by Annie Cronin Romano Most writers keep a pen and paper handy to record story ideas when inspiration strikes. You see something that captures your imagination or overhear a phrase that causes your writing detector to go on high alert, and you quickly scribble it down. Perhaps you write it a in a small notepad, or maybe you jot it down on a napkin or placement. You may even write it on your hand if there’s no paper available. I have done all of those things. Sometimes I tear out a newspaper article that has sparked a story idea or print out a news story or photograph that made my writing radar start beeping. Eventually, most writers have a folder or notebook stuffed with scraps of paper—a collection of golden story nuggets waiting to be mined for their potential. But when you finally cull through those ideas, it can be a daunting task. I recently decided to take on my “idea folder.” I took it out of my file cabinet and placed it on my desk. Where it sat. Staring at me. Cruelly. Mockingly, even. Then one day I was out browsing in a home store and spotted a display of home office supplies. As a writer, desk and stationary supplies are like candy to me, so I walked over to explore. There, on top of the pile of journals, was a hard cover spiral notebook with the words “BIG IDEAS” (typed in extremely small print, ironically) on the cover. It was fate. I bought the notebook and took it home to introduce it to my idea folder. Big Ideas notebook, meet Idea Folder. Idea Folder, I love you, but you’re a mess. Meet Big Ideas notebook. I went through my scraps of idea notes and, one by one, began writing those sparks at the top of each notebook page. I left the rest of the page blank. One idea per page with the blank page below for brainstorming. As I have time, I open to a page, read the idea at the top, and brainstorm story thoughts, plots, characters...anything that comes to mind. Sometimes it’s a doodle. Sometimes it’s a list. Sometimes it’s a diagram or several sentences. Whatever it takes to play with the idea and see what potential stories I can tease out of it. This notebook system keeps my ideas in one space, like a folder, but organized for easy access with blank space for development. It has become the garden where I plant my story seeds and then tend to them to see what sprouts. So go buy yourself a notebook for your Big Ideas--you know you love shopping for office supplies! Maybe even get some colorful pens to add to the joy! Then organize those randomly scattered idea gems into the notebook. Remember, just one per page. And let the brainstorming begin! Who knows where those sparks will take you. You may get a new story blazing before you know it!
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~By Amanda Smith “This year’s felt like Four seasons of winter And you'd give anything To feel the sun” - Reason (Unspoken) When I first heard the opening of this song by Unspoken, everything in me cried, “YES! THIS!” This year brought more unexpected changes and interruptions to my writing life than any before: unexpected travel, lovely visitors, a left hand immobilized for four months due to a broken wrist, and an extended stint as a long-term substitute teacher. Now, it isn’t all bad. But it is all busy. I’m not about to throw a pity party (been there, done that), but I do want to address the reality of months, or years, not turning out the way we anticipated when we first set those shiny New Year’s writing goals. There had been times like this in my life before, where I couldn’t find space for creativity or writing due to The Urgent pulling at me. There had been years where I had walked away from writing. And the return had been slow and laborious. This year, amid Nor’easters of life pummeling me, I was resolved. This year, unlike other stormy times, I’d kept my one hand on my writing. In order to do that, I had to adjust my goals. I am not pushing to finish my novel before the end of the year as I had planned. I am working on smaller projects that can endure interruption with more grace, such as querying and research, revisions on picture books, writing poetry and other shorter pieces. I keep moving forward, even if it is at a snail’s pace. I keep learning, thinking and observing. I spent most of my immobilized summer reading mentor texts, new publications, and craft books. I keep active in my writing community. The mere fact that I have a critique group expecting a manuscript from me, drives me to write, or revise. Giving feedback on their work, keeps my head in the game. Connecting with other writers at events, invigorates me, and reminds me of who I am amid the blizzards. And meeting with my monthly accountability group, keeps me setting and checking off teeny-tiny-but-moving-forward-goals. I keep making space to create. So coming back will be easier. So I won’t let go forever. Because Spring will come. ~Guest blog by Angela Burke Kunkel When you think of a picture book being read, what--- or more precisely, who--- do you see? A child snug on the lap of a beloved parent or