Wordcraft blog by Avi

The Second Book

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The Unexpected Life of Oliver Cromwell PittsIt’s wonderful to receive a review (The Unexpected Life of Oliver Cromwell Pitts) that reads: “Riveting…This first in a new series will capture the hearts and minds of readers and history buffs alike … Avi’s examination of the plight of the desperately poor is worthy of Dickens. Impossible to put down.”

But then, please note, I am already committed to writing a sequel! How am I ever going to match this?? Frankly, it’s daunting.

There are all kinds of things the writer must do to begin such a project. First, you have to create a veritable catalog of the facts about your characters (particularly your main characters), aspects with which you must now live (and use) as you go forward. Age. Height. Gender. Mannerisms. Clothing. Patterns of thinking. Culture. To cite a few. Then there are speech configurations. Perhaps certain speech quirks. Even particular words. Does your character say “Sure,” or “Okay,” or “Why not?” Or perhaps just shrugs. Then there are attitudes: does he like this person but not that one? Also, does do your characters evolve in the course of the book?

Now mind, I wasn’t particularly fussy how I laid these things down in the first book. Get it right, I’m mostly thinking. But as I go forward into the next book, I MUST make use of what I have done. Like it or not, you have created a template. And—let it be noted—that one of the reasons readers like sequels (and series) is because the character(s) is familiar.

The End of the World and BeyondI believe it was John D. MacDonald—of mystery writing fame—who suggested that if you are going to write a series—write the first three before you publish anything. Sometimes, if your timing is right—and it was here for me—you are working on the second book before the first book is set in stone. That is to say, it was only during the final phase of publishing the first Pitts book that I considered what would happen in the second Pitts book. I had a general sense, but hardly precise. I could, and did, make some adjustments

And oh, yes, having a good memory is vital. Let it also be said that a good editor and copy editor is crucial. You will get notes: “In book one, chapter seven, line twelve, you wrote….”

But now that the sequel—At the End of the World and Beyond—has been written and is about to be published, early reviews have come in:

“Told in appropriately 18th-century diction, Oliver’s picaresque is a harrowing page-turner that takes an unflinching look at what life was like for those living in servitude in the American Colonies. Oliver is quietly heroic but also realistic as he endures his fate. African Bara, though seen through white Oliver’s eyes, is given trope-defying agency, his intelligence and superior knowledge of the territory and customs putting him in the lead but never at Oliver’s service. Brief back matter gives historical context to this sequel. Action-packed and inspirational—another stunner.” (Kirkus)

Whew.

“No Taxation Without Representation”

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In the Thirteen American colonies, ten years prior to the Revolution, there was what was known as the Stamp Act crisis, which, in Boston in particular, brought forth that iconic cry.

By representation it was meant there was no American seated in the British Parliament.

“The Repeal or the Funeral of Miss Ame. -Stamp”

New Hampshire: Stamp Master in Effigy

“New Hampshire: Stamp Master in Effigy”

“But,” according to historian Brian Deming, “the idea never gained traction in Britain.” As one British critic of the time wrote: “Shall we live to see the spawn of our Transports occupy the highest seats in our Commonwealth? Degenerate Britons! How can ye entertain the humiliating thought!”

The key word here is “Transport.” It references the many thousands of transported felons who had been shipped to the colonies for forced labor by way of punishment in the 18th Century.

During the 18th Century, England became a center of great wealth and mass poverty. Crime against property became commonplace. In reaction, the British government enacted harsh laws to punish minor and major offenders—a collection of laws that collectively came to be known as “The Bloody Codes.” One major punishment was transportation, by which children, women, and men were sent to British American colonies and sold into forced labor.

At the time of the Revolution there was a colonial population of two million. Some fifty thousand were (or had been) these transported felons. (Hence the quote cited above.) It had become a business. It was 1619 when the first Africans were brought to America as slaves. There was a time when enslaved whites and blacks labored together.

