Creating Esther

After numerous submissions to publishers and agents, I decided to self-publish my second middle-grade historical novel. Once that decision was made, it took over a year to get it out there, primarily because of problems with the cover. The first cover designer I hired was over-committed. Then, after I found somebody else to do the front cover art, medical issues slowed the process down. But I’m happy to announce that Creating Esther is now available for purchase from Amazon and other retailers, and you can also read it on Kindle.

Here is the back-cover blurb.

Twelve-year-old Ishkode loves her life on an Ojibwe reservation, but it is 1895 and the old ways are disappearing. Can a boarding school education help her fight back, or will it destroy everything she believes in?

And don’t get confused when you see the author’s name. I use Kaye Page for my middle-grade fiction.

Over the next few weeks, I’m going to repurpose former blog posts from when I was researching and writing Creating Esther. I’m not fool enough to claim that they aren’t intended to promote the book, but I’m also smart enough to know that my blog readers desire—and deserve—more. By giving you insight into my writing process, I hope to educate and inform my readers about some of the tougher decisions a writer has to make—especially when writing outside her culture.

Next week I’ll start by describing my reading research.

Story Over Message

I’ve been reading Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe. It’s an easy read for a book published in 1719, but many passages are mini-sermons. That may have been the fashion in the 18^th Century but bores today’s readers—or at least this one. Fortunately for me (and unfortunately for Defoe), those sections are easy to identify and skip.

Many authors—including me—want their books to convey a message. My first two middle-grade historicals have protagonists who come from different cultures than I do. I wanted my readers to understand two seemingly contradictory but very real truths: (1) that we are all the same under the skin and (2) our cultural heritage is an important part of who we are and should be celebrated rather than suppressed. But if I had stressed that, my readers would have decided the books were dull and put them down before the message sunk in. Or they would have skipped over the lectures. Either way, the message would be lost.

So what’s a writer to do? I try to make the story primary and the message secondary. Think of Aesop’s Fables and fairy tales. The tortoise beat the rabbit because he worked steadily and didn’t slack off. That’s a message, but we remember it because of the story. “Beauty and the Beast” teaches us that it is what is inside that matters but, again, we remember the message because of the story.

I’m not saying you can’t have a message in mind when you write your book. I do. But without a compelling story the message will never get heard.

The same is true for other lessons. One reason I write middle-grade historicals is because I believe it is important for today’s children know about their history. But my readers want a story, not a lecture. When I wrote Desert Jewels, I wanted to show everything that the Japanese Americans went through during World War II when they were forced to leave their homes and move to internment camps. Unfortunately, that goal was unrealistic. There were some events and circumstances that I couldn’t weave into the story without bogging it down, so I had to leave them out. I probably still left in a few things I shouldn’t have, but hopefully the story is strong enough that my readers will forgive me for those slips.

By the time I sent Creating Esther to my middle-grade beta readers, I was doing better. However, I still wanted to show everything about how my Ojibwe protagonist lived before she went to a white-run boarding school, and that goal was unrealistic, too. This time I had the sense to ask my beta readers to point out those passages that sounded like lessons, and they did. The final version either reworked those parts or left them out.

Fiction isn’t a textbook or a sermon. If it is written that way, readers will put it down. And they should.

So if you want your readers to learn something new, put story over message.

Brushing Teeth and Cleaning House

In the last two weeks I saw several of my old colleagues from the Indiana Writers’ Consortium and had a good time visiting with them. During the six years that I ran the IWC blog, I wrote many posts that I never reprinted here. Now that IWC has disbanded, I’m trying to change that. Today’s post originally appeared on the IWC blog on September 18, 2013.

Brushing Teeth and Cleaning House

People look at a picture of a toddler cleaning a toilet and say, “Cute.” Replace the toddler with an adult, and they say, “Who cares.” Fiction works that way, too.

Every scene in every novel—or in any type of writing, for that matter—must have a purpose. In fiction, the scene should either develop a character or move the story along. Everyday details that do neither make the story boring.

