My husband and I have never been big fans of reality TV shows.
No Bachelor or Biggest Loser or American Idol for us.
We're sit-com people.
We strive to escape reality at the end of the day, not live someone else's.
But, for some reason, we got hooked on The Voice.
It was our own little secret last year, our private indulgence.
We'd record it when it aired and wait until the kids were all in bed.
Then we'd pull out a bottle of wine and enjoy.
It was a wonderful season.
So we were thrilled to return to our routine when the second season began after the Super Bowl. I even saved a good Merlot for the occasion and bought my husband his favorite hefeweizen, anxious to become immersed in the world of Adam, Cee Lo, Christina and Blake.
Then, about halfway through the second night of auditions, the inevitable happened.
One of our 5-year-old identical twins, Jonathan, sneaked down the stairs, unable to sleep and slipped into the recliner with his father.
Minutes later, he was in love with The Voice.
The Voice has since become a family affair with the twins and their older siblings all eager to watch.
Jonathan and his twin, Matthew, are so enamored, they sing the theme song constantly. After listening to it over and over again on the way to preschool and back today, I decided to interview them about their latest passion.
Here it is:
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Monday, February 13, 2012
The learning curve
Way back in the old days when I was I was still a querying virgin, I stumbled upon an online discussion about the number of novels writers completed before they were published.
A talented few were published immediately.
Most had written two or three books before their writings went public.
But a surprising number kept writing even after half a dozen novels were rejected.
I scoffed.
That will never be me, I thought.
If the first novel wasn't published before the second one was finished, I was sure I would have deemed myself a failure. All the stamina would be gone, all the excitement, the fervor, the self-confidence. There was no way I could go on.
Yet here I am working on my third novel while the other two have yet to see a bookshelf.
And what shocks me is that I am more confident, more excited, than ever before.
This is why.
The first published novel sets the tone for a writer's career. It also starts the timer for the completion of another work and then another and then another. The pressure is on and learning curves can be incredibly dangerous if they are taken too fast.
Those who want to make careers of writing cannot afford to make mistakes early on.
At least not publicly.
I made mistakes and, thankfully, they were neither permanent nor public.
Better yet, I learned from them.
Like so many before me, I was too excited by my first novel to sit on it for a while. I rushed into queries before all my beta readers had finished. When the verdict came in, the errors were glaringly obvious to me. I couldn't believe I had queried it.
I cut characters, revised the first half and tried again.
It worked.
But then came more mistakes.
I signed with an agent who was not a good fit for me. I wrote my second novel too fast. I approached my third novel with sales figures in mind instead of focusing on the story I wanted to tell. I was letting ego overrule passion.
Again, I stepped back and re-evaluated.
I needed to slow down.
I terminated my contract with my agent and started the hunt again, taking a more cautious approach this time around. I revised my second novel and entered the first novel into a contest that targets the appropriate agent/publisher audience for its genre.
I ditched several chapters of my third novel and started over again, being true this time to my desire to write a mystery that is both suspenseful and worthy of the term "literary." I am so much happier and my passion has recovered its strength.
With two completed novels and a third underway, I have more choices and more experience.
I learned a great deal about the business in my two years with my first agent, who is wonderful person and was always willing to talk with me about such things. I am not sure precisely where I want to take my career, but I know where I don't want to be.
And, in this business, that knowledge is equally important.
I look back at that woman who scoffed at the thought of banking completed novels and try to see her with a sense of humor. At the time, I also thought I had a pretty good handle on parenting with two young kids close in age.
Then came a surprise set of twins.
The twins have taught me that I have a lot to learn and that the learning never ends.
Writing multiple novels has provided the same kind of lesson. Balance is key in this business just as it is in every other aspect of life. With each mistake, I have gained confidence -- confidence that has led to positive change. That confidence comes not with perfection, but with the ability to see and correct those mistakes and to learn from them.
The twins opened my eyes as a parent.
The novels opened my eyes as a writer.