The End of the World and BeyondThis is the context in which my newly published The End of the World and Beyond takes place. In book one (of this two part series) The Unexpected Life of Oliver Cromwell Pitts, my eponymous hero becomes entangled in crime and British Law. The sequel tells the story of what happened to Oliver when he was is transported to Maryland and sold.

Booklist reviewed the book thus: “Though darker than its predecessor, this sequel is equally fine. The plotting is altogether laudable, the setting beautifully realized, and the characters highly empathetic. Especially good is the voice Avi has conjured for Oliver, just antique enough to evoke eighteenth century diction and syntax. One thing is certain: it may be the end of the world but there is no end to the pleasure Avi’s latest evokes.”

The End of the World and Beyond

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The End of the World and BeyondAs you may know, there is no more frequently asked question of writers than, “Where do you get your ideas?”

There are some of my books for which I can be specific. Thus, I can tell you place, time, circumstance, for the creation of The Fighting Ground. I can do as much for Poppy.

For my two-volume story—The Unexpected Life of Oliver Cromwell Pitts—and the soon-to-be-published sequel, The End of the World and Beyond—the origins are much more convoluted.

As a matter of personal pleasure and interest I read American and British history. Consider; from 1497, when John Cabot, the Venetian navigator and explorer, touched the coast of Newfoundland and claimed North America for England (and King Henry VII) our two national histories were intertwined.

In 18th Century England, as today, crime—or what was/is defined as crime—was rampant as masses of poor people grew poorer, and the relatively few wealthy folks, grew richer. Part of the pushback was on the other side. Thus, Johnathan Wilde became a master criminal.

In response, the British government created “The Bloody Codes,” draconian legal measures to deal with criminals. Hanging in London, or transportation to the colonies for enforced labor, was part of the response.

The Unexpected Life of Oliver Cromwell PittsIn the early days of our written history the number of transported felons was claimed to be few. “Five thousand,” said Thomas Jefferson. More recent historians have proved otherwise. Indeed, something more than fifty thousand were shipped to the Americas. Among those sent over were children, (boys and girls) who were treated as common criminals when they broke the law. They too were transported. Large numbers were sent to the Caribbean Islands. Even more were sent to Maryland and Virginia, which came to be known as “The Tobacco Coast,” tobacco being the first successful economic staple of the southern colonies.

The plight of transported felons, as I learned, was also deeply entwined with Afro-American slavery, and all the cruelties involved, and the way so many slaves sought to free themselves in remarkable ways.

I have also long been a reader, with pleasure, of Eighteenth Century British literature, Defoe, Fielding, Sterne, and Smollett.

Put all these elements together, and it’s almost easy to see how the lives, voices, and plots of The Unexpected Life of Oliver Cromwell Pitts—and The End of the World and Beyond—came into my head. There is something from all of the above in these books.

That said, I came to the creation of the story backward. My initial goal was to write about young transported felons. That led to my asking who might be such English persons? How did they become caught up by the English law? In what condition would they have been transported? And, of course, what would be their fate in America? Did any of them regain their freedom?

The history of white slaves in America—which is what the transported English, Irish, and Scotch felons truly were—is not usually a given part of American history. It should be. It’s awful. It’s also quite extraordinary.

While The Unexpected Life of Oliver Cromwell Pitts—and the newly published continuation, The End of the World and Beyond—will give you an inkling of generally unknown history, my goal has been, as always, to write page-turning adventures. Let me assure you, Oliver Cromwell Pitts is a different kind of American hero.

First Lines

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“Marley was dead, to begin with.”

That’s the opening words of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, and they are, in my judgement, as remarkable as they are memorable. Indeed, the first words of any piece of writing are crucial, being as they are, the window, the door, the invitation, the inducement, call it what you will, to keep reading. A weak opening is not helpful. A good one is crucial. A fine opening is often the key that opens the book, and over time, keeps it open.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

Thus, Jane Austen, for Pride and Prejudice

“Call me Ishmael.” Moby Dick

“Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures of conversations in it, “and what is the use of a book,” thought Alice, “without pictures or conversations?”

