Is "Real" Life Depressing?

by Kerry Blair

My oldest son is taking a class in creative writing at Arizona State. He is more into the whole "writing thing" than I ever was -- or could ever be. Because Scott is as analytical as he is creative, he calls or writes after every class to discuss the whys and wherefores of the craft. Frankly, he hasn't changed much over the years. As a child, he couldn't just watch mutant teenage turtles execute impossible ninja moves, he had to verbally explore the concept of good vs. evil in the sewers, discuss character motivation and development, and enlist my aid in dissecting every plot line. (That last thing wasn't too hard, what with them all being pretty much the same.) When he wanted to know what the big rat represented, metaphorically speaking, I locked myself in the bathroom until the series ended and he moved on to Babylon 5. (Finally! Modern electronic lit worth talking about!)

Recently, he has been exposed to a great deal of short fiction that he's found rather depressing. Since he's about to give up on me for spirited conversation -- let alone insightful, intelligent response -- he suggested that perhaps I open the issue up to blogdom in hopes that some of you would discuss it all with him. He wrote:

Realistic fiction short stories (especially in my writing class) tend to have negative endings. I asked my teacher why and she decided that would make a good class discussion. She wrote: Scott brought up an interesting question, and I'd like us to consider it as a class. In response to some of the stories we've read for class and to many of the stories written for workshop, Scott wonders, Can realistic fiction be written with generally upbeat characters and end "and they lived happily ever after?" He says, "It bothers me that I can't remember any attempts or examples of realistic fiction stories that help the reader hope, love, or just generally be happy." What do you guys think? Do you agree with Scott? Are stories generally sad? Why or why not? Can you think of a "happy" story? Is it easy to apply these labels to stories? In thinking about this, it might help to reconsider why we read fiction, or what you think stories try to do/express."

With about a third of the class responding thus far, no one has been able to come up with a single example of "happy" realistic fiction. Instead they've written things like "One forgets his sorrows in weeping for another." (William Butler Yeats)

Me again. So, what think ye? Let's not only consider short stories -- there aren't enough published to really discuss -- but fiction in general. Over the last twenty years I've watched a broad swath of mainstream young adult fiction take a nose dive into depressing "realism." While Janette Rallison (bless her!) has been Playing the Field, and Taking the Ex Out of Ex-Boyfriend -- and others have turned our thoughts toward magic -- many highly acclaimed writers have been exploring date rape, depression, teenage pregnancy, incest, and suicide. What with it being almost impossible to pull "happily-ever-after" scenarios out of those topics, they mostly don't try. What are they trying to express to the youth of the world, do you think?

And, not to further depress myself, but don't you sometimes think there is a growing tendency in our market to lean toward the Yeats camp? How often is popular LDS fiction -- even that dealing with sensitive issues -- dismissed as "fluff" because of "sugar coating" or endings of "unrealistic" salvation and/or hope? Must novels be "edgy" to also be "real"? If man is to have joy, and we know that, why are we then suspicious of it when we find it in novels?

Final questions: Why do we read fiction? What do we hope to accomplish in writing it? Scott needs to know. And I'm a little curious now myself.

The Title of Julie

by Julie Coulter Bellon

I have an announcement.

*drum roll please*

The name of my new book that is being released in the spring has been handed down from the powers that be at Covenant. It will not be anything that I chose or suggested, (which is sort of sad for me because I have been able to name all of my novels so far and I had gotten attached to the one I’d given to this one, but oh well) and the new name will be:


DANGEROUS CONNECTIONS


Ta-da!

What do you think? Does it sound suspenseful? This is the book that takes place in France so I think it sort of reminds me of Dangerous Liaisons, but oh well. The book is about a French DGSE agent who comes upon information about an imminent terrorist attack, but before she can get the intel out, she is caught and imprisoned. Her brother comes to save her, he is shot and needs a doctor, and they meet up with, yep, you guessed it, Tyler Winthrop from my book All’s Fair. Tyler gets caught up in the international espionage and makes a few dangerous connections, so I guess that’s where the title is coming from. It’s growing on me. I heard that if you say the title a thousand times you’ll love it. I’m working on that. I’m sure I’ll love it once I see it on the cover. There’s something about the cover with the title that always makes it look good. (I hope I didn’t jinx it by saying that.)

