Varian: Tips on Planning a Writers' Retreat

For the past two years, my classmates and other alums from the Vermont College of Fine Arts have held a 4-day writing retreat. Planning a retreat isn't all that hard--although there are certainly some challenges involved. I figured it might be helpful to share some lessons learned from our past two retreats.


1) Pick a place: When we began planning for our first retreat, we quickly decided to hold the retreat at a place and time that allowed the largest number of us to attend. We chose a location outside of Detroit in 2011--a beautiful, three story house on a man-made lake. Flights were relatively inexpensive, and the house offered plenty of room.

The crew in 2011: Back - Amy Rose Capetta, Katie Bayerl, Rachel Wilson, Carol Allen, Sue LaNeve; Middie - Mary Winn Heider, Jennifer Schmidt; Front - Linden McNeilly, Ginger Johnson

While we loved the 2011 house, we decided to try something a little different in 2012. We wanted to feel more secluded, so we picked a house on a large, wooded, two-acre lot. We also chose a house in Beverly Shores, IN, about an hour outside of Chicago. Chicago was a less-expensive hub city than Detroit, and since four our our crew lived in there, we didn't have to rent any cars.

Ginger and Rachel outside of the 2012 House (Beverly Shores, IN)

"Can I get a hot tub?!"

While the 2011 house offered more room and was a little cheaper, the 2012 house gave us the retreat feel that we were craving. We didn't feel like were where held up in the suburbs--we felt away.

(The 2012 house also had a huge outdoor hot tub, which is always a good thing.)

2) Make a schedule: I can't stress how important this is. While we wanted to have a lot of fun, we wanted to get meaningful work done. We also wanted to hold small workshops. It easy to say that you can fit all this in over a 4 day weekend, but you'd be surprised how quickly the time passes without a little structure.

The crew in 2012: Back - Amy Rose Capetta, Mary Winn Heider, Carol Brendler, Katie Bayerl, Marianna Baer, Varian Johnson; Front - Ginger Johnson, Rachel Wilson, Jennifer Schmidt, Larissa Theule, Rachel Hylton

Mary Winn, hard at work

We set up a detailed but flexible schedule. We had quiet writing time from 9 AM to noon--it's amazing how productive you are when the person next to you is typing away. Because of the size of the house, we were able to spread out--some of us worked at the dining room table, other worked in the living room and basement, and others worked outside. We met back up for a quick lunch at noon, then immediately went into workshop afterward. By 3:30, we have all of our "work" done, allowing us to walk to the beach or hang out while we were cooking. We closed the day with readings, and even roasted marshmallows on the last night.

3) Think about ways to cut down expenses. Picking a large hub city certainly cut down on costs. We also cooked most of our meals. This not only cut down on cost, but it allowed us to hang out while working in the kitchen. All that being said--the bigger the kitchen, the easier it is to fix food. Our 2012 house had a much smaller kitchen that our previous house, making it that much harder for everyone to maneuver. We're already talking about contingency plans for the next retreat if we pick a house with a small kitchen. And be sure to bring a crock-pot or two.

Marianna, Katie and Mary Winn whipping up a meal.

4) Share the responsibilities. We not only shared in cooking duties, but we also shared with clean-up, planning, driving--everything. This way, it didn't feel like one or two people were doing all the work.

5) Have Fun! Sure, you're there to work, but don't forget to have fun. And wine and chocolate always help.

Sara's clients on the beach - Amy Rose Capetta, Rachel Wilson, Varian Johnson, Marianna Baer

Our 2011 retreat was extremely successful. Between 2011 and 2012, three retreat pieces sold--Amy Rose Capetta's Entangled, Rachel Wilson's Don't Touch,  and my own Jackson Greene Steals the Election.

I can't wait to see the results of our 2012 retreat, and I can't wait until 2013!

Varian:Writing Across Gender - Men Writing Female Protagonists

A few weeks ago, a current student of my MFA program asked for suggestions on how male authors approach writing female protagonists. I figured I’d share my response here, as it’s not a topic I’ve seen a lot of on the Internet.

But first, a disclaimer:

In most ways, I don’t think writing across gender is any different than writing across race, or age, or anything else. It’s our job to create a very specific character—not just a girl, but “an eighteen-year-old African-American girl living with her father in Columbia, SC who was encouraged to terminate her pregnancy at age 15 and is still dealing with the emotional repercussions of those actions.” It’s all about the specificity, and if that rings true, everything else will work itself out.

End disclaimer.

Here are some of the practical things that I do when writing from a female POV:

1) I get feedback from quite a few women beta readers. I try to capture as wide of a cross-section as possible--different ages, different cultural backgrounds, etc. I know that what’s realistic to a 15 year-old girl may ring untrue for a 35 year-old woman. However, if they both call BS on a twelve-year-old girl wearing stilettos, then I know I have a problem.

