Today We Say Farewell

Six years ago we started this blog as a way to share our writing journeys with others. Armed with humor, anguish and a lot of hope, we’ve posted numerous essays on craft and the publishing business, interviewed countless rock-star authors, and visited with editors and agents. Developing and thriving in this community has been so rewarding and we have each grown as writers and humans, developed life-long relationships amongst ourselves and with others we’ve met along the way.

We are not alone in finding the commitment of regular blogging as both a reward and hindrance to our real writing time. We are primarily novelists here – published and as-yet. And as with many time commitments, we had to weigh the joys of writing for this blog and (hopefully) helping others as we’ve been helped along the way. 

We’re sad to say goodbye to this page, but we are not saying goodbye to each other, our critiques, our community, definitely not our annual retreats.

We are ever grateful for your reading our words, for sharing your stories and comments, for traveling with us as we celebrated the joys of personal and professional milestones, comforted us in our rejections and tragedies.

Our posts will be there for you to peruse – a list of authors we’ve interviewed is on the right panel. And if you want to see what we’re up to, please visit us on our individual websites or pages. (links below)

Kim Bullock

Pamela Hammonds

Susan Ishmael

Julie Kibler

Elizabeth Lynd

Joan Mora

Farewell, all.

About Us, six years later

by Joan

Elizabeth, Julie, Joan, Kim, Susan, Pamela

This June will mark six years since we began this blog. We kicked off on Monday June 8, 2009 and since then have shared 850 posts. Chances are if you’re reading this you’re familiar with what we do, probably a little bit about each of our styles. We've interviewed authors, agents and editors as well as posted about our highs and lows over our many years of writing. We get excited about attending author events like others might for concerts or live theater. 

Here are just a few of my favorite interviews and guest posts from over the years. 

Amy Einhorn stops by for a chat

Dani Shapiro on Devotion

Mollie Glick on what she looks for in a submission

A conversation with Alyson Richman

Karen Harrington's favorite rejection

Kathy Louise Patrick (The Pulpwood Queens)

An interview with Naomi Benaron

We’ve updated our “About Us” page, so check it out. 

Seeing from another's eyes

by Joan

Over the years the six of us have critiqued each other’s work in any number of combinations, depending on time commitments and type of critique sought, among other things. We’ve learned each other’s styles and strengths. As Kim said in an earlier post on our critique styles, “We are six very different people brought together by a mutual love of writing.” 

Over the past few months, Elizabeth and I have provided detailed feedback on our respective manuscripts. One night after a lengthy back and forth she emailed me this:

“I have to tell you, the irony of you telling me XXX needs fixed, and meanwhile I'm telling you XXX needs fixed is striking. Because we are saying the same thing pretty much about the other's MS--but in yours, it makes perfect sense to you, and in mine, it makes perfect sense to me. Had you noticed this too? :)”

Well, no, I hadn’t, until then. After drafts and revisions and rewrites and more revisions, it’s nearly impossible to be objective about your own work. Paragraphs flow in your head as if they were lyrics to a song and you hum and smile as you re-read for the sixtieth (at least) time, convinced no one could possibly find a clunky sentence. (Trust me, they will). It never occurred to me that my manuscript included the very things that trip me up in another’s work.

Along this same vein, we noticed how we differ in our reactions to plot points. I was completely convinced my character was in the wrong about a particular situation and wrote a scene with her apologizing profusely and trying to fix it, while Elizabeth couldn’t see anything wrong with my character's behavior and found the call for atonement odd. At the same time, I disagreed with one of her character’s actions while it seemed completely logical to her.

I perceive the world, and therefore fiction, from my own spyglass. My experiences, good and bad, have tinted the lens. Yours have done the same. Your view might not be the same as mine, but that doesn’t make it wrong. As a critique partner, I have a responsibility to recognize that my opinion is only that, my judgmental observation. That I need to widen that spyglass range to allow that other people don’t see the world or their lives as I do. 

Or, as the eloquent Elizabeth Berg wrote in The Pull of The Moon:

“I have wanted you to see out of my eyes so many times.” 

Robin Sloan at Richardson Reads One Book

by Joan

One of my favorite joys in life is discovering a new author. I imagine a few of you might agree. It starts when you open the cover and dive into the first pages (or listen or scroll). You hope for carefully chosen words, carved into lovely or snappy or funny (or all three) sentences, one after the other until you are hooked. A smile curves your lips. “Yes, this is going to be good.”

But just because an author is a genius on the page doesn’t mean that author can deliver an engaging talk. It’s not a requirement, surely, but I’m wowed by those who can do both. I can’t count the number of author talks I’ve been to—I was just browsing my wide shelf of autographed books yesterday—but I’m awed when a speaker emulates the perfect combination of charm, humor and modesty.

