 "Rest," a speed paint of Mae in the Silverwood We are three months out from the publication of Woodwalker on May 17! I have been doing a lot of artwork and planning in preparation. This whole process has been so wild and exciting--- on publication day, it will be almost exactly two years since I started typing the first few paragraphs of Woodwalker. So much has happened! My characters and world have grown and changed so much! I have an agent, a publishing house, a sequel! And I couldn't have done it without so many of you. Whether you're close family or an online follower, your support and interest mean so much to me.
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Man, December hit like a freight train this year. Here are the things that happened in the span of three days:
Needless to say, I have no shortage of things to keep me awake at night. But one thing has overridden everything else, buoying me through the season. Okay, two things. One is whisky shots. But the other is my brand-spanking-new workspace. Our old house was 900 square-feet, two-bed, one-bath—a good size for a newly-married couple. But five years later, as a family of four, we were bursting at the seams. My desk, such as it was, was wedged beside the chest freezer in the utility room, but I couldn’t always work there. With no other alternative, it often served as a landing pad for laundry and cooking. But besides that, it was loud. There was no quiet place in the house—nowhere I could sit where I couldn’t hear everything else that was going on, whether it was Daniel Tiger teaching my kids about the potty or Kai Ryssdal serenading my husband with the marketplace reports. I often wound up writing in bed with my earbuds blasting Pandora’s Ambient radio station.  High chairs do not peaceful company make.  Chest freezer doubled as secondary workspace until I had to access the frozen peas. Now, I don’t mean to whine. Our house was small, but it was safe, and it was ours. We had a great little yard for our vegetables and flowers. My girls learned quickly how to share space and belongings. Power bills were absurdly low. I could vacuum four out of the five rooms from the same electrical outlet. But I can’t deny that trying to create a productive workspace was a nearly impossible task. My most vivid memory of this crusade came during the first draft of Woodwalker. It was in the evening, and the girls were in bed. At that early stage, my youngest daughter was sleeping in a bassinet in our bedroom. My oldest was asleep in the adjoining room. My husband was working on some project in the utility room, listening as usual to NPR podcasts. That meant I was on the couch in the living room. But it was also vacuuming day. We have a second-hand Roomba we inherited, and it was busy trundling across the living room floor. As such, the coffee table and toddler chair were stacked on the couch beside me to give the Roomba a clear path. I was hunched over my laptop on half a cushion, doing my best to move my characters through a thrilling plot of danger and intrigue while the Roomba crabbed along the couch and Kai updated us on the S&P 500. I’m pretty sure I ended up re-writing that particular scene. You can imagine how thrilled I am, then, that in our new house, we’ve dedicated an entire room to being a home office. It comfortably holds both my desk and my husband’s (he's promised to listen to his podcasts on headphones). It gets lovely sunlight through two windows. It easily fits a large bookshelf, big enough to hold not just my books, but twelve years’ worth of sketchbooks as well. But best of all? It has a door. A door that closes. I don’t even know what Daniel Tiger sang about today. I didn’t hear Kai Ryssdal do the numbers. I couldn’t hear a single word. I heard the click of my keyboard as I worked on edits, the tap of my stylus as I redrew my cover, and the little ding Photoshop makes when I try to use too many hotkeys at once.  You can SEE the silence (though that may be because I haven’t unpacked all my boxes yet). It was bliss. I'm enjoying my editor's revisions immensely, and I'm really excited about the direction the book cover is heading. I'm looking forward to many long hours in this little room, where the only sounds are the cacophony of character dialogue in my head (and that Photoshop error ding--but at least I can mute that). If you’re waiting until you’ve built the perfect workspace to start your novel, don’t. If you’re waiting until you have more time, don’t. You’ll never have a better place or time than right now. Carve out your space. Make the time. Let it happen.  Though I do recommend having Gandalf and the Marx Brothers present whenever possible. Of all the many books that have stuck with me since childhood, none have influenced my actual writer’s voice as much as The Thief. Megan Whalen Turner’s book-turned-series has been the biggest player in my writing life, neck-and-neck with Lord of the Rings.  Ah, the Newberry Honor Book of '97. Good year. Like The Hobbit, I used to reread The Thief almost every year, right up until I went to college. I read the sequels as they came out, and I developed a love for them too, often after several re-reads. But The Thief has always been number one in my heart. But over the last few years, I’ve felt myself undergo a transition in my preferred reading material. Plot holes and tropes I used to gloss over or miss entirely now stand out glaringly to me, and books I once adored now seem paltry in some cases and downright offensive in others. For this reason, I think, I was afraid to reread The Thief. I loved the protagonist Eugenides and his witty narration so much I worried about going back and finding out my adulation was just a product of naiveté and too much fangirling. Until this week, I hadn’t touched the book in the last eight years or so. But, despite my avoidance, as I plotted and wrote Woodwalker, it became undeniably clear what a tremendous impact Megan Whalen Turner has had on my writing and on my concept of a captivating story and a clever protagonist. Turner’s unreliable first-person narrator was my first experience with such a character, and I relished going back and rereading her first book over and over again, picking up on all of Gen’s hints and slips. My copy of the book is riddled with little handwritten “ha!”s and “that’s what YOU think!”s anytime this twist is particularly clear.  