2) I write a lot of realistic YA fiction, so I read a lot of realistic YA fiction, especially written from the female POV, and especially written by women. I spend a lot of time evaluating the author’s use of language--exploring which words “sound” better in a girl POV. This is so, so, so true when dealing with body issues and sexual relationships. Some of my favorite books to reference include:

Before I Die by Jenny Downham
This Lullaby by Sarah Dessen
Cures for Heartbreak by Margo Rabb
The Sky is Everywhere by Jandy Nelson

3) I explore when things don’t ring true to me. I ask myself if I’m questioning something because (1) I don’t believe that a girl (or a boy) would act this way or if it’s because (2) I don’t WANT to believe that a character will act a certain way.

A slight distinction, but one that makes all the difference.

A lot of people have problems with the blow job scene in Looking for Alaska (I know I talk about LOA a lot, but Green did some really smart craft things in this novel). Some say that this scene doesn’t ring true—that a girl would know what to do in that situation, and that Pudge and Lara wouldn’t ask a friend for advice. However, I think some readers have problems in general with the proliferation of “one-sided” oral sex in YA literature (which I actually have issues with as well). We don’t want to like the scene, or the character, so we label the scene as not ringing true.

I find that responses like this are often the case when we say that a character’s too whiny or needy or mean. For a long time, I didn’t like The Great Gilly Hopkins by Katherine Paterson. I didn’t want to root for Gilly; she was too offensive--almost racist. But that didn’t make her an unbelievable character. Same with “Alice”, the protagonist from Living Dead Girl by Elizabeth Scott. I didn’t believe it because I didn’t WANT to believe it. It made me too sad.I’m not saying that this happens often, but it does happen.

4) I also do as much research as possible. No, I can’t get pregnant, but I can take a pregnancy test. I can walk around in a pair of heels. And, I tie my own emotional baggage (for lack of a better word) to my character. Although my character and I may not share the same “physical” situation, I can use my own experiences to bring emotional truth to the novel. And while boys and girls sometimes act in different ways, I think their core wants--the need to be loved and respected; the need to protect themselves and others that they care about; and so on--are universal.

5) Maybe most importantly, I recognize that each reader will bring their specific backgrounds, experience, etc. to a novel. Something just may not ring true for them. And that’s okay--they have the right to disagree with me. But I hope that my readers are able to see “reasonable plausibility” in what I write. I want a reader to be able to say, “Okay, there’s no way I would have done that at sixteen, but I can see, given the circumstances, why this character did that.”

So, for those of you out there that write across gender, are there any suggestions I should consider adding to my list?

Varian: And the moral of this story is...

(Note: Originally posted at Teenreads.com)

In my latest novel, SAVING MADDIE, preacher’s son Joshua Wynn struggles with himself, his parents and his religion during his quest to “save” his one-time best friend, “bad girl” Madeline Smith. Because of the various themes of the novel, I always try to prepare myself for a wide variety of questions before a book event. But out of all the strange, unusual, and uncomfortable things I’m asked, there’s only one question that really makes me squirm:

What is the moral of your story?

Sometimes parents (and it’s almost always parents who ask this) will pose the question in different ways. What will my child learn from this book? Is this book educational, because that’s all I buy for my children? Of course, it’s never lost on me that the parent usually asking this is carrying the newest romance novel, with a strapping duke and buxom duchess plastered on the cover.

But back to the question about morals --- once the parent asks, I usually hem and haw for a few seconds, trying to come up with a good answer. Then I break down and lay the truth on her:

“I don’t know.”

After the parent picks her jaw up from the floor, I go on to explain. I don’t think it’s my place as a fiction author to force a moral on my readers. And given that I write for teens, that goes double. I believe it’s my job to put the information out there -- to create fully-developed, three-dimensional, slightly-flawed characters, and let my readers decide for themselves what is or isn’t “morally sound judgment.”

Now, notice that I’m not saying that my novels don’t have a moral; I’m just saying that I don’t know what it is. Because truth be told, I want my readers to think about all of these moral questions. In SAVING MADDIE, I want readers to wrestle with the question of whom exactly needs saving in the novel. Of who’s good, and who’s bad. And I want them to make their own decisions; their own conclusions. Just like Joshua, and just like Maddie.

I welcome my readers to be active participants in the author-reader relationship. I want them to feel invested and reach their own conclusions about the work. I want them to form an opinion about the plot, the characters, the theme -- everything. Because at the end of the day, the reader’s opinion is the only opinion that really matters.

Varian: The Symbolism of Color in The Great Gilly Hopkins

Last week, my YA novel Saving Maddie was released. The novel has a very striking cover—the juxtaposition of Madeline’s purple lipstick with the cross around her neck points to one of the main themes of the novel: the balance between the spiritual and the seductive.

