Finding Your Children's Writing Niche, Part 2

Hi all, just taking a few to quickly follow up on Monday's "A to the Q" post about finding your writing niche. I wanted to share these questions to ask yourself, which I think can help you further your quest to narrow your own focus:

• What types of adult books do you tend to read for pleasure? How are they similar to and different from the works for children you enjoy?
• Why do you want to write for children? What attracts you to the idea (or practice, if you're already doing it) of writing for children?
• Consider the works for children you've already written. Have you found the writing experience(s) satisfying? Why or why not? If you haven't yet written anything for young readers, what has held you back?
• If you could write just one (or one more) children's book — ever — what type of book would it be?

Thoughts? Questions? Additional tips? Feel free to comment!

Finding Your Voice: Reader Question on Part 1

A shy reader (hey, reader!) sent an email question about the Finding Your Voice series. She writes, "Can you give your own answers to the reflection exercises and explain how you would use them in your writing?"

Sure, glad to oblige. Keep in mind, though, that these exercises are meant to inspire your writing — you won't necessarily use your answers in a tangible way. But let's see if taking a look at my replies can help clarify the purpose of the exercises and give you some ideas.

Exercise 1: Last Children's Book I Read Just Because I Wanted To

The Higher Power of Lucky by Susan Patron. I read this terrific Newbery winner back in January. A short synopsis I'd seen was enough to make me want to read it with no up-front intention of writing a review or lesson plan. I read it sooner than I normally would have because I wanted to support the work (by purchasing it) in the midst of its censorship controversy.

Why I think noting your last "just because" kids' book is useful: In the context of finding your voice and identifying your niche (market, age of your audience, genre), I find that a writer typically will have read a title from within the category of books he or she wants to work with. Obviously, this is no scientific process. But when I'm using the exercise in class, I try to make sure each student answers with a book s/he chose to read for pleasure. Your toddler's current go-to story and the last book you picked up for your teenager do not count.

What if you've never read a children's book just for fun, or the last time you did you were still a child? That doesn't have to mean anything whatsoever. Start reading now, and you'll figure it out. But if you're having a particularly difficult time narrowing your focus or trying to write something, anything, for the younger set, low or no interest in reading children's literature could be an indicator that you need to examine your motivations for wanting to write for kids. It's not for everyone.

Exercise 2: All-Time Favorite Book from My Youth

Harriet the Spy by Louise Fitzhugh. I loved it then as I love it now because it is perfectly suited for the intended age level (8–12; best, I think, for 9–10); it's hilarious, clever, and poignant all at once; and it stars a smart, capable girl.

Why I think this info can help: Often, the books that left lasting impressions are of the type you want to write.

Exercise 3: 1–10 Songs That Take Me Back in Time to My Youth

I went with 10. Some will list just 1 or 3 or 5. The point is to focus on songs that spring to mind in connection with vivid childhood memories. The point of that is for you to feel the feelings, see the colors, and milk all of it. You can use the essence of childhood — as you experienced it — to craft believable fiction and relatable nonfiction.

Why I think this exercise can help: Because music is a classic memory trigger. It serves as a backdrop to life's events, huge and minute. You can talk, think, read, play, eat, watch TV, celebrate, and grieve to it. When you were a child, music was playing in your house, your room, the car, the grocery store, your head . . . you heard it at the theme park, the swimming pool, your church. Your mom hummed it, and your dad whistled it. You learned it during chorus, piano lessons, band practice, and play rehearsals. Your basketball coach had you run drills to it, your teacher put it on for indoor recess, and a DJ filled the gym with it for the school dance. It went with you on vacation, picnics, and — if you came of age anytime from the transistor era on — walks, runs, and bike rides.

Below is my list. I've noted the memory I associate with each song and expanded a couple of them into full-blown anecdotes. I want to stress that I don't see using any of these moments as the basis for a story. But each trigger is so strong for me that I can practically touch the original scene. And when I pay attention, I can — and do — find ways to add elements of such experiences to my writing.

1. “Rich Girl,” Hall & Oates. See anecdote here.
   
2. “Gypsies, Tramps & Thieves,” Cher. Oh. My. Gosh. This single is from the first album I ever bought with my own money. It may have been the first *anything* I ever bought. The LP cost $3 at Pamida. I was 6. I thought Cher was beyond spectacular. I loved her voice and look, and I lived for Sonny & Cher's variety show. First purchase, first album, first brush with fandom.
   
3. “Cried Like a Baby,” Bobby Sherman. Reminds me of the few years I shared a room with my older sister and did my level best to not touch her stuff (which included that 45). My best didn't cut it.
   