Robin Sloan at RROB

Last week Elizabeth and I went to Richardson Reads One Book, featuring Robin Sloan's Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore. In my opinion, as far as cool writers go, Robin Sloan is right up there with Jamie Ford and Chris Cleave.

Sloan is a rare combination of techie and bibliophile, interested in the concept of “media inventor,” which he describes as “someone primarily interested in content (words, pictures, ideas) who also experiments with new formats, new tools, and new technology. The paperback pioneer Allen Lane was a media inventor. Early bloggers were media inventors. The indie video game scene is full of media inventors.”

Sloan suggests that technology is not an intruder or interloper into the book world, but that it’s been there all along. He described his visit to the Grolier Club, New York City's exclusive group of rare book collectors, where he got to see in person the types of books he had researched and written into Mr. Penumbra’s story. His novel includes a fictional book published by Aldus Manutius, the 15^th-century publisher who Sloan considers a pioneer in technology. Manutius, concerned with user experience, published the first small books. Before then, books were too large for laps, meant to be read from lecterns. Sloan considers Manutius’s new format as unique and high-tech as an iPhone.

Read his explanation of the concept of flip-flop, “the process of pushing a work of art or craft from the physical world to the digital world and back again — maybe more than once.” 

As a former Twitter employee, it’s fitting that the idea for Sloan's book was sparked by a friend’s Twitter feed:

“Just misread ‘24-hour bookdrop’ as ‘24-hour bookshop.’ the disappointment is beyond words.” 

He wrote a short story and from there, the novel, published by Farrar,Straus and Giroux. As someone who’s crazy for bookstores and libraries (hello Bodleian), I added the book to my TBR immediately. But contrary to Sloan’s understanding, not everyone in the Richardson audience had read his book. That night I downloaded his book and after reading the first page, I smiled. “Yes, this is good.” It’s also charming, humorous and unpretentious, just like its author. If you haven’t read it, you should.

From the publisher's website:

The Great Recession has shuffled Clay Jannon out of his life as a San Francisco Web-design drone—and serendipity, sheer curiosity, and the ability to climb a ladder like a monkey has landed him a new gig working the night shift at Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore. But after just a few days on the job, Clay begins to realize that this store is even more curious than the name suggests. There are only a few customers, but they come in repeatedly and never seem to actually buy anything, instead “checking out” impossibly obscure volumes from strange corners of the store, all according to some elaborate, long-standing arrangement with the gnomic Mr. Penumbra. The store must be a front for something larger, Clay concludes, and soon he’s embarked on a complex analysis of the customers’ behavior and roped his friends into helping to figure out just what’s going on. But once they bring their findings to Mr. Penumbra, it turns out the secrets extend far outside the walls of the bookstore.

With irresistible brio and dazzling intelligence, Robin Sloan has crafted a literary adventure story for the twenty-first century, evoking both the fairy-tale charm of Haruki Murakami and the enthusiastic novel-of-ideas wizardry of Neal Stephenson or a young Umberto Eco, but with a unique and feisty sensibility that’s rare to the world of literary fiction. Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore is exactly what it sounds like: an establishment you have to enter and will never want to leave, a modern-day cabinet of wonders ready to give a jolt of energy to every curious reader, no matter the time of day.

A Night at the Museum

By Elizabeth

Last week, Joan, Pamela and I braved Friday night traffic and ventured to the Dallas Museum of Art in downtown Dallas to listen to Ron Rash and Dan Woodrell talk books. It was no small feat for any of the three of us: Joan was coming off work, I've been crazy with family stuff, and Pamela had just had a really tough day. But we made it, and we were all glad we did.


Ron Rash (foreground) and Daniel Woodrell sign
 books after their talk at the DMA. 

For one thing, it was, as pretty much ever, fun to hear writers talk about their process, their ideas, their agonies and delights in this endeavor. But I think that night, even more than usual, it was just really good to get together with kindred minds and talk. About books, yes, including Rash's and Woodrell's. Anyone who encountered me last summer probably couldn't get me to shut up about Rash's works, three of which I consumed in fast order as the temperatures soared. (Serena; The Cove; and a selection of short stories, Nothing Gold Can Stay) Both Joan and Pamela bought a tome from each man's collection, and I expect to shortly hear them rave in a fashion not unlike mine. (Well, maybe not with the same zeal, less likely than me to accost strangers at Target. But still.)

