When is it time to give up on a ms.?

An agent told me recently that when she looks over her list, the mss. that ended up selling the best are the ones that took longest to place. What's the most number of times you or your agent have sent something out before it sold or you gave up on it?I love those stories of mss. that got rejected over and over, and then went on to become famous books -- here's a list of 14 books that became famous that were rejected over and over by publishers. Some I'd heard of, some I hadn't.....but I find it encouraging, especially the comments that must have seemed idiotic to the authors, like:
"Does anyone drown? [to the author of KON TIKI] Then it can't be very interesting."

But sometimes when a ms. doesn't sell, maybe it SHOULDN'T. Dear Genius has lots of stories about mss. that didn't quite work -- by people who then went on to write other things that worked brilliantly. For example:
"....I don't mean to sound cross, but I felt so hopeful when you left my place last weekend, and was a little depressed by the ms. when I read it (several times) this week...I wish I could be more constructive but until you do more on this it is pretty hard for me to be. I will say this: I think your first "chapter" can't be called "The Tiger," and you can't just say in two lines that this Frances was in bed and she couldn't sleep...."

Yes, it was the first Frances book -- published many rewrites later as Bedtime for Frances.

There is really no way for an author to know how it will turn out or which (worth working on or not) is true of a particular ms....what I have concluded about my own work is that it just depends on how interested I am in the story and TIME usually clarifies that. If, years after I first wrote something, I reread it, see the flaws, and want to fix them, I do. If I read it over, and think: "This is really GOOD! Someone ought to take it!" I keep sending it out, but with a different pitch. And if I read it over and wince, I file it or throw it away, thankful that it was never published.

And on an unrelated note: if anyone read the blog earlier today and saw the post about the "1 weird old tip" -- I was going to develop that into a real post by adding something about curiosity and fiction, but forgot that I had set it up so Blogger would publish it automatically. Sorry about that.

I think that post is a good example of something that wasn't worth working on further!

On writing

Last week I was listening to NPR on the way to the grocery store and they were talking about the subject of writing. There were two quotes that have stuck with me all week.

“I'm not a very good writer, but I'm an excellent rewriter.” - James Michener

and

"Becoming a writer is not a 'career decision' like becoming a doctor or a policeman. You don't choose it so much as get chosen, and once you accept the fact that you're not fit for anything else, you have to be prepared to walk a long, hard road for the rest of your days." - Paul Auster

They both seemed quite true and particularly relevant as I chug slowly uphill, knee deep in revisions...

Books and money

Someone made a comment on Meghan's post yesterday that she was concerned not so much about the awards, but about "limitations that are put on new artists and authors BEFORE their work goes into print."

Changing the rules of awards wouldn't change that, though it would change the lives of the (few more) people who won. Publishing is moving more towards books the publishers think will sell large numbers of copies. For those of us who don't write those books (though to be optimistic -- who can ever really predict which books they are?), awards have huge financial consequences. Unless we win a major one, we can't make a living from our books. We have to work at other things if we and we alone are responsible for supporting ourselves.

Yes, it would be nice to win a big, life-changing award (when THE PENDERWICKS won, the author was able to buy a house for the first time in her life!) and live on advances and royalties. Who wouldn't love it?

But if you're a published author, is not being able to support yourself from writing really that bad? Anyone who is passionate, disciplined, and creative enough to illustrate or write books can think of other ways to earn money and make them work. Yes, it takes some time and energy away from books; and for most of us there isn't as much money in it as there would be in a "good" full-time job -- but it gives you more freedom than a full-time job does.

Maybe working at other things is even good for writing in the long run? Unless we have something to pull us out into the world, for many introverts (and most writers I know are introverts! Most illustrators too for that matter!) it's all too easy to stay home, do your writing, and only see a small number of people. And what do you have to write about if you spend your life doing that? Most novelists whose work has lasted were intensely engaged in the world in some way -- sometimes in really fascinating ways (Somerset Maughm and John Le Carre both worked for British intelligence, to name just two).

Corn baths etc.

