Deadline Looming

Nothing like a deadline looming to get me out of my funk. The first 15 pages are due April 1 for a novel intensive I am attending as a precursor to the NJ SCBWI June Conference. I have been in packing and unpacking mode for so long, trying to get back into a writing routine has been slow-going. But getting the reminder email that the deadline is right around the corner (thank you Donna), was just the trick I needed! I love deadlines!

And for more inspiration...

Anyone going to the midnight showing of The Hunger Games tonight? No? Me either. But I am going on Saturday and I cannot wait. We are going to have a party complete with hearty fare and trivia and then off to the crowded movie theater. I already well up with tears when I hear Taylor Swift sing Rue's Lullaby.

Suzanne Collins has inspired me. Spring has inspired me. Deadlines have inspired me. And yes, I admit it... Taylor Swift's haunting voice inspires me, too...

What inspires you?

NaNoWriMo Week 2

Goal For This Week: 14,000 words

What I Accomplished Last Week: 7, 664 words and a lot of whining!

Downside: I am not off to a good start. All that NaNo hype and I am behind!!!! I just couldn't get out of my own way this week, nor could I get myself started. Which, is really weird considering, I was SO psyched and ready for NaNo. The truth is, two weeks before NaNo began, I fell into a serious case of the blues - it was the anniversary of my mother's death, I am dealing with some finacial difficulties, I've been looking for a job (like the rest of America) and have not been able to find one (like the rest of America)… Anyway, by the time NaNo actually began, I was a deflated balloon. I've been trying to blow myself up again, but I think I have a slow leak somewhere that needs patching… This week, my goal HAD to shift. I had to find a job. And I did. Huzzah! So, NaNo took a back seat. BUT… I also recognize that I allowed it to take a back seat and did not sacrifice in anyway. I didn't stay up late. I didn't wake up early. I just allowed my time to silently slip away. Bad, bad writer-girl!!!!

Upside: I learned a lot about myself and the length that my negative voice will go at self-sabatage - (it will even make unnecessary gynocologist appointments to avoid writing. Imagine that! A story for another time.) Anyway, the positive is, I'm on to you, negaitve voice, and how you'll stop at nothing to stop me. So, I am constipated in the creative sense. I've had a daily dose of prunes and well, sorry, but I'm waiting for my writing to run… (Ok, I'll stop with the bowel analogy and get on with it.) The true upside is… it's a new week and I can catch up, eventually. And my true goal is not in the word count. It is in reaching those elusive words… THE END!!!

Any Additional Comments:

See ya at the finish line! Now get to work!!!

Start at the End

The secret is to start a story near the ending. — Chris Offut

I really like this quote from Chris Offut.

It's like my screenwriting professor once told me, "Come in a scene late and leave early." I think it's the same mentality. Start so the reader has to think - No. WANTS to think - wants to figure it out. And end the story so the reader feels s/he has done so successfully, and yet is satisfied, perhaps, by the things s/he couldn't figure out that you, the writer explained.

Makes it sound so simple, doesn't it? But we all know it's not. Maybe that's the secret - start near the end - but I wonder where the blueprints are? It's one thing to KNOW something but another entirely to be able to do it.

But as grandiose as it sound, this is what I will strive for in my novel. I don't know at what point I'll accomplish this tall task or if I ever will, but this is my goal. I'm not there yet. I'm a long way from being there. Somehow I feel when I write the ending of my novel, I will know the beginning.

What do you all think about Chris Offut's quote? What ideal do you strive to reach in your craft?

We Interrupt this Dream and Excerpt Number II

The winds were howling last night as I sat in bed reading Harry Potter 4. I finally turned out my light to go to bed at around 12:30 am. At around 3:00 am I was suddenly very awake for no apparent reason. But as I sat there, listening to the wind, I heard my main character speaking to me. Don’t worry I am not psychotic. It’s a job hazards of being a writer. Right???

So I laid there in the dark listening and it was revolutionary. My main character was telling me about her father and uncle in the story and why they hated each other. I thought I knew why they hated one another, but as I listened, I learned there was much more to it then I realized. Afraid I would never remember all of this in the morning, I went downstairs, bleary eyed, toned down the brightness of my computer screen and got right to work.

