Looking Back and Looking at the Pages

I’m going to risk sounding arrogant and admit that rereading my own books is fun. I don’t mean reading a book I’m currently working on. I don’t mean editing or proofreading. I do enjoy that – I wouldn’t be a writer if I didn’t enjoy it – but I wouldn’t call it fun. I mean going back to reread something that is published, released and done. Why do I do that? It’s not because I pick up one of my own books whenever I’m looking for something to read. If I was that arrogant, I wouldn’t admit it. Probably.

Most of my books have a story. Not the story within the pages. Since I write fiction, that story is a given. I hope. I mean most of my books have a specific struggle that comes to mind when I remember writing them.

The story of Said and Unsaid is me yelling at myself as I tried to type it. That one had the roughest rough draft. The notebook was littered with arrows pointing forward and backward through the pages, paragraphs crossed off so many times I wasn’t sure if maybe I was trying to uncross them, and writing so scrunched up in the margins that I had to guess what half the words were. At one point, I was trying to follow symbols that I invented to help myself. I was so confused it wasn’t helping.

The story of Jealousy & Yams is the looooong list of titles I rejected trying to name it. They See a Family has a sad story. A minor character is loosely based on my uncle, who passed away while I was writing it. Andrew’s Key changed the most from my original concept. Berries, though only a tiny part of the book, are central to the story of Beyond Wisherton. The kids eat wild berries in the story. There are yellow and green ones on the bushes and because they are foreign, the kids don’t know which are ripe. In the end, (teeny tiny spoiler) the berries they’ve been complaining about tasted yucky because they ate the wrong color. I screwed that up in the first draft. The ripe color changed halfway through the book. I went back and fixed it, including at least one mention that was already right. Then I had to fix it again. I couldn’t seem to keep those berries straight for anything. The last thing I did before I released the book was find every mention of yellow and green to make sure it stayed consistent.

Writing a book is work. It’s work that I love, but it is work. I remember the work. I don’t remember everything. That’s why I sometimes have to reread my books, especially if I’m working on a series. I wrote Hearts on the Window about a year and a half after I’d finished the other Hartford books so when Seth Anderson showed up in the story, I couldn’t remember what color hair I gave him. I had to find him in Collecting Zebras, then because I’m a little paranoid I had to make sure he had the same color hair in the next book. I’ve had to remind myself the day of the week something happened, a last name, the number of siblings and so on. I usually have to read a little to find these things. That’s where I find some unexpected fun.

Mixed in with sentences I could recite without looking are occasionally things I don’t remember writing. It’s fun to be surprised by that. I get to read conversations that make me smile. I find enjoyment in the writing and perhaps confirmation that all those struggles actually produced something worthwhile. And if taking a little pride in my work makes me sound arrogant, then let’s just pretend I didn’t admit it.

How I Ruined My Books

Until recently, I could say that I’d never signed one of my books. This was partly because no one ever asked. It seemed incredibly arrogant to offer my signature as though it would add value to a book. After all, I’ve never sought signed copies of the books I read, not even my favorites.

The other reason I never signed books was more personal and more deep-seated. It was also more ridiculous. I couldn’t do it because I was brainwashed against writing in books as a child.

The textbooks at my school – like most schools – were used for several years before new ones were purchased. Each child wrote his or her name inside the cover at the start of the year and nothing else was allowed to be written in that book the rest of the year. Nothing else. Period. Every single non-erasable mark found at the end of the year was worth a fifty cent fine. And each child had to stand in front of the teacher’s desk while she flipped through it checking for compliance. Being a rule-follower, I wouldn’t have considered writing in a book even without the hefty fine. Writing in books became a huge no-no. I carried this mentality to all my books.

I once found a mark maybe two inches long in a school book. It looked as though someone had carelessly turned a page while holding a pen. My 10-year-old self freaked out. I wondered if there was a list somewhere. Was there a record that someone had already been fined for the ink on page such-and-such of the book in my possession? Or would I be held responsible for what I knew I hadn’t done? I took that book home and tried to erase the line. I knew ink did not erase. Of course I knew that. Nothing erases ink! It was a crisis. The best I could do was use a white crayon to make the line fainter. And I felt seriously guilty using that crayon in a book. I was doing exactly what I was trying not to get in trouble for not doing. Panic and logic do not go together.

