'TIS THE SEASON...FOR NONFICTION

I have a secret. I'm a seasonal nonfiction writer. In winter, the fiction hits. The long dark days, the cold, the spiritual struggle of surviving winter in the Midwest makes me escape to reading and writing fiction. Characters and novels fill my soul. Nonfiction pales. I love my second life of creating made-up plots and puzzling out character connections.

But when Spring arrives, I shed my novel skin and I can't even remember why I wanted to write fiction. Spring wildflowers, hooray! Warblers, hooray! Gardening...why did I ever want to spend time away from nonfiction, the science of life sprouting around me?

That's where I am now. I am busy with caterpillars and flowers and nesting birds. Field guides are my life. A stack of novels to read and write lies unloved. Who needs fiction? I am reading about the origins of fruit and the science of stars. My brain is sponging up documentaries on LINK TV. The overgrowth of life and ideas presses against me, making me wonder how much I will be able to uncover and explore in my life. Nonfiction is my season!

But I warn you. I have another side, and it will arrive...oh, around late November. That's when those winter dreams will sprout fiction. Unless I can find a way to go the tropics, where the green may bring my nonfiction back to life. Perhaps if I lived in Southern California, I would be nonfiction all year long. Or would I? And would that be a good thing? Hmm...

I am guessing some of you other readers/writers out there have a seasonality to your subject matter, too. Let me know if I am right!

By the way I recommend you add another patriotic book to your library. Farmer George Plants A Nation by Peggy Thomas, published by Calkins Creek, an imprint of Boyds Mills Press. I dig this book! And digging is appropriate because it brings forth the life of George Washington as a farmer and scientist. It is so great to see a man, mostly understood as soldier or statesman, in the life that fed him: his trees, gardens, and experiments with agriculture. Apparently, his letters were filled with farm life and farm instructions, even when he was on the battlefield. We all have our roots.

An Infinity of Meanings

When writing nonfiction, an author can’t help but encounter readers who have a different definition of a key word, which can be disconcerting at times. In these days of emails, blogs, podcasts, and other wonders of the digital age, authors are more likely to hear about it such discrepancies. Today I listened to a podcast on the wonderful Just One More Book review site about Missing Math: A Number Mystery. One of the reviewers mentioned she didn’t agree with the definition of infinity given in the book, “a number that never ends.” So, I left a comment on their blog to further discuss it. The basic definition I went by states that infinity is the quality or condition of being infinite; unbounded space, time, or quantity. After rummaging around on the 'net a bit, some people say infinity isn’t any particular number, but is instead a more general concept.

Hmmm... I think any number can become an example of infinity if endless numerals are added to it. And— there can be an infinite number of infinite numbers. In any case, it’s been fun to think more about it, (though after a while my brain starts to melt.) As for the story itself, the thief was trying to string enough numbers together to reach infinity... while it can’t be done, it provided an absurd motivation for him to steal all the numbers.

One of my books was all about definitions, There‘s a Frog in My Throat: 440 Animal Sayings That a Little Bird Told Me (co-authored with Pat Street.) Many of the similes, proverbs, idioms, and other sayings could have more than one meaning. For example, “hot dog” can be an exclamation of appreciation; a show-off; or the act of showing expertise. To avoid protestations that we‘d left out a definition, we put an authors’ note at the beginning to explain that one popular meaning would be shown for each saying, but that the reader may know another one.

My fall 2008 book is Crazy Like a Fox: A Simile Story. I‘ll describe it in a future post, but it did cross my mind that some people might object to the word “crazy” because it can have a derogatory connotation in regards to mental health. It’s too soon to say if anyone will object to that word... my feeling was that it’s ultimately a compliment in the context of this saying, since the confusing actions are intended to mask an intelligent strategy.

I mentioned in a previous post how a change in the definition of planet excluded Pluto from official planetdom and thus had a deleterious effect on my Postcards From Pluto. Usually word meanings come from common usage rather than get decided by a group of experts.

