Wordcraft blog by Avi

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—the 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.

Venice

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I do not know what you think about when the city of Venice, Italy, passes through your mind—if it ever does. A city built on water—to be sure—and a republic for one thousand years. (In 1783, there were only two republics in the world: The USA and Venice.)

Venice, Italy

But for writers and publishers there are other crucial facts. For Venice—at the beginning of the 15th century—was the center of European book publishing, with some sixteen presses operating in the city. And printing barely fifty years old. But then, at the time, Venice was the richest city in the world, with a population of one hundred and fifty thousand. Amazing enough, one-sixth of ALL European books—at the time—were published in Venice.

Moreover, vitally, the Venetian books published (guided by printer Aldus Manutius) stressed classical (Greek, Arab and Roman) texts—rather than Christian theology—which was a major factor in developing Renaissance Humanism. Venetian presses were also pioneers in music, map, and medical publication.

Made in ItalyIt was Manutius who invented italic type fonts. Consider the word and you can see it imbeds the term Italy in it—as in “The Italian font.” One of the advantages of italic font printed books is they use less pages—again, a factor in commerce.

The city was also the first to establish laws of copyright, the logical extension of the Venetian commercial way of life.

So, when—if—you think of Venice—consider its place in the world of modern writing and publication. It’s vital, if rarely remembered. And Amazon has just made its latest Kindle waterproof. That means you can take it to Venice safely.

Ciao.

The First Proofs

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The End of the World and BeyondIn the long process of publishing, I have always loved the moment when the first “proofs” of a book arrive on my desk. Strictly speaking a proof means, “Something that proves a statement; evidence or argument establishing a fact or the truth of anything, or belief in the certainty of something; an instance of this.” (Oxford Unabridged Dictionary) In the world of publishing, however, the term means. “A trial or preliminary impression of a printed text, taken to be checked for errors and marked for correction before subsequent revision or final printing.”

First used in 1602, the correlation between the two words is clear enough: The proofs of a book prove that you have written a book.

It is perfectly true that in a world of computing, I could make my writing appear as published text. And I have no doubt, these proofs (these days) were probably set down by a computer.

That said, feeling that I have printed text in my hand is very satisfying. I have been working on this book, The End of the World and Beyond, which is the sequel to The Unexpected Life of Oliver Cromwell Pitts, for more than a year. It now sits upon my desk.

Never mind that I am halfway into writing a new book. That book being at the moment, difficult to write, it’s a pleasure to turn to something done. Done is easy.

And yet…

My job is to read the proofs and discover what is wrong.

What if I come upon pages that don’t read well? Pages, paragraphs, and sentences that are illogical in plot, character, or pace?

I send a note to the publisher to change things.

So the book isn’t truly, really finished. (I was once reading the proof of a book only to discover half a chapter had been inadvertently dropped out.)

That said, to have the proofs of a book is to be given a new set of eyes. My book looks, feels, reads differently than it has before.

But mind, it is not, by any stretch, solely my book. Editors, copyeditors, readers (including my wife) have all weighed in. Sometimes heavily.

Also, a designer has designed the look of the book, which is of vital importance.

The names of these people are almost never among the proofs.

In any case, there are more months to go before readers read it. Recall, the proof of the pudding is in the eating. The proof of the book is in the reading.

How I Became a Librarian, Part III

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libraryI had left my librarian’s position at Trenton State College, and set in to write full time. 

That said, I was not so sure I could make the financial bar. In any case, at the same time my wife accepted a six-month academic position at UCLA. I’m not sure quite what happened but, when she arrived, she was informed that the UCLA library had a position open for me. It seemed to be standard operating procedure.

I inquired. Turns out, the UCLA library made a number of assumptions. First, they assumed that having been given a position at UCLA, my spouse was a male. Further that I, as a spouse, (presumably female) was only looking for make work. They offered me a position as a file clerk.

I did not take that job, but finally settled in to write full-time. I acquired my first computer, and had one of the great days of my life when I learned to use the spell-checker.

I would not work as a librarian again.

