Fusion of Image, Audio and Word - Paradigm Shifts and the Future of Children's Lit

I just finished two books that incorporate innovative forms of content beyond the printed word (and no, I'm not talking about digital ink, either). I'll get to those titles in a sec, but first I wanted to take a litle trip down Memory Lane, to the good ole days of 2007 and a little known book called The Invention of Hugo Cabret. Of course I'm being facetious. If you're one of about a dozen people who haven't heard or read this book, do it. But the point I want to make about Brian Selznik's "massive," 533-page middle grade novel is this: it won the Caldecott. You might recall that the Caldecott is awarded for illustration of a children's book.

Wait a minute. A novel winning an award for illustration? Well, yeah. And at 25K words, it's an easy guess (if you haven't read or seen the book yet) what fills those 500+ pages.

Selznik's book wasn't the first to mix word and image, but I think with the Caldecott win, it really ushered in the idea that the novel as we know is evolving to become more mixed media. (This ignores, for the moment, that graphic novels, or GNs, have been becoming more and more popular and complex of late. But GNs are separate thing altogether. I'm talking more about how the traditional novel is changing.)

Without a doubt, we are well along in a revolution where the written, printed word is becoming heavily encroached upon by images, video and audio content. And while traditional novels (both paper and ebook) will be around for a long time to come, they will have to compete more and more with stories that incorporate mixed media.

For example, I just finished Malice, Chris Wooding's paranormal 68K-word mixed novel/graphic novel. The interesting thing about this book is that, while the story could easily stand on its own, the graphic novel really adds a new dimension that children today will connect with, especially boys. And if that gets them to read, great. Remember, to publishers more readers means more sales.

The other book is Patrick Carman's Trackers, released last week, about a group of four teen tech geeks. The story follows an interview of the MC as he recounts the events leading to the present (I'm being purposefully coy here to avoid giving anything away). The book could be read from cover to cover without leaving its pages, but the reader is cued to logon to a website, enter codes, view videos and crack codes, thus becoming a participant in the story.

It's an interesting concept and a challenge for the traditional writer to consider. Will it be successful? In my opinion, as long as the reader has to physically leave the comfort of their chair/bed/hammock or whatever, no. But we are fast approaching an age where all these sources of content will soon be available all at once and from a single device. I think stories where the reader (soon to become "audience participant") can seemlessly shift between the active experience of reading and the passive experience of watching/listening, while also enjoying a little bit of both in interactive ways too, will become more popular.

Why is this happening?

I don't think this has anything to do with shorter attention spans or being bombarded with information from a hundred different sources all at once, or sensory overload. I think it's only natural to want to experience things more fully. And if a story can be experienced more fully (which is not to say totally passively, as films do), then it will succeed.

What does this mean to the author of next generation stories?

Well, first and foremost, I don't think it has to mean anything to any one author. As I said before, traditional books will be around for a long, long time. But they will compete with mixed media going forward. I think authors of children's lit content should keep all this in mind. Writers should think about whether and how they should access these new media to assist them in telling their stories, whether through image, video, audio or whatever comes next (olfactory?). Do you see an opportunity to turn your novel into a mixed novel/GN or tie-in the internet for expanded experiences?

Before You Query - Epilogue

Apparently my checklist on querying was a huge internet sensation (I even found a rapper reading it on YouTube, but I seem to have lost the link. Hem).

Anyway, found this post at GotYA (WHAT JANET REID IS REALLY THINKING: TOP FIVE REASONS (THERE ARE MORE) WHY JANET AND HER AGENT-POSSE-FRIENDS TURNED YOU DOWN) and thought it was priceless, a perfect antithesis to my post.

Enjoy.

Before You Query - A Checklist

Anyone who’s done a fair amount of submitting is guilty of sending a query out to an agent or editor misaddressed, poorly targeted, lacking one thing or another... whatever. Blame it on cutting-and-pasting. Blame it on being bleary-eyed. Blame it on swine flu. It happens. It sucks. Get over it.

So what are you going to do to make sure you minimize future mistakes?

Okay, first off, I’m not even going to attempt to distinguish what makes a well-written query and what makes a crappily-written one. There are ample examples of both floating around the internet by people better qualified to write and crit them and, besides, a lot really depends on what you’re submitting and to whom. But while writing a good query letter is certainly an art form, it is also a matter of skill and discipline. And that’s where I think I might help. All it takes is a simple, reliable quality control mechanism, and what better than the checklist?