I don’t want to read about a character’s morning routine. In fact, I assume it’s pretty much like mine. He gets out of bed, uses the toilet, brushes his teeth, takes a shower, gets dressed, and so on. You don’t have to tell me any of this.

As mentioned above, however, there are two exceptions. I’m willing to pay attention to details that show me something interesting about a character or advance the plot. But even then, I only want those details that make the point.

The mere fact that a protagonist brushes his teeth every morning doesn’t tell the reader a thing. But if you show him brushing them exactly 100 strokes, we might conclude that he is obsessive. And no, I don’t want to count every single one with him.

As a reader I don’t usually care to intrude on a character while she is getting dressed. But I’m interested if she gets up at two o’clock in the afternoon, rummages through the dirty clothes hamper, and pulls on a pair of rumpled jeans and a stained T-shirt without taking off her pajamas. And if she goes to the store that way, so much the better.

Similarly, I don’t usually like to watch the protagonist clean her house. Still, maybe you want to show that she’s a cleanliness freak who wrestles with every piece of heavy furniture so she can pull it out and clean behind it, a sloppy person who only dusts the furniture that is in direct sunlight, or a bored person who cleans an already clean house because she has nothing else to do. Even those characteristics may not matter to the story. If they do, show us the details. But if they don’t, leave them out.

You can also use otherwise mundane details to move the plot along. Maybe your protagonist cleans house and discovers the murder weapon just before the police knock on her door with a search warrant. Or maybe the antagonist injected the tube of toothpaste with poison and the protagonist is one step closer to death every time he brushes his teeth. One caution in the second situation, however. You probably don’t want the protagonist to know he is being slowly poisoned, but the reader needs at least a clue. Otherwise, you can’t count on the reader staying with you until you reveal all.

Do you have Facebook friends who tell you every routine detail about their day? I hide those people from my news feed, and you probably do, too. Nobody wants to read about mundane things like brushing teeth and cleaning house. Not usually, anyway.

If it doesn’t aid the story, leave it out. If it tells me something I need to know, make it interesting.

Because excessive detail creates a book readers won’t finish.

Drama on the Erie Canal

As I work on the first draft of my Erie Canal book, Muddy Waters, I have been looking for circumstances and events to bring tension to the story. There are plenty of opportunities for drama, but they are created by humans rather than by nature. The canal was shallow, the current was sluggish or nonexistent, and boats were always close to the banks, so realism eliminates icebergs and hurricanes on the high seas.

Realism does, but humor doesn’t. Many songs of the day made fun of the sedentary waterway, and the then popular “The Raging Canal” was one of them.  Mark Twain added his own voice by paroding “The Raging Canal” in Roughing It. He was no poet but was the consummate humorist, as you can tell from “The Aged Pilot Man.”

“The Aged Pilot Man”

On the Erie Canal, it was,

     All on a summer’s day,

I sailed forth with my parents

     Far away to Albany.

From out the clouds at noon that day

     There came a dreadful storm,

That piled the billows high about,

     And filled us with alarm.

A man came rushing from a house,

     Saying, “Snub up your boat, I pray

Snub up your boat, snub up, alas,

     Snub up while yet you may.”

Our captain cast one glance astern,

     Then forward glancéd he,

And said, “My wife and little ones

     I never more shall see.”

Said Dollinger the pilot man,

     In noble words but few,—

“Fear not, but lean on Dollinger,

     And he will fetch you through.”

The boat drove on, the frightened mules

     Tore through the rain and wind,

And bravely still, in danger’s post,

     The whip-boy strode behind.

“Come ‘board, come ‘board,” the captain cried,

     “Nor tempt so wild a storm;”

But still the raging mules advanced,

     And still the boy strode on.

Then said the captain to us all,

     “Alas, ‘tis plain to me,

The greater danger is not there,

     But here upon the sea.

“So let us strive, while life remains,

     To save all souls on board,

And then if die at last we must,

     Let . . . I cannot speak the word!”

