I am not sure why I am feeling so shy about this, since I love reading other writer’s “how I got an agent” stories. Please bear with me as I warm up into this. It’s not a simple story; and it’s not a single event that brought me to this place. It’s been years of work, full of trial and error, and interrupted by a few years off for personal growth/recovery. But even though I feel very fortunate to have the agent I do, Kelly Sonnack from Andrea Brown Literary, I don’t feel like I got lucky. I feel like I put the work in, grew up, and was then offered an incredible choice. I also have some wonderful, supportive friends who share dreams that are similar to mine—and I don’t know where I’d be without them.

Years ago, when I was but a baby writer, I had a great idea for a book. And so I started writing it.

I was also super lucky (yes, this was luck), because I had a friend who worked for the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI). She was able to get me a job working behind the scenes at the SCBWI International conference for three years in a row. It was a priceless gift. I was still in the midst of writing the book at the first SCBWI conference, and so I was able to sit in the backs of meetings with a notebook and pen, taking notes and drawing maps, letting my head fill up with tips on plot and craft. I worked two more conferences, got critiques, met editors who liked my work, even got an agent… And then? Nothing.

Nothing happened. Well, I wrote another book. And another. But there was no sale.

I won’t go into too many details, but my then-agent was not a good fit for me. It took me a while to realize it. And when I did, I was crushed. I won’t say it’s like divorce, because I’ve done that—severing a contract with an agent is nowhere near as devastating. But it’s still painful: there are so many hopes and dreams wrapped up in the relationship.

Then there were the years of personal growth. Ya know, those tough years when real life drama makes fictional drama extremely unappealing. But I made it. On my own. To a place where I was able to ask myself “What do I most want in life? What am I going to pursue for myself?” And it always came back to that childhood dream: I want to write books. I want to tell stories, make worlds, and explore beautiful bits of human truths through fiction.

And so, it was time to get serious.

I started attending conferences again. The Western Washington SCBWI conference that happens every spring was my first step back onto the path. My wonderful boyfriend came with me, to stay at the hotel and cheer me on. I was working a very demanding job at the time, so I wasn’t able to put as much time into the book as I wanted. But I still put some time in and kept putting myself out there. In the fall, I applied to the Western Washington SCBWI Weekend on the Water writing retreat with Arthur Levine and Linda Sue Park—and got in!

The response I received to my writing that weekend lit the fire even brighter. I started putting more time into the book, even with the demanding job getting even more demanding. (An hourly breakdown of the expectations for my job revealed that we needed three people to do the work, and there was just one of me.) But it was what I wanted, and the book kept growing.

Then in January, last year, my friends April Henry and Laini Taylor gave me a huge boon. They were both working to publication deadlines that were 2 months out. They both had at least 30K words left to write on their manuscripts. And by my estimation, so did I! They let me join them for daily/weekly check-ins on progress. They shared tips for getting work done, even when it doesn’t seem like anything wants to come out of your brain. They showed me that I could work full time and write 1000 words a day, sometimes.

And then my boyfriend gave me another gift: He offered to carry the bulk of the bills if I wanted to quit my job. I have been able to spend the past year working part-time and writing books. (Yes, bookS!) I began querying agents seriously last summer, when I finished the first manuscript. I got a steady stream of requests for the full manuscript, and stacked up a short stack of lovely, personalized rejections. Clearly, the book was not bad, but I had yet to find the agent who would truly love it. As each rejecting agent said, “I’m just not enough in love with it, but I am sure another agent will be.”

I was getting used to the steady pace of sending, waiting, sighing, shrugging, and wondering who would actually fall in love, when a critique partner of mine, Kate Branden, interrupted this pattern. She was going to a conference. A really amazingly cool conference. One that was in California, one that was only three weeks away. They still had spots open. Did I want to go? My first response was that it was too expensive, and too short of notice. But my boyfriend stepped in again, giving me another gift: “Go, I’ve got it. You have to go.”

And so I went.

