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Author Interview with W.H. Beck & Book Giveaway

“What if [Malcolm] could prove to the Academy that he was a critter of…valor and merit? Maybe…he could admit the truth. Maybe then everyone could start thinking that not all rats are skuzzy.” ~ from MALCOLM AT MIDNIGHT

I’ve always been one to root for the underdog. Yes, even a rat. At our house, we aren’t pet people (allergies spoil the fun), and that one rat in the garage last summer was a little disconcerting. Still, like my son, I enjoy a good book about a critter surrounded by unfortunate rumors. Or, mistaken identity.

My son and I read W.H. Beck’s novel, MALCOLM AT MIDNIGHT, together and loved every page, every illustration. Beck tells the story of Malcolm, a rat who, after being mistaken for a mouse, becomes the fifth grade pet in Mr. Binny’s classroom. He learns quickly that he’s not the only pet in the school and that much of the serious work going on at McKenna happens once the Midnight bell rings.

Soon after he’s admitted into the Midnight Academy of McKenna school pets, Malcolm becomes the prime suspect in the mystery of a missing iguana. He sets out to prove, then (to himself and the other classroom pets), that rats are not all bad. In fact, he depends on his “every ratty fiber and trick” to save the day, and – likely – the entire school.

I’m honored to host W.H. Beck for a Q&A. Because my son and I read this book together, I asked him to come up with the first two questions. He rattled them off right away, adding that he hopes for a sequel. Which means, MALCOLM AT MIDNIGHT is too good not to share. I’m giving away a copy, so drop your name in the comments for a chance to win and look for the lucky reader on Tuesday, February 20th.

Now, welcome W.H. Beck!

CC: How did you decide to write your book?

WHB: Well, when I started Malcolm, I was working on a nonfiction animal series, so I think I had critters on the brain. I’ve also always loved stories that take place in the “regular” world, but have something a little fantastical going on just out of sight. Since I work in a school, it was fun to imagine what happened after all we humans headed home. It just grew from there.

CC: Did you ever own a pet rat?

WHB: Ha! No, we have a dog and a gecko—but I do get asked that a lot. The truth is, I’m not exactly sure where the rat came from, except that I wanted an animal that had to use his animal “superpowers” to solve a mystery. When I read about how rats can compress their bones to fit through the hole the size of quarter, hold their breath for three minutes and swim up through sewer pipes, and gnaw through glass and cement and steel…well, it seemed too fun not to use in a story. It also made it interesting to have Malcolm struggle with rat stereotypes.

CC: As an elementary school librarian, I imagine you run into a variety of readers, from voracious to completely uninterested. How does the challenge of meeting students at both ends of the reading spectrum influence your life as an author?

WHB: What a good question! And the answer is…I’m not sure I think about this overtly when I write. I am usually just trying to write a story that I like. But I think you’re right that it does influence me subconsciously. I’ve seen the power of humor in a story for kids and have a good sense for how long readers will stick with a descriptive passage (zero seconds, in case you’re wondering—it WILL be skimmed over). But I think what voracious readers love and what might draw in reluctant readers may not actually be all that different. And it may not be all that different than what brings me to a story—an interesting idea, characters I care about, something unexpected happening. The trick is coming up with all that, and doing it well. J

CC: What are you reading these days?

WHB: I am reading THE RUNAWAY KING by Jennifer A. Nielsen. I was a huge fan of THE FALSE PRINCE, so I was delighted to get the second book in the series as an ARC. (One of the perks of being a librarian as well as a writer!)

CC: Do you have any advice for up and coming writers?

WHB: I’m a huge believer in READING for writers (and really, for everyone—that’s why I became a school librarian, after all J). Anyway, for writers it is so important to read to not only know the market and what is selling, but also to study the craft. To analyze why stories work (or don’t work) and to figure out how other authors develop characters, create tension, and so much more. It’s the best homework there is.

~

As a kid growing up in Wisconsin, W.H. Beck’s dad always teased her that she would be a librarian someday. That’s because she read all the time—walking home from school, while brushing her teeth, under the table at dinnertime, and under the covers at night. And, sure enough, after earning an elementary teaching degree from the University of Wisconsin, she went on to get a master’s degree in information studies from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. (Yes, that’d be library school.)

She still lives and reads in Wisconsin, but now she shares her home and books with a husband, two sons, and a sneaky (but loveable) dog. By day, she’s an elementary school librarian. And early in the mornings, late at nights, and in between kids’ sports practices, she writes.

For more about W.H. Beck and her books, visit her website, where she’s put together a wonderful list of blog posts about MALCOLM AT MIDNIGHT, the revision process, post-publication, and the making of the book trailer.