That night, though, I have to say, even more than the author talk was just our simple talk afterward. Yes, we discussed our works-in-progress, where we are and where we're headed, and we talked about other books we've read and loved recently, but we also just talked about ourselves. About life and kids and joy and tragedy and it reminded me that as much as I love books, sometimes we need to pull our noses out of them and just go have some fun. Sometimes we need other people to remind us to get out and do, go and live, to love and to be.

Woodrell's latest book, The Maid's Version, is about a real-life tragedy that changed the course of a town and the lives of its inhabitants for generations. As he read selections from it, read his description of a doomed woman who lived a questionably moral life unapologetically up until the day she perished, I thought about the decisions we all make and how they might not affect our outcome at all. This particular woman lived a short hard life, but it was not cut short because of that, but rather because she happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I guess the question that rises, at least for me, is if she had known her time was so short, would she have made the same choices? Would I?

Would you?


There's more than one way to ...

By Julie (and really, by Elizabeth, too)

Following up to Pamela's Monday post, here's a photo of the group (minus Kim--ironically our ONE Mainer) at the Dallas Museum of Art Monday evening, posing with Elizabeth Strout after her on-stage conversation with Skip Hollandsworth, author of the Texas Monthly article about our favorite Texas bad boy and co-author of the Bernie movie script. Strout wrote the beloved, Pulitzer prize-winning novel in short stories, Olive Kitteridge, and is now touring in support of The Burgess Boys, a novel that returns the reader to Shirley Falls, the fictional Maine town she originally visited in Amy and Isabelle.

Elizabeth LYND (popping her head into the picture there at bottom right) and I had an interesting conversation following the event. During the Q&A, someone from the audience asked about Strout's writing process. Elizabeth L. asked her to expand on part of her answer. Strout had mentioned that she writes in notebooks and hundreds or thousands of individual sheets of paper inevitably end up everywhere--some to be used, some to be discarded. Elizabeth L. was curious how much went in the wastebasket, and Strout explained that a LOT of it ends up there, or filed away somewhere, not in any real organized fashion, perhaps to be used in something else.

While in line, I mentioned to Elizabeth L. that someone almost always asks the writing process question during the events I've done for Calling Me Home. I jokingly said, "Does it matter?" What I meant was that each writer seems to have a different process; no across-the-board method works for every single one of us. I wasn't saying it wasn't an important question, but rather that what works for me won't work for you, or Elizabeth, or Pamela, or Susan, or Joan, or Kim, and so, in a way, my process or Elizabeth Strout's process is irrelevant to anyone else.

But Elizabeth L. came back with a really good point. She said (loosely quoting), "It matters because it says to me, well, if this process works for Strout, and this other process works for Julie, and this other process works for Jamie Ford or Cheryl Strayed or Chris Cleave or ... you know ... then maybe my own, mixed-up seeming process can work for me. It gives me permission to have my own process if all these other successful writers have achieved publication with so many different processes."

I was nodding (vigorously!) and saying, "Yeah, you're absolutely right." I made a mental note to add something about that the next time I answer a writing process question.

After all, as I said to Elizabeth Lynd, there is more than one way to skin a cat.

(What does that really mean? I've always wondered ...)

Okay, a guest post by Philip Fullman

by Joan

I'm pleased to present Philip Fullman to our readers. As you'll see, a few of us met Philip during our early critique years in Dallas and we're the luckier for it. Philip has two new poetry collections out. His writing is wry, sensitive, and sometimes bawdy--an honest take on life, love and pop culture. 

And now, from Philip...

Okay, I’ll admit I’m nervous. I feel a little like the lone boy sitting at the girl’s lunch table. I promise to be on my best behavior, this means no swearing, even when appropriate.

I met Elizabeth, Joan, and Pamela in a critique group, the Lesser North Texas Writers Association. They were, as they are now, writing women’s fiction. There were several different genres represented. I was the lone poet. It took a while for me to become comfortable with the moniker, but the more poetry I read I began to see how my writing fell into that category. Still, I refer to myself as a writer rather than as a poet. Sounds a little less pretentious.

Not only were we writing in different styles, but in different voices. Obviously. I always appreciated hearing a woman’s perspective on what I wrote, I think in some way for them it was like pulling back the curtain and seeing the wizard. Another man in the group told me once that I wrote about the things that men would never want to admit to, that underneath it all, the bluster was vulnerability. I didn’t set out to do that; I just write what comes into my head. My Muse is really good at working with what I give her.

Another admission, I’m envious of the ladies' ability to craft elaborate tales, with multiple characters over hundreds of pages. I think the longest piece I ever wrote was eight pages, and that’s only because I don’t write all the way across the page. I’m not sure why I started doing that, probably because I thought that was how a poem was supposed to look.