Said Dollinger the pilot man,

     Tow’ring above the crew,

“Fear not, but trust in Dollinger,

     And he will fetch you through.”

“Low bridge! low bridge! all heads went down,

     The laborimg bark sped on;

A mill we passed, we passed a church,

     Hamlets, and fields of corn;

And all the world come out to see,

     And chased along the shore.

Crying, “Alas, alas, the sheeted rain,

     The wind, the tempest’s roar!

Alas, the gallant ship and crew,

     Can nothing help them more?”

And from our deck sad eyes looked out

     Across the stormy scene;

The tossing wake of billows aft,

     The bending forests green,

The chickens sheltered under carts,

     In lee of barn the cows,

The skurrying swine with staw in mouth,

     The wind spray from our bows!

She balances!

She wavers!

Now let her go about!

     If she misses stays and broaches to,

We’re all”—[then with a shout]

“huray! huray!

Avast! belay!

Take in more sail!

Lord, what a gale!

Ho, boy, haul taut on the hind mule’s tail!”

“Ho! lighten ship! Ho! man the pump!

     Ho, hostler, heave the lead!

And count ye all, both great and small,

     As numbered with the dead!

For mariner for forty years

     On Erie, boy and man,

I never yet saw such a storm,

     Or one ‘t with it began!”

So overboard a keg of nails

     And anvils three we threw,

Likewise four bales of gunny-sacks,

     Two hundred pounds of glue,

Two sacks of corn, four ditto wheat,

     A box of books, a cow,

A violin, Lord Byron’s works,

     A rip-saw and a sow.

A curve! a curve! the dangers grow!

“Labbord!—stabbord!—s-t-e-a-d-y!—so!—

Hard-a-port, Dol!—hellum-a-lee!

Haw the head mule!—the aft one gee!

Luft!—bring her to the wind!”

“A quarter-three!—‘tis shoaling fast!

     Three feet large—t-h-r-e-e feet!—

Three feet scant!” I cried in fright

     “Oh, is there no retreat?”

Said Dollinger the pilot man,

     As on the vessel flew,

“Fear not, but trust in Dollinger,

     And he will fetch you through.”

A panic struck the bravest hearts,

     The boldest cheek turned pale;

For plain to all, this shoaling said

A leak had burst the ditch’s bed!

And, straight as bolt from crossbow sped,

Our ship swept on with shoaling lead,

     Before the fearful gale!

“Sever the tow line! Cripple the mules!”

     Too late! . . . There comes a shock!

Another length, and the fated craft

     Would have swum in the saving lock!

Then gathered together the shipwrecked crew

     And took one last embrace,

While sorrowful tears from despairing eyes

     Rain down each hopeless face;

And some did think of their little ones

     Whom they never more might see,

And others of waiting wives at home,

     And mothers that grieved would be.

But of all the children of misery there

     On that poor sinking frame,

But one spoke words of hope and faith,

     And I worshipped as they came;

Said Dollinger the pilot man,—

     (O brave heart, strong and true!)—

“Fear not, but trust in Dollinger,

     For he will fetch you through.”

Lo! scarce the words have passed his lips

     The dauntless prophet say’th,

When every soul about him seeth

     A wonder crown his faith!

For straight a farmer brought a plank,—

     (Mysteriously inspired)—

And laying it unto the ship,

     In silent awe retired.

Then every sufferer stood amazed

     That pilot man before;

A moment stood. Then wondering turned,

     And speechless walked ashore.

__________

NOTE: It took me forever to get the poem’s formatting correct. I hope it shows up that way on your computer.

Poetry and Fantasy--Two Book Releases

I don’t normally use this blog to promote new releases. I’m making the exception for several reasons. Part of it is that you don’t usually see spouses publishing separate books at around the same time. Additionally, the authors are my friends, although I wouldn’t do it for that reason alone. Mostly, I’m doing it because the proceeds from Janine’s book are going to a good cause, and because Mike deserves to be recognized for his first attempt at middle-grade fiction.