4. “Dancing Queen,” ABBA. At junior high dances. On the Midnight Special. In slumber party record stacks. Set to repeat while I chatted on the phone. Turned way up while I dusted the living room. This song was there.
   
5. “Convoy,” C. W. McCall. Novelty song that evokes the CB craze and falling asleep to AM radio.
   
6. “Last Time I Saw Him,” Diana Ross. One summer morning, my banker dad was at work and my older brother was out doing whatever older brothers did in the mid 70s. I begged to stay home by myself while my mom and sister ran an errand. Mom gave in, insisting that I stay in our music room with the dog, piano, stereo, and handy-in-an-emergency phone. I knew Dad's number, and the neighbor's. I would be FINE for half an hour. As the red Valiant pulled out of the driveway, I donned our clunky headphones and cranked that 45. I wanted to out–Diana Ross, Diana Ross. Less than a minute into my performance, I spun around to see my mom and sister in the doorway, jaws on the floor. (They'd forgotten something.) They laughed. At me. Really hard. It must have been a funny sight, and I'm sure they were laughing at the surprise and the fun of it all. They did not ridicule me. But oh boy, I felt deeply mortified in a way that I hadn't quite experienced. Why was it so traumatic? I was growing up and feeling more self-conscious. I did not want to look dumb. Yet there I was, caught in the act of being my goofy self. The horror! Every kid goes through this, no?
   
7. "Angels We Have Heard On High." This hymn gave me chills during the Christmas season, and I looked forward to that every year.
   
8. “Mockingbird,” Carly Simon & James Taylor. Such a joyful song, one that my best friend and I used as a mood lifter in high school.
   
9. “Grease,” Frankie Valli. Grease was the word in the summer of 1978.
   
10. "I Want to Hold Your Hand," Beatles. High school in the 80s. Guy Friend and I spent a Saturday together working on a project. As he drove me home that night (left hand on the steering wheel, right hand casually resting on the bench seat), we were laughing and having a great time. Until, that is, I spontaneously grabbed his wrist to punctuate some hilarious sentiment or another. It was a natural grab-and-release kinda thing. No biggie. Except that it was, apparently. Suddenly the sedan lost oxygen, a red-faced Guy clenched the wheel with a 10-and-2 death grip, and both of us were struck dumb. I dealt with the awkwardness by fiddling with the radio. Guy took over, punching buttons and loudly renouncing all the subpar musical options. He finally stopped on a rock station during an ad, and we relaxed a hair. I thought, "Wow, what just happened here?" The DJ said something like, "Here's that Beatles song I promised." Guy turned up the volume, but then hastily turned it back down a smidge as the "I Want to Hold Your Hand" theme registered. Again we sat in uncomfortable silence. The song's lyrics are lousy with references to, of course, hand-holding. I was convinced that Guy was on the verge of reaching for my hand. But he didn't. When he finally dropped me off at home, I was relieved . . . and a little peeved. On the one hand (representing my earnest, even-headed, exceedingly careful side), I was glad because I truly didn't want anything to mess up our easy friendship. But on the other hand (representing my emotionally reactive side that knew I could — or maybe already did — "like-him" like him), I was mad that he hadn't tried anything. I mean, what exactly was so horrible about me that some idiot teenage boy couldn't be bothered to at least feign an attraction under such exploitable circumstances? Ha! I did consider the possibility that — from his POV — nothing out of the ordinary had even transpired. And, that the tension was in my head and I was a complete dork. Luckily Guy and I survived, and things between us were back to normal by Monday. Tuesday at the latest. I still feel a bit of the silly, sweet, sharp, angst-y pain of that car ride whenever I hear the song. And it's fantastic.
    

Finding Your Voice, Part 3

Time for Part 3 of this semiregular voice-finding series. In Part 1 I introduced easy reflection activities that have you recall important books and music from your youth. Then, in Part 2, I talked about how such intentional reflection can help you begin to inhabit the mind of a child (specifically, your own childhood mind), which in turn will help you work on writing for children and figuring out the audience you'd like to target.

So, moving along, assuming you've looked at the previous posts. Here's the next question I think you should ask yourself:

At what age do you think you found your personal voice?

Don't think about your writer's voice yet. That comes later. For now just concentrate on remembering when that voice in your head started. I'm talking about the inner voice you hear as you move through your day. The one that recites your grocery list and rehashes memorable conversations as you shower, drive, or try to sleep. Etc. (Note that this voice presumably sounds *just like you* and is neither alter ego nor imaginary friend.)

