As the mother of a disabled son myself, I was immediately intrigued and sought out her personal website.  I spent an evening reading her blog and weeping.  Here was someone who thoughtfully and intelligently articulated exactly the feelings that I had but was unable to express in such a thoughtful and intelligent manner myself.  Over and over as I read, I thought, “YES!  I feel exactly the same way!”  I never realized that there was anyone else out there, LDS or not, whose experiences mirrored mine in so many ways.

Overcoming my fear of reaching out into the unknown, I emailed this woman who was still a stranger to me – Kathryn Lynard Soper – and told her how much I appreciated what she had written.  She embraced me across the miles with kind words and an understanding heart and invited me to become part of Segullah.  Since then, we have become close friends sharing long emails and phone calls.  I look forward to meeting her face to face for the first time this July.

Kathryn’s book “The Year My Son and I Were Born,” is a real-life, no holds barred, picture into the painful, exhausting, thankless, yet ultimately rewarding life of the mother of a disabled child.  As I read it, I again wept, feeling keenly her anguish, frustration, and spiritual questioning because I have experienced those things myself in my son’s year of life, and still do as he approaches his 7th birthday.  Thomas has Down syndrome, but this book speaks to anyone who loves a disabled child.

Reading further into her journey through Thomas’s first year, I realized Kathy tackles issues that many women, and LDS women in particular, face – depression, difficult ward dynamics, struggles within marriage, grief, unrealistic expectations of oneself, and the unattainable, mythological title of “angel mother.”  I felt further connected to her as she openly and honestly discussed her own problems and found ways to work through them.  I appreciated her candor and the fact that her book did not wrap up cleanly and neatly with all of her problems resolved in the end.  She was able to come to a peace within herself even though the difficulties in her life are still ongoing.  I would recommend Kathy’s book to all women – mothers or not, LDS or not – anyone who is struggling, striving, enduring, or grieving.

You can see a photo montage of Kathryn, Thomas, and her family here.  Read more about Kathryn’s book at her website, or order her book here.

Here is an excerpt from the first chapter of “The Year My Son and I Were Born”:

Drive-Thru Window
No. Oh, no.

My fingers froze on the laptop keyboard. A strange sensation welled up in my pelvis like a giant bubble. Slowly the bubble rolled downward and burst, soaking my maternity jeans and the woven hospital blanket.

The air stilled. I sat motionless, understanding what this meant, but not believing. It was 3 p.m. on my fourteenth day of hospital bed rest. The obstetrician stood at the nurses’ station signing my discharge papers; my husband Reed waited at home for my call. I had just e-mailed friends to tell them I was on my way home. Home, where I’d lie on the couch for a month until it was safe for me to move again.

But as the amniotic fluid continued seeping out of me, I had to believe the truth. I wasn’t going home. I was having a baby—ten weeks early.

Hand shaking, I reached for the nurse’s call button. Within moments the room filled with the brisk energy of pending emergency. The resident performed a vaginal exam by speculum and flashlight, not daring to touch my cervix. She had me summon Reed by telephone. My bed, transformed into a gurney, was pushed down the hall to Labor and Delivery. Two nurses helped me roll from one bed to the next, then began attaching all the high-risk accessories: blood pressure cuff, IV line, fetal monitor, heart and lung monitors for me. I turned my head to watch the paper readout uncurl from the contraction monitor: a flat black line at first, then a slight upward curve that peaked and dipped.

“Are you feeling that?” one of the nurses asked.

Yes. I was.

* * *

7 p.m. Reed stood by the delivery bed, holding my hand while I leaked tears and sweat into the sheets. The contractions had intensified from squeezing to wrenching. My bladder swelled with IV fluids, but I couldn’t urinate when I tried. As the pressure mounted in my pelvis I writhed on the bed in raw panic.

The nurse put her hand on my shoulder and asked if I’d like some pain relief before she inserted a catheter. “The urethra gets swollen during labor,” she said. “It might be hard to get the tube in.”

Twenty minutes later I bent over my bulging abdomen to receive a spinal needle. As I sat upright my head spun and my vision blurred. The nurse strapped an oxygen mask to my face. By the time my blood pressure stabilized and my bladder had been drained, the contractions had stopped, leaving me six centimeters dilated—a point of no return. The nurse hooked a bag of Pitocin to the IV pole and started a drip. Reed and I looked at each other in disbelief. After two weeks of doing everything possible to keep the baby in, he would be forced out.

Our son. We’d chosen his name already: Thomas Reed. In the ultrasound photos his face emerged in wrinkles of light and darkness, the landscape of humanity. He was due December 23. A Christmas baby.
But this was early October, not even Halloween.

After the nurse left, Reed slumped in the armchair. I curled on my side, facing him. The wall behind Reed had a sliding window—a drive-thru window, he had joked earlier—which led to the NICU. The last place we wanted to be. Two years before, our newborn son Sam had spent three weeks in a different hospital’s NICU, critically ill with lung failure, and I would never forget the grimness of that place. The doctors said Sam’s illness was a freak occurrence and that if we wanted another baby, we had every reason to expect a healthy birth. My prenatal exams and ultrasounds for this new pregnancy had all been normal.

But nothing was normal about giving birth at thirty weeks gestation. I knew the statistics. Chance of respiratory failure: one in three. Chance of brain hemorrhage: one in five. Chance of death: one in ten.

Reed and I were quiet. There was nothing to say. The only sound was the whoop whoop whoop of the baby’s heartbeat on the fetal monitor, a manic rhythm pushing all three of us into the future.

Related posts:

1. Sticks and stones
2. At 35 Weeks
3. It’s a Miracle…

Before I tell you my predictions, a bit of perspective on judging LDS fiction, and a disclaimer. About a year ago, Jeff Savage wrote a blog on LDS Publisher which discussed, among other things, that it’s important to compare LDS genre fiction with other genre fiction: i.e., compare mysteries to other mysteries, romance novels to other romance novels. Don’t compare a romance novel to literary fiction, since that’s not a fair basis for comparison.

As I read these books, that’s what I tried to do. While I spend most of my discretionary reading time on YA novels, I’ve also read my share of mysteries, romances, and historical fiction novels. So when I recommend a book as a good read, I’m going to be comparing it against others published nationally in its genre, genres I’m relatively familiar with. And I think that’s a fair basis for comparison. If you’d like to read more ideas about LDS fiction, generated by my Whitney finalist reading, you can visit my blog, where I’ve discussed my reaction to the Whitney finalists in greater depth.