Remember, drop your name in the comments for a chance to win and read your own copy of Malcolm at Midnight.

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Author Interviews: the Year in Review

thank you note for every languageThe end of the year is always a perfect time to reflect and say thank you to the folks who help make this blog worthy of reading. I’m the only author who maintains Writing Under Pressure, but I’m certainly not the only one who adds content here.

About once a month, I host an author for an interview (and, often, a book giveaway). I’m always honored when authors take time out of very busy schedules to answer a few questions on their books, to share their wisdom and experience about writing or the publishing world, and to leave encouraging words for others hoping to follow in their footsteps. One way I can give back to them, and to you, is to highlight those Q&A’s one more time with hints of the goodness you’ll find within their posts.

November 2011: Megan Stielstra, Everyone Remain Calm (Part 1 & Part 2). “No more waiting for inspiration to strike. Sit down and make it happen.“

December 2011: Anna Solomon, The Little Bride. “[I]n the morning, when I’m writing, there will be no phone calls, no internet, no criticism or praise to ingest, just me, my characters, my story. For me, this is the only way….”

January: Siobhan Fallon, You Know When the Men are Gone. “[T]he stories in [this] collection are the ones that filled me up, had me awake at night thinking about the sound of a character’s voice or his choice of childhood friends, these were the stories that excited me as a writer, these were the characters whose stories I wanted most to know.”

February: Dave Thome, Fast Lane (now titled Palm Springs Heat). “[I]f you’ve had any reason to think your work can make it in the marketplace—script options, offers from agents, contest awards, good reviews on Amazon or Goodreads, success in other media, like short stories or journalism or advertising—there’s hope. Really sucky days are inevitable, but remembering that there’s evidence that your work is good enough will get you through it.”

April: Shann Ray, American Masculine. “I love the transport great lit gives us. A sense of something true touching our face and drawing us to look into the eyes of that immeasurable power of which we still know so very little, a power I see as love, kindness, and strength in the wake of human degradation.  From that gaze we understand there is mystery involved at the deepest levels of our humanity and at the foundation of that mystery there is love.”

May: Erika Dreifus, Quiet Americans. “[W]hat is so alluring to me about fiction-writing: the opportunity to combine fragments of personal experience, research, what we learn from others, and what we imagine, and create something new and whole in its own right. Sometimes, it’s difficult for me to remember which elements of a story I’ve created entirely and which do, indeed, have roots in my own lived experience. Which is why those stories begin and remain as fiction.”

June: Andrew Cotto, Outerborough Blues. “In both [fiction and nonfiction] I’m trying to tell a story, and [common] themes tend to find their way into my narratives…. The biggest difference to me is…the scope of the story, and, of course, the component of imagination in fiction. In both cases, though, I’m always trying to create something insightful and descriptive and reflective of our times.”

August: Nichole Bernier, The Unfinished Work of Elizabeth D. “I sort of wish I had a writing room, some serene window-walled space with a massive antique desk. But even if I did, I probably wouldn’t write there. . . . I’ve become that cliché of the coffeeshop writer. I love the impersonal bustle that’s a bit like being part of an office, the juicy bits of conversation you overhear, and yes, the constant flow of coffee….”

September: Yuvi Zalkow, A Brilliant Novel in the Works. “[I]t takes a lot of courage/strength/risk/stupidity for a writer to take their work out in the world and say, ‘Yes, I want to see if I can make my words affect other people.’ Particularly if you’re doing something that doesn’t follow some well-known standard.”

October: Lydia Netzer, Shine Shine Shine. “Never give up and never quit. Find the story that’s most important in the world for you to tell, and then grab onto it and don’t give up on it ever. When it seems like telling it has gotten too hard, know that you’re doing it right.”

November: Sarah McCoy, The Baker’s Daughter. “[W]hat fuels my writing: giving voice to the voiceless and forgotten or unknown stories.”

I’d say, it’s been a pretty good year for writing, publishing, and some great reading. Happy 2013, and thank you again to the many authors who have graced this blog!

* Photo credit: woodleywonderworks on flickr.com

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BRAVE ON THE PAGE & Guest Post by Jackie Shannon Hollis

“To create art (not just story), go into The Cave by yourself. Be brave enough to write in the dark without other people’s opinions until you feel you’ve found your voice.”
~ from Tammy Lynne Stoner’s essay, “Making Feral Creatures,” in Brave on the Page

It takes great courage to sit down and face the blank page, to put down on paper those stories close to you, to share those stories with others. Writing is not for the faint of heart.

