Novel hypnosis

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I finished reading Room by Emma Donoghue last night. I can't recall a reading experience so intense: I didn't move—literally—for two and a half hours, not until I'd come to the end. And then I stumbled around for a bit, stunned.


The novel is told from the point-of-view of a five-year-old. I've read in an interview that Emma Donoghue studied the language patterns of her own five-year-old child to create the voice for this story. She profoundly succeeds, but what is her true accomplishment, in my view, is her ability to see (or appear to see) from the point-of-view of a child—a child born and raised in captivity.


Room has garnered a bouquet of raves from fine writers, such as this one from Michael Cunningham, author of The Hours: 

"Room is that rarest of entities, an entirely original work of art. I mean it as the highest possible praise when I tell you that I can't compare it to any other book. Suffice to say that it's potent, darkly beautiful, and revelatory." 

I agree. It is also charming, as well as enchanting.

As a writer, it reinforced, for me, the importance of the imagination, of imaginative penetration into the world of ones characters. The first enchantment must be the author's own.


*****
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Net Marketing for Luddites: Part 1

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I always knew my good friend George Whiteman was talented: his paintings are amazing; his CV includes album cover designs for the (now) classically famous. But now he has published a memoir (the first in a trilogy) — The Perennial Freshman — and it turns out he's also an amazing writer.

But now that he has a book out, he needs to know how to promote it. He's never seen a Facebook page, thinks Twitter is what birds do, and doesn't know what a blog is. Where to begin?

First, I would say: the old-fashioned way, by pitching his book face-to-face with bookstores. No successful author hasn't set out on that humiliating road without a box of books in the trunk of their car (John Grisham, Margaret Atwood ... ). Independent bookstores are best (although harder to find). Put together a flyer on the book so that you have something to leave with the clerk and make a dignified exit. (The book has rave Amazon reviews, so he should be sure to quote them in the flyer.)

He should give readings: it's good practice, even to an audience of two (his wife and the bored store clerk). This, too, is part of every writer's experience. If he is in a particular area, his publicist should be able to contact bookstores and set it up. Remember, with readings, it's about practice performing, and about having something to hang promotion on — a reason to put up posters and contact local media, etc. It's not about turn-out (but nice when it happens).

One idea is to film these readings, edit them and put out a short clip on YouTube. George is a natural comic, and this could be a home-run way for him to find his audience. Heck, splice in hecklers and a laugh track!

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An excellent book on the practical side of from-the-ground-up promotion is How to Become a Famous Writer Before You're Dead: Your Words in Print and Your Name in Lights, by Ariel Gore. She also discusses putting together a book tour, which many authors do, although the trend now is toward a "blog tour" (more on that later).

Next up: Net Marketing for Luddites: Part 2 (Cracking the Social Net). Watch this space.

*****

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Mothers and daughters at readings

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I had a reading in the beautiful rural Ontario town of Uxbridge yesterday afternoon, as part of the Blue Heron Books "Books & Brunch" reading series. Shelley Macbeth of the bookstore did an outstanding job (yay, Indies!). My on-stage interview after the reading by Susanna Kearsley was very enjoyable. Her questions were interesting — in large part, I think, because she's an historical author herself. (See her books here.)

I heard some wonderful stories from fans. One woman told me that her husband threatened divorce if she read another book by "that Josephine woman" (because she disappeared into the books). Another young woman told me her boyfriend had the same complaint. One woman said she reread Josephine once a month!

There were a number of mother/daughter couples in attendance. Below, Kathryn and Emma, Teri and Margaret, and Judy and Eleanor. (My apologies if I do not have the names in the right order.)



Kathryn (top left) had a full set of the hard-cover first editions of the Trilogy -- very hard to find now. She'd gone to some trouble to find them and had them beautifully protected in plastic covers. I love those first books, and I get quite emotional seeing them all in a set like that and so clearly dearly loved.

