Sommer

My name is Sommer and I'm a writer from the Midwest. I am currently working on a YA novel about superheroes, reading as much as I can, blogging, and saving the world.

 

Several years ago after we’d just finished up college, my best friend got an assistant manager position at a mall store to help pay the rent. The job was ok, but she had this one nightmare employee who just made her life hell. Typical nightmare employee BS – mouthy, big attitude, disrespectful, total lack of responsibility. If I remember correctly, she was BFF with the manager of the store which is how she got the job in the first place. ‘natch.

Well, one day this nightmare employee left the store unattended to go hang out with her girlfriends in the food court.

 

And naturally, she was fired.

 

This nightmare ex-employee immediately blamed my friend for her being fired of course. It had nothing to do with the unattended cash register and wall-to-wall shelves of pocketable merchandise. In her fury, she decided to take her revenge against my friend like some honest-to-god supervillain.

The next day when my friend left for work, she discovered her car had been smothered in Crisco and frozen peas.

 

CRISCO AND FROZEN PEAS, PEOPLE.

 

In the middle of the night, this villain was down there gooping up her hands with fat fistfuls of Crisco, ripping bags and bags of frozen peas open with her teeth, and sprinkling them across the Crisco like confetti.

“MAUAHAHAHA I AM TOTALLY GOING TO SHOW HER. SHE’LL RUE THE DAY SHE EVER MESSED WITH ME.”

 That night we had our very own neighborhood Wiley Coyote with her ACME frozen produce, twirling her mustache.

And even crazier yet, this girl must have sat down and been like, “How can I get her back for wronging me? OH MY GOSH. I know what I’m going to do. But first I’m going to need a giant can of Crisco and four bags of frozen peas. TO THE ACME GROCER!”

(In my mind, everything this girl said or did was in all caps.)

A trip through the local car wash pretty much erased the lingering “Muahahahas” and we all laughed till we about peed ourselves. Best. Story. Ever.

The lesson here is that most villains are not Lex Luthor. They aren’t planners or schemers. They’re emotional heat-of-the-moment bad guys with a grudge or a greed. They want to hurt someone or they want to gain something, but mostly they’ve got about ten bucks in pocket change and a healthy fear of getting caught.

And that’s ok. Not all villains are out to destroy the world or take over the moon or organize a new interstellar slave trade or become Emperor of The Universe for Always Times Infinity*. Sometimes they just want to get revenge on someone who made them feel bad about themselves or fulfill some need that has otherwise eluded them.

As the Crisco and peas girl taught us, sometimes the more emotional the villain’s motivations, the better the story.

 

*Besides, this is my title.

 

 

Last night I had to say goodbye to my Andre. When we got home he was struggling to breathe and couldn’t lift his head up more than an inch to greet us. He made these sounds that would break your heart so we bundled him up in a big towel and our vet stayed late to meet us. It was clear the end was coming too fast so we said our goodbyes, told him how much we loved him and wished him god speed. It was maybe the most heartbreaking moment I’ve ever experienced in my life.

It seemed important to him that he waited for us and I’m very grateful. I wish we’d gotten home a little faster so he wouldn’t have had to wait so long.

I miss him more than I know how to say. I’m not religious, but I hope wherever he is there are lots of new and exciting places for him to sleep.

 

When I was a young lady, I read a lot of horror, but most of it was YA horror in the R.L. Stine vein. Now, I love R.L. Stine. That man wrote my childhood. I read my first Stephen King when I was in 3rd grade (Misery, and for the record it took me more than 12 months and a brand new dictionary to finish it. My dad had no idea what the book was about when I asked him for it from the convenience store book rack.) but R.L. Stine was my BFF. I owned almost 200 Fear Street books before I stopped collecting them. So believe me when I say no girl was a bigger fan.

That being said, R.L. Stine had this thing he did with his books where every chapter ended on some crazy cliffhanger. The heroine’s alone in her school’s theater and she hears someone on the catwalk above her. There’s a snap! And she looks up to see a sand bag falling for her head! OH NO! The murderer is coming after her next!!!

