Whispering Pines behind me, I prepare to journey to the land of revision. My coffee cup refilled, I escape to my writing room with the dog and a cat, or two. (If I don’t extend an invitation to the pets in the beginning, I will have to endure the sound of paws traipsing up and down the hallway, after which, tapping and scratching on the door will commence.)
Once my furry family members settle into their usual spots, I close the door to the world behind me and slip to the place where doors do not exist, where the open sky welcomes me, as do the surrounding pine trees. While this place is not in my writing room, it is in my mind, my memories. This world sits in my heart where I can tap into it, and so, I do. Eyes shut, I drift to where I need to be, alone in my mind with my story.
I picture myself sitting on a pile of dry needles, leaning against a tree trunk, surrounded by my WIP characters. Speckles of sunlight dance in the grass as clouds roll through the sky. Two squirrels chase each other across the lawn, up a tree, and then back down again. In my mind, I yearn to pick up my camera and take pictures or go on a walk with my characters. Anything but, dissect my manuscript. Why? Fear.
It takes courage to slice and dice something we have poured out heart into. It also requires confidence and skill. And because of the recent Whispering Pines conference, I feel stronger. I fight my fear and self-doubt with the tools I’ve acquired. With Cheryl Klein’s book Second Sight at my side, I am prepared to battle. My manuscript may resemble a battlefield for a while, but in the end, I will win this war with myself. I will cut and chop. I will dice and shred. I will strip away the layers of my manuscript, like a Sycamore or Birch tree with its peeling bark.
I have always loved these types of trees. Their beautiful camouflage appearance fascinates me, especially knowing that the peeling process is the tree’s way of shedding scale insects and heavy encrustation of moss and lichens. The Sycamore tree provided much comfort for my young nieces and me when my sister was ill a few years back. As bark peeled away, it left sections of unscarred tree trunk. We saw this as a clean slate, new possibilities, and most importantly, hope. When revising, I keep a piece of Sycamore bark on my desk. Inspired by how the tree sheds unwanted insects, I work my manuscript with the goal of shedding those characters and passages that do not aid or move the story forward.
While the process of revising can feel lonely at times, I am not alone, as reminded at Whispering Pines. In the places where I get stuck or unsure, I picture the circle of Adirondack chairs by the lake. I see the smiles. Hear the laughter. Writers for children are incredibly warm and supportive of each other. I hope the remainder of my pictures represents this.
Thank you for stopping by and sharing this experience with me. I hope to see many of you at Whispering Pines next year!
Memories of attending the NESCBWI retreat in previous years stir as I turn left into the entrance for Whispering Pines, one hour from where I live. I pass houses, a farm, a cabin sheltering a pile of wood, ponds, and of course, rows and rows of pine trees. I slow my car down to fully enjoy my return to this place of beauty, where anything is possible if you follow your dreams with conviction.
Arriving at Whispering Pines feels like coming home. Home to a place I don’t often visit, but upon my return, the forest wraps around me: a well-worn blanket, rich with memories, and sweet with the scent of pine. I welcome the embrace.
I check in at Sycamore, find my room, and snap a few pictures. Then I head out to greet those familiar places, the ones I want to snuggle up to: wooden chairs on a porch overlooking the lake, pine trees reaching for the sky, and the circle of Adirondack chairs, which for me symbolizes the group of writers and mentors soon to arrive. The pictures I take lack color, resembling the winter that persists in hanging around. It will pass soon; colors will burst forward. Flowers will stake their claim, as will the leaves on the trees. But for now, the day is grey, though not for long.
The family of writers arrives, with Lynda Mullaly Hunt leading the way. I cannot imagine a weekend without Lynda. She is a dedicated leader and one who roots for all. Lynda’s essence comes through in the pictures I took of her and the people who assist her in running this event. The smiles are infectious, as is Lynda’s excitement for the weekend. Truly, I would follow her anywhere, if she were running the show.
