidance and fierce belief in me. Thanks also to my lovely editor, Maria Barbo, and everyone at Katherine Tegen Books who have given me such a warm and enthusiastic welcome.

If you'd like to learn a little more about AURASEER, click here for a recent blog post and here to listen to a song I wrote for the story.

Here's the official announcement from Publishers Weekly:

In case that print's too tiny for you, here ya go:


Maria Barbo at HarperCollins has acquired debut author Kathryn Purdie's Auraseer trilogy, about a 17-year-old girl who is obliged to use her gift for feeling – and absorbing – the emotions of others to protect her nation's emperor from harm. Publication of book one, Auraseer, is scheduled for winter 2016; Josh Adams at Adams Literary did the three-book deal for world rights.

And here's my announcement in Publisher's Marketplace:

 

UPDATE: Auraseer is now on Goodreads! Add it to your "Want to Read" list.

Update 1/9/15: Auraseer has a new name--The Seer's Curse--book one of Riaznin Rising.

Update 2/25/15: Another title change! My book will officially be called BURNING GLASS.

Now excuse me while I do an epic and celebratory happy dance!

Auraseer

I'm happy to announce I've completed my fourth manuscript--on September 29th, to be exact. I wrote AURASEER over four months, and considering my first story took me 2 1/2 years to write and revise, this is a major accomplishment for me. As I wrote that first story, I wondered many times how it would feel to have a draft done. Even now, it feels magical to complete a story.

I usually battle with my stories a lot more and can't wait to reach the end. With this one, it was a sweet release to write from start to finish. This gist of this story just appeared in my head one day, as well as its most important nuts and bolts and characters. In many ways, it is the 2.0 version of my first novel. Both are about a girl who can feel others' emotions, though by very different means. I feel like the long struggle I waged with that first story made this one much easier to draft--especially when it came to explaining the nuances of feeling what someone else is feeling. (I had to revise that element so many times with my first novel.)

At any rate, I'm very pleased. And although the process of writing came easier this time around, I still poured my heart and soul into every word. I'm back home and happy crafting another epic fantasy.

Here are a few teaser images related to my story. Fingers crossed it will be published one day and you can enjoy it with me. Until then, may the muse be with you in your writing endeavors or whatever creative pursuits float your boat!

Spend It All

I'm alive, people of the webiverse. Summer tried to eat me whole, but I've lived to tell the tale. I've actually been super busy. I've written 73,000 on my new novel, played chauffeur to my fifteen-year-old daughter who had a lead in a play, and kept all three of my children entertained and not at each others' throats for three months. Now my kids are back in school and my youngest just entered the first grade. This means, for the first time in almost sixteen years, I'm home alone during the days. *cues party music* My children come home happier with more structure and less boredom, and in the meantime, I have several hours of undivided writing time! Within a three-day span, I wrote 9000 words. That's unheard of for me! Anyway, we'll see how it goes with this new lease on life. My husband started a new job as a full-time drama teacher, so next summer I'll have him home to help, therefore I predict an abundance of sanity--for all of us.

My new novel is going well. I usually experience lots more ups and downs while drafting, but this story, for the most part, seems to flow right out of me. That doesn't mean writing is never difficult, but I've been enjoying it much more this time around. In lieu of telling you too much about my new novel (I get all shy and private about my drafts until they're complete), I'm sharing an interesting quote from an article I just read, which definitely applies to how this novel has been unfolding. My protagonist is very unpredictable, so even though I've outlined the story, she has an extra special way of throwing in surprises. Love that about her!

So this quote is from "Write Till You Drop," The New York Times, May 28, 1989. Read the whole article, people. It's awesome!

"One of the few things I know about writing is this: spend it all, shoot it, play it, lose it, right away, every time. Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book, or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now. The impulse to save something good for a better place later is the signal to spend it now. Something more will arise for later, something better. These things fill from behind, from beneath, like well water. Similarly, the impulse to keep yourself what you have learned is not only shameful, it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open up your safe and find ashes."

What do you think about this advice? What things do you hoard as a writer, and what things do you not dare to write about, but are important to you? If you're a non-writerly type, what parts of yourself do you hoard from giving away to other people? Let's discuss!

To Dream the Impossible Dream

I've recently decided to DREAM. Not a safe dream with boundaries I can control. Not the kind of dream with hazy edges and broad limits because I don't want to tell the Universe what I specifically want...because what if I don't get it? I have lower to fall if my hopes get too high, right?

I've heard lots of successful people tell other wannabe successful people, "Don't have expectations." Meaning work hard, do all you can, and expect nothing. Then you're not disappointed, and if it happens, it happens, right?

Well, I'm declaring right here, right now, I have expectations. I'm going to believe I'm the writer, the mom, the person I want to be because that belief creates it. That belief infuses a sprinkling of fairy dust over everything I touch, every relationship I have, every good thing I do.

I won't live lost in the future, in that miserable in-between of me staring in despair over what I don't have, of only believing I'll be happy when I get what I want. That's not what I'm talking about.

I'm talking about living in the present, knowing who I am--past, present, and future--and being who I am, reaching the full capacity of who I am, and glowing with it. I will BE. I will live. I will hope for the "impossible" without fear or the limits others might seek to place on me.

Perhaps it's a bit of madness--Don Quixote's "impossible dream." I accept that. Because I know what miracles have happened in my life when I finally dared to take a bold step into the darkness, not just a tentative tiptoe.

I will give myself to all that I do. I will be true to myself. And I will encourage everyone who crosses my path that they can do the same.

To truly BE is to let go. Of fear. Of the idea of failure. It's being grateful for what you have but knowing it's okay to want more. It's okay to want to embrace your life with every ounce of light within you and see how bright you can shine with what was given to you. If you think about it, it's insulting to want any less.

