The Better to Hear You, My Dear

This past week saw a very welcome piece of news: Katy Kellgren, a fabulously talented narrator, is up for an Audie award for her solo narration of my very own ASHES .



Is this a tribute to Katy's skills in bringing my story alive? You bet. As a long-time listener, I love a good audiobook, and I also know that a narrator can spell the difference between a wonderful experience or an exercise in Chinese water torture. Bad narrators can kill an otherwise good story (I won't name names here, but get me alone and I'll tell you some of the worst offenders); great readers can turn a so-so story--one I might even have passed by--into something to be savored.

Which got me thinking not about the pleasures of listening to a good story--there is certainly something primal about that, a vestigial inherited memory of Og talking about the mastodon that got away or, closer to home, the deep comfort of listening to a parent read



then translated to the voices which reach up to us from the page



to give us comfort and an escape from our dull, wretched lives (or, in Sawyer's case, a place to go in his head that ISN'T that bloody island)



--but about public readings by writers.



Here's the honest-to-God truth: I love listening to writers speak. But I don't love hearing writers read their stuff aloud. The simple truth is that many don't know how. This is strange, I know, but I have been to some truly atrocious readings where you could tell the writer would rather stick pins in her eyes. Or that while they may have really liked their story, they just don't have the necessary performance skills to make it an enjoyable experience. On the other hand, I've been to a couple readings that were great--but they were the exception, not the rule. Pity that I missed out on Dickens, too, probably the first (documented) author to understand the art of performance: that reading aloud IS an art.



If you believe the biographies--and I do, especially Dickens as I Knew Him by George Dolby, who was the Inimitable's stage manager for these readings and tours--the readings probably helped do Dickens in. Still, his public readings were, apparently, quite something. This article gives a nice summary. But suffice to say that women fainted, grown men trembled--and still others, like Mark Twain, thought him as atrocious reader. So, really, how much was hyperbole?

Now, did it matter that Dickens once had ambitions to the stage? That he co-wrote and then starred in amateur theatricals? You bet. I've often wondered how many writers have acted, wanted to act, or act. (For the record, I have and, yeah, I once thought about a life in the theater, too. Predictably, my parents were against it. Now that I am older--and have been in my share of productions--I understand why.) Have I done readings? Sure, when asked . . . but I'm not sold that's what audiences want and, in fact, I'm always reluctant to read my stuff. Do I understand that readings are great marketing tools? Yes. In fact, Janet Mullany has a fine article in this month's Romance Writers Report on the topic, and some useful tips and bon mots, including my favorite: less is more.

But all that presupposes that writers make good readers, and not all do. Even those who are good at it--and I think I do pretty well--pale in comparison to people, like Katy, who do this kind of thing for a living. Yet you can learn a lot from listening to very good narrators, such as the value of enunciation and pacing. (Listening to yourself can be a cringe-worthy exercise, too; you are never the best judge of your own voice. Doing so, as well as reading to a real live human being who isn't necessarily your pal or husband, is worthwhile, too. )

A public reading is also a very strange beast because, on the one hand, people want to hear a good story. But, on the other, a really dramatic reading--think of Dickens storming and weeping and gnashing his teeth and then lying on a couch for hours afterward, taking eggs in Champagne as a restorative--may not be what your audience wants to hear or expects. Setting is everything; expectations are, too. I once did a reading at a small club with a bunch of other writers where it seemed that droning was the order of the day. I listened to a couple guys maunder on and thought, piece of cake. So I got up, gave my wonderfully splendid reading only to realize, after a lot of tittering, that a story with some sex in it--not tons, but the story was centered on sexual obsession--was making people VERY uncomfortable, so much so that their anxiety was plain. My bad. You can bet I never made that mistake again. Now, you could say I was being overly sensitive, too. Maybe. For me, reading an audience is as important as knowing what I'm performing.

But, like I said, I'm also not sold that people want to hear us read. I think they want to hear FROM us, which is a very different thing. In fact, more often that not, I'll be prepared to read something--notice that word "prepared" there; this means I have PRACTICED and quite a bit; that chapter is, for me, no different than a script--but nine times out of ten, we get caught up in talking, a back and forth exchange, which I personally believe serves an author and her work better than a random chapter, no matter how well done.

