The Resignation

Dear Susan,

I am sorry to inform you that I will not be able to accompany you to New Brunswick. Please accept my letter of resignation. And I do mean resignation, as in admission of defeat.

I hereby give up my valiant attempts to get you to keep your failures quiet, since you are obviously hellbent on sharing every last tiny setback with the entire world, via this blog.

You may think it a bit suspicious that I am quitting tonight; the night when the bar located approximately 6 feet from your hotel room window has suddenly exploded into action, but that is just a coincidence. I am not at all fazed by the frat boys who are yelling obscenities and making terrible grunting noises as they practically dive off the bar's patio into your window, which must remain open due to the stifling heat produced by this broke-ass "heritage hotel" heater. Nor am I in the least bothered by the hammered sorority girls wearing early (and remarkably slutty) Halloween costumes and screaming at the top of their lungs as they stagger blindly into the alley between your hotel and the bar so they can throw up cheap draft beer and the date rape drugs the festering sore frat boys have tried to slip into their drinks. No, those things do not bother me. This sort of thing is nothing for an experienced tour handler, such as myself. If I wasn't quitting, I might be able to help you out with this situation.

But alas, our journey together has come to an end. I don't think you can be effectively handled and I'm going to send the agency a note to that effect. I'll probably do that in the morning. After I have a good night's sleep in my own bed. Whoa! There goes another diving frat boy. That one nearly made it in! Thank goodness he lost his grip on your windowsill and plunged down two floors onto the heads of a pair of retching faux-ho sorority girls. That was close!

Okay, well bon voyagey, as Bugs Bunny says. Maybe I'll see you at the gym. I'll be the one in the leather-look tights and pointy bustier.

Yours with very little regret,

Xena

P.S.

If you are writing to me on my blog email address, andfurthermore@shaw.ca I won't be able to read your messages until I return home. That's because I've forgotten my password. Please don't tell Xena, my handler. She's very unforgiving about such things.

S.

Juice Jug

Dear Xena,

My last post was nothing like the note on the juice jug! And you should be aware that as a result of that note I became friends with the owner of the jug and we are still best friends today (though she likes to make cracks about keeping the indelible markers away from me when emotions are running high.) Anyway, my confessions weren't even that bad.

So I will repeat them here:

1. When I first walked into my hotel, which is on frat house row in Toronto, I was seized with a certain sadness. This feeling had nothing to do with the 100 year old brownstone that's been converted into a "boutique" hotel. It's because when I first arrived in Toronto when I was 20, and I mean the first day, a frat boy barked at me and another girl when we walked by. I don't mean that he spoke to us harshly. I mean that he barked. Like a dog. This was apparently supposed to signal to us that he did not find us attractive. That wasn't nice and it confirmed my dislike of all things frat and all my assumptions about the soulessness of the entire greek movement.

But that's not why I felt depressed. I couldn't have cared less about some little barking frat boy. No, I felt sad because the barking memory reminded me that I miss Frank. Of course I also miss James, but at least I'm able to talk to him on the phone. Whatever other excellent qualities he may have, our dog is a lousy phone conversationalist. We've tried getting him on the phone but he mostly just pants. Like an obscene caller. (Also, the hotel was fantastically hot. Like a heritage sauna. And that also made me glum.)

So there. What's so terrible about that anecdote? It's not even that embarrassing, other than it suggests I wasn't attractive to frat boys when I was 20. Well really, who would want to be attractive to frat boys, unless the boys in question are actually Luke Wilson, Vince Vaughn and Will Ferrell? It also reveals the information that James and I have tried to put our dog on the phone. But who among us hasn't tried to put a pet on the phone at least once!