So who's going to dream with me?

Another Story Is Written

On Friday, November 8th, I wrote from morning until night. The stars aligned. My children weren't needy. My husband got off work early. He picked up Wendy's for dinner and took care of our kids for the rest of the night. I wove the final 6000 words together of a big tangled web: my young adult time travel murder mystery romance. (If there wasn't such a thing before, there is now.) And I finished my draft!

Up until now, I've written retellings. They always splinter the original myth into something I can call my own, but now I've written something completely original. Consequently, it's stranger than ever--and I absolutely love it!

This story began as a dream. Cliche, I know, but true. Last fall an abandoned carousel in a misty forest slipped into my unconsciousness. That image haunted me. I couldn't put a finger on why it was so disturbing and why I woke up so scared. My writer brain took over and crafted a story around the carousel. Why was it in a forest? What was the mist? Two characters formed almost immediately, as well as the element of time travel. The plot took much longer. (Time travel is a beast.)

After tons of research and months of brainstorming, I finally had a story outlined. In July, I began drafting. And as all my stories go, my characters had to have their say. They threw in wrenches, added subplots, and even made me delete scenes that didn't ring true to them. But, together, we did it.

I've been writing for a few years now. There are so many ups and downs in the process of creating something and the pursuit of publication. But I'll tell you what, nothing beats the feeling of finishing a draft. In that moment, I've defeated so much doubt, I've also traveled the long journey with the characters, and after so many hours, days, weeks, months, we've finally reached the summit and planted our flag. Every new book is another fingerprint I've left on this earth to say I was here, I had something to say, and I did something about it.

Now I can dig into revisions. I'm the weird kind of writer that actually loves this stage. It's my reward!

Last the best of all the game, here's a super excited squeezy hug for my critique partner, Ilima Todd. She birthed her book baby on November 8th, as well. We have twins!

How do you feel when you finish a draft--or complete a marathon or accomplish some other kind of lofty goal? What drives you to keep going?

Becoming Desperate

Me and My Younger Kids in Capital Reef

I just got back from a trip to southern Utah and Capital Reef National Park (thank you, Utah, for reopening your national parks during the government shutdown!). I drove down with my brother, a film student, and we had a long chat about artists striving for big breaks in their careers and how they often lose who they are in a desperate attempt to reach their dreams. I've seen it happen with actors, as well as with writers, and my brother's seen it happen with those trying to break into the film industry.

Making a living as an artist is HARD. I know this. My husband's an actor, and my dad is also a writer. (Speaking of actor husbands and writer wives, check out my friend Michelle Argyle's post about that today.) And trying to become published, get an amazing paid acting role, or a directing gig means HARD WORK and sometimes long hours, days, months, and years without getting a nickel. You do feel desperate at times, but I think it's important not to become desperate. Because desperate people become blinded by that one thing they want, no matter the cost.

They conform to trends, rather than writing the stories their hearts dictate, the stories they wanted to write in the beginning. Their most important relationships fall apart as they work to climb social ladders that will lead them to "better places." Their lives become completely out of balance until it's all or nothing. If they don't get X and X, they are failures.

Desperation is an easy trap to fall into, and for me, the best way to battle against it is to remind myself that there isn't one formula for success. I should have dreams, I should fight for them, but there are other options and back-up plans. If the most amazing editor reads my story and rejects it, the road doesn't dead end there. Other stories are waiting to be written or reworked, other editors can be a better fit. We do have to be open-minded, flexible, willing to revise, revamp, and reimagine. But I like to remember that girl who set out on this journey a few years ago and remind myself of what she wanted, what stories she set out to tell, and why she wanted to tell them. I'm determined not to become anyone else to make a break in this business. I want to be myself and pave my own way, even if it's the road less traveled, or a road no one has traveled at all. My dreams shouldn't be achieved at the cost of selling myself.

This is one blog post I hesitated to write because I don't want to sound self-righteous or condescending. I do have strong opinions on the matter, though, and if anything I write this as a warning to myself, to not lose sight of what's most important in my life. And as much as I love writing and my stories, what I hold most dear is so much bigger and more precious than that. They're standing with me in the picture above. They are my best dream.

Signs I'm a YA Writer

At my first writers' conference, my teacher asked us why we wrote for the age of our audience. Many people gave interesting answers that week. My favorite was from another seasoned, published author. She usually writes about 12 to 13-year-olds and for an audience of the same age because, in a way, it's like her looking back and trying to take care of herself then. I wonder if that's why I also write about and for teens. It's definitely got something to do with it. That girl back then needed some taking care of, too. What I do know is I've been observant these past few weeks and found signs that also support why I'm a YA writer. Here are a few.

1. My wardrobe. I've grown up in some ways, but I still own and wear my leather beret from high school, as well as my U2 Rattle and Hum t-shirt. I finally gave my "Slinky" t-shirt to my teenage daughter. Don't get me wrong; I would've kept it if it still fit.
2. How I speak. I use "like" more than all my children combined, as well as "lame," "whatever," and even, "hey, girlfriend!" when I speak to my older daughter.
3. I still love to be spontaneous and sometimes immature. For example, purposefully embarrassing my children. Nothing brings me more pleasure than hearing, "Ughh, Mom!" (But my kids are usually smiling when they do this. A good sign, yes?) Yesterday, my daughter dared me to bop my head around and jam like an idiot while driving with her. She did the same. We were laughing so hard, I was crying.
4. Music. My tastes have developed a lot, but I still feel that teenager-y deep connection to music, like it defines me, or I seek to find the songs that do. I continue to play the guitar and sing the same folk ballads I did when I was around a campfire with my friends.
5. My imagination. In high school, I devoted my time to acting on stage, becoming the characters and delving into their backstories and what made them tick. Now I do the same thing, but I create my characters on the page. I bring them to life from scratch. It's still just as exhilarating--even more so!
6. Discovery of Self. No matter how old I get (I'm 36 now), I still feel that yearning to to know who exactly I am and why I fit or don't fit into this world and why I'm here. It keeps me constantly exploring for more.
7. Feeling Deeply. I'm pretty sure I'm moodier and more sensitive now than I was as a teen. I cry easier, laugh harder, and feel keenly the pain of others.