I was done around 6 am. The house was still and dark and I was finally sleepy again. I had written a whole undiscovered chapter to my novel just like that. The experience was so surreal. I really don’t think I had anything to do with the words that flowed through me. I felt like a conduit for my main character. I have heard of this sort of thing happening to other writers. I have always hoped it would happen to me. I go to sleep each night and say, OK T. Come to me tonight and tell me more about your story, with the hopes that tonight will be the night I dream about it. But until last night, it has never happened. Only I didn’t dream about it. I was woken up.

It was an amazing experience. I hope it happens again and again.

So here is Excerpt Number II. Again, not wanting to give away too much about my novel…

He cleared his throat uncomfortably, not knowing what to do. I think he wished he had some words of wisdom to help Papa. I think he lingered because although he wanted to help, he didn’t know how. After all, his wife was still alive. They had been married for 40 years.

“I brought my famous lemon meringue,” said Mrs. Laramie a little too cheerfully. She left her husband to place her pie next to all the other foods everyone brought. Maybe she thought she could bake words of wisdom into her pie.

No one could imagine what Papa needed at this moment. Not even me. Most of all not me. But I knew it wasn’t baked into some dessert or in anyone’s words of wisdom.

Happy writing everyone!
Sheri ks, ks

Dogs and Deadlines

My eldest daughter's dog, Luke, taken by my youngest daughter... He's a tenacious Cairn Terrier

I'm back... and not just blogging on my regularly scheduled day, but in writing too. I have been in such a writer's block for about a month - a very painful, long month. At first I thought it was my nerves before meeting with an editor from Penguin to discuss one of my books. Or maybe from preparing for the SCBWI workshop. Or maybe I was burned out from reading so many MS's a day. I am in two writer's groups, plus the small group I was placed in for the workshop, brought my reading load to 13 MS's or more to read in a week. Looking back, no wonder I was blocked.

But the words are flowing once more and I am thrilled. The sun is shining. It is warm outside and supposed to stay that way for a few days. And you can just feel, spring is a month away. Something internal has clicked on. My family and I went for a long walk along the tow path of the Delaware River today. I love walking on the river, but it's been too cold. Luke, the cairn terrier pictured above, doesn't walk so well on a leash. But Kenzie, my trusty collie/shepherd mix is, of course, perfect all the time - except when she blows her coat twice a year...

So what it is that brought the words back? Who knows? Maybe it ran its course like some word virus. Or maybe it's having a deadline. There's nothing like a solid deadline to kick things back into gear.

Perhaps there's more to it then a simple deadline, but I do have a looming Monday deadline and I knew I had to pump something out or risk losing out on a deadline. So I decided to re-read last week's pages. I prepared myself to throw 90% of it away, but was surprised that it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. While in my blocked state, I couldn't see the forest through the trees, or the words through the pages. And then seeing I actually had something to work with, I relaxed and wrote forward. This is not to say that I will not become blocked once again and fail to believe in my process. Whatever it is that stops me or allows me to write, one thing's for sure - it just feels so damn good to be back!

Here's the best way I can describe what I was recently experiencing... when I am blocked, I feel like I am over thinking every single word. I feel like I force the words. And the best way i can describe it, is I feel like I am writing from the front of my brain, where I believe the ego lives. But when I am truly in a writing zone, it feels like I am in a trance, like I am writing from within a very deep inner self, one that is not conflicted by ego or over thinking things. Yesterday, without agonizing over it, I just naturally fell into that inner core.

So what is it that stops me from reaching this core, and what is it that allows me to reach it at other times? I have no idea! I hope with time and experience I will learn to control it and not the other way around. I will learn to trust my process and know that at the end of every writer's block, comes a flood of words.

So, the sky has parted and the heaven's sing, Ahhhhhhhhhhh...

What do you do to get yourself through a rough bout of writer's block?

I am going to start a new Sunday tradition. I am going to include a short excerpt from my novel, but nothing that can kill the buzz or give away too much of the story. Just a line or two, or perhaps a paragraph at the most that I feel proud of for one reason or another. So, here it goes...

Excerpt 1: It felt like time held its breath, as Grandma May’s lacy curtains stood rigid against the breeze from too much starch. It was as if the onlookers were watching a play with a cast of two: me and Papa, not sure how this story was going to unfold, but sure it wouldn’t be a happy one.

Happy Writing Everyone!
Sheri ks, ks

NJ SCBWI Workshop

Hello all,
This is just a very brief posting saying... I've been to the NJ SCBWI workshop today. I met some lovely ladies in my group. (Hello Joelle, Marcie, Lynette, Hallee, Lisa, and of course, Leeza!)