A talented few were published immediately.
Most had written two or three books before their writings went public.
But a surprising number kept writing even after half a dozen novels were rejected.
I scoffed.
That will never be me, I thought.
If the first novel wasn't published before the second one was finished, I was sure I would have deemed myself a failure. All the stamina would be gone, all the excitement, the fervor, the self-confidence. There was no way I could go on.
Yet here I am working on my third novel while the other two have yet to see a bookshelf.
And what shocks me is that I am more confident, more excited, than ever before.
This is why.
The first published novel sets the tone for a writer's career. It also starts the timer for the completion of another work and then another and then another. The pressure is on and learning curves can be incredibly dangerous if they are taken too fast.
Those who want to make careers of writing cannot afford to make mistakes early on.
At least not publicly.
I made mistakes and, thankfully, they were neither permanent nor public.
Better yet, I learned from them.
Like so many before me, I was too excited by my first novel to sit on it for a while. I rushed into queries before all my beta readers had finished. When the verdict came in, the errors were glaringly obvious to me. I couldn't believe I had queried it.
I cut characters, revised the first half and tried again.
It worked.
But then came more mistakes.
I signed with an agent who was not a good fit for me. I wrote my second novel too fast. I approached my third novel with sales figures in mind instead of focusing on the story I wanted to tell. I was letting ego overrule passion.
Again, I stepped back and re-evaluated.
I needed to slow down.
I terminated my contract with my agent and started the hunt again, taking a more cautious approach this time around. I revised my second novel and entered the first novel into a contest that targets the appropriate agent/publisher audience for its genre.
I ditched several chapters of my third novel and started over again, being true this time to my desire to write a mystery that is both suspenseful and worthy of the term "literary." I am so much happier and my passion has recovered its strength.
With two completed novels and a third underway, I have more choices and more experience.
I learned a great deal about the business in my two years with my first agent, who is wonderful person and was always willing to talk with me about such things. I am not sure precisely where I want to take my career, but I know where I don't want to be.
And, in this business, that knowledge is equally important.
I look back at that woman who scoffed at the thought of banking completed novels and try to see her with a sense of humor. At the time, I also thought I had a pretty good handle on parenting with two young kids close in age.
Then came a surprise set of twins.
The twins have taught me that I have a lot to learn and that the learning never ends.
Writing multiple novels has provided the same kind of lesson. Balance is key in this business just as it is in every other aspect of life. With each mistake, I have gained confidence -- confidence that has led to positive change. That confidence comes not with perfection, but with the ability to see and correct those mistakes and to learn from them.
The twins opened my eyes as a parent.
The novels opened my eyes as a writer.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Long Story Short: upholding the oral tradition
Most every journalist, at least the old ones like me, has heard of Studs Terkel.
The man was amazing.
He painted portraits of World War II, the Great Depression, race relations, celebrities, criminals and every day American life and people with words.
But he rarely used words of his own.
Terkel was an artist of oral history.
He knew how to get people to open up -- whether for his books, for radio or for television. He knew how to listen intensely and compassionately and how sift through what was said and what was not said for what was true.
He did not simply conduct interviews; He had conversations.
Conversations that brought history alive.
Studs Terkel died in 2008 at age 96, leaving a huge void in the journalism world and in the tradition of oral history. Just that year, I had started working on a nonfiction book in which I tried to emulate his style. I was saddened.
It felt like a huge loss.
So I was pleased today to find a link on my twins blog to the work of Larry Horowitz, owner of Long Story Short, a company that creates video biographies. Someone wanted me to see a video interview he had conducted with 77-year-old identical twins.
The video and the women are amazing.
Horowitz gently guides their conversation, but he does so with few words.
He lets the twins do the rest.
It reminded me of Studs Terkel.
Horowitz spent 20 years as a video and film editor in the advertising business, where he edited commercials for companies such as P&G, Coca-Cola, L'Oreal and AT&T. He left the industry to follow his own passion, to create something more intimate, most lasting.