There is the annual parade of baskets, all donated by the attendees. Pink baskets, yellow baskets, blue baskets, all filled with books and toys and chocolates, and anything else you could imagine. Soon, our meeting room is lined with these enticing treasures. The countdown has begun. The attendees decide which baskets catch their interest, and then make strategic plans as to when to drop their tickets in the corresponding buckets.
Our process of picking and choosing comes to a halt. The mentors are ready to join us for the social hour in preparation for the first of many award-winning meals. The hour goes quickly, and though the time is short, I can see that all the mentors (Cheryl Klein, Cynthia Lord, Ammi-Joan Paquette, and Mary Lee Donovan) are truly there for the writers. Accessible and willing to share all they know, they genuinely want to help the attendees, and they do, every step of the way, beginning with First Pages.
Time constraints do not allow every first page to be read, though every writer learns from the session. In this case, we gained more knowledge than anticipated. The four mentors were thoughtful, honest, and educational in their responses. I found myself taking notes, as did many other attendees. Key notes: (1) The first page should hint at where the story is going to take you, and reveal your main character. (2) Let the information unfold. Trust that the reader will get it. (3) Don’t manipulate the reader. (4) Ground us in the place so that we know where we are. (5) Don’t start the story with The Dreaded Dream.
Saturday begins with A Breakfast to Die For. (I would need to do an entire post on just the food that we were privileged to consume.) I think almost everyone said they needed to hit the gym hard after Whispering Pines.
After indulging our stomachs, we head out the door . . . past the lake . . . over a quaint bridge . . . and into Laurel, where once again the baskets catch our eyes; the sun bounces off the glistening cellophane, highlighting all the wonderful goodies. Thanks to our leader, Lynda keeps us in line and on schedule.
Mary Lee Donovan addresses picture books. She reads us exemplary examples, and has us all laughing and appreciating her selection of well-written picture books. Using one example, she demonstrates how a particular story upholds the basic elements for a picture book, and carries these elements across thirty pages. Then she gives us a fun challenge: an exercise that will influence my future writing. It was clear she enjoyed this exercise, at least how it made us sweat. Thank you, Mary Lee! You rock the art of picture books!
Cynthia Lord follows, and is captivating as always. She gives us more than a glimpse into how she revises, using Touch Blue as an example. (Touch Blue is her second novel, and just as good as her first, Rules. If you haven’t read them both, I highly recommend that you do!) At the end of her session, I have a detailed list of tips for revision. Thank you, Cindy, for your insight, and for sharing your knowledge and experience with us. You are one of the best!
Cheryl Klein continues the discussion on revision, and weaves in her own story about a blanket, and how she is determined to finish making it. I loved this story, and I am rooting for that blanket to meet its deadline. You can do it, Cheryl! Every writer needs to buy Cheryl’s book, Second Sight. I repeat: every writer. The book is a master class taught by a master of literature. I could go on and on about Cheryl, but my word count for this post would be ridiculously long. Thank you, Cheryl!
After another indulgent meal, the afternoon continues with critique groups, alone time to write, the book sale, raffle ticket sales, and one-on-one critiques with mentors. (Some of this I addressed in my previous post on Whispering Pines.) Having Cynthia Lord as my mentor was the highlight of my weekend. Kind and thoughtful, she gave me clear advice on how to wrestle my beloved character who wants to do many things. Sorry, E. B., your trip to Jupiter is now cancelled. We will negotiate later.
Sunday winds down with a presentation by Ammi-Joan Paquette, an agent for Erin Murphy Literary. Who doesn’t love Joan and her books? Until Whispering Pines, I had not yet read The Tiptoe Guide to Tracking Fairies. What a delight! I wanted to melt into the story and run with the fairies. After listening to Joan’s presentation, I realize, more than ever, that having her as an agent would be a dream come true. I hope that a number of you will see that dream to fruition. Thank you, Joan, for enlightening us on your role as an agent. May all your clients find much success!