grandparent? A teacher, perched on the edge of a tiny classroom chair, reading aloud to a rapt class seated criss-cross-applesauce on the rug? A toddler, alone in their room during quiet time, studiously turning the pages and reciting a favorite book from memory? Or is the audience . . . you? Sometimes, in our journey to become writers, we study so much advice and so many mentor texts and blog posts and craft books that we lose sight of our own voice, our own relationship with books, our own relationship with words. We write for children, after all, many of us in a particular genre or format. Picture books present their own unique set of challenges, with the industry standard of 32 pages and that ever-fluctuating “sweet spot” for word count. And, of course, you have other considerations: room for the illustrator. The child. The reader. It can be enough to crowd out why you’re doing this in the first place. And, selfishly, it is okay if that’s you. Allow me to back up for a moment: In my daily professional life, I work as a teacher-librarian in a school that serves grades seven through twelve. My entire career, I’ve only worked with tweens and teens--- never with elementary or preschool-aged children (and, may I just say, bless those early childhood and elementary educators). When social conversations wind their way round to writing, teens and even other adults often express surprise that I don’t write YA. After all, that’s who I interact with on a daily basis. And there is incredible work for young adults out there. I love reading it and talking about it, especially with young people. But it isn’t what my brain reaches for right now, emotionally or structurally, in terms of my own writing. As someone who wanted to write novels for a very long time--- and never, ever finished a complete draft--- I found myself circling back to picture books. As I rediscovered them through my own young children, and through using them in classroom instruction with middle and high schoolers, I realized I also enjoyed them for my own aesthetic reasons. I loved how wordless titles felt like a silent movie unfolding. I loved the deceptive simplicity of clever refrains or circular structures. I loved the lyrical language and pacing of others, as metaphorical and gorgeous as any Mary Oliver poem. And yes, I’d read them with a child snuggled on my lap, or to a classroom of students (albeit at tables, not criss-cross-applesauce), but the aesthetic experience was a personal response for me. And eventually, I found myself reading them . . . by myself. When I had the itch to write after many years away from it, I allowed myself to consider the possibility of picture books. As Ann Whitford Paul notes in Writing Picture Books, picture book form is unique because they are books written for people who cannot yet read, “usually read by an adult reader to a nonreader . . . The pictures are there to entice the nonreader to listen and also help construct meaning from the words.” And she’s right, but I also think as writers we can expand our vision beyond that, while still respecting it. After all, aren’t all good stories, regardless of form, about the experience of constructing meaning? While it’s important to write with your primary audience in mind, remember that you can also have multiple audiences. I’d encourage aspiring writers to not only focus on how children might experience their book, but teens and adults as well. There are so many books I have used or want to use at the high school level--- from Faith Ringgold’s Tar Beach to Yuyi Morales’s Dreamers. Seeing teens, often stereotyped as cynical or disaffected, engaged in a picture book with the same wide-eyed wonder as a kindergartener reminds me that these stories serve a purpose for everyone. We just need to allow for that possibility. So my challenge to you is this--- when you’re writing, and especially during those free writes and first drafts--- allow yourself to let go of that image of the lapsit reader or the elementary classroom. Disregard that editor voice in your brain that questions things like appropriateness and marketability and Lexile level. And, just for a little while, allow yourself to play. Swim around in words that make you feel like you’re engaging in a beautiful piece of language that isn’t cataloged “E” because it’s Easy. It’s “E” because it’s for everyone. And maybe, in that space of openness and play, you just might surprise yourself (and ultimately, your reader) with something beautiful. Bio: Angela Burke Kunkel's debut picture book, DIGGING FOR WORDS: JOSÉ ALBERTO GUTIÉRREZ AND THE LIBRARY HE BUILT (illustrated by Paola Escobar and published by Random House/Schwartz & Wade) releases in Fall 2020. In addition to being an author, Angela works full time as a school librarian. She is a graduate of Simmons College in Boston, Massachusetts. Angela is represented by Liza Fleissig at the Liza Royce Agency. You can contact her here. You can also connect on Twitter and Instagram. UPDATE: Our copy right agreement with Candlewick Press for the use of