What My Last Book Taught Me
by Audrey Vernick
The books and films I love would all be described as quiet. So it was not a huge surprise that when I finally got around to writing a novel, it, too, would be described as quiet. What was a surprise was learning that quiet is very bad. Or at least unpublishable. As lessons go, that was about as unfun as they get.
One rejection letter I received after my novel was first submitted just about tore my heart out. The editor adored my main character. She said she’d found herself, long after she finished reading my upper middle grade novel, wondering about the characters and hoping they were doing well. But she knew it would be hard to make such a quiet book stand out on her list.
I pretended I saw hope buried in the thick layers of depressing bad news. I had my agent ask this editor if she might consider a revision if I thought of “a good hook” for the novel.
HA!
I am one walking, talking epic fail in the Good Hook Department.
But I kept that little bit of almost-hope in my heart; an editor agreed to read a revision. I put the manuscript in a drawer. A really nice drawer. And I tried not to think about it for a while. Time passed. I wrote another novel, one with its own set of troubles (now doing its time in the same really nice drawer). I switched agents.
My first agent had primarily represented adult fiction, with some YA sales. At the time, this made sense for me. I wrote for adults, too. But my writing kept skewing younger and younger until it was time to make a change. Erin Murphy, my second agent, knew this novel existed when I signed with her. She trusted that someday I’d send it to her, give it its final shot. When the time was right.
That “right” moment round-aboutted into position shortly after I took a novel-writing class with the amazing Patti Gauch. I was working on what’s now the second resident of the really nice drawer. But I started to feel the call of the first manuscript. (Some call this avoiding the current problem.)
I spent a few weeks cleaning up the first manuscript and wrote down a couple of hook ideas I’d been thinking about. I asked Erin if she’d read the novel and let me know when she was done. At that point, I wanted to send along my so-called hook ideas and see which one was the right way to go. Erin read the book and while she had very nice things to say, she agreed it was very quiet. She gave me the go-ahead to send the hook ideas. Not much later, she wrote to say, “What I don’t understand is why you’d take this absolutely lovely story and insert something like THAT into it.”
The answer I screamed in my head: TO GET IT PUBLISHED!
(Aside: My sister, frustrated on my behalf by the “too quiet” responses and the state of publishing, would often sigh with disgust and say, “Why don’t just turn those two best friends into lesbian vampires and get it over with?”)
Then Erin and I had the talk.
The thing about moments of writing insight or epiphany is that they rarely seem insightful or epiphany-worthy in the retelling. So many of us have been writing for years. Studying with wise teachers. Reading brilliant craft books. Attending conferences. Listening to experts. We’ve heard it all. In a way, we know it all. But I believe there are times when we are particularly and uniquely receptive to hearing certain messages. Some combination of Patti’s writing class, the time my manuscript spent in the drawer, and the way Erin presented “the talk” added up to some new kind of energy in me—a focused book-dequieting energy.
Erin did not believe I needed to go the lesbian vampire route. Maybe just one more thread woven through, one that could give an editor an easier case to make when trying to acquire what would surely still be a fairly but not fatally quiet book. The characters in my book play a unique version of Monopoly. “Something like that,” Erin said. “But fresher.” She suggested that this new thread—whatever it was—might lend itself to a cover image. That was a helpful way to think. So I started thinking. And talking to people. And watching my kids.
Water balloons came up more than once.
My brain liked it.
I tried filling up some water balloons and remembered things you just know when you’re younger—how they can fly off the faucet and soak you. How certain hoses don’t work. The way some under-inflated water balloons will not break upon impact. And how a too-full water balloon can just break apart, almost without provocation, which was pretty true of my main character, too.
I added the new thread. New scenes emerged. And in many ways, it really all came down to one new scene. A difficult one to write—one in which my character makes an absolute fool of herself at great personal cost. Erin said that when she read the revision, she started yelling at the manuscript, trying to warn my character not to commit social suicide.
Here is what I learned. It’s not a true epiphany, as I knew it before, too. But it’s what made the difference. My characters have impeccable judgment and are infallibly reasonable. These are not, apparently, characteristics helpful to a writer who needs to create suspense (even in a quiet way) or raise the stakes. One bad decision, involving water balloons, changed everything for my character. I was no longer able to protect her, to keep bad things from happening.
