The Book Review Club - This Book is not Good for You

This Book is not Good for You
by Pseudonymous Bosch
middle grade

I wanted to like this book. Who wouldn't? It's about chocolate. Delicious, tempting chocolate. Any writer whose been stuck in writer's block h*** has likely turned to the sweet temptress for relief now and again, right?

Which made it so hard to find that the bitter aftertaste of the main protagonist, Cass, made it hard to swallow all of this book.

So why review it?

Because it was a hit with my 9 year old. Granted, the age range for this middle grade may be pretty slim because my 11 year old was not so thrilled. She too thought the main protagonist, Cass, was, in her words "sassy" and "thought she was better than everyone." And here's my favorite part. She thought the writer - who had periodic monologues - talked way too much.

I thought the basic plot idea - kid has to save her mom from an evil society that is trying to make a chocolate that lets you live forever - was very clever. But the Cass' sarcasm and the interruptive monologues really made it hard to finish this piece.

So what is a writer to do with criticism like that? Does it matter?

My theory is that we sometimes learn more from what people don't like than what they do. For me, when it's my work, it tells me that something isn't working. It might not be precisely what the reader doesn't like that needs fixing, but I realize that there are holes big enough that they need to be filled.

So, if you're looking to learn something from holes, check out This Book is not Good for You, and see if you can find what you don't like. AND...what you might fix.

For other stimulating reads, hop over to our fearless leader, Barrie Summy's, blog!

Happy reading!

You Might be an Writer If...

I've been thinking about friends lately. My big 40th birthday bash is this Saturday, a whole 7 days premature. It was a tough choice, celebrating early, going over to the dark side of 40 before my time. But, when it came right down to it, I didn't hem and haw very long over choosing to do it. I'm starting the celebrating early because I want to have my friends at the gala event, and in Oklahoma, March 13th is the start of Spring Break. Loads of friends will be out of town for my real birthday, March 14. So, I'm crossing over a week early.

Making that decision, as paltry as it really is, got me to thinking about what friends are. While for this event I definitely want the human, flesh and blood version, I think writers actually have a pretty broad definition of "friend." Friends don't actually have to be real people for a writer. Not exactly. They can be, well, imaginary. Some of my best companions have been characters in books. Which brings me to the topic of this week's quirky writer post:

You might be a writer if...you have far more imaginary friends now than you ever did as a child.

As a child, I was very aware of the fact that other kids around me had imaginary friends. I, of course, wanted one too. I waited diligently for one to show up. Maybe I wasn't the sharpest pencil in the drawer, but what can I say, I was four. I thought that that was what happened. These imaginary people just showed up.

You can imagine my disappointment when none ever did. I wasn't one to give up easily, though. In a fit of desperation, I took things into my own hands and made up an imaginary friend in that I'm-dressing-up-and-becoming-a-different-person kind of way. I just couldn't do the "I-can't-see-her" imaginary friend. I had to see her. Hear her. So I created Starcy. Starcy was a star performer with a name supiciously similar to mine who dressed glamoursly in a hula grass skirt and lei (the most glamorous clothing I had). My mom thought Starcy was great. She wanted to see her a lot, which meant I dressed up a lot, danced the hula, and talked about being a glamorous star. I enjoyed the novelty of Starcy for a while, but, in the end, she just wasn't real enough for me. I gave her up. And that was that with imaginary friends.

When I became a children's author, I more than made up for my meager helping of imaginary friends as a four year old. I now have tons. TONS. Each book means at least ten new ones. They follow me around. They talk to me. They visit me in my sleep. They don't go away when a book is done either. They crowd in on new projects. I don't know how many times Maddie, from my middle grade novel, Draogn Wishes, has shown up while I've been working on Pelorus Jack. Secretly - of course, oh-not-so-very-secretly now - I ask them for advice when working on the plot. I call conferences of my characters. It's true. I've gone over the edge when it comes to imaginary friends. Without them, I don't think I'd ever finish a single book.

Still, as much as I love my imaginary friends, it's the real flesh and blood ones that make living worthwhile. They are the ones I have a glass of wine with when the going gets tough. They lend an ear when I need to vent about my family. They bring me chocolate! Truth be told, it's my real friends who have taught me how to have imaginary ones. Without them, I wouldn't be the writer I am today. In the words of the wise Emily Dickinson, "My friends are my estate."

You Might Be a Writer If...

Ooooh, it's my favorite day of the week, the day I get to talk about all of the
strange habits that life as a writer has brought upon my lowly existence.

Since revising has not only taken over my life but pretty much defines it throughout wake and sleep, I've noticed lately that I've developed yet another writerly tick. I have to admit, I had this one when I was working on my dissertation all those years ago. I think it's impossible writing projects that bring out the real dysfunction in me. It's not an eye tick. It's not biting the side of my mouth thing. It's far worse.

You might be a writer if...you consider finishing a book a surefire way to lose weight.

Let me clarify. By finish, I mean, that's it, basta, finite, the end is the end, there are no more revisions. None. Walk away form the keyboard and don't ever come back (until you start the next project, of course).

Why would this be a guaranteed way to lose weight?

I think it has to do with all the imaginary calories I burn each day as I revise. Take my present book. It's set in 19th century New Zealand on a sheep farm. During these last three weeks of intense revisions, I've rebuilt a boat, mustered sheep, rowed out to French Pass from the coast so many times I've lost count, milked cows, collected eggs, sheared sheep, chased a girl (my character is a boy), been thrown overboard, swum with dolphins, and saved a ship from sinking.

It's been a busy few weeks...at least in my head. Writing and revising all of that imaginary activity has worked up my appetite. I've taken to nibbling...for the whole cast. Peanut butter, caramels, nuts, and a whole lot of radishes.

Why radishes, you ask? I got tired of carrots. And gum just doesn't do it. I've tried.

I'm getting tired of radishes, though. Which might explain why I've begun buying up chocolate like famine is imminent. It's sitting in my pantry, calling to me. Waiting for me. Promising to help.

Did they eat chocolate in 19th century New Zealand? Would it hurt to snag just a little?? Will my hips ever forgive me???

I swear as soon as I finish this work, I am going to go on a month long hike, just so my muscles remember what it's like to move in real life, not just in my head. And my brain gets a chance to flatline for a few days. Oh, the joys of flat-lining.

And I lose those five...ten...or so pounds that have layered themselves over me like the ungodly number of pages and words I've cut or rewritten.

Somebody needs to come up with a new diet for this Revision Syndrome...one I can do from the confort of my desk, with my imaginary characters playing along and that doesn't require me to give up chocolate (only radishes).

Ideas, suggestions...am I doomed...oh hell, where's the chocolate???