You are currently browsing Tara Lazar’s articles.
Don’t worry, I haven’t slid off the children’s book wagon to blog about the policies of Franklin Delano Roosevelt. No, “the new deal” to which I refer is my first picture book deal.
Did you hear what I said? FIRST PICTURE BOOK DEAL!
Tara Lazar’s debut THE MONSTORE, about a shop which sells only the most useful monsters, and has only one rule: no refunds, no exchanges, to Emily Lawrence at Aladdin, for publication in summer 2012, by Ammi-Joan Paquette at Erin Murphy Literary Agency (NA).
I’m thrilled to be working with Emily, who not only loves tacos as much I as do, but also made an appearance on this blog two years ago (unbeknownst to her). Joining Emily in the monsterly hijinx is assistant editor Alyson Heller, who shares my passion for figure skating.
(Note: Please don’t send these editors stories about TACO HARDING AND JEFF GUACAMOLE. Mexican food and figure skating don’t mix! Not even with some good queso!)
Next up, an illustrator will be chosen and then we’ll work on revisions.
And hey, what the heck, I’ll drag you along on the journey. I’ll share as much as I can about the behind-the-scenes process–from getting a book signed to signing books!
The journey thus far:
1. I was born.
2. I wrote my first picture book with my 2nd-grade BFF and told my great-grandparents it would be published soon.
3. I apologized to my 80-something great-grandparents for making them drive an hour to the bookstore.
4. I went to college and wrote awful short stories and lousy poetry.
5. I worked in high-tech and wrote awful press releases, shouldering some of the blame for “irrational exuberance.”
6. I got married and had two kids.
7. I decided to take up my 2nd-grade passion again (without BFF).
8. I wrote.
9. I revised.
10. I conferenced.
11. I rinsed and repeated.
12. I submitted.
13. I wrote this post. (And you commented!)
Want a great piece of writing advice? As a new writer, surround yourself with more experienced professionals. You’ll grow and learn far more quickly than if you remain in a critique group comprised of writers on your level.
Unfortunately, it’s not always easy to find an experienced critique group. However, paid critiques are one way to gain access to knowledgeable professionals and speed-up your learning curve. You can receive paid critiques at SCBWI conferences and through independent editors, and once in a while critiques go up for auction to benefit good causes. But these critiques, while thorough and worth every penny, can sometimes cost a lot of pennies.
I met award-winning author Brenda Reeves Sturgis at the 2008 Rutgers One-on-One Plus Conference and we had instant chemistry. Easy-going, lovely, and full of fun, Brenda possesses a great personality and a penchant for picture books. Her debut TEN TURKEYS IN THE ROAD releases fall 2011 with Marshall Cavendish, and her poetry appears in the SWEET DREAMS anthology later this year from Blooming Tree Press. And guess what? OK, you’ve guessed it, she has begun a new critique service for picture book writers (and for not that many pennies).
Hey–did you notice–critique service, Reeves Sturgis. That rhymes! Well, kind of. Maybe just a little? Huh?
But believe me, her critiques are far better than my rhymes.
Dust cobwebs off the fake plants!
[Check email.]
Play online Bingo Luau!
[Jump when the phone rings.]
Give away old clothes circa 1994!
[Check email. For the 27th time this hour.]
Refill the bird feeders!
[Check answering machine.]
Clear unidentifiable aluminum-foiled bricks out of the freezer!
Yes, such is the glamorous life of a newly-agented writer who hopes to someday soon be a bonafide author.
What’s that you say?
I should be doing something else while I wait for an editor response?
Something like…writing???
Bahhh! What a crazy idea.
Well, what would YOU do?
One winter morning in 1976, my father was reading the Sunday paper when he stumbled across an ad for ice-skating lessons. He snapped the paper in front of me and asked, “It says you have to be able to skate across the length of the ice to sign up. Can you skate across the ice?”
“Of course I can skate across the ice,” I said, and then gulped a spoonful of oatmeal.
A minute later he was on the phone, registering me. What on earth made him believe a five year-old who had never put on a pair of skates could cross a slippery arena, I’ll never know. But I was excited to begin lessons and I imagined zooming around in circles, faster than everyone at South Mountain.
The next week I proudly stepped onto the ice in my new skates.
And promptly fell.
And fell again.
And again.
Then I learned to hold onto the side. And then I learned what it’s like to hit the boards AND the ice. And this was in the days before helmets.
A guard helped me off the ice. She told my father I could not be in group lessons. I thought I might cry. Then she suggested I spend a private lesson with her, learning to skate. My father agreed and by the end of the lesson, I was indeed moving across the ice.
I took group lessons every winter for a few years, earning my USFSA patches faster than everyone else. And when I had completed those patches, they told me I was ready for a coach and private lessons–lessons my family could barely afford.
