Book Review: Writing & Selling the YA Novel by K.L. Going

 

Teen and Young Adult Fiction (Photo credit: Blue Train Books)

 

Writing & Selling the YA Novel by K.L. Going

 

Traci Kenworth

 

 

 

2008 Writer’s Digest Books an imprint of F & W Publications, Inc.

 

Author of Saint Iggy and Fat Kid Rules the World

 

 

 

This book is set up like a class schedule with such chapters as: Homeroom (Time to Get

 

Motivated), GYM (Tossing Around—and Running With—Ideas), and Lunch (A Plateful of Healthy Plot) to name a few. Your instructor teaches in a friendly, no-bones about it manner of what it takes to write a YA Novel. There are little activities/homework at the end of each chapter to use.

 

The Author in addition to writing award-winning books worked as a literary agent at

 

Curtis Brown, Ltd. She’s even inserted questions and answers from real teens today to get their perspective on the market, what their reading, and their likes and dislikes. I admit to reading this book more than once because I wanted to absorb every nugget of advice she offered. Setting this up to read like courses at a high school evoked images of the past for me, although I didn’t get a flushed face when I didn’t know an answer, or have to slink in my seat at the back of the class to avoid the superior looks of other students.

 

I felt right at home in this learning environment and I’m sure you will too. From

 

Structure and Decision Making to Point of Views to Finding Fabulous First Readers, it’s all here. I like that she delved into the the goings-on inside the business side of the novel at the end as well. I’ve learned characterization can be my most valuable tool in filling in a character and getting them to be larger-than-life to others. I’ve learned that Grant of Right specifies who controls each aspect of your book. I’ve learned  that some of the biggest pet peeves for real teens are how they’re portrayed (not very nice), that they’re tired of books who don’t show them as having good relationships with their family members but always has them at odds especially with a parent, and that there’s no balance between the pretty girl or the awkward and shy girl in a love story.

 

Knowing your audience is key and some of the answers really helped me look at my own

 

work and ask the same questions. So drop those pom poms into your locker, jot down a note on your erase-board, or grab your book for Chemistry. School is in session and it will be fun, fun, fun.

 

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The Stage

Clarita from Morquefile.

The Stage

Traci Kenworth

 

My hand closed on the curtain leading to the stage. This was it. The big moment. Before I’d been a part of the audience, this time, the devue had come for me. At fourteen, I’d longed for the year I’d be chosen. My chance to escape from this nightmarish world. Death would be welcome, a gift from being a food for one of the hellish creatures, who roamed the American Republic. I shivered as a shove came from behind and literally tripped onto the theater floor.

A woman, most likely a pet of the Society that ran these auditions, dressed in an all-black costume that looked like something out of a long-ago, whispered fairytale. I’d been a first-grader when the third world war struck, two years later, the monsters had attacked.  Now the Society ran the 1/3 of the country not governed by the enemy factions. Slowly, they were working their way into the military areas as well.

I could hear the children in the cages below, begging, pleading to be me. I’d been in their shoes many a time. First when I watched my Momma and then my Daddy take that chair, draw their chance at a lottery to be free. No more feeding pigs to an army of darkness. I’d gazed at their broken, weary bodies and wished I were them. To have it all end. I couldn’t stand the sucking, the slurping, or the chewing. Most of all, looking into a face so—human—it was eerie.

Picking myself up from the platform, I staggered thanks to a twisted ankle, over to the chair in the center. Tears clung to my eyelashes. Would they turn me away? Repulsed by an offering not perfect? There came no warning bells, no whistles and I breathed a sigh of relief. I sat down, braced myself, and waited.

I heard the sound of ropes swaying above, imagining which of the creatures would descend on her. The dark lady in the costume introduced me. “Mereketh, everyone. She looks to be a fine morsel indeed.” She cued the buckets of blood to be dropped on me. Hisses and yowls came from around me in the faces of a human population gone wrong.

I waited for just the right moment, balling my fists, as they crept toward me. It would be so easy—to let go—but I continued to let them surround me. As they began to fight among one another to see who would be leader of the pack, I drew my hands forward and uncurled my fingers. The toxic fumes reached into their midst and slashed the flesh from their bones as they’d done to many of ours.