I met an almost ninety-year-old woman a couple years ago. She randomly sat next to me at a large event and started chatting away about wanting to read the book I had on my lap. She confessed she loved Twilight and other popular YA books.

When I'm ninety, I want to be that woman.

If you write, what age do you usually write for and why? If you don't write, what age do you think the "inner you" is?

Make Me Believe

Here's a song I wrote back around Christmastime. It's from Isidora's point of view (my main character from The Lovely Invisible). I finished the lyrics a few weeks ago and finally got around to recording it today. And, my, oh, my, did it end up being quite the project! I recorded several versions while my daughter was in preschool, only to discover my camera was making annoying clicking sounds as it recorded (lame, as I just got it a few months ago). So I tried a different camera, but the battery died and I couldn't find the charger. I resorted to using my iPhone, even though the video quality isn't the best. I also bribed my four-year-old with a trip to the dollar store if she promised to keep quiet in the other room while I attempted one more recording. So this isn't perfect, but I'm calling it good enough after the crazy day I've had!

The lyrics are below. :-)

MAKE ME BELIEVE

The darkness is closing in and
I don’t know a foe from a friend
Why can’t they see me for me?

My life was meant for chances
Not caught on false romances
My heart wants so much space to grow

I turn to you
To dreams
To face what I can’t see
To love
To peace
To hope
in you and me
Make me believe

So many look to me and
I don’t know what they see
Is what I have enough to give?

The ones I love are fading
Nothing I do is saving
My fear is ending up alone

I turn to you
To dreams
To face what I can’t see
To love
To peace
To hope
in you and me
Make me believe

The fragile earth is shaking
My marble strength is breaking
No choice is right, but I must choose
The dark night makes me falter
I lie across an altar
Give me one reason left to dream
Make me believe, believe, believe in you and me
Make me believe

Two Amazing Stories

I always hesitate to talk on my blog about difficulties in my own life (beyond writing), but in light of two recent and incredible examples in the publishing industry, I'm feeling extra brave and extra humble today. Yesterday, I got served foreclosure papers the home my husband and I own in Florida. Through many severe financial struggles over the years, my husband and I have always been able to hold onto one last source of pride: our perfect credit. It hasn't been perfect for a few months now as we've pursued selling our home through a short sale (an option we didn't like, but had to face). And now we're confronted with the very real possibility that our home will go into foreclosure. By the way, a foreclosure on your credit report is even worse than bankruptcy. So, as you can imagine, this morning I've fought feelings of doom and gloom and self-pity. And then I read this uplifting post by my friend, Peggy Eddleman, and I was reminded that ruined credit isn't the end of the world. Not even close. I may be living in my in-laws' basement, but I have my family, and we have our health and strength (something my husband and son haven't always had). Some amazing writers in our community (and their families) don't have that.

Today is the book birthday for Chad Morris's, The Inventor's Secret. Chad isn't able to promote his book right now. He's where he should be, helping his daughter, Maddie, recover from a surgery to remove a brain tumor. Maddie has to wear a packing beneath her nose that looks like a mustache, and Chad's writer friends have started a campaign, "Mustaches for Maddie," to support this sweet girl, her family, and her dad's book launch all at the same time. Every time I see one of those mustaches on Twitter or Facebook, my heart is warmed by the love we writers can extend when our lives and concerns move beyond ourselves.

And then there's Bridget Zinn. I didn't know her story until I read Peggy's blog. Bridget won't be celebrating her book birthday for Poison on March 12th because she passed away from cancer in 2011. But her family and writer friends celebrate for her and her vision to bring laughter and joy into teens' lives through her words.

And to think I felt sorry for myself this morning. I have so much. A wonderful husband. Three beautiful children. Devoted friends. I have the happiness I feel when I write new stories and breathe life into new characters. I also have a loving family who has taken my little family in when we needed help. I'm grateful for what I have, and I'm feeling even more grateful today for the example of Chad Morris (and his writer wife, Shelly Brown) and their more important dream of helping their daughter, Maddie. I'm grateful for Bridget Zinn and the legacy she left. I want to be like her and Chad and Shelly. I've seriously cried my way through writing this blog post. I don't know how to express my gratitude to these writers, except by doing what I can to share my thoughts about them and help them keep paying it forward to writers and people everywhere.

Please celebrate and support these authors, spread the word about them, and buy their books (they look AMAZING)!

I Have an Agent!

Although I never posted anything on my blog, my friends know I lost my agent last year when she quit the business for personal reasons. I had enough respect for her to trust she was making the right decision for herself, but I'm not going to lie, it was rough. My novel was still on submission with our first round of editors, and the feedback we'd received so far was positive. I felt certain we were close to selling. So when my agent quit without warning, it seemed like all the hard work and momentum I'd been building came to a screeching halt. After a couple days of bleary-eyed staring at the wall, I decided to get over myself and get back to work. My mom reminded me it's those who don't give up who succeed. I dove back into the last stretch of drafting my new novel and started querying my previously agented novel.