I went for one private lesson and waited for my coach in the corner, practicing simple figures. The older skaters yelled at me because, unbeknown to me, I was hogging the JUMP corner. I was trying to stay out of the way, but I was totally screwing up their double lutzes.
And then when my father heard what time the coach wanted me at the arena–5:30am twice a week–that was the end of private lessons.
Over the years, I skated recreationally instead, going to the arena once a week and trying to teach myself. I was able to do a scratch spin and a waltz jump, crossovers in every direction, and a few fancy turns. But my real desire was to compete. I always thought…some day.
That day came as an adult. As soon as I had my own money, I took lessons. And like I had done as a child, I quickly moved up through the ranks. I hired a coach. I competed. And I won. In 2002, I competed at Adult Nationals in Ann Arbor, Michigan, after winning Gold at Eastern Sectionals and two other Golds, a Silver and a Bronze in other competitions that year. It was a dream come true.
I thought–if I can do this, I can do anything.
And now, here I am today, accepting an offer of literary representation. Skating gave me the confidence to pursue another dream, that of becoming a published children’s author. And now I’m one step closer to that dream.
I’m here to tell you–work hard, believe in yourself and your talents, find a great critique group and writer friends who support you, and go for it!
You will stumble. You will fall. But brush yourself off and soon you’ll hit your stride–or in my case–glide!
Besides writing for kids, I’m raising them, too. (You may have already figured this out by the blog title. I’m not that full of surprises.)
Two years ago I won a Six-Word Momoir contest from Smith Magazine, and now another one of my Momoirs is featured in their new book It All Changed in an Instant: Six Word Memoirs by Writers Famous and Obscure:
Wanted independence but had two dependents.
Probably would have sounded better if I went all Duggar and said nineteen dependents, but I digress…
Sometimes we need a break from our current manuscript, but we still want to write. Well, what better way to be succinctly witty and wittily succinct than by writing six-word memoirs? Picture book writers are expected to write short, so here’s the ultimate exercise. In my case, I’m sticking to momoirs. Here’s a few to get your creative sixes flowing:
Woman with awesome body becomes homebody.
Two words bring joy: “She pooped!”
You really do become your mother.
How many years until Kindergarten begins?!
Naptime: my favorite time of day.
Wake me up when they’re grown.
Stuffed animals must breed at night.
Motherhood should require an entrance exam.
Hug tight. The years move fast.
Say “yes” as often as possible.
Except when muddy nightcrawlers are involved.
Grant wishes. Encourage dreams. Inspire hope.
Give birth. Give lessons. Give freedom.
OK, I apologize for the poop. I have no reason to sink that low. But I do have something to tell new mothers in six words: “Stay far away from rice cereal.”
So, give it a shot. If you’re a parent or not, try a six-word memoir. I expect to see at least six below in the comments!
Photo credit DOCUMERICA by Patricia D. Duncan
Something strange happens to women once they reach 50, and I’m not talking about hot flashes and sagging skin. I am referring to those female family members who have an overabundance of stuff and feel the sudden need to unload it on me.
I do not need wooden napkin rings circa 1974 nor a pilly afghan in the trendy avocado green of that decade. A framed print seems like a generous offering, until I learn that it sits beneath cracked glass. Sweaters and velvet jackets thick with dust and the odor of mothballs? No thanks. Old dented tins, used shopping bags, vinyl placemats, and assorted ceramic chachkas—does my home look like a flea market?
I have relatives who want to get rid of things. I understand that. But they assume the items are too good to throw away. Yet I suspect they also realize their knick-knacks aren’t desirable enough to sell, not even to the eBay-obsessed, so I’m the solution to their clutter.
So what do I do? Refuse the third PBS tote bag I’ve been offered?
No, I graciously accept it with a “thank you” and watch their eyes light up with pleasure, knowing their treasure has found another home within the family. And then I tuck it away into a dark basement closet, awaiting my 50th birthday when I can hopefully dump the stuff on my nieces.
But a few months ago for Picture Book Idea Month, Susan Taylor Brown told us how she finds inspiration: collecting “junk” in an idea box, and then imagining the story behind the brooch, feather or piece of iridescent ribbon she’s found.
So perhaps collecting chachkas isn’t such a bad experience for a writer. In fact, maybe I’ll start asking neighbors to unload their trash–I mean treasure–on me.
A few days ago in Think Before You Write, I mentioned that although a picture book is short, it doesn’t take a short time to write:
You whittle down the length so every word packs a punch, while still presenting a compelling page-turner, full of illustrative potential. (Which means you have to leave some things unsaid.)
So what does that mean? Leaving some things unsaid? Well, I’ve found perfect examples from Kathi Appelt. (Yes, Newbery Honoree Kathi Appelt. She knows her stuff.)