Charlotte Doyle, Crispin Cross of Lead, Catch You Later Traitor

BUT—my method for doing research remained the same. Each time I embarked on a work of historical fiction I brought together my own library on the subject. Thus, when I wrote The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle, I built up a library of books pertaining to 19th Century ships and sailing. Not small libraries either. When I wrote Crispin (my Newbery book) my library pertaining to the English middle ages numbered about a hundred volumes, if not more. I am vaguely contemplating a book set in Venice. That means I am building my Venice library.

When I was a boy, each week my mother took us kids to the local library. She encouraged us to have our own libraries. At some point I was allowed to walk to the library on my own. (The library in Catch You Later,Traitor is my memory of that library.) No matter where I have lived I have been surrounded by books. I have lived the aphorism suggested by the Roman writer, “A house without books is like a body without a soul.”

Librarian, reader, writer. It’s all one to me.

How I Became a Librarian, Part II

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Lincoln Center

Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts [Wikimedia Commons]

I worked at the Theatre Collection for nine years. After (I believe) four years, the Collection moved to Lincoln Center, to become part of the Performing Arts Library Center. There were three collections:, The Dance Collection, the Music Collection and the Theatre Collection. By then I was on the staff as a full-time librarian for the Theatre Collection.

I was put in charge of the Theatre Collection’s actual move to Lincoln Center. Aside from the basic book collection, and its archives, we were to bring in the previously stored collection (in un-catalogued and unsorted cardboard boxes) which had been—over the years—stashed in the library’s warehouse. I was told that it would take the movers a half day to move this collection to our new quarters.

It took two weeks.

What’s more, no one knew what was in these boxes, these hundreds of boxes.

As these boxes arrived, endlessly arrived, I began to open them. I found play manuscripts by Oscar Wilde, James Barrie, Conan Doyle, George Bernard  Shaw … and more. Where did they come from? No one knew.  How I found where they came from is an entirely different tale.

I continued to work in the Collection. I also became a theatre book reviewer for School Library Journal.

Things That Sometimes HappenBut things changed. I now had two sons, and was not happy about the prospects of available public schools. Also, my wife, who had been a dancer, stopped dancing, and changed her profession. I had also switched my writing focus from theatre to children’s literature. Indeed, I had sold my first children’s book, Things That Sometimes Happen.

I tried to change my position in the New York Public Library to that of a children’s librarian. I was told that could not be done. “We don’t hire men as children’s librarians.”

The library at Trenton State College [Wikimedia Commons]I learned of an open position for Readers Advisor and Reference Librarian in New Jersey at Trenton State College [it became The College of New Jersey in 1996]. I applied and was offered the position. Though a relatively small college, it had a very large library, with a good, engaged staff, and a director who wanted a fine academic collection. One of the job’s attractions was that it was a faculty position, with a faculty schedule, which is to say: summers off. I’d be able to write.

A few months after I started, that earliest book of mine was published. I first saw it among a load of new books that had just come into the library. Also, halfway through my first year my position was fundamentally altered. Librarians would no longer be faculty. No summers off. (See the “Story Behind the Story: Captain Grey,” for more about this event.) I stayed at Trenton State. I really loved being a librarian. But my ultimate goal was still writing, by now writing exclusively books for young people.

Over time, a great deal of my library time was devoted to teaching new students how to do research. But I was also teaching myself how to do research, and that altered not only what I wrote, but how I researched what I needed to learn to write my historical fiction.

Wolf Rider: a tale of terrorI remained at Trenton State for sixteen years. If you happen to read my thriller, Wolf Rider, you might be interested to know it is set on the Trenton State Campus.

By 1968 I had published eighteen books and felt a need to change things: I wanted to write full time. My goal—financially—was that I had to make at least as much as I made as a librarian. Not, as any librarian knows, the highest bar. I gave myself one year.

To be continued.

How I Became a Librarian

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My wife was ill.