I heard the children cry out and then cheer, something they hadn’t done in forever. When I hobbled from the chair, not a monster was standing, they’d all succumbed to magic they’d long forgotten. A magic not always grown on the Akara Mountains, but sometimes, in the heart of people everywhere.

 

Check out the other yaff ladies’ stories:

Vanessa

Rebekah

 

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When it’s Okay

Image by arneheijenga via Flickr

When it’s Okay to be in Love with Your Writing

& when it’s not

Traci Kenworth

 

Okay, so you just know you’ve written the one. You’re trembling with excitement, on fire with ambition, ready to shoot past the stars. Hold on there. Have you ran your brilliant creation past your critique groups and beta readers and gotten their thoughts/pointers? Although you may be tempted to skip these steps, because you can’t possibly make it any better, do them anyway. That’s right. Resist the temptation to just hit send to that agent on your list.

Instead, step back, take a look, and breathe. Let the comments settle a while if you must, and then pare your work. Yes, that’s right, doing so will improve it further. I know how hard it is to put something you’ve sweated, cried, and driven yourself mad over, but it has to be done. And when you do so, keep in mind that the critiquer is not out to get you, someone who lives to cut others down, or tempted to steal your work. They’ve got their own.

Now, that’s not to say there aren’t some unscrupulous people out there. Do your research. Find a group that cares about you as well as your writing. Support is a major factor in winning the battle. I trust my cps. I’ve been the rounds with them, know when to listen, and when to stay with my vision. I can tell you one thing though: what they say carries impact because I know they really want the best for me.

I try to give that back as well. Are there times I don’t like what they say? Yes. Are there times when they don’t like what I say? Yes. But we get through it like a family does. The best advice I can give you is to put that manuscript aside and let what was pointed out sink in. Then when you go back, approach it with new eyes. Does that paragraph really border on telling? Tweak it. Is your character too passive? Go back and look them over. Are they doing their job? Is this really their story? Or does it belong to the poor boy, Jack? Is your prose overwritten? Weed, weed, weed.

It’s amazing how much we learn from book to book, if we let ourselves. One of the best compliments I’ve received was after advice to put what I was working with aside and go back to it. My cp simply told me, “Anyone can be taught to write, but you’re a storyteller. That’s a rare gift.” I treasure and hold onto that when the reviews don’t turn in my favor. This is the same person who gave me a key that I like to think will open the door to success for me one day. See, we are like a family. Support and constructive criticism.

Has anyone ever been hurt or put off by my comments in the past? Yes, I’m sure more than once. I tend to be honest and straight forward in a critique and that doesn’t always agree with some people. And some do take what I say the wrong way. I wish this wasn’t so, but it is. I’ve had relationships destroyed by the fact, and people ask me not to critique their work any longer. The hurt goes both ways. I was trying to help, they took offense.

Luckily, the ladies at YAFF (YoungAdultFictionFanatics) keep the communication lines open. Just remember to find someone to critique your work that doesn’t approach it as a tear-down session. They should compliment what you’re doing as well as point out the bad. It’s give-and-take.

Remember to digest what they say, and if it remains true to your vision of the story, or can improve it, go with it. If it deviates from how you want to go, weigh the pros and cons. Trust your gut. It’s hard to do at first, but the more you write, the stronger your belief in yourself will become. Eventually, you’ll learn which path to take. Don’t be so in love with your writing you’re unwilling to change it, but fight for what you believe in.

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The Three Faces of Death

Ardelfin at morquefile.com

The Three Faces of Death

Traci Kenworth

 

That summer came in early, wet and stormy. I danced in a few puddles, and then cringed at the thought of someone seeing me out here, acting so childish. Seventeen wasn’t an age to veer from your course, otherwise, you could end up backtracked to Antarctica when it came to the popular crowd. I’d just stepped into their midst, and wasn’t about to be banished again. All my life, I’d watched them, hated them, and envied them.

A horn beeped twice before the car pulled over, Jesse inside.

I smiled just the way any cheerleader had been taught. Models had nothing on us. We were the it deal and everybody knew it.

He patted the seat beside him. “Get in.”

“Sure,” I said as butterflies somersaulted inside my stomach. Jesse Andrews was the hot everything at Fairlawn High. I’d worked my way up through the chain of command to shine in a tiny yellow skirt beside him.