Today my daughter asked me to read Appelt’s Bubba and Beau Meet the Relatives, one of our favorite picture books.
Appelt says a lot with a little, meaning she uses a few words to describe a situation, leaving illustrator Arthur Howard to fill in the blanks.
Bubba and Beau Meet the Relatives is about a baby boy, his bloodhound puppy and the Texan family relatives who come to visit one afternoon. Bubba’s Mama Pearl quickly prepares for the relatives’ arrival.
Appelt says: “First Mama Pearl went on a home improvement spree.”
Howard draws: Mama Pearl shoving clothes into a drawer, pushing an overstuffed closet closed, and sweeping Bubba’s toys underneath the bed.
Notice it took 19 words to describe the illustrations, but Appelt only used 9 words to set the scene.
Appelt says: “Then she handed out orders.”
Howard draws: Mama Pearl pointing to a cobweb which Big Bubba swats with a broom, Mama Pearl holding a bag for the bloodhound to put away his bones and balls, Big Bubba vacuuming with Beau riding the cleaner.
And there it took 36 words to describe the illustrations, but Appelt only used 5. (OK, I could have described the art in a tighter fashion, but I think you see my point.)
Later in the story, Appelt introduces “…Cousin Arlene and her dog, Bitsy.”
Appelt says: “Honey, it was froufrou city.”
Howard draws: Cousin Arlene in a frilly pink dress, with a pink bow to match the one atop Bitsy’s fluffy head.
Once again, Appelt’s petite word count packs a humorous punch, with Howard’s illustrations telling half the story.
In our favorite scene of the story, Bubba, Beau, Arlene and Bitsy have just been discovered in the mud hole. “Only one thing to do,” says Big Bubba.
Page turn. (Which means a surprise is coming!)
Appelt says: “Yeehaw, honey! It was a picture-perfect day in Bubbaville.”
Howard draws: The entire family sitting in the back of Big Bubba’s truck, which has been filled with a hose so it’s a southern-style pick-up truck pool.
At kidlit conferences and events I’ve repeatedly heard that picture book writers must leave room for illustrations. Bubba and Beau provides a superior example of how to write a successful tale that inspires brilliant pictures. The words and images work beautifully together like Bogey & Bacall, Astair & Rogers, and Lady Gaga & Elton John. (OK, maybe that last analogy wasn’t so good. But I needed something current.)
If you have a recommendation of a picture book that says a lot with a little, let’s hear it!
OK, excuse the bad rhyme in the title. I told you before, I don’t write rhyming picture books. (I hear you breathing a sigh of relief. Me too.)
Kidlit agent Mark McVeigh is running a contest on his new blog. Well, it’s not really a contest, it’s a give-away. Of his time. Find 10 friends to follow his blog and he’ll give you a 15-minute Skype or phone chat.
So, if you follow him, let me know by leaving a comment!
(You should follow him. Don’t make me come over there and beg. It won’t be pretty.)
A typical day as a newbie writer: sit down at the computer, start writing.
At least, that’s what I did two years ago. I got an idea and I didn’t stop to think: is this a good idea? Is it marketable? Has anyone written something like this before? Nope. I just wrote, motivated by my muse.
And perhaps this was good back then. I was honing my skills, finding the right words, crafting sentences, building stories.
But they were looooong stories. At an average 1,500 words my tales were neither picture books nor chapter books. I insisted I was writing picture storybooks, and I used Patricia Polacco’s body of work as an example of how my stories could be published, not realizing, c’mon, she’s PATRICIA POLACCO.
It took me a while to learn to THINK before I write.
An idea begins. I ponder it. I write down the initial concept. What is my topic—what is this story about on its surface? Bulldozers or ballet dancers or dragons? What is at its heart? Is it about friendship or fitting in or family? Who is my character and what does he want? What is my hook? Can I boil the concept down to one line?
Then I research. Is there anything similar already published? If so, I’ve got to change it up a bit. Or let it go.
I ask myself these important questions:
- Is this picture book marketable?
- Will someone pay $16 to buy it?
Granted, these are difficult questions to answer objectively. Of course you want to believe that everyone will buy your book! But as a mother of two picture book age kids, I know this isn’t the case. If we don’t love reading the book over and over again, I won’t buy it. I try to use my motherly instinct to answer these questions and I think of my other parent friends. (And then I stalk parents in the bookstore and ask them what they think. No, just kidding. But I’m tempted.)
If I can’t answer “yes,” the idea gets filed away for the future, when I can perhaps transform it into something more extraordinary.
If I do answer “yes,” (or even “maybe”) then I create a brief outline or I just write. And I keep the proper length in mind: 500 to 700 words.
Some writers may call this process stifling. But I call it smart. Because if you want to be published, you have to examine these elements before you write. Because although picture books are short, they don’t take a short time to write.