This example isn't within the text of Missing Math itself, but a School Library Journal reviewer's comment about the illustration was a little perplexing: “Imagine a world without numbers. Madly trying to replace them, but to no avail, two-dimensional, wide-eyed, nattily dressed animals cavort on brightly colored pages...” Two-dimensional? Aren’t most illustrations in books two-dimensional? Aside from pop-ups or photographs of real objects such as in the Look-Alikes books by Joan Steiner, I can’t recall ever seeing that aspect of artwork mentioned quite like that. The reviewer may mean that the artwork is not rendered with a 3D look as in the movie Toy Story. With a print review no discussion is possible, but I did wonder about it. It’s like saying the book’s pages are trimmed at 90 degree angles... aren’t they usually?

There have been other instances of questionable meanings over the years, but not an infinite number, thankfully. While some people get upset when others don’t agree with their definitions, I find such discussion to be useful and necessary... how else can people communicate clearly except by fine tuning their understanding of what is meant by a given word? In our family, we run to the dictionary as needed (or use Google in a pinch.) And though there is usually room for debate, we mustn’t go as far as Humpty Dumpty who declared, “When I use a word...it means just what I choose it to mean— neither more nor less.”

Instead, (and with thanks to my husband Andy) it seems fitting to close with Buzz Lightyear’s immortal words:
To Infinity and Beyond!

Only When I Laugh

Last week I was at NEA signing See How They Run, my new book about presidential elections. (Full disclosure: My favorite part of the afternoon was seeing the NEA delegates from Nebraska on the convention floor wearing corn hats.) The second best thing was a compliment from a social studies teacher. “My kids are going to really like this book,” she said, “because it’s…it’s…well, it’s funny.”

I couldn’t have received higher praise. That’s what I was aiming for, in large part, because my own fifth grade civics experience was mind-numbing. The text I read was delivered in the driest way possible—all the blood, sweat and tears of creating and maintaining our political system desiccated into a Sahara of facts listed for their own sake. Of course, it was the style of the times, but a pretty stupid style if you think about it. When an author presents an idea and illustrates it with a compelling story, a kid will remember that idea. Make it funny and the kid will stick around to read more. Humor can be the spoonful of sugar that keeps kids turning pages.

I’m not saying every book should resemble a comedy routine. Mine don’t. Plenty of subjects don’t lend themselves to humor (unlike our political system!). There are others that are simply no joking matter.

But humor can be very useful. First of all, it’s entertaining, nothing wrong with that. As I’ve said before, it can keep a reader engaged long enough to learn something. It can deal with weighty material as well. Humor allows you to sidle up to a biting truth without being too biting, to take the edge off something that’s just too tragic. Humor lets you make a point without sounding as if you’re preaching or wagging your finger at your readers.

Despite these invaluable attributes, humor isn’t respected much at all. Let me be clear, people like it but if they must go public, humor quickly becomes a guilty pleasure—the beach read, the restful interlude before undertaking something more worthy. While awards aren’t always a measure of timeless excellence, they do indicate what our culture thinks of as quality at the time they are given. How often do comedies win the Oscar for best picture? What proportion of the Newbery winning books were written to amuse? The Sibert? Let’s face it, people often think that humor is literature’s “less than,” an artless country bumpkin compared to Literature with a capital “L.”

I often talk about this issue with my friend David Elliott, who writes wonderfully funny picture books and middle-grade novels among other things. He told me that the Children’s Laureate of Great Britain Michael Rosen has helped create the Roald Dahl Funny Prize open to fiction and nonfiction alike. While I wish that prizes for humorous works weren’t separate (haven’t we all learned by now that separate is never equal?), at least England is acknowledging that humor is worthy of recognition. Let’s hope it doesn’t take too long for us to follow suit.

I would love to hear what other people think about this whole humor issue. Do you agree that it is thought of as one of literature’s second class citizens? How do you think it should it be seen?

A Nonfiction Writer's Roots: HALF-HOUR REPORTS

I guess an elementary school teacher never knows what activity will stimulate a particular student. When I was a little girl, it was Mrs. Ottewell’s half-hour reports at the Montessori School of Greenville. Here’s how they worked. First, she went to the shelf and pulled down The Topic Box. We reached in and each pulled out a folded slip of paper. On the paper was a topic. We had one half hour to find some books in the well-stocked shelves, read something about that topic, and write a report. It was a wild and crazy knowledge race.