I'm going to back up and tell you I got my first agent without querying. When my first novel was polished and ready, I pitched it to her at a writers' conference, and she requested my full manuscript. Within a few days, she enthusiastically offered. I never queried anyone else. So when I queried for the first time after I'd lost my agent, and the interest in my novel wasn't dynamic, I worried. Was I really as talented as I thought? Was it a total fluke that I got an agent in the first place? In the meantime, my husband was still searching for adequate work after being laid off his job at the beginning of summer, and our perfect credit went down the drain as we could no longer afford renting out our home in Florida for less than the mortgage payment. We tried to sell it for what we owed, but no bites; pursuing a short sale was the next best option. My husband, our three children, and I were living in my in-laws' basement for what we'd originally thought would be a few short months, but now it seemed a never-ending prospect.

It took a lot of willpower, perseverance and courage to believe everything would turn out all right. It took a lot of faith to push through finishing my story, to let go of my own reality long enough to get lost in a world of my own imagining--but where my heroine also wrestled with loss of control over many aspects of her life, and where she worked to find creative ways to move forward and not be a victim to circumstance.

Sometimes my strength would crumble. I had my share of sob fests and moments of despair. But I refused to linger in that state of mind. Again and again, I'd pick myself up and get busy writing. At the end of January, I was ready to query my new novel. I took a deep breath and sent it out into the world. And this time I did see dynamic interest. Within a week, my full manuscript was out with several respectable agents. I tried not to get too excited, but I did allow myself to hope. I often hear people say, "Don't have any expectations." I see the logic behind that, but shouldn't we have faith? Shouldn't we believe in ourselves and our work? It's the more painful route when things don't work out, but I still believe we should dream. Sometimes it takes all the bravery in the world to cling to that hope. It often takes every last ounce of faith. It's hard, but I find it--that belief in me and my stories.

Josh Adams

My good friend Sara B. Larson read my manuscript and fell head-over-heels in love with it--so much so that she volunteered to recommend it to her agent, Josh Adams. He was sick with chickenpox (poor guy!), so she waited until he was better to mention me and THE LOVELY INVISIBLE, my YA fantasy, a retelling of the Greek myth, "Cupid & Psyche." Within a few short days, I got an email from him saying he wanted to call about a "possible offer of representation." Cue butterflies of anticipation and random fits of giggling. And then, as luck would have it, I caught a terrible cold and lost my voice. I emailed Josh a picture of myself, asking him to envision what I really looked like when we spoke, and not an 80-year-old smoker. He later told me when he got that email, he busted up laughing and knew right then and there he'd love working with me. He thought it was so "cute" (aww) that I was worried enough about my voice to feel compelled to do that. And telling me that endeared me to him. (He likes my weird personality! I can be myself with him! We're going to get on great!) That's how I felt during our entire phone conversation--so at ease, but also like I was in the hands of a pro, a business-savvy, personable power agent--WHO LOVES MY NOVEL. Does it get any better? Nope.

So, yes, this story has a happy ending. I am ECSTATIC, OVER THE MOON, WISH-I-COULD-SCREAM-IF-I-HAD-A-VOICE HAPPY to announce I'm now represented by the fantastic, one-of-a-kind Josh Adams of Adams Literary. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world and am beyond grateful for the opportunity to partner with someone so amazing for my publishing career.

I believe in good things to come.

Listening to Your Characters

I'm less than 5k away from winning NaNoWriMo, and even better, less than 10k away from finishing my first draft of The Lovely Invisible. Now is the time I can barely eat or sleep because the tension in the story is so high that I need to write, write, write to get it all out of me. Now is the time I see the story coming full circle, even in its messiness, even past the long list of "Things to Fix Later"--which brings me to listening to characters during writing.

As I've mentioned in past posts, I've done a lot of legwork with this novel in outlining, researching, and other preparations. That's great for keeping me on task with the plot and not staring at blank pages, but it makes it a little frightening when I'm in the midst of following my neat plan and--WHAM!--my headstrong main character says, "Um, excuse me, Mother Author, I can't walk down that tidy little path you paved for me. I know myself better than you do, and I would sooooo not do that." (She sounds so much like my thirteen-year-old daughter.)

"Wait, what?" I reply. "You HAVE to! I've spent weeks figuring out the timeline your story, and this needs to happen right now."

My character rolls her eyes. "Do you seriously think I'm that one-dimensional? I'm. Not. Going. To. Do. It. In this situation, here's what I'd do instead--that and nothing else."

"But. But. You're  not supposed to do that for four more chapters! And you're supposed to HATE the villain and kiss your lover boy NOW."

"Listen, Mother Author"--my character pats my tendonitis-stricken hand--"just trust me. Things will be better my way."

I groan. "All right, let's say I do follow your lead..." I feverishly flip through my note card outline. "You realize if you change this here, I'm going to have to go back and fix, like, a bazillion things to streamline the whole manuscript."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, and that would mean a TON of revising. That's precious time, my dear character."

She folds her arms and gives me a level stare. "Did you really think you'd have a perfect first draft, Mom?"

I shrug sheepishly, and then throw my hands in the air. "Fine! You win! Are you happy?"

She squeals with delight and gives me a bear hug. "Yes! Thank you! You're the best!"

I huff. "Yeah, yeah."

***

Does any of this sound familiar? Am I the only one who has these battles with my characters--and lose most of the time?

But perhaps I'm winning...I just don't know it yet. Perhaps when I read my manuscript from beginning to end, I'll shake my head with wonder. Because then I'll realize, "Dang, my character was sooooo right!"

Update on NaNoWriMo

I'm deep in the trenches of NaNoWriMo again. I did NaNo last year and wrote 60k words. This year I'll be ecstatic if I write under 50k. I'm trying to finish the novel I began at the beginning of summer. Yes, I'm cheating (as I did last year). I'm starting NaNo with words already written (45k, to be exact). I really don't want my book to be 95k, but, overdrafter that I am, it probably will be. That's okay, I tell myself. I sliced 43k off my first novel, and I can do it again if necessary. Maybe next month will be DecCutABunchMo. We'll see.