Weight of Silence (WordPool Press, 2019) is a poetry collection based on Janine Harrison’s volunteer experiences in Haiti in 2012 and 2017. All of her profits go to the not-for-profit organization Haitian Connection, which assists Haitians—and especially women and children—in need.

Janine’s collection is part personal experience, part history lesson, part cultural reality, and all advocacy for the underpriviledged people of Haiti. Much is lost without the context given by a full poem, and it is impossible to do justice to any of them by quoting a single stanza. Still, I will try my best to give you the flavor of the book. You will have to buy it to get the broader context.

The first example is a verse from a poem called “Izole Chen” (stray dog). In this selection, Janine uses the many homeless dogs that roam the country to give her perspective on Haiti’s politican situation.

Whether in the rural west

or Port-au-Prince,

after darkness descends

packs of dogs become

phantasms of corrupt governments

and revolutionaries,

of armies and

ravaged innocents,

growling both as

predator and prey,

within a slate gray history.

A last yowl

punctures the late night

and I, who lie awake,

mourn a starving brown dog.

The second example comes from Janine’s experience trying to teach English language lessons during Hurricane Sandy. The guest house mentioned in this poem is where Janine, her husband, and her daughter were staying at the time. Titled “Pierre,” the poem pays homage to one student’s dedication to learning even in the most difficult circumstances. It begins with a brief picture of Pierre’s eagerness and then describes the hurricane’s effect on classes during Tuesday and Wednesday. This verse is next:

No class Thursday

anywhere across the country.

Two Haitian teachers and the dean

drove away on Wednesday,

to check on a grandmother

in a local fishing villiage

and have not returned.

A visiting teacher loses roofs

on his family’s home and business

in Cuba and stops smiling—

no airplane to take him home.

Everything in the shabby-chic

Bourbon Street-style guest house

verges on liquifying.

Every odor the old abode

ever imbued resumes.

Electricity at night by generator.

No water for showers.

We host class unoffically

at the guesthouse.

Six students come,

Pierre one,

his homework done and dry.

Life in Haiti can be dark, and many of Janine’s poems reflect that. Since I don’t know who might be reading this blog, I have chosen not to quote the most disturbing ones, but they have their place in this collection, too.

You will learn a lot about Haiti by reading this book. Janine even teaches us about the country’s most notorious leaders by putting a poem’s words in their mouths. But you will have to buy the book to read it.

Two Girls, a Clock, and a Crooked House (Random House Books for Young Readers, 2019) is Michael Poore’s third book but the first one that I would let a tweenager read. The other two are humorous, irreverant, and clearly aimed at adults. His third is also humorous and sometimes irreverant but fits solidly within the middle grade category.

Mike’s book tells of two girls whose travels back in time resolve a problem occuring in the present. Beyond calling it humorous fantasy, it is hard to classify. I could try to compare Mike with Lemony Snicket or Adam Gidwitz, but the comparison would be misleading because Mike has a style all his own. Still, if you like those authors’ voices, you will like Mike’s, too.

Like most books, Two Girls, a Clock, and a Crooked House isn’t perfect. One of the girls is nicknamed “Moo,” and at one point we discover what made her the way she is. I found that event too serious to fit with the lighter tone of the book. I also got confused when Amy and Moo discarded their filthy clothes at the school nurse’s office but somehow retained their hoodies. A bit more detail and explanation during that scene would have smoothed out some bumps later on.

In spite of a few imperfections, Two Girls, A Clock, and a Crooked House is an entertaining read. I recommend it to anyone—adult as well as middle-grade—who enjoys humorous fantasy written for this age group.

__________

Weight of Silence and Two Girls, A Clock, and a Crooked House are available at amazon.com.

The Importance of Mentors

My primary mentor during my law career died earlier this month. William F. Tueting was the first person to hire me as a lawyer, and he advised and guided me through my early years in that position. I hadn’t seen him or even communicated with him since he retired and moved to Utah to be closer to one of his children, but I will never forget him.