The first attraction of the half hour report was that Topic Box. Oh, how I loved the surprise, the uncertainty, of pulling a paper out of the box. It was like an eight ball, that fluid-filled prediction toy. I never knew what topic I might nab. In a time before Internet use, randomly generated, wide-reaching information was wild and stimulating. It appealed to my sense of rebellion. If I had been told what to write about, I might have balked. But when I pulled it from the box, it was magic, it was organic, it was my choice, yet not my choice. It was destiny!

Through half-hour reports, I sampled the world. I tasted a bit of Russia, spent a few minutes with minotaurs, and found the Himalayas on a map. That was the magic of Mrs. Ottewell’s room.

Now, as part of my career, I have written two children’s books on each continent. I have written a book on each biome, from rain forest to taiga, from ocean to coral reef. I have the luxury of slipping from one topic to another as I shift from book to book. For articles, I may research the geography of China, the shape of rivers, or fish in the Amazon. I follow leads, I do interviews, I am free to pursue my curiosity where it leads. It’s like those half-hour reports. I am free to think and explore and report back, only now it’s to the reading public instead of to the class.

A few years ago, my husband and I visited Mrs. Ottewell at her home. We began to discuss fellow classmates and a friend who had married someone from Egypt. We began talking of Palestine, politics, and the greater world. A question came up. Right there in the middle of the conversation, she stood up and pulled out an atlas. Soon we had a dictionary, too. By the end of the conversation, we were poring over maps and encyclopedias.

You know it has been a full conversation when you end it with books and maps spread out and your mind opened somehow as well.
Thank you, Mrs. Ottewell.
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The passage above is part of a chapter in my book for grownups:

Unfold Your Brain:
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Unfold Your Brain is a workbook/think book about how to deepen creativity. Early chapters are suitable for those just beginning to explore their artistic side; later chapters delve into the arts/publishing business and give hints about marketing, public speaking, and revitalizing creativity mid-career.
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That One Subject

When I started out writing for kids on Scholastic’s magazines, I used to dream of finding one subject that I could claim as my own. I wanted something I could sink my teeth into, gathering research and interviews and finally, writing an original book that reflected my intimate knowledge and my passion for the topic. It was a dream that came true. After a few false starts, I found my subject on pages 131-132 of a book called First of All: Significant “Firsts” by American Women, by Joan McCullough. The short write-up highlighted “The 1^st women’s baseball leagues,” focusing primarily on the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League (AAGPBL) started by Philip K. Wrigley in 1943. As a long-time baseball fan and women’s history major, I was astonished that I had never heard of the league. The day after I found that notation, I got on a bus and headed to the college library closest to my home (at Jersey City State) to start collecting everything I could find about the league.

That was in 1981, and after writing articles about the AAGPBL throughout the 80s, I finally finished my book, A Whole New Ball Game, in 1993. By then Penny Marshall’s 1992 movie, A League of Their Own, had piqued the public’s curiosity about the All-American, and teachers and their students in particular embraced the chance to learn the true story of these pioneering women. After 15 years, the paperback edition of the book is still in print, and the kids’ volumes on the subject could fill the better part of a library shelf. I’m proud that there’s now a literature of the league, and that its story is included in a number of American history textbooks as well.

Yet my association with the league didn’t end when my A Whole New Ball Game was published. During my book’s long gestation period, the former players I had interviewed became friends, and they welcomed me at their reunions. I had joined their Players Association as an associate when it was formed in 1987, and in 2000 I accepted an invitation to run for the board of directors. After six years as secretary, I am now co-chair of the Vision Committee, the group delegated with the responsibility of suggesting what should become of the organization and its assets when the remaining players, now in their 70s and 80s, are no longer around.

While by-the-book journalists might balk at a writer becoming part of the story, I think my book is better because of the connections I made doing the research. There’s no question that I am a more confident writer—and a stronger person—as well. Next to my family, my friends in the Players Association are my biggest fans. If it wasn’t for pitcher Fran Janssen’s prodding, I might never have finished my oft interrupted biography of Nellie Bly (due out from National Geographic in Fall ’09). And without the examples of Fran and countless other risk-taking women from the league, I might not have left the security of a staff publishing job to stake out a career as a freelancer in 1999.