Lynda always invites an illustrator to give a presentation on Sunday, and this year we are graced with the presence of the talented and down-to-earth Jennifer Thermes. I always look forward to the illustrator session. Thank you, Lynda, for finding this gem of an artist. I hope you all have the chance to see Jennifer’s work, and to read her wonderful books. Thank you, Jennifer, for sharing your art with us.
Lastly, there is the infamous Jeopardy game. (I suspect this is one of Lynda’s favorite events of the weekend.) Knowing us all too well, Lynda throws us off guard and switches our seating arrangement. We count off, go to our designated tables, and prepare to win. Or lose. All in the name of fun.
All too quickly, the weekend comes to an end. We say our good-byes, exchange hugs, and then return home, ready and anxious to revise. None of this could have happened without Lynda, her assistants, and our marvelous mentors. Thank you all, and see you next year!
Lastly, for those who follow my weekly post on Kathy Temean’s blog (Free Fall Friday), the inspiration for this week’s writing challenge comes from our own Carlyn Beccia.
I start the day by applying what I’ve learned–or had reinforced–at Whispering Pines: an extraordinary writing retreat held annually in Rhode Island, and sponsored by the NE SCBWI. (I promise to blog about the conference specifics by the end of the week, and to thank everyone who deserves undying appreciation. There is much to tell and share!)
For most of the morning, I practice The Art of Killing Your Darlings, otherwise known as forcing yourself to rid the manuscript of those scenes and characters you love most, but which add nothing to your story. Sometimes, not so easy to accomplish. To prepare myself mentally for this ordeal, I first remove any and all feelings of guilt. I shove the guilt out the window to a place also reserved for Those Darlings No Longer To Be If I Am Ever To Sell This Manuscript. (I do hope My Darlings are not listening. If they are, I love you!)
Next, in preparation for the kill, I take baby steps. Instead of my writing, I apply The Art Of Killing Your Darlings to my photograpy while I sort through the photos taken over the weekend. As always, I captured hundreds of pictures, all of which I was compelled to take. Like the characters who appear out of nowhere, whisper in my ear, and then pull me like a magnet into their worlds, I followed, in this case, the whispers of the pines.
The process of Dealing with Those Beloved Darlings or Babies goes more quickly than usual, which is surprising. I scan each picture on my computer, and if it doesn’t quickly grab me, like a well-crafted first page, I hit the delete button. When I am prompted to ponder my rash decision with the words, “Are you sure you want to delete?” I hit the button with full confidence. Not a hint of hesitation. My inner voice has spoken. I trust it.
While studying what is left of the two-hundred plus pictures I originally took, I discover the reason behind them. Cynthia Lord, my mentor for the weekend, shared with us her process of writing Touch Blue. (If you haven’t read this novel, do so. Touch Blue is wonderful!) Cindy likes to visit a place, so she can notice the tiny details first-hand. Details such as bits and pieces of mussel shells left by seagulls, dropped from high above, in hopes they will break. The mussels eaten, tires drive over what is left of the shells, crushing them. What remains is beautiful. Shimmering shades of blue dance in the sunlight like bits of broken glass.
During the block of time set aside for writing or critique groups, I found myself walking instead. And that was okay, because it felt right. Right for me. Still trying to wind down from a recent, stressful trip to NC, I needed to decompress.
At first, I walked with hesitation down the windy road, heading away from the conference. Should I be writing? Should I be revising? In truth, I was in my mind. Thoughts of my manuscript swirled in unison with the swish, swish, swish of the pine trees swaying in the breeze. For me, the healing process had begun.
Now when I choose which images to share on this blog, I understand what I was doing. I was listening to Cindy. I was searching for those details that only a visitor can discover on their own. In a place where pines whisper to you, surrounding you with beauty and grace and inspiration.