I worked at the Chicago Board of Trade as a paralegal/secretary while attending law school at night, and I was still working there when I graduated and received my law license. I ran the arbitration program and had other significant responsibilities, but I was not offered a position as an attorney position.

Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised. The Board of Trade was a boys club at the time, and only one woman had broken the barrier. There were two other women employed in positions that sounded important, but one had no influence and the other didn’t interact with the membership. And there had never been a female attorney on the staff.

I had worked for the then-current general counsel for several years, and I believe he recognized that I was qualified to be an attorney there. I don’t know if he suggested hiring me and was rebuffed or if he didn’t have the courage to even try. In any event, no job was offered, and Bernie himself soon moved on to private practice.

When Bernie left, the legal staff was overhalled. The Board of Trade hired a new general counsel, and Bill Tueting came on board as Associate General Counsel.

The new general counsel assigned me to provide legal advice to the investigative staff and gave me legal responsibilities similar to those of a new lawyer. However, he did not give me either the salary or the title. Instead, he characterized it as an experiment to see how well I handled the job, justifying his decision by saying he had never worked with me before and wasn’t familiar with my skills. That was true, but I’m guessing that he wasn’t willing to stand up to the powers that be, either.

Jeff also moved me to a desk in the department I was advising. Although I went to Legal Department staff meetings, I didn’t feel like a full member of my own department. But I still had a job, and I wasn’t going to leave it without something better to go to.

Fortunately for me, Jeff didn’t last long and Bill Tueting was promoted to General Counsel. One of Bill’s first moves was to change my title to Attorney and give me a salary to match, making me the first woman lawyer at the Chicago Board of Trade. He also gave me an office in the Legal Department.

Bill told me at the time that “I have always thought of you as an attorney.” I took his statement to mean that he had respected me in that role from the first day we worked together. I continued to experience that respect throughout my legal career, even after I left the Board of Trade.

I could go to Bill with any questions and concerns, and he always listened and provided sound advice. And when I was asked by an influential staff member in another department to render a legal opinion that was contrary to law, I knew Bill would back me up when I refused.

I had three mentors during my legal career, but Bill was the main one. I will be forever grateful for what he did for me.

Mentors are important in any field, and I hope I’ve filled that role in both my legal and writing careers.

That’s the least I can do to thank Bill.

Don't Confuse Omniscient and 3rd Person Points of View

The other day I was watching the game show Common Knowledge when it had a question about point of view. The question went something like this: “Which point of view is it if the narrator knows what every character is thinking?” The choices were A) 1^st person, B) 2^nd person, and C) 3^rd person. I wanted to yell at the TV, “None of them, you idiots. It’s omniscient.” But I didn’t because I never call anyone an idiot even if they can’t hear me.

The host stated that the correct answer was 3^rd person because in that POV a story can have multiple narrators. Yes, it can, but that doesn’t make the original statement true. Even in multiple 3^rd person the current POV character doesn’t know what the other characters are thinking. And we never see inside the heads of the many secondary characters who don’t have their own POV sections.

Given the options, I would have chosen the answer the show was looking for because I would have assumed that they knew it wasn’t 1^st or 2^nd. Still, their wasn’t that unusual an error. Even experienced writers can confuse 3^rd person and omniscient.

I have never written a story using omniscient POV because it is too hard. Yes, you heard me. Some people assume it is easier because you don’t have the limitations of the other POVs, but that’s a trap. I have read my share of books where I can’t tell if the writer is attempting to use omniscient or 3^rd person. If omnisicient POV is done wrong, it looks like a multiple-third-person POV riddled with errors: a mistake rather than a choice.

Done right, omniscient immediately clues the reader into the POV.  It also helps to have a narrator with a distinctive voice, as in Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. Or the narrator can tell us up front that he or she is telling a story that took place many years ago, as George Eliot does in Mill on the Floss.

But however it is done, a good writer will know and honor the distiction between the omniscient and 3^rd person points of view.