Several years ago, at an AAGPBL player reunion, Suzy, a woman about my age, rushed up to tell me that my book had changed her life. After reading it, she'd contacted some of the players I mentioned and then followed their suggestion that she come to the reunion. Since that time, Suzy has become an integral part of the Players Association, running for office and helping to plan the most recent reunion. The women of the league do that to you--welcome you with open arms into their community and imbue you with their enthusiasm and pride. Writing about them changed my life, too. I can't imagine a better subject to claim as my own.

Does writing fiction affect the non-fiction writing process?

The launch of my debut novel, Climbing the Stairs, is going very well indeed. On the 1^st of May, we celebrated with a reading and autograph party at The Other Tiger Bookstore in Westerly, RI, on the 17^th at Barrington Books, RI, on the 18^th at Front Street Books, MA, and on the 31^st there will be another reading at Books on the Square in Providence.

Fine, you’re thinking. So what in heaven does this have to do with the INK Blog? This blog isn’t about novel writing, for Pete’s sake, you’re saying to yourself. It’s about interesting nonfiction.

Well, that’s true. But since I read Tanya's post of long ago and her very true words "I suspect that rethinking nonfiction means different things to each of us", I've realized that to me, one aspect of rethinking nonfiction that interests me is how fiction writing has influences nonfiction writing and vice versa.

That's been on my mind quite a bit these days – especially because I was also recently notified that I won the SCBWI Magazine Merit Award in the Nonfiction category for my article, The Power of Peace, which appeared in the October issue of Faces – and, incidentally, incorporated some of the research I’d done for the novel. The novel is set in India in the 1940’s – the time of the nonviolent Indian independence movement, led by Gandhi. The article is a nonfiction piece about the Gandhian revolution. That's one obvious example of how my fiction affected my nonfiction.

But was there anything in the actual process of writing a novel that I can apply to my nonfiction writing? That’s what I plan to blog about for the next few months: how features that we often associate with novel writing (such as “show don’t tell”, “plot”, “character”, “pacing” and “setting”) translate in terms of writing creative nonfiction. Yes, I can assure you that in my head, anyway, these terms apply equally well in the nonfiction world. And I will try to blog about why and how they do.

But before we go there, I’d like to start with one of the most important lessons I learned through writing my novel, which is about writing even on the "bad" days. Writing a novel or a long nonfiction book is like running a marathon, I think, while writing a picture book is like running the 100m dash – somewhat different in terms of the training and mindset required in some ways - but both require sustained effort and there are many similarities between the two types of writing. As I (and every other author of a picture book is well aware) a picture book is just as time-consuming and all-enveloping an effort as is writing a longer book.
Here are two tips on one important question about sustaining effort and staying interested enough in a topic to write hundreds of pages about it (or writing 16 pages and revising and polishing those 100 times over).

1.I switch to another book-related activity.For instance, I might decide to visit a writing blog, read a book that is somehow connected to the work at hand. And I don’t just do this passively – I take out my pencil and write down notes – if nothing else – even just words that leap out at me while I read. The key here, though, is that I set my alarm clock first, so it goes off in about 20 minutes or half an hour. Once that time elapses, I get right back to writing again.

2.I’m no artist, but sometimes I get out a pencil and draw the scene/concept/topic I’m having difficulty with. I think this can be really helpful at times, because it forces you to think of the topic in a different way and it can turn on the creative switch and thus help me explain it better.

That, at any rate, is my 2 cents. I’d love to have others comment on what they do on days when the muse doesn't seem to sit on their shoulders (or whatever it is that muses do to get their authors in shape). WHAT DO YOU DO ON DAYS WHEN THE MUSE DOESN’T SIT ON YOUR SHOULDER - or even flit your room for that matter?

When Facts Change: Updating Nonfiction

Every author encounters facts that shift over time, from expected changes such as a new President to the unprecedented landing of an alien spacecraft on the White House lawn (theoretically.) When you least expect it, carefully researched details or large chunks of a book can be rendered obsolete overnight. As an example of the latter, remember when this graphic was ubiquitous on cereal boxes and school cafeteria walls across the U.S.?