The first time I ever wrote a poem was 1989. It was for a girl, of course. I met her while visiting a friend in San Antonio. She was the first woman who ever took my breath; maybe they call it falling because when you hit the air gets knocked out of you. I somehow convinced my parents to let me go back and visit her. Sitting in my room after a wonderful three days with her, I was sorely missing her. Long distance calls cost a fortune, so that was out. I felt like I would burst if I didn’t talk with her. So, I wrote her a poem. It was an awful poem full of clichés, and ham-handed metaphors. But when I sat my pen down, I felt much better. Ever since then I’ve picked up my pen and paper when I’m not able to say the words. I’d like to think that I’m a better writer now; I don’t hide behind metaphors or try to be clever. If I met her yesterday I would say:

The kiss was going to be memorable. Moonlight was pushing through the tree leaves casting spotted shadows on us both, and then there was the spotlight illuminating the cow statue. You don’t see that in movies. But there it was, bright as could be, behind us and to the left. So even if our first kiss had not been our last, even if it wasn’t the type of kiss you hope every kiss will be, even if it wasn’t a kiss that you’ll search a hundred pair of lips to find again, it was going to be a memorable kiss.

I believe that in fiction, story dictates the action, but in poetry action dictates the story, which makes the writer more vulnerable. I have struggled with the thought that it is egotistical for me to write something personal, share it and basically say “you should read this.” But then I remembered something I wrote in a poem called Counterpoint. A well-known poet was asked why he didn’t write about his personal life; he replied, “No one is interested in hearing about someone else’s personal life.” I disagreed. So, I put together a couple of collections of my writing for people like myself. 

Tales from the Bottom of the Glass is a collection of poems about relationships in all stages.

Maybe a Poem, Maybe a Song, Maybe a Short Story is a collection of stories about writing, my Muses, an general observations. In tone, it’s quite different.

During my time in the critique group, Elizabeth, Joan and Pamela were very encouraging. I don’t remember which one of them said, “I don’t understand it, but I think I like it.” That was all I needed to hear.

Thanks for stopping by Philip! Readers you can find his book on Smashwords, Amazon, and Barnes & Noble.

Calling Me Home: Elizabeth

Click for more info

For more than a year, we have been awaiting a special day that is almost here: the publication of Julie Kibler’s first novel, Calling Me Home, available for pre-order now and in bookstores February 12. If you are in DFW, please join us that evening for Julie's book launch and signing at 7:00 p.m. at Barnes & Noble, The Parks Mall, Arlington. Click here for more information and to RSVP (which is helpful to Julie and the store in planning for the event, but not required).

Calling Me Home is our group's first published novel, and it marks a major milestone for both Julie and the blog itself. We started this blog more than four years ago as an outlet for some of our thoughts on writing, but also as a platform to help introduce us to you, our readers, as writers looking forward to publication. That time is beginning. In celebration, each of us is sharing our thoughts on home, how it calls us, and what it means to every "me" in our group. We hope you enjoy these posts, and we hope to see some of you February 12!

By Elizabeth

I suspect that any regular reader of this blog knows that travel is my porn. I get online, drool over travel websites, look at trips I might take and plenty that I never will, think about who I'd like to go with, whether my kids could appreciate the trips, you get the idea. The world calls me home, and the reason I drag my heiny to the gym five or six times a week is so that I can see as much of it as possible, for as long as possible. 

A couple of weeks ago I left town for a trip I'd been fantasizing about for years: Italy. Ten days, three cities, plus day trips to Tuscany and Pompeii. An ambitious agenda, but it was just my husband and me, and we are (relatively) young and (relatively) healthy, and if we were zonked at the end of the trip, isn't that what the plane ride home is for? I've been trying for a number of years to get us to Italy (I covet pretty much all destinations that begin with an I, come to think of it), and we were finally going. It was going to be, well, not perfect as nothing is, but the food! the history! the gelato!

It was not perfect. It was often great, and sometimes...un-great. Some unforeseeable bumps made many things difficult, beginning with the rain as we left the airport in Venice. Followed throughout the entire trip by more rain. And sleet. And snow. Even hail! (That was at least in Rome, so maybe that was Caeser's fault.) At the Vatican, we ended up with a terrible guide who sadly robbed much of the glory of that amazing place. Being an honest person, I expect to be treated honestly, but we got bilked by a taxi driver in Rome, and managed to hop the wrong train from Naples to Pompeii, which cost us an hour on our feet on an already long day. But our guide Anton at the Forum was among the best I've ever had anywhere; and the Colosseum did not, could not, disappoint; and Florence was absolutely stunning in every way, beginning with the honest folks at the train station who told us to catch a bus to our hotel and spend four Euros instead of 20. We were awed by the Ufuzzi Gallery, impressed by the Pitti Palace, delighted with Bobboli Gardens, and ate probably the most delicious food of the trip, some simple jelly candies, strawberry and pear, from a confectionery in the historical area.Think of the most perfect fruit you've ever eaten, multiply it by 100, turn it into candy form, and you've got an idea.