In this sample QL/CL (query and cover letters share some basic “manufacturing” attributes that allow the same QA principles to apply to both), I’ve highlighted the problematic areas (click image for larger version). Use the checklist to ensure your QL/CL doesn’t fall victim to “rookie” and other careless mistakes.

□ 1. Are you using plain white 8.5"x11" paper?

No colored or gilded or handmade paper and envelopes.
If you have pre-printed letterhead, make sure it’s professional. Fancy or gimmicky won’t float you to the top of the slush pile, and it may even get your sub thrown away without consideration. Also, do not include bribes, money, fruit baskets or anything other than your manuscript pages and SASE (if consistent with submission instructions).
And as regards envelopes, the general rule is if you’re sending less than four sheets (including the CL/QL), it’s acceptable to bi-/tri-fold and send in a smaller envelope; if four or more sheets, send unfolded (either in an envelope or box).

□ 2. Did you include your real name, address and date?

No pennames (you may get away with it if you’re already published and established under that identity, but then again, if you are, then this checklist isn’t for you anyway).

□ 3. Are you targeting your submission?

If you’re subbing to agency, you absolutely must target your letter to a specific agent. “Ms. Agent” or “Mr. Agent” won’t cut it. If you’re subbing to a publisher, unless you have prior dealings with a specific individual or public knowledge that said individual is accepting submissions (for example, if published in SCBWI Bulletin or PW, etc.), it probably is better to send to “Editor” or some variation thereof.

□ 4. Did you explain why you’re writing them?

A simple head’s-up saying this is a query, the type of submission and title of your work is critical.

□ 5. Are you addressing appropriately?

As with #3, above, make sure you’re addressing the right person, using the right gender titles. In this day-and-age of cut-and-paste, it’s easy to make a mistake. Use “Dear Mr.” and “Dear Ms.” rather than “Dear Firstname.” And never “Hey X” or some other such silliness. Be respectful. This is a business letter. If you don’t know the specific name at a publisher, just address “Dear Editor.” It’ll get to wherever it’s supposed to go.

□ 6. Have you customized your submission?

You’re sending your work to this particular agency/publisher for a reason, aren’t you? If not, just give yourself a big “R.” So, if you are, tell them why. Maybe it’s the type of clients they take on, or the titles they publish. Whatever the reason, it has to be relevant. You want to connect; you want your work to connect. One without the other won’t cut it.

□ 7. Are you providing the basic information about your submission upfront?

Repeat the title (or a keyword of it, if it’s long), estimate your word-count (just use the word count feature in your word processing program and round to the nearest thousand for longer works), and indicate the genre. Oh, and it damn well better be complete and polished. Anything less and you’re just embarrassing yourself.

□ 8. Have you made your pitch?

Only thing I have to say is, make your summary brief. Your QL/CL should be about a single page. You don’t have to include every detail, just enough to hook your targeted audience. Note: synopses are extended summaries and can extend for several pages, but are often separate from the QL/CL. This is not the place to explain why you wrote the piece or provide an analysis of it.

□ 9. Is your bio relevant?

What makes you qualified to write the work? What previous related experience do you have? Have you published in this or closely related genres? Do not, dear god, say that your kids or neighbors or dog loved your work. You’re just insulting the person you’re addressing your letter.

□ 10. Are you including all the necessary materials?

If they ask for three chapters, send them three chapters. If they ask for ten pages, send ten pages. My only caveat to this is when thirty or more pages are requested. In these cases, I would try to send as close to the requested number of pages while avoiding cutting scenes and chapters off. If your chapter ends on page 32, send the extra few pages. If fifty pages are requested but your chapters end on pages 46 and 57, either send 46 or find an appropriate place to cut in the middle of the next chapter.
As far as SASE’s go, include when requested with the appropriate amount of postage and make sure it’s addressed to you, not the agency/publisher.

□ 11. Close with respect.

I think this explains itself.

□ Bonus.

Recheck, recheck, recheck. And then, after you've rechecked, recheck again.

Nuff said.

WRT: The Importance of First Words - What Does Your Character Crave?

It's a rookie mistake to introduce your main character as a flawless, perfectly content human being. Who cares? Well, you do. You love your protagonist and you don't want anything bad to happen to him. But your reader does. That's what makes your reader come back for more. There are two things you, as a writer, will naturally resist doing to your character.