And my disclaimer: Angela Hallstrom, besides being a brilliant writer, is a good friend. But I would love her book even if I’d never met her. Also, voting on the Whitneys has already occurred, so this post will not influence them (not that it would anyway; I’m just saying that the voting is a done deal, and this is speculation/opinion on my part). And kudos to all who made it to the Whitney finals–I wish I had space to highlight more of my favorites.

So, with that preamble, here are my picks. You can read the entire list of finalists here:

Best Novel:
Bound on Earth, by Angela Hallstrom. It’s beautifully written, layered characters, a real but also hopeful depiction of LDS life. And here I have to state that for me, a novel that does Mormonism well is always going to trump in this category, because that’s the Holy Grail of LDS fiction.

Best Novel by a New Author
Now, because of Whitney rules, Angela, though nominated in three categories, can only win once. Therefore she cannot win the next category, Best Novel by a New Author. Instead, I predict (and hope) that this category will be won by Annette Haws, for Waiting for the Light to Change. This is a fabulous novel, folks. It’s hands down my favorite Whitney discovery. I would not have picked it up based on its cover, but I was blown away by it. It’s the story of the fall and redemption of a high school debate teacher in Northern Utah. Highly recommended.

Best Romance:
Taking Chances, by Shannon Guymon. This was a great little romance, but she went deeper and added a layer of real pain to the female protagonist’s character, who must confront and forgive her grandmother. I enjoyed it very much.

Best Mystery/Suspense:
Fool Me Twice, by Stephanie Black. What I loved most about this was the protagonist’s personal growth, which happens as she deals with an intricate plot. It had the best character arcs of any book in its category, which is a huge plus for me. The treatment of Mormonism was positive without being overly preachy. A great book.

Best Youth Fiction:
I felt like this was the category with the tightest field; any one of them could win and I would say “yes, I can see that.” But for sheer beauty of writing, plus great characters and a compelling reinvention of a fairy tale, I must go with Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow, by Jessica Day George.

Best Speculative Fiction:
Hero of Ages. Wow. Just, wow. It’s an incredible work. Brandon Sanderson‘s entire Mistborn trilogy kept me reading and neglecting my laundry. The final battle is the coolest and also most poignant battle I’ve ever read. And I tell you that as someone who usually skims battle scenes. I loved the religious search for truth, and I loved the way this book brought together so many themes and threads from the others. Amazing writing.

Best Historical:
Keeping Keller, by Tracy Winegar. You may notice that Keeping Keller is not nominated in this category. Whitney powers that be, why on earth not? It takes place in a distinct, well-researched time period in the past, not too distant from Traitor‘s time frame. It’s the story of a couple seeking to care for their misdiagnosed autistic son, and each other, in the face of prejudice and lack of information. The voice is distinctly fifties, and very well done, I might add. And I think it deserves to be nominated in this category, if not win outright.

Okay, picking from finalists, I’m going to go with Isabelle Webb, Legend of the Jewel, by N.C. Allen. I liked Isabelle, I liked the history of British India, the mystery surprised me. It was a fun read.

Best General Fiction:
Bound on Earth, you may recall, cannot win again. And neither can Waiting for the Light to Change, if all goes as I believe it should. That forces me to choose between Keeping Keller, by Tracy Winegar and The Reckoning, by Tanya Parker Mills. The Reckoning is about an American journalist imprisoned in Iraq. It’s intense and moving. I enjoyed both books, and both of them could have been historical fiction finalists, IMO. I don’t know which to go with, so I’m going to call it a draw for the purposes of this blog.

So, that’s my take on the Whitneys–but I’d like to hear your picks too. If you’ve read the books, you can post (anonymously if you’d like) and tell me whether you agree or disagree with my preferences, and which books you’d choose instead. And if you haven’t, do yourself a favor and pick up one of these from the library. Or even the bookstore…

Edit to add: P.S. I want to give a shoutout to Annette Lyon–without her help I never would have been able to find and finish all the books. Thank you, Annette!

Related posts:

1. Whitney 2010 Nominees and Almost-Nominees
2. LDS Storymakers, Whitney Awards, Monsters and Mormons
3. Mother in Me on Whitney Awards Auction

I’ve asked myself whether or not writing can be taught many times over the years. I asked it when I was an undergraduate English major and couldn’t figure out how in the world to get my pioneer novel off the ground. (It was called Exodus, my friends. I’m not kidding. And no, it never did arrive at the promised land.) I asked it when I started teaching high school English and wondered how in the world to grade the heartfelt and mostly terrible poems that landed in my assignment basket. I asked it when I enrolled in a graduate creative writing program, full of crippling self-doubt mixed with the tiniest flicker of hope that I might someday write a short story that came to some sort of satisfying conclusion instead of wandering off to curl up in a corner and die. And I asked it again when I was hired to teach creative writing to the bright and motivated students at Brigham Young University.

After all that asking, I still don’t have a satisfying answer to the question. But it makes me feel better that so many famous and experienced writers have a tough time with it too. (This article by Francine Prose in The Atlantic is a fascinating rumination on the topic.)

I’m not as smart as Francine Prose (obviously!), but I have come up with my own take on the question, one that clears it up a little, at least in my own mind. And so I ask you . . .

Can gymnastics be taught?

Oh, of course gymnastics can be taught, you say. Like me, you might have shelled out $40 a month for the express privilege of having gymnastics taught to your hyperactive five-year-old, mainly as a socially acceptable way to allow him to ricochet around a padded room. Like me, you might have shelled out that $40 a month for a year or two, but as it became apparent that your child was becoming more emotionally balanced but, regrettably, remained physically off-kilter, you decided your money might be better spent elsewhere. It seemed your seven-year-old was probably destined to grow up tall and lanky and (blame it on your husband’s genes, it’s okay) a little less than graceful. In short . . . not gymnastics material.

I have a friend whose child is an excellent gymnast. She has spent countless hours in the gym with a dedicated coach, perfecting her craft. For this little girl, gymnastics can and has been taught. But no amount of coaching would have turned my child into a gold medalist. Wasn’t. Gonna. Happen.