In case you've never been to such an event, here's what happens...

About a month before, you are assigned a small group. The ladies mentioned above were in my small group. Each small group is assigned an editor to receive a one-on-one critique with for 20 minutes. So in that month’s time, you have to mail your first 30 pages of your novel, or your entire PB MS to Kathy Temean, RA of the NJ chapter of SCBWI. AND... you have to email your pages to the members of your group.

Then over that month you read and critique all the stories as they come in (or wait until the last possible moment - whichever way works for you...) Then, on the day of the conference, armed with the critiques you have written for one another, you show up ready to share.

Everyone takes turns presenting their feedback while, one at a time, a member will quietly dismiss herself (sorry no token males were present in our group) and meet with the editor in a separate room.

Then, around, well... lunchtime, there is a lunch where we can all mingle and meet other writers or editors present at the event. Then we go back and finish our critiques.

At the very end is an open mic Q+A session with all the editors. We get to learn what they are individually shopping for, how long their personal turn around is with scripts, and their tips and tools of advice and suggestions. We, as writers, are eager to eat up every nugget of info they are willing to provide.

And at the end of the day you've made friends (or enemies – no, only kidding!) and you hopefully will walk away feeling energized, renewed, and ready to revise, revise, revise.

I, on the other hand, always walk away feeling exhausted! I need a few days to not think about it, while all the while my subconscious is percolating, and simmering, deep in thought. Then, in a day or two... or three... I read everyone’s comments. I print out a fresh clean copy and begin writing notes of what the others have said. If someone else says the same thing, I put a check next to the comment. If again, another person says it, I add another check and so on. If there are comments that don't ring true to me, that no one else brought up, then I let that comment go. I toss it, as Joelle said in her “Take it, or Toss it” philosophy. If there are comments that spark something within me, even if no one else said, I star it.

Then I open my computer, copy and paste the story onto a fresh document and save it as... whatever the title is, the draft number, and I give it a new version number. For example, my novel... is on its first draft, but 5th version - 1.5. (For me, a new version is when I make changes within a single draft. Once I get to the end, any other changes would begin my next draft. And then process begins all over again, 2.0, 2.1, etc.) So now, I save it as a new document as TITLE, 1.6. Next, I take the hard copy with all the converted notes and I place it in that story’s binder. All of my stories have their own binders. Then in the binder, I mark it, TITLE 1.5 NJ SCBWI Feb 2008 conference. The editor’s version goes in the binder too, of course, and I attach her business card and her critique, so it is altogether.

And that's my process!

Another benefit of the day is... a good number of the editors that come to these workshops do not accept unsolicited work. But once you've met the editor at an SCBWI event, you are no longer considered unsolicited for a window of time - usually a few months. So even if you met with editor A, you are still welcomed and invited to send you MS to editors B, C, and D, as well. And most promise that they WILL read your MS and WILL write a personal (rejection) letter (OK hopefully not a rejection letter of course! I was only being funny!!!!)

So if you haven't ever tried an SCBWI conference or workshop. I highly recommend it. Visit SCBWI to find your state's chapter. To have that 20 minute one-on-one wiht an editor is so worth it!

When You're Too Busy Planning, You're Not Living Life

My purging is complete. Now it is time for some reflection... Two years ago, I went back to work again as a full time reading and language arts teacher for all the 4th graders of West Amwell School. I had been home on an 8 year maternity leave - yes, I said 8 years. I had a plan. I always had this plan - I would be a writer. Originally my plan was to teach for three years, learn what books needed to be written for elementary school kids and write them - simple, right?

But we all know how "...way leads on to way..." and before I knew it, 8 years had vanished. Then I left and had a baby. Then another baby. One year bled into another and before I knew it, another 8 years had flown by - again with a plan - to be a writer.

Not much writing happened during those years - those years of planning and not doing. Oh sure, I took a class for a few years on being a children's writer. And then I took a class on screenwriting in NYC for another two years. And sure I wrote my assignments, but I wasn't really living life as a writer. I was still planning to be one.

I wrote a lot of poetry in those days too. Actually, poetry was my first love as a writer. But I digress - So I went back to work as a teacher. I was teaching the great writers and not being one.

I was depressed.