Sure, you may pump out a first draft in a few days, or even less, but picture book revisions could go on for weeks, months, even years until you get it right. You whittle down the length so every word packs a punch, while still presenting a compelling page-turner, full of illustrative potential. (Which means you have to leave some things unsaid.) With all that time invested in a product you want to sell, you’re playing Russian roulette if you haven’t researched the story’s potential first.
It took me a while to learn this, to realize this, so I’m just paying it forward. Many of you are probably nodding your head in agreement. And maybe some of you are waving a finger at me for being a creativity killer.
In any case, I’m eager to hear from both sides! Think or write? Or a hybrid of both?
Parents of the previous generation who wanted to bestow all their mushy, gushy love on their kids–in book form–had Robert Munsch’s Love You Forever and Sam McBratney’s Guess How Much I Love You for bedtime reading. Cuddled under the covers, snug and cozy while turning pages, is there any better way to share a deep parent-child bond?
But it’s time for those books to move over and make way for new Valentine’s classics!
I can’t think of a better gift for the holiday than a book. Candy rots their teeth, plus you end up eating most if it yourself, don’t you? (Well, I do.) And where will you store yet another Build-A-Bear that gets forgotten by March?
Valentine’s Day belongs to books. And these three are perfect picks to declare all your mushy, gushy love. And grandparents, take note. These books are just right for you and your grandkids, too.
I Love You More Than Rainbows
by Susan Crites
Illustrated by Mark & Rosemary Jarman
Published by Thomas Nelson
With whimsical illustrations as bright as rainbows, Susan Crites’s book uses analogies children can easily understand to explain the concept of love. Kids are crazy about ice cream cones with sprinkles on top, puppies, birthday parties, sleigh riding and hot cocoa. But as great as those childhood favorites are, parental love still trumps them all.
Try inserting your child’s favorites while you read this book. With my kids, “I love you more than albino rock pythons, Sun Chips and Daphne from Scooby-Doo” might work well. Don’t ask about the snake, but I could use help finding something to rhyme with Scooby-Doo. Yabba-Dabba Doo? Anyone have a Hanna-Barbera rhyming dictionary?
But I digress…
With a jaunty rhyme that never gets too sing-songy, this book is a joy to read aloud, and the bold colors will delight a young audience.
Published by Thomas Nelson, I Love You More Than Rainbows won a Mom’s Choice Award and is available in hardcover and in board book form—at a great price, too. There’s even a Kindle version.
Me with You
by Kristy Dempsey
Illustrated by Christopher Denise
Published by Philomel Books
When Kristy Dempsey wrote this story, she couldn’t imagine that her editor and illustrator Christopher Denise would interpret her characters as granddaughter and grandfather. But after reading this book, you’ll agree, there’s no more perfect a pair.
Me with You celebrates the joys of being yourself around someone you love, the comfort a great relationship brings. Grandpa is always there to support his favorite young cub, even when she’s feeling selfish and gruff. The two allow each other to express themselves, always knowing their love will not waver.
Me With You also highlights the importance of spending time apart from those you love, “to be the kind of you that you can be when you’re alone.” This book is a good choice for children who are apprehensive about separation from a loved one.
This rhyming book offers a smooth, gentle beat, and the light, airy illustrations breathe of spring. Denise has mastered body language and facial expressions to demonstrate the deep bond shared by this “pair beyond compare.” A favorite page features Grandpa in a Babe Ruth pose, pointing to the outfield as his granddaughter cheers him on. (I have to mention the blades of grass, which you may think are insignificant, but I’ve never seen such luscious fields, I want to take off my shoes and run across this book.)
You don’t have to be a grandparent to fall in love with it this Valentine’s Day.
You’re Lovable to Me
by Kat Yeh
Illustrated by Sue Anderson
Published by Random House
The theme of You’re Lovable to Me is unconditional love: parents love their children no matter what they do.
Mama Bunny is having a rough day keeping track of her Bunny Babies and all their hare-y mischief. But no matter what they do, Mama Bunny reminds them that through their joy and sadness, their frolic and frustration, “You are my bunnies. And you’re lovable to me.”
Once her bunny babies are tucked in, Mama bunny crashes on the couch. Oh, how we parents can relate! Mama Bunny’s father arrives and upon seeing his exhausted daughter, he reminds her, “You’re lovable to me.”
If this review had a soundtrack, it would be Elton John’s “Circle of Life!” This book reminds our children that we were once children, too–and that everyone needs to be reminded that they are loved.
Sue Anderson illustrates in a simple, pastel style that takes advantage of white space, complementing the sweet story with a gentle, relaxed mood. The nostalgic feel of this book makes it my top pick for being a New Valentine’s Classic!
What are your New Valentine’s Classics?
Writing for Kids (While Raising Them) 