I knew this before, of course, but I have a very sensitive Believability Meter when I’m reading, and it affects my writing. So many times when I’m in the middle of a book—children’s books and adult fiction, too—I come to a point at which I think, here’s where the author needed to raise the stakes and thus had the character do something I don’t believe this character would do. I feel this way about the majority of books I read. And it keeps me from pushing my own characters to behave in unexpected ways. It’s the finest of lines, and I’m trying to learn how to walk it.
I am very determined to carry these lessons with me, to not make the same mistakes as I begin work on novel three. I don’t want to create extra work, the extra work that’s required to turn a quiet novel into one that’s more likely to be acquired. Because this time around, I hope my characters will behave in believable, stakes-raising ways. I don’t want to have to entertain the infusion of lesbian vampires. I’d rather be a tiny bit louder, right from the start.
{ 15 comments… read them below or add one }
I also find it painful sometimes, to let the MC make that terrible but necessary mistake. After all the thoughtful character development, I just want to mother and protect them. I’d rather something happen TO them, instead of letting them make the wrong choice or say the wrong thing. Alas, those MS must gather dust in the drawer until I am feeling merciless!
Nice summary of something familiar to me, but have not articulated well. Bravo to you, and Erin, for finding the right solution.
Thanks Audrey and VCFA for an insightful and thought-provoking post. I’ve read Water Balloon, and never would have guessed that the water balloon thread was an “afterthought.” It was the perfect missing puzzle piece. I’m glad Audrey found it!
As one struggling with a quiet book, I’m jazzed by your words–that there is hope for a hook. Things are happening to my MC, but not because of her mistakes. An editor advised me to have my MC drive the novel. I think she is still sitting in the back seat. Thanks, Audrey!
Thanks for this post. Quiet books are a challenge. It’s hard to be walk that line of making it more saleable while still being true to the quiet story. Looking at your characters in new ways like you did is a great way to find new depths, which it sounds like you did with Water Balloon. Congratulations! Thanks for sharing.
I can totally relate. My picture books are quiet. My YA novels are quiet. I just finished up a round of revisions to amp things up a bit. Like you, I’m hoping to be able to do this from the start with my next project.
What a wonderful essay of a lesson learned. It is such a hard concept–how to go from quiet to publishable. Maybe it is really about letting the reader find a space to insert her/his emotions into the reading of the story. I’m trying to learn this lesson right now in revising my first novel with another thread. Thanks!
Beyond your insight into the quiet story, I just wanted to say thanks for the insight into your process, Audrey. I’ve come to the summit of a whole new mountain in my own writing only to learn an entire mountain range looms ahead! It is inspiring to hear that even an author my daughter and I have read together has novels she marinates in the drawer and epiphanies when questions, great teachers, and insightful mentors meet. It’s made my time descending this mountain into the fog less panicked and more about searching and observing. Thank you.
I completely relate to everything you’ve written here. I often tell others that I don’t care much about plot in the books I read – and I don’t! – and editors and agents often tell me that I need to raise the stakes. Thanks for sharing your thoughts here. I love the title of your book.
Thanks for all the nice comments here, folks. I feel like I wrote this piece with exactly you and you and you in mind. Thanks for taking the time to post!
We met at NJ SCBWI last June. I’ve read both Buffalo stories to my K-2 classes and She Loves Baseball to middle grades. Your stories really hooked the kids in all the right ways. You got them wanting to read more and that’s tough to do in West Philadelphia!
Hey, Carol. Thank you so much! You made my day.
I’m a little late to this conversation (I don’t quite know where I was…probably doing something so quiet you probably didn’t notice me…) but I wanted to thank you, Audrey. This speaks volumes to me, as I am sure you know. I, too, struggle with quiet…the way you connect Hook with your very real, very un-outlandish, solution makes a light bulb go off for me. Thank you for that specific insight. xxoo
What fun to come upon this post Audrey. I finished reading Water Balloon a few weeks back and have not had time to review on Goodreads or otherwise post but having read the book I can see how the water balloon thread energized and created turning points for the book. Lovely how you captured the phase in life where some cling to childhood, some grow up fast, and some simply grow apart. Sweet love story too. And of course, you now I loved the baseball. Really enjoyed this article!
It’s fascinating to get a glimpse of the story behind your story. On the eve of this year’s ALA announcements I’m also mindful of the fact that although quiet books have a reputation for being hard to sell, the winners of the most prestigious awards almost always seem to be of the quiet variety.
Thanks for this insightful look at your own process of creation, editing, and reflection, Audrey! It’s so helpful to see you grapple with your own desire to craft believable characters, and yet still raise the stakes. Your words here are both instructive and inspiring. Thanks!