I always wanted to be a “real” author.  Long before I knew how to spell “synopsis” or understood the need for a rock solid query, I imagined stroking the cover of a book I’d written myself.

Now that I’ve stroked not just one but two of my own books, I understand there is more to being a “real” author than just writing a good story.  In order to give our creations the best possible chance at success, we also have to market and sell our work.  And apparently that concerns my subconscious, since last night it added a new anxiety dream to my repertoire.

Almost six years after the Olympics, I still have a recurring nightmare.  I’m at some distant regatta packing for a flight home that leaves in an hour, and not everything will fit into my luggage.  As I stuff and repack and turn to find yet another pile of clothes on the floor behind me, I know I’m Going To Miss My Flight.  Of course, my teammates are ready and waiting for me… and I HATE to be waited for.

It’s always a relief when I wake up.

Last night, I had a completely new anxiety dream. I’m having a glass of wine with a woman I barely know (and after last night, I’m not interested in getting to know her any better).  We suddenly realize I am ten minutes late for my booksigning that started at 5pm, the reason I’d come to town in the first place.  So we hop in her car and race off.  Since she’s the local, I figure she knows where she’s going… until we end up on the wrong side of town.

“Oh, it’s at that OTHER bookstore!” she says, and we speed off again.

One way streets.  Cars and pedestrians blocking the road.  Everything conspires against our getting where we need to go, even though it’s “just a few blocks away.”

By the time we finally arrive at the (other) bookstore, it’s 8:30pm.  Worst of all, I don’t even have a decent excuse. (“We were having a glass of wine and lost track of time” certainly doesn’t sound very professional.) I stroll into the empty store, determined to make the best of a very bad and quite self-induced situation.

“Sorry I’m so late,” I say.  “How many books did we sell?”

“Fifteen and a half,” the owner replies.

(Why my subconscious thinks you can sell half a book, I’ll never know.)

It gets worse.  The bookstore owner leads me to the back of the store where the last buyer is waiting patiently—and remember, I HATE to be waited for.  It’s a boy who can’t read, and he asks me to chisel my signature in the book cover, as if it were a piece of wood.

I want to reward the kid for being so patient, so I struggle with the completely inappropriate tool and hope I don’t cut myself.

Then I wake up.

Now I’m sure a psychiatrist would have a different interpretation, but to me this dream screams “real author.”  I’m no longer sleep-worrying about catching planes home from regattas, like an Olympic sailor; instead I’m worrying about book signings—forgetting to go to one, and dealing with an awkward situation when I finally remember.  I’m surprised my subconscious didn’t work in an aspiring writer who holds up the line to complain about how hard it is to get published.

My old anxiety dream had nothing to do with sailing, and this new dream has nothing to do with writing.  Maybe that’s because the writing is the easy part of being an author?

Anyway, I’m going to take this nightmare as a positive sign. I’m also going to take a nap this afternoon… and probably skip the glass of wine before tonight’s signing.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about success. Not the standard question, “how can I be more successful?”  (which is usually just a tasteful coverup for “how can I make more money?”)

My question is completely different: Have I already succeeded, and just failed to notice?

From 2000-2004, one very specific goal defined success for me – winning the US Olympic Trials.  With that ultimate date and location in mind, my team made a detailed list of  improvements to focus on day to day during our years of preparation: Improve Boatspeed.  Perfect our boathandling.  Sail better tomorrow than we did today.

We won the Trials, and went on to win two races at the Olympics in Athens.  Yes of course, it would’ve been even better to win a medal… but I digress.

The whole setup was ideal for a results-oriented athlete.  We defined a specific goal, achieved it, and -  bingo!  I’m an Olympian.  I felt like I’d just passed a signpost spelling out in a blaring display font:  “Carol Cronin has just reached a pinnacle of athletic success.”

Four years later, I checked off another box on my life’s list of achievements by publishing a book. “Oliver’s Surprise” has been very well-received by young (and not so young) adult readers around the world.  The book has taken me into classrooms full of kids and into bookstores full of adults who’ve all come to know me through my work.  I’m sure the sequel, “Cape Cod Surprise,” due out this July, will take me on an even more exciting ride.

Recently, I was even recognized by Redroom as a “rising star.”

All of this is just fantastic.  Yet none of it feels like a signpost spelling out in a blaring display font: “Carol Newman Cronin has just reached a pinnacle of authorly success.”

As writers, we each define our own goals. (Susan Kushner Resnick wrote a great post on this on Beyond the Margins.)  For some, producing great writing is enough; others want that great writing validated by publication; a few achieve bestseller status and make a living as authors.

So I’m the only one who can say what the writer-equivalent is for me of that winner-take-all Trials.

