Thursday, February 24, 2011

Erica Orloff churns out invaluable writing advice like a fan: A Writer's Life (23 Jan 2011):


To write . . . you have to live. Loudly, I think.

And that I do.

When I speak at schools and kids ask for advice on what they should do if they want to become a writer, I usually impart three pieces of so-called wisdom.

Read everything you can get your hands on.

Be intellectually curious.

Get out there and live loud . . . have experiences.
And another one from Erica Orloff's blog: Why Do You Do This? (3 Feb 2011):


Here's the thing . . . writing isn't easy. Not if you want to do it well. It's not break-your-back work. It's not life-or-death, oh-so-important work. It's not braving frontiers in space or science. But it isn't something you master. Ever. I mean some professions, you go to college, you earn a degree, you go out and make your living at it. There might be updates to accounting codes, or changes in technology, things do change, but you learn the new changes and you master then and on you go.

Not so with writing. You never master it. And it generally takes years of pounding out words to learn to do it passably well.

And on top of that, instead of having one boss, if you publish your work, anyone in the entire world who buys your book (and even those who don't) can have an opinion on it. A public opinion. Some won't even be polite about it.

And on top of that, you have to produce something. Three hundred pages of "something." And even THAT isn't enough because you will critique it to death, and fuss over it, and make multiple drafts. You will rip it apart and put it back together again. And you still won't be happy with it. Not really. Once you think it's done, you will kick yourself for all the ways in which it could be better.

So the question remains. Why do you do this? Why do I do this? Head, meet desk.

Except . . . I have the galleys for Magickeepers III on my computer up there. And Mr. Fed Ex brought me the hardcover Spanish-language translation for Magickeepers I yesterday.

And I am reminded.

Yes. This is why I do this.

That and getting to work in my pjs.
From writer Erica Orloff's blog (7 Feb 2011): Simple. Not Easy.


Rules for living. All I really need to know, I learned in kindergarten. Simple little book and rules ... here are a few:

• Play fair.
• Don't hit people.
• Put things back where you found them.
• Clean up your own mess.
• Don't take things that aren't yours.
• Say you're sorry when you hurt somebody.

Frankly, that sounds an awful lot like Be Kind. Simple enough rules for living. When you mess up, say you're sorry. Does it mean it will be EASY or FUN to say sorry? Nope, but no one asked you about that. That's not the rule. The rule is you simply CLEAN UP YOUR MESS and EASE THE HURT. I tell my kids this. Oldest Son pointed out something about a place he visited on Sunday, and I responded, "When people don't live by simple rules, they pay the price. It's not rocket science. You screw up, you fix it." But people don't.

Life isn't complicated. People make it that way. Life is HARD. It's not easy. But it is not complicated. Be Kind. Simple. Right?

So I was thinking . . . what are the simple rules for being a writer? Here are a few of mine.

• Read. A lot.
• Be open. To reading. To intellectual curiosity. To reading something in a genre you never tried. To criticism. (Not easy. But simple!)
• Share. Your wisdom. If asked. Not before. Look, writers are kind of like a big club. Social networking has made it more so. You've worked your craft for 10 years, 20 years, share what you've learned if someone asks. Help each other be better writers.
• Shut up. If you're not asked. Simple. No one likes a blowhard.
• Be kind. Yeah. Sort of sounds like my rules for life, but really, pointing out again about social networking, the world is a much smaller place in many ways. There are a few writers who have burned bridges, and maybe that's fine for them, but really? Do you HAVE to be such an ass? Is it that HARD to just be decent about things? Criticize if you must. Debate fiercely even. But at the end of the day, can you just not pick a fight about every. Little. Thing. Be nice to your fellow writers, editors, agents. Most aren't the enemy as people.
• Work hard. Don't sell your work short. Self-pubbing is fine, but NOT (in my own opinion) without spending the time really working your craft. Come on. Dig deep. Learning this craft takes humility and hard work and really, really working it to get to a reasonable level of professionalism. Set your sights high. I don't mean in terms of a million-dollar advance. I mean in terms of sitting back and exhaling and saying, "Wow ... you know, this is really pretty good!"
• Don't forget to peek your head out of your cave once in a while. Take care of yourself. I'm working on this one this year.
• There has to be a rule about coffee. There's some corollary or axiom there, but I'm on cup #2 today and still not sure what it is.
• Remember, writing is SIMPLE. I mean most everyone can do it. But to be good, it's not EASY.

Saturday, February 19, 2011

I went for the All In! Young Writers Seminar today, 10am to 5pm. It's organised by the National Arts Council, the National Library Board and NUS's Literary Society, open to undergrads, junior college and polytechnic students.

It was surprisingly helpful, what with all the talks by publishing professionals and writers. Granted, they're local writers and are not as well known and the scale of the event isn't as big as it would be in, say, the UK or the States. But it's heartening to see the NAC organising this for free for young aspiring writers in Singapore.

The few talks today posed a few questions that are really fundamental questions, but I found myself having to consider them for a moment before coming up with an answer:

Why do you want to write? What do you invest in your writing?

And there were talks on the pros and cons of self-publishing and traditional publishing. And the figures they provided are staggering! In recent years, several chain bookstores from the UK and the States have returned to becoming local independent bookstores and Borders USA is even starting to liquidate its assets this year and just declared itself bankrupt on Wednesday. Plus, in 2009, the percentage of self-published books was more than 50% and by 2010, 76% of books are self-published. I've always believed in going the traditional route, but it's irrefutable that the odds are against us writers. There are millions of people aspiring to be writers, but all of us have to get through the gate-keepers of publishing in order to see our books on the shelves.

