E-mail vs. the Phone

Here's another thing I learned at the workshop last week: it's ok to e-mail your sources for interviews. I am behind the curve on this one -- always thinking that e-mail is perhaps the way to first touch base with someone, as well as a method for follow up questions, but it's not a real interview unless you actually have a phone conversation.

Now obviously for big interviews and big stories you need a phone conversation or even an in-person interview. . . but it was so nice to be told -- from some NYT reporters no less -- that they totally trust to e-mail if and when they can.

I kind of knew that my friends who write for women's magazines rely excessively on e-mail. This took me by surprise the first time I answered an e-mail query to be interviewed for a Glamour article and then realized that this wasn't just a pre-amble "do you have a story good enough for me" set of questions, but the whole shebang. I went straight from e-mail to Glamour e-mail fact-check.

Anyway, I wrote in big letters across my notebook: "Give yourself permission to do e-mail interviews!" And I was nothing but excited when I sent off a handful of e-mail questions to a few people on Friday regarding an article I'm writing for Ride magazine on how tourist revenue has increased at parks where they've lifted bans on jetskis. (I am interested, btw, in any and all other story suggestions about jetskis -- sorry, on personal watercraft -- that anyone might have. I'm truly desperate for a SCIENCE story on the subject. . . you know something where the researcher could get closer to the dolphins/coral reef/underwater volcano/sunken treasure because they were using jetskis. . . )

OK, but here's the problem -- apparently nobody else is on board with my whole e-mail interview plan. I have gotten no replies from these people. Do they not understand? Are they really going to make me CALL them?

I announce to the world: I have given myself permission to do e-mail interviews, now you have permission too. E-mail me back already!

Reading in Public

And the last big thing I did at this workshop was. . . read a chapter from my Kepler/Brahe book out loud.

WOW. It was one of the scariest things I've ever done. Three of the other teachers were reading from books in progress, and as they knew I had written books, I was asked to read from something too. I considered reading from the Einstein book -- it would have been a safe choice, as it is well-edited, and non-fiction which doesn't feel quite as much like you're putting yourself out on the line.

But it just would have been kind of boring, I think, to read what are really encyclopedia essays -- no matter how lively -- to the group. In addition, they really wanted something in progress . . . and so I did it.

There is one chapter that the readers in my writing group said currently reads the best, and it also had a fair amount of science in it, so it seemed the best choice. I was stammeringly nervous, and never looked up while reading to see if people were actually paying attention, but the response seems to have been really positive.

I am sure there were those who had a response not unlike the one I would have had a few years ago (i.e. who is so presumptuous to force other people to listen to their fiction?!?) but lots of people said they really enjoyed it and that they looked forward to reading the final product.

All of which has given me a major boost of energy, after about two weeks when I haven't written anything new on it. Whoo hoo! As I said to everyone who gave me a compliment: the reason it's so hard to do, is that the book is SO good in my head. I hope hope I can make it as good as it should be. . .

Lessons Learned

So I don't forget. . . I want to write down the two most important things learned from this workshop. (How is it that we forget such basic things? These are things I KNEW already, just one needs to be reminded regularly. )

1) The Lede is all. I say this to others again and again -- the first paragraph is where the reader decides the value of the whole piece. That first paragraph decides what grade you'll get, whether you get out of the ticket, how much they'll pay you for the book, whether they'll accept your pitch. And yet, I haven't put in enough time really pulling together scintillating, grab-you-by-the-throat ledes. I got some great feedback from my workgroup on how to work on ledes both on my current pitch to Smithsonian, and on my book proposal on alchemy and so that is on the top of my to do list.

2) You can't put anything good out if you're not getting lots in. Every story takes gathering three to four times as much information as you end up putting into the final piece. Some of that is dedicated research, but a lot of it --the best metaphors, the connection to real life, the good ledes -- is just the stuff you already know. And you're not going to know it if you're not reading constantly. Trust me, I read constantly, but it's mostly fiction. I have set up reminders on my outlook to read the Science Times every Tuesday, as well as a handful of other great sites. And I'm resubscribing to all the magazines I want to write for -- you can't write for them if you're not reading them regularly.

Santa Fe Writing Workshop

Continuing the trend of trying to connect up to other people as a freelancer, I spent the last week at a science writing workshop in Santa Fe. I applied several months ago both because I thought it might be a good way to kick start magazine writing again, and because I was encouraged to do so by one of the leaders of the workshop (who oh, also just happens to write book reviews for the New York Times -- not that anyone's noticing. :-) )

There were about 55 students there, with really diverse ranges of experience and expertise. Some were scientists, who were just starting to think about switching or augmenting their careers with writing. Some worked in press offices. Some were established freelancers. One was a children's book writer. (Oh, and one was a scientist studying male "houseboys" -- the short answer is they're well educated and make $200 an hour, sometimes just to cuddle.)