I've traveled a fair bit, a lot less than many people (Joan), but probably more than the average American. I'm on my third passport, and each one is more stamped than the last. But this was the first trip where circumstances both in Texas and Italy were literally calling me home. On the phone, and in my heart. My daughter had an emotional crisis, my son a physical one, and I was trying to deal with both via brief phone calls and texts that were sometimes spotty. My daughter was apologizing for bothering me on my vacation, while all the time the only grief I had from her need was my inability to be there for her in person, and assuring her that she was the priority even above Palatine Hill. My son was in pain, needed Xrays and antibiotics, and the insurance card was playing hide and seek. It did not fail to cross my mind that like Dorrie in Calling Me Home, I wondered if I should chuck the trip and return to those who needed me.

But I didn't, and like all trips, it gets better in memory. For me, that's true of journeys that are nearly perfect (ah, Israel! oh, Charleston!) and journeys that are a mixed bag (Guatemala, anyone?). After the bags are unpacked and the souvenirs forgotten, the memories linger and, like wine (we went to a vineyard, and this teetotaler enjoyed the reds, who knew?), improve with age. All the imperfect moments, the frustrations, now seem like nothing, and my only regrets are the time I wasted not being perfectly happy with whatever unfolded as it did. The places that were wonderful are, yes, Calling Me Back, and the places that were just fine are now crossed off the list of this world and its wonders.

It's Retreat Time!

The front of our house

By Kim

I’m writing from our 4th annual What Women Write retreat! We’ve chosen a different location each year and have found all houses come with their quirks. Our house was comfy enough the first year, but it creeped us out a bit that the owners remained on-site, albeit sequestered to a little apartment within the house. Year two we had a lake house that worked well other than a couple of uncomfortable beds. Last year we crammed into a house set up for scrapbookers instead of writers. This year we have another lake house, and every one of us walked in and exclaimed this would be the best one ever. It is gorgeous, there’s a view, a hot tub and a great den with comfy recliners.

What it lacks are quiet places to hide for those of us with deadlines or lofty word count goals. Julie and Susan’s enormous closet may get some use this weekend. Last year, I would have taken over that space immediately.

This year I have no word count goals. My manuscript is in the query process and the most work I intend to do while here is some research for my next novel. I may draw or paint a bit, too. And read, of course.

Here’s what everyone else is doing this morning:

The back of our house

Susan has her feet up in a recliner, computer on her lap, pen held between her teeth, and she appears deep in thought. Of all of us, she’s the one under the most pressure this year with a self-imposed deadline to send major revisions back to her agent. I suspect she’ll need that big closet soon, or perhaps she’ll go sit at the end of the dock. Yes, it’s December, but this is Texas and she’s tough!

Julie has the couch here in the den and is also typing away on blog posts and interview questions in preparation for the February lunch of her debut novel, Calling Me Home. (Have you pre-ordered your copy, yet? If not, you should, because it is fabulous.) She claims the house will be a lot quieter this year because she has no time to carry on conversations.

Elizabeth is also typing away. I heard whispers about a short story last night, which may or may not be true, but she was the last to bed and the first to rise, so ideas must be swirling around in her brain. Maybe she'll share them when we do critiques.

From the end of our dock

Joan has the living room to herself at the moment. The last time I glanced at her computer screen she had her completed novel open, or maybe the synopsis. I know that, like me, she plans to brainstorm ideas for her next book. Both she had I are querying right now and pray for a rejection-free weekend.

I’m not entirely sure where Pamela is – I believe in the bedroom she is sharing with Joan. She has a deadline on an article and so is having to work a bit on her paying gig before she can open her manuscript.

Check back at the blog next week and you’ll see several of us weigh in on the retreat. Pamela will likely have given the page a facelift with our new group photo as well.

Don’t leave Travis in the ball pit

by Joan

Hard to believe it’s Monday and time for the wrap-up of our annual writing retreat. As Susan mentioned on Friday, we did indeed rent a house near water, though this time I don’t think any of us could have guessed just how much water we’d see. In addition to the lake inlet just beyond our back porch, we were deluged with rain the entire weekend. Our outdoor photo shoot turned into an impromptu huddle on the chilly porch. We also attacked our goals with the same heartiness with which we ate and drank. And we met a three-year-old named Travis. But first ... how'd we do with our goals?