I'm dating myself by revealing that "lol" was already a thing during my childhood. Partway through my first draft of Woodwalker, I realized with trepidation that there were so many unintentional similarities, I was afraid someone would immediately slam me for copyright infringement. This was coming at the tail-end of grad school, where it was imperative to only write work that was entirely my own, and to maniacally cite any work that had even a whisper of another author. It scared me so much I actually stopped writing Woodwalker for a while, but I was too nervous to pick The Thief back up. I was afraid that if I read it again, it would confirm all my suspicions, and I’d have no choice but to throw my now-beloved manuscript out on the street. Fortunately, this break in writing forced me to read more. I started a “YA Reconnaissance” bookshelf on Goodreads and began to work my way through many of that year’s top Young Adult fantasies. And you know what? I came to the delightful, liberating realization that nothing I write is original. Everything in Woodwalker has been done before, from the plot to the setting to the characters’ names and personalities. I can’t even describe how refreshing this was. I wasn’t going to get charged with plagiarism and kicked out of grad school for having the same story arc as another book. I have the same story arc as a thousand other books (likely more). Freed from this burden, I picked my manuscript back up and forged ahead, buoyed by my new discernment between imitation and inspiration. Now, with Woodwalker on the verge of publication and its sequel in its final rounds of editing, I felt it was time to revisit Eugenides and face my fears that I’ve grown into a cranky and cynical literary snob. And I came away relieved. Not only do I still love this series, it's actually grown with me. Things I missed as a child mean more to me now as an adult, which has increased my admiration of the later books. And Gen still has a hold on my heart. I still laugh at his snark; I still admire his skills. I love his expert concealment of his true motivation and his willingness to sacrifice himself for his companions and his queen. I love Helen, my earliest heroine who is blatantly described as ugly. I love Pol’s perceptiveness and Sophos’ awkwardness. I love the Grecian setting and political intrigue. And I’m happy that, after shaking my cane at dozens of YA novels and shouting at them to get off my lawn, I haven’t totally transformed into a ruined old crone. Thanks, Megan Whalen Turner, for this enduring piece of my childhood, and for laying such a solid foundation for my own writing.  Never change, Gen. Oh wait, you do. For anyone not familiar with the publishing industry, the first major step to a book deal is querying agents. Most publishing houses will only accept manuscripts that have been accepted and vetted by literary agents. But querying is hard. Like, college-essay-meets-bad-breakup hard. Every agent asks for something different in a query letter, but they generally boil down to a pitch for your novel, a short bio, comp titles (where you compare your book against other similar books), word count, and genre, all within about three to four hundred words. Add to this herculean feat the emotional investment you have in your novel, and you're looking at weeks of rocking in the fetal position before you even start writing your letter. It’s safe to say that I spent more time researching query letters, agents, and agencies than I did actually querying (at least the hands-on part… that doesn’t include the months of waiting and hours spent weeping into mugs of tea). Many, many words have been written on how to write a good query letter, so I hesitate to add any more. But I do want to share a few resources that directly helped me create a successful query letter—one that landed me my fantastic agent, and ultimately, my book deal. We’ll begin with the greatest of them all (for me, anyway), Query Shark. Janet Reid is a literary agent with FinePrint Literary Management, but I’m convinced she must be some kind of minor deity in whatever religion authors adhere to (Orthodox Caffeination?). In her time off from being a full-time agent, she runs a constantly-updated, scrupulously-detailed blog in which aspiring authors send her their query letters—and she slays them. She picks them apart line by line, revising them until they’re ready to officially query. I’ve seen her revise the same letter six, seven, eight times, all on her own time, all for free. The only stipulation is that those edits are then posted on her blog for hapless writers like you and me to learn from. She recommends reading every single post in her archives. I urge you to do the same, and here’s why. Before I read her blog, I had written what I thought was a fairly passable query letter. Once I found her blog, I started reading. And reading and reading. After reading every single post all the way back to 2004 (it took me weeks, but there are no shortcuts in this industry), I realized there are approximately infinity number of ways to make a mistake in a query letter, and I had made about 75 percent of them (you do the math). I’m not going to summarize her advice, because a) it is numerous and nuanced, b) you’re better off doing your own research, and c) she has a much cleverer voice than mine. But I will share the Ultimate Magic Formula, the greatest gift Ms. Reid gave me. There are two remarkably straightforward formulas for getting the right information into your query and for making the most of every single word. Think of them as those fill-in-the-blank thank-you cards you had to send after birthday parties, only with a potential book deal riding on the outcome. Here they are. I used the latter. The main character must decide whether to ___. If (s)he decides to do this, the consequences/outcome/peril (s)he faces are ___. If (s)he decides NOT to do this, the consequences/outcome /peril (s)he faces are ___. I hesitate to post my query letter, because I’m afraid the Query Shark will find it and tear it apart, but seeing as it’s done its job and gotten me an agent and a publisher, here’s the bulk of it: Dear Ms. Noble, This plus the right amount of bio and optimal formatting for word count, comps, and genre (READ HER ENTIRE BLOG!) is ultimately (I think) what got me through the slush pile and in front of my agent’s eyeballs. Querying is hard, convoluted, subjective work. Fortunately, there are generous, snarky spirits like Ms. Reid out there to guide the wandering writer. Blessed be the rich in snark!