And, of course, as per usual, talking to all these people doing interesting things just got my batteries completely recharged. I have a list of 72 thousand things to do post-the workshop and I'm trying to get on all of them while I still have the motivation, and before next week's crisis of "why oh why did I ever think I could handle this?!" panic sets in.

Pitching Stories Update

And last news for the day. . . as far as magazine writing goes. . . which I am of course trying to be better about doing:

1) I have promised one editor (with whom I had lunch ten days ago) a paragraph pitch which I have half written, and need to get done asap. Hmm, I'll give myself a deadline of tomorrow.

2) I heard today from a magazine to which I sent my CV and clips a few weeks ago that they would like to assign me a story (on how opening parks up to personal water craft -- read jetskis -- has helped tourist revenue), so that's fun. I am pretending that this is like travel writing. :-)

3) I also am setting myself a deadline for contacting zoogoer magazine -- just to say hey ho and can we meet to discuss what your needs are -- of tomorrow.

4) I also need to investigate a little more on a story I want to pitch to Discover.

Kid's Book Update

So, I finally got a note back from my editor on the kid's book project. Sigh. I am left feeling about these publishers pretty much the way I did before -- good editing advice, coupled with slightly weird people/organization skills. She would like to continue working with me, but has suggested a fairly major rewrite. In addition she made no mention of the "competitive" book she talked about previously and sort of threw the ball into my court to ask if I would like to continue the project, as if I had been the one balking previously. (Which I suppose I was, but only 'cause they started it. Nyeanh nyeanh nyeanh.)

Anyway, I am left with the following array of thoughts:

● Wow, the edits are really great suggestions -- and I crave good editing, since I think so many people just read and go "hmm, no spelling mistakes, it must be ok!"
● Except they kind of go in the opposite direction of the last set of edits, so that's frustrating to have to redo this in a completely different way when I already did a major rewrite based on her suggestions. I realize that sometimes a major rewrite doesn't get you to a finished product, or even to "just a few refinements" stage . . . but it's still tough to have done what she said the first time, and now have to go undo it.
● If I put in the work for a major rewrite (still not having seen a dime, mind you) will I be waiting ANOTHER year before I hear back from them?
● Why no mention of the other competitive project? It makes me feel like that was just a quick excuse offered me and not the real issue.

I have not yet written her back, since I always like to take a few days to let the conflicting thoughts (which in this case do have a bit of crankiness to them, of course) settle. But I'm not quite sure what to say. I think I would like to continue, but I want to write a "but are you realio-trulio going to make me a priority here?" kind of note. I have also received a suggestion that I tell them I'll go forward if they give me a quarter of the money before I do so -- sort of a good faith check. I haven't discussed any of it with my agent yet, which I should probably do. . .

First Drafts

So . . had writing group meeting this morning, and got feedback on my (very very rough) draft of the first twenty pages of the book. And, of course, I have been snapped right back into OH MY GOD THERE'S SO MUCH TO DO stage. Suddenly I am torn between wanting to edit -- since there were all these great ideas given to me -- and wanting to keep writing writing writing, and get more of the first draft done (I'd say I've written a quarter total). And I can't decide which to do, and of course feel vaguely stymied.

I was, however, reminded again that first drafts are OKAY. I don't know why we need to constantly be reminded of this. But KZ offered a great metaphor for writing -- the first draft is just about nailing in the posts. Like telephone poles. They point the way, they set up the framework, you've got a skeleton. Then, with suggestions from your readers, with your own editing, the second draft is about putting in all the stuff in between. Laying the wires, filling in the details, smoothing the edges, refining the product. I love this metaphor. It's not saying anything I didn't know -- or don't keep reciting in my head "It's ok Karen, this is just your first draft, you'll make it perfect later" -- but it somehow says the same thing in a different way, and I think one constantly needs to be reminded that you HAVE to go through the first draft stage before getting to the final stage. We keep hoping that as we get better we can skip some of this initial b.s. But truly I think the mark of a great writer is simply that they are good editors, and they can take that first draft and polish it up to brilliant beauty.

I just have to be told over and over again, in different ways, that it's ok to write a first draft -- and just because it's not perfect yet is no reason to give up. But it's hard to remember that I tell you. It's hard.