Alice in Wonderland

“In the beginning, God created the Heaven and the earth.” King James’ version of The Bible.

“In my younger and more vulnerable years, my father gave me some advice that’s I’ve been turning over in mind ever since.”

Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby

Many years ago, I read a piece by a writer who wrote formulae fiction—the Hardy Boys, in fact. He wrote the bulk of the books easily, quickly. But the first page, he said, he rewrote many, many times. It made a deep impression on me, and over the years, I have labored many an hour over the first page. It’s worth it.

The True Confessions of Charlotte DoyleFor a fair number of my readers I suspect the opening sentence of The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle is a favorite. But it did not come easily. I don’t put in the same league as the samples above, but it seems to have stayed in reader’s minds. For reasons I don’t recall, I saved the evolution of that sentence. The writing went like this:

  1. Many years ago, I was accused of murder.
  2. It’s hard to believe that I was once accused of murder.
  3. No one believes me when I say I was once accused of murder.
  4. Looking back, it’s hard to believe I had anything to do with murder.
  5. How many girls are ever accused of murder?
  6. How could I, a girl, have anything to do with murder?
  7. Not many girls are accused of murder and found guilty at a trial.
  8. Few girls of thirteen are accused of murder let alone found guilty.
  9. Not every thirteen-year-old girl is accused of murder, brought to trial and found guilty.

Did those famous first lines I first cited above require the same kind of evolution? I have no idea. It’s fun to speculate. Perhaps genius, is just that, genius.

But to close, here’s a notion: Readers, share what your favorite opening words might be.

Repeating Myself by not Repeating Myself

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Series books, sequels, are perhaps more complex to write than readers think. Yes, certain things are given. For example, if you’ve established that your continuing protagonist has blue eyes, they are going to remain blue in subsequent books. But the fact that there are things that must remain consistent demands that things also be different, otherwise why write a sequel? In other words, certain things must be a given, even as other things must not be a given.

PoppyAt the moment I am writing a new Poppy book. There are already six in print, and the current project is not really a sequel. Rather, it fills a gap in the overall arch of Poppy’s story. It will indeed become Book Two in the overall sequence, revealing how Ragweed and Poppy met. But then the books were not written in sequence to begin with. Poppy, the book, was written first, with no intention of doing a series. The first in the series (as it stands now) is Ragweed, and it was written a good while after Poppy.

I sent a draft of the new book to Brian Floca, my esteemed illustrator/colleague. He is also a writer, a good one, and our process of collaboration has always been to share my text for his input. Along with some specific, productive suggestions for changes, his response was encouraging:

I don’t know if you had to work to find those voices again—Poppy’s, and Ragweed’s, and Lungwort’s, etc.—or if they seemed just to be there waiting there for you.

In fact, for the Poppy books I have been lucky. Over the years the Poppy books have been written (almost twenty-five years!) I’ve always been exceedingly fond of the characters. Being fond of your characters can mean you know them, hear them, which makes the writing so much easier. It’s like visiting an old friend—I’m sure you have had the experience—you may not have seen them for years but you just jump right in with the friendship, the talk, the fondness.

Murder at MidnightAll the same, when I took up this narrative—how Ragweed met Poppy—I had no preconceived notions as to how it all happened. I had to find my way. But knowing the characters so well suggested ways of telling the story, their story, as it were.

As noted above, I am working on another sequel, an extension of Murder at Midnight and Midnight Magic. Even here, the chronological order of the books was reversed. Murder at Midnight was a prequel to Midnight Magic. The current book is proving harder to write, as it has taken time to get into the characters without simply repeating the earlier books. Here, so to speak, I’ve had to struggle to renew the friendships. I am making progress, slowly.

Crispin: Cross of LeadWriting the Crispin series was a different experience, insofar, as when I first thought of the story of Crispin, I contemplated a multi-volume tale. From the beginning I sensed what I was going to do.

That said, the fourth and final volume, has never been written.