The Big Sur conference, put on by Andrea Brown Literary. So many agents I admired, a fantastic set of editors and authors, and the chance to find out if I was way off target with my latest manuscript. The conference was wonderful. The best conference I’ve ever been to. I’ll definitely recommend SCBWI International to anyone—you should go at least once, if you’re serious about the business of children’s lit. But Big Sur? Big Sur is where you get to work on your craft. Where you get to talk to editors and agents in a relaxed setting. Where critique groups led by experts give you direct and helpful feedback on your work. And where you also fall completely in love with the ABLA agents, because they are all so sharp, so very willing to be approached, and so ready to be helpful.

But if you are part of the children’s writers community and stalk conferences a little bit, you’ll know that Kelly wasn’t at Big Sur this year. I didn’t actually meet her there. Here’s the truth: I had queried Kelly about a month prior to the conference, having no idea that I would be going. (And another truth? If she hadn’t been on maternity leave this summer, I would have queried her then.) When someone expressed interest in my work, I let them know I’d already queried Kelly. I was told to not let that connection drop, and to get in touch with Andrea herself when I was ready to query with the book I’d brought to the conference. Or if I received any offers from other agents.

Then the amazing happened. I got an offer! From a fantastic agent who loved my work. I knew that I would be in trouble with my connections if I didn’t at least give ABLA a chance, so I emailed Andrea. Who prompted Kelly to skip ahead a bit in her query queue. Who then emailed and said she’d be interested in reading, too, based on the ten pages in the query. And then, because there were actually two books in play at this point, Kelly read two books in less than two days in order to get back to me in a timely fashion. (I don’t want to downplay the other agent, though, she put in just as much effort, reading around her trip to Bologna. Another incredible feat.) And then there were two offers on the table.

What does a little writer who’s gotten a bit too used to rejection do when two fantastic people offer? Panic a little bit. Especially after having been burned by an agent in the past. Maybe accidentally run a red light and get a ticket because she’s too distracted by the choice in front of her to be safe on the road… And then sit and weigh the pros and cons.

The fact that I had been to Big Sur, had met the other ABLA agents and seen how they worked together as a team, was a big part of the deciding factor. Another was Kelly’s vision for my books and her very personal response to my characters. Also, when I look at Kelly’s list, I see exactly where my style of books fit. I can articulate why she likes my (two very different) books, and know that I’ll most likely continue to produce books that appeal because our imaginations line up in this way.

There’s more work to be done. Some minor revisions, some decisions about future projects, and the actual submitting to editors process. But do I feel like I’m in good hands at this point in time? Yes. Absolutely. And I am so glad Big Sur helped me choose an agent with my eyes wide open this time. (And that my boyfriend made me go. I couldn’t have gotten this far without the incredible support.)

I was at a book signing a few days ago where an audience member asked the five authors on the panel what their thoughts were on writer’s block. Their responses got me thinking more concretely about the concept. And what it means for this blog.

A couple of the writers said that they don’t agree with the concept of writer’s block; that there’s not really any such thing. I both agree and disagree with this analysis. It’s true that writing is a job, and you have to treat it that way or it becomes a monster. That thing that sits behind you and chews on your shoulder, threatening to eat you slowly if you don’t write and maybe in one big gulp if you do write… There are many people who never start anything because of this monster, and even more who never finish anything because of it.

I know I already talked about fear as writer’s block in the “Name That Fear” post that’s down a few from this one. In “Name That Fear”, I talked about particular scenes and pieces of story being so personal that I am afraid to feel what I need to feel in order to write those pieces of a story. That’s one type of fear that can stop me, if I let it. But there’s another type of fear that I battle daily: the fear of failure. The fear that I won’t do it right the first time, and will have to do it all over again. The fear that I won’t ever sell the piece I’m working on. The fear that even if I do sell it, people will hate it. The fear that my partner will read it and not be impressed. Fear that I’ll pour my heart out on a page and people will raise their eyebrows and say, “So what?” There are so many ways to “fail” in this business. And I really don’t like to fail.

But fear is only one kind of writer’s block.

The writers on the panel also talked about a the type of writer’s block that comes from having made a wrong turn with your plot, from starting a scene in the wrong place, from having the wrong viewpoint character, etc. And while this blog has been an example of my fear of failure in many ways (What if no one likes what I write about? What if I am boring? What if… what if?), I think it is also a prime example of this second type of writer’s block.