I ended up escaping a fine that year. I felt very lucky. What I could not escape was the lingering feeling that writing in a book is always wrong. Always. It doesn’t matter who owns it. I don’t even write in my own proof copies. I’ll have a book that I know isn’t finished, that I know will be recycled after I mark the revisions, and I still cannot bring myself to write directly in the book. I use bookmarks crammed with notes. Somehow, that feels more normal.

I show up for my study group with spare paper for notes. That’s what we’re supposed to do. It’s what I was trained to do. I cringe as others write in their books and kind of want to scream at them for doing something so wrong. My in-laws have the habit of writing in every single book they give to my kids. It’s usually something short like “Merry Christmas 2012.” It’s great that they give the kids books because books are, in general, awesome. But I always wonder why they had to ruin the book before they gave it to us.

I know.

I know I’m the one who’s weird here. Inscription is a word. Lots of people write in their books. Lots of people think it’s actually a good thing. That’s why when I was finally asked to sign copies of one of my books, I did not say, “Are you insane? I can’t ruin the books before we pass them out.” I acted as though it was no big deal. You want me to scribble in the books first? Sure. I’ll ruin them if that’s what you want. I am not willing to sacrifice my principles to gain more readers, but I will gladly sacrifice an odd hang-up. Well, maybe not gladly. Maybe there was cringing.

The Study Group - Part 7

This is the final installment.  To start at the beginning, find Part 1 here.

“You’re not going to try to talk me out of it?”

Annie stopped what she was doing to question Mallory.  “Why would I try to talk you out of having a headache?  That’s not even possible.”

“No, I mean talk me out of skipping the movie.  Don’t you want me to tag along to keep Jake from having ideas about it being a date?”

Annie was putting away the clothes she’d washed that day.  She opened a drawer to drop in the last shirt.  Then she turned around to face Mallory with her arms crossed.  “There are several things wrong with what you just said.”

Mallory smiled and said, “Oh, good… I feel a speech coming,” with heavy sarcasm.

A laugh tried to come out in response, but Annie squelched it.  “First of all,” she said, “I am not a child.  I don’t need you to babysit me or Jake.  Second of all, I’m not the sort of person who would ask my friend to suffer through a movie when she’s not feeling well just to help me avoid an awkward conversation with a guy.  And lastly…”  She paused to figure out how to say she was glad Mallory decided not to come without saying she was glad Mallory decided not to come.  “Well, I might not be as against Jake having ideas as I used to be.”

“Oh!”  Mallory got excited before she put her hand to her forehead, an indication of how poorly high-pitched noises and headaches went together. 

“If he hasn’t given up,” Annie added.

“Uh… he invited you to the movie tonight.”

“He invited both of us.”

Mallory answered with an exasperated sigh.

“I know,” Annie said.  “I’m just nervous, okay?”  It did seem a little unnecessary when Jake had been so persistent.  But Annie was invested now.  She couldn’t help worrying that she’d rejected him one too many times.

“Have fun,” Mallory said.

“Thanks.”  Annie put on her coat and grabbed a neatly folded blanket.  She hugged it to her chest as she went downstairs to meet Jake.

He was early.  Jake was standing just inside the lobby door with a Cleveland Browns blanket draped over his shoulder.  He was staring out the window and hadn’t noticed Annie yet.

She walked towards him with ridiculous concentration.  She wanted to hurry because he was waiting.  She didn’t want to hurry and seem overeager.  Then again, overeager might be a good thing after all the times she’d said they’d only ever be friends.  But she couldn’t move her arms.  She’d look funny walking fast holding a blanket.  Walking slowly and casually would make a better impression.  Not too slowly though.  The guy wasn’t even looking at her while she deliberated her steps. 

Jake turned as she got close and smiled with surprise.  “Where’s Mallory?” he asked.

“She’s not coming,” Annie said.  “She’s not feeling well.”