2. I can sort of see why you are concerned about the second anecdote, so I won't go into details. Suffice to say that it finally happened. Someone actually threw up during one of my readings. I always suspected it was just a matter of time. I frequently look out at the audience and think: Oh, oh! Several of these people look on the verge! (My readings are VERY intense.) But the poor person. It must have been very embarrassing, even though it shouldn't be. What's most amazing is that no one's done it before now! This has given me a lot of insight into how the people who made the Exorcist felt when people got sick during the first showings of that film. I realize that people are probably tempted to get sick during my readings for different reasons, such as heat and possibly even boredom, but still. It's both a burden and a priviledge to have that effect on people. I take it very seriously.

Note to person: Don't feel bad. Throwing up was practically a varsity sport in my crowd when I was a teenager. That's how we knew you were "cool". As I confessed in my first appearance on this tour, during the speech I've been asked never to give again, I used to do a terrific amount of it from ages 13 to 20. If you play your cards right, you may, like me, even end up with a career where you get to sicken other young people!

Note to Xena: People love going to events that make them throw up. For instance, carnival rides, Marilyn Manson shows, and experimental jazz concerts. I think I could make this work for me!

See you later,

Susan

Day 6

Dear Susan,

I've taken the drastic step of editing your last post. As your handler, I feel it is my responsibility to do a bit more handling. Part of my job is to prevent you doing things that you will regret.

This compulsion you have to confess various real and imaginary humiliations must be curtailed! The post you had planned to put up on this blog would have done your career harm. Or at the least, it wouldn't have done it any good. So while you were out for dinner (good for you going to that vegetarian place with the elaborately named health food dishes! In no time at all you might fit into one of my vinyl outfits!) I took the liberty of erasing your last blog entry.

Remember when you told me that story about how you met your friend? How you were rooming together and you, in a fit of pique, wrote a nasty note in capital letters using indelible marker on a plastic juice jug because someone had left it empty in the fridge? And then you found out that it was your friend's juice jug, and not, as you'd imagined, the communal jug?

Well that last entry would have been like the note on the juice jug. Not a good idea.

You'll thank me for this later.

Your Friend and Handler, Xena.

Day 3

Dear Ms. Juby,

I presume you mean Linda Carter, not Linda Hamilton. And my look is much more Star Trek than Planet of the Apes.

If you would like a media escort with lower standards, just say the word. I bet Pee Wee Herman's guy is looking for work.

Your Handler, Xena

P.S. We had a border collie once and all it did was shake. I find it alarming that you are so anxious to claim intellectual inferiority to a dog.

P.P.S. Please don't be late to teach your class today. It's bad enough that you posted the wrong day on your website. You are as bad with dates as you are with directions. If you don't mind my saying so.

Puhlease!

Dear Xena,

For a media escort who dresses like Linda Hamilton on the set of Planet of the Apes (Bright Eyes! Bright Eyes!) you are very timid about the subjects of talks and about social interaction generally.

I DO NOT tell everyone about the bidet! Sure, I may have mentioned it to the festival director, but it was just an "in passing" comment. I'm sure she didn't think me any less sophisticated.

And you are all wrong about Jaclyn's talk. I am not in the least embarrassed that I am dumber than her dog, Lucky. If you were listening carefully, you would have heard her say that Lucky was a border collie. Border collies are smart! Very smart! It's no secret that your average border collie is much brighter than your average 14 year old who is in the middle of a Duran Duran phase! Never mind a DRUNK 14 year old in a one piece jean jumpsuit. There's no shame in it Xena.

Anyway, if you are going to be so sensitive, you should find another author to handle. I am a very busy person and don't have time to mess around with assessing the extra space in mini-bars. Maybe you could escort Margaret Atwood. I'm guessing she'd sound smarter than an entire pack of border collies and wouldn't let on for a minute that she has never used a bidet.

See you in the morning. Please don't stay up all night thinking of things I shouldn't have done. Save some disapproval for tomorrow!

Best regards,

Susan

Day 2

Dear Susan,

You are now two events into your tour. You have given a heartfelt talk called "Five Bandannas and a Barf Bag" about your jean jumpsuit and multiple bandanna Duran Duran phase (the one that ends with you throwing up all over your friend's car and getting the nickname "The Hurler" for much of Grade 10). I don't think it's necessary for you to dwell on the fact that Jaclyn Moriarty's charming and witty talk about her dog made it clear that, at least on the subject of "fitting in and standing out", the animal was considerably smarter than you. (A word to the wise: you may want to consider giving that talk an early retirement.)