But the current trend of ebooks is such that it doesn't have to be that difficult to publish your book anymore. Amazon.com offers ways to publish your book, along with many other companies.
But there is always the perception that the self-publication route is for those who aren't good enough to be picked up by literary agents and publishers. Plus, to self-publish, you'd have to engage a professional editor, cover art designer, and take on all the marketing and promotion on your own. Granted, you can earn more per book if you self publish (if you go the traditional publishing way, you only earn about 10 to 15% of the royalties, while the rest goes to the distributors and publishing house), but you need to build a really extensive platform that will support your book. Publishing houses - good ones like Little, Brown or Simon&Schuster or HarperCollins, etc - will help to wrestle film rights and market your books thoroughly, milk it for all its worth. By going the self-publishing way, chances are your readership following is smaller and promotional activities aren't as grand.

I guess it seems obvious I'm still sticking by the traditional publishing route. My friend (met her today at the seminar, really nice fourth-year from NIE called Eleanor) asked me why I don't self-publish. Apart from all the cons I listed above (that I know of), there's also the less practical reason of satisfaction. It simply feels more satisfying to have an agent pick up your book, champion it because they love it, and help you pitch it to publishing houses.

Anyway, what I got from today's seminar - apart from all the wonderful industry information and a new friend - was a new career goal. I want to work at the National Arts Council after graduation. Or the National Library Board. I want to help develop the literary arts sphere in Singapore, develop a community that is passionate about books, reading and writing. Sounds noble, sounds idealistic, but come on, I only just got this notion. Don't shoot it down just yet, will you? It's nice to finally have something to look forward to after graduation.

Friday, February 18, 2011

Play - Prince


[Ethan “Prince” Wane: narcissistic guitarist/lead (tenor) singer of a pop idol group, wants to break away from being a teenybopper and become a real rock star
Chloe: agoraphobic antisocial girl with absent parents
Sawyer: guitarist/baritone singer of band; sees Prince as his closest rival
Jon: keyboardist, quietest of the group, but very observant; often makes critical but shrewd remarks
Hesse: bassist, Jon’s older brother, loud and loves a party atmosphere, often the one who resolves any conflict between Prince and Sawyer]