These are the images I share with you today:
Water resembling melting chocolate (if it were not so blue), the swirls enticing onlookers to purchase a fresh pound of fudge, their taste buds on high alert.
Water so blue that it becomes a work of marbled art. Art I want to touch. This picture will go on my wall to remind me, always, what Cindy told me.
A hawk high above the trees, flying free, its wings spread open, its movement effortless. Oh, how I envy that.
A rushing stream I discovered on the drive out, which compelled me to pull to the side of the road, so I could capture the image. Freeze it in time, forever. Seeing it now, it invokes the happiest of memories: witnessing a Vermont glass blower, blowing bubbles with my granddaughter, experiencing Yellowstone National Park with my family.
Lastly, the sign leading me out, away from this place I did not want to leave. I remember hesitating by the sign, not wanting to go, until I realized what this weekend had given me.
In being shown the way out, I discovered the way in. To the place where my characters have patiently waited for me. Knowing I am ready, they now lead me back to my heart, my words, so that I may surrender, once again, to the singing of my soul.
Five days after leaving Whispering Pines, where I attended a writing retreat, I am still reeling from the high quality of the NE SCBWI event.
Lynda Mullaly Hunt was a stupendous leader. Caring and funny, she kept us to our schedule like the best of ringmasters. She always goes above and beyond what you would expect of an organizer and does it with her unique style!
Lynda, I thank you!
Our mentors also went beyond all expectations, offering the best first-page panel I have ever attended. Their thoughtful comments necessitated endless note-taking on how to craft a first page and beyond. Throughout the two days, we were privy to hear each of the mentors individually. Award-winning author Cynthia Lord, editors Connie Hsu and Alexandra Penfold, agent Rebecca Sherman, and author-illustrator Carlyn Beccia offered advice, shared their tools for crafting, and allowed us glimpses into their worlds. Beyond their presentations, the mentors all gave thorough and thoughtful critiques. I walked away with new tools to use and a way to tackle improving one of my manuscripts. Of course, the advice I received is applicable to all of my writing, which I find thrilling.
To all our mentors, thank you!
The inspiration did not end there. It continued with the attendees. All wonderful and welcoming. The basket raffle, coordinated by Jan Kozlowski, and of course, the food. The endless food. As well as the desserts, which I tried to pass on, but once you’ve seen their desserts, you just let go and dive in. The servers did assure me they contained little or no calories, and I was able to suspend disbelief. Long enough to graciously accept a serving of dessert. At lunch. At dinner. At . . .
Five days later, I am still left with the images of the grounds at Whispering Pines. The rock in the lake. The bare trees. The empty porch awaiting the presence of writers. Writers thinking. Writers talking. Writers writing. And it seems fitting that a writing retreat be held there. In the dead of winter.
And so, with these images fresh in my mind, I think of the middle grade novel I am revising as a tree. A tree in a forest. In the dead of winter. This is when you see the tree as it is. Tall and strong. Waiting patiently for spring to arrive.
As a writer, I must protect my tree. My story. I must allow it room to grow and keep weeds from sneaking up around its base. Slowly strangling the story.
While winter still prevails, I can clearly see the vines, which choke my characters. I sit and visualize the core of my story. Then I chip away at the vines, only to discover how deep their roots go. I will need a shovel to dig deeper. And then I yank as hard as possible, sometimes falling backwards. But I get up. Again and again. And I tackle the vine until every piece has been pulled from the ground and my tree, my story, has room to breathe again. New shoots of clarity appear like green buds on branches. Leaves bring color and life back to my tree. Flowers spring up. Sun warms the earth. Winter comes to an end.
But still, I must continue to protect and care for my story. Watch for new vine to sneak up through the ground when I am not looking. I trim the dead branches. I give the tree room to expand and reach for the sky, until the time comes for me to let go. The time when my story is fully developed and can stand on its own.