In my head, I have been calling this website my “professional” site. And I do a lot of different types of writing and editing on a professional level. I’ve been a health writer, I do technical editing, I have written how-to manuals, web content, and press summaries. I have edited an even broader range of things, with clients ranging across a broad spectrum of the business world. But I also write books for young adults.

Can you guess from this blog which type of writing I am most passionate about? What gets me excited enough to overcome my fear of failure and put up a post? It’s not the how-to manuals. (Although I will admit that instruction manuals make my OCD side very happy.)

My friends, I think have taken a wrong turn when it comes to this blog. Sure, this website has my name on it. And I may still steer business clients this way if they want to see samples of my writing. But I am going to start to write about what I love the most, what lights me up enough to get personal in essay form. Let’s see if you hear from me more frequently. I am betting you will. And I am betting it will be mostly about children’s books.

Bridget Zinn was an author, and a very dear part of the children’s book community. Sadly, she died of cancer not too long after she sold her first book, Poison, to Disney/Hyperion. She was only 33, but she lived a vibrant life full of laughter and love (for books, cats, friends, and so many other things). Those of us who knew her even a little bit still miss her. And we’d really like to help Poison be a success.

Poison releases on March 12, just a short month from now. If you would like to help Bridget’s family and friends promote Poison, take a look at her website, here: Bridget’s website. We are also accepting any and all ideas you might have for getting the word out there.

There will be a book release party in Portland, OR, on March 16 at A Children’s Place Bookstore, 6pm, with several local authors signing special copies of Poison in Bridget’s honor. (If you will be in town and would like to sign, please RSVP to event(at)bridgetzinn.com by February 17, so we can be sure to have a few copies of your books on the shelf, as well.) If you’ll be in town, we’d love to have you come. If you’re interested in ordering signed copies, please contact A Children’s Place before or after the event. If you’d like to host a similar signing in your town, we’d be very honored. I know there’s one in the planning works in Texas, at the moment.

I’ve read the ARC, and I can guarantee that it’s a ton of fun. It sounds just like Bridget, and is a clever mix of subterfuge, romance, and action that might happen if you crossed The Thief with The Princess Bride. It’ll have a pretty broad readership appeal, with the action/adventure/cleverness that middle school readers love, and the sweet/clever romance that teens enjoy. I can’t wait until I get to start handing this book to kids.

Thank you so much for your help!

Since stories are built on the human experience, it’s no surprise that the stories I tell come from some very personal places. After working on one book that stalled me completely for six months, I am starting to learn to recognize the signs that a book has gotten too personal a little more quickly than I used to. And by “too personal”, I mean that it’s stumbled onto one of my personal demons. Not that I shouldn’t be writing the story. (In fact, the more personal the story, the more likely it is that I should be working on it.)

The only way to conquer demons is to face them. Walk through those fiery halls. Pull out the sword and chop their heads off.

How do I know when I am stuck in a story for personal reasons? (And not because the entire book sucks…) The signs seem to be:
1. Much internal whining and hand-flapping about how hard the scene is to write.
2. Cleaning the house from top to bottom (I hate cleaning).
3. Typing ten words, erasing them, and then typing ten more that are very similar.
4. Spending paragraphs on the setting and setup, but freezing up as soon as the characters start talking.
5. Shoving my main character in a corner and letting someone else fight.
6. Starting to line edit all the previous scenes, especially at the very beginning of the book.
7. Turning on my computer and saying, after staring at the screen for ten minutes, “I’ll just play Guild Wars for half an hour, and then start writing.”
8. That horrible, stuck feeling in my chest that’s like a scream gone into hiding.
9. Writing blog posts instead of working on the scene. (Ahem.)