1. Make them want something.

2. Put obstacles in their way to getting it.

The first is called Craving, and it's what I'm focusing on today. It's what compels your character to act, and what compels your reader to connect. Which is why it's so important to define what your MC wants very, very soon after you introduce them.

In Markus Zusak's Fighting Ruben Wolfe, Cameron Wolfe, Ruben's brother, is the narrator. In the book's opening page, we find them at the track making illegal wagers on the dogs:

A girl walks past.
Jesus, I think.
"Jesus," Rube says, and that's the difference.

Zusak immediately shows us the kind of person Cameron is. He idolizes and wishes he could be more like his older brother. This is how Zusak sets up the story, which we know almost from the start (if you haven't read the jacket blurb), entails an eventual boxing match between the two Wolfe brothers. Zusak helps us connect with Cameron by showing his weaknesses, because, like the rest of us, we all wish we were better and stronger and smarter than reality reminds us we are. (Although the next First Lines subject is about conflict, it's worthwhile to point out the irony in how Zusak provides it here: in order for Cameron to prove he's more like his brother, he'll have to beat him).

In the English translation of his book, the invisible, Mats Wahl tells us in the very first sentence what minor character (but the story's focus) Hilmer Eriksson wants:

It was on one of the first days of May that Hilmer Eriksson discovered he had become invisible.

It's obvious what Hilmer wants: to be visible. Why? And is he really invisible? And if so, what made him invisible? We shortly discover that Hilmer is missing, later presumed dead. During the investigation, Hilmer "haunts" the novel's main character, Inspector Fors. Which leads to an even greater craving by Hilmer: he wants to know what happened, for his disappearance to have meaning. Who among us hasn't at one time or another feared disappearing without leaving some kind of trace behind, for our lives to have meaning? (In fact, I would have to say that that is one reason so many of us write.) Reminds me of a quote by Jim Morrison (of Doors fame): "The appeal of cinema lies in the fear of death." It's what makes the invisible so appealing to read.

So, dear Writer, make sure you know and show what your main (and even secondary)characters want in your story's First Words.

Next time: Conflict.

Happy RoadTripping.

WRT: The Importance of First Words - Character Clues and Cues

I see a lot of writers write about when and how to introduce characters into a story (not too many too soon, provide unique clues to aid the reader, avoid multiple characters whose first names share the same first letter, etc, etc ...). One thing you don't see a lot of is how do you use character introduction - and I mean in the first paragraphs of your first chapter - to help readers connect with the story and to provide a sense for where the story is going to take them.

Most likely you, as the writer, will want to introduce your main character(s) very, very soon after the reader opens your book to that magical first page and reads, "Chapter One." There are exceptions to this general rule, of course, but unless you're intentionally delaying this critical introduction for a very good reason, then seriously consider adhering to this guideline.

To see how successful authors introduced their characters, let's look at a couple examples, randomly pulled from my bookshelf.

Here's the first paragraph from Kim Edwards' The Memory Keeper's Daughter:

The snow started to fall several hours before her labor began. A few flakes at first, in the dull gray late-afternoon sky, and then wind-driven swirls and eddies around the edges of their wide porch. He stood by her side at the window, watching sharp gusts of snow billow, then swirl and drift to the ground. All around the neighborhood, lights came on, and the naked branches of the trees turned white.

We meet the story's two main characters immediately, husband and wife, not by name (in fact, we never learn their names until Chapter Two), but by a sense of how they see the world. How does Edwards clue us into the wife's character? The imagery she uses is soft, low-contrast, gentle ("snow started to fall" "few flakes" "dull gray" "swirls and eddies"). In contrast, the husband is cold and unfeeling. He watches out the window (why isn't he watching his wife as she labors to have their children?). He comes to us in a sentence where the first adjective is "sharp." Not directly defining him, but those "sharp gusts" tell us how he sees the scene outside that window. Interestingly, Edwards uses the same word twice ("swirl/s"), surprising us with our contrasting response to it (first, as something soft; second, as something cold). In those first four sentences, we have everything we need to know in order to move forward with the story.

The opening line of Jeffrey Eugenides' Middlesex is:

I was born twice: first, as a baby girl, on a remarkable smogless Detroit day in January of 1960; and then again, as a teenage boy, in an emergency room near Petoskey, Michigan, in August of 1974.