You can find Janet Reid’s blog, Query Shark, at http://queryshark.blogspot.com/. This new piece I just finished gives me a good opportunity to talk a little bit about some of the cultural fashion in the book and where I drew my inspiration. Hang in there, because none of it makes sense.  While I love drawing Mae being the skilled badass she is, fancy dresses and finery are certainly more fun to draw, and it’s not entirely out of character. A big part of the Wood-folk’s culture revolves around dancing; all their holidays incorporate it somehow, and it would be an integral part of the smaller communities throughout the mountain range. Any social gathering would likely give way to dancing at some point, whether it’s out in the town square or in the cramped space of someone’s parlor. While Mae is probably more at home with a tunic and scout pack, she would have cherished this part of her native culture and would long for it during her exile. Nailing down exactly what real-world culture the Wood-folk mirror is impossible, because I took a bunch of seriously cool influences and mashed them together. The most significant aspect, wardrobe-wise, are Mae’s soft-soled leather boots. These would be worn by everyone all the time, with different fringes and decorations for different occasions. Here she’s wearing boots embellished with bells, which would be a popular choice for dances. Her titular rank as a Woodwalker would in part be conveyed by a pair of boots with two bands of fringe. And at a solemn occasion like a funeral, folk would wear boots with no embellishments at all.  Exhibit A. Oops, this seriously highlights how much I fudge on feet. Apologies. These were inspired by several different Native American cultures, but that wasn’t the only influence. With dancing being a large part of the culture, much of the Wood-folk’s wardrobe would be designed around what looked cool while spinning or moving. Enter the influence of belly dance. I took a belly dance class in grad school (yes, grad school, bring it on), and I came away loving not just the spirit and fluidity of the style but the gorgeous ensembles that went with it (I never wore any myself; mostly I was in yoga pants and blown-out socks). I really wanted to capture that incorporation of the ensemble as part of the dance. So a dance in the Silverwood would likely be filled with flowing fabric, miles of pleats, and embellishments designed to move with the dancer.  You may notice similarities between Mae’s bodice and the one above. Hint: they’re exactly the same  Another Silvern dancer, a previous queen of the Silverwood. Neither the Native American influence nor belly dance influence makes any sense with the actual music, of course. The instruments and melodies driving the festivities would be derived from traditional Celtic music. Fiddles, whistles, and dulcimers would be accompanied by bodhráns, or flat drums struck with tippers. Ultimately, the style of dancing would most closely resemble contra, a folk dance similar to square dancing, only done in a line and by hipsters (it’s okay, I’m one of them). They’d also have partner dances that would incorporate contra moves, such as Mae’s partner allemande above.  John Joe Kelly, of the band Flook, one of the greatest bodhran players in the world. Also he kissed my cheek at a concert in Savannah. So basically we’re looking at an Appalachian folk dance set to driving Celtic music, danced in elaborate gowns and super comfy footwear. This concludes my thesis on the absolute greatest mashup of dancing traditions possible (I told you this happened in grad school). Tune in for the next installment of Continental Fashion Culture: Lumeni Diving Costumes. This one will include shirtless men.  Mark your calendars.  On Saturday, June 28, 2014, after the girls had gone to bed, I opened up a blank Word document and started typing. This itself wasn’t unusual—I’ve always written stories, almost as long as I’ve been drawing, and throwing vague ideas onto paper was nothing new. But this time was different. This was the novel I was determined to see through to the end. Not write just for my own enjoyment, but with the ultimate goal of seeing it in print. Dragged along by a determined protagonist through a constantly-evolving world, I had high hopes for this little brainchild. One year, four months, and fourteen days later, I can finally announce that Woodwalker has been picked up by HarperCollins and will be published in the spring of 2016!  There are an outrageous number of people to thank for helping make this a reality, the foremost being my amazing agent, Valerie Noble of Donaghy Literary Group, who believed in me and Woodwalker from the get-go. I’m grateful to my new editor, David Pomerico of Harper Voyager Impulse for taking me on for publication. Will, of course, who was the first person to lay eyes on my ugly little larvae of a first draft and assured me it wasn’t the worst piece of writing ever penned. My beta readers—my mom, who prodded and nudged each scene to achieve its full potential; my dad, who corrected all my biology and natural science errors; Anne Marie, who helped me create a believable and dynamic world; and of course Caitlin, who will always and forever be my soul sister, partner in crime, and fellow writer. Oh, and Corey, even though he never actually finished the book. For updates, artwork, and inside information, you can keep an eye on this blog or follow me on my other social media accounts, namely Twitter and Facebook. Thanks for your support, your interest, and following along on this wild journey.   