In summary then, the writing of a series, can, on the surface, seem relatively simple. In fact, it’s a complex process. My guess is that if you have been successful in creating full characters, you do best when you let them tell the ongoing story. I just watch and record.

Inspiration

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The great Nineteenth Century French novelist, Balzac (1799-1850), once wrote, “It is as easy to dream a book as it is hard to write one.”

Breathes there a reader who has not thought, “that IDEA would make for a great novel”? Indeed, if there were as many books as ideas for books, there would not be libraries enough. Or readers.

Michelangelo Hand of GodWhich brings one to the word “inspiration.” It is something that good (and even bad) writers are believed to have. I wish I had a dollar for every time I have been asked, “What inspired you to write…?” It is as if inspiration is some magical moment, the finger of God, if you will, touching the hand of the writer, even as my pointer finger searches the keyboard for the letter “e.”

The more prosaic meaning of inspiration has much more to do with giving breath to an idea, animating an idea, making an idea very much more than an idea.

I think such thoughts as I start on a new novel. It was SO clear in my head before I wrote a word. Now that I have written that word, plus a few more, I find myself rewriting those words truly countless times, trying to give them life.

But, at least for me, that rewriting is what gives my work some sense of life. I discover the meaning of my words, my story, only when the words are there to tell me their meaning. It is very much what I recall when my kids started to walk. I would hold them up as they took those first wobbly steps—how they did grin! But when I let go, they plopped down on their butts. Happily, they did not have far to go. Up again—hand in hand—finger in finger—and more steps. But when they do master the skill, it is you that has to run after them, and keep them, as it were, going.

Toddler learning to walk

The beginning of a book is all that rickety forward movement of little steps. But then, when the prose gains stability, has legs, you must run after what you have wrought.

Likewise, before my first son was born I was entranced with the notion that I would finally know one person in their entirety. I would know their moods, desires, attitudes completely. Everything. That presumption lasted, at most, for a week, or ten days. Then I had to struggle hard to understand what this cry, that cry meant. Hunger? Tiredness? Is it, like my first drafts, just gas?

Thus, it is, when a character in a book gets going. What is he/she thinking when that happens? How can I show that thought? Bringing life to a novel, to a character, is what writing is all about. But it’s really not the writing: It’s all in the thinking.

Inspiration is easy. It’s the perspiration that’s hard.

I need to learn that every time I start writing something new.

My Books in Other Forms

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Writing a book is one thing. But what happens when people wish to take that book and turn it into another form? Film, audio, theatrical play?

PoppyOver the years books of mine have been turned into plays, and audio books. There have also been efforts to turn the books into film, but none have ever materialized. I have been asked for permission to reshape some of my books into operas. Nothing came of those ideas, either. A school requested permission to turn Poppy into a ballet. That happened. It was, shall I say, curious. And there have been adaptations of some of my books into theatrical plays.

I have no doubt that there are authors who fully engage in such projects. I have generally declined to become involved 1) because I don’t usually know the form, 2) I fear it will take up a lot of my time, and 3) nothing much happens anyway.

Nothing But the TruthWhen Nothing but the Truth was first published, because of its format, I had many requests to turn it into a play. At first I said yes, but then was burdened with the need to read these many stage-revisions. What I did then was go to a playwright friend of mine, Ron Smith, and asked him to do an adaptation. That he did, and it was made available to the public as an “authorized” script. It’s still available, and from time to time it’s performed. Not that I have ever seen it on stage.

Other books have been turned into theatrical form. In most cases these are adaptations, not very close ones, either. Crispin was once staged. I never saw it. I did see a stage production (professional) of True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle. It seemed as if I was seeing a cartoon of the book, a musical comedy without the music. Other such adaptations have been made and from time to time they are performed in schools. I’ve never see one.

True Confessions of Charlotte DoyleFilm is another matter. When I have signed such contractual options, I am not given script control, but usually have the right to react to the film script. When I first see these scripts, they are usually pretty close to the book. Revisions have proved far less connected to the book. In any case, the projects have not gone forward.