While Madeline has sported purple lipstick since the first draft of the novel, I didn’t think much about the use of color in a symbolic way until my first semester at Vermont College, when I was reintroduced to Katherine Paterson’s The Great Gilly Hopkins. In the novel, Paterson uses color to symbolically hint at Gilly’s true desire—something Gilly herself doesn’t even realize.

The novel opens with Gilly being taken to the home of her new foster parent, Maime Trotter. The outside of Trotter’s house is “old and brown”, and the furniture inside of the house includes a brown couch, brown chair, and a brown piano bench. In addition, the brown couch is topped with a “pile of cushions covered in graying lace”. A black table supports the television, and a black upright piano stands between the door and the chair. Lastly, Trotter’s other foster child, William Earnest Teague, is a young boy with thick glasses and “muddy brown hair.” (4-6)

Paterson’s use of brown and other dark colors at first seems like a quirky character trait associated with Maime Trotter. However, we soon begin to see other instances of color. In Chapter 2, as Gilly unpacks her brown suitcase in the brown house, she reflects back on her time spent with past foster parents. “The Nevinses’ house had been square and white and dustless, just like every other square, white, dustless house in the treeless development where they had lived. She had been the only thing out of place” (10).

Then Gilly unpacks her most prized possession—a photograph of a woman with brown eyes that “laughed up at her as they always had”, and glossy black hair that “hung in gentle waves without one hair astray.” Gilly was looking at a picture of her mother (Paterson, 10-11).

We quickly realize that Gilly has been waiting for her mother to show up and rescue her from the Nevinses, Richmonds, Newmans, and all the other foster families that have abandoned her. Gilly believes that everything will be okay once this beautiful, brown eyed, black haired woman reappears and takes her back home.

Of course, what Gilly doesn’t realize is that she can find everything she’s ever wanted at the brown house in Thompson Park. This is solidified throughout the novel, as we are introduced to Mr. Randolph, the blind Black man that lives in the grey house next door (Paterson 13), and her teacher, Miss Harris, a “tall, tea-colored woman, crowned with a bush of black hair” (Paterson 24).

Gilly eventually comes to love and trust her make-shift family, and is alarmed when her maternal grandmother arrives to take custody of her. However, Paterson lets the reader know that Gilly doesn’t need to worry; Paterson describes Gilly’s grandmother as “…a small, plump woman whose grey hair peaked out from under a close-fitting black felt hat. She wore black gloves and a black-and-tweed overcoat, which was a little too long to be fashionable, and carried a slightly worn black alligator bag over one arm” (129).

Through her use of dark colors, Paterson tells the reader that while Gilly is upset she is being forced to live with a woman she’s never met, her grandmother will provide Gilly with the love and attention she has been so desperately searching for.

One point worth noting is that Paterson goes against the traditional stereotypes associated with colors. Dark colors such as black and brown are associated with good, kind characters. Likewise, characters with questionable morals and agendas are painted with light colors. Miss Ellis, the social worker that wants to take Gilly away from Trotter after Gilly steals, had blonde hair and blue eyes. The red-headed Agnes Stokes helps Gilly steal from Mr. Randolph (72-78) and scoffs at the idea of Gilly considering Trotter and William Earnest as family (142-143). The Great Gilly Hopkins herself had straw colored hair (10), and when we are first introduced to her, she is chewing pink bubble gum (1). Gilly’s given name, Galadriel, evokes images of J.R.R. Tolkien’s elf queen of the same name, whom when she is first introduced in The Lord of the Rings is “clad wholly in white” and whose hair “was of deep gold” (398).

Most interesting is Gilly’s perception of her mother when she finally meets her face-to-face. Gilly travels to the airport with her grandmother, and is horrified at the sight of Courtney Rutherford Hopkins. She isn’t “tall and willowy and gorgeous” as Gilly had imagined (Paterson 174). And her hair is not the glossy black that Gilly had expected; instead it is “dull and stringy—a darker version of Agnes Stokes’s [red hair], which had always needed washing” (Paterson 174). Of course, Paterson had hinted at this earlier in the novel: Gilly had already spurned her mother’s pink room for her deceased Uncle Chadwell’s room, with is corduroy brown bed (Paterson 158).

Paterson leaves the reader to wonder if Gilly’s mother had once been good but had transformed into a more dislikeable character over the years since the photo had been taken. Or perhaps, being that it was just a photograph—a vision—Gilly’s perception of her mother was never accurate to begin with. Either way, the reader (and Gilly at this point) knows that Gilly has found a place where she will be cared for and loved. Paterson’s use of color reinforces this revelation—making the novel that much more layered.

Works Cited

Paterson, Katherine. The Great Gilly Hopkins. 1987. New York: Harper Trophy-Harper, 2004.