A garage with music equipment set up. SAWYER, JON and HESSE seated around a makeshift plastic table, waiting for PRINCE to arrive.
Sawyer I thought he’s living with you guys now.
Hesse Staying.
Sawyer Living, staying, whatever – what’s the difference?
Jon The difference is that it’s not permanent.
Sawyer You mean staying?
Hesse That’s what I said.
Sawyer So since he’s staying with you guys, where the hell is he? Still rolling his pretty ass out of bed?
Hesse His shaver broke. He went out to the store. Said he’ll be back in ten.
Sawyer So we’re going to sit here and wait for him to primp himself up? Damn, I should’ve brought my makeup kit along.
Hesse You know it’s been harder for him to get around lately. What with the paparazzi and all.
Sawyer By getting around, you mean… (Raises brows)
Hesse (rolling his eyes) You know Prince isn’t like that. He’s ridiculously devoted. I don’t think he’s ever even gotten over Heather ditching his ass for that prick. Which is why I can’t understand those headlines. It’s not like him to do anything of that sort.
Sawyer But it is just like him to get himself into all that mess. He’s too nice to those fans. Girls throw themselves at him and he’s all, (feigns a prissy attitude) Oh hello, thank you for your support. I know you love me. A photo? Sure, why ever not?
Garage shutters roll up. Enter PRINCE, with CHLOE in tow.
Prince Did I just hear you guys talking about me? (Takes off mask and smirks) I might blush.
Hesse Yeah, okay. You got your grand entrance. Now let’s jam.
Prince I spent fifteen minutes shaking off the paps. Give me a second to take a breather, will you? I need to shave. It’s bad enough walking around with a half-shaven face. Good thing no one saw me with this thing on. (Gestures to mask)
Sawyer We’re at band practice. Why do you need to shave before band practice? And this whole problem with the paps wouldn’t have been a problem if… (Trails off as he spots CHLOE) Well, hello, beautiful.
Jon (staring at CHLOE) And this is…?
Prince Oh. This is Chloe, my new assistant. She lives just next door. (Looks at the brothers) Your neighbour for all these years and you don’t remember her face?
An awkward pause.
Prince Chloe, meet Sawyer (gestures to him), Jon and Hesse. They’re my band-mates.
HESSE waves while CHLOE nods in acknowledgement. JON levels her with a stare.
Sawyer (extends a hand but withdraws it when CHLOE does not reciprocate) Please to meet you, beautiful.
Hesse What happened to Keith?
Prince Oh, he was pathetic. One little media storm and he quit. Said the paparazzi are driving him nuts. Besides, he was boring. Never took any initiative, unless I prompted him –
Sawyer You mean he’s never commended Your Royal Hotness before.
Prince Besides (drops voice to a whisper) I think he was in love with me.
CHLOE rolls her eyes.
Prince I can’t trust him to be objective if he’s in love with me. I need to have a purely professional relationship with my assistant.
Hesse And so you went and got a female assistant? Of … (assesses CHLOE) our age? Are you trying to drive the paps delirious? They’ll go wild when they find out.
Prince Don’t worry, I’ve already made sure she won’t fall for me. Chloe doesn’t get out much; she didn’t even know who I was! (Laughs) Girls like her are so rare, don’t you think? Besides, I intend to keep her a secret. No one but you guys knows about her. Plus, it’s easier having someone who doesn’t know anything about us around. Nobody will sell us out – sell me out – you see. (Grins to ensuing silence) I know, sometimes my genius scares me too.
Jon And you think she won’t sell you out? How do you know for sure she doesn’t know who we are?
Prince I know. It’s hard to believe she doesn’t know who Highway Heaven is. It’s like she lives under a rock. But if she is, then we’re living right next to that rock. (Looks at the brothers)
Sawyer Staying.
Prince But she’s the real deal. And don’t worry, I made her promise not to fall in love with me. (Winks)
Sawyer (sidling up to CHLOE) But that doesn’t include us, right? You didn’t promise not to fall in love with the rest of us?
CHLOE shrugs off SAWYER’s arm.
Prince I think she’s allergic to boys or something. Good-looking boys, that is. So you might have more of a chance than I do, Sawyer.
Sawyer Screw you.
Prince Sorry, I don’t swing that way.
Jon What’s in it for her then, being your assistant? (Folds arms) If she’s not into you, or any of us, then why would she volunteer to be your assistant for nothing?
Chloe First off –
Hesse It talks!
Chloe I didn’t volunteer to be his assistant. (Glares at PRINCE) He practically forced me into it. I barely even agreed –
Prince Aw, don’t listen to her. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Must be the shock of meeting me in the flesh. You know how they can get.
Chloe And, I’m not going to be his assistant for nothing. It’s because I….
Sawyer What is it, beautiful? No need to be shy around us.
Chloe I….
Prince Oh, come on. There’s nothing wrong with being broke. I was poor too before I shot to mega-stardom. Her parents totally forgot about her living here on her own. She was living on cup noodles and a table lamp when I found her. I’m just giving her a job. It’s a win-win situation. (Pauses) I’ve always wanted to use that phrase.
Jon So she’s with you for your money.
Hesse Oh, come on, Jon. (To CHLOE) Sorry, he gets like that. You can’t find anyone more cynical than my brother.
Sawyer So how did you find her?
Prince (Nudges CHLOE) Tell him, honey. Tell him how Fate brought us together and how our insignificant lives – well, your insignificant life – collided with the glorious, dazzling impact of a supernova.
Hesse Careful, Ethan. You’re flirting.
Prince The name is Prince. And oh, don’t worry. She’s hormonally challenged. These homebodies, they stay at home all day talking to their dolls or reading their fantasy novels. They couldn’t respond to a come-on if it stuck a hotdog in their mouths.
Groans erupt all around.
Sawyer Sorry, beautiful. He can be quite a dick sometimes. I would never contaminate my language with such vulgar imagery.
Chloe That’s okay. The words a person says determines his intellect. There’s no point contending with a person like him.
Hesse (laughing) Looks like you’ve hired yourself a little fireball, Prince.
Jon Can we get down to business already? My keys are turning rusty. (Plays a quick short tune on his keyboard)
Prince But I’m not done shaving yet! (Rubs face) I can’t jam without a smooth face.
Hesse Yeah, yeah. You’re still pretty, okay? (To CHLOE) Make yourself comfortable, Chloe. And give us some feedback, will you? We’re working on something right now that sounds … lacking, for some reason.
PRINCE sulkily gets his guitar plugged and everyone gets ready.
Prince (murmurs into the microphone in a sexy baritone) It’s called ‘Paper Bombs’.
They launch into a number that involves heavy drumbeats and a mash of screaming guitars. The song ends with a final riff of the guitar.
Hesse (to CHLOE) How was it?
Chloe (nods) Pretty good.