Having trouble pinpointing an age? Sometimes it helps to simply think about the age at which you started feeling like you. I like to ask other children's writers when this shift happened for them, and so far I've heard all ages from 4 to 30.

I once asked my father to comment. I was about 16, I think, putting Dad in his mid 40s. We weren't talking about writing or voice, but I was writing then, and my interest in the topic was directly related to my intense need to explore and express how certain defining moments in my young life had affected me.

This conversation happened just a few years into my early, earnest "This is who I am, but how on earth did I get this way?" phase — and Dad's quick and confident answer to when he started feeling like him made an impact. "Well," he said, briefly raising his eyebrows and looking to the sky, "I'd have to say 9 years old." He felt that's when his sense of responsibility kicked in (he grew up the eldest son on a small Iowa farm in the 1940s, and the entire family worked hard). So it made sense for him to choose that age as the point at which his distinct child self began to fade into the background to make way for his (self-perceived) adult self.

Now, that is not to say that he didn't progress on a normal path from childhood to adulthood. We all evolve and mature across time, no matter when we start to connect with the world. But I do believe that we all can identify breaks between major life stages — and that your breaks will not correspond to mine. It's all about your experiences and how you process them.

If you're a writer trying to connect with an authentic voice for your work, it's critical to have a good sense of your personal voice. Without it, you'll end up manufacturing your authenticity. And that approach never quite makes it. Not, at least, in any sustainable way.

I found my personal voice at about age 12. Sure, I've matured and changed — and changed back — since then (I like to think), but 12 feels to me like the break between my child and adult selves. I do have zillions of memories about events, thoughts, and feelings from earlier childhood, but 12 is when I really started to hear the voice that guides me. And I believe that's why I prefer writing for the preteen to young teen market.

Last time I discussed some of my favorite children's works. They are stellar models of age-appropriate material and writing, and they also offer strong insights into my personal writing interests. I feel at ease writing to the preteen/teen set; and I most enjoy writing heavily researched nonfiction, historical fiction, and personal essays.

How do the books you mentioned in your list play into your current writing interests?

Here's where the music reflection exercise comes in handy —

Listening to specific 70s songs really helps me feel those childhood thoughts and experiences. It makes writing from a child's perspective (for fiction) and focusing on the types of scenarios and information a child will relate to (for fiction and nonfiction) that much easier.

For example, when I hear the 1977 Hall & Oates single "Rich Girl," I might as well be lounging on a floor cushion in my best friend's Asian-themed rec room. On at least one afternoon a week, you could find the two of us there laying out our (12-year-old!) convictions about everything from what went wrong on the playground that day — to world hunger — to gender roles — to how we expected to "be" as adults. We would lament that nobody gave us credit for being the grown-ups we so clearly were. Then we'd decide to prank call Jenny,* a frosty-white-nail-polish-and-rabbit-fur-vest-wearing snot of a girl who lived in my friend's neighborhood.

Jenny spent a great deal of time looking down her new nose at everyone while divulging details of her father's hefty income, bragging about all the cool stuff she had, and coldly judging the girls who couldn't afford to dress better.

What could be a better use of two eager-to-crusade girls' after-school time than getting Jenny on the horn and blasting "Rich Girl" in her ear? Certainly not pretending to be the radio station awarding a free Big Mac to the callee who recited the ubiquitous super burger's slogan faster than anyone else. You try: "Two all beef patties special sauce lettuce cheese pickles onions on a sesame seed bun." Think you said it faster than the last guy? You didn't.

To write effectively, I need to be able to tap in to all the feelings — mature, immature, and otherwise — associated with being 12. I need to inhabit and illuminate the 12-year-old's world. A significant-to-me song from my youth helps because it drops me into a memorable situation that I can still describe 30 years later. I won't necessarily ever write a scene focused on the same situation, but I can use the energy and the insight to inform a character's motivations. Times change, yes, but kids' core experiences, feelings, and growing pains are timeless and universal. So whenever there's something I can do to bring out my genuine been-there insight about a child character's mindset or actions, I do it.

Music works wonders for me. Do you think it can work for you? And do you think it can help you identify your best age-group niche? Try taking another look at your Part 1 song list to see which tunes might drop you back into an easily describable situation. I think you'll be surprised at your own treasure trove of material.


*Name changed to protect the formerly stuck up

Finding Your Voice, Part 2

It's high time that I make good on my May 16 promise to follow up on the reflection exercises I posted in Finding Your Voice, Part 1. Up to speed now? Good. I'll continue.

