Encounter: Sid Fleischman

Being a teenager with lofty dreams has its advantages. First, I wanted to work in publishing. Second, being a Sandwich Artist by trade, I was really good at offering mustard.

Sid Fleischman was behind me in the sandwich line at the 2005 SCBWI Annual Summer Conference in Los Angeles, a couple years after I was no longer a teen by years, but still felt like one. When Sid appeared, I saw The Whipping Boy cover between my elementary school fingers, between the shelves of my elementary school library.

Being a teenager (an again feeling like one) is something like being stuck in one of those I-am-immobile dreams, only your limbs still move and don't do what you asked them to do.

It gets worse when you are being stared at. Like "interviewing" to get into a prestigious private school and losing my voice entirely. Or starting my period the day of the yearly ballet performance. (That's when periods were a big deal.)

Obstacle One: Pour yourself a drink.

First the ice cubes. Using the shallow spoon provided as a scooping tool, I managed to get one ice cube into my cup and three onto the floor. Behind me. In front of Sid Fleischman.

Obstacle Two: Decide what to do with the ice cubes on the carpet.

First, stare at them. Next, think of what you would even do with the sullied cubes if they were picked up. Or should I just let them melt? Third, decide to abandon them. Finally, look at Sid awkwardly.

Obstacle Three: Complete the assembly of the sandwich.

Sandwich-assembly being my specialty, I sped through the bread, turkey, cheese, and lettuce. I left the lunch line oddly, wishing I had something to tell Sid other than "OHMYGOSHIAMSOEMBARRASSED" OR "OHMYGOSHIREADYOURBOOKWHENIWASLITTLE." I couldn't think of anything, so I said nothing. I missed my opportunity.

Until I hear a voice behind me.

Paired with the voice was a smile.

Paired with the smile was patience.

"Did they have mustard over there?" Sid Fleischman said. There was a secret in his voice, and I suspected he did not actually need my help.

"Yes," I said, proud. "I can get it for you."

The old instinct kicked in.

"Would you like any mayonnaise?"




Sid, thank you for seeing me. You will be missed and always remembered.
(1920-2010)

For more information, visit http://www.sidfleischman.com/

Bruce Coville's 7 Sins for Writers

Bruce Coville, author of The Unicorn Chronicles and many other fabulous books, set down the 7 sins that plague writers during a speech at the SCBWI of Western Pennsylvania's Annual Fall Conference on November 7, 2009.

(And no, fellow journalism majors, I do not mean that the writers were being plagued DURING the conference. Oh, the delight of somewhat-misplaced modifiers and the art of plugging too much information into one sentence.)


7 Sins for Writers:

1. Dullness. Start at the latest possible moment in your story.

2. Repetition. A theme will naturally appear over and over in your work, but do not repeat yourself, and certainly do not repeat other writers' stories.

3. Cliche. "The thing is, they're just easy as pie to do."

4. Sloth. Not working at your best.

5. Inattention. Not thinking the story through.

6. Perfectionism. This is the worst enemy to the writer--the enemy of completion, of getting that first draft done.

7. Clumsiness (lack of craft). Spelling and punctuation do count at the final stages. If you want to be an artist, "master your craft."



7 Necessities for Writers:

1. Passion. "Great stories come from passion."

2. Sensuousness (but without temperance). Loving the description of the physical world.

3. Wisdom. The hard part is that wisdom is what our readers come to us for, "and we are, at best, [broken] vessels."

4. Guile. Do not fear the "ugly baby" slips, or rejection letters. Ugly baby slips sound like this: "Sir, we've looked at pictures of your baby, and MAN you have an ugly baby!" Actually, though, no rejection would ever be as bad as a publisher driving to your door and slapping you on the face.

"I went to school with writers who were better than me but they'll never be published because they wrote a story and put it in a drawer."

5. Humor. There is a humorlessness of the politically correct and the intellectually impaired. "Laughter may well be the highest point of worship."

6. Courage.

7. Joy. "To act from joy takes more courage than to act from fear."



Further reading:
http://www.brucecoville.com/
http://scbwiconference.blogspot.com/

Encounter: Arthur A. Levine of Scholastic

The Year Editors Forbade Bathroom Manuscript Pitches, and a Run-In with Arthur Levine of the Scholastic Imprint, Arthur A. Levine Books:

Editors at the SCBWI 2005 Annual Summer Conference in Los Angeles warned against pitching a manuscript to them in the bathroom.  Yes, really.  I did just type that.  The bathroom.

"Don't pass your manuscript to me under the stall," one editor said, "because you know what it will be used for!"

It's no surprise authors take advantage of any face time they can get.  If you've never attended a Los Angeles conference, you must!  The conferences are highly energized, inspiring, and great for networking.  The 2005 conference had a marked air about it that screamed "This Is My Chance!"

The editors were there.  Real ones.  Not cloaked behind a labyrinth of receptionists and email servers.  And everyone was dying to touch the fine hairs at the tip of one particular sacred cloak.  The cloak of Arthur A. Levine.

It was Harry Potter season, and here was a real live Scholastic editor.  The MAN who EDITED Harry Potter for the U.S.!  Maybe he will see me!  Maybe he will love my book!  Maybe he will put right the wrongs of writing without pay!  Maybe he will reach down and say, "Well done, good and faithful second-year college student who is dying to work in publishing."  (That would be me.)  "Come walk by my side!"

Despite the warnings against being rude, I hovered.  I couldn't follow him into the bathroom, of course, so I watched from a distance and looked for my chance to sneak in.

Levine was cornered in an unofficial "line" of attendees waiting to speak with him.  The "line" happened to look a lot like a swarm.  A swarm in which all participants note whose right of way it is at a bajillion-way intersection and itch to be next.  Unfortunately for me, Levine was on a precious break between sessions and looked ready to slip away.  Behind him loomed a cold metal elevator.

Finally, it was my turn to speak to him next.  Really, it was.  That's when another attendee slipped in front of me and launched into the most desperate pitch I've ever heard.  Again, I'm not hatin'.  But establishing a rapport with an editor and THEN sending him your writing is better than pitching your book straight off.  An editor cannot know the quality of the writing until he reads it.

Ding!  The cold elevator doors slid open and locked into position with a subtle shudder.  Levine stepped inside.  He could disappear!  My chance to ask a Real Life New York Editor about his job was dangerously close to disappearing!

So, I did something very obnoxious.  I followed Levine and his lamprey author into the elevator.

Ding!
Lift.
Floor 2.  (Chatter, chatter from the lamprey author.)
Ding!
Lift.
Floor 3.
Ding!
Lift.
Floor 4.  (Talk talk talk.)
Ding!
Lift.
Floor 5.
Ding!

Lift.

(Finally, a short pause.)

Floor 6.
Ding!

Levine exited the elevator and turned around to face the two of us.  His body language prevented us from following him to his room, which was a smart move.

He looked at me.

"Do you like your job?" I said, very softly.

His face changed.

"I love my job," he said.  "I love making books."

He stepped away.  The doors closed behind him.

It was a very quiet ride down.