Prince Pretty good? Pretty good? That’s all you can say?
Chloe What do you want me to say?
Prince After all we’ve put into performing it, you could at least give us a scream. Or make an impromptu banner. Or if even all that’s too taxing, you could at least clap.
Chloe I’m not a groupie. I’m an audience.
Prince You’re a horrible audience.
Chloe Is that how you speak to your audience? Every audience is a potential fan.
Hesse She sounds scarily like Ben.
Chloe Who’s Ben?
Hesse Our manager.
Prince You know what? Let’s do this again. I don’t care. (To CHLOE) You, as my assistant, are going to tell me what the problem is.
They perform ‘Paper Bombs’ again.
Prince Well?
Chloe Maybe it’s because I’m not a fan of all this metal, but I really think there’s too much guitar screaming around. And the drumbeats. It’s distracting and makes the song sound too generic. It takes away the power of the lyrics. It might be better if it were acoustic. (Shrugs) But that’s just my opinion.
Silence fills the garage.
Sawyer You really think so?
Hesse (considering) Might work. It’s worth giving a shot.
Prince Wait a minute. Just – wait a minute. (Turns to CHLOE) Acoustic? Are you kidding me? This song is all about the power. I’m trying to make a statement with the lyrics. The metal is to draw out the rawness of the heartbreak when the girl dumps the guy through a series of letters. And you’re telling me we should go acoustic?
Chloe You wanted my opinion.
Prince I didn’t need that.
Chloe Oh, you mean my criticism?
Prince No, I mean your unprofessional take on a song I put my heart and soul into. We put our heart and soul into.
Chloe I never claimed to be a professional. I’m just an assistant.
Sawyer I thought you said you haven’t agreed to it yet.
Prince Who wants an assistant like her?
Hesse (warningly) Prince. You’ve only just fired Keith. Walk it off.
Sawyer (to CHLOE) If you decide not to work for Prince, there’s always me. I’m a whole lot nicer, I promise. Plus, I’ll pay you double.
Prince Shut up, Sawyer. She’s my assistant. Besides, you know I need an assistant more than you do.
Sawyer What’s that supposed to mean?
Hesse Oh, come on, guys. Don’t do this.
Prince We all know I’m the Paul McCartney of this band. I can’t help it if everyone pays more attention to me, Sawyer, but you seem to think I’m stealing something from you.
SAWYER punches PRINCE across the face.
Prince (cries) Not the face! Not the face! My cheekbone! (To no one in particular) Is it dented? Am I still pretty? (Grabs CHLOE by the shoulders and shaking her) Am I?
Chloe You need to shut up and calm the hell down.
Sawyer (to PRINCE) You arrogant little bastard. I’ll make it bigger than you. And when that time comes, you’ll be begging me for an autograph to sell on eBay because you can’t afford the rent in that fancy-ass suite of yours.
Hesse Sawyer, come on. You know Prince. He doesn’t mean –
Sawyer Enough with the Prince thing already. His name is Ethan. If he can be a prince, I can be a duke or something.
JON starts playing a piece on his keyboard. The notes start out quiet, so that no one hears it at first. Gradually, it builds up into a strong melody that silences everyone. When it ends, everyone is staring at JON.
Jon We started out as a rock band. With a dream to share our music with the world. But what we are is a pop idol group. And we agreed to see that as just a platform, a stepping stone to what we really want, to become rock stars. Why the hell are you two fighting over who has more girls screaming over him?
PRINCE and SAWYER fidget in shame.
Hesse Yeah. Have a break, have a KitKat, or whatever. (Opens the mini fridge and pulling out a jumbo packet of chocolate) Sit. (Distributes chocolate all around) Now eat.
As everyone munches absently on chocolate, PRINCE pulls out a mini mirror from his back pocket and checks his face for damage.
Sawyer Look, I’m sorry about … (gestures to PRINCE’s face) you know. You’re still pretty, all right?
Prince I know. And I didn’t mean what I said. I mean, I am more popular than you, but it’s not like it matters. You know why I started out with this anyway; I didn’t mean to compete with anyone.
Sawyer (nodding) Have you settled all the debts at home?
PRINCE shakes his head.
Hesse But your mom said….
Prince What my mom doesn’t know won’t kill her. I told her I’ve settled everything.
Hesse Don’t you think she’ll find out somehow? And does she know about the tabloids?
Prince She collects every snippet of news about me. How can she not know? She’s been choking up my voicemail ever since.
Jon You can’t keep avoiding her. And you know, having her (gestures to CHLOE) around will only complicate things further.
Hesse Plus, Ben would never allow that. You’re his fattest cash cow –
Prince I’m fat?
He pulls off t-shirt to reveal his fine physique. CHLOE blushes furiously.
Sawyer Put that away, jeez! Are you trying to give us sore eyes?
Prince (to HESSE) Fat? Is this fat to you? (Flexes his abs and biceps) I keep this body in tiptop condition at all times, FYI. I’m a sight for sore eyes. (To CHLOE) Aren’t I?
Chloe (still blushing)
SAWYER, HESSE and JON roll their eyes.
Hesse Okay, okay. I take that back, okay? Now will you stop exhibiting yourself to us?
Prince (pulling his t-shirt back on) One thing at a time. First, no one is going to mention her to Ben. As soon as this whole thing with the paps blows over, we’ll all be too busy with the concerts for Ben to care about some assistant of mine. And as for my mom, that’s a distant problem we don’t have to worry about as long as I’m still raking in the money.
Jon But I don’t think that’s going to be a distant problem.
Prince You’re right. Of course it isn’t. It isn’t even a problem at all.
Jon No, I mean it’s more immediate than you think.
Prince … Why?
Hesse Well. Because she called. (Waves PRINCE’s cellphone) While you were out. Says she’s coming over. She’s on the next flight in from Greece.
Deathly silence creeps in.
Prince You couldn’t find a spare second to mention that earlier? Holy shit, Hesse! Holy freaking shit! My mom’s flying over? Dammit, Hesse! Dammit!
Hesse Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.
CHLOE goes over to PRINCE and slaps him.
Prince (screams) NOT THE FACE!
Chloe You’re sort of hysterical.
Prince Well, yeah, of course I am. My mother’s coming over!
Chloe And that’s … bad?
Hesse The last time his mother came over, she meddled so much Highway Heaven almost lost our contract with the record company. She means well, the sweet lady, but….
Prince (stares at CHLOE) We need to hide her. Now. My mom can’t see her!
Chloe What? I thought you said she’s not a problem!
Prince That was before I knew she’s flying over. (Grabs CHLOE’s hand and drags her to ) Rope. We need rope. Tie her up so she won’t leave this garage. Rope! Get me some rope!
Chloe You’re crazy! (Tears out of the garage)
Sawyer Beautiful! Don’t go! Aw, man. (Turns to PRINCE) Look what you did, assbag.
Hesse (stares after CHLOE) I think you just lost your assistant the same day you got her. What a record.
Blackout.