Turn the page to Chapter 8 and ….the sandbag stops a few feet from her head and the theater tech geek looks sheepishly over the side of the cat walk and apologizes for letting it slip. No harm, no foul.

Now, when I was young enough, I fell for the cliffhanger every time. Of course, as you read more of his books and discover his pattern, they become less worrisome. You just know the footsteps behind the heroine in the alley are really her best friend trying to catch up with her. The sound coming from her kitchen is really a window left open. In R.L. Stine books, there aren’t many real stakes.

Stakes are one of the most important things we can give our books. I’ve only known one book to kill the main character close to the end (and it was FANTASTIC, surprisingly) so you rarely ever go into a book thinking the main character is going to die. But if the character can’t die, everything he/she  cares about has to be up for possible execution. If the hero loses everything, the heart of the character can be lost and that is sometimes even more devestating than their actual death.

When readers turn the page, there has to be this ribbon of tension that threads from beginning to end that something terrible might happen on the very next page, the next chapter. There must be a reason for the reader to worry for the hero.

I think nothing demonstrates this more than The Death and Return of Superman. When DC Comics decided to kill Superman in 1992, it was a beautiful and gutsy  move. The world was shocked, but they were also ready for beautifully written, emotionally satisfying storyline that gave a gratifying and well earned end to America’s favorite hero. We were going to be made sad in a way that only happens when someone in literature dies.

There was something fulfilling about finally coming to The End. Superman’s was a life well lived.

Until, practically the next day, they brought him back from the dead.

It felt like a money move – nothing sold as well as the death of Superman arc. It breathed a new life into a questionable market. The unintentional aftermath, however, rocked comic book world forever. DC Comics introduced the “fake” death of a character, and the fake death card was pulled for everyone from that moment after. And at first, we fell for it. I was one of the first people in line to buy the Funeral for a Freak comics when Deadpool supposedly died. Others have also fallen victim to the fake death and always they come back. We don’t get too worked about about the death of a comic book character anymore because if Superman can come back, so can anyone else. DC Comics, with that one event, took the stakes away from the story forever. We’ll never be completely sold on a character death. Ever.

That’s really heartbreaking when you think about it.

And that’s a problem. If the reader doesn’t believe you’ll follow through with your threat, your story loses its guts. There’s nothing sadder than a gutless story. There’s also nothing less worth reading. If a character loses their family, they have to be changed by it. If their heart is broken irreparably, it shouldn’t be easily repaired. Raise your hand if you called shenanigans when Willow hooked up with Kennedy less than half a season after Tara’s death. I rest my case.

In the wake of the new Chronicle movie (which I will talk about at length in 2 weeks during SUPER WEEK here on Tell Great Stories!!) a wonderful YouTube video hit the streets detailing the trouble The Death and Return of Superman brought to comic book storytelling. This video is what originally gave me the idea for the post. I hope you enjoy it. It’s kind of long but WELL WORTH the insight into the analysis of a story and its stakes. It also talks a little bit about BAD plot devices and why you should avoid them (told with great humor.)

 

(Warning: There’s some swearing and some dark humor involved in this analysis. If you don’t like to laugh, don’t watch this video. You have been warned!!!)

 

 

 

 

*Sorry about the short update. Ended up spending a lot of time at the kitty hospital today. My cat is home now though with a cone over his head and a catheter. He’s back to the vet hospital tomorrow but they have high hopes he’ll make a speedy recovery. You can read more about our kitty trials and tribulations earlier this week.

 

Book covers are prime real estate.  They take up the same amount of space as any one of the pages within to say visually to the potential reader the entire story they might enjoy if they only just reached out and picked it off the shelf. Most books only get one shot at getting the cover right, so you can understand why I hate when covers are squandered on pretty girls wearing pretty dresses because it says next to nothing about the story itself.