Tolkien, J.R.R. The Lord of the Rings Part One: The Fellowship of the Ring. 1954. New York: Ballantine, 1965.

Varian: Reading Like a Writer: Looking for Alaska

Note: This post contains SPOILERS.

Like many other readers, I’m a huge fan of John Green’s work—especially Looking for Alaska, which was awarded the Michael L. Printz Award in 2006. Looking for Alaska is funny, sad, and powerful, and most importantly, it makes you think long after you’ve put the novel down. But as much as I enjoy the book from a reader’s perspective, I actually enjoy it more from a writer’s perspective.

For this post, I’d like to talk about two of the more famous scenes from the novel—the oral sex scene and Pudge and Alaska’s make-out scene. The first scene involves the main character, Pudge, receiving oral sex from his new Romanian girlfriend, Lara.

And then she wrapped her hand around it and put it into her mouth.

And waited.

We were both very still. She did not move a muscle in her body, and I did not move a muscle in mine. I knew that at this point something else was supposed to happen, but I wasn’t quite sure what.

She stayed still. I could feel her nervous breath. For minutes…she lay there, stock-still with my penis in her mouth, and I sat there, waiting.

And then she took it out of her mouth and looked up at me quizzically.

“Should I do something? … Should I, like, bite it?”

“Don’t bite! I mean, I don’t think. I think—I mean, that felt good. That was nice. I don’t know if there’s something else.”

“I mean, but you deedn’t—”

“Um. Maybe we should ask Alaska.” (Green 127)

Pudge and Lara ask Alaska, their sexually advanced friend—and the girl that Pudge secretly loves—for advice. After laughing at them, Alaska shows them exactly how it is supposed to happen with a tube of toothpaste. Afterward, Pudge and Lara return to Lara’s room, to try again.

Lara and I went back to her room, where she did exactly what Alaska told her to do, and I did exactly what Alaska said I would do, which was to die a hundred little ecstatic deaths, my fists clenched, my body shaking. It was my first orgasm with a girl, and afterward, I was embarrassed and nervous, and so, clearly, was Lara, who finally broke the silence by asking, “So, want to do some homework?” (Green 128)

The passage is beautifully written and painfully funny, but at first glance, the passage seems to serve no real purpose in the novel. It’s plausible that by having Pudge and Lara ask Alaska for advice, Green is establishing the close-knit friendship of the main characters; yet one could argue that this is already depicted in the prank scene from earlier in the novel. Also, this scene does not need to reinforce that Pudge is a novice at relationships, as the reader sees this in tamer scenes involving Pudge’s first date and first make-out session with Lara.

While it appears that the oral sex scene may be unnecessary, the next sexual scene is a needed—if not pivotal—part of the novel. Not twenty-four hours after his first oral sex experience, Pudge and Alaska make out. Pudge has pined after Alaska for months, and on a whim, he is able to have her, if only for a few moments.

I laughed, looked nervous, and she leaned in and tilted her head to the side, and we were kissing. Zero layers between us. Our tongues danced back and forth in each other’s mouth until there was no her mouth and my mouth but only our mouths intertwined. She tasted like cigarettes and Mountain Dew and wine and Chap Stick. Her hand came to my face and I felt her soft fingers tracing the line of my jaw. We lay down as we kissed, she on top of me, and I began to move beneath her. … A hand grabbed one of mine and she placed it on her stomach. I moved slowly on top of her and felt her arching her back fluidly beneath me.

… She moved my hand from her waist to her breast, and I felt cautiously, my fingers moving slowly under her shirt but over her bra, tracing the outline of her breasts and then cupping one in my hand, squeezing softly. “You’re good at that,” she whispered. Her lips never left mine as she spoke. We moved together, my body between her legs.

“This is so fun,” she whispered, “but I’m so sleepy. To be continued?” She kissed me for another moment, my mouth straining to stay near hers, and then she moved from beneath me, placed her head on my chest, and fell asleep instantly.

We didn’t have sex. We never got naked. I never touched her bare breast, and her hands never got lower than my hips. It didn’t matter. As she slept, I whispered, “I love you, Alaska Young.” (Green 130-131)

Like the oral sex scene with Pudge and Lara, this passage is also beautifully written. Green’s language pulls the reader into the scene, and while the scene is not explicit, the reader experiences all of the wants and yearnings of the main character. This scene firmly establishes Pudge’s desire for Alaska, with his mouth “straining to stay near hers” as she pulls away. This act also haunts Pudge throughout the rest of the novel, as Alaska dies the next day, leaving her promise of “to be continued” unfulfilled.