Friday, February 11, 2011

Play - The Missing Year

1.

A small shop selling precious stones accessories. DREW, AUNT HELEN AND SKYE are manning the shop. AUNT HELEN hands DREW a cream-coloured envelope.

Drew What’s this? A wedding invitation?

Aunt Helen It’s your mother’s birthday, you ingrate. Next Wednesday. You have to be there.

Drew Not without good reason.

Skye You’re her son. How’s that for a reason?

AUNT HELEN beams at her.

Drew Whose side are you on? (To AUNT HELEN) I didn’t attend last year. (Shrugs) Don’t see what difference it’ll make.

Aunt Helen (darkly) Last year was an exception and you know it.

A beat of silence.

Aunt Helen She wants to know how many guests you’re bringing.

Drew Funny how she always makes you the middle-woman. Can’t she bear to hear the sound of my voice?

Aunt Helen Would you have picked up her calls?

Drew (considers that) Fair point.

Aunt Helen It’s one thing to move out of her house, and another to ignore her calls and not even attend her birthday party.

Drew I just don’t understand why she wants me there. She’s just making us part of her plans to boost her PR image. You know, family and warm and shit. You realise this birthday party is just an excuse for her to network and get more people on board her plan for global hotel-chain domination.

Aunt Helen Drew. Enough already. (Turns to SKYE) I’m sorry you have to hear this. He gets like that when it comes to his mother.

Drew Fine. I’m bringing Skye, then. Happy?

Skye Why me?

Drew Because if I have to be paraded around on her birthday, I’ll need all the backup I can get. I’d really appreciate it if you could come.

Skye All right. Don’t bat your eyelashes at me. I’ll go, okay?

DREW leaves the shop. SKYE and AUNT HELEN watch his retreating back.

Aunt Helen If I didn’t know better, I’d say he got even more screwed up after leaving the sanatorium.

Blackout.


2.

A grand living room, carpeted and ornate. A huge chandelier hangs over the milling crowd. Enter DREW, AUNT HELEN AND SKYE.

Skye Remind me again why I’m standing here with you, looking like an idiot?

Drew Because I don’t want to look like an idiot alone. (Squirms in suit)

Skye Oh, that’s nice. You’re welcome, then. (Looks around at the well-dressed crowd) Seriously, I cannot believe you own all this.

Drew I don’t. My mother owns them.

Skye Which means you’ll get to own it one day.

Drew (rolling his eyes) Yeah, and this is me giving a shit.

Aunt Helen Don’t slouch, Drew. And don’t fold your arms. You’re at a formal event. Look smart, not defensive.

Drew I didn’t ask to come.

Aunt Helen Petulance is a horrid colour on you.

Enter ANNABELLE, Drew’s mother and HELEN’s sister. HELEN rushes over to hug her.

Aunt Helen Anna! Happy birthday.

Annabelle Thank you, Helen. (Turns to DREW) You came….

Drew Not of my own volition.

Aunt Helen (clearing her throat) And this is Skye, Drew’s best friend. You’ve met her before, I think.

Annabelle Yes. As I recall, she’s perhaps the only person Drew ever listens to.

Skye (offers her hand) Pleasure to meet you, Mrs Harm. Happy birthday. This is quite a party.

Annabelle Thank you. Although I prefer to call it a function. With guests of such calibre and status, it is nothing less than that, wouldn’t you agree?

Drew (snorts) Look, are you sure you issued the right invitation card? Wouldn’t this general disappointment of a son be something you’d want to hide away and pretend it doesn’t exist? It’s seemed to work all this while. What was the lie you fed them, anyway? Some bullshit about boarding school?

Annabelle Drew, I –

Drew I get it. Stay out of trouble and stay out of your way. Warning received.

SKYE tugs on his hand to shut him up. Annabelle notices and blatantly stares at their linked hands.

Annabelle (sighs and addresses SKYE and HELEN) Would you please enjoy yourselves. I see some old friends of mine just coming in.

ANNABELLE leaves them to their own. Drew grabs a glass of champagne and gulps it down.

Skye Wow, Drew. Your jerk score just skyrocketed, you know that?

Aunt Helen All I’m asking is that you behave yourself tonight. Okay, Drew? Just for tonight. No smart-assing, no vitriol. There are a lot of bigwigs here tonight – not to mention the media. Everyone will have a field day if you stir up any nonsense.

Skye Your aunt’s right. I mean, you hate her, I get it. But she’s the boss of Heron Hotels. Her reputation’s at stake if you –

Drew If she’s that afraid of me stirring up shit for her, then why did she even ask me to come? She could’ve gone on ignoring my presence like she’s had ever since I left the sanatorium.

A microphone thumps from the podium. ANNABELLE stands there and addresses the crowd. Cameras flash from the reporters.

Annabelle I’d like to thank all of you for being here this evening. As you may have heard, this function is not simply organised in light of my birthday; I have a public announcement to make. (Waits for everyone to be silent before continuing) I have chosen my son, Drew, as my successor. Come next Monday, I will be training him personally so that by the end of the year he will oversee all of Heron Hotels’ operations at the managerial level.

A commotion stirs amongst the crowd.

Drew (incredulous) What?

Reporter I heard your son had a brief stint in the Hopewood sanatorium, and has a record for assault. Are you confident about handing over the reins to him?

The commotion grows louder.

Annabelle (raising her voice over the din) I will say this once: that is a false report.