Whispering Pines behind me, I prepare to journey to the land of revision. My coffee cup refilled, I escape to my writing room with the dog and a cat, or two. (If I don’t extend an invitation to the pets in the beginning, I will have to endure the sound of paws traipsing up and down the hallway, after which, tapping and scratching on the door will commence.)
I picture myself sitting on a pile of dry needles, leaning against a tree trunk, surrounded by my WIP characters. Speckles of sunlight dance in the grass as clouds roll through the sky. Two squirrels chase each other across the lawn, up a tree, and then back down again. In my mind, I yearn to pick up my camera and take pictures or go on a walk with my characters. Anything but, dissect my manuscript. Why? Fear.
I have always loved these types of trees. Their beautiful camouflage appearance fascinates me, especially knowing that the peeling process is the tree’s way of shedding scale insects and heavy encrustation of moss and lichens. The Sycamore tree provided much comfort for my young nieces and me when my sister was ill a few years back. As bark peeled away, it left sections of unscarred tree trunk. We saw this as a clean slate, new possibilities, and most importantly, hope. When revising, I keep a piece of Sycamore bark on my desk. Inspired by how the tree sheds unwanted insects, I work my manuscript with the goal of shedding those characters and passages that do not aid or move the story forward.
Memories of attending the NESCBWI retreat in previous years stir as I turn left into the entrance for Whispering Pines, one hour from where I live. I pass houses, a farm, a cabin sheltering a pile of wood, ponds, and of course, rows and rows of pine trees. I slow my car down to fully enjoy my return to this place of beauty, where anything is possible if you follow your dreams with conviction.
Arriving at Whispering Pines feels like coming home. Home to a place I don’t often visit, but upon my return, the forest wraps around me: a well-worn blanket, rich with memories, and sweet with the scent of pine. I welcome the embrace.
I check in at Sycamore, find my room, and snap a few pictures. Then I head out to greet those familiar places, the ones I want to snuggle up to: wooden chairs on a porch overlooking the lake, pine trees reaching for the sky, and the circle of Adirondack chairs, which for me symbolizes the group of writers and mentors soon to arrive. The pictures I take lack color, resembling the winter that persists in hanging around. It will pass soon; colors will burst forward. Flowers will stake their claim, as will the leaves on the trees. But for now, the day is grey, though not for long.
There is the annual parade of baskets, all donated by the attendees. Pink baskets, yellow baskets, blue baskets, all filled with books and toys and chocolates, and anything else you could imagine. Soon, our meeting room is lined with these enticing treasures. The countdown has begun. The attendees decide which baskets catch their interest, and then make strategic plans as to when to drop their tickets in the corresponding buckets.
Our process of picking and choosing comes to a halt. The mentors are ready to join us for the social hour in preparation for the first of many award-winning meals. The hour goes quickly, and though the time is short, I can see that all the mentors (Cheryl Klein, Cynthia Lord, Ammi-Joan Paquette, and Mary Lee Donovan) are truly there for the writers. Accessible and willing to share all they know, they genuinely want to help the attendees, and they do, every step of the way, beginning with First Pages.
Time constraints do not allow every first page to be read, though every writer learns from the session. In this case, we gained more knowledge than anticipated. The four mentors were thoughtful, honest, and educational in their responses. I found myself taking notes, as did many other attendees. Key notes: (1) The first page should hint at where the story is going to take you, and reveal your main character. (2) Let the information unfold. Trust that the reader will get it. (3) Don’t manipulate the reader. (4) Ground us in the place so that we know where we are. (5) Don’t start the story with The Dreaded Dream.
Saturday begins with A Breakfast to Die For. (I would need to do an entire post on just the food that we were privileged to consume.) I think almost everyone said they needed to hit the gym hard after Whispering Pines.