Moreover, she was the one who brought in the steady income.  (Old gag: What do you call an artist who has no partner? Homeless.) At the time, I was living in NYC and writing plays, but there was little interest in my work, and absolutely no income.  I therefore had a series of jobs.  Drama instructor. Carpenter. Short order cook.  Clerk, etc., etc.  (Another old gag:  Real artists have day jobs).  But with my wife’s illness and a loss of income, this was an emergency.

Creative Commons BY 2.5

As I roamed the early September streets of New York, looking for paying work, I wandered into the (42nd street) main branch of the New York Public Library, the one with the two lions. (“Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia named them Patience and Fortitude, for the qualities he felt New Yorkers would need to survive the economic depression.”)  That worked for me.

Indeed, it turned out the Theatre Collection had an opening for a clerk. There was no lower position. Since I was in the theatre professionally, and had a master’s degree in theatre, they were willing to offer me the position. They also told me the Collection would be moving to Lincoln Center in two years, and would be expanding its professional staff.

I took the job and would start in two days. The day before I began work, I applied for my library degree at Columbia University, John Dewey’s old institution. To get in I was required to get a recommendation from a librarian.  As it happened, there was an old family friend who was a librarian in Los Angeles. She agreed to write the letter I needed.

One week later I was working for the New York Public Library, Theatre Collection, and attending library school at night. I continued writing plays.

Being part of the theatre collection was to be surrounded by theatre in every way. The whole staff was engaged with the theatre. The Theatre Collection was also on the list for free tickets for theatre previews, and productions needing to paper the house, as it was called.

Not a bad job for an aspiring playwright.

In the course of my studies. the NYPL provided me with some scholarship stipends. When I applied for these stipends I was asked: “If you have a hit play on Broadway would you continue to work in the Theatre Collection?” Answer: “Of course.”

It took me two years and a full summer to complete my MLS course work.  In New York State one had to take a Regents’ exam, which I did, barely passing, and was issued my license to practice Librarianship.

I still have that license. Considering the fragility of the writer’s profession, I might have to put it to use again.

As for my library life, it continued, as you will read soon.

Most-Read Stories Behind the Stories:
No. 1, The True Confessions
of Charlotte Doyle

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This summer and early fall, I’m re-posting the 10 Most-Read Stories Behind the Stories from this blog. I’ve rewritten each essay somewhat and included the most-often-asked question about the book. 

We’ve come to #1. Does it surprise you that the most-read of my story behind the story is The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle? It was my 22nd book and a Newbery Honor winner in 1991. 

__________________________________

 

The True Confessions of Charlotte DoyleI began the last story about a story by telling how book A (Something Upstairs) led to book B (The Man Who Was Poe). Here is the story how the Poe book led to Book C, The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle.

Poe is generally credited with having invented the detective tale with his short story, Murders in the Rue Morgue. (1841) That story, profoundly influential, also came to be known as a “Locked Room Mystery.” Which is to say something happens in a room that is presumably inaccessible.

Well, I thought, living as I was on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean, what could be more of a “Locked Room” than a sailing ship at sea?

If you turn to page 129 of The Man Who Was Poe, you will find these words by a character named Captain Elias:

“Now, Master Edmund, if you’ve time to hear a good yarn, I’ve one for you. You see, The Lady Liberty had a sister ship. Seahawk, her name was—”

When I wrote those words, it was the beginning of my thinking of The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle: I would write a “locked room” mystery set on a 19th Century sailing ship. I even signed the contract to write a book which, for the moment, was called The Seahawk.

But I didn’t begin the book. The first problem was that for about eight months, I moved to Venice, Italy. My wife had a sabbatical; and a former editor of mine offered a Venetian apartment. I could not resist.

Indeed Venice was a fabulous experience.

However, I had not reckoned on two things. Being surrounded by the Italian language (or the Venetian version of it) meant that I was, to my great surprise, radically hampered in my writing. It crimped my rhythms, made my English excessively formal and ornate, and stunted my vocabulary. Also, this being in the early days of portable computers, my access to a printer was once a week. A key part of my writing process was missing.

I stopped writing the book. All I could do was think about it.