The trouble with writing is that identifying a person with a talent for it is much more elusive than in gymnastics. It’s easy to take one look at a gangly, clumsy kid and say, “Ummmm . . . nope. Not for you.” But writing can be trickier. First of all, we all do it at least sometimes. Even if it’s just an assignment for school or a yearly Christmas letter, most of us write. You don’t have to have money to write, or go buy special equipment, or take a class to learn any secret method. Most people who have a knack for writing just, well, do it.

A champion gymnast has a number of physical and emotional characteristics: a compact, muscular body; flexibility; grace; determination; a certain fearlessness. A person with those qualities then benefits from a dedicated coach. An effective poet or memoirist or novelist also possesses a certain set of qualities: a way with words; a keen eye; creativity; compassion (had to throw that in); and like the gymnast, determination and a certain fearlessness.

For a writer, though, a “coach” doesn’t have to be a living, breathing human being. One writer’s coach might have been Shakespeare, another’s might have been Virginia Woolf. For while it isn’t necessary for a writer to take a class or join a writer’s group (although it can be very helpful), it is absolutely imperative that a writer reads and reads and reads some more. Books are always a writer’s greatest teacher.

But here again, the question: Can creative writing be taught? And not by reading literature, but by a teacher in a classroom or a workshop or a writer’s group? And to that I offer a qualified yes. If you take a person who possesses some of the raw elementals (the way with words, the gift for observation, the creativity), I firmly believe a good teacher can take this person from one level to the next. In the writing classes I took, I learned about pacing, point of view, writing dialogue, how to construct a scene. Unlike some writers, I hadn’t quite picked up how to do those things well by reading alone, but when a good teacher sat me down and taught me . . . I learned. Will I ever be a writing genius? No. Some people (Marilynne Robinson, Michael Cunningham, Toni Morrison) are probably born with their astonishing talent, although I’m certain learning the fundamentals of their craft burnished that genius into a high sheen. But taking writing classes helped me evolve from a writer with a little bit of talent who mostly dabbled into a published author. I can’t deny it.

I know there are many of you who’d define yourselves in much the same way as I did: a writer with a little bit of talent who mostly dabbles. And although taking a class or reading a book about writing isn’t necessary for everyone, I think it’s helpful for the majority of those who want to improve. Can a poor writer become a good writer after taking a writing course? Probably not. Can a mediocre writer become a great writer? I wouldn’t count on it. Can a great writer morph into a genius? No. But I do believe a mediocre writer can become a good one, and a good one can become great.

So, if you’re mediocre angling for good, or good angling for great, I believe it’s worth a shot to see what you can learn about the craft. Join a writer’s group. Read a book about writing (I’ll provide a list at the end of this post). Take a class (for those of you in the SLC area, I’ll be teaching an intro to creative writing class at the BYU Salt Lake Center next semester, Thursday nights from 7:30-10:00, and you don’t have to be a matriculated BYU student to attend.) And always, always read great writers, and try to do it with a writer’s eye. Pay attention to what they’re doing and how they do it. That alone will teach you more than you think.

I’d love to hear what you all think about learning to write. (Especially those of you who disagree with me and think writing texts and classes often do more harm than good. William at A Motley Vision . . . that means you! And Orson Scott Card. Do you think there’s any way we can get Orson Scott Card to comment on Segullah?? ).

And here’s your list of books . . .

A Short List of Writing Texts:

Mostly Inspirational (with a little technical thrown in):

Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott
Writing Down the Bones and Wild Mind by Natalie Goldberg
On Writing by Stephen King

Mostly Technical (with a little inspirational thrown in):

Imaginative Writing by Janet Burroway
Writing Fiction by Janet Burroway
A Poetry Handbook by Mary Oliver
The Art of Fiction by John Gardner
On Writing Well by William K. Zinsser

And Just Plain Interesting:

Reading Like a Writer by Francine Prose
How Fiction Works by James Wood

Related posts:

1. I Write?
2. On gifts
3. So You Want to Get Published?

“This collection of 137 witty/sassy/sexy/crazy blog posts will convince even the crustiest of souls that Courtney Jane Kendrick delights in daily life. Even when she can’t ovulate, and Target is closed, and the pumpkin tarts are sold out at the bakery. Join c jane as she dazzles her way through infertility, pregnancy, and brand-new motherhood with a cast of characters that includes one husband, two parents, five brothers, three sisters, dozens of nieces and nephews, several dogs and celebrities, various disembodied voices, and a nicotine-addicted ghost thrown in just for fun. Because this is her one and only life. And GREAT GRAVY! She’s enjoying it.”

Compiled and edited by the staff of Segullah, with fabulous cover design by our very own Maralise, Enjoy It! is a work of love to benefit Stephanie Nielson. The book is a very hip square paperback that will be shipped 3-5 business days after you place your order.

Courtney hardly needs an introduction around here, but you may recall that she started her blog as a response to well-meaning people who told her to enjoy her years of being childless. And she did. As we read through the last three years of blog posts to choose the very best ones for YOU, we found ourselves giggling and crying at c jane’s unique brand of humor and pathos. She is truly one-of-a-kind.

I have no doubt that Courtney will go on to publish many books, but this is the first. And it’s for the best cause. Enjoy It!

Related posts:

1. Hope floats
2. Missed the party?
3. Hey, all you writers and bloggers out there, read this!

Yes, thank you. Thank you very much.

I have a number of excuses for my failure to get my butt in gear. First excuse: life. Kids, homework, church callings, actual paid work (70 freshman comp students last semester, give me strength), freelance editing, PTA, laundry, etc. etc. Second excuse: legitimate writer’s block. Writing is hard and, for me, beginning is the hardest part. Once I get going I have some momentum, but starting something new can be almost painfully difficult.

But it’s the third excuse that’s the topic of this post. It’s the Internet. When I started writing my first novel I had a lovely dial-up Internet connection. It took ten minutes to fire up the computer and log on, and forget the amount of time it took to download graphics. And even though I liked visiting a site or two, blogs weren’t anywhere on my radar screen then. Without the social element, the Internet was like an electronic newspaper, except it took four and a half minutes to turn a page. So when I sat down at my computer with an hour or two of quiet time, I wasn’t tempted to do much more than open Microsoft Word and get down to it.