Reporter So you’re denying that he spent the whole of last year in the sanatorium?

Annabelle My son spent a year in an overseas boarding school. I have the acceptance letter from the headmaster as proof and should anyone still be in doubt, I suggest you seek a letter from the headmaster to confirm his attendance. I’m sure he will gladly issue one.

Drew (mutters) This is ridiculous.

Skye Drew, don’t… You can talk this out with her later. Don’t go nuts and do something you’ll regret later.

Drew Trust me, I’ll regret not doing this more.

He stalks over to the podium and brings the microphone to his mouth.

Drew Look. None of this matters because I’m not going to work for her.

Skye (buries her face in her hands) I can’t watch.

Annabelle (through clenched teeth) Drew. Now that you’re up here, why don’t we –?

Drew No. And for the record, yes, I was in a sanatorium for the whole of last year because I beat up a guy who was being a prick to my aunt. My mother apparently considered this sort of behaviour clinically insane. Hence the stint in the nuthouse. But I guess considering he wasn’t the first prick I beat up, maybe I’m not that sane after all. Might want to reconsider your decision, Mom.

DREW leaves the podium and tears out of the house. The audience is left in stunned silence, before erupting in a frenzy of tongues. AUNT HELEN and SKYE leave before reporters can hound them.

Aunt Helen I am going to skin that boy alive.

They find DREW waiting by AUNT HELEN’s beat-up car.

Skye What the hell, Drew!

Aunt Helen Drew. (Sighs) I know you blame her for sending you to the sanatorium, but you were out of control. After your father died….

Drew (growls) Don’t.

Skye (timidly) Does this … does this really have to do with – you know, your dad?

Drew No, this has nothing to do with my dad, okay? And I’m not acting out just so I can get some attention – least of all from her. The only thing she bothered to do was chuck me into Hopewood, anyway. Fastest, easiest way to wash her hands off me.

ANNABELLE appears behind him.

Annabelle Is that what you think? That I couldn’t wait to have you out of my hair? You really think so?

Drew (whirls around) I know so. You couldn’t even be bothered to step into Hopewood.

Annabelle I didn’t visit you in Hopewood because….

Drew Yeah, I know. Your reputation. It’s all about your reputation. Your empire.

A swarm of reporters catch up with them. They are a whirl of camera flashes and noise.

Annabelle (urgently) This conversation is not over. I’ll talk with you later. Go.

DREW, AUNT HELEN and SKYE pack into AUNT HELEN’s car and drive off. DREW stares at the side-view mirror, watching his mother battle the onslaught of media hounds.

Drew Happy birthday, Mother.

Blackout.

Wednesday, February 09, 2011

Play - Dollhouse




1.

A draughty old attic. Dogs barking in the distance. Enter AMY, sitting before her dollhouse with a doll in her hand.

Amy (dressing her doll) There you go, Amelie. Daddy will be coming home soon, so I should probably tuck you to bed now. He doesn’t like it when I play with you, you see. But you’ll be fine, won’t you? Daddy didn’t hurt you that much the other time. But you must understand. He doesn’t mean any harm. Well, I don’t know that much about him, but Mommy told me he’s a good man. He’s nice to us … most of the time. Did you know? He bought me a new tricycle the other day and took me out for ice-cream, just the two of us, after my visit to the dentist. And at dinner he called me his little princess, and Mommy his big princess, and Mommy said what did that make him then and he said that made him our prince of course. He said we’ll be one big happy family and we’ll all be very happy and Mommy smiled and said yes and I smiled and said yes too and then Daddy asked if I wanted more ice-cream and I said yes again, yes please, that is…

(A slam of the front door.)

Amy (freezes) Daddy’s home!

She shoves the doll into the dollhouse, creeps out of the room and down the stairs.

2.

Downstairs. Kitchen. Enter BROWNER, who tosses keys on the table.

Browner (muttering to himself) Bitch. What the hell does she take me for? Come and go as I please, my foot! Like I’m not the one stuffing her with money every week. Like all I do isn’t sponsor her shopping sprees and weekend getaways and spa sessions and salon visits. And now she tells me I’m an irresponsible jerk? Because oh sure, as long as I don’t treat her like a fucking queen and act as her personal slave and along with being her ATM machine, I’m an irresponsible jerk. Never mind if she’s dumping her daughter at home alone. Never mind if I’m the one who has to take her to the dentist. (sarcastically) Because my job is a freelance one, anyway, right?


3.

Backyard. Enter CHRISTIE, on the phone.

Christie (twirling a lock of her hair) So I said to him, If you want to leave, fine by me. I don’t need you anyway. But then he yelled, Fine, I’m leaving! And then I realized I can’t do that. I can’t do that to my baby. She needs him. We need him. I love him, I really do. But it’s not just about me anymore. Amy needs a father. (Voice starts to waver.) She’s been so lonely, the poor child. She stays in that creepy old attic all day and keeps talking to those dolls her grandmother left for her. I’m telling you, I’m worried. What if all this has affected her more than I thought?

4.

Enter BROWNER. He bursts through the screen door into the backyard, having overheard CHRISTIE’S conversation.
Browner (folding his arms and appraising his wife) So, you’ve realized. And here I was, beginning to think you’ve completely forgotten you have a daughter.

CHRISTIE hangs up the phone hurriedly and turns to face him.
Christie Browner. You’re home.