A student in my recent workshop asked how I defined youth in the context of those exercises. I thought it was a great question, because I specifically chose to say "youth" instead of "childhood." For the purposes of the work, I think of youth in terms of any age from first memory to the upper limit of the age group you would like to work in as a children's writer. I hate to explicitly set parameters, though, because I want anyone trying the exercises to feel free to interpret the term broadly and respond to what first comes to mind.

As you may have guessed, the reflection exercises are geared toward getting you thinking about what you want to write, or which niche(s) you want to inhabit as a children's writer. Thinking with intention about such things as the books you loved as a young person and the children's books you enjoy today can serve as a great jumping-off point for (a) deciding whether to write fiction or nonfiction and (b) for which age group(s) you want to write. Let's face it, we all do higher quality writing when we're comfortable and interested. And the more natural/less forced your writing seems to the reader — never mind a potential publisher — the better!

I contend that songs/books/memories of youth can help you zero in on what you should be writing. To illustrate, I'll use my own experiences as an example. See whether you think you can use your responses to the reflection exercises in the same way I use mine.

About the books: Of course I can think of many specific books I loved at a number of young ages: Caps for Sale, anyone? Little Women, The Wind in the Willows, and Charlotte's Web? Every Nancy Drew mystery on the planet? But the three pieces of children's writing that stand out from all the rest — from my youth and subsequent experience with such works — are Elizabeth George Speare's The Witch of Blackbird Pond (historical fiction/literary fiction), Anne Frank's The Diary of a Young Girl (nonfiction/memoir), and Katherine Paterson's Jacob Have I Loved (literary fiction). I read the first two books in the 5th and 6th grades, respectively, and I read the third in my 20s as part of my job. I read each of them at least three times, and each one has stayed fresh in my memory.

What do those titles have in common, and how do they relate to my writing?

Well, for one, all three feature stories told from the perspective of a young teen girl. Although I do write for all age levels, I find that I'm most comfortable writing for the upper-middle-grade to YA reader. The writing comes more naturally to me than when I'm, say, writing for a very young audience.

Now that's not to suggest that you shouldn't (or that I don't) write for different age levels. If you want to, do it. A good writer who practices her craft and continually challenges herself to broaden her skills can do several things well. However, I firmly believe that there will always be one particular age range toward which any given writer gravitates.

If you are new to children's writing, you will probably want to try writing for several different age levels at some point — perhaps you'll even want to do so as a way to help you choose your path. But with some reflection and research, I think you'll find that you already know where you want to be, writing-wise.

To be continued.

Finding Your Voice, Part 1

Over lunch at the desk (turkey, Swiss, and tomato on Ezekiel bread . . . not bad, not great), I sifted through the materials for the online writing workshop I recently taught. I'm planning to stage a live version of the class sometime soonish, so I'm starting to think about what I can reuse.

The first homework I assigned is something I've used in other workshops, and I think it's fun. It's part of a series of exercises designed to help new children's writers (or those who are simply exploring the possibility of writing for children) connect with an authentic voice. See what you think. I'll follow up in subsequent posts with further related exercises and a discussion of how, exactly, you can use them to inform your writing.

Reflection Exercises
Write or type your answers to the following.

1. Note the name of the last children's book you read just because you wanted to, whatever it was — from a baby's board book to the most recent Harry Potter novel. Note when and why you read it, too. (There are no wrong answers here, folks!)
2. Write down the title of your all-time favorite book from your youth. Whatever springs to mind first. Note when you first read it and why you think it stands out for you. One title only, please.
3. List 1–10 songs (no more) that always take you back in time to your youth. See how many come to mind in a few good minutes of thinking about it. The actual number of tunes is really up to you and depends on how strongly you associate time and place with music. Whatever you come up with, please list the songs in descending order starting with the one that gives you the strongest time-machine effect.
   

Enjoy!

Speaking of Lists: Literary A–Z

Have you ever listed your Literary A–Z? I did a couple of years back, and today's earlier post made me remember it. A friend, inspired by a Maureen Dowd column, wrote:

"If you had to come up with an alphabetical list of literary references that hold the secrets of your soul, what would be on it?"

I wrote back with my stream-of-consciousness A-to-Z of well-loved literary works. A few of them may hint to personal soul secrets, but all are simply books that definitely left a lasting impression. I cheated and listed two titles for a few letters, but only when I found it impossible to weigh the relative importance of the competing titles in my life. I had to really think to get X, and that's because it may be the only thing I've ever read whose title begins with that letter. (Plus, I actually read that story for work; so the thing to learn about me there is that I read, a lot, as part of my job. I couldn't tell you one thing about the story now. Nope, not even when I strain to remember it.)

I'm pasting in my list below, exactly as I wrote it in 2005. At the time I remember telling my husband that I wanted to also do the same thing for films and songs and "children's works only." Never did any of 'em, btw, but maybe someday.