In 1994 I had based a book on the USDA Food Pyramid, The Edible Pyramid: Good Eating Every Day, so it was a bit of a hassle when the USDA updated the program some ten years later, however welcome the changes were.

Since the point of the book is to explore the foods found within the various sections of the pyramid, the graphic was on most spreads. It's usually a fairly easy matter to update a book’s text, but artwork is another story. Fortunately we illustrators now have software such as Adobe Photoshop to assist in this task. The original illustrations were hand painted, so the production films were scanned and turned into digital files that I could then alter as desired.

The new pyramid included steps on the side to emphasize the need for daily exercise, so I wanted to create a new illustration showing the characters’ favorite activities. It was a reasonably easy matter to cut and paste to condense two spreads into one to gain the needed space. Making digital art match hand-painted art is a little trickier, but can be done. It was also nice to fix one small but annoying glitch in the original book... in the hand-lettered text the misspelled word “ravoli” has now been spelled correctly at long last. Note to self: don’t use painted lettering because it’s much more difficult to make changes.

Here is a click-through version of the revised book (click on the orange eyeballs for a larger version):
Another of my books was dealt a body blow by of all groups, the International Astronomical Union, who decreed in 2006 that Pluto is no longer a planet, but instead is a “dwarf planet.” One commentator I heard at the time asked, ”What's next, they‘ll take Yellow out of the rainbow?“ My contribution to the still ongoing debate is to say that a “dwarf tomato” is still a tomato....

The frustrating thing for me was that only six months before the IAU announcement I had already revised Postcards from Pluto: A Tour of the Solar System to include a variety of factual changes in the years since its publication. For example, in the first edition I had been too specific about the number of moons around various planets, a strategic error on my part since new ones are discovered fairly often. Of course, the fact that the very title of the book contains the not-a-planet-anymore Pluto means that no amount of updating may satisfy those curriculum makers who prefer the official planets and only the official planets. Sigh.

Another example of a changing fact in one of my books is New Hampshire’s famous rock formation and icon, The Old Man of the Mountain. I included an illustration of it on the state‘s page in my Celebrate the 50 States! Unfortunately, it collapsed in 2003 (the rocks, not the book!) In this case, it seems a fitting memorial to leave the page as is.

As these examples show, facts can behave like bucking broncos, and authors can’t always ride them for long. But that’s what web sites are for... to post corrections and updates, right?

The devil (or the angel) is in the details…

Hello again.

Highlight of the month for me: My novel, Climbing the Stairs, received a lovely review in Kirkus, a starred review in the April 15^th issue of Booklist and is a May Booksense Notable pick. All the reviews pointed to the intricate details that make the story vivid. Which got me thinking about the importance of detail in any work – whether fiction or nonfiction.

The most important thing about detail, in my opinion, is deciding what and how much to include. This is especially hard in nonfiction, because there’s no fictional storyline to act as a “guide” to tell you what to throw out and what to keep in. And, of course, if you’re anything like I am, even if you’re about to write a nonfiction picture book that’s well under 1000 words, you probably read 100 reference books on that topic. At least.

SO how do I choose what to include and what not to when I write nonfiction? First, I sort the information I’ve gathered into little heaps (or group the references in some way – putting the books in different piles, for example).

Then, I list what got me excited about the topic. A few lines on why I like that area of nonfiction enough to want to write a book about it. That sometimes helps me understand the new angle that I see or what I want the book to do that’s different from others on the same topic that are already out there.

And that also helps me to see what I want to be just “background” material, versus what I want to focus on and emphasize. Usually all this is pretty clear when I conceive the project, but by the time I finish my research, it can get pretty muddled. Or, on rare occasions, the focus shifts and I have an even better idea that cropped up when I was doing research which I decide to focus on. Whatever the case may be, it helps me to clearly state my focus and my goal and what I love best about the topic on paper. If there are many things I love about the topic, I write them all down and then pick what I love best.