The book currently coming to mind is Shatter Me by Tahereh Mafi. I really enjoyed the story, but ugh, if I hadn’t already loved Tahereh, I probably wouldn’t have picked up the book based on the cover. I think I’m even more disappointed by that cover because I loved the book itself and the scenes the heroine has to wear the pretty dress in are such tiny blips in the overall story. The dress is forced upon her. It’s the opposite of her identity and highlights the only part of the book where the heroine looks the way someone else wants her to look. That seems weird to me, although I give it points for at least having relevance to the story. I recently finished a book with a pretty girl in a pretty dress on the cover and the pretty girl never actually wears a pretty dress in the book and the background she’s standing in front of? Also not in the book.

This is the weird stuff that keeps me from being able to sleep at night, that irrelevant book covers are allowed to exist.

Not surprisingly, I’ve been drawn to illustrated book covers lately. Specifically, illustrated book covers with a certain look to them, sort of a comic book meets children’s book with a little edge and a little verve. I love this style on YA and adult books, I don’t know why exactly. It speaks to the part of me that is make-believe, I guess, and also because it is very, very pretty.

These illustrations are not generic. The artists who design them must become intimately familiar with at least part of the book – he or she had to have very in-depth conversations with the author or they read the book themselves. These illustrations are time consuming and require a certain amount of talent. They are deliberate. You cannot troll the photography copyright sites looking for a model to photoshop in order to achieve the level of artistry required to build these illustrations. They capture mood, atmosphere, character, suspense, story, tension, and mystery. I’m clearly biased. Art that is not meaningful and sublime isn’t trying hard enough.

My love affair with this style (and if there is a term for it, I’m ready to learn. Teach away!) began with this cover:

It’s really Capillya’s fault because she’s the one that introduced me to it in the first place. Gorgeous right? Look at the lines in the books, the movement between fantasy and reality and the sensation that the ground is insubstantial. One wrong turn can bring the whole house of cards down. This was a very deliberate cover.

Then there was This Girl is Different by JJ Johnson. I remember seeing it, touching it, and thinking, “Is this cover for real?”

Winter Town by Stephen Emond sort of fits because it makes me feel similarly the way I feel when I see This Girl is Different, though the illustration style is not like the others. And of course, The Big Crunch by Pete Hautman. I don’t even know what that book is about, but it’s on my Amazon Wishlist.

 

Capillya is also to blame for my sleepless nights spent thinking about August, the strangest book cover I have maybe ever seen, and also the most captivating. I want this book in my hands so bad. I would love to experience the strange vertigo feeling I get from looking at it on the screen but in real life. A good book cover can do that to you, get in your head like that.

Last week I was at Half Priced Books scoping out some new research books. By and large, used book stores are the way to go for research books you want to own, otherwise the library is your best bet. You’d be surprised how limited the selection on weather specific scientific essays there are in Barnes & Noble. In December I purchased a first person narrative on the experience of flight and a historical analysis of war-time footwear. They’re not exactly strong competition for Lindsey Lohan’s favorite pre-crime spree mixed drink retrospective, you know?

After finding my book on weather essays, I wandered over to the YA section to peruse the merchandise. Now, don’t get too worked up over me buying used books and not supporting my favorite authors. 99% of the time I buy my personal copies from Amazon (and Borders before it closed.) I do, however, pick up extra copies of books my husband teaches because his class sets are often smaller than his class body count and I also pick up new releases for his classroom library. Ellen Hopkins is a favorite of his students and I’d like to think she’d understand that I purchased my second, third, and fourth copies of Perfect used for his students who have never owned a book in their life but beg to get their hands on one of her books. We do what we can for them.

Anyway, so I was thumbing through the shelves and I stumbled across a book cover…no, no that’s not right. I was blinded by a book cover that screamed “PICK ME UP OR YOU WILL BURN IN HELL.”

The picture is nice but it doesn’t do the real life colors justice. It’s like the art of a Dr. Seuss book on…um…more acid than normal.

I’m unconvinced the book is actually YA and I have this sneaking suspicion it was shelved here because of the illustration style of the cover, but whatever. Isn’t it cool?

 

In that same trip I stumbled across They Came From Below by Blake Nelson which, I’ll be honest, has a pretty hokey premise but the reviews are pretty stellar so clearly I shouldn’t be judging a cover by its plot synopsis. I’d love to have this cover as a poster in my office. It’s very Dr. Seuss meets H.P. Lovecraft.