That was then. This is now. My ancient Dell has been replaced by a zippy little MacBook, and that MacBook is a portal to all sorts of enticements. And so, okay, I’m not as disciplined as I should be. I think I’m going to sit down and do some good, hard work . . . but it’s so easy to click on Firefox (I’m just going to spend 10 minutes, I tell myself, and check a couple of things) and before I know it I’ve been sucked into the vortex.

Plus, now I have a blog, and even though I only post once a week or so, I spend a good chunk of writing time working on it. And then there’s all my friends’ and family members’ blogs, blogs I love to read and then feel I’ve gotta leave a pithy comment or two. I can’t forget the bloggernacle—Segullah being, of course, one of the best of that bunch—and if I’m not careful I can spend an hour and a half checking out what hundreds of smart, interesting people I’ve never met have to say on hundreds of smart, interesting topics I never knew I was actually interested in.

The trouble is, the time I spend perusing the Internet is valuable in many ways. I love the social connectedness I’ve found with old friends and new friends through blogging. I love the conversations that the bloggernacle enables. But I also know that I’m neither as organized nor as disciplined as I ought to be, and it’s just a lot more fun (and a heck of a lot easier) to cruise around blogland than it is to face the blinking cursor on the white and silent page.

So I’d love to hear from all of you. How do you balance your blog time with the other more arduous jobs you’re supposed to get done on your computer? This could range from school work (how many people in the bloggernacle are avoiding doing their dissertations? ) to work work (has your productivity suffered?) to creative work (see me raise my hand high in the air). And do you think the blogging explosion will have any lasting effect on writing as a genre? What if, instead of toiling silently, writing and revising an essay or a story or a poem, too many writers get pulled toward the instant gratification and social nature of blogging? Especially our younger writers. Is there a chance that instead of honing their skills in the traditional genres, they might instead focus solely on blogging? And would you even consider that a bad thing?

I know there are many skilled and dedicated bloggers here at Segullah. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Related posts:

1. Are you bored with blogs?
2. so much cooler online
3. To Blog Or Not To Blog, That Is The Question

.”. . . For the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.”

And after ruminating over how perfectly Eliot (a Victorian novelist born in 1819, a woman born with the name Mary Ann but who took the name George the ensure that her readers would take her seriously) encapsulated Emily’s ideas, I thought to myself, “Hooray!” Because I was already planning on writing a post about the “best books.” The novels that have reached across time and distance to teach us or lift us up or give us insight into a corner of the world about which we would otherwise know very little. The dog-eared novels with the scribbles in the margins and the underlined passages. The books that keep us up late into the night because they’re so . . . dang . . . good.

The way yesterday’s post brought Middlemarch to mind was an example of how “the best books” connect us. Mormon women living in the 21st century can read Eliot’s words and understand them and respond to them. Even learn from them. Of course, this is why we read.

We read to be entertained, but we also read to learn about ourselves and the world around us. I’ve mentioned in previous posts that some people (women especially?) feel guilty about taking time to read good books. Maybe it’s because when you read, you sit down–or even snuggle in bed with the covers up around you. Maybe it’s because reading necessitates a certain isolation, a shutting yourself away from the world. Maybe, for some, they’ve decided that they have so little time to read that they should dedicate that time solely to the reading of the scriptures (which is the most important reading we do, but it doesn’t mean that the other kind of reading isn’t necessary). So for those who feel that if they’re reading at all, they should be reading out of their triple combination with a highlighting pencil nearby, I offer the following gem from Brigham Young:

“‘Shall I sit down and read the Bible, the Book of Mormon, and the Book of Covenants all the time?’ says one. Yes, if you please, and when you have done, you may be nothing but a sectarian after all. It is your duty to study to know everything upon the face of the earth in addition to reading those books. We should not only study good, and its effects upon our race, but also evil, and its consequences.”

Ahh, I love that quote.

I’ve learned a lot about the world around me and the humans who inhabit it from reading good novels. I’ve learned spiritual lessons from books like Marilyn Robinson’s Gilead. For example, here’s a passage I underlined where the protagonist, a minister named John Ames, is pondering the story of Abraham and Hagar:

The story of Hagar and Ishmael came to mind while I was praying this morning, and I found a great assurance in it. The story says that it is not only the father of a child who cares for its life, who protects its mother, and it says that even if the mother can’t find a way to provide for it, or herself, provision will be made. At that level it is a story full of comfort. That is how life goes–we send our children into the wilderness. Some of them on the day they are born, it seems, for all the help we can give them. Some of them seem to be a kind of wilderness unto themselves. But there must be angels there, too, and springs of water. Even that wilderness, the very habitation of jackals, is the Lord’s. I need to bear this in mind. (pg 119)

Beautiful, no? Gilead is packed full of so many lovely passages–so many meaningful spiritual insights–just like that one.

And then there are the novels that have taught me about other people and other places I’ve never visited. I’ve learned about Afghanistan by reading Khaleed Hosseini’s Kite Runner and A Thousand Splendid Suns. I’ve learned about 19th century China from Snow Flower and the Secret Fan. Barbara Kingsolver’s Poisonwood Bible taught me more about the twentieth century politics of the African Congo than I ever expected to learn. Cold Mountain opened up an aspect of the Civil War I’d never before considered.

Then there are all the books that have taught me about myself. Morrison’s Beloved. Goldberg’s Bee Season. Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway. The list could go on, but I don’t want to hog all the good books. Because now I want to hear from you.

Which books are your “best books” and why? Give us a list or a quote or a reason. I’d love to hear the books that have taught you or changed you or simply made your world a more interesting place to live in.

(Oh, and a caveat: remember that some people have ideas about what is worthwhile that might not jive with your own. Just because a book is recommended here doesn’t mean it won’t contain some language or deal with difficult themes. If you check out any of these recommended titles, please do so at your own risk.)

Related posts:

1. What We Might Be Missing
2. I’ve Never Met a Vampire, But I Did Meet a Bully
3. The Years They Pass Like Summer Dew Upon the Grass

“I hear you are a poet,” she tells me. Her hand shakes, but her voice is strong.