All in all, NaNo is going swimmingly! I actually outlined this book (I know!), which I didn't do last year. (That novel was semi-outlined in my head, but I was too superstitious to write anything down...long story). I have a handy rubber-banded stack of note cards with all my scenes and important beats. I have a self-drawn map of my heroine's kingdom, the names and telling characteristics for my "cast," a timeline of all the days in my story and what has to happen by each day (my plot revolves around important deadlines). I also wrote the mockup back cover copy for my novel after I'd written about 20k to help keep me on track with the most important aspects. Plus I spent most of my summer buried in research (this novel takes place in ancient Greece). I still hit "research bumps" 2-3 times a week, but that's to be expected with a story like this.

All of these things--the outline, the back cover copy, the research, and other preparations--are making NaNo SO MUCH EASIER this year. It's still difficult. I'm a slow writer, so I wake up two hours earlier than my kids each morning to get a head start. And I don't usually finish my word count (I shoot for 2k a day so I get a day off on Sunday) until 3:00 in the afternoon. But what I'm NOT doing is staring at a blank page wondering what comes next. I know what comes next. And surprisingly there's still lots of room for discovery, which I love and which motivates me to write more. My outline is not so detailed that I don't switch things around or add things. I've already shuffled a few note cards in my "outline stack."

I'm well aware that everyone writes differently. I have some amazing CPs that pants their way through NaNo with brilliant material. And they pretty much started their stories from the beginning. I admire that so much because I could never write a beginning so quickly! The first 45k of my novel took me four months to write. A lot of that involved me stopping, contemplating, rethinking, and double-checking my research. I needed to get to know my characters a little more, let my story simmer in my brain. I'm finding my own groove as I write more novels, and I'm trying not to compare myself with people who write very differently--though just as well or better than me.

What I love about NaNo is that it motivates me to kick my writer butt into high gear, stop poking around with all the details, and shut up my inner editor. That's all good and fine for awhile, but then I've had it! I need to birth my first draft baby already!!!

Have you ever attempted to win NaNoWriMo before? How did you do it? Would you ever do it again?

Why I Write

Call me Pandora

I used to act in plays all the time, then as I had each of my three children, I began declining those opportunities. Being in a play usually equates to six weeks of rehearsals, three hours each evening, and (where I live) 4-6 weeks of performances. That's hard on moms and kids. By the time my youngest child was one, I hadn't performed in three years. I was still heavily involved with theatre, helping my drama teacher husband build sets, order costumes, find props--but I wasn't creating something that spoke to me, something that I could give and communicate to the world.

During that time, I stumbled on a box of old journals, poetry and short stories from years past, and I realized how vital writing had been in my life (though I didn't know it at the time). And I got that innocent and explosive idea (you writers know the one I'm talking about)--the one that says, "Hey, I could write a novel." Yes, I opened Pandora's Box. There were definitely demons in there, but there was also this raw, untapped part of myself bursting with ideas and an obsessive and unquenchable thirst to create.

Here's why I started to write back then:

• As mentioned above, I desperately needed a creative outlet. I am an artist, through and through.
• I needed to heal, physically, mentally, spiritually. I was in recovery from donating a kidney. And while writing truly did heal the aftereffects of that particular event, it opened up a whole new set of insecurities and challenges.
• I needed to feel control. We had just moved to the other side of the U.S. My husband had a new and demanding job. Everything was different. And even though things were good, there was so much change, which led to lots of stress. My imagination was a realm I naively thought I could control. Little did I realize what power struggles I'd have with my characters!
• I wanted a new challenge. I was crazy insane busy back then, but I wanted a struggle of my own choosing. It had to do with being proactive about something I wanted, rather than just doing the million-and-one things I needed to do.

Guess what? I still write for these very same reasons. However, here are some other reasons that have been added to the mix:

•  I write because I'm supposed to. Because I promised myself I'd get in 1000 words a day. The truth is, sometimes we writers don't feel like writing. But because it's important, we get our butts in the chair. Sometimes the duty sucks pleasure from the desire, but I try to strike a balance.
• And--uh, oh--the WORST reason: I write because I hope to make money at it. My family and I are POOR. I won't bore you with the details, but let's just say my husband and I have lived at the bottom of the barrel for a looooong time. Making money is a strong reality in our lives. But it wars with my artistic sensibilities that demand I write what's in my heart, and I write to express truth. In the end, the artist in me wins, and I keep writing with that integrity. I just cross my fingers, in the meantime, that my stories will speak to many others as well.

Some days I get bogged down with life, I compare myself to other writers, I feel impatient, I think my writing sucks. Some days the "noise" of the Internet is too loud--the thousands of blog posts, tweets, Facebook updates. Some days it's hard to see where my part is in all of this, or if I'll make a difference. Some days I pull away and go into hiding. And it's then I remember--after lots of quiet reflection--why I started writing in the first place. And above all those initial reasons, the first and foremost is, I need to create. That's it. Simple. But with creation comes division. Separating lightness from darkness. It may be a foggy journey in the twilight, but I'll keep my flame burning. That's enough for me to see one step ahead of myself. And I'll keep striving to find joy in the journey.

Why do you write?

Meet 'n' Greet

As part of the Gearing Up to Get an Agent (GUTGAA) festivities, here are my answers for the Meet & Greet Q&A. I'm actually one of the first-round judges for the upcoming pitch contest, but I really wanted to join in the preliminary schmoozing! :-) For more info on GUTGAA, or to sign up for the upcoming contests, go to deanabarnhart.blogspot.com.