So what do you think? Illustrated covers yay or nay? Any favorites I didn’t mention here? Do you think they work for YA and adult books or should they be relegated to middle grade and under forever until the end of time? Would you buy a book with an illustrated cover?

 

 

Today is a low key blog day. As many of you know by now I write  most of my blog posts a week ahead of time. Well, this week (technically last week) I ended up taking time off work to stay home with my sick elderly cat, Andre. I rescued Andre from our local humane society 13 years ago when I was 19 and moving into my first apartment by myself. I got him so I wouldn’t have to be alone.

Now, my Andre is getting up in his years and has a lot of health problems. His nickname at our house is Mr. Bear because he acts like a big teddy bear and loves to be held and snuggled, particularly at bed time, and even likes when you rest your head on him. He’s also called Mr. Bear because he has GIANT paws that make a lot of noise when he plods about the house. (He wouldn’t know how to go any faster than plodding if zombies were trying to nom on his tail.) 

This week (last week) we found him in the corner of my office and he couldn’t get up. He seemed to have no ability to hold himself up and we feared we were looking at his end days. The vet said he has a weak heart. We knew he had an enlarged heart (we lovingly joke that “there’s a big heart in that big bear.”) and we knew he had a heart murmur. The reason he couldn’t get up was because his heart was pumping too little blood to his legs. His heart meds were upped and we spent several tense days waiting to see if the medicine worked.

It did.

He’s not eating much yet, but I think he’s getting better slowly but surely. His favorite things in the world are sleeping in the bathroom and sleeping on clothes left on the floor in the bedroom, sleeping under the dining room table and sleeping on the back of the couch. His second favorite thing in the world is sleeping in his cat bed and on the cat tree and on my husband’s side of the bed where he sleeps with his head propped on the pillow like a person. His third favorite thing in the whole world is sleeping in my office next to my desk and behind my desk and on the bookshelf next to my desk and sometimes, when he’s feeling particularly lazy, in the middle of the floor. His favorite summertime activity is sleeping in the grass in the backyard.

Anyway, long story short, I spent more time staring across the room at my cat as he groomed himself or ate his dinner or sat there staring at me staring at him and I didn’t get all my posts for the week written. Such is life.

So instead you get some pictures of my cat and I’ll share with you one of my favorite videos in the whole world – the genius of Improv Everywhere, particularly the mp3 experiments.  There is such joy in shared absurdity.

 

 

 

 

In March I’ll be embarking on an adventure into the arid desert with little but my laptop and tea kettle in hand. This adventure has been many, many months in the making and I am not setting off on my own. I may be traveling at the comfort and whim of Southwest Airlines and not aboard a hot air balloon or the Nautilus, yet I expect nothing but a most challenging and rewarding five day journey.

My destination? Las Vegas. Shiney, sparkling, neon Las Vegas where anything can, and nearly should, happen. Because what happens in Vegas will end up in my novel and I could use the content.

I’ll be shacked up in one of the monolith hotels on the strip with 7 other writers, all Bransforumers, writing our little hearts out and talking shop into the wee hours. We’ll take breaks to attend shows and eat and sight-see too. I’m crossing my fingers I can drag a couple of them off into the desert with me to seek enlightenment and a sun tan. But really we’re mostly going to the craziest, liveliest city in the states so that we can hole up in our hotel rooms and write in our pajamas.

I’m nervous like I rarely ever am. When this plan was six months out it was a lot easier to be bright eyed and excited. Now that we’re creeping into just less than 4 weeks and I’m starting to think OH HOLY CRAP. These wonderful people whom I’ve grown to really love and look up to are going to come face to face with me and they are going to have to learn the hard truth – that I’m just a normal, geeky girl.

That’s the funny thing about the internet and blogs in particular. It is easy to look at the people we love to read and see them as something more than ourselves. They must make the best decisions, have the greatest ideas, enjoy things ten times more than I do. It’s not true, not by a long shot. I fear what will happen when the real me and the online me have to merge bodies. Like some kind of lame Sci-Fi Original movie. Will one me devour the other in mortal combat or will there be a personality soup of both sloshing about inside my head, causing me to fritz out sometimes like a poorly programmed robot? Or will I discover that online me and real me aren’t so different after all?