He took the curves fast, the open road even faster. Soon we’d left the city lights behind us headed for anywhere. Jesse ran his hand up my thigh and I giggled my encouragement. Everything was falling into place. This was the best time of my life. His fingers explored further. He swerved over into the other lane. We skirted another curve. The Neon appeared in the headlights moments before Jesse hit the brakes. He had time to curse and dig down into my skin and then the crunch of metal silenced all.

Everyone said I was lucky I escaped the crash without a scratch. At the funeral, I could see it all in my classmates’ gazes: the blame. It took me a good year to drown the sorrow and the pain. I mean, how do you get over something like that? I couldn’t bear to shut my eyes at night because the image of Jesse was always there. Except, now, he wore a black cape and visited others in my nightmares. At the end of every one, he’d swing around and wink at me. As if we shared some great secret.

Jenny Bartlett was the last of the popular crowd to stick by me. Mostly, I suppose, because she was the one who took pity on me in the first place and invited me into the circle. She was smart, funny, talented, an all-around loved girl. But her efforts to save those beneath her loosened her crown. Others whispered. Said it wasn’t right. They somehow convinced themselves that we were dragging her down into a pit she couldn’t crawl out of. The rumors began to prey on her. Her boyfriend convinced me to talk to her about getting help when the depression deepened.

Five months later, she committed suicide.

I was left alone for good. The hallways cleared when I walked down them, others spit on my tracks after I was gone. Cyber-stalking took on a new meaning when it came to me. I was nicknamed, “Death.” I transferred schools twice but the identity followed as did the dreams. Jenny had joined Jesse as a reaper. Both motioned to me to follow them but I didn’t know how. Until my Mom left.

What little was left of my world came crashing down. I tried drugs, drank harder liquor, shoved myself into danger again and again. One night I went so high, I was able to grasp their hands. They held on tight and wouldn’t let me fall again. Now, I walk through darkness, side by side with my friends. We are the haunts in your night terrors, the last faces you see before you die. We are everything perfect, and everything to be feared.

We are death. Three faces united, statues in the cemetery, sprung to life.

Rebekah Purdy

Kelbian Naidoo

Vanessa Barger

Miranda Buchanon

Jenn Fischetto

Kit Forbes

Joey Nichols

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My Writing Style

Cover of Carrie (Special Edition)

My Writing Style

Traci Kenworth

 

This is something I see discussed a lot by other writers: what their style is when it comes to their writing. Finding it. Embracing it. Expanding on it. To be honest, it’s not something I concentrate on. I’m afraid I’ll mess things up too much if I tinker with it. Write what you know, they say. Well, let me let you in on a little secret: life in high school was hell for me. I’m reminded of this as our class reunion was this past weekend. I’m not bitter, or try not to be anyway, but I think who I am as a writer comes out of that experience. You see, I was literally called, “Carrie,” then by most, not all, students.

Coming out of that kind of rejection of your peers really gets down into your gut and colors how you write, I think. I guess, the horror genre and I were just meant to be. It’s hard to write this kind of blog because most people have (I hope) changed since then. They’ve been through the hard knocks of life, like me. Now, I know I’m not alone in the pain of then. Football players (even the mighty quarterbacks), cheerleaders, and the like went through their own ups and downs. I think we’re just all so close to our own emotions we couldn’t see that.

As I look back on those years, you might wonder why I chose to write young adult fiction. Maybe it’s because of the girl who walked those lonely halls, maybe it’s so I can speak to others and help them through the same years, or maybe it’s just because I like seeing a teen challenged by those kinds of circumstances win. The point of all this is, all of the trials of life go into our writing. Who you were, who you are, and who you’re working to become.

None of us is perfect. What I’ve been through doesn’t make me think less of anyone I went to high school with. In fact, there are some who turned out pretty great from our class. What I pour into my writing is what I learned from life. There are bad times and there are good. And the in-between. We struggle and we succeed by holding on to what we’ve learned and pushing ourselves harder.

I used to think if only I could have changed those days but now I’m glad I couldn’t. They give me the strength in my writing, my passion. I try to experience the full-round of emotions in my writing when it comes to my characters. Each are a little part of me. I work hard to make them authentic and as real as I can. But I don’t over-analyze things. I just let the natural flow. I’m comfortable with writing horror. It seems like a long lost friend. And I want it to be like that: comfortable, a warm place to come home to, a pillow for my head.

