Bartography

Something I’m still trying to figure out with my nonfiction is how far to go with the “warts and all” approach.

Obviously, it’s important to me that young readers know about the people that I’m interested in writing about, or else I wouldn’t be writing about them. And with one notable exception, I can’t think of any children’s biographies that were written about horrible people precisely because they were horrible people. We tend to write about people we admire, or at least about those whose stories are meaningful to us.

But people aren’t perfect, and what I struggle with is how much to dwell on those imperfections. Is it dishonest to frame a story so that it avoids having to deal directly with those flaws? Is it lazy to save up those shortcomings for the author’s note so that they don’t disrupt the flow of the narrative? Would a children’s biography in which the author goes out of his way to poke holes in the subject be any fun to read?

I wish I had better answers than “maybe,” “maybe,” and “probably not,” but at the moment I don’t. I sure hope I do by the time I finish new drafts of Smith and James.

I missed Mr. V’s book-signing debut last night, as I had a debut of my own. I made my first visit to a class — Austin Community College’s Writing for Children — as a children’s writer. I was astounded at how fast the 45 minutes went by, and by how much I enjoyed myself. I was especially tickled by one student’s bulging eyes when I mentioned that my first submitted version of The Day-Glo Brothers was 6,200 words long. Obviously, the class had already covered the minor fact that most picture books are under 1,000 words.

I’d started to become a little resentful of the time eaten up by my preparations for the class, but this morning I’m so glad that I did take that time to get ready. And now it’s a two-way race between my ACC honorarium check and the first half of my Day-Glo advance — one of them will become the first cash money I’ve received as a children’s writer.

I know I wrote a couple of weeks ago that my manuscript had gotten its sign-off from the powers-that-be at Charlesbridge, but I’m delighted to report that earlier this week I got word from my editor that we’d worked out the last two lingering editorial details. “We are officially done,” she said. Nothing could have sounded better.

Meanwhile, an editor interested in Smith has asked me for some supporting information to help convince potential doubters at her house that Smith was a nationally significant figure, rather than one who would resonate only regionally. So, this a.m. I spent a chunk of time pulling together market research — yes, market research. Of the “people who care about Smith’s work are 129% more likely than the average US consumer to read The New Yorker” variety. I could have told her what kind of coffee they prefer, but didn’t.

At lunch yesterday I continued working on a new version of my James manuscript, and also got caught up on some recent back issues of Publishers Weekly. I found a couple of editorial staff changes I’d missed, which may come in handy at the end of the year. Come the last week in December, I aim to get back on the submitting-to-editors train if there hasn’t been progress on the agent front.

When I finished a critique of a friend’s novel at 6:45 Saturday a.m., I officially cleared my other projects out of the way as best as I can so I can focus on my Day-Glo revisions. At least for now. I’ve got my Smith manuscript to touch up a bit more and send off, but only after I receive a couple more critiques. Aside from that and the occasional blog post, I’m all about revising.

But… but… but…

I couldn’t resist replying this morning when I heard from a would-be source for my James project — a guy I’d contacted over a year ago but had never been able to get in touch with. (Let’s hear it for long-term projects!) But it was just a small e-mail, and surely whatever conversation that develops — by phone or otherwise — won’t take up too terribly much of my time.

Oh, and I also picked up, um, four novels today at the library (during a lunch hour otherwise devoted to revising, I swear): Avi‘s The Mayor of Central Park, Dan Gutman‘s Honus & Me and — to my surprise and bewilderment — Laurie Halse Anderson‘s Speak and Meg Rosoff‘s How I Live Now. Wasn’t I just telling someone over the weekend that I couldn’t care less about YA right now? I guess by “right now,” I meant Saturday afternoon, because here I am Monday evening, totally absorbed in Speak.