So, in book production news, we’re moving right along. I’ve been working on the character guides and pronunciation guides for Dangerous Connections (it will be released in April I heard) and it’s always fun to go through your manuscript and write down every character that speaks in your novel and what you think their voice sounds like. It’s not easy to come up with descriptions after a while, especially if you have a large cast. You have strong voices, firm voices, powerful voices, whiny voices, pinched voices, stressed voices, etc. etc., but sometimes there are voices that are hard to describe. I think I need to start training myself to listen to voices and describing them. That will make this process easier, I think, and only scorch my brain when I try to do it, instead of fry it altogether.

Doing the pronunciation guides for me hasn’t been a picnic either because I have a lot of foreign language stuff in my books. The last book had a lot of Iraqi names and places in it, and to tell you the truth, I don’t have Iraqi dictionaries in my home, so I turned to the net. I learned a lot by doing that, actually, and can now pronounce a lot of words that make me sound smart at parties. The new book has a lot of French in it, and thankfully I already speak French so that wasn’t as hard (and a big thank you to my editor friend Meredith who is fluent in French and double checked all my stuff!) Making it something that a potentially non-French-speaking reader can pronounce was a bit dicey, but at least I knew what I was talking about this time and could make things clear. At least I think I did. We’ll see if the reader thinks so.

I’m really excited for the new book to come out and thrilled that it will be on CD as well. There is just something about listening to my book that gives me goosebumps. Hearing someone read the words that come from my imagination is an experience only matched by when I saw my book actually on a store shelf for the first time. It’s surreal, to be sure, and something to write in the journal.

So there you have it. Dangerous Connections. Think about it. Love it or hate it. But look for it in stores in April 2010.

Merci beaucoup.

Boo!

by Stephanie Black

In the immortal words of Charlie Brown, “Well, another Halloween has come and gone.” Which brings up the question—what kind of a neighborhood does that boy live in, anyway? I mean, honestly—rocks?

The Charlie Brown special is pretty depressing story-wise—poor Linus—but I still like it because it looks so Halloweeny—pumpkins and ghosts and colorful fall leaves and other cool visuals. I’ve always loved Halloween and Halloween decorations—the cute ones, not the icky ones. I really would prefer not to decorate with anything that simulates dripping blood or severed or decomposing anything. My youngest daughter gets freaked out by the gory decorations in stores, though as she gets older, she’s less easily rattled. And this year she could watch the Charlie Brown special without crying. Last year, she hated it--not because Lucy is a major snot and Linus misses trick-or-treating, but because of the part where Snoopy is the World War I Flying Ace and Schroeder plays the songs that make him homesick and he cries. She’s very sensitive to the moods of music.

This year’s costume roster for the offspring was as follows: fairy queen, skeleton, rugby player (though his ears were intact, so it wasn't completely authentic), Little Red Riding Hood, cat. The Red Riding Hood and cat costumes were worn by the same teenage daughter, one when she was helping out at the Stake Halloween Carnival, and once when she was working Boo at the Zoo. She also got to dress up as the zoo mascot, an alligator whose name escapes me, and lead the costume parade. She had fun wearing the giant alligator costume and having little kids come hug her around the knees.

Speaking of the trunk-or-treat, this had become a huge event. The stake has a big carnival followed by the trunk-or-treat. There’s only one problem: holy moley, it takes a TON of candy for that many trick-or-treaters. I brought somewhere between 250-300 Tootsie Pops this year and we blew through them in about 25 minutes. One of these years, I’m going to resort to handing out single Smarties. Not single rolls of Smarties. One Smartie each. The next year I’ll do individual Tic-Tacs, followed by single grains of sugar.

There are no sugar shortages around our house this year, but, sadly, there are no more Reese's Peanut Butter cups in my candy bowl. Note to self: next time, make sure the candy-hander-outers put the Reese’s into the bowl last.