If this seems like I don’t invite terror into the mix, Lol, don’t be fooled. It’s because of my life that I’m able to draw such monsters into my fiction but it’s also why I’m able to blend the horror with hope. My children taught me how to take back my life, to go on despite tragic circumstances, and to salvage the notion that ugly ducklings do turn into swans. It just takes time. I think that’s what I’m learning when I look at my own writing.

I believe in the inherent goodness in individuals, that we can overcome anything. It takes faith, courage, and perseverance. That message comes across in my “style” I hope. So, if you’re worried about how you’re coming across to your readers, my advice is to not. Let things flow, write from the heart. It will lead you the right way every time.

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By the Roadside…

Cover of Twilight (Two-Disc Special Edition)

By the Roadside

(Observations on life, books and the like…)

Traci Kenworth

 

Living where I do, in Amish country, is simple, easy, and a bit breath-taking. You see some quaint things you don’t see every day in the city. I think it’s part of the charm. Yet, more and more residents are having to move on due to the economy. It’s heart-breaking to get to know people and then have to say goodbyes. I love the neighbors I have and hope and pray that nothing makes them have to leave. But twice now, one neighbor has put up a for-sale sign. It makes me wonder if the house will stay empty, what the new people will be like, how we’ll get along.

My daughter is dealing with the loss right now of one of her best friends. They grew up together and now as they enter their teen years, they’ll do so apart. I wish I could stop the change from happening but I realize it’s part of life. I went through many friendships that ended at some point due to moves. But these days, it seems to be more frequent, and less of a sure thing to keep friends forever. Even my son has gone through several losses. Why you can’t protect them from the hurt, you can encourage them to take the risks, the chance that things will become more stable somewhere down the line.

I suppose this is why I like books/TV shows/movies etc. that show the turmoil that comes with life. It’s an expression of where we’re at in life. Hopefully, they give us the hope, the will, to go on, to face that mountain. Books like The Hunger Game series paint a dark landscape, absolute chaos to be sure, but they also show the perseverance, the strength, of the characters who deal with it. When we as parents try to block our children from reading the books they want to, we’re showing a lack of confidence in them to sort through what their reading and take away from them the experience, the joy of being able to read, the thoughts of what they would do under the circumstances. I’m not saying ALL material is suitable for children i.e. ADULT material, but we need to foster in our children the desire to learn. And if picking up Twilight, or another book of this type, gets them to read, I say let them.

How else are they going to travel that road to adulthood?

In my youth, I read everything from romances to horror. My daughter’s read Stephen King. It hasn’t warped her mind or sent her on some rampage. It’s helped her see that fears can and are meant to be worked through. Controlling your children is never the answer. Instead, give them the opportunity to read and come to you with questions, concerns. It’ll encourage more communication and respect for both your children and you. I know as parents we like to think we’re protecting our children, but sometimes in our efforts, we stifle them.

Just give them the chance, the voice they need and I think they’ll surprise you.

The road may be rough but we’ve got each other to make it through. And that is what matters most of all.

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Eek, The Answer to Where I’d Go During Zombie Apocalypse

Image via Wikipedia

Eeek…The Answer to Where I’d Go During a Zombie Apocalypse(and Other Little Horrors)

Traci Kenworth

 

Okay, so me and the ladies we’re talking a bit about what we’d do if zombies suddenly occupied the streets. For me, living out in Amish country, I’d be a little late to the news. And I couldn’t rely on the absence of anything on the TV stations as the cable goes out here when the wind blows. I don’t listen to the radio except while in my car, so hopefully that would be the case. I don’t have access to an underground shelter or a refuge of weapons to maim and decapitate the undead ala Zombieland. The best I could do is run.

I always figured if Carrie Ryan’s world (The Forest of the Hands and Teeth) came to pass, I’d be safer out here in the country. But alas, I’m informed I’d be on their to-do meal list as they’d all be heading from the cities straight toward us. What’s a single mother to do? The first place I’d go, of course, is the school but then, their parking lots would probably be infested and I’d have to do some quick thinking (picture lots of screaming and running) to get my kids and me out of there. Oh, if only we lived nearby Sunnydale, California’s sewers—Uh, on second thought, that’d place me on another menu.

