writing process – Jodi Rizzotto

At the beginning of May, I attended a writing retreat up in the mountains of Southern California. Tahquitz Pines in Idyllwild, once a youth camp, has been refashioned into a wedding/resort destination. Its cabins, bunkhouses, and lodges still whisper echoes of Christian songs and children’s laughter.

The writing retreat is put on by the Southern California chapter of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators. A small group of authors who write middle grade and young adult fiction work in critique groups to improve their stories. Two literary agents and editors give their insights as part of the groups. In addition, attendees get one on one time with one of the industry professionals. Written critiques were purchased separately and given to the writers before the retreat. Time is set aside during the three day retreat for revision and writing time.

All of this sounds like a lot of work. But there were plenty of social activities. There were team building exercises, yoga, hikes, a pizza party by the fire pits, and a game night. Some writers went into the quaint town of Idyllwild to get stronger coffee or visit the bakery.

My favorite part was hanging out with other writers. Most of them don’t live near me, and the only time I see them in person is when we have our fall conference and this retreat. Being a writer means spending time in solitude and dealing with rejection. Sharing my stories with other writers encourages me to work harder. Spending time with other writers reminds me that we are all in this together. We can celebrate our writer friends’ victories and commiserate about the slow grinding machine of publishing.

When I come down from the mountains, my vision for my writing is clearer. Revising my stories seems less daunting. My words flow like Strawberry Creek, the rushing stream that runs through Idyllwild. I am encouraged and refreshed, ready to press on.

If you are a writer, I hope you take the opportunity to go to a writing retreat. In a world full of rejection, your writing family can be the hug you desperately need.

Have you ever decided to become an expert at something, only to find out the more you spend time doing it, the less you actually know about it?

In my earlier years, I was a visual artist. For most of my childhood, I expressed ideas through drawing and painting. My first degree was a BFA in Fine Arts. But after college, real life intruded, and I had to make money. My creativity was expressed in clothing displays and sale setups. I continued to draw and create intaglio prints at the local community college.

Then came motherhood. My creativity emerged in birthday cakes and scavenger hunt parties. My creative genes were passed down to my youngest, who although she drew and painted, she preferred photography and video.

When the retail industry choked after 9/11, I went back to school to become an elementary school teacher. In my classroom, my creativity generated bulletin boards and diagrams of the water cycle. When I took on the after school musical theater program, I created backdrops and sets.

After my husband suddenly died, writing became my comfort. I could write about my characters’ struggles and pain easier than my own. Although I’d always written short stories, I had my heart set on novels.

How hard could it be?

Years later when I retired, I imagined I would crank out novels every year to make up for all those earlier years with no time for writing. My short stories appeared in anthologies. I got my first writing advance ($15).

After I finished three novels, I began to send out query letters and sample chapters. My heart was set on traditional publishing, so I knew I needed a literary agent. As the form rejections rolled in, I realized I didn’t know as much about writing as I thought I did. It wasn’t just about having a great story idea. I was responsible for creating character arcs for all my major players, as well as the villain. Novels had to be divided into acts and move at a certain pace. Forget the glorious description of the setting. You needed to blow things up.

How could I get better?

I took classes. I attended writing conferences. I hired editors. But the most helpful step was joining a critique group. It would take a long time to go through my novel in a critique group, but it was well worth it. After three years, we finally reached the ending of my novel. My faithful critique group tore it to shreds. They had permission to do so, as they had lived with my story for a long time.

Who knew endings were so hard? I made some corrections and resubmitted to my group. Still it wasn’t enough. Or rather it was too much. Apparently, I had another entire novel embedded in it.

I can’t help it if I keep coming up with new great ideas.

After much soul-searching, I now sit in front of my laptop, cutting chapters and characters, trying to salvage my novel. I’ve learned a lot. My next novel will be so much better.

As of this date, I haven’t deleted this story yet. The revision process may be painful, but it is a good teacher. You can read all you can about how to write, but in the end, you have to go through the process yourself.

And blowing up the ending of your book is a great way to learn.

Tag: writing process

The writing retreat

While I’m busy blowing up the end of my novel