My sons got big hauls of candy from trick-or-treating this year (my older daughters are too old for trick-or-treating—one is at college, and the other stayed home to hand out candy) and my youngest daughter petered out after a while—she’s young and she was a little sick (a cold that morphed into croup). But my youngest son hauled home six pounds of candy, and my oldest had seven. Good thing they apparently inherited their father's strong teeth.



Hmm . . . I'm feeling pretty hungry, and we have some Almond Joys left . . . or I could have an apple . . .

Faith Among Shadows

A couple of weeks ago, I had the opportunity to do a book signing at the grand opening of the new Ogden Deseret Book store. I was actually pretty excited to see the new store (which is incredible!) and to chat with Jason Wright (who is also pretty incredible!) But as I arrived at the store, I noticed a man in a dark suit who had attracted quite a circle of people. Easing toward the crowd, I heard a tale that at first sounded like a new LDS fiction title. It involved international military. snipers, near-death, and ultimately conversion.

Then I realized that this wasn't fiction at all. In fact, it was the true-life story of the man telling it. This was my introduction to Malcolm Leal. Of course I bought the book, Faith Among Shadows, and took it home to read at once. Several things struck me as I read what could easily have passed for fiction, but is completely true. First, how the spirit can reach us in some of the most unexpected circumstances--like seeing the missionaries for the first time through the scope of a sniper rifle, or feeling the touch of God while close to death from a bullet to the head. We are never far away from the Sprit if we let it touch us. Second was that this is truly an incredibly well written book. My understanding is that Malcolm first self-published this, and then it was picked up by Cedar Fort. Yay for them. This is a work that definitely needs more exposure.

Malcolm says this is the only book he will write, but with this kind of skill, I hope he's wrong. Here is the synopsis of the book.

Cuba remains and dark and inscrutable country that has made 10 million of its citizens prisoners, cut off from the outside world for more than 40 years. In Cuba, religion and tradition fuse in a mix of superstitions rooted in history. For the average Cuban, God is just an abstraction. For all practical purposes, in Cuba today, there is no God or religion.

Bur for Florencia, it is quite different. She has found “her” God in the pages of a battered Bible left behind a century ago by unknown hands. She has come to know God, to trust Him, and to rely on Him for everything. Florencia cares for her family in a small fishing village on the north coast of Cuba. She teaches her great-grandson Malcolm about faith and her God, while opening his young mind to truths that seem incomprehensible to everyone else.

Florencia speaks with longing about the Temple “promised to all people” in the writing of Isaiah, and about the need to find “men that walk with God like unto Moses.” She unfolds for him the Gospel of Jesus Christ, pointing out that there is no church as described in the Bible anywhere in Cuba. She recounts her fruitless trip to Israel in 1949 in search of temples and prophets. She returned sad and disappointed but her faith never wavered. She knows that truth lives elsewhere and that, with faith, her grandson will someday find this truth.

Malcolm joins the Cuban military at age 17 is thrust into the Central American Civil War of the 1980s as a Cuban military intelligence officer. There he comes face-to-face with unimaginable carnage and destruction, all before he is 21 years old. He sees his friends die again and again and wonders why the God of his grandmother spares him continually. As a special operations unit, they train insurgents, smuggle weapons, supplies and people across the world. They play a deadly cat and mouse game eluding the CIA counter-insurgency hunter force for seven years in the jungles of Central and South America.

War takes him across 3 continents and 27 countries in covert operations. Among the death and destruction of war he also finds ruins of magnificent beauty buried in the Amazon jungle, rivers like oceans and remnants of civilizations all but forgotten. On a quiet afternoon in the highlands of Guatemala, across the viewfinder of his sniper rifle, he sees the white shirts and ties of young men said to preach of Jesus to the natives. He marvels at the insanity or heart felt dedication of these barely-more than children. The memory of this chance encounter will linger for years in Malcolm’s mind.

