I’m off to NCTE in San Antonio, TX Thursday morning. On Friday, I will be involved in a panel entitled “Engaging the Disengaged: Taking the Boring out of Books for Boys.” Boys’ literacy is a hot topic these days (because it’s in the tank), so we’ll be talking about picking books for boys, writing for boys, and motivating male readers. Being male and frequently unmotivated, I am an ideal expert.

For those of you who might be coincidentally walking by in your “Davy Crockett Died Here” tees, I will also be signing books at the Random House booth (#313) at 3:30pm.

Let’s say that you are more than a dreamer. You’ve actually finished a story. Now that you’ve finished it, you’re eager for feedback. You show it to friends. They read through it, and (just as you suspected), it turns out that you’re a genius. They all loved it. So did your mom. At this point, you should be growing suspicious. Is it at all likely that you’ve written the perfect book? Bet against it.

Where’s the criticism? You should be begging for it. You should want resistance. You should want people to try to tear your work down. You should want people with slender fingers and long nails pick, pick, picking at your cheap sweater. Read the rest of this entry »

What literary influences/ancestors spawned 100 Cupboards?

I’ve already talked about the situational cause of this series (that late night chat and wifely challenge). But that was the story equivalent of knocking over a large pot of boiling, goopy somethings. But what were those somethings? Who put them in the pot, and why was the burner cranked so high? I blame it all on my parents. And on my teachers. But then my parents were both my teachers at some point or other, and they helped start the school where I simmered K-12. So it all lands on them.

I will now practice a little self-discipline and see if I can let a poor, exploited metaphor go. Unlikely. Read the rest of this entry »

What gave you the idea for 100 Cupboards?

A few years back, a college buddy of mine (holler, Mark Beauchamp) dropped by for some nostalgic laughter. The hour got late and the caffeine was flowing. At some point in the evening, while discussing his innate need to salvage strange things (and how that need affected the overall aesthetic charm of his apartment), he threw out the phrase: “One Hundred Little Cupboards.” I latched onto it, responding with something like, “That sounds like a book title.” Now, to be quite honest, I would have let it die right there.  We both would have happily moved on, and the snappy book title could have gone to live where thousands of other snappy book titles had gone before. But instead, my wife chimed in. She laughed. Her eyebrows showered skepticism. “A stupid book,” she said. “Who would read a story about cupboards?” Read the rest of this entry »

I’m told that a blog is a lot like a houseplant. Some people get way too involved in their special spider fern and the thing ends up taking up more than just all of their time. It takes up half of the living room and replaces the loveseat. I (let’s be frank), am not in danger of becoming one of those people. When I leave town, I won’t be asking anyone to water my little, green friend. I will let it wilt and expect it to immediately recover when I’ve come home and dumped a bucket of water on it. Worse, when I haven’t even left town, I’ll still occasionally let it wilt and expect the same post-bucket recovery. Which is what I’m doing now. The Chia Pet hasn’t had water in a week. I promise to be a better pet plant owner.

Incidentally, now that I’m an old hand at this blogging thing, I’m suddenly feeling entrepreneurial. I have aspirations. I dream of a business called Blog For Me. I will gather a stable of writers, and then take clients too lazy (or busy) to blog, but who are desirous of all the immense gratification that comes from watching web stats rise, pie charts swell, and comments flourish. These lazy people will forward all photos and news items to their assigned ghost-blogger, who will then over-romanticize humorous, coy, and empathetic narratives around them.

I’m sure ghost-blogging for a random high school personality would be more interesting than keeping the traditional self-blog.

Regardless, I’m back. And tonight I will play Mozart to my Chia Pet. Tomorrow, I will scurry around, moving it from sunlit sill to sunlit sill. I’m even planning an earth-shattering post.

Congratulations Ree (with thanks to random.org). You are the proud owner of a shiny Dandelion Fire. Close your eyes and soak in the applause.

As for the rest of you, I have three more copies to give away over the next couple months. Stay tuned.

Thank you all for piling in on the Dandelion Fire giveaway. Sheesh. This is officially my last call for entries. I’ll finalize October’s giveaway on October 8th at 11:59pm (PT) and announce the decision of the Random Number Generator shortly thereafter. Pip-pip, and thanks again for the enthusiasm.

I haven’t been doing this writer thing long. Yes, I’m a relative rookie. And yet, despite my rookieness, everywhere I go, I end up in conversations with various people who would like to be doing what I’m doing and want to know what pearls of wisdom I might be able to give them in order to improve their chances of success.

Honestly, these conversations are in large part responsible for why I let myself get talked into blogging. I know I’m not capable of ladling out silver-bullet profundity that will automatically anoint the furrowed brows of hopeful writers with the warm shininess of success. [Sidenote: I apologize for the previous sentence. But it still make me smile.] I don’t think anyone can do that. But I can point out some of the more obvious things that have been unfortunately overlooked by many of the aspiring (with whom I have spoken). In other words, nothing can guarantee success, but any number of things can guarantee failure.

While I fully intend to be as constructive as I can, I’m kicking off this series of posts with some hard (but hopefully helpful) shots of negativity. So lick that salt off your wrist, and then brace yourself.

If you wanna be a writer, do not become a . . . Read the rest of this entry »

Dandelion Fire (Book 2 of the 100 Cupboards) officially releases on February 24. That’s when the general public will find the book in stores. In the five months twixt now and then, one or two or maybe three (who knows, four ?) people will discover their latent specialness. My fab publicist (thank you, Meg O’Brien) is sending me Advance Readers Copies to give away here.

Dandelion Fire is fatter than 100 Cupboards (which means I should say, “I’m sorry,” or “You’re welcome,” depending on the reader). It’s bigger in scale and scope, has a shiny cover, I like it, and I’m going to give away the first one now.

If you want it, all you have to do is leave a comment here (one comment only, please), and surrender your fate to a web-based random number generator. The winner will not be chosen by merit, but by destiny.  Next week, I’ll give someone their due.

What’s with all the classical allusions in Leepike Ridge? And what allusions am I missing?

These are variations on a question I usually field from those among my readers who happen to qualify as “adult.” Librarian types. Teacher types. Friendly parent types. And as it just cropped up again in ye olde bloge comments (shout out to Ben Hoyt, Kiwi), I thought now would be the time to fire up an answer.

I’ll start by telling a little story about me. (Thrilling, yes?) One night, while brushing my teeth, with every intention of schlumping off to bed, a line occurred to me. That line was the first line of Leepike Ridge:

In the history of the world there have been lots of times and lots of onces and every time has had a once upon it. Read the rest of this entry »