Eugenides deftly uses contradiction to tell us about his main character. First, he emphasizes the miracle of a smogless Detroit day to underscore the mistake of Calliope Helen Stephanides' birth. He then tells us that she became Cal in a venue we associate with accidents: the ER. How does this make the reader feel? Sympathetic. Why? The idea of a transgender main character is enough to make most people squeamish (even more a decade ago when this was written). And yet, by giving us some insight into Cal's mind, we can't help but feel sympathetic.

Do your character introductions fall flat? Do they provide a sense of the person you mean them to be without actually describing them in such terms? Do you help your readers connect with your characters by showing their flaws, by giving them something to yearn for, by making them human, no matter how foreign the subject matter might be to the reader?

Speaking of yearning, that's the subject of the next FIRST WORDS discussion: CRAVING.

WRT: Importance of First Words – Context, China Rabbits and Cold Blood

Following on the heels of last week’s post about Prologues, I wanted to expand on the importance of first words and the things you, as an author, must do with them to make a reader (i.e., agent/editor and, eventually, the buyer) want to invest time in your book.

What must you accomplish with your first words? In simple terms, hook your reader. Sounds easy, but the HOW of doing that ends up being a bit tricky. Why? Because no two readers are alike, and it’s impossible for you to satisfy all of them all of the time.

However, there are a few basic things you can do to increase your chances of helping the reader quickly connect in some meaningful way with your story. I like to think about CONNECTING with your reader in terms of four more C-words: CONTEXT, CHARACTER, CRAVING and CONFLICT.

Today, I’ll talk a bit about Context.

So, what is it and what do I mean by it? Context is essentially the basic information your reader needs to orient themselves in your story. Not providing it is, well, disrespectful. Why? You don’t want your reader feeling lost and adrift from the very start of your story, do you? There’s nothing more disorienting than picking up a book, begin reading it, and having to wait to find out where the heck the thing’s set. Stories that begin with a whole bunch of dialogue and very little else fail in this way.

Think of it this way: You’ve just thrown reader into a whole new world. Whether it really is a different universe, a different planet, country, town or mindset, without providing context, you’ve essentially blindfolded your reader. Not good. You reader is bringing a lot of baggage along with him, all his worldly belongings of preconceived notions and a moving van of expectations. And if there’s no place to put that gold and purple couch with the silk tassels in your story, your reader is going to get awful tired real quick and leave. So, whether it’s in a submarine, in the mind of a comatose eleven-year-old, or a distant planet, you must provide some immediate clues to the setting so your reader knows where he can stand and put his stuff. Or, more importantly, where he can put your character.

Unfortunately, it’s not as simple as saying: "This story takes place here at a time when…."

Boring. Here’s your best opportunity to put your reader in the proper frame of mind, without letting them know you’re doing it.

Let’s look at a couple very different examples. I’ve chosen Kate DiCamillo’s THE MIRACULOUS JOURNEY OF EDWARD TULANE and Truman Capote’s IN COLD BLOOD.

Here’s the first sentence in EDWARD TULANE: "Once, in a house on Egypt Street, there lived a rabbit who was made almost entirely of china."

We know immediately where we are and can pretty much guess a lot more than DiCamillo provides: this is a house in which a child probably lives or once lived. We can guess that the family that owns the house is fairly well to do, perhaps well traveled, given that the address is somewhat exotic and the rabbit is made of china rather than plastic or fabric. We also know that this will not be a story set squarely in the real world, but probably somewhere where the lines between reality and fantasy are blurred. Why? Because this is a world where a made china rabbit lives.

IN COLD BLOOD begins: "The village of Holcomb stands on the high wheat plains of western Kansas, a lonesome area that other Kansans call ‘out there.’"

Brr. Can’t you just feel that cold wind blowing? Capote provides such a sense of utter isolation and desolation so extreme that even those who live nearby have difficulty saying much about it. But this lack of detail has the complete opposite effect on the reader: it provides all the information you need to understand the story as it unfolds.

Let’s break it down a bit more: The use of ‘village,’ for example, is intentional. It evokes images of a cluster of buildings, loosely connected. An outpost. It is also an old word, connotative of pilgrims, of simple living under harsh conditions. And harsh they are. The village ‘stands,’ as if in defiance. This is not going to be a touchy-feely story. But unless you’ve been living under a rock and bought the book without a cover, you already knew that.

Which is actually beside the point. The point is, the writer invites the reader into a different world, provides clues as to the type of world it is and the kind of story they’re telling. That’s context.

Next time I’ll talk about introducing your Character(s) to your readers.