Tania's spectacular artwork has expired. Even though we had to pull the lovely drawings, Tania's content is still applicable and her book is a must for every elementary school classroom. Please browse her portfolio at taniaderegil.com/, buy A NEW HOME and preorder SOMETHING ABOUT GRANDMA, launching August 2022 here. ~ Guest post by illustrator Tania de Regil My name is Tania. I’m from Mexico and I’m the author of A NEW HOME (UN NUEVO HOGAR in the Spanish edition)(2019; Candlewick Press), which shows the story of a boy moving from New York to Mexico City and, at the same time, a girl moving from Mexico City to New York. In a combined voice they share their fears about leaving their home, but because we see their story side by side, we realize how they are more alike than different and that home can be found wherever life leads. This story is very personal and it was inspired by a series of things that happened to me while growing up. When I was 5 years old, just around the same age as the boy and the girl from A NEW HOME, my mom and dad had some big news for my brother and me. My dad had been accepted to a prestigious medical school in Stockholm, Sweden! This, of course, meant we had to move. Truthfully, I was scared, I had never even heard about this place before, and I didn’t fully understand what moving really implied. All I knew was that I would be leaving everyone and everything I loved behind, and that I was going to miss my home very much. Nevertheless, we left soon after that, but something happened that I wasn’t expecting at all. I loved it! I quickly fell in love with Sweden, with the people, the food, and everything about it really, and in no time, I felt right at home. I had the opportunity to experience incredible new things that wouldn't have happened if I’d never moved to a different country. We lived there for three years and then we moved back to Mexico City, but I still cherish those years I called Sweden my home. When I graduated from high school, I really wanted to study art or design. I knew I wanted to have that experience of living in a different country again, so I applied to different schools across the United States. And this time, I got accepted to an incredible design school in New York City! I was thrilled! When I arrived, I fell in love with the city: its sparkling energy, its incredibly diverse people, and how there was something new to discover every single day. From these experiences of moving around, I realized that no matter where I found myself, I could make that place my home. I learned so much from living in different countries and I am so grateful for that. It really opened my eyes and helped me realize that I should always be willing to try new things, no matter how scary they might seem at first. With this idea, I started writing A NEW HOME. Now, a funny thing happens when we move to a different country: our experience living abroad actually connects us on a very deep and emotional level to our home country. Things you’ve taken for granted before suddenly become so precious, and you start seeing them with a different mindset. While living in NYC, I started reminiscing all the things I loved about my home city. The sounds, the smells, the food, and the people. All these things that make up a city, and what actually makes each place so wonderfully unique. There were so many things about Mexico that I wanted to share. And to tell you the truth, NYC reminded me of Mexico City in so many ways. So, you could say that this book is a love letter dedicated to these two magnificent cities I’ve had the honor of calling home and an effort to help others see them for what they truly are. On a final note, another incredible thing I was able to experience while living in different countries was meeting people from all over the world. While I was living in Sweden I went to an international school, so I had friends from Kenya, England, Australia, Iran, Israel, Poland, Finland, India, USA, you name it. It was amazing! I was able to learn so much from all my friends. And since NYC is one of the most diverse cities in the world, I met amazing people there as well. Because of this, I learned that that no matter where any of us come from, we’re really not that different. So, even though the boy and the girl from A NEW HOME grew up in completely different cultures and circumstances, they are experiencing the same fears and emotions—which serves to show that in the end, we are all just humans. Bio:
Tania studied fashion design at Parsons School of Design in New York City and finished her studies in her home country of Mexico. Her work as a costume designer in film and television has helped to better grasp the art of storytelling through images. She uses a variety of media in her work, such as watercolor, gouache, color pencils, wax pastels and ink to create richly textured, engaging images. Visit Tania's website: https://taniaderegil.com/ Tania’s American debut picture books , A New Home, and Un Nuevo Hogar, are available from the following vendors: Indiebound: https://www.indiebound.org/book/9781536201932 Barnes&Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-new-home-tania-de-regil/1129102613?ean=9781536201932 https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/un-nuevo-hogar-tania-de-regil/1129102661?ean=9781536206753 Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/New-Home-Tania-Regil/dp/1536201936/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=A+new+Home+Tania+de+regil&qid=1565288619&s=books&sr=1-1 https://www.amazon.com/nuevo-hogar-Spanish-Tania-Regil/dp/153620675X/ref=sr_1_2?keywords=A+new+Home+Tania+de+regil&qid=1565288619&s=books&sr=1-2 ~ By Amanda Smith Earlier this month, I found myself again as substitute teacher in the art room, but this time with middle school students. They were in the process of painting an impressionist landscape. What I encountered, though, was hesitancy. They were so afraid that they were going to mess up their pictures by experimenting with this new style, that even after explaining and demonstrating multiple times, most students still opted to mix solid colors on their palettes and apply flat, texture-less paint to their canvasses. I recognized that anxiety of “messing up a picture.” I felt that many times as an art student myself and have vivid memories of an art teacher dipping my brush in the bright red and yellow paint of my neighbor’s palette and brushing thick globs of primary colors on my super-careful shades-of-blue painting. I was crushed, and furious, and traumatized by the experience for years. But now, I can see that she tried to push me, in the true spirit of the Impressionists, towards experimenting. To stop resisting change. To be brave. To play. Often, we act like middle school students with our manuscripts. We settle into a specific form or idea and stubbornly hold onto it, despite external input and internal nagging urging us to reexamine. This year I’m learning to experiment. A picture book manuscript I had been working on since 2013 got rejected after an R&R. This is a manuscript that had already been through multiple revisions in two languages, and had changed tense and point of view more than once. It had been seen by multiple critique partners multiple times. It was a well-worked manuscript. And yet, it got rejected. The response from the editor, along with her feedback, prompted me to consider all the comments of all my other readers over all the years – those deeper questions and concerns I had been too afraid to address, even as I had spent years fidgeting with the surface: Almost like my sixteen-year old self faced with a ruined all-blue painting. So, I opened a new document on my computer and typed the “what-if” sentence that had been lingering in the back of my mind for years. I shook up the entire structure, lost the main character, broadened my scope, and threw all caution to the wind. And it was much better. In fact, I thought I was there. Ha! Enter critique partners. But, this time around I was much quicker to kill the darlings and embrace the change. Now, six years after I’d first started this story, I can say I have a manuscript in which I truly believe. Yet, I am not so precious about it that I am not willing to shake it up again, should it be required. Sometimes I get mad at myself for wasting all that time. But, upon reflection, I realize I learned a myriad of things about my story, about the industry, and about myself through this process. The biggest lesson was to stop resisting change. To be brave. To play. Fast forward to later this year. I was working on a rhyming picture book manuscript, focusing on perfecting the rhythm, putting story first, and finding smart rhymes without forcing them. Nailed It. Except, every critique partner ever commented with “It’s good, but does it have to be in rhyme?” My initial response was, “You have got to be kidding me? I have sheets and sheets with column upon column of hard and soft syllables. I have clapped rhythms ad infinitum. I have rhymed four-syllable words.” But wait. What if? In March my family and I visited the Worcester Art Museum which hosted an exhibit of Claude Monet’s Waterloo Bridge. The exhibit featured nine of the Waterloo Bridge paintings. Monet painted the bridge forty-one times during the winters of 1899 - 1901. He’d line up fifteen canvasses and move between them, literally seeing the bridge in different light, and capturing what he saw. Then he went back to his studio and kept working on those paintings. The painting that now belongs to the Davis Museum at Wellesley College, was still in his studio, likely unfinished, when he passed away in 1926. Forty-one times, about this particular subject, Monet asked “What if?” and decided to be brave and see where it would take him. My rhyming manuscript is no longer in rhyme. Inspired by Monet, I will keep looking at my work in different light. How about you? Do you have a manuscript that would benefit from a new perspective? Will you dare to ask “what -if?” And be brave? And play?