He had uploaded his interview with the twins to YouTube, where it attracted the attention of the folks at Walgreens. The sisters landed a role in a Walgreen's flu shot commercial. That role led to talk appearances on Dr. Phil and the Rosie O'Donnell show.
All because Larry Horowitz let them speak, honestly, openly and without nervous inhibition. He didn't have to tell viewers about their bond. He let the two women show it. And the result is powerful. So much like the work of Studs Terkel.
Thank You, Larry Horowitz.
The man was amazing.
He painted portraits of World War II, the Great Depression, race relations, celebrities, criminals and every day American life and people with words.
But he rarely used words of his own.
Terkel was an artist of oral history.
He knew how to get people to open up -- whether for his books, for radio or for television. He knew how to listen intensely and compassionately and how sift through what was said and what was not said for what was true.
He did not simply conduct interviews; He had conversations.
Conversations that brought history alive.
Studs Terkel died in 2008 at age 96, leaving a huge void in the journalism world and in the tradition of oral history. Just that year, I had started working on a nonfiction book in which I tried to emulate his style. I was saddened.
It felt like a huge loss.
So I was pleased today to find a link on my twins blog to the work of Larry Horowitz, owner of Long Story Short, a company that creates video biographies. Someone wanted me to see a video interview he had conducted with 77-year-old identical twins.
The video and the women are amazing.
Horowitz gently guides their conversation, but he does so with few words.
He lets the twins do the rest.
It reminded me of Studs Terkel.
Horowitz spent 20 years as a video and film editor in the advertising business, where he edited commercials for companies such as P&G, Coca-Cola, L'Oreal and AT&T. He left the industry to follow his own passion, to create something more intimate, most lasting.
He had uploaded his interview with the twins to YouTube, where it attracted the attention of the folks at Walgreens. The sisters landed a role in a Walgreen's flu shot commercial. That role led to talk appearances on Dr. Phil and the Rosie O'Donnell show.
All because Larry Horowitz let them speak, honestly, openly and without nervous inhibition. He didn't have to tell viewers about their bond. He let the two women show it. And the result is powerful. So much like the work of Studs Terkel.
Thank You, Larry Horowitz.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
How Daniel Abraham made me laugh: A Private Letter from Genre to Literature
Among the most difficult dilemmas I have faced since I began writing fiction is determining a genre for my first (unpublished) novel, Spring Melt.
Is it crime?
Is it historical?
Is it courtroom drama, women's fiction, commercial, literary or commercial with a literary edge?
I have no clue.
Its complexity complicates the querying process.
Will agents be turned off by my mention of one genre and my dismissal of another?
Will publishers market it to the wrong audiences?
Oh, the stress ...
So when I stumbled across this -- A Private Letter from Genre to Literature by Daniel Abraham -- today, it brought me great comic relief.
I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.
Just click on the paragraph below to access the full letter:
I saw you tonight. You were walking with your cabal from the university to the little bar across the street where the professors and graduate students fraternize. You were in the dark, plain clothes that you think of as elegant. I have always thought they made you look pale. I was at the newsstand. I think that you saw me, but pretended not to. I want to say it didn’t sting.
Is it crime?
Is it historical?
Is it courtroom drama, women's fiction, commercial, literary or commercial with a literary edge?
I have no clue.
Its complexity complicates the querying process.
Will agents be turned off by my mention of one genre and my dismissal of another?
Will publishers market it to the wrong audiences?
Oh, the stress ...
So when I stumbled across this -- A Private Letter from Genre to Literature by Daniel Abraham -- today, it brought me great comic relief.
I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.
Just click on the paragraph below to access the full letter:
I saw you tonight. You were walking with your cabal from the university to the little bar across the street where the professors and graduate students fraternize. You were in the dark, plain clothes that you think of as elegant. I have always thought they made you look pale. I was at the newsstand. I think that you saw me, but pretended not to. I want to say it didn’t sting.
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