That means, of course, there will be a huge chunk of material I won’t be able to use. But leaving out the right stuff is just as important as what you leave in!

Once I have the first draft together (and it’s usually 5 times longer than the length I have in my mind as a target), I use my focus/goal paragraph to pick out the details I need to keep in. And I keep asking myself, what’s the main question this book is trying to answer? Anything l that’s not directly part of the answer I start to take out.

Then, I stare hard and once again take a look with the main theme in mind. The theme is the part that needs the greatest detail. Everything else is superfluous. I prune and prune and prune.( Which, by the way, is extremely hard for me to do. I hate pruning our potted plants – my husband does that because I just don’t like to chop the poor things.)

Pruning my writing is equally hard. There are so many interesting facts I have to toss out. But one thing that helps me is to remember that a good book has a focal point, just as a good painting does. The composition of a painting helps to train the eye to the part the artist wants us to see, and a well composed book uses facts to augment a central idea, theme, or argument.

Another tool I sometimes use is my “wheel of ideas”. In the center of a blank sheet of paper, I write the word or set of words that’s most important to me – what best describes what the book is about. Then, radiating out from the center, I write adjectives or themes that relate to the book – and link them to one another, or sometimes make a chain that radiates outward. It’s usually a pretty tangled web, but it helps me pick out the thread or threads I want to use to embroider with in detail.

Here’s a quote I use when I teach nonfiction writing. “The fool collects facts; the wise man selects them.” Powell, president of AAS, 1888. That about sums it up.

Now, for my question of the month – how do you pick what details you’re going to include in a nonfiction work?

I Write What I Am

If I think of my life as a story, one of the advantages of advanced years is that I got to see how I turned out. Upon reflection I can figure out how various factors and events contributed to the making of the person that I am today. There are not many authors of nonfiction science books for children around. It is certainly not a career path many would follow, nor is it a get-rich-quick scheme. Yet in 1979 I made a conscious and deliberate decision to make it my vocation despite the fact that I was a single mother of two young boys with only $300 a month in child support (which didn’t go very far even then). I had been a science researcher, a junior high science teacher, a network television news-writer, a stringer for a national magazine, and did a stint in public relations. I also had a dozen books to my credit (including Science Experiments You Can Eat) and 23 half-hour episodes of my own cable TV show, “The Science Game.” I knew I could earn money doing a lot of things but I thought that if I wrote science books for children I could be distinctive. Besides, I could do it from home and be there for my kids. So despite many nay-sayers who told me I couldn’t support a family with such a career, that is what I chose. How it all led to where I am today is due to a number of threads in my life. I have some understanding of their origins.

My interest in learning was fostered by my elementary school, The Little Red School House in Greenwich Village, Manhattan. It was, and still is, progressive education at its best. The emphasis was on experiential learning—discovering through making, building, experimenting, and then transforming the lessons into expressive works—writing and art. Its mission is to produce life-long learners. Here I am!

My interest in science comes from my insecurities about being an authority on anything. When I was young I believed that my opinion was of no importance. I only felt certain about what I had experienced myself and that experience was limited. I am a very literal person, only coming to understand nuances of the human condition as expressed in literature when I got some biography myself. But science is a way of sharing experiences. If you ask a scientist, “How do you know?” A scientist can say, “This is what I did. If you do what I did, you’ll know what I know.” I could trust the authority of science and as a result I could speak about science with conviction. Besides, I loved to make discoveries and science was wide open to that.

My productivity stems from financial necessity. If I had married the kind of man my mother wanted for me (like my present husband) I would not have had this amazing career. Once, when an editor who had promised me a series got fired, I broke out in hives wondering how I would pay the rent. There was a period when I had no medical insurance for me or my kids. I would peruse the NY Times want ads to reassure myself I could always bail out and get a job. Then I’d decide to hang in there one more week. I expanded into school visits, teacher in-services, and other forms of paid public speaking. I turned nothing down. Even today my moods are still very much tied to my cash-flow situation—my version of post-traumatic shock syndrome.