Malcolm survives several gun shot injuries, a helicopter crash, a boat accident, and a sniper’s bullet. His search for freedom and the God of his grandmother will bring him to America and the truth she often spoke of when he discovers the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

Malcolm's blog is here

Here is a link to order the book from Cedar Fort

Happy Halloween (Share Your Costume Story)

by Sariah S. Wilson

Just got back from the two hour candy spree with our little ones. The youngest two made it about an hour (it's very cold here, and they were very bundled up. The baby came back and enjoyed having a bottle while picking up pieces of candy because of the sound they made, and our daughter helped her dad pass out candy at the door, where she was very terrified of anyone in a mask). The next oldest made it about a half hour longer, and my oldest son and I were out until the bitter end.

My oldest son wanted to wear a costume similar to one I had worn as a child. Growing up, we were not a pick out your costume early and get something cute and nice. We were more of a what do we have around the house that we can make into a costume sort of family (and sometimes a what could mom sew for us family).

So one year when I was about ten, there wasn't a costume I could wear. There hadn't been time for my mother to make anything for me, and here it was the night of the ward party and I had no costume. Growing up, we had the awesomest ward Halloween parties that I've ever been to. Real booths with fun prizes, a huge set up, all these cookie and cupcake decorating stations, a haunted house in the primary room that the youth went all out to make - I still have very vivid memories of going to those parties.

The costume contest was always fun too, but of course, we never won.

Feeling panicked over not having a costume, my mom came up with a brilliant idea. She had me dress all in black, took an old vampire costume cape and tied it over the top of my head. She handed me a plastic pumpkin and said I was the Headless Horseman.

That year - to everyone in my family's shock - I won the costume contest (only time I've ever done so in my life).

My oldest son thought that was a great story and wanted to be the Headless Horseman.

And that lasted about two minutes tonight before he decided that wouldn't work (and was probably much better suited to a party environment than a trick or treating one). With a little face powder and red lipstick he became a vampire instead.

The other kids - one was a professional baseball player (where he wore his baseball uniform from last spring with a piece of paper attached to it that he had written the word "professional" on) our little girl was "Briar Rose Princess" (Sleeping Beauty), and the baby, who has the distinction of being the third son, wore the triceratops dinosaur costume his two brothers had worn before him (as long as they don't care, they're getting hand-me-downs. When he gets old enough to care, I'll let him pick out his own costumes).

Did you dress up this year? Have you posted any pictures of your kids' costumes? (If you have, put a link in the comments if you'd like to share with the group.) Or post and tell us your memory of your favorite costume growing up.

Through The Looking Glass

by Julie Coulter Bellon

It’s been a busy week. My sewing machine and I have been going like crazy. I made my daughter a beautiful Alice in Wonderland costume that I’m pretty proud of and I’m just putting the finishing touches on it today. Sewing is something I didn’t think I was particularly good at, but I can’t tell you the satisfaction I’ve received seeing this little creation coming out of my efforts. To start with a basic knowledge of sewing and a few yards of fabric, that ends with a beautiful satin dress and apron fit to be worn in public is like a minor miracle for me.

It’s sort of like writing a book. I start with an idea from a snatch of a news story that gets my imagination working overtime and I start jotting down plot ideas and thinking about characters. The blank page becomes cluttered with words as I try to express what my imagination has come up with, and before I know it, the manuscript is done. I tweak here and there, just as I did to custom fit the dress I made for my daughter, and hopefully meet all my deadlines. Of course, for Halloween, the deadline is only two days away and I finished with time to spare.

Generally with my writing, I don’t finish with time to spare. I get addicted to revising and I keep on tweaking right up until the deadline. That’s usually how I stop revising. When the deadline is here, I have to stop. With the costume, however, I’m grateful I finished with time to spare so I’m not stressing about it. Well, I stressed a little last night since I bent the needle and was having bobbin issues, but with the help of my husband, I was able to figure it out, fix the problem and finished the apron without any more mishaps. Which is sort of like writing. I like having someone to help me fix the problems, like my writing friends I talk with and fix plot/character issues with, because they understand the workings of a writer’s mind. And it makes the process a lot more fun.

