Posted on October 20, 2009 by Catherine Austen
I’ve been taking my time planning the launch of Walking Backward, to be celebrated at my local library on November 1st. Take note, all budding authors: don’t try it alone. It’s a surprising amount of work, so get as many people to help as you can.
My publisher, Orca, designed beautiful invitations, saving me from having to cut-and-paste construction paper and break out my stencils. The invitations look gorgeous–if I could figure out how to add pictures to this blog, I’d prove it.
My local bookstore, Michabou, is coming to help with book sales, saving me from carrying a cash float and pestering guests for change for a twenty. They’re passing flyers onto their customers in the days preceeding the launch, too, to help spread the word.
The library is giving me a gorgeous room for the launch party, saving me from having to clean my house. They’re also inviting councillors and other municipal movers and shakers to come (true, it’s unlikely the mayor will come, but it’s nice to ask him and I’m too shy to ask him myself).
My talented friend Anni Preslawski, a local singer-songwriter, will perform two songs at the launch, including one she wrote at the passing of her beloved aunt. It’s a great song, sad and haunting, and it fits well with the feelings of grief in my book. Fortunately, Anni will sing a second song after it, giving me time to dry my tears and get a grip on myself before I have to sign any books.
For refreshments, we’ll have fruit, cookies, coffee, juice, and a giant snake-cake. (That’s a cake in the shape of a snake, not a cake made from snakes.) My sister Sharon will help with coffee and tea; my teenage son will cut the cake. My younger son Daimon is in charge of bookmarks. And my husband Geoff will take photos and clean up any spills.
I’ll have the room decorated with posters about phobias, quotations about walking, and paintings from kindergartners on the themes of “what scares me” and “what makes me happy”. (These are not random themes; they relate to the book.) There will be markers, crayons and paper for guests of all ages to draw their own pictures. We’ll have background music and party games including a phobia quiz and name-that-walking-tune.
The only thing I’ve yet to figure out is what I’m going to say. But since I have so much help in other areas, I guess I`ll have to take that on myself.
Posted on October 13, 2009 by Catherine Austen
A friend of mine was surprised to read my last enty, in which I confessed to being deeply moved by a song about a lost cat. She has known me for years and never seen me cry. That’s because I don’t cry, except at the odd movie or song. Don’t get me wrong: I like to cry. It’s relaxing and good for the eyes. But tears either come or they don’t, and at this point in my fortunate life, they just don’t. My friend asked, “If you can’t cry about your life, how can you cry about a fictional cat’s life?”
For that, I have three answers. First, my life is a lot happier than that lost cat’s. Second, there are reasons to pull myself together to face life’s challenges, but there’s nothing I can do for fictional characters, so I might as well fall to pieces over their fate. And third, it’s not the cat I cried over, it’s the story and the sorrow-filled universe the story is played out in. It’s every sad feeling everyone ever felt.
But still, that’s not enough to explain it. Why would I cry over a fictional lost cat and not cry over real cats subjected to fates worse than death? Why would I cry over a tragic love story in a movie and not cry over a friend’s divorce?
I’d like to learn more about the connections between fiction and emotion in our strange species.
Take love in its infinite variety of fictions. How can you feel intimately connected to a character in a book? Who hasn’t felt love for a character in a movie? Some people feel a stronger love for celebrities than for the real people in their lives, but even the most grounded of us fall in love with fictions. Think of that first encounter when you hit it off with someone. Aren’t the emotions awfully sharp then, when love is mostly fictional?
Think of hatred, the kind that entire groups of people feel for other groups. You can’t get that kind of hatred without a good dose of fiction, can you? Fear, too. The stories we tell ourselves about what might happen feed our fears. For all I know, there aren`t any emotions that don`t have a story at their source.
I`m not a believer in catharsis. Anger builds anger, fear builds fear, and hatred builds hatred, just as love builds love and joy builds joy. You can’t release your fear by wallowing in it. Ask any hypochondriac. Venting anger just makes me angrier. And laughing makes me happy. I don’t watch a comedy and laugh with friends, then go home feeling sad, having vented all my joy. Emotions snowball. (That’s how the fictional lost cat got to me.)
I’m glad that my first children’s novel is full of humor, despite its dead mother and breaking hearts. Humour in the face of sorrow and adversity is something I’d like to snowball among 12-year-olds. Come to think of it, I’d like a little more of it in my own life. So should I stop listening to sad songs and reread my book? Nah. But I might listen to the Gypsy Kings for a while and see what happens.
Posted on October 8, 2009 by Catherine Austen
I wrote Walking Backward to the Weakerthans. Something opened in my heart while listening to their song, “Virtue the Cat Explains her Disappearance.” I have no idea why, but something in the song connected to my story in a way I don’t understand. (The song is about a lost cat, which doesn’t factor into my dead-mother novel.) If I wanted sad from the Weakerthans, surely Hospital Vespers would have better done the trick? No. That damned lost cat song just about killed me.
When I was in the drafting stage (which is short-lived, thankfully, since I rarely bathe and barely eat during that stage), I’d put my kids on the schoolbus and head straight to the computer. I’d write until lunch, ignoring the phone, email, and the 5-year report I was contracted to write at the time. Then I’d force a bowl of cereal down my throat while listening to Virtue the cat tell her sad story. I’d ball my eyes out and head back to the computer to write until the schoolbus arrived at 3:00.
As I shifted from intense drafting to revising (a significantly longer stage, in which I maintain good hygiene and get my weight back up), I expanded my lunchtime listening to several of the Weakerthans’ albums (Reunion Tour, Reconstruction Site, Left and Leaving). I’d grown superstitious: the writing was going so well I didn’t want to mess with the soundtrack.