Julie’s goal for this retreat was to dive into her official edits to stay on deadline, but also to relax after the past few whirlwind months. In typical Julie-on-retreat style, she wandered around the house engaging in random conversations and grazing on snacks. And thinking. But she also dug into her edits as planned. An impromptu group brainstorming session about one issue reminded the rest of us the work becomes even deeper after the publishing contract comes in.

Pamela reacquainted herself with her neglected manuscript. She killed stepchildren, not darlings, and worked on crafting a stronger story by repositioning chapters and making sure that both the characters grow and the story progresses. And by reading us a chapter, she proved once more that hers is a book that needs to be written. She also planned our photo shoot and began editing our goofy smiles.

Kim got closer to the end of her manuscript by writing 2,400 words, an epic feat for her. She wrote on her Netbook, a miniature laptop that fits squarely on a child’s desk and allows for no more than six lines to a page, impossible for her to edit as she writes, as she normally does. We all encouraged her to write the rest of her manuscript on the Netbook so she can finish this poignant story and send it out to the world.

Susan tried to not be too anxious about the agents who were likely opening the Word doc to her requested manuscript. She read to us the gorgeous opening pages of chapter one, and we cheered her on, becoming anxious with her about what news she might soon hear. She focused on mapping her next manuscript and described to us her rough, but totally worthy new story.

Susan also found time to share her critique of my manuscript, brainstorming with me, pushing me to dig deeper into my characters’ souls. After the session, I edited like a fiend, making sentences pop, clarifying tricky plot points and adding or enhancing dialogue. I was rewarded when I read a revised section to her later and she rubbed the chills from her arms.

Elizabeth committed to a new kind of structure and set about to plot out the rest of her novel. She became comfortable with how she’d finish, concerned not with word count as she had last year, but instead technique. She raised the stakes about 10,000 degrees and said she felt so bad for some of her characters, she actually teared up. Better still, the structure of the book suddenly came into focus, and she now knows the exact order in which to tell the story.

The scene Elizabeth read to us also prompted our new catch phrase: Don't leave Travis in the ball pit. Something to remind our writing selves to tie up loose ends so the reader isn’t distracted by something that really doesn’t matter at all, but will take on unintended significance if we leave the neglected kid in a germy ball pit with no ride home.

Critique - What Works for Us

By Kim

For the benefit of those who couldn’t attend What Women Write’s presentation at the Richardson Library on January 17th, I thought I’d share my portion of the discussion.

Most writers quickly learn that a good critique group is as much a blessing as a bad one is a curse. What many of you may not be aware of is that the six contributors of What Women Write are not only partners on this blog, but we regularly critique each others work. Through trial and error as well as lessons learned from past experience, we have formed what we believe to be the best possible group for all involved.

Here are some of the secrets to our success.

Each of us has something different to offer

Joan will be blunt, but kind. She'll tell me when my prose is lazy and has eliminated passive voice from Pamela’s work. She's especially helpful when it comes to global and pacing issues.

Pamela's fearless about challenging me to do better, even if there's nothing inherently wrong with what I’ve sent to her. I just rewrote the opening scene of The Oak Lovers based on one of her suggestions, and it's made a tremendous difference. She points out when Joan uses too much description or too many analogies, or catches little things that Julie hadn’t even realized she did wrong. Pamela also catches little grammatical mistakes.

Julie is another grammar guru, and is fantastic at rearranging sentences for enhanced affect. She may give you a line edit even if you didn’t ask for it. (I’ll never turn one of those down, no matter how early the draft.) For pacing and tone issues, she’s your woman.

Susan claims she’s horrible at judging her own work (which is brilliant) but that she’s a tough editor for everyone else. She’s especially strong at finding little inconsistencies in voice. Susan and Julie have similar backgrounds and they work well together when it comes to big picture critiques.

We are all a little frightened when we receive something back critiqued by Elizabeth. There’s a lot of red ink and little of it will be praise. However, we’re all aware that she doesn’t give a detailed critique unless she believes the story’s worth it. She’ll be the last reader before I send out queries on The Oak Lovers. If I use a mid-twentieth century word in a 1908 scene, she’ll catch it. If a sentence is awkward, she’ll not only tell me, but offer suggestions for fixing it.

As for me, I’m a compulsive editor and perfectionist for my own work, but try not to interfere too much with the writing voices of others. I’m not a line editor, but I will catch places that are inconsistent or don’t make sense and I’m good with overall story impressions.

How we exchange work

We do the majority of our critiquing over e-mail, which has the advantage of allowing the reader to edit at their leisure. We all use the Track Changes tool in Microsoft Word. It saves time and allows the writer to see at a glance what needs work and where praise is directed.