I highly recommend writing out your own list, especially if you're a writer or an editor. It really gives you a sense of what types of books stick with you — for me, it was interesting to see that I read most of the titles in my teens and 20s. I read (and enjoy doing so) just as much now, but so much of my reading time is linked with my working time that it just takes longer for me to stumble upon the kinds of works that touch me in a way that would cause me to update my list.

In any case, listing your Literary A–Z is great fun, and it provides you and others with an interesting peek at your personal tastes and, I daresay, your own unique evolution as a thinking, feeling being. Challenge your friends, kids, and loved ones to make a list too.

***********
A - Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl, Anne Frank
B - The Beautiful and the Damned, F. Scott Fitzgerald
C - The Canterbury Tales, Geoffrey Chaucer / The Chicago Manual of Style, University of Chicago Press
D - Death at Chappaquiddick, Thomas L. Tedrow
E - The Edible Woman, Margaret Atwood
F - Frankenstein, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
G - Goodbye, Columbus, Philip Roth / The Gulag Archipelago, Alexandr Solzhenitsyn
H - Harriet the Spy, Louise Fitzhugh
I - The Importance of Being Earnest, Oscar Wilde
J - Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte
K - King Midas: A Romance, Upton Sinclair
L - Les Miserables, Victor Hugo / Like Water for Chocolate, Laura Esquivel
M - “The Mask,” Guy de Maupassant / Mysteries of Winterthurn, Joyce Carol Oates
N - Night, Elie Weisel
O - Outrageous Acts and Everyday Rebellions, Gloria Steinem
P - “The Pit and the Pendulum,” Edgar Allan Poe
Q - The Quiet Man (a cheat; this is a movie based on a short story I have not read)
R - A Room of One's Own, Virginia Woolf
S - Slouching Towards Bethlehem, Joan Didion
T - To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee
U - The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera
V - The Very Hungry Caterpillar, Eric Carle
W - The Water-Method Man, John Irving
X - "X-ing a Paragrab," Edgar Allan Poe
Y - The Yellow Wallpaper, Charlotte Perkins Gilman
Z - Zone, The Dead, Stephen King (another cheat, but I stand by it!)
***********

P.S. from 4/3: I just reread the column that inspired the activity and had to laugh. It's called "Love Lit 101," and in it Maureen Dowd talks about crafting such a literary list as a Valentine's Day treat for your sweet. (She actually went out and purchased the books. I guess writing for the New York Times must pay pretty well.) The piece brought back the memory of a college beau placing a strangely goal-oriented call to me in the middle of the night. No, no, no, it wasn't that kind of call. Sheesh.

Said boy, who was very smart but not a big fan o' the books, desperately needed my help, it seemed. He wanted me to list the 10 literary works I thought he — or any well-rounded man about town — should read and be able to reference in reputation-enhancing conversations with potential employers (and, I realized in hindsight, easy-to-impress chicks). Somewhat flattered and entirely enthusiastic about the project and the prospect of him reading some great books, I said something like, "Yay, let me think about it and get back to you in a couple of days with THE BEST LIST EVER."

But he needed the list right then, you see, while we were on the phone. Said something like, "Oh, I really wanted your opinion now. Otherwise I might not think of it again."

"Well, I won't forget," I said. "Just give me a day or so, and I'll hand over a list the next time I see you."

No deal. It was do or die time. Yes, that did seem odd to me. But, nonetheless, I put on my fast-thinking cap to hook him up with his very own emergency lit list. I don't recall what all I mentioned, but I do remember being adamant that, per his man-about-town posing interests, he had to read Of Mice and Men, Catch-22, and at least some Hemingway and Fitzgerald pronto.

Here's the funny part. Our very next meeting was the break-up (which, I must admit, was loooong overdue). The guy made a surprise visit to confess that he'd started dating others (which, I must also admit, did not come as a huge surprise).

He very generously gave me the option of continuing to see him under a "new, non-exclusive plan." But I replied, "No thanks, I'll pass on that."

We said our good-byes, and he expressed his seemingly genuine surprise that I'd chosen to end things. He also chose — as the last thing to say to me after two and a half years — to thank me for the book list. (Nice.) He really appreciated it and knew he would benefit from it.

I felt so used . . . and respected . . . all at the same time. Really, when you think about it, when does THAT emotional combo ever present itself?

As the door closed behind him and I headed for the shower (to wash that man right outta my hair 'n' such), all I could think about was that list. And how I hoped he'd choke on it.

Surely some of those details could work in a YA story! Dontcha think?