I have no idea. This isn’t a situation I’ve ever been in before.

It is also a very public debut of my writing. Some of my adventure friends are going to be critiquing my work and others will get snippets as we do little workshops together to improve our craft by stealing the very best of each other’s talents and incorporating them into our own genetic make-up. They are going to get to see me procrastinate by staring aimlessly into space while I try to figure out what would my hero do if I gave her a blow torch. They will see my weird writing tics, my orderliness of my tea just above and to the right of my mouse, the way I tug my hair gently when I’m thinking or pull it up into a nervous pony tail over and over again as my frustration mounts. Or how I decide I have to go to the bathroom when I just need to get away from my computer for six minutes. Even if I don’t really have to go.

I’m nervous. Like stomach butterfly nervous. Like first date nervous. Like second date nervous. I feel like I’m going to land back in Omaha after a week to discover a massive smear campaign across the blogosophere – BLOGGER LIES ABOUT BEING COOL. NEWS AT 8.

And forget the people. This is five solid days of writing. All morning, all day, all night. I could accomplish HUGE things during this week, but what if the sudden freedom to be successful blocks me up so badly that I end up drooling and gibbering on the floor in the corner of my hotel room instead? These thoughts terrify me.

It doesn’t help that I’ve already started having nightmares about the event. Ok, just one nightmare. In my nightmare Las Vegas I ended up showing up and discovering there were several author and YouTube celebrities attending. And I was wearing my gym clothes. After I’d gone to the gym. So there I was shaking hands with Nathan Bransford, smelling like a girl who hasn’t washed her gym socks in a couple of weeks.

Later in the same dream I ended up speaking to a group of my favorite people without any pants on and while I spoke I kept thinking, “Oh god, please don’t let them notice I’m not wearing any pants.

 

 

Last weekend was the 2012 US National Figure Skating Championships. I like figure skating. I promise this post ties into writing, so just follow me here for a second.

So I was at the gym running on the treadmill and watching the championships on the little treadmill tv. I watched the short program and later got to see the free skate programs. The announcers had very specific expectations of what was going to happen before the short programs even begun. There were two favorites – Mirai Nagasu and Alissa Czisny.

Mirai Nagasu (in red, below left) took the US Championships in 2008 and went on to place 4th at the Olympics in 2010.

Alissa Czisny (in white, below right) took the US Championships in 2009 and 2011 and was expected to take the championship again this year to win 2 years consecutively.

On the other side of this was Agnes Zawadzki (right, purple) who spent the last two years doing ok, not great, and generally unhappy as a skater. Last year she almost quit because figure skating had stopped being fun, something she enjoyed and looked forward to. She got a new coach and decided to try one more time. She went into the nationals not expected to place.

Ashley Wagner (top left, black) had some health issues that made the last couple of years difficult for her. She ended up moving to California to work with a new coach and everyone was kind of curious to see what, if anything, this new coach had given her.

What happened over the short program and free skate was shocking to the announcers and the audience. Marai Nagasu and Alissa Czisny did not have clean programs. They stumbled, they didn’t make landings, they were not on their game. They fell repeatedly. Each mistake brought more mistakes until one of the announcers mentioned “this is just heartbreaking to watch.”

Out of no where, Agnes performed a beautiful, clean short program with the most amazing jumps. She caught air. She had so much power in her spins she defied gravity. She sparkled as she skated and ended up sweeping the short program and went into the long program in first place.

Agnes fell during her long program but she still finished with the most beautiful smile. She was absolutely glowing. Ashley Wagner skated a very strong long program without any falls, no mistakes. I think she dropped one of her 7 (SEVEN!?!?!?) triple jumps to a single if I remember correctly, but otherwise it was flawless and she ended up taking the gold medal.

