All Your Favorite Animals are Dead.

Er, I mean, Happy Springtime?

Don’t feel like reading? I got you, dawg—I recorded the whole newsletter in case you prefer listening. I forgot the intro, and at some point I said, “Creativity is opportunity” instead of “Critique,” but here it is!

Welcome to Spring! A time of rebirth, a celebration of new life, and the season in which I scarred my youngest child forever.

It was a lovely, warm day a couple of years ago, quite like the sunny Spring of Deception (see chart below) afternoon I’m enjoying today. I’d taken my daughter, then a tender four years of age, on a stroll to enjoy the sun on our skin after days of frigid cold. She got chatty, as one does on walks outside, and asked my favorite animal.

Just then, a young bunny hopped out from the bushes, as if to declare his bid for the position. I delighted all parties with the revelation that bunnies are, in fact, my favorite animals. Could the day get any better?

”And what is your favorite animal, sweetie?”

“Apatosaurus, of course!” She pointed to her dinosaur dress, where pink apatosauruses stood smiling amongst the triceratopses and stegosauruses and rainbows that completed the whimsical pattern.

“Of course.” I smiled and pet her hair.

“Can we see one?”

A hauty little cloud slow-rolled across the sun, casting an eerie shadow over the path ahead.

“Oh… well, yes, we can see them in the museum.”

“A real one?”

“Sure, it’ll be a life-size model that scientists have recreated from real bones.”

“But, I want to see a real one!” And by real, she meant living.

Another cloud gave me the side-eye as it crept by to join its friend, and a brisque breeze reminded us that Third Winter waited smugly just around the corner.

I pulled my jacket closed and tried to keep my tone airy as I broke the chilling news. “Well, babe, there aren’t actually any real live apatosauruses anymore. They all went extinct a long time ago. But you have your stuffy, and we can—-”

She stopped in her tracks, sinking into the tar pit of horrible realization, “You mean, they’re ALL DEAD?”

“Yes, sadly, we don’t have any living dinosaurs anymore. But remember when we got to see their footprints in Utah, and the big skeletons in Denver? Those are pretty cool, right?”

I had no hope my cheeriness would do anything to soften the sad tale, and I caught her as she sank to her knees and cried in despair. I let her process. She has apatosauruses all over the house. The dress, necklaces, stuffies, plastic toys—even cartoons with talking ones. The girl loves apatosaurus, and I just told her that EVERY SINGLE LAST ONE OF THEM IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD IS DEAD. Has been for unfathomable ages, likely having perished in a hellscape of theretofore and henceforward unrivaled destruction. And did I actually think I could comfort her with the fact that we can go look at their DUSTY OLD DEAD BONES in a museum? Of course she needed a minute. No one could keep it together after a blow like that. I’d swept Santa under the rug for years so as to not confuse the dear child with pretend people. How did I never think to clarify this?

With the promise of cookie-making back home, she was over it a few steps later. Oh, to have the resilience of a preschooler. She put on a brave face, and asked me about her second favorite animal.

“Mommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Are all the kitties dead, too?”

Faster than I’d ever promised anything, I vowed she would see a real kitty soon. The sun escaped the gathering clouds enough to send a ray onto the front porch before we stepped inside to bake.

*Weather patterns have been changed to protect the innocent, drama-free weather that actually occurred, but the story you heard is true.

(Scientific chart of Colorado’s twelve seasons posted on facebook by OG Colorado Springs Memes)

Revisions are going great for Between Tungsten and Gold, my near-future science fiction novel for young adults (and adults who read YA, like me). I’m on page 223/336 and it’s SO EXCITING to see this beauty really starting to shine.

I am thrilled at how much dust the editors were able to point out. I dug this thing out of the dirt and chipped away for so long that, in contrast to the roughly story-shaped lump it had started as, it was brilliant. But I’d been too close to it and my editors are like professional jewelers who can spot the tiniest flaw from across the room.

In case that sounds like a complaint, it’s absolutely not. If there are chunks of sediment still stuck to my story, I want to know, so I can clean it up and make it the gem it deserves to be. I’m always happier revising than drafting, and it’s a fun challenge to fix all the stuff I was lazy about or hoped no one would notice, or had tried to fix but hadn’t quite nailed down before.