And that’s what the results-oriented athlete still living within this writer’s body finds so difficult.  My eyes dart around me, ahead and behind, looking for that signpost.

I used to think my ultimate goal was publication, and that did feel like a great accomplishment.  But then I began sharing my story with readers.  Those readers then taught me something new, and that new idea grew into the inspiration for another book.  And now a previously unimagined sequel is almost complete.

Don’t get me wrong – I’ve joyfully celebrated every step of Oliver’s progress, from idea to writing to editing to publication, and yes even to marketing.  As I will celebrate and enjoy each and every step of the sequel.

But I’m still looking for that signpost.

What’s your signpost of success?

Hurry—only three shopping days left to find those final presents for family, friends, and the postman! Looking for that WOW gift, the one guaranteed to entertain long after the wrapping is forgotten, that still fits into your budget and under the tree?

Well look no further.  Join me in making 2009 the Christmas of Books.

Over the past year I’ve spent a lot of time in bookstores, primarily for signings, but also for a few luxurious hours of selfish browsing.  I love the illusive scent of reading—paper, ink and imagination all bound together in a unique bundle of comfort and joy.  What could be a better gift?

Fortunately, everyone in my family reads.  So I’m not just giving what I would like to receive, I’m sharing the wealth.  Having unread books on the bedside shelf is like having money in the bank—pure potential.

The postman?  I’ve never asked if he likes books.  All I know is he rides a Harley.

I’ve met some great authors this year, so I’m also playing literary matchmaker.  Chris Abouzeid’s “Anatopsis,” a young adult fantasy, will go to nephews and nieces.  My publisher GemmaMedia just came out with a lovely memoir called “Yarn,” which I’m hoping my ever-knitting mother will enjoy.  My youngest niece (the only one still enjoying colorful illustrations) will get to test her rhyming and multiplication skills with “Math Attack.”  (It’s even autographed, since I shared a table with author Joan Horton at a recent booksigning.)  And two of my favorite men will unwrap—hopefully simultaneously—“Spanish Castle to White Night,” a coffee table book about racing sailboats around the world with excellent text by Mark Chisnell.

Of course, picking out books for others can be a challenge, like trying to imagine what one of my characters would have for breakfast—except that these folks all talk back.  But it’s so much more personal than a gift card.  And there’s nothing more satisfying than introducing someone to just the right story.

Books as presents also have a valuable fringe benefit.  By spending my gift dollars at the independent bookstores that have helped to support me this year, I’m rewarding people in the book industry who still think of books as companions—not just as a part of their bottom line.

As for the postman, I think he’ll get a copy of my own book, “Oliver’s Surprise.”  Maybe I’ll spot him on his Harley next spring, sneaking a peak downward to read about a boy, a schooner, and a bump on the head.

Last week, a really nice article appeared in the New London Day, about–of all things–me.  Back in the late nineteen hundreds I used to read the Day on an, ahem, “Daily” basis, as a student at Connecticut College.  So the story seemed somehow more significant than the others that have appeared in newspapers around the country.

The hook was last Saturday’s book signing at the Mystic Seaport bookstore.  Even after so many events this year (and a few in 2008), an invitation to the Seaport is a special honor.

Better yet, the article (entitled “Sailing into a Writing Career”) also cleared up a dilemma.  At book signings, the question from readers and fans that I struggle with the most is this: “How did you go from Olympic sailing to writing fiction?”  Whether they’ve come to meet the author of a story about a twelve year old and the Great Hurricane of 1938 or a 21st century Olympian, the juxtaposition of the two – in the same body – is confusing, even to me.  Someday I’ll write a book about going to the 2004 Games, but one thing’s for sure–Oliver’s Surprise ain’t it.

Thanks to journalist Kristina Dorsey (who has never met me), now I have the link between Olympic sailing and writing fiction: Self-motivation.

As I told Kristina on the phone, “Nobody is making me sit down to write fiction that may or may not be published.”  And nobody forced me to buy three boats, fundraise, find sponsorship and teammates, and go on the road 200 days a year for a very un-guaranteed reward.  Success at the top end of my chosen sport requires a great deal of personal sticktoitiveness, and I sure can’t justify it from the financial end.

Hmm, that sounds a lot like fiction writing.

Many of us put a lot of time and effort into things for which we don’t get paid.  Or at least, we don’t get paid ENOUGH to financially justify all that time and effort.  Most people call these things “hobbies.”  For better or worse, I’ve now taken two “hobbies” far beyond the usual scope of the word –and found success in both.  As one of my Jamestown acquaintances told me a year ago,  “It’s not fair that you got to go to the Olympics and now you’ve gotten a book published too!”  The least I could’ve done, she seemed to be suggesting, was get something published ABOUT my Olympic experience.  I’ve often thought that would’ve been easier; an obvious leap from sailing to writing.