It was a nail biter of a competition and with each troubled performance the announcers kept saying the same thing, “She let the negative thoughts/the doubt/the fear into her head.” It wasn’t that these trained athletes couldn’t do their sport. They’d practiced these programs until they could do it with their eyes closed. It wasn’t that they COULDN’T do it. This is important so I’m going to repeat it one more time - it wasn’t that they couldn’t do what they set out to do. It was that they got out in front of that audience at game time and for one moment thought -

What if I’m not good enough? I can’t do this.

And they they couldn’t.

Everyone kept saying -

“She did a double instead of the triple she planned.”

“She wasn’t going into the jump fast enough.”

“She hesitated.”

“She held back.”

And I kept thinking, what if they hadn’t held back? What if they still missed the jump but the reason they missed it wasn’t because they held back? Wouldn’t that be better than thinking back later - maybe I could have stuck the landing if I’d just gone all in no matter what?

What might happen if we writers went all in and didn’t hesitate, didn’t hold back? Maybe we still wouldn’t get agented, still wouldn’t get published. Maybe our dreams wouldn’t happen with this book, or the next. But wouldn’t it be great if we could say

I finished the book, finished the query letter, and I put myself out there.

I let them judge me and maybe they won’t find what they are looking for in me today, but it won’t be because I didn’t show up to play the game.

I didn’t hesitate.

And I sure as hell didn’t hold back.

We can’t fail if we don’t finish, but we can’t win either. Maybe we’re not yet gold medalists. Maybe we aren’t going to be John Green or Neil Gaiman or J.K. Rowling. Maybe we won’t even end up agented and we’ll have to take a different path. But maybe we will come out of no where and be our own Ashley Wagners and Agnes Zawadzkis. Maybe we’ll bring people to their feet because they sure didn’t see us coming.

 

There’s only one way to find out.
 
 
 
 

 

Being a Cybils judge taught me a few things about writing for YA – many good things and also many things we could be doing better. While I hate writing about the negatives, I think the good things will be easy for us to get our heads around and accept while the negatives are going to taste funny and make some people annoyed with me.

I’ve picked three traits to share with you that quickly drove me bananas and the first one is the most painful for me personally. I read a lot of books back to back very fast and too many of them to count had one (or more) of these three qualities. I think these three qualities make our writing weaker and our readers’ experiences less fantastic. Take it for what it’s worth. I’m not picking on any particular books or authors and many of the books I loved have exhibited at least one of these three traits. I just think we can do better. These are not trends I want to see made into the norm.

 

Bananas Trend #3: The Trojan Genre

Trojan horse' http://www.flickr.com/photos/24675118@N08/2339562911

Everybody raise your hand if this has happened to you.

So you start reading a book – probably dystopian, supernatural, paranormal, or post-apocalyptic. These are popular genres right now. In this metaphor, these are your giant, pretty horses.

You’re reading along and the story is pretty good – some of the setting is a little wobbly as far as facts and science go, but all in all, good story. Great set up. The heroine has accepted her role as Saver of the Known Universe, or whatever, and then – she meets The Boy.

The Boy comes in a variety of forms, from cocky anti-hero to hot eyelash batting hottie of hotnessville. You know right away because she usually points out how hot he is (romance subplots tend to have the subtly of a rattle snake) and suddenly the heroine has forgotten all about the Impending Destruction of the Known Universe. The story becomes one scene after another of them being thrown together, possibly with a Jealous Other hiding in the curtains, to the point where there are more events surrounding their blooming passion and less and less events having anything to do with the Impending Doom.

This is what I call The Trojan Genre. And it drives me bananas.

 

Romance Swap

The army hiding inside the horse is almost always that of Romance. The story is far more concerned with how the two characters feel about each other and how often they can save each other from the bad guy than it is about the rest of the world. It uses this awesome setting to more or less set up hot make-outs.

Romance is FINE. It’s AWESOME. I love me some hot make-outs, but romance does not need to pretend to be something else in order to get my attention. I’d love to read a sci-fi romance or a supernatural romance. I don’t need any underlying Impending Doom to get me to show up to the party.

But I’m tired of the fake-out. I’m tired of believing I’m getting one story when I’m really getting the romance subplot as main plot. The old switcheroo. I like a great romance subplot to stay subplotty. When I’m promised explosions I want them to get explody.

 

 

 

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