While we may tackle first drafts alone, success often results from time spent in community with other writers — in critique groups, in workshops, or in those simple moments when we meet for coffee and talk about the frustrations and the freedom in writing. This is the crux of Brave on the Page, a book full of shared insight and advice. Edited by Laura Stanfill, this book blends author interviews with a collection of short essays on writing and offers readers a variety of perspectives on the craft.

Today, Jackie Shannon Hollis, one of the authors featured in Brave on the Page guest posts. She shares on how solitude may inspire us, but community helps guide us through our writing.

Writers as Witness

I write on Mondays and Tuesdays, and on Wednesday afternoons, I take those pages (five, ten, fifteen) to my critique group. Each of us in turn hand out copies of our work and read it out loud. What I can’t hear or see when I read to myself is revealed around the table, with these witnesses. Awkward bumps in language, over-reaching, missing details. We talk about the story, anything from where a sentence break or comma should be, to deleting or moving or reworking paragraphs. We write notes on the pages. Sometimes the notes applaud the grace of the words, the humor, the courage. A note that says, “Damn, this is so beautiful, I kind of hate you.” Or, “The dishes can wait, the email can wait. You’ve got work to do. Keep going.” I learn as much from listening to others’ work as I do from reading my own. I take my pages with those notes and go home. Alone to revise, and to write another section.

A few weeks ago I went to the beach for six days of writing. I’m working on a memoir about being childless, about how a marriage survives when one partner wants a child and the other doesn’t. I had lots of sections done, and many notes of what was left to do. I needed the solitude to get a sense of the whole, how it would all work together. The first few days were slow going and I worried I wasn’t getting enough done.

When I’m stuck in my work, I like to move. To drive or work in the garden or take a long walk. I took a lot of walks that week. Manzanita beach is my favorite shore with its long stretch of flat sand. Birds, a few people, a few dogs.

One morning, after a long walk, I stood and watched the ocean. The waves, the morning sun, the clouds. A line of birds (cormorants? frigate birds?) trailed each other low over the surf, a ribbony kite string of birds. I listened to the ocean, that constant shush and roar. I listened for the sentences, the ideas, the shape of my project.

A surfer carried his board across the sand. His board was old and white and stained. He stepped into the water, pulled up the hood of his wet suit, shifted his board, and pulled the rope from the fin and wrapped it on his wrist, then flipped the board, turned it around, and let it go.

It was a rhythm. The way he took himself to the water.

He walked with his arms raised, trailing the board behind on that rope. He had to get past the breakers to the flat water, where the big waves would come. When the water was high on his chest he climbed on his board and paddled. The rise and fall of the breakers pushed him up and over, up and over.

He’d done this many times.

When he reached the far water, he joined three other surfers already there. They greeted him. They paddled, bellies down, on their boards. One rose up and caught a wave; rode the curve just ahead of that horizontal curl of white. The others watched. When he was done, they called out and spoke in the sign language of surfers. Another caught a wave. The others watched and called out. And so on.

I am in another writing group. One that meets a few times a year. Alone, we read a whole manuscript. We come together for one evening and talk about that manuscript. What is working, what is left to be done. It is intense and overwhelming and full of care for this big work.

In both of my writing groups, I have a deep respect for what each of us bring to the table. Not just the writing, but who we are as readers. We bring something particular, something that is needed. One person tracks the fine details, another looks for where tension goes slack, another notices where the voice is lost. We stir the creative in each other. The discussion is rich and deep and the critique always helps the writer delve further, dig more into their work.

We are like those surfers, gathering in deep water, we compete, we show off, we fall. Each of us know a special thing, how to move to standing, how to find balance, how to judge which is the best wave and where to meet it.

We are writers.

Alone, we make our way. We gather out there, in the flat beyond the breakers. Between the waves.

Jackie Shannon Hollis lives and writes in Portland, Oregon. Her work has appeared in various literary magazines including, The Sun, Rosebud, Slice, High Desert Journal, and Inkwell. She has completed a novel and is working on a memoir. You can see more of her work at http://www.jackieshannonhollis.com. You can find her flash essay “Move” alongside other writers (including some from her writing groups), in Brave on the Page: Oregon Writers on Craft and the Creative Life.

About the book:
Brave on the Page is a craft book, a how-to guide, a catalogue of successes and failures, and above all, a celebration of what it means to be a writer in Oregon. The 200-page collection, edited by Laura Stanfill, features forty-two authors and their views on creation, revision and the publication process. Brave on the Page is available made-to-order at the Espresso Book Machine in the purple room at the downtown Powell’s Books, 1005 W. Burnside, Portland. It is also available online at ondemandbooks.com or at any Espresso Book Machine around the world (see the list of locations here).