I could be all wrong, too. Witness Stephen King giving the closing address at the Savannah Book Festival a couple weeks ago. (A friend of mine was there, by the way, and thoroughly enjoyed the experience.) He appears about six minutes and change into this, but pay attention to one thing he says: Writers are not that interesting to listen to. That may be so, but King also a) has practice and b) understands the value of marketing or else he wouldn't have read the first chapter of the forthcoming Dr. Sleep (a sequel to The Shining).



Now, is King a good reader of his own stuff? Not really, although he is a fine speaker (pay attention to what he does; he knows exactly what he's doing and understands the value of pacing) and I love listening to and learning from him. I would also much rather listen to him speak like this than read his own work. (And I've heard him read a bunch of his work. If, for example, you want the unabridged audiobook version of Desperation, his narration is the only one out there. The one with Kathy Bates is abridged.) For years, Frank Muller was the voice of Stephen King; when he died, the baton's been passed around to readers as various as George Guidall, Steven Weber (one of my faves; his performance of IT made a so-so novel truly superb; his acting work on the movie remake of The Shining was out of this world, too).



Campbell Scott is another fave for his work on Cell and The Shining) and, most recently, Craig Wasson (11/22/63).

But contrast King's reading with the rest of his talk and then ask yourself: was it really that good? Did it really enhance the value of seeing/hearing him speak? For my money, that would be have to be no.

How about you? Why do you think some people like to hear authors read their own works? Or are people just as happy to listen to a writer talk? What do people get out of hearing from writers they admire? Is it curiosity, hero-worship, a learning experience? What?

Go Ahead-Make my (early Valentine's) Day!

Carol Tanzman checking in!

Today is Valentine’s Day. First of all--Happy V Day to you all. I hope you get lots of chocolate, flowers, jewelry…and books! (I’ve spent many a Valentine’s Day curled up, alone, with a good novel—but that’s a whole ‘nother story!)

For me, V-Day came five days early this year. February 9^th to be exact. That’s the day my publishing company, Harlequin Teen, chose to reveal the cover for my next book.

As Ilsa coincidentally discussed yesterday, (this seems to be cover week on ADR3NALIN3) seeing the art design for your book is one of the most exciting days a writer can have. We spend so many hours alone: writing, imagining scenes, characters, settings, and the plot. We struggle, we try every trick we can think of to solve the problems that come up in the manuscript. And yes, we also spend fun time trying to visualize the book cover. We're just like musicians. Ask any band member what their first (or second) album cover will look like—and immediately they’ll go into a monologue with pretty much every detail sketched out.

Getting a book cover right is tricky. Even though we shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, secretly, many of us do. Both Circle of Silence and dancergirl are contemporary thrillers—so it’s especially challenging to nail them. Paranormals, horror, romance—we all sort of know what they should look like. Not specifically, of course, since each book is different, but generally. If you see a romance novel, with it’s gorgeous girl or hot guy, you know what to expect. When you look at a paranormal, either a traditional ghost story or the truly dark, twisted kind, you know what you’re in for. Check out the covers by the authors on the bottom of this blog (and Ilsa's post yesterday) and it’s clear we’re not writing warm and fuzzy. Still, there are differences—and they are subtly reflected by the cover art.

Authors do not design covers. To many readers’ surprise, they may have little, or no input. However, Harlequin Teen showed me various drafts of the covers and my comments were always welcome. This is something authors definitely appreciate.

For dancergirl, the challenge the Harlequin Teen design team had was to take a teenage heroine who loves to dance and give the reader the sense that something scary is happening. It’s two contrasting themes in the book––and figuring out a way to incorporate them both had to have been a challenge.

Let’s look at the elements. The book designers added the tagline “The videos went viral” to locate the book in the contemporary world. Then they used an extreme close-up image of a girl and cropped it so that it’s asymmetrical. That alone is somewhat disturbing. She looks….upset? Concerned? Distraught? The viewer doesn’t know precisely—but what we do know is that this is not a happy camper. Over this image, lines are superimposed. Low-resolution video lines? Open venetian blinds, as if someone’s staring at her from outside her window? The sophisticated technique leaves it open to interpretation. As the writer, I love that!

The title is hot pink, which by itself doesn’t read as creepy. Yet deep purple shadows under the girl’s eyes and on her lips undercuts any notion of a carefree dancergirl. Overall impression: something disturbing is going on to someone who does not deserve it. It’s a lot of information to convey, and the design team nailed it.