by Francine Puckly As the Summer Solstice approaches, my mind is churning with a multitude of thoughts and emotions about growth, new beginnings, and the constructive criticism that can derail or redirect our endeavors. I’m excited about the idea that in ancient times the Summer Solstice was once considered the New Year and was both an opportunity to break out of one’s normal routine and a time of merriment and celebration. In present time, the Solstice is roughly the halfway point of the year. A marking of time. A marking of our goals. And for a few of my colleagues, it’s a marking of delayed projects as a result of rejection or requested revisions by industry professionals and critique partners. How we deal with these requests and setbacks will determine how well we stay on track to meet our goals this year. A few years ago, my daughter ran for office in a student organization she had been part of for several years. In the days leading up to the election results, she had convinced herself that she had lost the election and mentally prepared for the deep and complete humiliation that would inevitably come when her loss was revealed. The morning the election results were to be announced, I asked her how she was feeling. She shrugged. “You know? I’m gonna be okay.” As it turned out, she didn’t lose the election for that particular officer position. But another classmate lost in a different race. This classmate was not prepared to lose and was ill-equipped to gracefully handle the results. Lifelong friendships ended that day. The student resigned from the organization. What had once been a source of great joy for the student quickly turned to poison. Someone needed to tell her, "You know? It's gonna be okay." Which brings us to publishing and the art of critique and rejection, dear writers. How many times have we received hurtful, soul-wrenching rejections of our work or unanticipated requests for manuscript changes and were tempted to throw it all away? Or we hear of another artist’s success and fume at the injustice? In some cases, if we can be objective, we can see that the artist’s manuscript or project had more potential than what we had offered. Sometimes the other person’s idea is more unique, more fully developed, more polished. Other times we feel cheated. We can burn bridges and claim the world is out to get us. Or if we’re smart, we learn what to do differently so that next time we can win. Sometimes, for whatever reason, it just isn’t our time. With all this summering and raining and shining, the growing season is upon us. And all gardeners know that momentous growth springs forth after a significant pruning. And we can respond by pruning words and tightening our manuscripts and possibly even pruning our egos as we realize we have more to learn. At this time of great light and idleness, try to approach your projects with enlightenment and consciousness with respect to what needs to be done to move forward. If you’re reeling from the pain of rejection or harsh criticism, look for ways to celebrate the joys of the creative life. Hone your craft with the help of how-to books while you dig your toes in the freshly mown lawn. Attend workshops and free lectures. Stop by book launches to support your fellow artists and learn how authors and illustrators interact with their audiences. Read blog posts and memoirs written by authors who were “elected” this year and try to figure out how to apply their successes to your own words and journey. Regardless of the origination of Summer Solstice celebrations, a plethora of fire and sun rituals across ancient cultures celebrated light. And in noting lightness, we will be able to release burdens, doubts, and fears. Oh, and rejection. Now go. Be happy. Bask and grow in the warmth of the sun. ~ Francine by Annie Cronin Romano A few weeks ago, I arrived at a storytime and book signing for my recent picture book, Night Train: A Journey from Dusk to Dawn. I was greeted by one of the booksellers, who informed me they’d been getting sparse attendance at their Saturday kids’ events. I told her not to worry as I realized these types of events were hit or miss. A few minutes passed and, apart from a fellow writer and her friend, no others had arrived. A woman who’d been lingering nearby approached and asked if I was the author doing the event. She said her two teenage sons—a senior and junior in high school—needed to attend an author event for their AP Literature class so she’d brought them to my signing, not realizing that I wrote for children and would be reading a picture book that morning. “Where are they?” I asked. “Upstairs. They don’t want to come down.” I laughed and told her I understood. Personally, I was relieved because at this point, with just a couple minutes until my reading was to begin, zero children had arrived. Nada. This gave me an audience, though not the demographic I’d been expecting. I told her, “Have them come down. I’ll talk to them about my writing process and answer their questions. And I won’t make them sit and listen to me read.” The young men arrived—with hesitation—and I introduced