(Note: when you sell a book to film folk, you are also selling the characters. So that if a film is successful the option holder is allowed to make another film with the same characters without ever engaging the author.)

Audio books are a whole different matter. Such recordings are usually presented as unabridged, complete texts. Indeed, they are. Moreover, the readings are professionally done, indeed, very well done. Nonetheless, I find them hard to listen to. They seem so very different than the book that is in my head. Very fine, but different. Different cadence. Emphasis. Emotional tone. I recall that the first time I listened to such a recording, my thought was, that seems better than what I wrote. They’ve done some rewriting.

I checked, but it was all my words. It just sounded so very different.

Could I refuse all these projects? Well, yes. But the thinking is always, it can’t be that bad. And the most important thought is, at least it might bring people to the original book.

Which is where I began.

A Life in Letters

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writing letter

I recently evacuated a storage bin of books and papers and came across a few boxes of letters that pertained to my publishing; letters from editors, to editors (carbon paper, anyone?), marketing folks, publicity, from teachers and librarians, friends.

For those not familiar with letters, I speak not of computer fonts, but exchanges, written on paper. Sometimes, gasp! written by hand.

These days, I use e-mail every day, all the time. It is instant communication, it is usually brief, to the point. It moves things along fast.

Old letters—communications—were often slow to arrive, often over-written, took time to read, and to absorb.

typewriterThey were usually typed (remember typewriters?) and in their way, short essays. There were some really good letter-writers, and it was considered a form of literature. You may find published collections of letters. For some research I’m doing, on my desk, right now, is a collection of letters from Francesco Petrarch (1304-1374) one of the founders of renaissance humanism. There are collections of letters by Lincoln, John Steinbeck, Virginia Wolff, and so on.

And they were (are) interesting. I doubt if anyone will publish The Collected E-Mails of, well, anyone.

But what my own mailbag of publishing past (as I suspect, would be the case for other writers) reveals, is a different world, a world of personality, characters, and thoughts, composed thought. “What would you think about…?” “I’ve been considering…” “I’ve mulled over your ideas for a while and….” “I have to admit I don’t find …..”

It all comes across as much more of an interchange between people working towards an understanding, of creation. And the personalities of editors, market folk, editorial assistants come across, people who have thoughts and ideas that they need to share, are there to read. With time for personal asides: “Yesterday I saw our old mutual friend….” “I’ve been reading….” “By chance, last week I …..”

Because I’ve been in publishing for a while, I’m often asked what’s the difference between what is, and what was. By looking at these old letters I find that the work of creating a book was much more about shared creativity (and life) more than the mere making of a book. No doubt slower. Less about getting the book done. More about getting the book right. More about working together.

And emotions. Not long ago I was working on a book with an editor for quite a long while. When it was done, I felt compelled to ask (because I did not know), “What do you feel about the book?”

Maybe the “e” in e-mail stands for “empty.”

Waiting in Line for the Movies

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waiting in line for the movies

Over the years any number of my books have been optioned for movies. What this means is that someone purchases from me the rights to a book I wrote, so that they might create, organize, and proceed to make a film using that book. Mind, it does not mean they must make an absolute replication of the book, but merely that they will use my text as the basis for a film. Nowhere, in any of the contracts I have signed, did I retain control of the film-script, though sometimes I have been given the right to review and respond.

I have read such scripts. Sometimes they are very close to the book, and sometimes not so close. I respond accordingly. That response may or may not be considered.

Usually, if I have occasion to speak to one of these producers (not always the case) I let them know I don’t wish to get involved in the project. It is distracting from my real work (writing books) and is therefore not productive. In any case, screen-writing is a skill set unto itself—not mine.

Do I like the idea of movies being made of my books? Well, sure. It would be interesting. It’s also more than likely to increase the readership of the particular book, which is what concerns me the most. Then too, I might pay off the mortgage.