Also, please don't keep telling everyone you meet in awed tones that there is a bidet in your room and you "have no idea how to use it." I'm not trying to be rude, but that is not a good opening conversational gambit. The other writers don't care. They are busy thinking about how they just won/lost the Booker/Giller/Orange Prize and have no room left for contemplating the wonders of your hotel bathroom. A sophisticated front: that's what you're going for here.

Okay, I'll talk to you soon. I just need to go and apologize to the housekeeper for the mess you made when you tried to stuff your Chinese food leftovers into the minibar fridge. Nothing like General Tao's chicken to stink up a room!

Love,

Your Handler, Xena

On the Road Again...

I leave Thursday for the Vancouver International Writer's Festival, followed by a tour of the Toronto Library system and then the TD Canadian Children's Book Tour in New Brunswick. Woo hoo!

If you are in Vancouver this Thursday I hope you'll come out to the event at Waterfront Theatre on Granville Island from 1:00 - 2:30 . I'll be appearing with Jaclyn Moriarty and Kevin Major, both great writers. And for the record, you have my word that I won't hit anyone in the audience with rootbeer-flavoured Lipsmackers.

Stay tuned for blog updates, which may be incoherent and sporadic, but will certainly be well-intentioned. Now I have to go and prepare another talk featuring a humiliating tale from my teenage years... Thank goodness I have so many to choose from!

Joss Whedon still

Rocks my world.

http://www.highstakes2004.com/

And Now for More Weather!

It's now 20 degrees! Sunny, sunny, sunny! Relentlessly sunny, even. And this in a supposed rainforest climate! Interesting fact: if you look at the statistical averages, the mean temperature for this time of year is usually 10 degrees. Isn't that fascinating!

Now, I you'll excuse me while I go and dig my fan out of storage!

This is Susan Juby, Global Warming Weatherwatch Girl, signing out. And it's over to you for Sports, Kevin.

It's Good to Know That...

the issue of climate change didn't even factor in the presidential debates. Because it doesn't exist. Now, please excuse me while I go put my shorts on. In mid-October.

http://www.salon.com/news/feature/2004/10/14/global_warming/index.html
http://www.guardian.co.uk/climatechange/story/0,12374,1324379,00.html

This is Susan Juby, reporting from Nanaimo, where it is currently 18 degrees (and the usual maximum is 14). I'm just saying.

Venus and Mars Talk About Web Logs

J: (on seeing me relaxing with my second Shirley Temple of the evening and reading the illustrated Big Book of the Horse.)
You know you're totally regressing.

S: You just now noticed?

J: Well, it's getting worse.

S: You think so?

J: You're not going to put this conversation on your glib are you?

S: My what?

J: Your glib. Or blig. You know, that thing you write.

S: You mean my blog?

J: Yeah. That's it.

S: No. Of course not.

Two More Reasons to Give Thanks

For my first Shirley Temple in about 20 years and crush on Jamis Bikes' Earthcruiser 2.



Oh yeah, baby!

Shirley Temple
Ingredients:
ice
ginger ale
grenadine
orange juice
orange slices
fresh mint leaves

Preparation:

Fill glass with ice. Pour grenadine over the ice, then layer with orange juice and ginger ale. Garnish with orange slices and mint leaves.

Publishing: Part 1

Agents
Getting an agent is often harder than getting a publisher. It’s particularly tough for new writers to find agents. Occasionally, a new writer has a manuscript so astoundingly good, so breathtakingly fresh, agents practically beat each other up to sign that writer. That writer might as well be a unicorn. That’s how rare that situation is.