Of course, the process ends when you show your book off in public and hope it turns out like you imagined it would. I think it almost always does, but I worry still about people liking what I've done, etc., just like I’ll worry a bit about the costume. I mean, I think it looks like Alice in Wonderland’s dress (but I'm a bit prejudiced) and my baby will be an adorable white rabbit to go with Alice, what could be more perfect? I’m actually sort of thinking about being the Queen of Hearts. (I thought about making two of my sons be the Cheshire Cat and the Mad Hatter, but when I floated the idea to them, they gave me the look that said I had been sewing a little too long and so I gave up on that.)

But if I was the Queen of Hearts, then I could go around saying, “Off with their heads!” Which, (since I’m relating this to writing) is something that I’ve thought about saying after a particularly bad review. Haha. Just kidding. Sort of. I’ve learned a lot from reviews, that’s for sure, and I try to improve. Just like with sewing. I’ve learned a lot from this project and if I ever do it again, I will be better. I hope. But if not, I can look at this dress fondly and know that I did it. I jumped in, I learned, and I tried my best. And that’s all anyone can ask for when they take a peek into the looking glass

It's In! And More Milestones

by Stephanie Black

I did it! I finished my manuscript and submitted it! Hooray! (Apparently I’m channeling Dora the Explorer. “We did it! We did it! We did it! Hooray!” What I need now is a snail mariachi band to play a fanfare). So the book is in, and now comes the part where I wait to see what they think of it.

Eek!

Since submitting a manuscript seems like a milestone-ish sort of event, I think it’s time for another Writing Milestone post. When I left off last time (okay, it was in June—I’m not exactly consistent with these posts) I had spent nearly a year rewriting The Believer to try to make it more LDS and less sci fi so it would appeal to Covenant’s market. I resubmitted it. And crossed my fingers and waited.

If I could pick a period of my life I would love to relive, that period in winter 2004 would NOT be it. I was worrying about the book—would it be a go this time? (That’s one of the distinctly un-fun thing about being a writer—you can work and dream and hope for years, and then you wait, knowing that your hopes could collapse in the time it takes to read the first few lines of an e-mail). In addition to book worries, I had just been called as Primary President, which was a new and daunting thing for me. And I was pregnant, and it was looking iffy. I’d had a second-trimester miscarriage a few months earlier, and now wasn’t sure if this new baby was going to happen. Not fun. (But it did go well, for which I’m very grateful—that baby is now in kindergarten).

Angela, the editor working with me, had told me if I hadn’t heard back by March 1st, to feel free to contact her. March 1st came and went. Being an insecure and ignorant newbie, I kept waiting (you can bet your last piece of Halloween candy—I mean your last good piece, not that piece of banana Laffy Taffy in the bottom of the bowl—that I wouldn’t wait now. I’d be e-mailing at 12:01 AM on March 1st). But I was shy and clueless and told myself, well, I have heard from her—she’d sent me an e-mail a month earlier asking for a bio form--and maybe that counted as hearing from them, so maybe I shouldn’t e-mail and pester them yet . . . yes, this is how my scared little newbie paranoid brain worked. Finally, ten days later, I couldn’t stand it any longer, and e-mailed Angela. We were living in Ireland, so we were seven hours ahead of Utah time. I sent the email in the afternoon (my time), then waited until after what I guessed would be the start of business hours in Utah, and checked my e-mail.

There was an e-mail from Angela.

Oh wow.

I opened it.

Her first line was a question—had the managing editor called me? My book had been accepted! I shrieked the news to my daughter. I called my husband and my mother, and celebrated by getting a sinus infection. Who knew sinus infections were so painful? Actually, we probably went out to dinner at some point to honor the occasion, but with my not-so-stellar memory, I can't remember details.

Learning that my book had been accepted for publication was a dream come true. For years, I’d worked and yearned, and now it was happening. They were going to publish my book. If I had to pick one Most Significant Writing Moment, that moment would probably be it. There have been many other awesome writing moments, but that milestone of climbing over the wall between unpublished and published was pretty momentous.