In the world at large, nothing makes folks who are not very interested in books for kids perk up more than when they hear that a movie is possible. No one—in my experience—reacts more so than academics.

People think great sums of money are involved. I suppose they might be. But these option agreements have been—for me—quite modest. I recall being at a dinner party, at which I mentioned an option agreement had been extended for six months. “How much do you get?” I was asked. “Guess?” I returned. “Three-hundred thousand.” My factual response: “Eight hundred dollars.”

Crispin: Cross of LeadOne can be paid fairly (by my bank account) large sums (say, 300K) but only if the film is actually made. In my case that has never happened. One producer-director kept an option going for about seven years. Two weeks before the start of production one of the major actors was in a serious accident. Everything was canceled.

At the moment I write, three of my books are under option: Nothing but the Truth, Crispin: Cross of Lead, and The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle. To the extent that I have had contact with the people involved—infrequent at best, if at all—they are all earnest professionals, truly serious about making the films, and actively working toward that goal.

Will the films be made? It is truly impossible for me to say. It’s rather like standing on a very long line to see a movie: one waits impatiently for forward movement. It does happen. So, at least, I’ve been told.

A Rose by Any Other Name

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Consider names, names of characters. Alice in Wonderland. Hamlet. Huckleberry Finn. Do we accept (and know) these names because the literary works are famous? Or do we know the names because they could be none other? Would The Tragedy of Ted, Prince of Denmark, work just as well?

Years ago, when working as a librarian at the NYPL’s Theatre Collection at Lincoln Center, I would come upon manuscripts of famous plays in early drafts. Thus Oscar Wilde’s great play, The Importance of Being Earnest, was titled Lady Lancing. And Edward Albee’s play, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? had character names very different than in the final version. It made a big difference.

Choosing the right name for a character is complex. If you choose a name from someone you know, say, your weird uncle Fred, will that “Fredness,” so to speak, infect your character in a way you don’t intend?

(Did you know that onomastics is the term for the study of the history and origin of proper names, especially personal names?)

When I wrote Blue Heron I used the name of a girl who was the daughter of a single-parent friend, a girl who read my books. When I told my friend what the story was, about a girl from a single parent home, my friend asked me to change the name of the character. I did. But in doing so, my feelings about the book also changed.

When choosing a character name, one must consider gender, culture, historical moment, and what it might suggest about the character. Also, you must consider variety. And context. You would not name characters Jack and Jill, unless you wished to suggest a reference to the famous poem.

Crispin: Cross of LeadI chose Crispin because it is a medieval name and it is easy to say. I knew the name from the “St. Crispin Speech” as it is called, from Shakespeare’s Henry V (Act IV Scene iii ).

On my own reference shelf, I own a number of books of names. One is titled Historical Names, providing names popular during particular historical periods. Thus I have a book of Irish names, Italian names, used for books that pertain to that place and culture.

I don’t recall if I ever considered another name for Charlotte for The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle. I do recall doing research and learning that Doyle was a common name in 19th century Providence, Rhode Island, as was the name Charlotte.

Poppy and ErethWhen I wrote Poppy, the mice in the story, a story set in a forest, all characters have names of flowers. But there are so many names of flowers that I could match names to character personalities. Thus, Poppy’s pompous, over-bearing father is called Lungwort.

As for Ereth the porcupine, if I tell you that Erethizontidae, is the porcupine’s scientific name, you see how that worked out.

When I wrote Ragweed—he first in the Poppy series—which is set in a city, the editor Elise Howard suggested I switch to names with an urban resonance. I therefore choose car parts, thus Clutch, and my favorite, the drummer in Clutch’s band, Lug Nut.

And, thinking of Poppy, I am reminded that was not the original name for my lead character. When I wrote the book she was called Pip. As it happened, I was reading the (almost) final draft of the book to a class at the Moses Brown School in Providence. At some point a boy came up to me and said, “Is this how you got the name for your book?” He showed me a Canadian book titled Pip, the Story of a Mouse.

I went home and changed the name to Poppy.

A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

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