It isn’t until comparing both scenes that the main purpose of the oral sex passage is revealed. Pudge has a girlfriend—a girlfriend willing to have sex with him—but what he wants is a relationship with Alaska—the beautiful, mysterious girl that floats just outside of reach. This is further established later in the novel, as Pudge is unable to continue his relationship with Lara after Alaska’s death.

Although Pudge orgasms in the scene with Lara, Green does not use romantic and lush words when describing the act. Instead of fully fleshing out the scene, Green summarizes the act for the reader, opting not to have the reader experience Pudge’s physical reaction. The scene creates a distance between the reader and Pudge, similar to the physical and emotional distance between Pudge and Lara.

However, in the make-out scene with Alaska, Green’s words paint a much more romantic picture. Pudge focuses of the fluidity of her body, the way her hands feel against his face, the way his hands feel against her body. Pudge is active in the scene; his desire for Alaska paramount. As Pudge relives the scene after Alaska falls asleep, he is content with not taking any of her clothes off; he is content with just kissing and touching. Pudge likes Lara, but he loves Alaska.

When comparing both scenes, it is clear that the oral sex scene serves a greater purpose than just providing humor or “shock value.” By including the scene, Green provides an interesting dynamic between what Pudge has with Lara, and what Pudge wants with Alaska. The scene successfully serves its main purpose—to support and reinforce character development.

(Works Cited: Green John. Looking for Alaska. New York: Dutton. 2005)

FYI: Most of this post came from an essay I wrote in the Fall of 2007 during my first semester at the Vermont College of Fine Arts. I was pleasantly surprised to hear the author discussing this same topic a few months later. In a blog posted on January 30, 2008, Green talks about why he crafted the scenes as such, stating, “I wanted to draw a contrast between that scene (the oral sex scene) when there’s a lot of physical intimacy but it’s untimely very emotionally empty and the scene that immediately follows it, when there’s not a serious physical interaction but there’s this intense emotional connection.” Green goes on to say that he’s trying to show that, “…physical intimacy can never stand in for emotional closeness, and that when teenagers attempt to conflate these ideas it inevitably fails.”

Of course, Green doesn’t tell us this in the novel; rather he gets this point across with the juxtaposition of the two “sex” scenes (in other words: Show, Don’t Tell). This not only allows the author to get his point across in a non-didactic manner, but it also allows the reader to be an active participant in the process, which is what I think all literary author’s should strive for.

Varian: An Exploration of Dialogue-Heavy Scenes

Note: This is part of an essay written during my first semester at Vermont College. As I'm currently struggling with the balance between advancing story verses developing character in my work-in-progress, I thought it would be helpful to post one of my early essays on dialogue and emotion.

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The goal of most fiction, especially when told from the first-person point of view, is to engage the reader to the point where the reader experiences everything that the main character experiences; in a sense, the reader becomes the main character. This closeness is achieved through a number of literary devises, such as sensory detail and interior thoughts. However, in instances where an author wishes to move a reader through a scene very quickly, the author must cut out as much unnecessary material as possible, while still conveying the thoughts and feelings of the main character.

Ron Koertge is a master of witty and believable dialogue, and in his novel Stoner and Spaz, Koertge crafts dialogue-heavy scenes that whisk the reader through the novel. While the dialogue is believable, there are instances where Koertge leaves the reader to wonder what the characters are thinking and feeling in the scene.

One scene that has mixed success in showing character traits and emotions is a conversation between Ben, a sixteen year old with cerebral palsy, and Colleen, the resident druggie, on the day after she kisses him.

“Look, let’s go over to Marcie’s.”

“I don’t know, Ben.”

“Oh, c’mon. I just want to see her camera.”

Colleen shakes her head. “Making out when I’m loaded is one thing; making social calls is...I don’t know. Doesn’t one of us have to wear pearls for shit like that?”
“It’s not a date.”

“It wasn’t a date last night, and I ended up with my tongue down your throat.”

“Like I said, you were loaded. So leave your stash at home. I think totally sober you’ll find me pretty easy to resist.”

“I don’t get you sometimes. What do you want with me anyway?”

“I want you to go to Marcie’s with me.”

She looks down at her black fingernails. “Let me think about it.”

“I’ll call her after school. Then I’ll call you.” (Koertge 83)

Koertge is successful in crafting dialogue that is true to his characters; Ben wants (or perhaps even needs) to be near Colleen, while Colleen is brash and distrusting. Koertge particularly thrives in showing the conflict within Colleen; she knows she shouldn’t be with Ben, yet she doesn’t overtly push him away. As Colleen looks down at her black fingernails, the reader sees that she’s mulling over Ben’s offer.