A patriotic poem of mine had recently been published in some local newsletter for the Republican party. My grandma, her daughter, had submitted it. (My grandma still has it, framed, somewhere. And I, unfortunately, recall one of my scintillating couplets: “There’s President Reagan, that loyal man / And feeding the needy’s a wonderful plan!” Yes, yes, thank you very much.)

I am nervous about answering her. I had written some poems, yes, but I wasn’t a poet. At least not like my Great-grandma Jolley was a poet. I’d seen the leather-bound compilations of all her work. Those were the works of a poet. I was just a kid.

“I guess so,” I answer. “Maybe.”

“Don’t say ‘maybe’!” she admonishes me. “Say, ‘yes, I am a poet!’ It is nothing to be ashamed of.”

I remember being startled and embarrassed and strangely energized by the whole exchange. Embarrassed because I’d answered the question incorrectly, but energized because my great-grandma thought I was a poet, and wanted me to think of myself as one, too.

As an adult, I’ve read my great-grandmother’s personal history and have learned more about her. As a young woman, she longed for formal education, for books, for people with whom she could discuss interesting ideas. She secretly wished she could have been a school teacher. In the midst of having nine children, she worked full time as a postmistress and struggled off an on with illness. Her life was demanding and often difficult, but at the end of it all she felt grateful and complete. Her wisdom was hard won, and I’d like to share a little bit of it with all of you.

The following excerpt is from her personal history. There aren’t any dates, so I’m guessing from the surrounding information that she’s in her early twenties and is struggling with a bout of illness. She’s directed this particular entry to a friend who’s studying to be a teacher. (I don’t know if it’s a letter she saved, or if she copied it down in her journals). And even though it was written nearly a hundred years ago, and even though I’ve read it now many times, it never fails to resonate with me:

“It has been 18 months since I have been able to do much of anything. But there is never a loss without some small gain. I really have been blessed with time to read, and didn’t feel guilty as the doctor said I shouldn’t do anything. In my selfish heart I was almost glad, only I have been such a burden on the folks. But Jesse [her husband] has been so kind and mother and the girls so helpful.

“I have been ashamed of being so useless, but have enjoyed the wonderful privilege of living ‘in another world,’ or so it seemed. You see, I never realized how very ignorant I was until the Relief Society outlined literature classes for the women. This caused an awful uproar because the Church was teaching the women to read novels. Well, I was secretary at that time and one of the first projects was a debate on the lives of writers. We chose ‘Resolved that Hawthorne was a Greater Writer Than Whittier.’ I was to take the side of Hawthorne, and didn’t know whether he was a blacksmith or a policeman. It happened that the MIA had just . . . taken up a collection for a small library. I found a book by Hawthorne and some poems by Whittier. These were a revelation to me, and awoke such a desire for knowledge.

“A neighbor had moved back to Tropic and through some deal had a large number of books. She offered to let me read them all. I believed I knew what it was like to be a famished wandered at an oasis in the desert. I just devoured them, about two or more volumes a week. There was a set of E.P. Roe tales of New England that seemed like they were so real and inspiring; then a set of Jane Austens, which transported me to England among the upper class of wealthy people. This was so refreshing, so different, such a new phase of life.

“I read everything and was so thrilled to be enjoying myself so much. And oh, how I wanted to talk to someone and discuss the different ideas. I was so overwhelmed with the great poems; sometimes my soul feels so full of poetry that I am afraid it will spill over, even without ‘schooled language.’ I felt maybe I was absorbing some of the things you were getting in school. Of course, I’m not jealous of you, but all the while you were in Beaver, I have been sort of living with you, enjoying your success.”

A few things stand out to me in this excerpt from my great-grandmother’s life. First, I identify with her love of reading. I also identify with the guilt she carries around as a result of that love. Although I’m not a mother of nine born in the 19th century, I, too, have found myself buried in a book for hours on end, and when I finally come up for air, I’m (sometimes!) “ashamed of being so useless.” Compared to some of the women I know, though—women who used to like to read, once upon a time, but now feel too guilty doing anything that requires them to sit still—I’m an unabashed lazy-bones bookworm. How many women do you know (or are you one of them?) who only allows herself to read when she’s nursing a baby? Or on the elliptical trainer? Perhaps it’s because reading is so pleasurable. When we read, are we so “thrilled to be enjoying [ourselves] so much” that it’s hard to allow ourselves that joy very often? Are we so taken with the idea that every minute of our day should be spent in the pursuit of quantifiable outcomes like a shiny floor or a balanced checkbook—and that the pursuit should be hard, it should be work—that we revert back to the mentality of our hardworking ancestors, suspicious of anything easy and pleasant?

My great-grandmother also reminds me how good I have it. How much I should be grateful for. I’ve had access to an education. I have so many books that I’ve run out of places to put them. I’m part of a community of LDS women—smart, passionate, interesting, really fun women—who understand me and the way I think, so when I feel my own soul “so full of poetry I’m afraid it will spill over,” well, I have friends who have felt that way too. (Go Segullah!) I have all of this, and I get to be a mother and a wife and a member of the church. And even though I’m quite sure my great-grandmother wouldn’t have changed the course of her life after living it, I also realize that she probably looks down on me and thinks, “Don’t waste these opportunities. Don’t forget how much you’ve been blessed.”

So, in honor of my Great-grandmother Mary Leona, I’ll keep on writing and reading and talking and learning. I’ll try to remember how lucky I am to have shelves full of Austen and Whittier and Hawthorne (and Robinson and Morrison and Cunningham). I’ll take pleasure in the many opportunities I have to learn new things about the world, and to discuss these things with like-minded people who don’t judge me (much!) for my choices. And in the middle of the day, when my little guy’s napping, I’ll sit on the couch in the sun and read because it gives me joy and fills me up. And that’s nothing to be ashamed of.

Related posts:

1. Now Accepting Entries
2. Spirit of Elijah, party of four…
3. Grandma Big

I had those very thoughts myself, just a few years ago. I kinda sorta thought I could possibly write one or two things (perhaps) that somebody besides my husband might read. Maybe. If they wanted to. So I took some classes. Learned some stuff. Wrote some things. Sent them to some magazines. Got rejected. Revised them. Sent a few more things out. Won a contest! Holy crap! Sent a few more things out. Got rejected. Then a few more. Got accepted! And so on. Then, before I knew it, lo and behold, I was a writer. Huh! Whoda thunk it!?!?

