Inklings
Rejection. Even Dr. Seuss?
A lost, unpublished Dr. Seuss book has surfaced. (Well, it’s a book idea. Click New Suess to see.)
I would so wear these.
Dr. Seuss turned learning to read on its head, never to be the same. He taught me how to read, and I still love him with all my heart. So I eagerly looked at the scans and comments of this unpublished book, along with the remarks from his publisher.
I find it utterly unbelievable that the publisher would reject this book instead of suggesting a revision. I mean, come on, the book would be a guaranteed sell. The publisher said it was dumb that the main character fumbles balls instead of catches them, and that would put off the readers. Okay, even if that’s the case, how hard would it be to suggest altering the pictures? But he doesn’t.
Maybe Dr. Seuss would have said, no, I want it to be THIS way. There are plenty of little boys who fumble balls and I want it like THIS.
But he isn’t even given the opportunity. That is a crazy publisher. Or did I miss something?
plotting. one good way.
It worked for her.
Plotting the Order of the Pheonix:
This is the most fascinating image I’ve looked at in a long time. I love seeing into the mind of J.K. Rowling. There’s so much of this I love. Look at the timeline! The various plotlines charted and kept organized! Chapter titles! Click on the image to see it bigger: zoom in. Look and learn, people.
**gush**
Brilliant.
confidence
photo
I went to a writing workshop Friday and Saturday. I learned some great stuff.
Along with how to shape a scene and to play nice in the author sandbox, I also learned something about myself.
I used to suck everything in at these things. After all, pretty much anyone in the world knew more about writing than I did. But this time, I listened, thought, and then decided I actually disagreed with something that was being taught. (not you, Annette or Josi)
There’s a certain confidence that wasn’t there before. Maybe I’m not an infant writer anymore. Maybe I’m actually a toddler now.
The fact that I feel all kinds of awkward saying that shows how much a baby I still am.
editing. endless.
photo credit
Wednesday I read pages written by my critique group, red pen in hand. They’re great writers, so there wasn’t much to fix. Just a comma here and there, a funny little misspelling, a viewpoint that needed to be gently pointed back in the right direction.
Later, I found myself editing my closet–taking out summertime clothes, things that no longer fit, things that no longer please me. Fixing a dangly button. Ironing a blouse so it was smooth.
Then, my Wednesday piano students started to arrive. I realized I was editing again. Guiding a hand into the proper shape. Correcting a misplaced note. Making things more harmonious. Shaping a phrase.
I didn’t realize pretty much everything I do is editing.
she asked nicely, so I did.
So I know this author-girl, Tristi Pinkston, who is nothing but nice. We met online, but when I got the chance to meet her in person last year, she was exactly as advertised. I felt we were instant friends.
She asked me to post this thingy on my blog, in exchange for a similar bit of code on her blog, so here it is…your chance to get to know Tristi too.
Tristi Pinkston has been blogging since 2006. On her main blog, (http://www.tristipinkston.blogspot.com) she covers everything from writing tips and the life of a published author to kid funnies, spiritual thoughts, and embarrassing moments. She also has a weight loss blog, one for writing challenges, another for her fictional characters … and she lost count of how many others she has. You can find the links for them on her sidebar.
Tristi is the author of five published novels and a whole kit ‘n caboodle of unpublished novels. Right now she’s focusing on cozy mysteries, although she has written historical fiction in the past and plans to write more in that genre. She works as a freelance editor and a virtual book tour coordinator. She loves taking long naps, being charmingly annoying, and watching good movies. She’s a Mormon, a homeschooler, a Cubmaster, and most of the time, a headless chicken.
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