What I've learned about giving readings

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I was pleased with how my reading went last night (a worthy and well-run charity event to benefit world literacy). I think I've evolved a good system over the years, which is:

I type everything out — even the introduction, the jokey asides, and the passages from the book I'm reading from. I break most all of it into sentences (no long blocks of paragraphs). I print it out in large (16 pt.), bold type.
I read it out loud several times over, editing out any difficult words that make me stumble, and revising the book passages as well.

When it's smooth, and clocks under the time allotted, I print it out and put it in a binder. I turn all the corners so that the pages turn easily. (This is important: having to lick a finger to turn a page would not be attractive on stage.) I underline or circle the words that still might catch me, words I'll need to approach with care.

On the day of the reading, I try to read it through three times (although this isn't always possible), and at least once in front of a mirror.

At the mike, after all this, I feel prepared. I don't have to fiddle with reading glasses because the type is large. I don't have to balance a book and fumble through the pages finding the passages. I don't have to squint to read my penciled-in edits. The binder falls flat, so it lies nicely on a podium, but I could hold it in my hands if needed.

The only problem is that often the big, black mike is positioned above the page and it's a little tricky to see the words. Juggling this makes me grateful for the time I spent in preparation.

One problem I foresee in the future is climbing and descending the sometimes rather steep (and often rickety) stairs, which of course never have railings. But that's long into the future. I will count myself fortunate to still be giving readings by the time that might be a problem.

On Giving Readings

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I so enjoyed my PEN reading last night — and everyone else seemed to, as well. I don't know the count, but the theatre was almost full, so my guess is about 150, perhaps more — which is excellent.

This time I followed some of the advice given in one of the workshops I had taken at the SMA Writers' Conference this last weekend. The workshop was on giving readings, by Terrence Hill, author of the delightful "Two Guys Read..." series, and a fabulous presenter himself.

His wisdoms:

It's not a reading, it's a performance.

Wear something odd, or come in costume.

Know exactly what you're going to read.

Select your reading based on the audience.

Select readings that form a story.

Offer to write your introduction.

Rehearse, rehearse, rehearse.

Time your presentation.

Arrange for someone to ask the first question, in order to break the ice at the beginning of the question and answer period.

Arrive early and see what's missing. Check the room and the equipment.

Show your book to the audience, but don't read from it. Read from an edited print-out.

Write out everything, even the asides.

End early.

Prepare a closing: "Thank you for listening.

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I very much like Terrence's approach. In many ways, I've been doing much of it already; he confirmed that I was on the right track. I much preferred reading from copy in 16-point type than from a marked-up book, which can be difficult to handle.

One thing I used for the first time was a spring-loaded notebook, a gift from the wonderful writer, Merilyn Simonds. Instead of a scramble of loose sheets or cards, this time I had this elegant portfolio that lay beautifully flat on the podium. It has become essential to me now. I highly recommend it.

On waking

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This morning the five scenes seemed like quite a lot. Perhaps it isn't a modest aim at all.

I woke thinking I should give thought to my "archives" — a lofty term for the boxes of papers in my basement. Might a library take them on? Now — in that between-novels stage — would be the time to at least inquire. Of course I expect rejection. One, I'm not a lit star, and two, I imagine that the days of libraries having much money for this type of thing might be over.

I must also finish preparing for my reading in Eganville tomorrow night. Yesterday I steamed my gown, and organized my props (wig, poke, bumroll). Today I will transfer the edits from my U.S. reading copy to my Canadian edition. I thought of simply changing the covers, but the Canadian is slightly larger. I might read from the U.S. edition, but without the cover. Or with the cover, and talk about the two designs. It's a wonder I get anything done at all with all this dithering.

I'll type and print out my talk onto cards: the ones I used throughout the US are now scribbled over. Too, I want to say something special. I've done this countless times by now, but in the three weeks since my last one in California, I feel I've never given a reading before. Too, a presentation before friends and neighbours is always more stressful than one before strangers.

It's also time to give thought, shape and title — that's the hardest part — to my talk for PEN in San Miguel de Allende next spring. I'm glad that they are so well-organized, that they are working on promotion so far in advance, but it's certainly far, far from my thoughts right now. I've set an end-of-month deadline for myself.