If you want to find an agent, it helps to have a list of previous publications that you can pull from your briefcase and wave around boldly. That means submitting stories and essays to various publications. Even if it’s just Navel Gazer’s Weekly, at least your work is in print. Publications to try may include your school paper and self-published zines, literary journals, short story competitions and online publications. Your smaller publication credits will help when you have finally completed a manuscript and want to find representation.

There are many misconceptions out there about agents. These include:

When I get an agent he/she will be a lot like Tom Cruise in Jerry MacGuire or Robert Downey Jr. in Wonderboys.

Not true. Your agent may also be like Kristen from the O.C. or like Carol Burnett. In other words, agents come in all shapes and sizes. Some are aggressive and funny. Some are gracious and eloquent (my agent!). And some are unpleasant bottom feeders who haven’t made a sale since their last neighborhood flea market. Do your research before signing up with anyone. There is no agent school, no agent degree. There are wonderful agents who will be able to guide your career and, with luck, make you a star, and then there are those who are secretly afraid of paper.

Here are some other common questions and misconceptions about agents:

My agent will nurture me emotionally and artistically and pick up the pieces when I fall apart psychologically.

Alas, this is not true. Your agent will be an advocate for your work and will manage your financial relationship with your publisher. If you earn millions, your agent may occasionally do extra stuff for you, such as listen to boring stories about distant relatives, but you shouldn’t count on it. Do you ask your doctor to vet your manuscripts? No. So it’s not really fair to ask your agent to be interested in the state of your digestion. So to speak. (In the film and TV business this may be different. I’ve noticed that Larry David and his agent have a very chummy relationship in Curb Your Enthusiasm. They seem to discuss bodily functions quite often.)

My (potential) agent wants money to read my work. Is this okay?

No. An agent who charges reading fees is to be avoided like the plague. (Some people would disagree. Those people would probably be agents who charge reading fees.)

My agent will pick up my cleaning if I’m too busy.

I refuse to even answer that.

My agent will take between 15% and 20% of what I earn.

True. But if that sounds like a lot, consider that many authors earn between $2000 and $5000 a year and it can take days or even weeks of work to sell a manuscript. I can barely add and even I realize that doesn’t work out to a lot of money per hour.

My agent spends all his time holding the hand of his star, some woman named J.K. I feel neglected.

J.K.’s earnings are what allow your agent to take on new writers, writers who do not yet make much money.

How do I know if an agent is any good?

Read the trade magazines. In Canada, check out Quill and Quire. In the U.S. keep an eye on Publisher’s Weekly. These magazines list who has sold what to whom. This will give you an idea of whether your agent is successful. You can get a complete list of agents from the Literary Marketplace (available at some libraries). Lists of agents can also be obtained from writer’s guides. Try to find an agent who specializes in what you write (i.e. YA, sci-fi, literary non-fiction etc).

In the end, your relationship with your agent is a business relationship. Mutual respect and appreciation are essential. The better you understand how publishing works the better you'll be able to work with your agent or, perhaps, be your own agent. A good book to read is Richard Curtis’s Beyond the Bestseller: A Literary Agent Takes You Inside the Book Business.

If you have to act as your own agent this may not be such a bad thing. So coming up soon: How to Be Your Own Agent and Look Good Doing it…

The S.P.F.

-- Oh, hi Sean, I didn’t know you were in town.

-- Hey, Susan. Yeah, Robin and I are here with the kids. Trying to get away from the paparazzi. You know how it goes.

-- Well actually, I don’t —

-- I can’t stand those bastards. But if I say the slightest thing, or throw a little punch or whatever, it’s headline news. Sometimes it seems like everything I do just pisses people off. It’s not worth it.

-- Wow. That’s terrible.

-- Well, you of all people should know what I’m talking about.

-- ?

-- I saw some of your reviews on Amazon.com. You’ve really upset some people. Like that "Hilary Duff Land" person. She was harsh, man.