Browner Surprised? Trust me, you’ll be more surprised to find that your daughter’s grown up in a few years and you don’t even recognize her. (Cuts CHRISTIE off as she begins to speak) No, you listen to me. You know what? The kindergarten called. They told me Amy’s becoming increasingly antisocial, and even rejects the company of her peers. She shuns them, Christie. Which normal kid do you know rejects the idea of a friend? She’s getting unhealthily attached to those ridiculous dolls and I’ve told you before but did you listen? No, of course not. The kid’s not mine. I wouldn’t know a thing about her; I have no right to say anything. But guess what? I’m the one who’s taking care of her these days, while you go off gallivanting and throwing my money to the wind.

5.

AMY sits at the foot of the stairs, clutching the rag doll in her pocket as she listens in on her parents’ conversation.
Amy (whispers) Shh. Be quiet, Nora. Mommy’s upset. You hate to see her upset, don’t you? Remember the last time she cried? (Buries face in the doll) She told me I’m all she has. Mommy says she wants me to be happy, and when I’m happy, she says she’s happy. She says we need love to be happy. And Amy loves Mommy, and Mommy loves Daddy. And Daddy loves Amy and Mommy. But Mommy’s not happy now, is she? She’s crying. Daddy’s yelling at her, and she’s yelling back. They’re upset, Nora. Mommy and Daddy are upset. (Tears begin to well up in her eyes.) Mommy says she’s unhappy when I’m unhappy. Am I making her cry now? Am I, Nora? Is Mommy crying because of me?

She watches her mother and step-father quarrel for a while longer before charging up the stairs and returning to her room.


6.

Christie Browner, look. You knew what you signed up for when you agreed to marry me. You said you knew! And you said you didn’t mind one bit that I have Amy. In fact, I distinctly remember you telling me you’ll treat her like your own.

Browner And I haven’t? And this is not what this is about – you know that.

Christie If I wanted money, I’d have easily found any person to fill in your seat. Why would I have chosen to be with you? You think that you can just throw me some pocket money a month and be rid of me? Well, I’m sorry if I’m such a hindrance to you. I’m sorry you don’t see me as an adequate wife or mother to Amy and you’re the one bearing all the responsibilities in this family. (Voice wavers, then breaks.)

Browner (softens) You’re being ridiculous, Christie.

Christie Yes, I am. In fact, I’m ridiculous enough to go upstairs and get my baby so we can get the hell away from you. I’m through with you, Browner. I’m through with you never being around. I’m through with feeling like I can’t do without you –
Browner You can’t. You know that.

With a sob, Christie flounces back into the house and bursts into her daughter’s room, the draughty old attic.

Christie Amy? (Looks around.) Baby? (A tremble in her voice)

The room is empty. The dollhouse is gone, as are all Amy’s dolls.

Tuesday, February 08, 2011

Why Your Novel Won't Get Published

From Terrible Minds: Why Your Novel Won't Get Published


Brutal honesty time:

That novel of yours isn’t likely to get published. The numbers just aren’t in your favor. Last I did a sweep of the Internet, it was home to 500,000,000 writers. Once you remove the wanna-be dilettantes, you still end up with 1,000,000 left. And they’re all fighting to have their manuscripts published.

You gotta maximize your chances of putting a kick-ass book into the ecosystem where it bites, kicks, shivs and garrotes any other novel that gets in its way. One way to do that is to identify the many pitfalls that await you, your book, and its goat.

Wanna know why your novel won’t get published? (Or, alternately, won’t get an agent?)

Ten reasons. Here we go.

1. Them Brownies Ain’t Done Baking
Brownies need long enough in the oven, or the middle ends up soft, gooshy, and still uncooked. Your novel might suffer from that problem: you sadly didn’t do enough with it. Maybe it needs another draft. Maybe it needs a strong copy-edit. Could be that it will benefit from some challenging readers or from a down-to-earth writer’s group. Whatever the case, the novel just isn’t “there yet.”

Make sure you’re spending enough time and effort on that sucker before you loose it into the world.

2. Your Training Wheels Are Still Attached
Sometimes the problem isn’t the novel — the problem is you. Ever hear the term “starter novel?” It means that this is your first book and it implies that this first book just isn’t a fully-formed novel. It was a learning process. It was an experiment. The training wheels are still squeaking and rattling.

Hey, listen, I wrote five novels before I got an agent for the sixth. Those first four novels were crap, the fifth almost got me an agent, and the sixth really sealed the deal. I learned as I wrote. I grew as a writer. I kicked the training wheels off. Now I’m on a mad Huffy BMX bike. Or maybe a Vespa scooter.

That’s right. I said it. A Vespa. Mmmm. I know I’m sexy.

Wait, what? I dunno. Point is, you still have work to do as a writer. Let this novel be a stepping stool to other, better books. Is it guaranteed that your first novel is a stinker? No. But I’d call it a reasonable chance, so it’s best to get some informed opinions before you pin your publishing dreams to it.

3. You’re Allergic To Following Instructions (AKA You Suffer From “The Special Snowflake” Conundrum)
When you submit a novel, you are beholden to a number of instructions supplied by the agent or the editor. “Send the first five pages and a query letter; also include a deed signing over the soul (but not body) of your first-born child. Please include an SASE as well as a feather from a peacock made of molten pewter.”

Writers, for whatever reason, think they’re immune to such instruction. As if it’s some kind of test. “Oh, they don’t mean me. My novel is sublime. It transcends such petty nitpickery. Lesser authors will be caught in the netting of micromanagement while I — champion of all writer-kind! — send them a novel written across 40,000 Post-It notes and shoved into the digestive tract of this here billy goat.”