“That’s too bad.”  Jake looked as though he meant it, which was good.  Compassion was good. 

Annie gave herself a mental kick for wanting him to look happier at the change in plans.

He looked more uncertain than anything.  “You’re still coming?” he asked.

“Sure.”  Annie wiggled the blanket that should have made her intention clear, then she joked, “But it better be a good movie.”

Jake laughed.  “No promises.  Other than the fact that we can leave any time you want.”  He turned and took a step to open the door for Annie.

She walked out more relaxed than before.  Jake was a nice guy.  She was going to have a nice time.  But they were not going to watch a movie.  Instead of finding students gathering on the lawn, they began to pass people bundled or carrying blankets going the opposite direction.

One of those people, a girl with short black hair, said, “Are you two headed to the movie?  They’re not doing it.”

“It’s canceled?” Jake asked.

“I don’t know,” the girl said.  “No one seems to know anything.  It’s just not happening.”  She continued past Annie and Jake to catch up to her friends.

Jake stopped and faced Annie.  “Are we going to turn around?”

She stared at him, also at a loss.  “Well… I don’t know.”

“I wonder what happened.”  Jake tipped his head to the side.

“I, uh…”  Annie found herself trying not to laugh at the helplessness with which they both seemed to be facing this minor hurdle.  The library was right in front of her.  “Let’s go to the library instead,” she suggested.

“Okay.”

Annie fell into step next to him.  The walk was quiet.  She figured it was only a matter of time before he asked what they were going to do at the library because she had no idea what they were going to do.

They entered the building with neither of them mentioning a plan.  There were several study tables along the far side where their group typically met on Thursdays.  Only a few people sat in that area, but Annie motioned Jake to the elevator.  There was more study space on the 6^th floor, and she hoped to find that empty.  It was a Saturday after all.  The space appeared deserted as they exited the elevator.  There were shelves along the walls that could hide people.  It was extremely quiet and the tables were all unclaimed.  Annie walked past all of them to the window.  She looked down to the lawn where the movie was supposed to be shown.  Three blankets were spread out with students milling about between them.  “I guess those guys couldn’t think of anything else to do either,” she observed.

When Jake didn’t respond, she turned to see that he was not right behind her.  He’d dropped his blanket on one of the tables and was standing at a computer catalog.  The screen was blank, and he seemed to be doing something next to the keyboard. 

Annie put her blanket on top of his and walked towards him.

He turned around before she reached him.  He had folded one of the slips of paper into a tiny airplane.  He tried to fly it to her, or at her.

The paper plane did an immediate nosedive and hit the ground hard between them.  They both laughed.

Then Jake raised his eyebrows and said, “Can you do better?”

“Probably not,” Annie admitted.  “But I’ll give it a shot.”

She took a piece of paper and folded a little airplane while Jake straightened the tip of his.  Then they stood next to each other and flew them at the same time.  Jake tossed his more gently and it flew farther than the first time.  Annie’s flew towards the ceiling before it crashed right next to her.  “That was not better,” she said.

“Not yet.”  Jake jogged over to retrieve his plane.  “Let’s see who can land one on that table first.”

“That table?”  Annie pointed to the one right in front of her.

“No, that one.”  Jake pointed across the room.

“Does it have to be a pretty landing?”

Jake smiled.  “It only has to stop on the table.”

“All right.  But I’m making a new one.”

“Not me.”  Jake squeezed the tip of his plane to flatten the crease.  “I’m sticking with this one.  I’m going to call it Crisp Wings.”

“Crisp Wings?”  Annie bit her lip against a laugh.  “That sounds like a cereal.”

“It’s not like I’ve given it a lot of thought, but it’s a fine name.  What are you calling yours?”

Annie was working on her new plane.  She flipped it over and pressed down the second wing.  Then she smiled teasingly and said, “Victor.”

“That’s going to be a terrible name when it loses.”  Jake tossed his plane towards the agreed upon table.  It landed under the table next to it.

“I think you mean if it loses,” Annie said.  She aimed Victor and flew it softly.  It went sideways and about half as far as Jake’s, which only made her enjoy the name more.  They both flew their planes at least ten times before Jake managed to land his on the very edge of the table.