-- Well, she said she didn’t like the book, but I’m suspicious there’s more to it than that. Like I'm going to be the victim of a Duff fan vendetta or something. Maybe the reviewer was mad about my comments about using Hilary Duff’s music to torture dogs. And that thing I said about Duff’s hair.
Now I know how Avril feels. Remember when she and Hilary had that feud? Well, I know how Avril feels minus the adoring crowds and street marketing teams…

-- Rough. I got a lot of that after I did Dead Man Walking. The pro-capital-punishment people were all over my ass about that one.

-- And your fact-finding trips to Iraq weren’t totally popular with everyone either.

-- Hell no. But sometimes you’ve got to take a stand. And I have to admit that the Academy Award nomination for Dead Man helped take the sting away. Even though it’s such a high school popularity contest and I hate that shit. I only went to the last one for Clint.

-- The one where you won Best Actor for your performance in Mystic River? And got a standing ovation from the audience?

-- You saw that?
Anyway, I’ve got to say though, none of my critics have ever been as pissed off as some of those homeschool people are at you. I saw that review where that girl called you mentally defective. And that kid and her mother really tore a strip off you.

-- Yeah, it’s true. I was a little alarmed that they took it so seriously. I mean, it was supposed to be a joke. It’s like: "Your Appreciation of Irony pills are still waiting for pickup at the pharmacy counter." But I guess if I’m going to make jokes I have to be prepared for some backlash. And some homeschool kids and parents thought it was funny. The cool, nice homeschool kids anyway…

-- My buddy Tim calls it the Sean Penn Factor: the ability to piss people off.

-- I totally have that! I mean, minus the huge success part.

-- Maybe you should start doing drama. Writing serious stuff.

-- You might be right. It would make the whole backlash thing a little easier to take.

-- I’ll have a fair trade, rain forest-friendly medium roast. What are you having?

-- Same.

Advice for Aspiring Writers

Every writer is going to have different advice. Take what works for you and leave what doesn’t. I loved Stephen King’s book, On Writing, but if I’d tried to model myself after his example — writing eight hours a day, six days a week — I’d have been very discouraged. So what follows is a description of what works for me.

The Writing Process
(Warning: the following contains many appalling misquotes of famous people)

Read, read, read. If you don’t read and read a lot, it’s highly unlikely that you’ll be able to write. How are you going to know if something’s any good if you haven’t read widely?

Write. It sounds obvious, but you’d be surprised by how many writers don’t. I once asked this very successful screenwriter if I should take a screenwriting course, and he was all: “why don’t you just try writing?” I thought that was a bit rude, but he was right.

That’s not to say that you shouldn’t take creative writing courses. They can give you the motivation and support to write. But try developing your own routine. Some writers wait until inspiration strikes. I would write about once every three years if I did that. (I am singularly uninspired much of the time). For me it’s about having a set time each day. As soon as I roll out of bed, I make coffee, read my Taoist meditation, meditate for between 3 and 16 seconds (I am such a spiritual poseur it’s almost tragic), then I write. Sometimes I like what comes out. Sometimes I hate it. But I always do it. I believe it was Leonard Cohen who said “You can keep the taps open but you can’t know when the good stuff will come.” Or something like that. The point is that you have a better chance of writing something good if at least the taps are open.

My goal is to fill at least seven pages (I write longhand). When I first started my goal was to write two pages. When I have enough of a particular project written (two or three journals worth) I get someone else to keyboard it. I do this because I hate keyboarding and when I keyboard my own work I tend to “go off it” i.e. fall out of love with it. I throw away as much as I keep and I probably revise my work completely at least four or five times before I show it to my editor.

Around the second or third revision I start getting my team of “ideal readers” to read my stuff. These are avid readers who like the same style of books I do. They give me invaluable “reader response” and I often use their comments to revise my work.

Beware of bad readers! If you’ve spent any time on Amazon.com and checked out the poison that some people spew all over other people’s work, you are aware of how unbelievably rude and insensitive people can be. (Odd fact: the ruder the amateur critic, the worse the spelling. It’s a mystery. Anyway….) Even if your first efforts aren’t perfect, try to find readers who will be able to find the positive in your work. Build on your strengths and work on your weaknesses. If you are funny, be funny. Don’t try to be serious if you are a profoundly shallow person. Don’t try to be flippant if you are a completely serious person who thinks only deep thoughts. This is part of finding a “voice”. Volumes have been written on this subject and I suggest that you take a look at them.