You are not immune. Follow the fucking instructions. You are not a special snowflake. Do what they ask. Do so politely. Shut up about how they’re trying to oppress you and just dance the dance.

4. Novel’s Great, But The Query Letter Sucks Eggs
You’ve written a 90,000 word novel. And now you have to condense it down into 250 words.

Trust me, it’s hard. I know. It’s like putting on 200 lbs but you still have to fit into your Speedo bathing suit: it feels like you’re cramming so much into so little.

Sure, sure, it isn’t fair. Neither is a 40-hour work-week. Go home and cry in your mother’s vagina. You want to sell that book, that means you have to put together a good query. I don’t know that you need to put together a great query — you just need to convince them to take a peek at your beast. And I don’t mean that in a creepy, sexy way, either: the query is there to convince them to take it to the next level and request a full manuscript. Then your book can sell itself, as you had intended.

If you want to know how I wrote my query letter, check out:

"The Pitch Is A Bitch (But Don’t Fear The Query)."

5. You’re A Dick
Maybe your novel is the bee’s knees, the cat’s pajamas, the canine’s testicles (as they say in England).

Fact remains, if you’re just a big ol’ douchey dickface, nobody’s going to want to touch you with a ten foot pole. This is an industry of people. You’re selling your novel, but your novel won’t even get in the door if you can’t muster cursory politeness and expected tact. Are you a whiny, complainy, ego-driven Negative Nancy? Not a good sign. If the author is more trouble than the novel is worth, well…

*poop noise*

So sorry. No consolation prize. Buh-bye.

Be nice. Put a good face out there. You don’t need to be bland or boring or Suzy Sunshine all the time.

Just don’t be a dick.

6. What Genre Is That, Again?
Ask yourself this: “Where will this go in the bookstore? In what section? On what shelf?” If that has no clear answer, then you’re throwing up a red flag. “It’s horror paranormal romance mystery, with sci-fi elements. Oh, and it also has recipes!” Hey, I think that’s an awesome and brave experiment and maybe you’ll have some luck with it. But you have to recognize that, for better or for worse, publishing is in shaky straits right now and it’s running a little scared. Something that doesn’t fit in any box is problematic — how do you market something whose market is uncertain? If you can’t do it, neither can they.

7. Deja Vu
"And then Neo sticks his lightsaber into the Eye of Mordor. Popeye kisses Olive. The End."

Your work is derivative.

Maybe you didn’t mean for it to be, but it is. Or maybe you thought it was some kind of "homage." Either way, an agent is going to look at it and say, "Seen it, done that, don’t need it, need a nap."

You might be asking, "Wait, I’m supposed to stay inside the box but also think outside the box?"

And now you know why it’s so hard to get a book published.

Yes. We want comfort and familiarity without redundancy.

Shepherding a novel to publication is like threading a needle. Blind. On a moving train. While you’re being attacked by monkeys with sticks. Good times.

8. The Book Is Not, How You Say, “Commercially Viable?”
Something about the book is just striking the, “I don’t know if this will sell” bell. Maybe “vampire koalas” aren’t hot this year. Maybe the book-buying public has, in polls, revealed a certain discomfort with novels that prominently feature “cat abortions” as a plot point.

This is a tough one (says the author who perhaps knows it intimately).

Maybe your book is in a niche. A niche is nice in that it has an audience, but its audience may be too small to accommodate publication — which makes the niche a bad place to be.

Either way, the best advice is, be ready to make changes. Changes that will mold the book into something that is deemed attractive to a money-wielding audience.

9. Sometimes, Even The Brightest Spark Won’t Catch Fire
You might have a glorious masterpiece in your hands and yet… bzzt. Nothing. You know it’s awesome. Everybody else knows its awesome. And yet for some reason, it just isn’t happening.

What can you do about it?

*blank stare*

I really don’t know. You probably have two courses of action:

1) Be patient. Eventually an editor will get mauled by a tiger or something and then you can try again.

2) Self-publish. The publishing world doesn’t know your novel’s glory, so you must become its pimp.

(Check out, “Should I Self-Publish? A Motherfucking Checklist.”)

10. Unfortunately, You’re A Deluded, Talentless Hack
Out of the 500,000,000 writers out there, do you honestly believe that they’re all top notch penmonkeys? Mmmyeah. No. Some of them are completely in love with the stink of their own word-dumpsters, just huffing their foul aromas, getting high on inelegance and ineptitude.

Thing is, if you’re that guy, you’re probably never going to not be that guy. It’s possible that, once you recognize the illusion you may shatter it as if it were a distorting funhouse mirror, but that won’t do anything for the “talentless” portion of our competition. Some people just aren’t meant to be writers no matter how much they want to be that thing. Reality is a cold bucket of water.

Of course, realistically, if you’re deluded, then you’re probably not even reading this post, are you? And if you are, you’re not going to take any of my advice — not one lick of it. Which is okay, because hey, maybe I’m a deluded, talentless hack, too.
Dear Joyce,

Many thanks for querying me with Lambs for Dinner. This certainly sounds like an imaginative premise for a YA novel, but I’m sorry to say it’s just not quite the right match for my list. I do thank you for thinking of me though, and wish you the best of luck in finding a good home for your work.

Most cordially,
Meredith Kaffel