Only when I returned to Providence did I resume writing and by then the book had become The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle. It also began as a mystery, and while it has elements of that, it traveled on to become something rather different.

The book was done (I thought) when editor Richard Jackson called. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “We missed something. When Charlotte leaves the boat after the voyage, she doesn’t say goodbye to the crew. That’s out of character.”

Which is to say, since I had written the ending, I knew she would return to the ship. But at the narrative moment, she did not. Only then did I write that farewell scene on page 199. When the character Ewing says, “You’re my mermaid now,” I had tears in my eyes because like so many readers, I too had fallen in love with Charlotte ,,, but it was time for me to say “bon voyage.”

But wait! That was not the end of The Seahawk. She reappears in another book! Beyond the Western Sea.

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questionMost often asked question:

Will I write a sequel? The short answer is, no. My reason: Countless readers have told me how important Charlotte has been to them. The importance has to do with Charlotte’s growth and move toward independence. If I said what Charlotte did with her life, I think it would diminish her release to an open world. I’d rather let every reader choose what Charlotte does, even as I hope they will choose what they do with their lives.

Most-Read Stories Behind the Stories:
No. 2, Nothing But the Truth

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This summer and early fall, I’m re-posting the 10 Most-Read Stories Behind the Stories from this blog. I’ve rewritten each essay somewhat and included the most-often-asked question about the book. 

As we continue our countdown, Nothing But the Truth is #2 on the most-read list, my 24th book and a Newbery Honor winner in 1992. Although it was written 26 years ago, many people tell me that it is especially relevant today.

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Nothing But the Truth

Nothing but the Truth came to be written because of a series of seemingly unrelated experiences.

To begin: In my college playwriting days I became very interested in a Depression era play form called “Living Newspapers.” These were theatre pieces which, for a plot, tried to teach the audience about something, mostly the current events of the day. The productions used all kinds of teaching/theatre techniques, memos, speeches, charts on screens, trying to inform the audience as to what was happening. They were, if you will, documentary plays.

I even tried to write a living newspaper. About education. Not very good.

Now jump to my interest in games, board games, which I played with my boys. Monopoly® comes to mind. And in particular the mystery game, Clue®.

I was also reading and writing mystery fiction. No More Magic and Emily Upham’s Revenge had been recognized by the Mystery Writers of America.

One day, while wandering through a flea market I came upon a unique boxed mystery game. In the box was all the evidence for a murder case. Detective reports. Photographs. Transcripts of interviews. And so on. There was even an envelope which contained a cigarette stub with lipstick on it! The idea being you went through all this evidence (what lawyers call “discovery”) and then you tried to figure out who the criminal was. A sealed envelope was included which gave the villain’s name. Very cool, indeed.

A few years later I came across the same game, but now, all the evidence was put together in book format. There even was an image of that cigarette stub. This showed me that one could put that entire “discovery” file together so that it made a book. The narrative was merely the sequence of documents.

At the same time I was, in my capacity as an author, making many school visits. Spend a lot of time in a school that way, and you pass a fair number of hours in the teachers’ room. Amazing what you hear there, especially since not everyone knew who I was.

Finally, I read a newspaper story about a kid who refused to sing The Star Spangled Banner in a schoolroom, and the local uproar it caused.

Put all this together, and I hope you can see how Nothing But The Truth evolved. Not beside the point, the original title of the book was Discovery. And the half title of the book was: A Documentary Novel.

The book was written very quickly, much faster than my normal time. I wrote it so fast that I wondered if it was making any sense. That’s why I sent the first half of it to my editor, Richard Jackson. I asked him if the book was working and should I continue.

“Working fine,” he said. “Keep going.”

I did.

That said, I knew it was quirky. Would anyone read it?

So when I got the call that The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle had won a Newbery Honor, my first thought (truly) was, “Oh, good. Now folks will read Nothing but the Truth.

They did.

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questionMost often asked question:

When the book was first published time, and time again, different teachers would take me aside and ask: “Did you write Nothing but the Truth because someone told you what had happened in my school?

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