How do I work through it?
1. Admit that I’m not stuck for plot reasons, but because I am afraid to write what comes next.
2. Figure out exactly what it is that’s scaring me. Name that fear. (Personally, I’m afraid of losing my temper. Anger is a really big hangup for me, writing-wise.)
3. Pat myself on the metaphysical head and say, “Oh, honey. It’s okay that you’re afraid of that. It totally makes sense.”
4. Breathe deep and dive back in. As many times as it takes to get the scene done. Sometimes rewarding myself with chocolate or walks to the library.
5. Congratulate myself for how brave I was. Brag a little.
6. And, since I know myself well enough to know that I have likely still pulled my punches, come back to the scene in a few days/weeks and make it even more dangerous.

Now. Back to the book.

I remember when I started writing books. Writing was pure pleasure. A world at the tip of my fingers, a place I could lose myself for hours. I could write, and write, and write. Dream about what I was writing, and wake up to write some more. I would even bring my laptop to parties and write in the back room while my friends played board games and socialized. (This was forgiven by my friends, since several of them wanted to read the book when it was done. Lovely friends.)

But then I hit a rough patch in life. I won’t get too personal here, but let’s just say that my real life had more than enough drama. I didn’t have any energy for fictional drama, too. I stopped writing entirely. For a couple years.

When I finally I picked up my computer to write again, I found out something tragic: Writing was no longer fun. It was fraught with anxiety. What if I couldn’t turn off my real life enough to tell a good story? How could I put time and energy into writing when I needed to work to be able to pay rent and eat? What if I really wasn’t a good enough writer–then or now? I stalled, and stalled, and stalled. Wrote in circles. Frowned at my computer. Told my characters they were trite little fools… I just couldn’t get a story flowing again, like it used to. Sitting down at my computer to write a book was no longer fun; it was work. Hard work.

Yes, I finished a book a few months ago. Finally. (See posts below.) But I’ll be honest. Even though I am extremely proud of the book–it was work. It was a job I came to every day. I sat down and did it. During work hours. Like it was my full time job. I did not write in the evenings. I did not write at parties. I did not dream happily about my book at night. It was a bit sad, but I was okay with it. It is extremely rewarding to finish writing a book, even if the process of writing is not accompanied by that writing high.

I decided that this meant I had grown up. I was a real writer now, who worked at her craft. Not some crazy post-graduate who was high on the idea of another world that wove together from a connection between her heart, head, and computer. And then… And then I picked up an old project that I had started while I was in school doing my third degree. (I used to write entire books while being in school full time, working almost full time! Can you believe it?) Anyway… I fell in love again.

This book is like new magic for me. I stay up ’til past my bedtime working on it. I daydream about the plot whenever I have a spare moment. If the iPhone is in my hand while I am waiting for the train to get to work, I am probably typing notes about the book–not reading the news or playing a game. I barely want to take a break from the book to write this post. (But a few conversations this week led me to realize that I should not be neglecting this blog.) I am high on the magic of a story again.

So… is writing work or is it pleasure? My thought is that it can be both. And it’s even okay if one book is all work and another is almost all pleasure. Writing is like the rest of life. Sometimes it’s super-fun and exciting. Sometimes it’s just about getting from one day to the next. It is what it is in a moment, and the more you struggle to make it what it’s not, the more miserable you will be. Accept the magic where you find it, and value the work you do.

That is all.

Dear Mindi,

I don’t usually address a review directly to an author, but, given the nature of your book and the way my thoughts have run, it seems easiest to just write you a letter.

Live Through This is a book that centers around a tough topic: sexual abuse. You say–in the introduction–that this book was inspired by your own experience, and the fact that it was so emotional for you made you hesitate to write it. But it kept haunting you. I am heart-broken that this book mirrors your own experience, but I am so glad that you wrote it. As a former school counselor and as a close friend to (too) many who have shared your experience, books on this topic are necessary. Even vital. But Live Through This is so much more than an “issue” book. It’s also a work of art. I am in complete and utter awe at how you took something so personal, so close to your heart, and made it shine as a perfectly polished story.

Your characters are lovely, flawed, and real. Coley’s voice is perfectly teen, in absolute harmony with her age and experience. Reece, her almost new boyfriend, is adorably his age–gawky, nerdy, sweet, and strong. The relationships between all the characters ring true, from Coley’s confusion about/love for the person who is abusing her to the estrangement from her former best friend. The conversations remind me of my own teen conversations. The friendships remind me of my own teen friendships. The family of many families I know.