So I decided to write this post about getting published for two reasons. One is because I’m impressed with the talent displayed on so many of your blogs. I know some folks are content with blogging and don’t want to do anything else–and blogging is a perfectly legitimate genre in its own right–but there are others who would like to branch out and try fiction or creative nonfiction and see if they could (maybe, perhaps) get published in an actual magazine someday. Or even write a book. I want to encourage those of you who fall into this category because–trust me!!!–if you have some talent (and you know it if you do), perhaps all you need is a little advice and encouragement. A benevolent kick in the pants. My pants were kicked repeatedly before I had the guts to submit anything I’d written, and maybe some of you are a little like me.

The other reason I wrote this post is because I’ve recently become one of the co-editors for Irreantum, the literary magazine of the Association for Mormon Letters. I’ve worked on Irreantum in a variety of capacities, from creative nonfiction editor to fiction editor to assistant editor, over the last few years. Now, as a co-editor with Scott Hatch, I will be overseeing one of the two issues put out annually and I want to encourage some of our promising new LDS writers to submit to the magazine. Irreantum has two contests coming up, a creative nonfiction contest and a fiction contest (see rules and info here). Both are great opportunities for new writers to get their work published.

Of course, I also want to encourage you to submit to Segullah‘s print magazine (see submission guidelines here). If you haven’t had an opportunity to see one of Segullah‘s beautiful print journals, subscribe and take a look. It’s a fantastic place to be published as well.

So, all that said, I’m finally getting to the point, which is: how in the world does a person’s manuscript get noticed among the pile of submissions a magazine receives? What should a writer do, or avoid doing, if she wants to get published?

I’ve been involved with a number of contests and taken a look at quite a few manuscripts-in-progress over the years. There are some common errors that beginning writers often make–errors that can get your manuscript tossed within the first couple of pages–and some important things more experienced writers do well that get their manuscripts noticed right off the bat. Most of you are probably aware of these things already. Even if you can’t name them, you read enough good writing to have an intrinsic sense of what works and what doesn’t in a piece of fiction. (And my experience is primarily in fiction, but a lot of this advice applies to creative nonfiction as well.) But sometimes it helps to have a nice little list, especially if you’re a list-lover like me. So here’s my list, for you:

(Oh, and a caveat: As with almost any artistic endeavor, rules are broken ALL THE TIME. That’s the great thing about art–you’re allowed to fiddle around. The only thing I ask is that you know you’re breaking a rule, and you know why you’re breaking it. If that’s the case, then by all means.)

1. Use interesting, visual, precise language. Too many beginning writers think that in order to get published they must “impress,” and in order to impress, they must use flowery language or complicated syntax. Bah, I say to that. And humbug! Your first and most important job as a writer is to serve your reader, but if you’re all caught up in dazzling people with your erudition, the only thing you’ll accomplish is coming off like a bloviating bore. Promise.

Verbosity is a problem for lots of beginning writers, though. I think it’s a phase almost every writer must pass through. In Gary Provost’s Make Your Words Work, he uses an example from one of his own early novels (one that never got published, and you’ll see why):

“So he stood torpidly on the pebbled border of the lifeless highway with his arm outstretched across the corroded asphalt and his thumb sought some sort of concession to his distress, and once again he found himself making nugatory conjectures.”

Great example of what not to do, no? And props to Gary Provost for outing himself for our own enlightenment.

2. Verbs are your true friends, the ones who stick with you and help you and make you feel good about yourself. Pay attention to them. Give them lots of loving care.

Take a simple verb like walk. Oh, the things you can do with such a verb! You can saunter, you can shuffle. You can stalk and scamper and skulk. And these are just synonyms starting with s! Take care that you don’t get overexcited and fall into the land of verbosity, though, and start using verbs like ambulate. “Walk” is boring. “Ambulate” is pompous and overdone. But “skulk” is interesting and visual and precise.

Adjectives and adverbs, on the other hand, are like those creepy evil girls from high school who pretended to be your friends—acting all easy to get along with and like the answer to your prayers—but the minute you turn your back, they stab you in it. Adverbs ending in ”“ly are the worst. Although every once in a while an ”“ly adverb might prove useful, be wary. We watchful. They’ll getcha.

Example: What’s better, “pulled angrily” or “yanked”? “Moved quickly” or “dashed”? See? Told you.

3. Master the use of significant detail. A book engages us on a sensory level by creating a world we recognize. Descriptive, sensory language that reproduces the sights or smells or sounds of a scene is what draws a reader in.

But here’s where things get tricky: a writer has got to know when to use those sensory details.

In Writing Fiction, Janet Burroway says, “No amount of concrete detail will move us unless it also implicitly suggests meaning and value.” You can’t simply tick off a list of your character’s physical characteristics and think you’re doing your job. Here’s an example of what NOT to do:

“She looked over at the man, who was handsome and blond and tall, maybe 6’2”. He wore a bright blue windbreaker, and his sunglasses hung on a string around his neck. She noticed that his fingernails were neatly trimmed and he looked like he worked out.”

Although some of those details are mildly interesting, they are not all necessary. First of all, what your character is doing and saying is usually much more revelatory than an exhaustive detailing of his physical characteristics. This isn’t to say that all physical description is bad—it’s not—but it’s best to give a few key bits of sensory information that convey the overall essence of the character and then let your reader’s imagination do the rest.

4. The above bad example also illuminates a “rule” I didn’t know existed until I read about it in a book—but once I learned it, I felt like I’d received a mini-revelation. It’s what John Gardner in The Art of Fiction calls “The failure to run straight at the image.” Amateur writers, he says, often engage in

“needless filtering of the image through some observing consciousness. The amateur writes: ‘Turning, she noticed two snakes fighting in among the rocks.’ Compare: ‘She turned. In among the rocks, two snakes were fighting.’ . . . Generally speaking, vividness urges that almost every occurrence of such phrases as ‘she noticed’ and ‘she saw’ be suppressed in favor of direct presentation of the thing seen.”

See how in the example for #3, the writer uses phrases like “She looked over at the man” and “She noticed”? This is the “observing consciousness” Garnder speaks of. You don’t need to do it. And if you rid your prose of it, it will be more direct and vivid and all around punchy.