Where do you write?
At my desktop computer in the family room, right smack in the middle of all the commotion. Occasionally, my husband lets me steal his laptop and write in my bedroom with the door shut for hours. That is divine, and I write so much faster when I'm not interrupted every two seconds!

Quick. Go to your writing space, sit down and look to your left. What is the first thing you see?
A rubber-banded stack of note cards with the major beats and scenes of the novel I'm writing.

Favorite time to write?
I'm a night owl, but I write best first thing in the morning. I've discovered evenings are better for editing.

Drink of choice while writing?
Water. I carry a water bottle everywhere I go. I need me my H2O!

When writing , do you listen to music or do you need complete silence?
Complete silence is best, though I write to music often--but only if it's instrumental. Movie soundtracks are great. I love to sing, and if the music has vocals, I can't help but sing along. Then I'm too distracted to get any writing done!

What was your inspiration for your latest manuscript and where did you find it?
Two things inspired The Rowaness of Shalott. First, my lifetime love of fairies (especially dryads) and mythology (Arthurian myths, in this case). And, second, my feelings revolving around donating a kidney to my brother played a huge role in the themes of this novel.

What's your most valuable writing tip?
Once you've finished your draft, give it some space--at least two weeks (I did two months). Then read it in as little sittings as possible and mark it only for pacing or big picture things. Edit as little as possible so you keep reading quickly like a reader would. This helps me understand, more than anything, how my story is working as a whole.

Mini Bio:
I grew up spouting Shakespeare on the stage and playing folk songs on my guitar, but it wasn’t until I had three children that I discovered my passion for creative writing. Now I channel my artistic energy into the pages of my young adult fantasy novels, where I get to act out all the parts and write swoonworthy love songs for my characters.

The Lucky Seven Challenge

I've had two crazy weeks of insanity. My husband's still looking for a job, my teenaged-daughter finished the run of her play, our renter is moving out of the home we own in Florida, and we still haven't been able to sell it. Lots of financial stress, and, to top it all off, I got to experience (for the first time) a spell of nasty vertigo. During the madness, I got a measly 1000 words written. BUT I was able to think through and find solutions for a few plot snags in my WIP. I also made note cards of all the major beats and scenes, and then put them in order. This will help a ton when I finally have significant time to write again (school starts for my three kids in nine days!). Sometimes life can be overwhelming, but during these times beautiful moments arrive, too--like when I got to spend an afternoon with my 13-year-old daughter yesterday to teach her to play the guitar. This reminded me that a full life--with all its ups and downs--is only going to make me be a better writer and make the stories pouring out of me more meaningful.

On another note, thanks to my friend, Michelle Davidson Argyle (whom I incidentally interviewed on my blog last week) for tagging me in The Lucky Seven Challenge. My critique partner, Robin Hall, also tagged me for this a few months ago, but I wasn't brave enough to do it then. I'm feeling equally cowardly this time around, but more reckless. So here we go!

The rules are to go to page seven, line seven of my work-in-progress novel, and post the following seven lines of prose. So here's your challenge: read my excerpt, view my cryptic photos for novel inspiration, and consider my working title--The Lovely Invisible--and see if you can figure out what my story is about. (Don't give it away in the comments if you're one of the few who already know!)

Excerpt:

I stood with my sisters behind a curtain the priestesses strung up outside the main city gate. The air was thick with dust from the mass of people trampling to and fro in last-minute preparations. Over the top of the curtain, I caught glimpses of acrobats somersaulting through the air as they warmed up for the long march to the temple, and my stomach grumbled as the smell of barley and honey cakes wafted over the great city wall.

I hadn’t had time to eat this morning, not with all the primping Nuri subjected me to. The look on her face when I agreed to be made up for the procession was worthy of purchasing her freedom, though, knowing Nuri, she would have remained in my service anyway. She knew she had more power in that position than the finest noblewoman in the city.

As the sun beat down on me, I fought the urge to itch the white powder on my face, neck and arms, and ruin Nuri’s “masterpiece.”


Now, according to the rules of The Lucky Seven Challenge, I am supposed to tag seven friends to participate and post their own excerpts. You are not obliged, of course, but I'd love to read your stuff!

My critique partners:
Robin Hall (Yes, you've already done this, but I want to read an excerpt of your MG!)
Ilima Todd (You've done this, too, but I'd love you to post something from your WIP so everyone can see how awesome it is.)
Emily Prusso (I want to read an excerpt of your awesometacular revision.)
Taryn Albright (Let's let the world see a sneak-peek of your amazing sports mystery, Spot Me.)
And my awesome blog followers who I'd love to get to know better:
Rebecca Barrow
Fiona
Brandon Ax

A New Story is Born

I'm thirty-something pages into my brand new non-Rowaness related story. I feel shy of sharing too much about it right now, like it's a delicate bird that hasn't taken flight. But I love the promise of this story, of everything it can be. I feel overwhelmed to be it's "mother" and hope I can do it justice.

Here are some visual hints and inspiration for the story so far...

Never Surrender: Donating a Kidney

In honor of Elana Johnson's new book, SURRENDER, I have joined the "Never Surrender" blogfest. Here's my never surrender story.

Six years ago, my older brother's kidneys failed. This wasn't the first time. When Matt was a teenager, my dad donated a kidney to him. But "foreign" kidneys only last so long. Because my brother ultimately rejected my dad's kidney, that meant at least half of my siblings (ten in total) wouldn't be able to donate to him this time around; they had the same antigen as my dad that Matt's body would also reject.