And then there is the pacing of the story. If I hadn’t started reading in the evening, I would have read it in one go. You kept the tension exactly right from scene to scene, character interaction to character interaction. There’s nothing extra, it all builds as it should toward that ultimate moment and conclusion. I am not going to talk about what happens, because I might ruin the beauty of how the story unfolds for someone else. But trust me–it’s perfectly paced.

In short, you’ve done it all, my friend. You’ve turned something hard and raw into a piece of art. You made me cry, you made me smile, and you made me marvel at your craft. I am hoping for many good things for this book, because not only is it a story (too) many people need to hear–it is supremely well-written and does what every good book should do: reveal complicated truths about what it means to be human.

Thank you for putting your heart on the line. Your story is haunting me, too,

Holly

For those of you wondering, “Live Through This” releases on October 2, 2012. Consider ordering it through a local bookstore, but it’s also available on Amazon.

I’ll admit it: I’m a character-driven writer. I always have been.

In fact, when I was a child, middle-schooler, and teen, I used to write “stories” that were essentially a long string of character studies (I usually had a cast of at least 20 characters) with snappy dialogue and much internal reflection. My twenty characters would all go camping, for example, and there would be scene after scene in which I would switch viewpoints from character to character, and the viewpoint character would talk to or about the other characters… I always planned to eventually have something happen, but you had to know all the characters first, right?

I still vividly remember the sting of when my mother told me, sometime in my Sophomore year of high school, that she thought I was a good writer, but she didn’t want to read any more of my “stories” unless something happened in them. It discouraged me to such a degree that I actually stopped writing (something I had been doing since I could hold a pen) for about ten years.

I wish I could find those stories now, though, those hundreds of hand-written pages filled with nothing but character and setting. Because, you see, I have realized that every character does carry a story. And, yes, I have learned how to plot. But I can’t plot without a character.

So, how do you turn a character into a story?

My characters tend to grow out of what I have come to label as an “emotional truth”. (Side note: Don’t start writing until you have this truth!) My story ideas come from my own emotional response to news articles, psychology studies, stories my friends tell me about their lives or childhood, my own memories of my teen years, and (dare I admit this?) my dreams. Because I tend to dream very vividly, and I frequently dream that I am someone who is not actually me. (Which is totally awesome when I am Spiderman, btw, but it’s also a bit unnerving. Is this result of being a big reader?) Anyway…

That emotional truth moment. I feel it in my gut, in my heart, it fills my ribcage with something big and poignant—that emotional truth of what it feels to be in a particular situation. A boy who is in love with his best friend who’s in love with someone else. A girl who’s been trapped against the wall by a forceful suitor. A boy filled with terror and determination, on the run from faceless baddies (hello, Dreamworld.) A girl who desperately wants to save her friends from a nameless fate and all she has is a paintbrush clutched tightly in her hand (hello, first/last book finished.) Etc.

Yes, you can see a bit of plot in these circumstances, but, personally, I need to know more about the character. Let’s dive into one that will be a tad more difficult to fill a story around, partly because it’s been done in so many forms: The boy who’s in love with his best friend. While it’s painful in any shape or form, does he feel more hopeful or more hopeless? If he feels hopeless… why? Is it because he’s sure he’s not good, smart, strong enough to attract attention? (If so, does that really make sense if this person is his best friend?) Maybe he feels hopeless because his best friend is also a boy—and not gay.

Now we have a little bit of something bigger to work with. If this boy is in love with his best friend and knows that it will not go anywhere, ever… Why is he holding on to these feelings? It may be time for him to let them go and become brave enough/value himself enough to seek someone who loves him back. Ah-ha! Now we have a character growth arc, which means: the PLOT is on its way.