I loved my students, don't get me wrong, and teaching was nice, but... I had no life and I wasn't writing at all. So when the position ended - the teacher I replaced while on maternity leave came back - life said 'no' to teaching and for the first time, I decided to listen to the universe and walk through whatever doors opened to me. Without question. Just walk through and see where it took me.

I also decided right then and there that I was no longer going to knock on closed doors because when a door is closed, universally speaking, it usually means, no one is home. So I started listening, really listening. The first thing I heard over and over was SCBWI, join SCBWI. So I did. I met a great friend there; Leeza. Then I tried to join a writer's group, but all were filled, or disbanded, or left no new information. So I asked Kathy Temean, RA of NJ's SCBWI what I should do. She said start your own. So I did. And the Hunterdon County Children's Writer's Group was formed. Sixty people showed up to our first meeting. Since then it has grown to a really unique group for children's writers. We have about 40 active members, and seven small groups, where we have all learned to critique without criticizing.

And as a result of listening to the universe, walking through its opened doors, and ignoring the closed ones, I have grown and learned so much.

I guess that's why this last bout of writer's laryngitis really hit me hard. It wasn't writer's block. To me writer's block is not knowing what to write next. I know what comes next in my story. It was laryngitis. I suddenly lost my voice. So I had to find a cure.

I cleaned. I purged. I went out to dinner with my extended family and celebrated our birthdays. I laughed. I lit candles. I meditated. I had plenty of sleep. I drank plenty of water.

But then today, thinking about this next posting and wondering what to write about, I decided to read my old poems. And I realized, well actually I realized a few things, some poems I used to think were really good, actually were quite bad. You might think this would be a downer. But it wasn't. Because through recognizing how trite some of them were, I realized I had grown.

I've walked through doors and listened to the universe, and met the people I need to know and because of it I've grown. I no longer PLAN on being a writer. I know I AM a writer.

One poem stood out to me though, and really illustrated this growth. I feel so far away from those words, those feelings right now and I am glad.

This might be a long entry and I try to keep them short - believe it or not - but here is that poem...

Unrecognizable, Even to Myself

Like a war veteran who still feels his amputated arm, I cling to a life, to the person, I once was, the person I wanted to be.

I search my face in the mirror, trying to find some part that I can recognize,
But I haven’t found it yet.

Oh don’t get me wrong, I value the people and things in my life; my family, my health, the roof over my head. I am not ungrateful,

Just lost.

I remember when I was younger dreaming of the life I would live when I grew up; daughters, a husband, perhaps an old farmhouse with horses and a dog. I would be a poet, a writer. My life would be simple and quiet, unfettered with obligatory friends and things to do. I would remain timeless in my beauty and thin - as I once was. I would be happy. The smell of wood burning in our fireplace. Unity of the family I had created with a soul mate of a husband; love, quiet, reassuring love, equal love, happy, fulfilling love.

I guess I am not so far, far away from that original painting in my mind; a Normal Rockwell oil painting of time frozen on a canvas with happy, content faces, living a simple life, in a simple time. Certain pieces of the portrait exist; a husband, daughters, dogs, a home, although not an old farmhouse and we don’t have horses. Still things are not as they seem, as they were in the painting of my life.

The quiet. The happiness. The very rare unfettered choices. The simplicity. The beauty and health of youth. The quiet, equal love. These are not here. The living life simply as a writer, alone time, time to write, alone, in quiet solitude, in an old converted barn, with the smell of wet wood and dust, sipping coffee, or maybe tea, with my dog asleep on the floor next to me, waiting

and watching as pages fly and fingers ache with the typing of words strung together like pearls on a graceful strand.

This life lives on only in my memory; the memory of a life not lived.

Instead, societal norms press my moves, marking my decisions, tying a noose around my neck.

Instead a paying job, I now seek, to fulfill my bank account instead of my soul, too weak to fight for what is right now, to write now no more.

Instead, I am a discontented, respected member of society, working for a living, at an honest pay, doing an honest job.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood and I, I took the one more traveled by
And that HAS made all the difference.

It has tarnished my canvas, filtered the light, shifted the shades, discolored as they fade.

What is a grown-up to do with childish dreams and real bills to pay? How else can I do what I want and not what I must?

I teach children about the great writers instead of being one. I observe a symphony of sight and sound on the silver screen with my husband and children and tears are shed, not for the sentiment of the movie, but for the ones I will never write, see on the screen, for the awe that is inside of me, and remains to be seen.