Last weekend some of the Blue Rose Girls and our friend Alissa visited Anna in her beautiful quiet cozy country cottage. As usual, conversation was the main activity -- Tilda and Juniper (Alissa's daughter) stayed close to us, eagerly joining in with smiles and babble. Neither can talk yet, but they seemed to enjoy being part of the group.

We talked about our writing (so inspiring! and so tempting to just stay in front of the fire doing that the whole time) but one afternoon we did manage to leave the house to attend the Ashfield Fall Festival, where local children make, set up, and run the games. When we arrived, Alissa's boys had already won a small bag of marbles doing things like climbing rope ladders and ringing the bell at the top. They and the other children did this with just as much excitement as the children Grace described grabbing for the brass ring at the Tuileries in Paris or the ones I described dancing at the ceilidh in the Hebrides.

The one that seemed to delight them the most was the corn bath -- tubs filled with raw corn kernels. They rolled and dug and played and only got out when the person running it said -- several times "Come on, guys, time to go -- we have to clean up." Maybe the real proof of how much fun they had was that they helped her do it.



Since I got back I have been comparing this country pretty unfavorably to Scotland (though in fairness to me, at these kinds of festivals where I live, people mostly just buy things, eat, and sit listening to loud music). So it was really great to be reminded that there are communities right here in this country where people take just as active a part in their own amusement --and with just as much enthusiasm and energy. Maybe there are more of these kinds of communities here, and children are taking more delight in simple pleasures, than the media would have us think.

After all, as Grace pointed out, big companies aren't making money with things like corn baths -- maybe THAT'S why we don't see them in the media. But that's no reason not to put them in our books, even if some people do find such things old-fashioned. For others (maybe more than we, and some publishers, realize?), it's reality....and as much fun to read about, too:maybe more fun to read about than, say, Angry Birds. It depends how it's done, of course, like everything else in writing!

Art vs. life -- more or less?

Awhile ago someone talked here about Miss Happiness and Miss Flower -- a story about the two dolls of the title (homesick for Japan) and the girl (homesick for India) who makes a real Japanese dolls' house for them. All the author's books I've read are as cozy as that.

I imagined her life had been, too -- she definitely seemed like a nice English lady with an overgrown garden and tea every day. So I was amazed when I read her autobiography -- one of her books, Greengage Summer, tells about some charming children who spend a summer holiday in France and have cozy adventures. In real life, she and her sisters and their mother DID go to France, and DID stay in a hotel sort of like the one in the book -- but their mother got really sick. The children could do whatever they wanted, and one of the things one of them did was get seduced / have an affair with an older married man, also a hotel guest -- as was his wife. The children and their mother ended up getting kicked out of the hotel for this sister's "scandalous" behavior (in the novel, a charming criminal somehow -- I forget how -- arranges for them to go home to their parents, who are both in England).

That was just one incident in a life that couldn't have been less like her stories-- the book ended with her and her children living in an unheated house high in the Himalayas (which sounded like heaven to me: she described the clean new wood and no furniture and teacups and plates from the bazzar, the almond trees in back and the views of mountains in front -- I've been to Kashmir and could imagine it all clearly). They had no money -- typically, her husband had stolen all her book money (and at one point there was a lot of it) when he ran off with another woman -- but it was lovely until one of the kids noticed ground glass in their food. Rumer Godden was too out of it on the drugs the cook had been slipping into HER food to notice he was trying to poison them all....There were lots of equally wild incidents in-between the two I've recounted here.

I can't honestly say I recommend this autobiography -- there were lots of gaps, and it was written when she was very old, so old that instead of describing some of the events she quoted from the novels she'd written about them. The book read as though she really remembered the novels better than the life.

But I'm glad I read it. Her life-into-fiction went the opposite way of most writers....at least, it seems to me that most novelists make their novels MORE exciting and adventure-packed than their lives. And she made hers less.

Maybe for her writing was an escape into a safe world where husbands stayed and supported you, people didn't try to murder you, and children left to fend for themselves found protectors. Is YOUR writing a reflection of your life or an escape from it? Both? Neither? An attempt to remake it? In the past, mine has I think been more of a reflection -- but maybe it would be fun to do the opposite, as Rumer Godden did.

