Margaret Nevinski

I'm back from the "mini-res" conference for MFA alumni at Vermont College of Fine Arts, and my head's spinning from everything I learned from writers Deborah Wiles, Marc Aronson, Marina Budhos, Jan Spivey Gilchrist, Walter Dean Myers, and Diane Stanley. Top on my list is what Walter Dean Myers said about voice.

I've been hearing about the importance of voice all my writing life. But Mr. Myers put voice into a context that had personal meaning for me. I'm from a working-class family, and have often felt that my natural voice, which stems from the voices I heard growing up, isn't good enough. Voice should be writerly, right? Wrong. Mr. Myers learned that from his own life. He said that the way you talk is your natural voice. To be successful, find your natural voice and accept it.

He also said that reading, writing, and sending out your work are "intellectual push-ups." When the 73-year-old author is asked when he'll retire, he responds, "If I retire I'll just go back to my hobby, which is writing." What an inspiring man.

Deb Wiles also had gems to share. She reminded us that our characters make mistakes for us. In other words, don't be afraid to let those characters we love make mistakes and bad decisions. She also said, "Emotion is an equal partner with plot." How often have I heard editors speak about the importance of emotionally connecting with a character? And what else draws a reader in, if not a connection with our main character (who makes mistakes)?

This is just the tip of the iceberg (which we could have used in hot and muggy Vermont). I'm chipping through the ice and will find more sparkling slivers to share.

This week I'm going to a conference for alumni of Vermont College of Fine Arts, where I earned my MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adults. Wow, that was a long sentence. The sentence is long, but the conference won't be--just 3 days. I'm seriously excited!

Besides reconnecting with fellow writers, I'll be seeing editors and agents who know the children's book industry up and down.

Andrew Karre, Samantha McFerrin, Julie Scheina, Kristin Daly Rens, Mary Kole, Alyssa Eisner Henkin, and Elena Mechlin are the industry professionals who will share their expertise about writing for children and teens.

When I'm back, I'll report on what I learned. For now, I need to pack my shorts, T-shirts, sandals, and sunglasses for warm, sunny (I hope) Vermont.

Last Tuesday, author and illustrator Laura Kvasnosky spoke at the Western Washington SCBWI. What a great night. Laura, the author and illustrator of the Zelda and Ivy books as well as picture books and a middle-grade novel, talked about using artists' techniques to structure a novel.

As a non-artist, I have to admit I felt intimidated at first, especially when Laura asked us to draw! She uses sticky notes to create "sticky note scene sketches" for her novel-in-progress. Laura sketches each scene (stick figures are okay for us non-artists) and shifts them around as she's planning the novel. Laura also creates a collage on a wall board with material--she calls this "scrap"--related to her novel. For example, she includes photos, newspaper clippings, a calendar, map, drawings, and other images. Laura also creates a storyboard. I associate storyboards with picture books, but I saw how useful they would be to give an overview of a novel-in-progress.

I came away feeling reassured that artists' techniques are not just for artists. The next morning, I looked at the wall space in my study and wondered where I could put my collage and storyboard.

A friend gave me an article written by Michael Cunningham, author of The Hours. The article, "Found in Translation," appeared in The New York Times on October 2, 2010. To read the full article, go here.

Michael Cunningham talks about how his novels have been translated into other languages. But he also says that there's another way to look at translation.

He writes, "Many novelists, if they are pressed and if they are being honest, will admit that the finished book is a rather rough translation of the book they'd intended to write."

What does he mean? Cunningham explains that the novel inside our heads is "a cathedral made of fire." He goes on to say, "But even if the book in question turns out fairly well, it's never the book that you'd hoped to write. It's smaller than the book you'd hoped to write. It is an object, a collection of sentences, and it does not remotely resemble a cathedral made of fire. It feels, in short, like a rather inept translation of a mythical great work."

Oh, dear. Does that mean we writers shouldn't even try?

Of course not, and that's not what Michael Cunningham is advising. We may not end up with our "cathedral of fire," but we may end up, in my words, with a nicely built house that readers will love. Cunningham adds that another act of translation occurs, and that is the relationship between writers and their readers. He writes that "the reader represents the final step in a book's life of translation."

What a great way to look at writing and reading. Together, writers and readers are translators. The writer "translates" the "cathedral of fire" in his or her mind, to the words on the page that the reader "translates" according to his or her own life experience.

Thank you, Michael Cunningham, for your brilliant novels and for a new way of looking at the art of translation.