Now I have papers to grade, and lessons to prepare, and writing is a not so distant dream of dreams I once had...
when I was young.

Young and unfettered from demands of grown-ups in a grown-up world. No time for dreaming, or writing. I might have to leave that for those who found there way in that yellow wood on that overgrown path, no traveler tramped.

I will have to leave that forked path perhaps for another day. When? Who knows now. Life passes us by as we make our plans of mortal man, immortal perhaps for others. Not I.

I took the other road. For not many understand the life of a writer, who sits alone and writes about the life you live, not for money, not for fame, not because anyone is knocking on her door asking her to... just because she has to. How can I justify this life now, now that there are mouths to feed, and backs to clothe, and a husband to help carry the load? How can I justify a life of writing for no one but myself?

I can not.

Not anymore.

And so I work, work for hire, work for pay, work so society can be proud of me.

Fettered, yes.
Chained, hampered, held back... you bet.

On my usual drive to work the other day, I drove past a field of sunflowers, bright and yellow. Their dark, undistinguishable faces trying to capture the sun. At first I was struck by the beauty in their uniformity, their neat rows and tidy lines. But then I noticed one flower grew taller and surer than the rest, as if reaching, reaching to be something more, something different, forging her way in a sea of sameness. One flower reached for the sun on a tepid August day.

She did not stop to ask if she had the right.

America's Top Writer by Danette Haworth

I stumbled upon this great writer's blog the other day - Danette Haworth - She recently sold her first middle grade novel, VIOLET RAINES ALMOST GOT STRUCK BY LIGHTNING. Yay, Danette!

She wrote this great new posting on her blog entitled, America's Top Writer. It is a paradoy on today's warp-speed-to-the-top reality TV shows. Check it out. You will laugh out loud! http://summerfriend.blogspot.com/2008/01/americas-next-top-writer.html

A Good Review!

It was my turn for a critique in my writer’s group. Often I wonder when I will ever get that critique where all my fellow writers say, Bravo! It’s perfect! Don’t change a thing! Although I secretly wonder and hope for the arrival of this unlikely day, I know if JK Rowling herself was in my writer’s group, I am sure there would still be much to talk about.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my group. I wouldn’t be half the writer I am today without them. We've been together for nine months, and although that is still a short time, the changes I have seen in all our writing is amazing. I know, personally, I have grown by leaps and bounds as a result of being part of such a thought-provoking group of fellow children’s writers. We are certainly not afraid to speak our minds, say it like it is, and challenge each other when we need it. Which is why this last critique has left me speechless. OK I am never really speechless… but I was moved to secret tears and am still in awe!

My middle grade novel has been through many, many changes. This is my 6th draft and I hope my last, but I know, even as I write this, that that is most likely not going to be the case – as there is always room for improvement. In this draft, I have switched from third to first person. I normally do not write in first person, but I kept hearing my main character speak and I kept changing it to third until one day I said, Fine, you want to be in first, then let’s go. I never anticipated the huge transformation this seemingly small change would cause, but it did. I submitted my first 2 chapters the critique before this one, and it went very well and everyone agreed, first person helped me capture my main character’s voice and breathe real life into her... I was on the right path.

But this last critique…

I was really nervous. It was for a short chapter… chapter three. Chapter three follows a chapter where something momentous happens and I was afraid chapter three was too quiet. It is quiet in the sense that it is not filled with a lot of physical action, but it is filled with a lot of emotional tension. I haven’t been this nervous about a critique in a very long time. I thought for sure, I would leave thinking, Great! Now I have to rewrite the whole chapter before I can move forward. I couldn’t have been further from the truth.

It was a unanimous BRAVO!

They all loved it. They were moved to tears, held their breath in anticipation, couldn’t stop turning the pages, and wanted more. Finally, my dream came true – to hear that you have emotionally affected a reader! Isn’t that what being a writer is all about – that the reader is completely absorbed and invested in your story? And like I said, this group can find a needle in a haystack! I am still on cloud nine. Of course there are always suggestions about how to make it stronger and more clear, and those obscure grammar rules, but to have affected these readers, is a dream come true.

