And It Really Happened

When I was in graduate school, I worked on the If I Can Read, I Can Do Anything reading incentive project at the Laguna Elementary School on the Pueblo of Laguna Reservation in New Mexico. My professor and I would go out to visit the school about every six to eight weeks bringing books and some sort of giveaway prize.

Most of the books were donated, and the students and teachers loved them. Their favorites—above any other genre—were scary stories, and the best ones were the scariest ones. In fact, the school's librarian told a version of "The Ribbon" in one of the best ways possible. She would bring the students into the library's storage closet, which was big enough to accommodate everyone, and turn off the lights before launching into the story. No matter how many times those children heard that story, they always screamed at the climax. It was such a scary, fun, glorious moment to be a part of.

Of course, my professor and I couldn't get away without telling a scary story of our own. While I always read one from a book, my professor would tell one. She did, however, have a rule that she would only tell scary stories that had happened to her or someone she knew—and she had some scary stories! The children loved hearing them, too.

In honor of that tradition, I will tell a scary story that happened to me and friend of mine when I was about eleven years old.

My friend V and her older sister were spending the night at my house. We lived out in the country down a gravel road, five miles from town and a mile and a half from our nearest neighbors. The house was an old farmhouse with no air conditioning and large windows. Because we had no neighbors, we only had lace valance curtains. 

All three of us were in the living room. It was terribly late (or incredibly early, depending on your point of view), and V's sister was asleep on the couch. V and I were watching videotaped music videos on TV because we didn't have cable, and I relied on my cousins to record videos on VHS and mail them to me (this is why I will NEVER not have cable as an adult). 

We were total dorks, but we didn't care. We were having a great time singing along and goofing off when we heard a voice by the window.  Both V and I distinctly heard a male voice say exactly the same thing—"They're awake. They're watching TV."—like he was talking to someone else! 

I paused the video and stared at V. "Did you hear that?" I asked. 

She nodded. 

Naturally, we did not look out the windows. We never saw nor heard a car. We woke up V's sister, but she thought we were crazy and told us to go to sleep. Deciding that was sound advice, we turned off the TV and the lights and tried to fall asleep. It took a while. 

While I have my suspicions about who I think the mystery boys were, I can never prove it. In the end, nothing happened, but it sure was terrifying at the time. Even now I get chills thinking about it.

My Book Is Sold!

At the end of January (January 28, to be precise) my agent called to tell me I had an offer for my book from Holiday House.

I said, "Really?!" and had to sit down.

I took a few notes about what she said, including reminding me that a couple other editors still had the manuscript. The rest of the day I could not stop grinning. I had a meeting at work that afternoon, and I honestly have no memory of what we discussed. After that phone call from Carrie, the rest of the day was a blur. I did buy myself a big bag of M&M's and a York peppermint patty to celebrate (I am the last of the big spenders!).

Of course I told Mom that night, but I didn't tell anyone else. Carrie got back with me a few days later to say that the other editors had passed, and I was officially with Holiday House.

I was thrilled! Holiday House only publishes children's books. We have lots of their books in the library system.

One week after the phone call, I told all my friends on Twitter and Facebook (mainly because I saw the post from my agency). I emailed other friends and my critique group buddies. The beautiful thing about writing books for children is how supportive everyone is of other writers.

Then I got a lovely letter from Kelly Loughman, the editor I'll be working with at Holiday House.

While I was at PLA, I got the contract to sign. When I got home, I signed it and mailed it off.

Now I'm waiting for the next step.

Here's the official notice from Publisher's Marketplace (thanks to Sam for sending this to me).

Sara Joiner's UNNATURAL SELECTION, about a Charles Darwin-loving girl of the Dutch East Indies, and what happens after volcano Krakatoa erupts and the only person who agrees to her plan of following the animals to safety in the island's jungle is her prim-and-proper nemesis, to Kelly Loughman at Holiday House, by Carrie Pestritto of Prospect Agency.

Woohoo!

Critique Group Fun

I work with a great group of critiquers. We meet in a Barnes & Noble. A regular group of four of us, plus a semi-regular group of others offer great insight, good questions and sound criticism.

I drive forty-five minutes one way to meet with them, and I’ve been doing that for almost nine years. How the time flies!

Some people from the group have moved away (boo!), but we still keep in touch through Skype. We created a group which one of the members christened the Texas Skype Walkers, so we could still read each other’s work and offer support and encouragement.

They’re all members of SCBWI and write children’s books. Their books are wonderful, and I know I’ll see them published one day. I look forward to celebrating that good news with them.

As a librarian, many people in our library system know I also write. One of our branch managers had several patrons ask her about offering a writers’ group. She asked me if I would be willing to run it. I said sure.

Our first meeting was in September. We decided to form a critique group, and we have about six members including myself. They write all kinds of genres, both fiction and nonfiction. The group is still new, and the dynamics are still forming. But it promises to be a good group as well.

I cannot praise my critique partners enough. We share our news with each other. We mourn setbacks and celebrate victories. If you can find a critique group -- in person, online, through email -- find one. I love my critique partners.