young adult fiction

We’re, Like, Y’know, in the FUTURE!

Today’s post is kind of an extension of last week’s Putting the Sci in Sci-Fi. But first, some lead-in.

Those of you who are on Twitter may know that @AngelaJames (executive editor at Carina Press) occasionally does an #EditReport session where she shares quotes from her editors on why manuscripts were rejected, then concludes with quotes on acceptances. In a recent session, the following tweet popped up:

“Characters read more like contemporary characters dropped in an historical world rather than being authentically historical.” #editreport
— Angela James (@angelajames) June 25, 2012

I’ve noticed the same problem occasionally in science fiction, most particularly in YA. The characters are a little too much like teenagers of today plunked down in some futuristic setting. When that happens, it doesn’t matter how much awesome world-building you’ve done. Your characters reveal it all to be cardboard backdrops on a junior high stage.

Would characters in your story still wear jeans? I mean, jeans have been around a while, so maybe, especially if it’s near-future. But maybe not. Would they still say “cool” or “awesome” or “creeper” or “legit”?

It’s a dilemma, though. Especially that bit about the language. Any type of current slang in a definitely-not-current setting will knock me right out of the story. On the other hand, I know invented slang is tricky, often making readers feel like these out-of-the-blue words are being shoved down their throats.

Remember the bit in Mean Girls where poor Gretchen tries to force her own slang upon the world?

(where I got this)

Sometimes when reading, I feel like giving the characters and/or author the same response Queen-Bee Regina finally gave:

With my own efforts at invented slang, I’ve tried to make it as organic as possible. Often what I do is take something current and twist it a bit. So far, it’s gotten good reactions from people who are ordinarily pretty picky about such things.

We don’t know what the future will be like. We don’t know what teenagers then will be like. That’s part of the fun of writing science fiction. At the same time, we want these characters to have a core that our modern-day readers can relate to. So it’s yet another balancing act for us to manage.

Do you have any tricks for making futuristic teens futuristic enough without losing their common thread with teen readers? Any pet peeves about too-contemporary elements showing up in a far-removed time period?

Speak up:

My YA Manifesto

I’ve been thinking about writing a post like this for months, ever since my From the Write Angle blog-mate J. Lea Lopez wrote her Erotica Writer’s Manifesto. Finally, it’s time.

Every once in a while, I run across someone who thinks writing Young Adult novels is easier than writing for grown-ups. That YA work isn’t as complex, doesn’t go as deep or dark, or is otherwise somehow “lesser” than its adult counterparts.

I’ve even heard it once or twice from other YA writers. They write YA because it’s not as demanding—they don’t think they could cut it as a writer for adults. Or they write YA because it’s a stronger area in a struggling market.

I am an unabashed writer of young adult literature. I chose it before I knew anything about publishing markets, before I knew anything about novel-writing in general (other than my opinions as a reader). So, here’s my own personal manifesto as a YA writer, the standards I’ll hold myself to.

• I will write YA only as long as I love it—reading it, writing it, talking about it.
• I will respect my readers. Young does not mean stupid.
• I will avoid Stupid MC Syndrome at all costs.
• I won’t be afraid of vocabulary, but will also keep it authentic.
• I will write female characters with interesting quirks, strengths, and weaknesses.
• I will write male characters who are more than utter hotness. (This does not preclude potential hotness … but yeah.)
• Combining the above, when characters fall for each other, it will be for reasons other than instinctive attraction or destiny.
• I will generally keep adult characters out of the way, but will not operate under the presumption that all grown-ups are stupid. Teens know that only some of us are stupid.
• I won’t be afraid of complexity—complex situations for my characters, complex issues to tackle. Teens’ lives are complex. They deal with it.
• I will hope my readers learn something from my novels.
• I will not dictate what that “something” they learn should be. I hope it varies from person to person.
• I will keep in mind that even teens who think they have no personality and aren’t special show the truth in their actions. Even the quietest teen is interesting if you really watch.

There should probably be a few more items in this list, so perhaps I’ll add to it over time.

What do you think, YA writers? What do you strive for (or strive to avoid) when writing in our chosen category?

Speak up:

You Think You Know Me?

No, I’m not talking about you knowing me. The title above is a question asked by our characters. But I also don’t exactly mean knowing our characters on an individual level—their likes and dislikes, personality quirks, deeper values, etc. (Incidentally, though, From the Write Angle recently had a couple of great posts on that. Here’s one. And here’s the other.)

My question is related, yet different. A more global perspective—more demographic, maybe—where knowing our characters and knowing our audience overlap.

When you write about teenagers, and teenagers are your target audience, this is kind of important.