Now for my early, and fab, Valentine’s Day present: the Circle of Silence cover. Oh, yes, Art Director Erin Craig and Designer Tara Scarcello know the way into this girl’s heart! Different than dancergirl, yet somehow tied to it. Exactly the way the books are. Each a stand-alone, yet both take place in the same high school with appearances by various characters in both books.

Again, I’ll start my personal deconstruction with the tagline. “The story turned deadly.” The main character is a reporter on the Campus News team—and the line clearly hints at that. It also tells the reader that this story is going to get very tense, very fast.

The image of the girl is not in as extreme close-up as with dancergirl. In this case, the expression on her face, and the way she looks over her shoulder, is what tells the viewer that she is worried. Concerned. Creeped out. Who, or what, is behind her? That’s the question we ask as we look at the cover. It’s also the biggest mystery in the book. Literally, who is behind the events at school that keep turning ever more sinister?

Instead of lines superimposed over the face, this image is actually made of letters…the title of the book, over and over and over again. Circle of Silence. Who is in this secret circle? Who is not? The questions haunt Valerie, the main character. Over the course of the book, certain events also loop obsessively in her mind—just like the title. Once you read the novel, you'll understand why this visual representation is both so compelling and so brilliant!

One last note: the title color. It’s in the pink family. Almost the same as what's used on the dancergirl title––but not quite. It’s a little darker, which just may signify that Circle of Silence is also a little darker, a little creepier.

It’s obvious that I’m thrilled with the cover design. It’s sophisticated. It has resonance to the book in both literal and metaphoric ways. And yes, just like the first book, it’s very, very cool. Thank you so much, Erin and Tara for making my (early Valentine’s) Day!

What do you think about the covers? Or my deconstruction of them...

My Monster & Me

A couple months ago, I saw this play, "Seminar." To be honest, it took some convincing to get me to actually walk into the theater. I think my husband was afraid I'd develop PTSD or something, and for good reason as you'll find out. In the end, I was glad I went, not because "Seminar" was the most AMAZING play I'd ever seen--although I was in the front row and so caught every flare of Alan Rickman's nostrils--but for some of those bon mots: perfect sentences uttered in just the right way which captured some essential truth.

IMHO, one of the best sequences is pretty early on and begins here around 1:41 and ends right at 3:00. Actually, I'd encourage you to sit through the whole thing, but if you only make it through that short segment, that's fine. Take a sec and settle in for a look/listen. Go ahead; I'll wait.



Hey, there, back so soon? Well . . . didcha catch it? Yeah, that fabulous sentence: "If you're defending yourself, you're not listening." Now, why do I think that's a superb line?

Because: what he's talking about is ego.

Ego's been on my mind recently. See, a fan had gotten in touch and, long story short, wanted my input on a school project. Right off the bat, I wanted to decline. I am very leery of these kinds of requests, not because I am evil person and worry I won't be able to resist an inclination to savage someone. No, just the opposite: I empathize, quite a bit. I understand the guts required to show your work to someone else--and how hurtful criticism, even well-intentioned and on the money as humanly possible, can be.

In the end, though, I agreed. I was as gentle--and as truthful--as I could be. When there was some good stuff, I said so, but I also pointed out when what and how something had been written effectively got in the way of the story. Believe me, I really sweated this thing. Nothing I pointed out was done lightly. I agonized over the tone, the words, the phrasing. I even considered punting, saying something frothy that would be innocuous enough--but that wouldn't have been right either.

So I sent my short critique. To this fan's credit, I got a nice thank-you note. Was he thrilled that I hadn't loved the story? Of course not, but he was civil about it. But you could tell that my take wasn't what he'd been expecting or wanted to hear. Would he recover? Sure. I'm only one opinion, and he'll roll with it.

But all that got me thinking about all those times my ego has taken--and continues to take--a beating. This is inevitabile when you're a writer or any kind of creative sort; when you send your work out to be judged. Heck, that's as true for a secretary as it is for a painter. However dissimilar the settings or scenarios, they all share a common thread: ego and, by extension, self-confidence can save your life, or destroy your career.