myself and told them a little about my writing. I was about to ask if they had any questions when their mom said, “Really, I’d like you to read your book. That’s why you’re here.” My writing friend wanted to hear me read as well, so I asked the boys to humor me, filled them in on the inspiration for the story, then read. When I finished, the tone shifted as the two teenagers started asking me questions. One after another. First about the story itself. Then about the writing process. Then about publication. We discussed writing in rhyme versus prose, the editing process, and how picture book writing differs from novel writing and the unique challenges it presents. The dialogue was amazing, and the experience of seeing these young men realize that picture books are not babyish as they’d thought was one I will never forget. They realized the significant work that goes into constructing a children’s story, even one just a few hundred words in length, and they seemed to understand that the age of your target audience does not define the level of effort needed to create quality writing. A few minutes later, some little ones arrived and asked to participate in the storytime and craft. I said goodbye to the teenagers and turned my attention to what had been my intended audience. But my heart was already singing at the fact that those teenage boys had come downstairs to the children’s room reluctantly and returned upstairs with a newfound appreciation for what goes into writing for children. A very good--and unexpected--storytime, indeed. ~by Amanda Smith When I was a little girl, my father would take my brother and me to the Pretoria Public Library every other week, where we could each check out two books. I would tightly hug my books against my chest as we crossed the busy street, skipped up the wide steps, and entered the grand red granite building through enormous oiled teak doors. The Children’s Library was on the second story, accessed by an enchanted staircase that magically transported itself from the greatest castle of a fantasy novel. My dad would let us ascend to the Realms of Upstairs by ourselves as he continued on the adult shelves. Inside the children’s library, I was greeted by the kind librarian who always remembered my name. She received my books like the great treasure they were, and paid me with the keys to the universe, my two sunshine-yellow library pockets. My tickets to Narnia. There, between the dark wood shelves, lined with rows upon rows of books, hugged by silence, breathing in the wholesome, dusty smell of historical building, knowledge, and art, I lost myself. And found myself. And a place to belong. Many, many years later, when my husband and I immigrated to the US, one of the first things we did, was to join our local library. It was there that we learned to navigate this new culture, were educated about US holidays and celebrations by exhibits librarians thoughtfully pulled together, and ran into acquaintances who became friends. We found a place to belong. When my children were toddlers, we were regulars at library story times and craft mornings. When they became independent readers, we signed up for summer reading programs and activities such as visiting magicians, hand-drum sessions and worm races. Parents huddled in the back in quiet conversation, watching kids play, and maybe made arrangements to meet at a playground later in the week, finding community. And a place to belong. Last summer, as part of a road trip, our family visited friends in Pittsburgh. Proud to show off their city, they took us to the Carnegie Museum and amazing Carnegie library (true kindred spirits). Their kids dragged our kids to the youth room as we explored the fabulous architecture of the library. When we returned to the youth room, we found our children playing board games with other kids who happened to be there. Some kids were knitting, others had fabric scraps laid out over the table, making elaborate fabric art plans, others were playing computer games. As I looked at these city kids (and my country bumpkins dragged into the mix) contently engaged and interacting, I saw kids who found a safe place. The place they belong. Recently I have watched our small-town library undergo a transformation. When we pop in after school, we have walked in on Taco parties and art classes. A youth director has been hired to provide after-school activities to students who stay at the library every afternoon. She offers homework help and recommends books. I have heard her give pep talks and friendship advice. Today’s library is a far cry from the quiet place that provided sanctuary to me. When I watch my youngest lug a stack of graphic novels taller than himself to the check-out counter, I marvel at all the ways libraries have changed. Upon entering our library, we walk past the expected: books, DVDs, music. We greet the patrons: the elderly, the scholars, the unemployed doing a job-search on the computers provided. We scan the flyers advertising activities hosted by the library: Yoga classes, book