Everyone knows generalizations are ridiculous. You can’t say, “All teenagers are like this.” You can’t even say ‘most’ are. The opposite, though—where you’re pretty sure no teenager would say or do something, or act a particular way—that can happen. When teens read the story, they don’t have to think, “Every character’s just like me,” but they should identify the characters as real … like some teenagers somewhere.

How do you make that happen?

I consider myself lucky. I’m surrounded by the target audience throughout the workweek. A pretty good cross-section of personalities and backgrounds, too. That definitely helps. Not a possibility for everyone, though. And not a necessity.

What are the other options? Believe what TV and movies would have us believe about teenagers?

I grew up with the running joke of actors pushing (and pulling) thirty playing teenagers on 90210. So, um, no.

Better option for those who don’t have a lot of teens in their everyday lives (or even those who do): READ.

Unlike when I was a teen, there are a ton of great YA books out there. Even better is the wide variety of character types you can find. They’re not all perfect—some Mary-Sues, some clichés and stereotypes—but if you look carefully and read (a LOT), you can get a feel for the modern teen character.

Personally, I can’t imagine trying to write a YA novel without reading stacks of them first.

And if you can find some brutally honest teens willing to beta-read for you and call you out when the adult-writer is overpowering the teen-character … so much the better.

Any other ideas about getting that reader-character synergy? Experiences where you got it right on … or way wrong?

Speak up:

Learning from Fiction

There are lots of ways we learn through the written word.  Textbooks are the most obvious, though not always very effective in and of themselves.  Nonfiction books can be a great way to learn about almost anything you can imagine–cultures, history, technology, or just the lives of interesting people.

We can learn through novels as well.  Hard-working authors who do their research can infuse factual tidbits seamlessly into the plot, and we can learn through a character’s choices and their evolution through the story.

It recently occurred to me that there’s a key difference between the nonfiction and fiction approaches to learning, though.  Nonfiction generally sets out to teach–that’s the whole point, to be informative.  In fiction done right–in my opinion–it’s up to the reader to learn, and what they take from the story can vary.  The parallels they draw will depend on their own worldview and experiences, and that’s what makes it so fun–that feeling of finding your own meaning.

What happens, however, when someone sets out to write a novel with the nonfiction writer’s intention of teaching in mind?  Does it still work?  I’m not sure.  I haven’t tried it myself.  Do you get a “moral of the story” or after-school special feel as a result?  If so, that could be a problem.  I can’t speak for all teenagers, but my students are master cynics.  If they sense a story’s been contrived to teach them something, brace for imminent eye-rolling.

Does it come down to ensuring Story trumps Message?  Is it more a matter of not talking down to your audience?  Or are those two related?  Something to think about as I dig through the latest YA works to find books to recommend to those charming cynics.

Speak up:

YA Work and the Big Bad

One of the basic elements of storytelling is conflict.  Most sources list between four and six main conflict types.

• Man vs. Self–the identity crisis
• Man vs. Man–“duke it out” (physically or otherwise)
• Man vs. Society–the rebellion
• Man vs. God/Fate–big-time underdog
• Man vs. Nature–the disaster scenario
• Man vs. Technology–“Good morning, Dave.”

Speak up:

That Aristotle Guy

Oops, kind of a long stretch since the last post.  At first, there wasn’t much to say.  Then there was, but it was more of the same (four fulls and a partial out at one point = more waiting).  Finally, it was getting back to the day job, where almost everyone on campus had to relocate due to renovations.

The inspiration for today’s post comes from the day job, in fact.  We had a professional development day yesterday, most of which wouldn’t interest any of you.  During a presentation on critical thinking skills, though, came a moment of epiphany … and it wasn’t while my colleagues and I were trying to build a tower out of marshmallows and toothpicks.

Our presenter includes some quotations on a few of her slides, and one particularly caught my attention:

In addition to the implications for educating my little rabblerousers, it struck me as a nice summation of my philosophy on accepting critique.  You have to be able to entertain a thought, even unpleasant ones, without (necessarily) accepting it.  Once you entertain it, you can make that decision whether it has merit you should act on or not.

This is especially applicable to me recently, as three of my four fulls came back with rejections.  One was a form rejection, so there’s nothing for me to take from it.  Another was a detailed message that felt like the agent just didn’t get it–we all view things through our own lens, and hers seems to be polarized at a right angle to mine.  The third was a brief but personal message that raised an interesting question.

It’s that last one that has me thinking the most.  Perhaps I’ll expound on it in another post.  My book doesn’t follow a certain part of the YA sci-fi/fantasy formula.  I know that, and in many ways it was my whole point.  So I’m trying to entertain the thought planted by that agent without accepting it, at the same time looking for what I can take from it.

Meanwhile, I’m forging ahead–working on Book Three, receiving good news on another front (see if you can spot it in my Twitter feed, post forthcoming), and wondering if I’m ever going to hear back from Agent #1.

Oh, and keeping up with the day job.

Speak up: