Do Editors Get Better with Age?

At our monthly SCBWI meeting on Monday, I learned that Emma Ledbetter, assistant editor as Atheneum, is going to be one of the advisors at this year’s Falling Leaves master class in Lake George – and that made me smile. Three-and-a-half years ago, Emma was my mentor at the Rutgers One-on-One Conference. It was her first Rutgers -- and mine. And it made me wonder whether editors, like authors, get better with age.

Now, before anyone sees this as negative or an attack on Emma’s abilities, let me say that I have no complaints about her. I implemented one of her suggestions in my picture book, and she suggested I send it to her boss (mentioning her in my query letter), since, as an assistant, she didn’t yet have acquisition authority. But that doesn’t answer my basic question: Do editors get better with age?

It’s a truism that authors get better with age. While a few authors’ best-known works were their first books (Elie Wiesel, J.D. Salinger) that doesn’t mean it was their best work. And scores of author got better after they had a few books under their belts (Mark Twain, Stephen King, Charles Dickens, George Orwell, etc., etc.) So, what this really tells us is that writers get better with practice. The closer they get to their 10,000 hours, they better they get. But practice takes time, and time brings experience and age. Experience makes one a better writer because it gives you something to say and something to draw upon – but experience, without practice, gives you something to say without the skill to say it.

The same is true of editors. After all that education and English degrees and hundreds of books under their belt, experience makes them better editors because a good editor doesn’t just fix commas and semicolons -- she develops and massages the author’s style until the message gets out. And that is something a veteran editor does better than an inexperienced assistant. (And this is to say nothing of the relationship between author and editor, which would probably be a great topic for a future post!).

Of course, that’s true of any job, whether it’s master mechanic, carpenter, accountant brain surgeon. Time on the job makes you better -- and I’m not making some academic argument here. I was once in Emma’s shoes (and yeah, that's as uncomfortable as it sounds). That is, I got my first editing job nineteen years ago, and I’d sure like to think I’m a whole lot better now than I was then. Today, I’m the Executive Editor at AlbanyEditing. There is no way I could have handled that two decades ago.

Come to think of it, I'm sure I couldn't have handled Emma’s job at a big publisher like Atheneum then either.

Emma Ledbetter has a great reputation in the world of kidlit, and Nancy Castaldo, the Eastern NY SCBWI regional advisor, sang her praises. Since she was good three years ago, I can only imagine that she’s amazing now. And I hope to see that in person at Falling Leaves!

P.S. I'm still funding my next book through Indiegogo. Any amount you can contribute, is greatly appreciated. And the best part is, you get a copy of the book! Thanks for your donation!

Raising Money to Publish the First Children's Book on Mary Dyer

Please help me make my book Mary Dyer, Friend of Freedom a reality. The book is written, edited and formatted, but I need your help setting up an author website, creating some marketing materials and covering a few publishing costs. Any amount you can contribute to Indiegogo will be greatly appreciated. And you'll get a copy of the book and more!

So thanks for your help in putting Mary Dyer's story into the hands of young readers everywhere. She is a forgotten hero, but your contribution can change that.

Thanks!

How I Sold My First Children's Book

An unexpected way into children's literature.

There’s a saying in Hollywood: There’s the way you’re supposed to make it, and the way everybody actually made it.

The same could easily be true of kidlit. The way it’s supposed to work is you submit your work to an editor or agent, they call you back and your book is sold. That’s it – clean, simple, wipe your hands and start your next book.

But not so fast. Consider these three.

• Mo Willems went and won six Emmy’s as a writer for Sesame Street. That got him an agent. Two-and-a-half years later, he (and the Pigeon) had a book deal. That’s nearly two Emmy’s for every year he had to wait!
• Jon Sciezska got thirty rejections for his first picture book. Then he found out his wife worked with the wife of an illustrator – Lane Smith. Lane agreed to illustrate his book, and one of the editors he’d already sent it to now decided she liked it. I can’t tell you how many rules were broken here (resubmitting? Having your own illustrator? My God!), but that’s how The True Story of the Three Little Pigs found its way into print.
• Nick Bruel (Bad Kitty) was working in a bookstore when he noticed one woman always coming in and buying children’s books. When he asked her about it, she said she was a children’s literary agent. He said he had some illustrations he’d like to show her. That’s how he got his agent. No conferences, no referrals, no cold submissions. Just a book store and a lot of talent.

The story of how I got my first kidlit publishing contract isn’t so dramatic, but it does show there are other ways in the door. I answered an ad on a website. They said they were looking for writers to write children’s books about celebrities from the ‘40s and ‘50s. They already had Frank Sinatra, but were looking for others.

I thought about this for a while. I figured everyone would pitch Elvis or Marilyn, or maybe Deano to complement Frank. Maybe even the Duke. Who could I pitch that somebody else wouldn’t? Nat King Cole? Buffalo Bob? Trigger the Wonder Horse?

And that’s when it hit me – if there’s one celebrity from that era that children still know, it’s Judy Garland. Shirley Temple had faded, and so had Mickey Rooney. But The Wizard of Oz has kept Judy Garland in front of millions of kids, even today. And that’s how I pitched them.

Seven days later, I was asked to draw up an outline for the book based around the Frank Sinatra model. I did, and four days later, they hired me.

But here’s where it gets really interesting: they wanted three books at three different levels – K-1, 2-3, 4-5. The books were not going to be sold to the public, but were to be distributed to long-term care patients. And it was a flat-fee freelance job with no royalties or advances or future books.

Nothing glamorous. No pigeons driving buses; no wolves setting the record straight, or bad kitties flipping through the alphabet, just three biographies on Judy Garland. But it counts. That’s my entre into children’s publishing, and I’m thrilled to be there. It goes in every query letter I send out – you know, while I’m trying to land that editor or agent. 

Because that’s how you’re supposed to do it…

Even when you’re not.

Learning to Write From the Ides of March

It’s March 15, the famous Ides of March, the day of Julius Caesar’s death. The day when we recall high school English teachers bemoaning half-hearted attempts at Shakespeare with “Et tu, Brute?” as if we'd stabbed them heart.

Well, turns out Caesar may never have said that, but that’s good writing. Of course, it may not have been Shakespeare’s writing. This does get confusing.

Some historians say that upon being stabbed by Brutus, Caesar called out (in Greek) “Kai su, teknon?” (You too, my child?) or (Latin) “Tu quoque, Brute, fili mi?” Some say he said nothing (as he was being stabbed). I believe he simply cried out in agony.

What I’ve Learned About Writing From The Ides of March:

1.      Writing is about simplicity. “Et tu, Brute?” is far more memorable than “Tu quoquoe, Brute, fili mi?”. Even people who never had a day of Latin class, who routinely butcher e pluribus unum  and ex post facto know Et tu, Brute.

2.      Simple words can still convey complex ideas. Shakespeare again. Does anything say it better than “To be or not to be?” or “Out, out, damn spot!”  How about FDR’s “All we have to fear is fear itself”? The words of philosophers found in the mouths of three year olds.

3.      It doesn’t have to be English if it fits. A good phrase is a good phrase. People repeat “Ich bin ein Berliner” even if it could mean “I am a jellyroll.” OK, it doesn’t, but that’s a long-standing joke. And people sing La Bamba and La Cucaracha without knowing another word in either song. Either they’ve just gotten married in Mexico or like cockroaches.

4.      You don’t have to write it. Shakespeare wasn’t the first to write “Et tu, Brute.” It was in common usage and had already appeared in two other plays prior to his. If you’re more famous, it becomes your line. John F. Kennedy wasn’t the first to say, “Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country.” It was the Roman poet Juvenal, who nobody remembers. You don’t have to be first, you have to be the best. By the way, I don’t like this lesson, I’m just saying. Which, of course, is a saying I can’t take credit for. It’s already in common usage. See how that works? But if you’re Shakespeare, it’s yours, lock, stock, and barrel.