How nice, then, to have a random reporter figure out that it’s the same aspect of my personality driving both forms of success.  Olympic sailing and fiction writing require the same thing:  A dogged devotion to craft that has nothing to do with making money, one that probably couldn’t survive within a (potentially more lucrative) 9 to 5 mentality.

I spent three hours at Mystic Seaport last Saturday, handing out bookmarks and chatting with visitors from all walks of life.  I sold twice the number of books expected and spoke with close to a hundred people–by far my biggest and best signing yet.  And even though I was wearing my booksigning uniform (the Team 2004 podium jacket), only two people asked about the Olympics–one because she’d read the newspaper article.  In that setting, I was simply the author of the book lying on the table between us.

Now that I finally have an answer to the question, are people going to stop asking?

Read the Day article

I’ve recently taken on two new office assistants. Ben is the white collar guy, while Jerry’s partial to stripes. They live with our neighbors, but they like to help me out during the day.

As you can see, the two working together provide great inspiration: Go Take A Nap. And when the words aren’t cooperating, I hardly need any more encouragement in that direction.

When the writing flows easily, effortlessly, I don’t even remember they are sleeping right beside my desk – until one stretches, yawns, and pushes harder against his brother.  I’m off in another world, turning storms into sunshine and sailing schooners on the high seas.  It would take more than a sleeping cat or two to distract me, cute as they are… when the writing flows easily.

Which brings me (finally) to my title question. I recently finished a rough draft of the sequel to Oliver’s Surprise, though “finished” seems like a very inappropriate word.  As only my fellow fiction writers will appreciate, now the hardest work begins. Because the story isn’t a story yet, even though it has (almost, mostly) completed its first major transition: from imagination to words.

Say you want to create a sculpture of two sleeping cats.  Starting with a large block of stone, you chip away until paws and ears and tails appear.  As you work, you try to bring out the softness of the fur and the fine texture of the whiskers, distinguishing to the best of your sculpting ability between orange stripes and an all-white belly.  The subtleties are an enormous challenge when working in stone, which is neither soft, nor fine in texture, nor color-sensitive.  But those same subtleties are what will bring your sculpture to life.

To create a story, writers must first build that initial block.  Instead of stone, we heap words on top of each other, lots of words – until we have a squared-off approximation of a beginning, middle, and end.  Only then can we start chipping away, using the writerly equivalent of a set of sharp chisels to sculpt out the story.

Hence the term, “rough draft.”

The only way for me to find the story hiding in the rough is to cuddle up with my unfinished sculpture, picking away at a word here, or there… until, aha!  A whisker appears.

It’s slow work, and there’s little to show for my efforts; while writing the rough draft, at least I was increasing my word count. Now, in this editorial chiseling phase, I usually end up with fewer words at the end of the day.

And yet it’s immensely satisfying, because this phase brings the story to life.  Look!  I think I see an ear.  White-tipped, with tufts of orange fur inside…

It’s so easy to think a story is finished when it first begins to take shape, but there’s still a lot more work ahead.

The best stories, the ones we remember, are constructed from a careful set of details that can only be laced together (in the right order, using the right words) once the writer figures out the big picture.

A chicken and egg question: is the story built from the details, or do details emerge from the story?  It might be different for other writers; for me I do best when I focus on the little pieces, trusting that an overall shape and texture will eventually appear.

Fortunately, we writers (unlike our friend the sculptor) can move sections around or even tack on a whole new piece when we realize something’s missing.  Perhaps we think we’re writing a story about one cat, and as we chip away we realize there’s another one lurking in the shadows.  A few carefully chosen words, et voila!  Double the felines, double the fun.

And, look, over there; hiding behind all those soon to be chipped-away adverbs – could that be a curled-up tail I see?

The Writer builds the story...

One of the most challenging aspects of being a writer, especially in today’s world,  is that we must wear at least three hats. First we don our Writer cap (a hard hat, of course) and construct a story that is original or funny or touching or, even better, all of the above.

...the Editor Within makes it better...

Once the creative side is complete (and only the Writer knows when that is), we unleash the Editor Within (EW).  Somehow I am picturing red and white Dr. Seuss stripes for EW’s hat: she’s so annoying, but she’s the only one who can finish the job, editing and forming and molding the first draft into a perfect collection of words.  Editing does for writing what an old friend says ketchup does for food:  It makes the bad stuff good and the good stuff better.  And it  is the only way to actually communicate the real story to someone who didn’t write it.