5. Listen to your prose. Good writing has a musicality to it, and sometimes the only way you can “hear” your work is to read it aloud. I’m a big fan of reading work out loud, even if your kids wander by and think you’ve lost your marbles.

But be careful that in an effort to vary your word order, you don’t create convoluted or confusing sentence structure. And watch the tendency to rely on introductory phrases containing infinite verbs as a way to mix things up. (And don’t worry, most of us don’t know what an “infinite verb” is—I stole the terminology from John Garnder, myself, and I’m a certified English teacher—but I’ll give you an example).

“Wondering what became of their mother, Angela’s children proposed they search for her in the office.”

The first phrase in the sentence—“Wondering what became of their mother”—is the one containing the infinite verb. And while there’s nothing horrifyingly wrong with this sentence on its own, constructing sentences this way over and over can be a hallmark of a writer who isn’t quite certain how to spice up her sentence structure. I see it a lot in beginning fiction. And it bugs the heck out of me. I admit it might be a more personal pet peeve of mine, but I was gladdened to see that John Gardner doesn’t like it, either.

There are so many other important points to cover. Like “show, don’t tell.” And for heaven’s sake, pick a tense and stay in it! And don’t, under any circumstances, start a story with a person waking up in the morning and proceed to regale us with a scintillating account of what she had for breakfast. Figure out when your story starts and start there! Oh, and then there’s point of view. So tricky. If you start out in 3rd person limited, you can NOT decide to pop into the head of some random person on the bus and tell us what he’s thinking. Sorry. And dialogue must reveal character or move the plot forward somehow: readers don’t have the patience to sit and listen to your characters’ meaningless chatter. And if something’s important to your story, don’t summarize the action. Write a scene and put your reader in the middle of things.

And don’t preach. And find the humanity in your characters, even the baddies. And what’s your story about, anyway? Understand your own vision–the point of it all–and cut whatever doesn’t fit.

And the biggest biggie of all: only conflict is interesting. Something must be at stake. Your character must want something intensely and encounter obstacles.

I could go on and on, which is why, I guess, people write books about such things. But I’m not writing a book, I’m writing a blog post that’s way too long as it is. But I hope you’ve gotten something out of it, at least, and that I succeeded in kicking you in the pants instead of scaring you away.

I hope some of you decide to sit down and face that blinking cursor and write. And after you write, revise. And after your revise, submit. And after you get a rejection, revise again. And resubmit. And keep doing it until someday, you get that wonderful little email in your inbox that says, “Hey, you, we like you’re stuff. We want to publish it. You’re a writer.”

You know you want to. You know you can.

Related posts:

1. Announcing Segullah’s New Short Short Fiction Contest
2. I Write?
3. Can Creative Writing Be Taught?

Of course I said yes. And here is my promised recap.

Just a little background on the awards themselves. This is the first year for the Whitneys, and what a great first year it was. Sponsored by LDStorymakers, the awards started out as the brainchild of a few writer friends and then snowballed into this snazzy event with Wells heading things up. Due to significant contributions by sponsors– yourldsneighborhood.com in particular–the Whitneys were able to offer prizes ranging from $500 to $1000 for each award.

And far from being an awards program where friends get together and congratulate themselves (and I’d heard fears from some that this would be the case, since many of the authors involved in LDStorymakers are pretty tight), the Whitney committee instituted a rigorous selection process that worked to guarantee the best of the best was represented without the taint of favoritism. To be eligible for consideration, a book must have received at least five nominations from readers at the Whitney website, after which a panel of judges narrowed the nominations down to five per category. Finally, the finalists were voted upon by an academy of 285 industry professionals, including publishers, retailers, authors, bloggers, and critics. Then everybody got together to celebrate the winners at a fancy shinding which served as the capstone to the weekend-long LDStorymakers conference.

And here’s my take on the shindig itself:

Fanciness Level: Semi-formal. As far as wardrobe went, in my case, I decided to wear a simple black dress and the aforementioned sparkly earrings. Not too fancy, not too casual. But other people’s clothing ran the gamut from full-length sequined glamor gowns and tuxedos to nicely pressed black Levis.

And if I’m going to go all Joan Rivers on you, I’d say that Rachel Ann Nunes won the award for prettiest lady (she’s even prettier in person than her book jackets suggest, and she had on a really nice red dress), and Robison Wells in his tux won the award for snappiest guy (and I’m not just saying it because he gave me the free ticket.) And that’s as far as I’m going with the Joan Rivers thing–no worst dressed list, so sorry–because these are writers, folks, not movie stars. “Who are you wearing?” isn’t a question most writers ask when they get together. Although if they would have asked me, I could have said my shoes were Isaac Mizrahi. Okay, so Isaac Mizrahi for Target. On clearance. For $14.99. But he’s a designer so it counts!! My dress had been purchased at the high fashion boutique JC Penney, or “Penney’s,” for those of us on the inside.

Also, the tables at the Cottontree Inn in Sandy were decked out and the food was quite tasty. I did feel for the three young kids on the wait staff who had to dash from table to table, madly trying to take care of us all. But the chicken was moist and the cheesecake was creamy. And did I mention I didn’t have to make it? Or clean it up? Or pay for it?

Seeing and Being Seen: Although I was very firmly on the “seeing” side of things (probably no one even noticed my earrings, but that’s okay) there were lots of people being seen. The most well-known was probably Shannon Hale, who is not only talented and certifiably famous–she has the Newbery honor emblazoned on Princess Academy to prove it–but she is pretty and thin, which I must admit cemented my suspicion that life is not fair. Also, two famous Brandons were there, Brandon Mull, author of the hit Fablehaven, as well as Brandon Sanderson, an acclaimed science fiction/fantasy writer nominated for two books that night. It was great to see Dean Hughes, too, whose acceptance speech for his Lifetime Achievement Award was stirring and heartfelt and all-around inspiring.