Every writer struggles to develop a “voice”—language that communicates the author’s humanity underlying the content of the work. In developing my voice I had to fight a tradition in nonfiction that stemmed from a very male and authoritarian culture. When writing about the real world (particularly science), the author had to be distant and dispassionate (translate: “dry”). The information was to be communicated from the real world to the reader untouched by wit or the human heart. But I’m female and a teacher. Read Deborah Tannen’s book, You Just Don’t Understand: Women and Men in Conversation. She claims that women converse to create community, while men treat conversation as a competition. (A good example of the latter is “Crossfire” on TV.) My enthusiasm for my subject was evident to my students when I was in the classroom. My job as a writer is to bring that enthusiasm to my readers through the written word. I figured that if I were bored when I wrote, my readers would be bored while reading. So I began bringing an irreverent tone and a little humor to my work. “Not so fast,” said some editors. And so, the battle began.

To this day, there are occasions when I have to “splain,” as Desi Arnaz would say, what I’m doing to my editors. (Such an explanation is on my website where I analyze two recent books: I See Myself and I Fall Down: http://www.vickicobb.com/pointofview.htm)
My books are not just about facts and ideas but include my excitement and enthusiasm for these facts and ideas. Slowly, my books have gained acceptance and I have even won some awards. A part of me is astonished at my success. My generation of women was brought up to think that men were authorities; they knew more than we did. Who could possibly be interested in my opinion on anything? When I got the galleys for my first book in 1969, I gazed at my name in print for hours. Now, almost forty years later, I have no problem saying what I think. So here it is. I hope you found it interesting.

Wrestling Nonfiction: the Prickly Crisis

This time of year I am on the road a lot. I speak at conferences and visit libraries and schools. (Check here for a awesome nationwide environmental project/art contest for classrooms K-3 to celebrate my new book TROUT ARE MADE OF TREES. The prize is I come to your school for free.)

Sometimes, I'd rather speak than write. Why? Well, sometimes writing can be doggone difficult.
About four-fifiths of the way through writing long nonfiction books, I have a crisis. I agonize. It's ugly and uncomfortable. Living with me in this state is probably like having a cholla cactus for a wife.
This is the time when I have delved so deeply into the subject that my outline for the book no longer serves. When I begin a project, I organize chapters in a fairly typical fashion. For example. If I were writing a book about seals, the chapters might look like this:

• Introduction to Seals
  
• Biology of seals
  
• Seal type A
  
• Seal type B
  
• Seal type C
  
• Conservation issues facing seals
  
• Hope for the future
  
• Resources

Yes, this organization works just fine for books 5,000-20,000 words. Many a terrific book has worked in this form. But what if it is not the best possible organization for the subject at hand?
From the first chapter to the last, the book needs a pathway. That pathway is dictated by the subject itself. Unfortunately, a writer rarely know this pathway ahead of time. (Unless he or she is an expert on the subject from the beginning.)

By the time I have studied seals and interviewed experts, the book might look more like the following. (Although I confess I have not studied seals. I am just imagining here.)

• Seeing through a seal's eyes
  
• The seal scientist
• Why flippers make sense
• Seals that dive
  
• Seals that skim
  
• Seals that do it all
  
• New technologies thanks to seals
  
• Resources

I find that if I work too hard on the "hook" for the beginning of book early on, it becomes too cemented in my mind. It is then harder to abandon it. And chances are, I will need to abandon it during the organizational crisis that inevitably comes.
During the crisis, I wrestle. I experiment. I rearrange the text, making huge structural changes. (Hallelujah for word processors.) I may try five or more major ways to organize the book. An awful uncertainly looms.
This is where I am today. An hour ago, I lay down for a nap but as usual did not nap at all. My book was swimming in my mind. Now here I am at the computer. I had to get up. A new possibility for organizing the book came to mind. Maybe it will work. Maybe it won't. But it holds the possibility of solving my prickly crisis. I have to find that flow, the best possible pathway for my book. Or else, it will never feel complete—even if I turn it in.
One of the things students need to know, and teachers need to remember, is that the writing process can be messy. And that is okay. As author Lola Schaefer says, the writing process is recursive. It loops back. You sometimes have to return to the beginning and go through steps again. It is in doing that work that you reach the highest quality in nonfiction writing.