Having maneuvered my way past the stragglers, I’d have to find my family next. Which would mean, heading toward the more populated areas, right into zombie heartland. Eek. Can anyone say baseball bat? It’d be my trusty ally. Well, that and my car. Pray it doesn’t give out or become mass-attacked by all those bodies. No, it’s not looking good for me. And the last thing I need is to be one of those gooey, icky, scraggle-haired fiends out for brains, or flesh, or whatever the heck they eat nowadays.

I have enough of a hard time fitting in now, with my writerly ways. Lol.

Can you imagine with my zero fashion sense nowadays, how quickly I’d fall short of the pack?

No, definitely don’t want to end up a zombie.

Or one of the living dead.

I think I’ll stick with the lot the good Lord gave me and stay out of forests with any kind of hands and teeth—

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How to Choose Which Genre…

Choosing the Genre in Which to Write

Traci Kenworth

 

I’m going to divert from “How to Breathe Life into Your Characters” this week to discuss what genre you should think of putting your book in. There’s so many to choose from, and different shades of each. You have your Science Fiction-Fantasy that breaks up into “pure” strains of either Science Fiction or Fantasy. You have your Horror, Thrillers, Romance, and so on. So how do you decide?

Just as you had to figure out what character to begin with, this is your time to discover just “who” it is you’re writing to. The gentle reader, of course. But what age group? Yes, you have to break it down. There are no books from 5-100. So that means, you must choose between  pre-school, middle-grade, teen, and adult readers. All fun to write for, but only one selection can be pursued.

If you tried to write the 5-100, you wouldn’t be able to place the book. The agent wouldn’t know where to market it as well. So don’t be stubborn: let your characters speak. What voice do they use? Young or old? How youthful? I tried writing adult books(and who knows, someday maybe I will give it another shot), but my teenage characters keep reeling me in for their stories to be told. Not that I mind. They have some fascinating tales to tell.

For me, I remember not having much of a selection to read from in the YA market. Nowadays there are so many diverse slots for the books, it’s hard to know just where to go. That’s when you have to let the story point the direction. Is it paranormal? Chick-lit? Dystopian? Contemporary? On and on. I tend to write in the YA Supernatural Horror area. I have read a LOT of Stephen King, Dean Koontz, J.N. Williamson, Ray Bradbury etc. That’s where the horror background comes in. It’s funny, I can’t take the hard-core horror movies or TV shows, but I can read them, and write them. The supernatural is just is part of the way I look at things. Add to that my young adult characters and I know what genre I’m supposed to write in.

I tried comedy, contemporary, the funny and light, nothing fit my voice until I decided to stop fighting it and realize “dark, haunting tales,” are just a part of me. Growing up, the Apocalypse aspect of things always waited just out of reach. I think we’ve come back to those times, those fears. So I write about them, hoping to dispel some anxiety of the reader. What would be the worst that could happen? Could we stop it? What if we couldn’t? All this goes into the material.

Why young adults(ages 13-18), you ask? Because I believe it’s one of the best genres out there. And not only the market ability. I believe young minds are on the cusp of opening to a whole new world of possibilities, that they want stories that challenge them, give them hope, make them dare to take that leap. I don’t write these stories to make them fear life. I want them to embrace it, and live every moment to the fullest.

So decide which shelf it is that you want to pull your book down from. Each genre has it rewards. It’s up to you to decide what means the most to you. Perhaps try experimenting with the different ones, and let that settle your mind on where to write. If you love seeing the hero and heroine explore their relationship, and want to focus on them, choose romance. Love fantastical worlds ala The Hobbit? Fantasy’s your option. Spaceships and star destroyers? Science Fiction. Monsters and good defeating evil? Horror. Or blend them. Not all, of course, but a good Fantasy-Horror book is just waiting to be written.

And remember to break them off into age brackets. Your reader will thank you for choosing to express yourself in a genre you’ll most likely come to love. All that’s left then, is to settle down, open the pages, and begin the story.

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How to Breathe Life into Your Characters VI

How to Breathe Life into Your Characters

VI

Introductions

 

The way you bring your hero/heroine onto the page is important. Some say to start with a big bang, but that doesn’t allow your character enough time for the reader to come to identify with him/her. You want to begin with the inciting incident, for sure. This means what catastrophe is going to happen/the beginning of a romance/the window to the plot.