On the best days, the Writer and the EW work hand in hand and the story develops into something different, better than anything the Writer could have come up with on her own.   It wasn’t until I was deep into editing Oliver’s Surprise that I discovered the story wasn’t about a boy and his skiff (as I’d originally thought); it was about a boy and a schooner.  Only my EW could’ve figured that out.

Most of the time, the Writer wants to muzzle the Editor Within and lock her up in the attic.  It’s probably mutual.

The last hat we must all wear is that of Marketing Director. (This is the fashionable one of the group who actually looks great in hats, partly because they are perched on top of perfectly quaffed hair above a thin, elegant neck.)

...and the Marketing Director sends it out into the world.

All of us who are serious about writing, even if we’re living quite contentedly under a rock, must find a way to get our stories Out There and share them with the real world.  Selling stories is a completely different skill set from writing them, and it’s the last thing we thought we’d have to do when we set out to be writers. But it’s also one of the most important differences between writing for fun and writing as a career.

Literary Agent Rachelle Gardner has written an excellent blog post on Why You Should Help Sell Your Book.

Because these three skills are so different, it’s important to only wear one hat at any given time.  Otherwise the skills required by one will bleed into the other, and none of it will get done well.

As different as Doctor, Lawyer, Indian Chief, and we must do them all equally well.  How do you make the transition between the three hats?

“Write with the door closed, rewrite with the door open.” Stephen King, “On Writing”

It’s been a busy year since “Oliver’s Surprise” went to press.  Book signings, visits to book stores, meetings with the publisher, author blogs.  Best of all has been talking with so many kids and adults who’ve taken Oliver into their imaginations. He’s brought smiles to faces on near and distant shores, and I’m sure that will continue with the second edition.

Now, after a full year of revising, designing, marketing, and of course selling books, it’s back to writing: I’m working on a sequel.  On mornings when the sunshine and perfect temps are calling me to join them outside, I’m sitting down at my desk and trying to figure out What Happens Next.  Some days it’s worth the sacrifice, and the story line flows through my fingers onto the screen.  Some days I check my email way too often.  On the worst days, I give up before lunch and write a blog post instead.  One way or another, I’ll get this next story written.

What I’m learning is that after such an exciting period of diving into the nuts and bolts to get my book Out There, it’s simply impossible to rewind and write from that innocent place that created the first Oliver.  That’s even more the case since the first book wasn’t originally written to be published.

For that and many other reasons, the next book will be different.

I’m often disappointed by sequels.  I go looking for more about my favorite character, only to find s/he has moved or grown up or changed too much to be recognizable.  And yet I wouldn’t want to read exactly the same story all over again; that would be too much like a  “formula” book.  I always have the feeling that formula authors start with a plot outline  and just fill in the blanks next to the characters’ names.  Lucrative, for sure, since publishers are always looking for more than one book.  But that’s not what I’m after.

What I’m after is to write a BETTER book.  More depth, more details, more drama.  All that without (hopefully) ruining the quiet charm that so many liked about the original.  And the only way to do that is to close the door and just write, trusting the characters to show me the way forward.

So for the next few weeks or months I’m going to close the door, maybe setting a brick or two on the floor to keep it shut.  I’ll muzzle the editor within.  Send  the marketing director to an island resort with a faulty internet connection.  I’ll write what comes to mind, without thinking about how it fits into the creative arc or who’s going to buy this crap.  It’s the only way for me to figure out What Happens Next.

And for now, I’m keeping mum about any and all story details.  I have a direction and a plan, but I’m not completely sure yet what will come of it.  Only this morning, Oliver threw me another curve ball. We’ll get there, together, with him leading me most of the time.  Then and only then will I start editing, and find out what I really meant to say.

What is it that you like or don’t like about sequels?  How closely should they follow the original story?  Let me know what you think, and maybe your comments will spur my creative process.

 
As reviewer Gary Jobson says, there’s nothing like the arrival of your own book: the most concrete representation we writers will ever get that the hard work was worth it.

The new edition is beautiful. I thought the first edition was nice.. and it was, according to all of you who bought it and devoured it. But this version adds a history of coasting schooners, for the education and enjoyment of all and to help out the many the teachers who want to bring the book into their classrooms.

The added section increases the heft of the book, making it physically more satisfying to hold. And thanks to the input from publisher GemmaMedia, we also did a few tweaks to the cover that make it even nicer.

It’s also satisfying to see the list of “blurbs” we received. Notable author James L. Nelson says the book “is about as much fun as you can have without actually being on a boat!” What a treat to open it and find “praise pages” inside. Thanks to the publisher, it’s one very professional package.

For those of you who are already Oliver fans, don’t worry: the story hasn’t changed. But this new version does include a teaser about the sequel, coming in 2010…