Koertge is less successful in showing Ben’s thoughts and emotions in this scene. This is Ben’s first conversation with Colleen since she kissed him. Ben has never even kissed another girl before Colleen; he is no doubt feeling a mix of emotions. However, none of these emotions are present in the scene. Colleen asks Ben, “What do you want with me, anyway?” Ben’s reply, while technically truthful, doesn’t reveal anything about what Ben really wants, or how Ben really feels about Colleen. Does he want to kiss her again that night? Does he want to kiss her again right there, in the middle of school, in front of the teachers and students that pack the hallway? Or, is he afraid that she may not really be interested in him—that the kiss the night before was indeed based more on her drug-induced state of mind rather than true desire for Ben?

By writing scenes with a minimal amount of interior thought, Koertge relies on the reader to draw conclusions as to the “emotional core” of the character. However, while the above scene doesn’t reveal the intensity of Ben’s desire for Colleen, it is clear from previous scenes that Ben is romantically interested in Colleen. Koertge relies on the reader to use previously provided material in order to come to his or her own conclusions about the level or Ben’s desire for Colleen.

Unlike the previous passage, Koertge is very successful in showing character traits and emotions through dialogue in the first speaking scene between Ben and his grandmother in Stoner and Spaz. Colleen and Ben meet by chance at an old movie theater, and when Colleen catches a ride home with him and his grandmother, she ends up throwing up on the side of his grandmother’s car.

My grandma let her forehead touch the steering wheel. “What a horrible girl,” she says to the speedometer. “I didn’t realize you even knew people like that.”

“I don’t really know her.”

“Why is she acting so peculiar?”

“She loaded.”

“On drugs?”

“Not Jujubes. Not anymore, anyway.”

“Why in the world did you invite someone like that into my car?”

“Grandma, we bumped into each other at the movies. It’s no big deal.”

“Did she ask you for money?”

“No,” I lie.

“She didn’t recruit you to traffic in narcotics, did she?”

“Well, she did give me this big bag of baking soda to hold for her.”

“Ben, this is no laughing matter.”

“Grandma, Colleen won’t even remember this tomorrow.”

“Well, I’m certainly going to try and banish it from my memory.”

Not me, I think. No banishing for me. (Koertge 15-16)

Though the scene is scant on interior thought and physical action, the reader is able to ascertain important information about Ben and his grandmother, and about how Ben feels about Colleen. The only physical action in the scene is of Ben’s grandmother resting her head on the steering wheel; the short drive with someone so “horrible” exhausts her. In addition to horrible, Koertge’s word choices of peculiar and banish, as seen in the context of the sentences in the passage, paint Ben’s grandmother as very formal. She is also very protective of Ben, and sees him as being naïve. Earlier in the novel, Koertge drops hints that alert the reader of the grandmother’s character traits: she drives a Cadillac (14), forces Ben to take an apple as a snack (5), and buys him expensive clothes (12).

Unlike his grandmother, Ben isn’t worried about Colleen’s “bad” influence on him, and is actually very witty and sarcastic when discussing Colleen. By placing Ben’s interior thoughts at the end of the passage, Koertge gives the reader a glimpse of how Ben really feels about Colleen at this moment, without sacrificing the quick flow of the dialogue.

In addition to being sarcastic, Ben lies to his grandmother during their conversation. Koetrge could have used physical description to convey that Ben was lying, such as having him look away from his grandmother, or perhaps Ben could focus on his sweaty palms. Instead, very simply, Koetrge uses, “‘No,’ I lie.” By using a simple speaker attribute instead of adding unnecessary description to the scene, Koertge is able to keep the reader firmly rooted in the “here and now” of the passage.

As you can see, Koerge is most effective in his dialogue-driven scenes when he provides either minimal interior thought, sensory details, or physical actions in the scene, or when he clearly establishes a character’s emotional state in a previous scene.

Works Cited

Koertge, Ron. Margaux with an X. Cambridge, MA: Candlewick Press, 2004.

Editor Interview: Stephanie Lane Elliott, Senior Editor, Delacorte Press

Stephanie Lane Elliott, Senior Editor with Delacorte Press (Random House Children's Books), was kind enough to answer a few questions concerning MG, YA and the mysterious journey from acquisition to publication:

Varian (VJ): What is your typical day like as an editor? Or is there no such thing as a “typical” day?

Stephanie (SE): Each day is a little different, depending on where in the season we are. But I would say usually, I get to work and spend the morning answering emails, returning phone calls, checking over passes and mechanicals, and keeping books moving through the system. I try to get most of the “procedural” stuff done during the morning. Ideally, I then have the afternoon to read submissions or edit. It doesn’t always work out that way, though—it’s hard to get that stuff done in the office, because there’s always something going on, always fires to be put out. That’s why I try to work at home when I’m really behind on reading, because I get more done there.

VJ: You acquire both middle grade and YA fiction. Aside from the age of the protagonists, what are the main differences you see between middle grade and YA fiction?