But first… I am going to do a little world-building. Since I have come up with a character who is gay (an oppressed group in our current society), this introduces some very real conflict in a realistic setting. Gay rights are rapidly changing. (Perhaps marriage will soon be legal in all states! But we aren’t there yet. And even when we are, personal safety will still be a big concern for many years.) There are all kinds of things my character could face as he seeks true love in the real world. But… maybe I want to take away the hostility and focus on the heart of the romance/finding of self. Maybe I want to set this in a fantasy world where gay marriage is not an issue at all (something that makes my heart glad!), and my main character has other, internal issues to face. Maybe a dissonance in his character: He’s a brave, sworld-wielding man who’s never afraid in battle—but he’s afraid of his own heart. Why is he afraid? Well… the story must reveal that as well as the growth. Perhaps developing a supporting cast will help me know more.

Who is his best friend? A strong soldier, just like him? Or maybe a minstrel who sings the tales of our hero’s battles… Someone who is not afraid of his own heart… We also need to know who our hero is fighting against: Perhaps his friend’s lover, who is sweet when his friend is around but taunts our hero in a subtle, cruel fashion behind the friend’s back? Perhaps a critical parent who is disappointed that he turned his attention to sword-wielding instead of politics? Can you see the plot building?

We’re ready for the big picture: the larger, framing plot: What must my hero conquer/do to learn about himself? What will his ultimate reward be? Given that our hero has a politically minded parent he’s let down by becoming a strong-arm, perhaps it’s time to pull him into politics. He’s been assigned as bodyguard to the young prince, who’s just about his age. It’s boring and he’d rather be fighting dragons (or mooning over his best friend), but then someone makes an attempt on the rather bookish prince’s life… Perhaps the prince is his ultimate love, and perhaps the journey to find the villain and battle to save the prince’s life will teach our soldier to speak and know his heart. (And maybe he also gets his best friend to find a nicer woman.)

And now I have a story. I know where my character starts (likely in a battle scene or recounting a battle scene to his best friend), I know what he must overcome (his own fears and the nameless villain who wants the prince dead). And I know where he ends up (in love with the prince, who loves him back, and a hero in the kingdom he’s saved from the villain.) Now it’s time to start writing…

To plot your own story:

1. What do you feel the most when you think about your character/story? What emotion/s tug at you, fill you up, make you identify with your character, pull you into a poignant moment? This is what makes your character human and relatable. I always, always start here.

2. How do you want that feeling to change/resolve? Does the character gain power over it? Make a choice? Grow out of it? Conquer it? Turn it around on someone else so that they are no longer the victim? Find a panacea? Prove their worth to themselves or another?

3. Decide your setting/world. What will highlight this change the most? Real world? Fantasy world? Real/fantasy world (i.e. urban fantasy)? What are the rules that your character is constrained by/fighting against? What will increase the stakes for this character’s growth?

4. Who are the supporting characters? How do these personalities highlight or conflict with the main character’s primary emotion, needs, and wants?

5. The big picture plot. What raises the stakes for your main character? What kind of hero tale do you want? What does the character win/lose to gain his internal goal?

6. Now, go start writing. (Okay, okay, if you are an outliner, you can outline from here, if you must.) But don’t be afraid to start writing. You’ll surely find more about your character and your subplots if you toss yourself heart-first into the starting point. Trust your characters and world to lead you to the end goal you’ve set. You know what you are aiming for, and your scenes will come more easily for it.

This is very interesting to me as a medical writer, as a woman, and as someone who has seen the many ways that finances and investors inhibit new and better technology. We, as a country, really need to re-evaluate our priorities around healthcare. It really should not be in investor arena; it’s a human right.

As I finished draft 2 of the book this week, I had been planning to do a few blogs more blogs on the revision process. But then I realized that this book has not simply been revised. This book is actually a complete and utter re-write of the first book I ever wrote. Yes, I have been revising it. But… I also scrapped an entire book, including major pieces of the world, certain character aspects, and all of the plot. The only things that are the same between this book and the first book are the character names, the place names, and the “hook” (my main character is an artist can paint or draw pieces of the truth.)

So, there may be a few blogs about revising. But, first: What made me decide to toss out an entire (decent) book and re-write it?