He raised an arm in celebration.  “I can’t believe you doubted Crisp Wings.”

Annie laughed again at the name.  It definitely took any sting out of losing.  “Let’s make it harder,” she said. 

“Are you sure you want to do that?”

Annie just nodded.  She grabbed four large books off the nearest shelf and arranged them on the table so that their spines formed a rectangle.  “You have to get a plane in here.”

Jake held his tiny airplane up to show that he was ready.

Annie returned to the computer and picked up three more pieces of paper.  “I’m going to try a few more,” she said.

With extra planes, she didn’t have to retrieve them as often.  Annie got in two or three tries for each of Jake’s.  She still wasn’t getting anywhere near the target.  Neither was Jake.  He insisted on using the same plane until the tip was crumpled beyond hope, then he folded Crisp Wings 2.  It only got a few flights before Annie said, “I give up.”

“Me, too.”  Jake picked up his plane and frowned at it.  “I don’t think the paper wants to cooperate.  It’s not us.”

Annie looked at the books she’d used for a target, intending to put them away.  One was an art book.  She began to flip through the many pictures in its pages.  “Oh, I like this one.”  She stopped at a painting of angels.  Jake came up to look over her shoulder.

A frisson of warmth flooded Annie’s face.  She thought of all the times she’d insisted to Mallory that she’d never be attracted to Jake.  All times she’d been wrong.

“I like when artists draw angels like this,” he said, studying the page.  “More majestic than cute.”

“Me, too.”  Annie lingered for a moment before she turned the page.  She paused again.  This time with puzzlement instead of appreciation. 

“Is that a tree?” Jake asked.

Annie turned the book sideways.  “I don’t think so.”

“Oh.”  He put his finger on some text near the picture.  “It’s underground tunnels.”

“Okay.”  Annie turned another page. 

They continued to discuss the artwork in the book until a disembodied voice said, “Attention students.  The library will be closing in ten minutes.”

Annie looked at her watch.  “The library closes at nine on Saturdays?”

“Apparently,”  Jake said with a shrug.

Annie closed the book.  She took all four of them back to the shelf.  Jake picked up their blankets and met her at the elevator.  They made pleasant chitchat on the way back to Annie’s dorm.  She felt a strange tension grow as their destination got closer.  She knew she’d see Jake again at the study group if they didn’t make other plans.  But it still felt important to say something about getting together again.  It would acknowledge the shift Annie felt in the relationship.

When they stopped at the door, Jake handed her the blanket she’d brought for nothing.  Annie swallowed some butterflies and said, “Do you think they’ll do a movie next Saturday?”

“I hope so.  And I hope you’ll come with me to find out again because this was fun.”  He took a step back and started talking faster.  “I mean, I know this wasn’t a date.  I didn’t mean that.  I’m not trying to be pushy.  I’d just like to spend some more time with you.  Do you want to try again next week?”

Annie let her eyes drop to the ground.  She wasn’t sure how to answer.  Of course she wanted to go with him again.  That’s why she’d brought it up.  But he’d just insisted it wouldn’t mean anything and she didn’t want to agree to that.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No.”  She tried to look at Jake.  Her eyes hovered around his collar where she could see his Adam’s apple moving up and down.  “It’s just… well, I kind of thought it was a date.”

Jake didn’t say anything.

Annie lifted her eyes nervously.

A blank look covered his face.  Then he nodded and said, “That’s good to know,” as he turned to leave. 

Annie gaped after him, wanting to believe he’d done something wrong when all he’d done was crush her ego by not looking thrilled at her change of heart.

He stopped after only two steps and looked back.  “So, uh… next week would be a date, too?” he asked.  His calm appearance was cracking all over the place as his eyes danced and his mouth twitched to hold back a smile.  Clearly, he was thrilled and trying to play it cool.

“Yes,” Annie said.  “See you Thursday?”

Jake nodded.  He would see her at the study group.  Finally, she would see him, too.

The End

I hope you enjoyed this short story.  Annie and Jake appear as minor characters in They See a Family.  Check it out to see where they are eleven years later.