Now to keep up this momentum for only another 20 chapters or so…

Moving Forward in your Novel

I was surfing fellow writers' blogs the other day and came upon two I really liked. One is by Rebecca. I like that her blog is honest about the daily triumphs and miseries about being a writer. The ups and downs are shared in her blog about writing, and revising, and when we feel on top of the world and why we all do this crazy thing - writing stories. But it also shares the truths about those all too familiar rejection letters and how sometimes criticism is just too much to bear.

Then I happened upon Rachel's blog. Rachel wrote about a class she is taking and a new way of thinking called scenes and sequels and it has made me STOP and take notice of this now sixth revision of my middle grade novel. She says... think of your scenes in terms of goals, conflicts, and disasters. And I thought that this made perfect sense. Of course your story has a much broader goal, conflict and disaster. But each scene should have its own mini arc if you will. So there is a rise and fall within that crescendo of your story and it's grander rise and fall. Like the constant rolling of the waves within the constant rise and fall of the tides.

She then went on to speak about sequels - the emotion, thoughts, decisions, and actions of your characters within each scene as seen through narration, speech tags, actions tags, etc. It is these emotions, thoughts, decisions, and actions that color your canvas with layers. My favorite example of this is from an article in the Writer Magazine, Shtick it to Them, where Arthur Plotnik says this about adding those layers and using action, emotions, etc. to speak volumes for your characters. Some of his examples are....

"I love you," he said.
She blew smoke in his face, "How nice."

Or

"I love you," he said.
She checked her cell phone, "Gotta take this."

In both these examples, it was the actions that spoke for the characters. The author did not have to say something expository like, but Susan could careless as she answered her cell phone. How dull that would have been? By using action to speak for the character, it gave the character life.

All these layers, what is unspoken in your words, the rise and fall of the arcs within the arcs, they are what breathes life into your stories. I can't stop thinking about it and am excited to use scenes and sequels in my hopefully (but I know it won't be) my final revision.

Happy writing!
Sheri ks, ks

Formatting - the Title Page

Knowing how to properly format your manuscript is vital to your survival in the field of children's literature. Actually, it is vital in any writing field. It is the best way to show an editor that you are professional. Even the most brilliant scripts will be "filed under the desk" if it is not properly formatted and clean.

Since there is so much to know about formatting though, I am going to break this up into a few separate postings. This first posting will only deal with how to format the Title Page. A TRUE Title Page, however, is used primarily in novel writing - NOT PICTURE BOOKS. So picture book people, yours will be slightly different.

Formatting Your Manuscript - The Title Page

Step One - Opening a Header

1. In Word go to View and then to Header.
2. In the upper left corner, single-spaced, Times New Roman, 12 font, type your full name.
3. Then next line – your address.
4. Next line – your telephone number.
5. Next line – your email or website address.
6. On the top line, right corner, write your intended audience, such as Early Reader, Elementary, Middle Grade, or Young Adult
7. And under that - word count. (This varies from publisher to publisher. Some do not want word count, some do. Be sure to consult the Writer’s Market under the publisher’s submission guidelines to find out.)

When setting up your header, BE SURE TO SELECT ‘DIFFERENT FIRST PAGE.’ You’ll see why later. You can find this by… going to View, then to Header, then to Page Set-Up, then the Layout tab, then check Different First Page.

Step Two - Numbering Pages

Be sure to select in your header to begin counting pages at 0. This way your title page will not be counted as page 1, throwing off your page count. This is done by...

1. going to View,
2. then to Header,
3. then to Format Page Number,
4. then Start At and type in 0.

~However picture book people should not type - start at 0 - because their text will begin on this page.

Step Three - Your Actual Title

Many people like to make their title Bold and choose a large point font, but I suggest you stay in Times New Roman. However, there is no set ruling on this – just personal preference. So, select a size font you like and type your Title in bold, right in the center of the Title Page.

Since all your information is already on this title page, it is unnecessary to write "by 'Your Name'" under the title. It is already in the upper left hand corner of your Header.

Title Pages for Picture Book Writers

All of the above is the same for you, too. The only difference is, you would then begin your text right on this page. After your title, skip a bunch of lines until you are about 2/3 down, indent and begin your text. Your text should be double-spaced, 12 point , Times New Roman font.

If you’re writing a Novel, as stated previously, your title page should only contain your personal information and the title of the story. The text will begin on the next page. I will go into more detail about formatting for subsequent pages in my next posting.

For more on formatting the text of your story, look for my next posting entitled Subsequent Pages - The Text.

Bye for now,

Sheri ks, ks