The Awards Themselves: And after all the exhaustive reading and voting and tallying by lots and lots of peole, here are the winners. And I’ve included links to Amazon so you can buy them. BUY THEM! BUY THEM! Ultimately, the only way to support the best LDS writers is to buy their work. So here goes:

ROMANCE/WOMEN’S FICTION: Counting Stars, by Michele Holmes

MYSTERY/SUSPENSE: Sheep’s Clothing, by Josi S. Kilpack

YOUNG ADULT: Fablehaven 2: Rise of the Evening Star, by Brandon Mull

SPECULATIVE FICTION: Book of a Thousand Days, by Shannon Hale

HISTORICAL FICTION: Out of Jerusalem: Land of Inheritance, by Heather Moore

BEST BOOK BY A NEW AUTHOR: Dragon Slippers, by Jessica Day George

NOVEL OF THE YEAR: On the Road to Heaven, by Coke Newell

During the ceremony I was surprised to find that so many of these writers were funny. I mean, DANG funny. Most of the acceptance speeches were lots more entertaining and smart than what you’d hear on any given evening at the Golden Globes. (And no “You like me! You really like me!” moments.) My two personal favorites were Brandon Mull, who was so cute and self-effacing considering his substantial success (“I get so nervous during things like this and I think, ‘What am I doing? Why did I come here?’ But then I’m so glad that you guys don’t think I’m wasting my time. Writing about fairies and stuff. Shaming my father.’”) Trust me, it was funny.

Jessica Day George, the youngish first-time author of Dragon Slippers, was very winning as well. She’s a spunky and hilarious redhead who admitted she was thrilled to be nominated so she could get the chance to wear a prom dress she borrowed from her sister. In telling how the idea for her novel “downloaded into her head” one night when she was up with her non-sleeping baby, she said, “The first line just came to me and I knew I just had to write it, and I started to cry . . . because I was just SO TIRED!” (You’d think she’d be crying for joy, right? But any mom of little kids who’s trying to write will know where she’s coming from.)

And I’ve got to admit how wonderful it was to hear Coke Newell’s name read for novel of the year. Not only did it make absolutely clear that the Whitney process rewards all sorts of authors (we had winners who write for the national market, winners who write very faithful Deseret Book offerings, and winners like Coke who write earthier fare), but it gave me hope that books from Zarahemla and Parables and other smaller publishers might someday get shelf space in Deseret Book and Seagull stores. For a very interesting discussion on what Coke Newell’s win means for LDS lit, see A Motley Vision’s take on the evening.

So I could say more, but I’ll end with this. There are lots of talented, passionate, interesting Mormon writers out there, writing both within the LDS market and outside it. And I’m so grateful that a handful of hardworking people decided to dedicate probably thousands of hours–and lots of their own dollars, I’d wager–to provide this forum to celebrate these writers, as well as to introduce them to the rest of us. I know that many readers here at Segullah say they don’t read literature written by Mormon authors. One of the reasons they don’t is because they don’t trust it and they don’t know where to begin. Our book buying dollars are precious, and we don’t want to spend them on just anything, especially if we’re afraid that “anything” might leave us disappointed. But, hopefully, the Whitneys will allow some of us a starting place to find the best of the best that our culture has to offer.

I ordered Dragon Slippers yesterday. I’m looking forward to diving in.

Related posts:

1. Award Season
2. Whitney 2010 Nominees and Almost-Nominees
3. LDS Storymakers, Whitney Awards, Monsters and Mormons

AML awards were given in the following categories for any work by, for, or about Mormons:

The Award for the Novel: On the Road to Heaven, by Coke Newell. Honorable Mentions went to Before the Dawn by Dean Hughes and The Well of Ascension by Brandon Sanderson.

Young Adult Novel: This Is What I Did by Ann Dee Ellis. Honorable Mentions went to The Princess and the Hound by Mettie Ivie Harrison and Alcatraz Versus the Evil Librarians by Brandon Sanderson.

Short Fiction: “Clothing Esther,” by Lisa Torcasso Downing, published in Sunstone. Honorable Mention went to “Light of the New Day” by Darrin Cozzens, published in Irreantum.

Criticism Award: People of Paradox by Terryl Givens.

Film Award: The Mormons, produced and directed by Helen Whitney.

Drama Award: Facing East by Carol Lynn Pearson

Biography Award: An Advocate for Women: The Public Life of Emmeline B. Wells 1870-1920 by Carol Cornwall Madsen.

Special Award: Segullah. Whoop, whoop! And I can whoop without feeling conceited, because I’ve had very little to do with Segullah until recently. I’m just whooping for my amazing sister friends.

Special Award: BYU Studies Issue 46:2, 2007, Mormons and Film, edited by Gideon Burton and Randy Astle.

Award for Outstanding Achievement in Mormon Literature/Contribution to Mormon Literature: Mystery writer Anne Perry.

Marilyn Brown Unpublished Novel Award: Rift, by Todd Robert Peterson. It was announced that night that Rift is soon to be published by Zarahemla. (If you’re interested in the kind of work Peterson writes, check out his recently published collection, Long After Dark. Beautiful language, and a really interesting read.)

I had the opportunity to listen to many of these winners read on the night of the AML conference, and what a fabulous mix of talent and intelligence was on display. It made me very excited about our future.

Now on to the Whitneys. These awards are given for novel-length works of fiction and cover multiple genres. The writer must be LDS, but the book can be for an LDS or national market. Since the list of Whitney nominees is rather extensive–and since the winners won’t be announced until this weekend–I thought that I would give you a link to the Whitney page so you can check out the nominees yourself. (And Whitney people, what a beautiful site you’ve made! It’s gorgeous, really.) Please check out any of these books that pique your interest.

So here’s my request. First, I want to ask those of you who have read any of the the AML winners or Whitney nominees: what are your thoughts on these titles? Is this a good representation of the best of the year, in your opinion? What, for you, was the best of the best? And was anything left out?

Then, finally, I want to extend an open invitation to any of the authors represented above to come and post. Tell us a little about your book. Link us to your website, if you have one. If my purpose in this monthly post is to promote good LDS lit . . . let’s promote it, baby!

And good luck to all the Whitney nominees. I just found out that I’m going to be there in a “blog reporting” capacity for the awards, so hopefully I’ll be able to meet some of these authors. I’ll fill in Segullah readers on the details of the evening next Thursday. (And I hear it’s going to be kinda fancy. A fancy evening! What fun . . .)

Related posts:

1. Mother in Me on Whitney Awards Auction
2. LDS Storymakers, Whitney Awards, Monsters and Mormons
3. Whitney 2010 Nominees and Almost-Nominees