Mary Lee Donovan addresses picture books. She reads us exemplary examples, and has us all laughing and appreciating her selection of well-written picture books. Using one example, she demonstrates how a particular story upholds the basic elements for a picture book, and carries these elements across thirty pages. Then she gives us a fun challenge: an exercise that will influence my future writing. It was clear she enjoyed this exercise, at least how it made us sweat. Thank you, Mary Lee! You rock the art of picture books!
Cynthia Lord follows, and is captivating as always. She gives us more than a glimpse into how she revises, using Touch Blue as an example. (Touch Blue is her second novel, and just as good as her first, Rules. If you haven’t read them both, I highly recommend that you do!) At the end of her session, I have a detailed list of tips for revision. Thank you, Cindy, for your insight, and for sharing your knowledge and experience with us. You are one of the best!
Cheryl Klein continues the discussion on revision, and weaves in her own story about a blanket, and how she is determined to finish making it. I loved this story, and I am rooting for that blanket to meet its deadline. You can do it, Cheryl! Every writer needs to buy Cheryl’s book, Second Sight. I repeat: every writer. The book is a master class taught by a master of literature. I could go on and on about Cheryl, but my word count for this post would be ridiculously long. Thank you, Cheryl!
After another indulgent meal, the afternoon continues with critique groups, alone time to write, the book sale, raffle ticket sales, and one-on-one critiques with mentors. (Some of this I addressed in my previous post on Whispering Pines.) Having Cynthia Lord as my mentor was the highlight of my weekend. Kind and thoughtful, she gave me clear advice on how to wrestle my beloved character who wants to do many things. Sorry, E. B., your trip to Jupiter is now cancelled. We will negotiate later.
Sunday winds down with a presentation by Ammi-Joan Paquette, an agent for Erin Murphy Literary. Who doesn’t love Joan and her books? Until Whispering Pines, I had not yet read The Tiptoe Guide to Tracking Fairies. What a delight! I wanted to melt into the story and run with the fairies. After listening to Joan’s presentation, I realize, more than ever, that having her as an agent would be a dream come true. I hope that a number of you will see that dream to fruition. Thank you, Joan, for enlightening us on your role as an agent. May all your clients find much success!
Lynda always invites an illustrator to give a presentation on Sunday, and this year we are graced with the presence of the talented and down-to-earth Jennifer Thermes. I always look forward to the illustrator session. Thank you, Lynda, for finding this gem of an artist. I hope you all have the chance to see Jennifer’s work, and to read her wonderful books. Thank you, Jennifer, for sharing your art with us.
Lastly, there is the infamous Jeopardy game. (I suspect this is one of Lynda’s favorite events of the weekend.) Knowing us all too well, Lynda throws us off guard and switches our seating arrangement. We count off, go to our designated tables, and prepare to win. Or lose. All in the name of fun.
I start the day by applying what I’ve learned–or had reinforced–at Whispering Pines: an extraordinary writing retreat held annually in Rhode Island, and sponsored by the NE SCBWI. (I promise to blog about the conference specifics by the end of the week, and to thank everyone who deserves undying appreciation. There is much to tell and share!)
While studying what is left of the two-hundred plus pictures I originally took, I discover the reason behind them. Cynthia Lord, my mentor for the weekend, shared with us her process of writing Touch Blue. (If you haven’t read this novel, do so. Touch Blue is wonderful!) Cindy likes to visit a place, so she can notice the tiny details first-hand. Details such as bits and pieces of mussel shells left by seagulls, dropped from high above, in hopes they will break. The mussels eaten, tires drive over what is left of the shells, crushing them. What remains is beautiful. Shimmering shades of blue dance in the sunlight like bits of broken glass. 
Now when I choose which images to share on this blog, I understand what I was doing. I was listening to Cindy. I was searching for those details that only a visitor can discover on their own. In a place where pines whisper to you, surrounding you with beauty and grace and inspiration.
Lastly, the sign leading me out, away from this place I did not want to leave. I remember hesitating by the sign, not wanting to go, until I realized what this weekend had given me.