5.      Leave emotion open-ended. I’ve always been a big fan of this. I’ve been criticized for not writing how my characters say a line. Are they upset? Angry? Etc., etc. I prefer to leave it to the reader’s imagination. I think writers who routinely overemphasize a character’s emotions don't trust (respect?) their readers. After all, it turns out when Caesar said “Et tu, Brute" (or “Kai su, tekron”), he may not have been surprised by Brutus’ betrayal but rather cursing him, as in “Et tu, Brute!” Maybe Shakespeare should have given his actors a choice. Imagine the difference in that scene.

So if you’re looking to apply these lessons to children’s books: keep it simple, don’t be afraid to present complex issues (bullying, divorce, disabilities, etc.), foreign words and phrases are OK (especially if you’re trying to teach), common phrases are fine in dialogue, and you don’t need to stress every emotion (of course, in picture books, the illustrations can do that, but this rule holds for young adult, mid-grade, and early chapter books, too).

Your goal (and maybe this is a good writing assignment) is to make a line sleeker, memorable, rhythmic, yours. It’s not likely any of us are Shakespeare (or Juvenal, for that matter, though juvenile maybe), but the tricks work just the same. Make lines simpler and dialogue friendly, whether in chidlren’s books or adult stories.

It worked for writers of their caliber. Why not for us lesser talents?

So think about your favorite lines. Can they be rewritten according to this  formula?

P.S. ( I may have to explore this idea further. By formula, one should know if a line is good. It should hit you. Yet too many writers take twisted, convoluted – dare I say gobbledygook – to be good writing. Shouldn’t be a problem in kidlit, but you’d be surprised.  Sometimes I wonder what the heck I was thinking. And that’s the problem with formulas or as Caesar and Juvenal would have said, formulae…)

Writing for Children vs. Writing for Adults

A polite response to Martin Amis...

Martin Amis writes compelling, complex prose. That doesn’t make his oral arguments convincing. 

 

During a recent interview on the BBC’s Faulks on Fiction, Mr. Amis dismissed writing for children as “anathema to him.” Why? Because in his view, “fiction is freedom and any restraints on that are intolerable.” Fair enough. Of course, by not writing for children, he’s placing restraints on himself. He writes for adults, generally a certain kind of adult, which is its own restraint.

 

Of course, in fairness to Mr. Amis, he did say he’d write for children if he had “a serious brain injury.” Well, I hope it wasn’t too serious, but I think there must have been a small brain injury somewhere along the line.

 

Follow me here…

 

Writing for Adults vs. Writing for Children 

1. Mr. Amis, I doubt any editor has ever said to you, “This is juvenile! Are you writing for seven year olds?” but I have had my editor say, “This is a bit too adult. Could you tone it down?” And do you know why no editor has told you that, Mr. Amis? Because you’re writing with an audience in mind, and that audience is adults. Otherwise your work would be a scattershot, cob-jobbed piece of fiction. It’s not, because you place restraints upon yourself. Your audience may be a reflection of you, or it may be a wide range of adults you wish to reach or offend or transform, but they’re certainly all out of short pants. Now, I know my audience, too, generally boys 3-8, but like Mr. Amis, I like when people outside that narrow demographic read my work. Yes, Mr. Amis, we children’s authors write for a particular audience, just like you, even if you don’t recognize it (and yours doesn’t curl up with a parent to enjoy delightful stories and breathtaking artwork).
2. I am sure, Mr. Amis, that most parents sensibly shield their children from your work, even their teens, but writing Young Adult means getting to have an adult fan base. Sometimes a rabidly adult fan base. Just ask J.K. Rowling, Stephanie Meyer, Rick Riordan and plenty of others. We get to transcend audiences, rather than write for that specific audience you openly crave.
3. Anything you can write, we can write, too. Oh, the language is different, but the subject matter can be just as difficult. You can be serious? So can we. Funny? Yep. Satirical? You betcha. Dramatic? Of course. Our characters run the gamut of emotions, and if you read YA, you'll notice they have plenty of adult thoughts on sex, suicide, revenge, drugs, alcohol, you name it. If you want to dismiss picture books as unworthy, they've covered death, disease, gay marriage, gay adoption, racism, sexism, physical challenges, mental challenges and well, you get the picture. Yes, the stories are aimed at children, but for children to enjoy and discuss with adults.
4. You write for minds that are already shaped; we write for minds that are being shaped. Psychologists say our personalities are hard-wired by the age of four, no later than six, anyway. You're generally writing for people who agree with you; we're writing for those experiencing the world anew. As a case in point, someone who reads one of your books but doesn't like it is unlikely to pick up another one you've written. A child who doesn't like one of our books may love the next one. That next book is new to them, or perhaps they grew into it.
5. To sum up, Mr. Amis, one can easily extrapolate your argument to say that you don't write for a specific audience. That you write for adults, correct? Adults of every shape, size, and stripe, while we foolishly limit ourselves to children. Oh, and their parents. And grandparents. And teachers. And librarians. Of all shapes, sizes, and stripes. Sounds to me, Mr. Amis, like you're writing for a very narrow audience, while we keep a very large audience in mind.