Artist Dates

In one of those books that most writers have picked up at some point, The Right to Write, Julia Cameron suggests that writers need to repeatedly "fill the well." She recommends going to one -- for lack of a better term -- "cultural" event , by one's self, a week. A museum, a lecture, a symphony, an art class, whatever. This doesn't have to be -- and perhaps shouldn't be -- something that is connected to a subject you have written or want to write about. It also shouldn't be an acitivity where you spend the entire time thinking about how you could weave this experience into a story. Instead, the idea is just to make sure your head is crammed chock-full of information, experiences, knowledge, sensory input, so you can draw on it at some point later when you least expect you're going to need it.

I keep pretending that I'm going to do this once a week. I keep not doing it.

I went to a lecture today on the narwhal -- that whale-ish creature with a unicorn's horn. That horn, it turns out, is a tooth, that protrudes out its upper lip, on the left side only, and extends for like 10 feet. Evolution has played some weird weird jokes out there, people. But the real issue here is that, as one always knows will happen, going to a lecture like that just energized me. I have a handful of story ideas I want to follow up on -- some directly related, some not. And I am more motivated in general on the stuff I'm already working on, since I got connected again to modern science and was reminded how fun and thrilling it can be.

So, artist dates. You heard it here -- I hereby solemnly swear to go on one a week for REAL.

The Tiara

After a great several-week spurt of good writing, I have totally lamed out over the last week, and written pretty much nothing. It is directly correlated to a mood swing -- though that turns into a chicken or an egg cycle, since the moment I force myself to write, I get into a better mood, so the "I'm cranky and therefore I can't write" excuse isn't such a good one.

But I am going to get some writing done today, I will, I will, I will -- and to help with the cause, I have put on my trusty tiara. Those who know me well, know the tiara. It is left over from my third grade princess costume and it has carried me through years of homework assignments, deadlines, life crises, or --to be honest -- just plain cleaning the house when I don't want to.

Everyone should have a tiara.

Exhibit A:

It is the night before I am supposed to give a talk on my senior physics thesis. I am completely and totally blocked, I can't figure out what I'm supposed to talk about, life sucks. My friend, and fellow physics major, Kent, knocks on my dorm room door at about 7 o'clock, to find me staring at my computer, desperate. He says: "forget this, you need a break" and takes me off to see the movie Jacob's Ladder -- one of the weirdest mind-games movies ever. I get home at 11, with a totally new pretty-close-to-what-I-can-only-imagine-being-tripped-on-acid-feels-like attitude, throw on my tiara, light candles all over my room, and pump that talk out. The tiara comes through.

Exhibit B:

It is the night before my graduate school applications are due -- I think I'm in good shape. I have written all the essays, have gotten all my recommendations, I just need to fill out the information on the basic forms and do a few short answer questions. I discover that one of the applications has a whole extra essay that I had not even realized was needed -- and I certainly haven't started. I panic. I call my friend Jane, who in her most blase tone says: "No problem. You know what to do. Put on the tiara, go get a cup of coffee laced with Baileys, light the candles." I got in to every school.

Exhibit C:

When my friend Catherine was sad one day, she decided she needed to wear the tiara out. Three of us went out for dinner and we all found a tiara to wear -- the waitress looked vaguely askance, but never asked anything about it. Jen finally leaned over and whispered to the waitress "She's a bachelorette" . . . within minutes the whole restaurant knew who the bachelorette was, and we were the most fun table in the place. Everyone sent us drinks, everyone asked the bachelorette to dance. It was awesome. Totally snapped her out of her mood.

Exhibit D:

A few months ago, I came home from lunch having just broken up with the guy I'd been dating -- and I put the tiara on. I was due out at a happy hour that evening, but just couldn't bring myself to take it off. I mean I NEEDED that thing. Here's a funny thing about tiaras -- it turns out that when you walk down the street at 6 on a Friday afternoon in one, nobody even bothers to ask why you're wearing it. Hell, no one even looks twice. I wore it all weekend -- including a drive up to New York City with multiple stops at Jersey Turnpike rest stops. At a brunch on Sunday, one of the female guests brought her pet turtle -- she carried it around, she made kissing noises at it, she showed it to everyone, talked about it incessantly. And all I could think was: "Who needs so much attention that she'll bring her turtle to brunch?" A beat later, I thought: "um, yeah -- this from the girl in the TIARA." I laughed for the first time all weekend.

The tiara rules. I highly recommend it for jolting you out of moods, for forcing you to focus, for just getting motivated. I have mine on now, and I am going to write write write write. I swear.