Two of my favourite books for writers are Annie Dillard’s The Writing Life and Sol Stein’s How to Grow a Novel.

So what if no one likes your work except your mom and your best friend and you can tell that they are lying? There is only one answer: keep writing. I believe that if you read enough you will have a sense of whether something’s any good or not. Writing’s not a game for the instant gratification crowd. It can take years before you write anything people want to read. You may never write anything that gets published. That’s the reality. The other reality is that writing doesn't pay very well. Most often, writing doesn't pay at all. Very, very few people make their living as writers. So the question becomes, do you love writing? If you do and if you believe that you have something to say, keep going. I can’t remember who said this, but I found it quite inspirational. It was something along the lines of “Many people are going to tell you that you can’t be a writer and they are probably right. But just in case they are wrong, keep writing.”

Another pitfall for writers is the inner critic. This critic can be even ruder and more discouraging than the outer variety. Editing and writing are two separate processes. First write, then edit. If you try doing both at the same time I can almost guarantee you will get horribly discouraged. Trying to write and edit at the same time is like building and renovating a house at the same time. You can’t take it apart until you’ve got it up.

Meg Cabot has some very funny and useful advice on becoming a writer. You can find it at: http://www.megcabot.com/blog/2003_11_01_cabot-archive.html

I hope this helps. Just in case you can't tell, I think being a writer is the greatest thing in the world. I still can’t believe I’m a writer. In fact, I still get embarrassed even saying it. “Hi, I’m Susan and I’m ostensibly a writer. You know, I write a bit. Whatever.” Part of me thinks I may be struck down with thunderbolts for my arrogance. But that’s just my overdeveloped inner critic talking. Perhaps I should step up my daily Taoist meditation to 30 seconds.

Coming Up Soon: Finding an Agent

Our New Fall Look

HUGE grateful shoutout to Diane, web designer extraordinaire, who has given the site a wonderful makeover. Compliments now being accepted at the checkout counter!

Please note that the new "author photos" took place in an intense 10 minute session with James behind the new digital camera. I wore all my new fall clothes (and a token summer outfit, the pillowcase skirt I mentioned in an earlier post, which I've put back up below). Don't be surprised if I show up at an event wearing one of these ensembles.

I tried to make the shoot as much like America's Next Top Model as I could. I burst into tears 3 times and at the 5 minute mark confessed a serious health problem. Then I had a thirty seconds of "being a bitch", a 1 minute dalliance with a suspected eating disorder and then I had a meltdown on the phone with my mom: "It's sooooo hard! I don't think I can do it." To which my mom said, "Susan, I really don't have time for this."

Then the 10 minutes were up and James said he'd had enough (in a disgusted tone similar to J. Alexander's). Tyra didn't show up. I guess she was at a shoot or something. I'm a little worried about Janice Dickinson's comments, but I've always dreamed of being a model and fashion is my life and these other girls don't understand me and this won't be the last you see of me....

Oops. Got a little carried away there. Thanks again to Diane and to Andrew, who laid some technical wizardry on the site and fixed the rogue sidebar.

Venus and Mars Talk About Skirts

Thursday afternoon

S: Hey! Do you like my new skirt?

J: Sure. It's nice.

S: Guess what it's made of!

J: A skirt?

S: No! It's made out of a pillowcase! Isn't it amazing! And it only cost $15 at this store on Main Street.

J: Really.


Saturday morning

J: You're wearing the pillow case.

S: What did you say?

J: (blinks) I was just saying about your skirt. It's a pillowcase.

S: Are you saying it looks bad?

J: You said it was a pillowcase. The other day.

S: So you don't like my skirt?

J: ---?

S: Well?

J: I was just saying.

S: Well you don't have to say it like that. Now I'm going to get changed.