We critique at our retreats as well. Feedback is immediate there, but the drawback is that sometimes little details are missed by listeners when the authors read out loud. Especially if Elizabeth reads--she forgets to breathe.

We have ground rules

The writer must be open to an honest critique or it’s a waste of time for all involved.

Whenever possible, writer and editor should agree on what type of critique to give. If it’s an early draft, global comments may be more helpful than line edits. If it’s time to query, call Elizabeth or Julie.

A critique relationship should be reciprocal.

Don’t send a first draft (though we break this rule at retreats).

If feelings are hurt, wait a day and read the comments again before responding.

Always say thank you.

Potential pitfalls and how we avoid them

Everyone is busy with their own writing, outside jobs, kids, or all of the above. Sometimes material does not get returned in a timely manner. If the writer has a deadline, tell the editor. If the editor drops the ball, apologize.

The tone of an e-mail communication can be misconstrued. If feelings are bruised, wait until you calm down and then call the person who wrote the e-mail rather than writing back.

We are six very different people brought together by a mutual love of writing. We accept our individual quirks. If a petty fight starts, others step in to diffuse the situation. We can agree to disagree.

What makes our group work

We do not compete with each other. A reader who picks up Pamela’s women’s fiction may not be drawn to my historical fiction. Elizabeth is the only one who writes YA. Julie and Susan use similar southern themes and settings, but entirely different stories. I likely write for the same audience as Joan, but we believe our best chance for success is to build each other up rather than plot sabotage.

We’re all serious about our craft and genuinely want to improve.

We’re all at the same stage in our careers.

We realize that one of us will land a book deal first and accept we might not be that person. This isn’t a race and there are no losers.

We trust that no one in the group be purposely hurtful or disrespectful to anyone else.

Left to right: Julie, Pamela, Joan, Elizabeth, Kim and Susan

These are the keys to our success. We’d love to hear what works for you!

Photos by Deborah Downes

Susan talks with Elizabeth in part of our Get to Know the Women of WWW

By Susan (but mostly by Elizabeth)

In our series of interviewing each other, I was lucky enough to draw Elizabeth, who is by far the funniest one of the bunch (the rest of us are pretty serious. Well, at least compared to E).

Here is our interview! Enjoy!
SP:

Tell our readers a little about your background and upbringing that brought you to this place of being a writer.

EL:

I’m one of six kids, and the other five would all tell you I’m “the weird one.” With a family background like that, what else can you possibly do but write?

I also have a terrific memory. Not necessarily for names, but events and images and tiny details about people and things. For instance, I recall precisely the flavor of the carrots I ate at my friend Valentina’s house one day in first grade, and the fact that she had a Shirley Temple doll still in the box that she wasn’t allowed to touch. The exact orange of the sky as my best friend and I watched the sunset as we realized our friendship had run its course, and the blue black it became as we sat unwilling to stand up and walk out into the night of our painful new reality. The hollow feeling replaced by euphoria when my college speech coaches teased me before revealing that I’d “broken” into finals rounds in every event one year at Nationals. The flowery scent of my daughter’s breath when she was nursing. These, and maybe a million more memories, I really think feed both the emotional and episodic requirements of at least this writer.

I feel like my life has been spent in preparation, and now my job is to distill it into words that will entertain and hopefully enlighten others.

SP:

What is your primary genre? What in particular drew you to that?

EL:

I read a lot of women’s fiction, and those stories are primarily what occur to me. Write what you know, I guess, and what I know at this place in my life now is kids and family and spouses and friendships. Not necessarily in that order. But I’m also drawn to YA, since I never really got over high school, I suppose. (Did I ever tell you I went to high school with my husband? Not that I would have been caught dead dating him then, mind you. Our reunions are always interesting, though.) And maybe because my kids are middle-grade age, or maybe because I still haven’t gotten over elementary school either, I have some middle grade ideas as well. I guess, depending on how things go, I might have to employ a pen name or two!

SP:

What led you to devote yourself to being a writer?

EL:

I’ve thought of myself as “a writer” and planned to write for years, but never really did until a few years ago. I did start a novel when I turned 29, thinking, “I can still do it before I’m thirty!” but I stopped before I got very far in. (Which is really too bad as it was during the height of chick-lit, and “Diary of a Woman Turning Thirty,” while not terribly original, was certainly genre-friendly.)

When my daughter started preschool in earnest, more than just enough hours to race to the supermarket kid-free, then I thought, well, no more excuses. I began hitting up the Einstein’s across the street from her school at least three mornings a week, refusing to leave until I’d pumped out a section. I was very secretive, too, very cagey. I found out later the other regulars called me “the writer,” so I guess I wasn’t as covert as I thought. It was great training, though it did give me the pesky habit of writing longhand, but I managed to write the bulk of the first draft of my first novel over dollar cups of coffee while working hard to avoid cream cheese consumption.