So let me introduce you to both a necessary evil and real life-saver:



This is my Ego Box. As you can see, it has gotten quite a workout and it's a little the worse for wear because the monster it's designed to contain has tried chewing its way out on a number of occasions.






Now, my husband made this life-saver for me years back. He took great care in the construction, leaving nothing to chance. There's a nice little blankie to keep my ego snuggly and warm;





a comfy cushion;





and, even, a set of instructions--




because, clearly, my husband understands the monster we're talking about here:



Honestly, it's a tribute to my ability to tame my inner snark that I DIDN'T correct his grammar. :-)

The box is also useful for squirreling away little bon mots for the proper care and feeding of this beast:





And I'm only half-joking.

Believe me, learning when to box your ego is tough because listening to criticism--and shoving back the impulse to defend yourself--is not only a real killer but a balancing act you must master. You must embrace the paradox: perfecting the ability to stand your ground and know when to push back while also truly being receptive to suggestions which might improve your work because, as I've said before, not every word you've written is gold. Not every sentence deserves to live.

Achieving this is hard. It's a skill that requires practice and you will relapse, frequently. True story: maybe a month or so after I'd sold the ASHES trilogy, my editor sent comments and questions about the first book. Now, we'd only spoken on the phone for about five minutes before this, so I didn't know him well and wasn't sure what to expect. His edit letter started out okay--I've got it somewhere but am too lazy to dig it out right now--and he said nice things about what an awesome book I'd written, what an awesome trilogy, that kind of thing. Some nice superlatives. So I was, you know, feeling the love.

But then I took a look at the actual letter-letter, the real nitty-gritty, the guts of thing: page after page after page of questions. Lots and lots of questions. Over eighty some-odd, as I recall. (And, mind you, we're not talking copy-edits either).

Well, the more I read, the more I could feel my mind unraveling, my ego shriveling, my hat size going back to normal and then shrinking to something closer to a thimble.

And then I felt like this:



Yes, like a small, emotionally-disturbed child. I don't think I was lying on the floor but pretty close. Then, as now, it was my very wise husband who stood over me as I puddled on the floor and said, "Dear, get a grip. He bought the book."

Oh. Hey. blink-blink, sniffle That's right--and, yes, I'll have that martini now, thanks.

Or, put another way, a pro writer-friend said, "Are you kidding? This is GREAT edit letter! Don't you realize how much he loves this book? Why would he waste his time otherwise?"

Oh. Hey. Yeah.

In retrospect, I understand that I had made one of the worst mistakes that a writer, or any creative type, can: I'd let my ego get in the way.

Now, I'm not talking about being grandiose. I'm not a pompous person by nature. In part, that's because I've spent a heck of a lot of time around doctors and, in particular, surgeons, who can be a snarky and competitive lot: true experts at the art of making sashimi of you, the sniveling excuse of an intern. Granted, many surgeons cultivate ego as a survival skill. Think about it. If you don't believe you're amazing beyond belief, why ever would you cut someone open and go mucking around in there? It took me years to understand this. (Another true story: we interns called this very ballsy vascular surgeon "God." It fit.)

Am I excusing pomposity out of hand? No. But I do understand that ego has its place. As a writer, you must believe in your work.

But . . .

You are not perfect. You are not a god. Neither, for that matter, are editors or teachers or other writers. (What goes on in writing groups and classrooms and workshops is a post for another day. Talk about watching egos in action . . .) Yes, it takes guts to send your work out there for strangers to shred. There is nothing more soul-sucking than opening the mailbox to find another rejection. I am convinced that successful writers are masters of the arcane art of masochistic objectivism: the ability to read through a sound thumping of your work while doggedly searching for a gem or two--if you can only find it in all that blood.

I've had the very good fortune of having splendid editors and copy-editors who aren't afraid of using that flea comb to get rid of every nit. That doesn't mean that I don't lose patience or roll my eyes or scream at the monitor . . . but I scream at the monitor. Their job is not to make me feel better. Their job is to make the story better. If they can't turn out a quality product, they won't have a job.

So, learn to listen to critcism without bristling. Decide if and when what you're hearing is right or wrong, on the money or not--because just as they are your words, this is about you and your ego, too. That monster will get in the way and you will make mistakes. Trust me on this. But if you remember nothing else, remember this: crafting and presenting your story in the best possible way is your editor's and your publisher's top priority.

And it should be yours, too.