Of course, that's getting a bit far away from your original point. You meant adult fiction provides freedom within the context of the story, and perhaps we are a bit limited in what we can say and how we can say it, but we are less limited in imagination and far less limited in audience. I will take that trade.

I'm sorry this is so long-winded, Mr. Amis, like one of your novels. I write pithy, sparse picture books where every word, every punctuation and pause, has to matter. I feel they do here, too.

I've written for children and adults, without casting aspersions on either. I enjoy both. All I will say is that the audience is different and the stories are different, but then you know that because you restrain yourself by writing for adults. Good luck with that. I'll keep writing for children, with this caveat -- your audience is not anathema to me because I welcome them. You cannot welcome mine.

Great Picture Books Featuring Man's Best Friend

In honor of the Westminster Kennel Club's 135th Dog Show (roughly 945 dog years), here's a list of some of my favorite picture books starring our lovable friends.

1. Best in Show: How could I not pick The Poky Little Puppy, the bestselling children's book of all-time. Sure, it had a headstart on the other contestants, seeing how it was published in 1942, but it remains a favorite among  children today. This adorable pooch repeatedly escape troubles until his siblings see that he gets caught in the end. What child hasn't gotten away with something for a little too long before getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar? A great book from Janette Lowery and the folks at Simon & Schuster.




2. Best of Breed: Clifford the Big Red Dog. I don't know what breed he is. Looks like an Irish Setter that swallowed a Saint Bernard, but he's certainly the best of his breed. Norman Bridwell's dog, star of the printed page and the small screen, is a giant among pups.

3. Biggest Litter: Go, Dog, Go. Dogs in cars. Dogs in trees. Dogs racing everywhere, and in crazy hats. P.D. Eastman found plenty of fun things for his cartooned canines to do in this energetic early reader.

4. Best Trick: Martha Speaks. It's a common trick. Teach your dog to speak. Maybe a deep woof or a high-pitched yap. But in this series, Martha speaks in complete sentences and is willing to explain the big words to you. Susan Meddaugh brings the joy of words and self-expression to little readers who hope they can teach their four-footed pals to "Speak!" like Martha.

5. Best Behaved: City Dog, Country Frog. Okay, so this picture book has more than just a dog, but City Dog learns a lot from Country Frog: friendship, fun, patience, loyalty. Great qualities for man's best friend, in real life or on the page. Intricate watercolors from John Muth really capture the simple words of Mo Willems, who takes a serious turn for a change.

6. Most Playful. How Rocket Learned to Read. Another book featuring interspecies friendship. Rocket is just that -- a ball of energy bursting to play, until an imaginative bird teaches him the joy of reading by creating stories around Rocket's adventures. When the bird flies south for the winter, Rocket learns to read on his own. Tad Hills' playful pup just might give your youngster the confidence to read on his own, too.

No surprise, there are just too many great dog books to name in a simple post -- Nick Bruel's Poor Puppy, Mark Teague's LaRue series, and on, and on. If you have a favorite, please add it below. But first... a bonus pic!

Johnny K, 8 months old & trying to figure out Clifford.

Hope to add my own to this list someday. Thanks for reading!