Don’t rush it. Take your time and bring the viewpoint character as close to the action as possible without dangling him over a cliff in the first few paragraphs. I’ve made some of the big no-no’s when it comes to beginning: beginning with dreams, describing the character via mirrors/pools, putting him/her into the thick of things before they’re developed enough.

That’s the key here. The reader wants to get to know your character before they decide to jump off a bridge/rush into the darkness with them. Because we all know there are consequences in those actions. However, for most of us, it’s like listening to the news. We’re aware of the situation but it doesn’t concern us because it’s not personal for us.

Let’s get a glimpse of their sock drawer where they’ve hidden a million dollars, watch the struggle over a comeback to the biggest bully in school, catch a peek of a shadowed figure before we’re swept into the action. This isn’t to say that you start with a dull opening. Far from it. You need a hook to catch an agent/editor’s attention. But a piece of advice: don’t go for the throat in the first sentence.

Think of your favorite books. Clary doesn’t start off in The City of Bones trying to rescue Jace as well as humankind. She doesn’t even know that’s on the horizon yet. She’s concerned with what her mother will think about her staying out late—again.

Katniss doesn’t fall onto the pages within The Hunger Games, a contestant bent on survival. No, we’re allowed to see both the good and the bad of her world. Introduced to those who care about her, and those she cares about. This shows us the window to the plot.

Mary doesn’t begin in the woods in The Forest of Hands and Teeth, but begins by describing a typical day. The horror of what she knows: living with zombies at the fences, always with the threat of their breaking through. We know it’s going to happen, just not when.

These authors were adept at dropping the reader into the book at just the right place. It is important that we know where the hero/heroine’s from, who their family is, what life means to them, and what they consider their fate is going to be. Each glance we get into their perspective worlds bridges the gap between them and the reader. Then, when the rider gallops into the village with news of impending doom, our heroine’s lunch tray gets thrust aside by the it girl, or our lovebirds meet for the first time, it’ll set off sparks.

And those sparks can fan a flame. Keep your characters real to themselves and your readers: show us all that they are made of, then break them down. This is where your story begins. But remember, quietly not with a bang.

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The Gaming Hall

  Photo credit jppi from morguefile.

The Gaming Hall

Traci Kenworth

 

I wasn’t supposed to be in here, to see what went on, but hey, when your sixteen rules are meant to be broken. Especially when it may attract attention from parents who act like you don’t exist anymore since the divorce. Not that I wanted them crushing my world further than it was, but I’d heard things about this place. Things I hoped were true.

“What’s your name?” the woman in charge of the dice asked.

“Madeline Grace Hill,” I squeaked.

“Do you prefer Maddy?”

I nodded.

“Well, this table you’re sitting at is special but I can see right away that you need this more than most.”

I leaned forward. “Can it really help me? Get the two of them together again? To fix everything?”

She smiled. “I can promise, if the dice rolls right, they’ll never be apart again.”

I took the dice in hand. They felt cold, slimy to the touch. I shivered in despite of the sweltering heat outside and in the room. The background around us seemed to fade, the noise of the crowd drowned out. There was only the two of us—and a wish.

“Choose your bet,” she said.

“Seven.”

“Lucky sevens. Let’s roll.”

I wiggled the pieces in my hand and then let them fly forth.

The dice tipped and landed on—seven.

My hand went to my throat.

“A winner in the house,” the woman called. She glanced at me and her smile appeared a bit—toothy. And not the crooked kind of way, but gappy like a creature in a horror flick. “Go home, Maddy.”

I stood then paused. “But how will I know it worked?”

She tapped the dice. “The magic is in the dice.”

I hurried home through twisted, populated streets. Caught the subway and felt the splash as we went under the river above. I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other as I went to the door. A blood-curdling scream unlocked my hesitancy.

Inside, I found them.

Hooked together like Siamese twins.

On the sofa, the woman from the table stood. “You see, now they’ll have to get along.”

I stared in horror as each reached for a knife.

The woman shrugged. “Or maybe not.” She stepped toward me. “But, in any case, there’s a price to be paid for the wish.” She licked her needle-like teeth.

The End

Miranda

Vanessa

Kelbian

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