Eventually, as revising turned to editing and polishing, I added the Walkmen to my playlist, then a couple tunes from the Wallflowers and the Weepies, until finally I ventured beyond the Ws and the book was done.
That was over a year ago and it’s still a mystery to me how the music inspired my words. I’ve thought of sending the Weakerthans a copy of Walking Backward with my thanks, but I can’t explain how or why the book connects to them. “Your cat song made me cry and I wrote this book,” is just too weird. I’ll keep it to myself and the three people who might read this blog.
Today I’m putting together a mixed CD to play in the background of my book launch party. I’ll include a Weakerthans tune, but not Virtue the Cat. It’s not that I’m sick of it. It’s that the last line still kills me.
Posted on October 5, 2009 by Catherine Austen
Pooh Bear was onto something when he went on his think-walks.
It never fails: no matter what mood I’m in, no matter how tired or headachy, no matter how preoccupied with other concerns, taking my dog for a good long walk always clears my mind and gets me thinking of writing. It takes about fifteen minutes for a peaceful feeling to creep through me. Then follows a spark of excitement that leads my mind where it needs to go.
It doesn’t matter if we walk on the streets or in the woods. There’s just something about fresh air and movement that opens my mind to stories. Some days I work out a problem or plotline in a novel, while other days I get the premise for a new picture book. There are times I have to run to the computer when I get back home, to write down the exact words I wrote in my head between stooping and scooping.
So when I’m stuck in my writing, or in a self-defeating mood, do I purposefully head out with the dog? No. I wallow and grow more frustrated and only eventually walk the dog because it’s on my list of chores. Then my head clears and I think, “Wow. This happens every time I walk the dog.” Duh. Life may teach me the same lessons over and over, but I never seem to learn them.
But I have learnt the “write it down right away” lesson. (At last.) I can’t count how many times I’ve had an idea for a story, while in some inconvenient place, and thought, “I’ll never forget that idea. I’ll write it down tomorrow when I work on my book. It’ll be great.” Then the next day all I have to write is, “I had a great idea yesterday but I’ve forgotten it.” I now keep a writing journal, where I jot down ideas as soon as I’m able. And I carry a notebook in my purse just in case I’m inspired at the playground or wherever I happen to be.
Ideas are not usually the problem, though. As most writers know, life offers up ideas all the time. I have dozens of folders of ideas sparked while reading, listening, watching. Expanding those ideas into stories (aka daydreaming) and sitting in a chair for hours and hours writing and revising them — that’s the tough part. (Of course, it’s easier if the idea is a really good one.)
Working out a good idea into a full-bloomed story that’s ready to be written is where the think-walk comes in.
Maybe I could use one now. My dog looks like she agrees. So off we go.
Posted on October 1, 2009 by Catherine Austen
My first book, Walking Backward, is being released today from Orca Book Publishers. This is a good day for me.
Not that I know what to do about it, promotions-wise. I feel like there’s a world of networking possibilities out there beyond me. (Many thanks to Terry Lynn Johnson, whom I met at an Agents Day conference hosted by SCBWI Canada, for pointing me in the right direction.)
I have arranged a book launch for November 1st. I told most of my friends and colleagues about the book. I’m in touch with the (tiny) local bookstore, and I contacted the (tiny) local newspaper. But I have to admit that networking is not my thing. I will do my best to get the hang of it, but I suspect that it’s never going to be my thing.
So… I’m going to have a great day without even thinking about book promotion. Instead, I’m thinking about something a friend said to me this summer. When Orca first sent me their catalogue for Fall 2009, listing my book, I took a copy to my night class (in child development–though my kids are 14 and 7, it’s never too late to learn what I’ve done wrong). I showed the catalogue to two dear classmates, Coral and Mary Ann. They were so excited for me! (I hadn’t before mentioned that I was a writer. Again, it’s the suck-at-networking part of my personality.)
Mary Ann’s eyes were so alight! She told me that she has always loved the written word and she would like to write books, too. Coral smiled and told me that when she was a girl she wanted to be a writer. (This happens all the time, people confessing to a desire to write. It’s a testament to the power of books. Every person who wants to write has been deeply moved by someone else’s writing.) Coral said, “There are so many obstacles in life, you really have to celebrate an achievement like this.” Those words have stuck with me, and they’re what I’m thinking about today instead of promotions.
There are so many obstacles to stop you from writing or finishing a book. Self-doubt, lack of free time, the pull of easier pleasures. It is so easy to spend years and years doing something other than writing. Not that writing is a better thing to do than, say, exercising, cooking dinner, walking the dog, helping the kids with homework, having a conversation with your spouse. Writing a book isn’t any more important than running a business or paying a mortgage or raising a family or exploring the world.
But if you really want to write, if you really have something to say that won’t let you rest until it’s on paper or screen, then you have to get over or around an awful lot of obstacles and take the time, every day or every week or whenever you can, to finish saying it. Then to revise and rewrite it for a reader instead of just for yourself. Then to market it–overcoming rejection, criticism, and absolute indifference–until you find an editor who falls in love with your story. Lots of obstacles. And a real achievement to celebrate.
So today I am celebrating. It’s my day to volunteer in the library of the local elementary school, and that’s an activity I love. Of course, I like helping the kids and talking to them about their book choices. But I also love shelving books and cataloguing new books and repairing books. It’s tedious and dusty and dull, but I genuinely enjoy it. Just being around children’s books is fun. I should have been a librarian. (But that might take the fun out of it.)
Then tonight, I’ll have take-out and wine with my family, help the kids with homework, walk the dog, and take the time to write.
Catherine Austen writes books for kids and teens, short stories for adults, and reports for corporate clients. She lives in Gatineau, Quebec.