Some mistakes don't matter

Inspired by the 2009 Masterpiece WUTHERING HEIGHTS (and if you haven't seen this, I can't recommend it strongly enough!), I re-read the book.

To me this time around, Cathy and Heathcliff sounded more like two intense siblings having a really bad fight than any adult lovers *I'VE* ever encountered.


[Cathy talking to her husband, in the book] "....Heathcliff would as soon
lift a finger at you as the king would march his army against a colony of
mice. Cheer up! you sha'n't be hurt! Your type is not a lamb, it's a
sucking leveret.'

'I wish you joy of the milk-blooded coward, Cathy!' said her friend [Healthcliff]. 'I
compliment you on your taste. And that is the slavering, shivering thing
you preferred to me! I would not strike him with my fist, but I'd kick
him with my foot, and experience considerable satisfaction. Is he
weeping, or is he going to faint for fear?'

The fellow approached and gave the chair on which Linton rested a push.
He'd better have kept his distance.....

(Doesn't that sound like siblings fighting? YOUNG siblings?) But when I first read the book, that was how grown-ups in love talked and behaved, for all I knew.

Maybe one reason (aside from Tom Hardy -- not just good-looking, but really SMART and a great actor!) this version is so satisfying is that although the book is great, it's flawed. The characters are real, they're intense, they've become deservedly immortal -- but there are gaps in their story. These are brilliantly filled in by writer Peter Bowker in this TV version (one of the scenes he added was practically the best -- and so well-written that I was really surprised that it wasn't in the book), and equally brilliantly acted by everyone in the cast.



It probably takes people with more experience of adult romantic relationships than Emily Bronte had to tell Cathy and Heathcliff's story as adults would experience it. This version did that -- AND kept Emily Bronte's language word for word in many places.

It even makes the story of Hareton


and young Catherine interesting. When I was young and read the book, I always thought it should have ended when Cathy died; but seeing this and then reading the book again, as an adult, made me realize that no, we need to see what happens to Heathcliff --and how things turn out for the next generation, too. Only then can the story be resolved.

The point of this post, though, is to say a book can be really, really flawed and still be great. Alive, believable characters who transcend their author's mistakes; a gripping story and setting; great writing; and, maybe, inspiration and something to say that satisfies a need in readers all count for more than technical perfection.

I'm trying to think of another great books with huge flaws - THE SECRET GARDEN, maybe? The way it kind of switches from being the story of Mary to the story of Colin? But maybe I'm just thinking of that one because in it, too, the Yorkshire moors are almost a character.

Can you think of any great but flawed books?

Two things

Last week one of my best friends -- someone who's been, literally, like a brother to me since we were 17 -- died suddenly and unexpectedly. Of course, I've been crying and thinking about him and going over my memories -- and regretting how many times I COULD HAVE seen him, but didn't, because I thought it would disrupt my writing.

Grace has been saying for years that I need to learn to write "on the go," and it's time to do it-- to say YES AND (yes, I can go, I can do that, AND write), not "No because."
"Thank you, I'd love to come!" -- to NY or London or wherever I'm asked; and I'll bring my laptop with me, get up early, and write. (Tips for writing when away from home eagerly solicited!)

If I don't learn to do this, the only time I'll ever see my adult friends is when people come here--which happens once a month at most.

The people I mostly see here, where I live, are 11 and under; and I love the time I spend with them. It's different from time with adults, because when I'm with children, I am completely present, focused on being there for them -- meeting their needs -- something that is probably all too familiar to those of you who are mothers. I don't think about myself at all. If you're not a mother this is unusual, I think.

Sometimes I am rewarded by a glimpse of the world through their eyes, as in this photograph, taken by an eleven-year old with his ipod touch: I called it Trafffic on Tower Bridge in my Patch piece about him and his Legos.



When I look at this photograph, it looks so real -- the angle of vision, the distance between the cars, everything. It looks exactly as it would look if you were in a car, driving over the bridge. He's created a world he believes in -- I'd love to do that in my own, on the go, writing.