clubs, sewing and art classes, local authors’ support groups. We browse the ever-growing audiobook section. We lose a child in the expansive graphic novel section. And then we pause at something new: A Library of Things: board games, toys, puzzles, Lego! What other international institution has adapted to a continuously changing world as successfully as libraries have? Libraries have their finger on the pulse of their communities, and constantly adapt and grow to meet their communities' needs. Yet libraries continue to do what they have always done. Provide a place to belong. April 7- 13 is National Library week. If you haven’t visited your library since your childhood, I would like to urge you to look in and discover all it has to offer. If you are a lifer, like me, this is the perfect week to thank your librarians. As the Thanksgiving holiday approaches and our last-minute preparation lists grow from one or two quickly scribbled Post-its into full-fledged Gantt charts, 24 Carrot Writing would like to take this opportunity to thank all of you for joining us on the creative journey—for sharing the twists and turns of the creative life on a road scattered with goals and carrots! This week, may you claim snatched moments of solitude amidst family, friends and feasts in order to pamper yourself, write or sketch a little something just for fun, or maybe just have a quiet chat with a family member you see all too infrequently (and who might have an interesting story to tell if asked the right questions!). We are thankful to have such warm, supportive individuals who cheer us on and share the highs and lows of the writing and illustrating journey. Thank you! Happy Thanksgiving from all of us! Francine, Annie, Kelly and Amanda 24 Carrot Writing is beyond excited to announce that our blogging partner and co-founder, Annie Cronin Romano, will launch her debut picture book, Before You Sleep: A Bedtime Book of Gratitude, this Sunday, October 14, 2018 at 2:00 p.m. at the Silver Unicorn in Acton, MA. We’ve been on the writing and publishing journey with Annie for over six years—none of us really knows when we came together, but it was long before 24 Carrot Writing was a thing. Since we convened as a writing support and goal-setting group, we have revised numerous drafts of picture books, magazine articles and MG and YA novels. We’ve deleted a few labors of love along the way, killed off a handful of darlings, and critiqued each other’s many drafts that appeared to us in rough or polished form—and everything in between. The four of us have amassed dozens of rejections individually and hundreds collectively. Through all of this, Annie has been the model of persistence. Even though writing is the job of her heart, it is her second job. Despite a demanding day-job and juggling three teenagers’ schedules, Annie never stops writing. Her focus is laser-like when we have writing retreat days, and she continues to crank out at least one picture book manuscript a month. Her commitment to writing speaks of true passion. Annie is also the Goddess of Boomeranging—that noble art of sending out a query quickly on the heels of rejection. On the rare occasion when Annie would be wounded by rejection and we worried she would cash in her chips, push back from the poker table and declare loudly and publicly that she had bet enough of her life’s time and energy on snagging the elusive publishing contract, she would find a ray of hope, cling to a hint of encouragement, tackle another revision, and fling another query out into the universe. Annie’s querying is relentless, and she does not wallow in despair. She painstakingly researches appropriate agents and editors and steadily sends out queries each month. And you won’t find a more organized submitter. Her tracking spreadsheets and detail of publisher data would put Sheldon Cooper’s string theory notes to shame. If you were to take the time to go through the thread of Annie’s blogs on our website, you’ll find her journey…slogging through the emotionally-draining query trenches; balancing writing with social media when she was trying to establish her web presence; turning harsh critique into positive feedback; being happy and joyful about other people’s successes, but still wondering when her break might come; taking control of her goals, but then giving herself the gift of compassion when she couldn’t hit all the pedals from the demands of life, day-job , and writing. It is because of all of those qualities that we find ourselves where we are today—announcing Annie’s debut picture book! (Before You Sleep is this week’s Book Pick.) But over and above those wonderful attributes, Annie is our friend. So, yes—Yes!—we celebrate her publishing success and debut book, but we also raise a glass to honor what we love most about Annie—her bravery, her perseverance, her compassion, her kindness, her sense of humor, and her pluck. Congratulations, Annie! From all of us at 24 Carrot Writing – Francine, Kelly and Amanda |
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