SP:

When you were a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?


I planned to be an actress, actually. (See my bio for the props from Mrs. Campbell regarding this aspiration.)

In third grade, I rocked the stage at my school in the role of the cobbler (that’s right, I got the lead role even though it was a male part!), and in fourth grade, after being mocked for having the nerve to audition for one of the narrator roles in Let George Do It, our bicentennial program, the kidding stopped when I got the role along with three sixth graders. (One was my sister, who probably wasn’t thrilled to share the stage with pesky me.)

And then in sixth, I became a playwright-performer with my stand-out role in the very original world premiere of Snow Cool and the Seven Twerps. I played Dum Dum. To this day, I’m not sure there’s ever been a greater cacophony of laughter in that multi-purpose room than the day Dum Dum gasped upon discovering the apparently dead body of Snow Cool. We’re talking elementary school Oscar-caliber stuff. (In the interest of full disclosure, I must inform our readers that I had three co-writers, so I can’t take sole credit for that outstanding script, though I’m pretty sure I was responsible for the very hilarious Twerp names of Bratty and Lazy. Not to mention King Kool, the fabulous hero of the story, who was played by the most popular boy in sixth grade, whose name I do in fact remember but will not disclose as it’s the age of Google and I don’t want to get sued. He was totally cool though. Back in second grade, no one rocked those sweat bands on the wrists the way he did. Plus, he was a super fast runner. Totally cool.)

I also had an imaginary correspondence with one of the stars of Eight Is Enough; my friend and I suggested a story line in which Susan turned out to be adopted, and we (my friend had flaming red hair, and I was sort of white-skinned and round-cheeked) were her biological little sisters. Sadly, our letter must have been lost in the mail, or I would no doubt be married to (and divorced from) Willie Ames by now.


SP:

What are your dreams for you writing, or rather, where do you see yourself and your work in 5 and 10 years?

EL:

Obviously I hope to be published by 2015, hopefully on deadline for my fourth or fifth book. While I don’t count on J.K. Rowling success (duh), I would like to emulate the career of someone like Elizabeth Berg or Anne Tyler by the time we roll into the third decade of the century. By which I don’t necessarily mean their acclaim, as both are such gifted storytellers and word crafters, but their softly building a great backlist of wonderful novels, one after another after another. That would be fantastic.

SP:

Tell us about your current work in progress.

EL:

I’ve got about fifty thousand words or so into a story about two sisters whose lives sort of fall apart just as they receive news of the tragic death of their childhood babysitter. The event—and the woman’s selfless heroism—galvanize them both to examine their lives and choices and take new responsibility for their happiness.

SP:

What drew you to choose this particular topic?

You know, I’ve been working on this story for a while (kind of too long, but don’t tell anyone that), and I really don’t remember what spurred me. I have some memories from my own childhood about some babysitters, and I’ve lifted a few famous family stories for the book, but none of the characters are based on anyone real in my life, past or present. I guess it’s based more on the memories of emotion, and my wondering how I would react if I were to get the kind of news my characters do.

SP:

What do you think it takes for a "regular" writer to become a "successful" writer?

EL:

It’s both my hope and my fear that it’s tenacity and diligence. Both of which are not my strongest suits, but both of which I have worked mightily to improve.

SP:

If you could change one thing about your writing habits, what would it be?

EL:

Did you not just hear what I said about tenacity and diligence?


SP:

What writer do you admire most, or desire to emulate?


EL:

In addition to the novelists I mentioned a little earlier, I would love to have a career trajectory like Barbara Kingsolver. Her masterpiece—and I mean that absolutely, in its true sense—The Poisonwood Bible, was my introduction to her, and it absolutely blew me away. As soon as I finished, I rushed off to find more of her work, and when I read The Bean Trees and some of her other earlier books, I was so impressed with her growth as a writer. The early stuff was really good, too, but what was really wonderful and hopeful to me was that, good as it was, there wasn’t necessarily any particular indication that she’d go on to produce something so incredible as The Poisonwood Bible. That is how I’d like my writing career to go, I thought then (this was just a couple of years ago). Publish some good stuff, keep learning, and then one day, bring out the biggest gun. I actually already have an idea of a book I really want to write that is a huge idea, but I don’t quite feel ready to write it yet. And I don’t want to mess it up before I’m ready, so I’m keeping it on the back burner for now.

SP:

Is there anything else you'd like to tell our readers about you?

EL:

I really like ice cream entirely too much. Also, I think about food in general a disproportionate amount of time. That’s probably not what you meant, though.