SE: In terms of content, middle grade is very innocent compared to YA and getting more innocent every day. We’re told more and more that middle grade is a young category, and that every aspect of the story needs to be appropriate for the youngest piece of the category—meaning eight-year-olds. So right now I think there’s a big jump in terms of content between middle grade, where you can’t even really say “damn” or have interest between the sexes except in a really innocent way, and YA, where you can kind of get away with anything as long as you’re okay with being classified as “fourteen up.” : )

Storywise, too, I think you see a difference between YA, where the characters are old enough to be pretty independent and get into trouble on their own, and middle grade, where kids’ lives are still fairly controlled by their parents—and so you see a lot of fantasy and magical realism. In middle grade, I think a lot of the action tends to come from imagination, whereas in YA, it’s tends to be a little more gritty and realistic.

VJ: Similarly, what are the main differences you see between YA and adult fiction? Are any subjects “off-limits” in YA fiction?

SE: This topic is sort of up for debate, but to me, the difference is tone. YA is very in the moment. If you’re a teenager, you are experiencing being a teenager right then, right there—you are making decisions in real time and still dealing with the consequences. Whereas adult fiction about teenagers tends to be more reflective, more “if I only knew then what I know now.”

In terms of what you can get away with, it’s tough—it’s changing all the time. I think we’re coming out of a strange, conflicting period in YA—on the one hand, we’re being told stores and customers want cleaner stories, and on the other, all the other forms of media, like television and movies and even the internet, are pushing the limits more than ever before. So there’s this weird divide: either you’re totally clean or you’re tackling very mature topics, and we’re calling your book 14 up. I think that middle ground where you’re writing about what most kids are realistically going through, messy subjects and all, is getting smaller and smaller. I hope that will change as the culture changes.

I think most of us working in YA fiction have a sense of responsibility toward our readers and our characters, so one thing you won’t see is a story that exploits its characters. I think you can get away with most things—if it’s written realistically and there’s a reason it happens—but when it doesn’t feel like a teenager him- or herself is experiencing it, that’s not a YA book.

VJ: Many adults freely admit that they prefer to read YA fiction as opposed to adult fiction. What is it about YA fiction that makes it “universal”?

SE: I think we all have really strong memories of that time in our lives. And just as stories, I think YA novels tend to be really strong, really compact, and quick-moving; you’re writing for an audience that doesn’t tolerate a lot of throat-clearing. I think that’s refreshing to a lot of people who want a story to really hook them and keep them involved.

VJ: In general, after a novel is acquired, it seems to take anywhere from 12 months to two years for that novel to hit bookshelves. Can you walk us through the life of a typical novel as it journeys from acquisition to publication?

SE: First there’s the task of getting it acquired—doing a profit and loss statement, getting the contract through. Then it’s usually a couple months before we’ll start revisions, assuming we’re not rushing it to make a certain pub date. Depending on the book, revisions can take anywhere from one to six or seven months. We usually go through at least two rounds, starting with the big issues and getting smaller. Then the book goes into production, is copyedited, then typeset; we send out a first pass for authors of the first typeset edition, and that’s usually the last time they see it. Meanwhile, we’re coming up with a marketing plan and making ARCs and sales proofs (jackets to sell from). There’s usually a lull of a few months between the time ARCs are done and the time we start selling in and then getting reviews. Then reviews start trickling in, and ta-da: finished books come in from the printer, and then it comes out.

VJ: I know that Delacorte is closed to unsolicited submissions. How do you find most of your authors?

SE: Most of my authors have come to me via agents, but I’ve also acquired several authors through our contests—we run two contests each year, one for YA fiction, one for middle grade. Sometimes a manuscript won’t win but will stick with me for some reason; I’ll write to those authors and see if they want to attempt a revision. Those manuscripts are often acquired down the line.

VJ: What types of novels do you like to acquire?

SE: I’m really open to anything, but I have a particular affinity for literary novels, funny books, absurd humor, magical realism and historical novels.

VJ: Can you tell us about some of the upcoming novels that you have coming out this Spring?

SE: Sure! In Spring 2009, my list is:

THE LAST SYNAPSID by Timothy Mason: This is a fantastic, gently humorous fantasy that reminds me of E.T. It follows Phoebe and Rob, two twelve-year-olds in Faith, Colorado, who befriend a prehistoric creature who wanders through a time snag into their town—and needs their help.

HOLLYWOOD AND MAINE by Allison Whittenberg: This is the companion novel to a novel I bought through our middle grade contest, actually—it was called SWEET THANG. It’s set in the 1970s in Philadelphia, and follows the adventures of fourteen-year-old Charmaine Upshaw as she learns to deal with her first boyfriend and her ex-con uncle, who’s come to live with her family.