1. The market has changed. When I started writing a young adult book, almost ten years ago, ‘young adult’ meant almost the same thing that ‘middle grade/young reader’ does right now. I was writing about teenaged characters, but the book needed to be something that schools and libraries would buy for both high school and middle school. I might be able to thank Twilight for changing the young adult market. Or, preferably, Hunger Games. But there is no arguing that the young adult genre has changed.  Characters face more adult choices, darker worlds, and complicated ethical decisions. And you know what?

2. I have changed, too. My preferences had always run toward the sweet fairytale retellings. My original book was not a fairytale, but it had a lot of that sweetness to it. It wasn’t a bad story, but… as I have changed, my tastes have changed. I like the darker, the more complicated, the frightening. The stuff that reflects all the things I have learned about myself in the last ten years. Could I write the type of book I admired most? (The Thief by Megan Whalen Turner; Star-Crossed by Elizabeth Bunce, Blackbringer by Laini Taylor…) It was time to find out.

3. The book was good, but not good enough. During the years I was actively trying to sell it, I got a lot of positive attention. Editors liked it, but not enough to buy it. Agents requested it, but ultimately decided it was ‘too literary to sell’. I was told over and over, “You’re a good writer, and there are a lot of things I like about this book. But it’s just not quite right.” After a series of rejections from agents, and upon giving up on ever hearing back from a publisher who had requested the full manuscript, I decided that the book had some serious flaws that no amount of editing would solve. But why did I choose to re-write the book instead of start a new one?

4. I loved the premise. An artist who can paint or draw the truth? That premise could float a lot of stories. I knew I wanted to salvage it. What story did I really want to tell? What would raise the stakes? What would let me use this premise more fully?

Here are the catalyst of questions that grew a new book: What if the main character’s father was murdered when she was very young, and the murderer was never caught? What if she’d spent her life trying to become an artist who can paint the truth so that she can find out what really happened? What would turn her personal vendetta into a quest to save the entire kingdom?

And so, Painting Shadows was born from the ashes of the sweet fairytale of a fantasy that was my first book.

I have long held the philosophy that a scene in a book should serve at least two purposes. If two friends are going to have a conversation, for example, their conversation should reveal a necessary plot piece and something key about the characters’ personalities or motivations. But my recent use of note cards to get a visual and tactile overview of my book convinced me that I need to be even more strict about my scene requirements. Each scene needs to serve at least two subplots, or it probably doesn’t belong in the book.

How did I learn this? Through color.

The note cards contained summaries of each scene, one per note card. I then picked five subplots (to match my five highlighter colors) and went back through the note cards five times, scribbling a dot of color on a note card if the scene contained that particular subplot. Actually, one of the things I was scanning for was not so much a subplot as an element. A critique partner had told me I needed to make sure that the reader felt a sense of danger throughout the book, so I used the green highlighter to indicate each time my character felt that she was in danger, regardless of which subplot the danger came from. The subplots causing the danger were tracked with other colors.

I found that most of the subplots were mixing nicely. Green, yellow, and blue in this scene. Green, blue, and orange in the next scene, etc. But I also found that my romantic subplot (pink) was not playing well with the rest of my subplots. Almost every time the romantic subplot came into the story, it was the only thing happening in a scene. Each romantic scene was pink and only pink. Even worse, toward the end of the book, there was a string of only pink scenes right between an exciting four color scene and the ultimate action sequence with all five colors in play. This was not good. My romantic subplot was literally bringing the rest of the story to a grinding halt.

What I realized, when reading through these all pink scenes, was not that I needed to simply add elements of the other subplots into the romantic scenes, it was that these scenes were all pink because the romantic plot didn’t fit with the rest of the story. The story arc for the romance was so complicated that I needed to stop every other bit of action to focus on it. The romance was detracting from the story rather than adding to it.

This was a sad thing for me to realize, because I had been very fond of the “realistic” complications I had given my characters in the romantic realm. But, I could always use those elements in another book. It was time to simplify this one. And, you know what? The new, more simple romance arc is working very well. I am not putting a romantic scene into the book unless it also addresses another subplot as well. I suspect it will be very rare that a scene can only serve one subplot and fit in with the rest of the story.