I wanted more than anything to donate my kidney to my brother, and so I got tested and--hallelujah--I was a perfect match! With blood and tissue type, we were like twins. I kept advancing through the succeeding tests (there are a bazillion) to make sure everything was inline to donate. Matt and I started planning possible surgery dates and dreaming of a life for him with no more dialysis. Then one day the nurse coordinator called me and said the surgeons ruled me out for donation. Here's why: I had all these extra forking arteries coming out of my kidneys. They couldn't be spliced into Matt's "plumbing system" because they were too tiny. I tried coming up with any exception (my dad also had extra arteries when he donated years ago), but nothing I said mattered. The answer was no. I couldn't donate to Matt.

I was so confused, so torn-up inside. I knew I was supposed to do this. I've never cried so hard in my life. I locked myself in a room and sobbed and wailed through a whole box of tissues AND my sleeves AND all my children's blankets. All I wanted to do was help my brother and I couldn't.

To make matters worse, my brother turned down a kidney from a girl who died in a car accident just the day before the surgeons told me NO. Matt could have had a kidney, but he was waiting for mine--the "perfect match." I felt horrible.

For the next three years Matt's health declined. While dealing with the continued drudgery of dialysis, he contracted a life-threatening case of West Nile Virus, which gave him seizures that sent him to the emergency room often. Several times he almost died. On top of that, cancer was discovered on his failing kidney, and it had to be completely removed. And there were still no matching donors. The rest of my siblings tried and were ruled out, along with several friends and acquaintances. Some had the antigens he'd reject. Some weren't in good enough health. Matt began to despair. He said he would sit and look outside his living room window. He'd watch the people in his neighborhood walk outside and get the mail from their mailboxes. He wished so badly to have the strength to do that. He wanted to tell them how lucky they were.

One day when Matt had another close call and ended up in the hospital, I'd had enough. I drove up to Salt Lake City and marched into the kidney clinic, where I waited for two hours until someone would talk to me. I demanded that they take my kidney NOW and give it to Matt. I was his perfect match! Why couldn't they use their brilliant surgeon skills and make this work? They told me no. Again.

I decided to forget them and figure out how to donate to Matt somewhere else. My oldest brother and I researched a facility out east that looked promising. When I called the hospital in Salt Lake City and asked them to transfer my x-rays and test results, the nurse coordinator said, "Whoa, now, wait a minute. Let's rethink doing this here." A few days later, the surgeons had a big meeting and one of them--to the dismay of the others--stepped up and said, "I can do this."

With Matt before the transplant

So three years ago--on my wedding anniversary, and when my third child was only nine-months-old, and a week before my husband graduated college--I finally got to donate my kidney to Matt. I was giving something life-saving to someone I loved who couldn't obtain it for himself. I'm not special because I chose to donate (so many people wanted to), or that I did. But I am blessed by that experience a thousand times over. It was the most wonderful and painful and awful and beautiful and defining thing I've done. It's what ultimately inspired me to write The Rowaness of Shalott. Because, in the end, fiction was the best way for me to describe what I felt and what I don't know how to adequately explain in any other way.

I'm grateful Matt is now living a full life. I'm grateful he can run around with his three little girls and work a demanding and fulfilling job. That he can walk to his mailbox and get the mail again. I'm grateful I never surrendered.

Acting, Writing, Creating Something

College:  Rosalind in As You Like It, my favorite role ever!

Okay, heads up. I'm going to go off about old times and acting for a bit here, but it's all going to come back to writing. I promise. Stick with me.

I was a fairly confident kid in elementary school. Never struggled to make friends. Always felt like I had a "place." Then junior high came. None of my friends were in my classes. They were also gymnasts and became cheerleaders. They didn't ignore me or anything, but it wasn't the same anymore. We weren't moving in similar circles. Suddenly I didn't know where I fit. I didn't know whom I could sit with for lunch, so I'd go eat alone in the library. I started cutting class. A lot.

College:  Katarina Cavalieri in Amadeus

I was enrolled (against my will) in both a speech class and a communications class (the latter was like this conglomeration of acting and social skills). My first assignment was to answer twenty questions I'd written for myself. I had to stand up in front of the class and give all my questions and answers aloud. I was shaking so badly, I couldn't even read my paper! I cried several times after leaving those classes. And it never got easier. To say I had stage fright is an understatement. I'd never made any friends in junior high school. Not. A. Single. One. I was pretty miserable.

In ninth grade, I eventually resorted to hanging out with my neighbor and a group of her friends, who were all a year younger than me. It felt like a desperate attempt to fit in. It was. I won't go into details, but one day they ganged up and did something to me that was incredibly rude and embarrassing. I went home absolutely furious and hurt. And I realized just how stupid I'd been for the past three years. How I'd let my fears eat away at me and make me so worried about what people thought. I'd had enough. Everything clicked together, and I suddenly stopped caring about what people thought. It's not that I became inconsiderate or rebellious, but I just wasn't afraid to be myself, and I didn't become anxious over being accepted anymore. The next day I randomly walked up to a girl in the lunch room and asked if I could eat with her. This was a very brave move for me! In my school, you didn't just casually pop in at someone's table. I didn't know this girl well, but she always seemed nice. She acted pretty shocked when I sat down beside her, but in a minute none of that mattered. We had so much in common! She became my best friend throughout high school. We still keep in touch. I'll always consider her a best friend of mine.

Maggie in The Man Who Came to Dinner

Later, in high school, I purposely signed up for an acting classes. And my stage fright was gone. I could get up in front of people, make myself vulnerable to the emotions my character was feeling, and express myself like I couldn't before. I auditioned for plays and worked up from being in the ensemble to getting lead roles. Even in performing for large audiences, I felt comfortable. I would never want to relive those depressing junior high days, but the lesson I learned from them has been invaluable.