I can pinpoint a lot of books that inspired me to write and draw at an early age, but few have been more influential than the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, so it’s fitting to begin in Middle Earth. My first memory of these books came at the age of eight, when my dad read me The Hobbit out loud. We were traveling at the time, and we were taking a red-eye plane flight when we reached the iconic scene when the goblins are setting fire to the trees where Thorin and Company are hiding. My dad has never been one to do things halfway, so he belted out for all our fellow passengers to hear: Fifteen birds in five fir trees, their feathers were fanned in a fiery breeze! I was mortified at the time, of course, but now it’s the most vivid thing I picture about that scene.  Potentially the whole book. The Hobbit was my first literary love. I read it every year throughout my childhood, but the first time I picked up Lord of the Rings, full of the afterglow of the Battle of Five Armies, I cracked my head on the sudden shift in tone and voice. I couldn’t get past the Council of Elrond. Through middle school, I shied away from LotR, until the momentous occasion occurred—there were going to be movies. Well, I couldn’t go see a movie in good faith without having read the book, could I? So I crept back to my copy of Fellowship of the Ring. I read it, set it down, saw the movie, came back, read it again, and then polished off The Two Towers and Return of the King in just a few days. I think it helped to have a face to put with each character.  Although Orlando Bloom has nothing on my book’s Mullet Legolas. Thus began the true era of The Lord of the Rings for me. I was blessed in high school with a group of unabashedly nerdy friends, and we fed off each other’s nerdtastic energy like bees on honey. I quickly consumed The Silmarillion and Book of Lost Tales, and later Unfinished Tales. I drew, I wrote, I dreamed, I created, I more or less drove my parents to insanity until I graduated high school and moved out of the house. (To be clear, despite my love for Lee Pace and Martin Freeman, The Hobbit films were a huge disappointment for me. I thought they were made with far less integrity than LotR, and I mostly try to ignore them.) The obsession continued through college and grad school, though it did change in nature, becoming a bit less fangirly and more scholarly (think Implications of the Abduction of Celebrían and the Nuances of Quenya vs Sindarin). But most importantly, it drove me to research and to write. I dove into the depths of the appendices and The Silmarillion to create stories of my own within Tolkien’s world (see: Abduction of Celebrían, above). Now, fanfiction gets a bad rap, stigmatized as weird erotica and half-baked Mary Sues. Writers: don’t let this stop you. Fanfiction is an amazing incubator for a budding author. It eliminates some of the legwork of creating your own world and characters, and as a result, it allows you to find your voice, learn how to build a successful story arc, and, if you do it right, RESEARCH!! I researched the heck out of my works even though I knew I was never going to publish or share them. So fanfiction gave me a foundation and a playground to let my writing skills run around and fall down and get dirty. But after a while, I began to feel the constraints of working within someone else’s world. Let’s be real, there’s not a whole lot of space for women in Middle Earth. Sure, you have a few notable characters (including my favorite, Eowyn), but they’re auxiliary at best. It’s a boy’s story at heart. Gender egalitarianism and its influence on my work is a post for a different day, so let’s leave it with me being tired of feeling sidelined in this world I loved so much. This frustration fed directly into the creation of Woodwalker and its sequels. The stories then gained a life of their own which drove them away from the Tolkien-esque feel I started out with, but the underlying foundation is still there—adventure, long journeys, distinct cultures, and skilled characters (the majority of which are women, hey-ooo!). So, thank you, J.R.R. Tolkien. You inspired me, like so many other artists and writers, to find my own Middle Earth, though I’ll venture to say none of us will ever achieve the same kind of depth and cultural shift. In fact, clever readers might notice a distinct nod to Tolkien as my mentor in the pages of Woodwalker. Can you find it?  Use your Elf Eyes! |
Emily B. MartinAuthor and Illustrator 
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