AND the publisher is working on a cover! One of the coolest things about working with a small press is that I get to be a part of the process. I have the best of both worlds: people to do the design and formatting work, and input into the final product. I had a meeting with them this morning to talk about initial thoughts, and we’re definitely feeling the same vibe for the cover. We’d even had the same palette in mind! I’m so excited to see how this comes together!

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Lastly for book news, MY PAINTING IS COVER ART for an anthology! AND my poem is in it! AND my poem/painting inspired the title of the book!

I saw a call for poems and short stories on the theme of hope the night before they were due. I happened to have written a poem about hope that I was happy with, so I sent it in. The next day, they contacted me with the happy news that they loved it and wanted it in the anthology. I offered to email them a painting I had made with the poem, and they loved that too. They told me that in fact, they’d been struggling to name the anthology and that my poem, “The Hope of Snowdrops,” had inspired the title, Snowdrops in Springtime: An Anthology of Hope.

This publisher is splitting royalties among the contributors, and all of their proceeds benefit the 988 suicide hotline. It’s available in ebook or paperback at Barnes and Noble, Walmart, Amazon, Kobo, etc. If you’re local to Castle Rock, CO, you can order it through the Sudden Fiction bookstore. I also have hardcover copies if you’d like one signed by me.

“Picturesque poems, gritty stories of magic and survival, and tales of romance all come together for Snowdrops in Springtime, an anthology of hope. From dragons and mermaids to war and love, this anthology contains a wide variety of poems, stories, and themes. All entries in this anthology, no matter how dark or grim, end in hope or a happy ending-because the darkness does not win.”

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Treasuring Critique

I shared some thoughts about feedback and critique above, but here is a few more cents worth: Critique is opportunity. Not the unhelpful reviews online. “Loved it, new favorite book.” Three stars. Or, “This book never got my interest and was hard to keep reading. It was very confusing and boring nothing very interesting ever happened and even when i thought it would be atleat a litlle interesting it was not.” One star for The Hobbit. Not those. I’m talking about someone taking a portion of their limited time on Earth to put thought and concentration into your writing, or singing, or art, or whatever it is you seek to improve upon.

Take it all in—maybe take a moment to react if it’s harsh or painful. Not everyone is skilled at sharing critique in a way that doesn’t feel abrasive, and it’s not easy to open your creation up for others to pick at. But then, honestly consider whether you agree with the opinion, or whether it might help you improve. Use what you like, let the rest go.

The feedback will be, in part, a reflection of the critiquer—the lens through which they see the world, their interpretation of your art, and may vary depending on the kind of day they’re having. That’s not to say their critique isn’t correct, but it’s not to say it is, either. It is not about what they think of you as a person, or even how well you’re doing the thing you do, and it gets much easier with practice.

You are cheating yourself out of the best opportunities for improvement if you limit yourself to your own view and experience, or only seek advice from people who love you and won’t risk your feelings. I still react internally to critique now and then, and I still have days where I just want to read the compliments, because I forget my own advice and think I must be the worst so-called-writer who ever put letters together in any kind of coherent order. But most days, I understand that honest, well-intended critique is a rare and precious gift, both to me and to my future readers. Cherish it

I like to screenshot grammar errors and other interesting lingustic findings online. I find it fascinating to find patterns and trends and regional differences. I believe we as humans should be allowed to change and evolve, and that goes for the way we communicate. I also find myself triggered by misused apostrophes, so I’m a work in progress.

The screenshot today is something I absolutely LOVED to see, and the responses bolstered my obstinate faith in humanity. Someone had published her book via Amazon and saw a review that it was a great story, but the writing was sub-par, to say the least. This author took the valueable feedback and sought help to improve.

The best thing about this post was that the replies were 100% kind, helpful, and actionable. Not one person bullied or insulted the OP for her usage in this post or her other replies. I was so pleased with the writing community and I have no doubt this author has the right attitude to improve her craft.

Thanks for hanging out with me today! If you haven’t subscribed, go ahead and do that, because I have many more funny stories, and we all need a reason to smile here and there, right? I’ll see you next time!