Fast forward several years. I'd acted in college, England, and had many wonderful roles. Then I got married, had a child, and still found time to act now and then. Then I had another child, and another. I couldn't justify acting anymore, not with three young children. Being in a play requires about two-to-three months of rehearsals, six days a week, three hours every night. I didn't feel right about leaving my kids for that long. So about two years went by with no plays, no acting, and I started to feel this emptiness. It ate away at me for a long time. I became depressed again. And then I got the idea to write a novel. I never thought I'd love something as much as acting, but I do. I love writing even more. My favorite part of acting is the rehearsals, the digging into character and "creating." Writing a book is like a super long rehearsal and "discovery" of character. It can be frustrating and is long work, but then, like an acting rehearsal, you suddenly peak and all that struggle weaves together into something wonderful--what you were striving to achieve all along.

Kate in The Taming of the Shrew, first lead in high school!

It's interesting that to rise above any kind of darkness, you have to do something about it. You have to "act." You have to use your mind and heart and body to create something. Although I love my children and love being a mother, I have so much within me that I want to explore. I think everyone does. I've noticed people who are truly happy create. There are thousand different ways to do so. Anything can become "art" to someone. My story, The Rowaness of Shalott, is about this in many ways. That mortality is a means for us to do something and act in a way we couldn't without a body.

I'm grateful for the creative paths I've taken in my life and for what they've given me. I'd love to hear about yours!

Why Do We Torture Ourselves?

Ever since I finished my mega revision last week, I've been TIRED. The day after Christmas tired. The just got home from Disneyland tired. The sleep for twelve hours and still take two naps during the day tired. (Yes, I did that today.)

I've thought a lot about why we writers do this to ourselves. Writing a novel isn't a picnic in the park, a dreamy thing you do while sitting in a flowered meadow while the words come flowing to your brain. Like any form of creation, it is a violent act. Light ripping apart from darkness. Division in the mind, the heart. It makes you question everything you thought you believed in. It exposes all your weaknesses. Sometimes you feel like you are everything. Sometimes, like nothing. These fictional characters have a will as fierce as your own. They demand their stories be told, no matter how busy you are, how sleep deprived.

So why go through with it when writing is, in fact, a very effective form of torture?

I started writing this novel during the busiest, most stressful and inconvenient time of my life. I had just donated a kidney and, though I'd finished recovering physically from the experience, my emotions were still working their way back up. It didn't helped that I'd just moved across the country. Everything was different. My husband was working a job where he was gone night and day. I felt like a single mother raising three young children. Nothing "bad" was happening, but my mind was exhausted to the point where I was crying like a leaky faucet for several hours a day. Not sobbing...not even sad...just overwhelmed. Drip, drip, drip. I couldn't turn it off.

Then I got that crazy idea. The one that said, "Hey, you should write a book." What was I thinking? I have absolutely no idea.

But guess what? In the act of adding something new to my insane life--more importantly, of CREATING something, something I could control (or so I thought until I met my characters)--I began to feel...better. Because I was doing something. Yes, I'd been doing plenty of things, but now I was doing something that spoke to that part deep inside me that seemed to be wondering if I'd forgotten all about her.

So I got to know her more.

She's a bit of a beast, that deep-buried Katie. She's wildly sensitive, quick-tempered, emotional and curious. She frightens me sometimes. But we're becoming better friends. I think I can live with this girl.

She is why I push myself beyond my seemingly impossible limits. Why I crash and burn after imposing crazy deadlines on myself. Why I agonize over perfecting pages, sentences, word counts, verbs.

Sometimes I wonder if it's worth it...all the torture. I will think I need a long relaxing break. But then after a nap or a bowl of ice cream, that inner Katie pokes her head up and says, "All right, girl. I'm ready for some more. Let's do it." I smile and sigh and say, "Okay."

So, dear writer friends, tell me, why do you write? What drives you to push through the madness?

I Conquered the Beast

(And when I say beast, I mean my wickedly long but beautiful baby--my first novel.)

I've spent the last two-and-a-half month's, several hours each day, cutting and polishing The Rowaness of Shalott.

Have you ever stared at a computer screen for so long that your eyes start crossing? I have and, let me tell you, it's a little bit freaky!

What I learned from this mega revision:

• I may have thought my beginning was brilliant, but I didn't really understand how well it worked (and that it needed lots of fixing) until I wrote the end of my novel.
• I may have thought my ending was brilliant, but I didn't really understand how well it worked (and that it needed lots of fixing) until I finished this long revision.
• The best way I learned what was and wasn't working in my book was to read it. (Duh, I know, but I'm talking about reading--and not editing--it in as little sittings as possible. For me, that was four days.)
• MCs get sassier with more attention. Villains become more sympathetic.
• It is possible to love two fictional men at the same time (okay, I already knew this).
• My characters can still surprise me (yes, Arthur, I'm talking about you).
• I still believe in and love this story--more so than ever!

Some stats about my drafting and revision process so far:

• Started writing the first version (contemporary, two POVs, set in Alaska, no Arthurian stuff) in December of 2009
• Bagged the earlier version and started writing the Arthurian version in the summer of 2010
• Finished my first draft in November of 2011 (two-thirds of it were written in Oct. and Nov.)
• Finished this mega revision YESTERDAY (April 24, 2012)!
• Original word count: 141,320 (not to mention 4,000 words I cut before drafting the last two-thirds)
• Revised word count: 98,972
• I cut 42,348 words! (almost as long as a NaNo novel)
• Original page count: 490
• Revised page count: 362
• I cut 128 pages! (That might not seem like a lot, but it SO is.)

Anyway you do the math, I feel awesome! And I've totally owned my writing process, which is overwriting to draft, and then cutting to revise (though, I did have to rewrite sections of the beginning and end).

I know there will still be revisions to come with new beta readers, and hopefully one day an agent and editor, but for now I will breathe a big fat sigh of relief because I did one of the hardest things by hacking this book to below 100k.