BACKTRACKED by Pedro de Alcantara: This is an action-packed time travel book through the New York subway. It’s about Tommy Latrella, whose brother died a hero on 9/11 and he feels like he can never live up to his memory. So he plays a dangerous prank in the Times Square subway system and is hurtled back in time to the early 20th Century, the Depression, and WW2.

THE DIAMONDS by Ted Michael: This is a darkly funny YA novel that reminds me of the movie Heathers. Marni has always been one of the Diamonds, the most popular girls in school—until she breaks the rules by flirting with the ringleader’s ex. Pretty soon her former friends have taken over the school’s mock trial system and use it to try to take Marni down. This has a great voice, and some really smart things to say about civil liberties and what rights we’ll allow to be given away.

VJ: Thanks Stephanie.

For those of you looking for more information about Stephanie, check out her recent interview with Lori Polydoros for SCBWI.

Varian: My Role as a YA author

A little over a year ago, as I was preparing for My Life as a Rhombus to debut, I received a great blurb from Ellen Wittlinger, author of the Printz Honor winning novel Hard Love. Giddy with excitement, I hurriedly placed the blurb on my website and blog. Then, a few days later, I found the following anonymous message in my blog comments:

"Without a bit of preaching..." - Why is it whenever anyone dares to take an unpopular position on a controversial moral topic in our society, their ideas are described as didactic, dogmatic, preachy, or any other apparently negative label? With all the destructive sexual activities and misinformation plaguing young adults in America, it would be immensely helpful if those with the power of the pen would use their gift to steer some attitudes in the right direction rather than be content with "keeping it real."

I normally ignore anonymous blog comments, but this one made me pause. The first part of the statement was easy to dispute: anyone that has written a novel for children and young adults in the trade market understands that authors should avoid peachy and didactic prose. However, the second part of his comment struck a chord with me. What is my role as a YA author? Is my job to simply tell a good, entertaining story, or should my writing have some underlying moral?

My Life as a Rhombus is a story of one girl’s struggle to reconcile with both her father and herself while dealing with the emotional effects of an unplanned pregnancy and abortion. I feel that the story is really about friendship and forgiveness; sex, teenage pregnancy and abortion are just plot devises to help me reach my goal. However, that’s a somewhat naïve statement; the main character’s abortion directly leads to her strained relationship with her father. Thus, the topic of abortion, and therefore sex and pregnancy, can’t be ignored.

In his message, the anonymous poster calls on authors to “use their gift to steer some attitudes in the right direction.” But in the case of abortion, what is the right direction? As an author, is it my right to dictate what someone should or shouldn’t feel on the matter, especially on an issue that continues to divide our country?

Personally, I don’t want to write a book that makes a statement about abortion because I don’t know how I feel about abortion. Or rather, it’s easy for me to choose a stance on abortion; I’m thirty-one years old, married to a wonderful woman, and am fully capable of supporting a child, both emotionally and financially. More importantly, I believe that it’s a little unfair for me to dictate if someone should or shouldn’t have an abortion, being that I’m not the one that can get pregnant.

The anonymous poster is correct, though. Many young adults participate in destructive sexual activities. Many young adults don’t have the necessary information to both educate and equip themselves once they decide to become sexually active. When I go school visits and see sixteen year-old girls wearing crimson-red stilettos and low-rise jeans with their green / black / blue / yellow thongs showing, I want to shake some sense into them. I want to warn them off all the dangers out there in the world. I want to tell them that they shouldn’t be so quick to become “women”; that it’s okay for a sixteen year-old to act like a sixteen year-old.

However, I can’t do this; not in real life, and not in my writing either. In my opinion, novels need to entertain first, inform second. If I’m skilled enough, perhaps I can find a way to include snippets about safe sex in my work. Or perhaps, the young people reading my novels can learn something about the mistakes that my characters have made. Of course, the key here is making sure that this information is both important to the novel, and is presented in a way that isn’t preachy or condescending.

Perhaps my biggest issue in all of this is the balance between writing for myself and writing for publication for a young adult audience. I’ve never started a book thinking, “Hmm, this would be a great topic for young adults to explore and discuss.” Rather, I pick a topic or theme of interest to me, then craft characters that can explore that theme. It isn’t until many drafts later that the reality of publishing for the YA market begins to affect my work. For me, writing is very much a personal process—my character’s struggle with the same issues that I struggle with, even as an adult.

Ultimately, I think most authors will have widely varying views on this topic. However, I must continue to write novels in a way that works for me. My goal is to create entertaining, realistic fiction. I like to explore topics that interest me—not necessarily to impart a moral or ideal, but rather to look at both sides of a topic. More times than not, I end up like my characters—stuck somewhere in the gray area between the “right” and “wrong” of an issue. And as a writer and a human being, I’m okay with this. Hopefully, a few potential readers will be okay with it as well.