It’s commencement time. Students are graduating and moving on to higher education or into the workforce, and intelligent people have words of wisdom for them. The most prevalent I’ve heard is, “embrace failure.”

Michelle Obama most recently suggested this to high school students in Tennessee. And just last week I posted Neil Gaiman’s commencement speech to last year’s graduating class at Philadelphia’s University of the Arts, which has recently been turned into a book, Make Good Art. One I’m sure will find its way into many graduates’ hands.

I find the discussion interesting, this talk of failure and its ability to spur one on to better himself or herself. I agree with it, wholeheartedly. I have failed so many times, have made so many mistakes in so many ways that I now expect to struggle. I even advise my daughters with this wisdom: mistakes are normal.

Yet–and it’s a big yet–I am so very anxious of failing with Dare Me.

It’s not that Dare Me is going to rival Tap Out for morally offensive elements and I fear being labeled “amoral” or “immoral”. Rather, it’s that I know more about the industry this time around, just enough that I’m second-guessing every move.

Last week I blogged about my most recent conundrum: should I or shouldn’t I pay for a professional book trailer?

Really? This was even a question? Dare Me is focused on YouTube, daredevil culture. What other medium could possibly do better for promotion?

Word-of-mouth.

It’s the truth. Word-of-mouth, be it literally one person to the next, or virtually, on Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, blogs, etc., is the number one way books get sold. And yes, it makes sense that marketing increases word-of-mouth, but no amount of marketing overshadows lack of engagement, lack of talk about a book.

So what do I do?

Behave like Joel Goodsen (Tom Cruise) in Risky Business when he meets with the college recruiter? You know the famous line. Or do I continue to worry relentlessly like Cameron Frye in Ferris Bueller’s? (Can’t resist the 80s movie references–sorry.)

I don’t know.

Part of me wants to turn off my brain and just take the plunge. Like I did when I started writing. No thought, just action. Part of me wants to analyze and be exacting. Chances are I’ll do a little of both.

I am afraid of failure, but I am equally afraid of not trying. I fall neatly into Seth Godin’s idea of anxiety: “I define anxiety as experiencing failure in advance.”

That is not the goal. Good writing, word-of-mouth spread, and true enjoyment of the process, is.

So in that spirit, as I’m figuring out what to do, let me give you a slice of Dare Me, not surprisingly, from a scene in which Ben, the protagonist, is afraid to jump, and equally afraid not to.

(Excerpt)

     I don’t have time to respond, because he’s at my elbow again and I’m standing and all is as it was before, except I’m more used to the blindfold. In fact, I’m glad I have it on, because I’m numb.

    “In five, four, three . . .”

    Ricky’s voice fades and I hop. For a moment, I feel nothing and wonder if I haven’t jumped far enough. But then I’m falling, the wind rushing by and my insides shaking. I remember to tighten up just before I hit.

I need help making a decision. I want to make a movie trailer for Dare Me, but I don’t know if it’s a good idea.

Now, when I say I want to “make” one, that means I intend to hire a filmmaker (we’re already at the planning stage). However, I’ve read so much on the topic–probably too much–that I’m now second guessing whether going forward is a good move.

Sure, having a film for Dare Me would be awesome. That’s not in question. But paying for one with the desire for it to pay for itself, is another venture altogether.

Therefore, considering the nature of Dare Me‘s content: YouTube videos, teen culture, and daredevil behavior, do you say yea or nay?

And if yea, feel free to suggest what you’d like to see.

If nay, is it because book trailers seem oxymoronic, or something else?

And if you’ve never seen a book trailer, feel free to enjoy the compilation below. They’re some of the best. Thanks.

These past two weeks have been insane for me, professionally, and personally. We had the JDRF Walk for my daughter, a spring concert, my eldest’s first communion, and, of course Mothers’ Day.

I held the cover reveal for Dare Me and dialed in on the last chapters of my Work In Progress. I’m two chapters out from what would be my 2015 title. Fingers crossed.

But amidst all this, last week, I got quite a surprise. For those of you who are members of my Facebook author page, you know the story. I apologize for the redundancy, but every good story bears repeating.

First, I posted this:

Received a tweet from a teacher this morning directing me to her review of Tap Out. Two things to love in her piece: 

1. That the kids WANTED to read the story.
2. That she read it AFTER they did. That takes courage with the content, but I applaud her for that.

Tap Out should not be the new literary standard, by any means, but as a gateway for readership… I’ll take it. Here’s the review.

Then, later on, I followed up with this post:

So the teacher who contacted me had another request after I responded to her tweet. Her class wanted to know the story of how Tap Out came to be. I had five minutes while I had lunch, so I typed the message below. 

She got back to me later in the day, thanking me for the message, as her students truly enjoyed the feedback and a moment with an author.
I am quite honestly the one who reveled the moment. To know your work has value, real, impacting value. Yeah, that’s what motivates me at 4 AM when I’d rather be sleeping.
Hope you all feel the same with the work you do:

(My message to the students):
Hey, Eric Devine here. So, my inspiration… I’m sure I have an articulate blog post on my site, but I can’t find it, so here’s the quick and dirty:

I teach in a school that had a number of students participating in MMA. I noticed them and realized that many had a similar background (impoverished, violent homes). I then considered what it would like to be one of them, but on an extreme level, where they had literally nothing, not even MMA as an outlet. What kind of life would that be?

Tony was born from that idea. I wanted a kid tough enough to withstand, but who has been beaten down long enough that he questions himself, what he can take and whether he should keep fighting.

I’ve witnessed a lot of kids like Tony (male and female) who are good people, but for whom life has not been kind. Some turn out well; most do not. Therefore, I wanted a good kid who’s been given a raw deal to suffer as much as anyone could, in order to see which way he would go.

I can honestly say I did not realize how it would all shake out, but I am happy with the fact that Tony made some choices that do not sit well with people. That lets me know I made it authentic. Real life rarely sits well at all times with all people.

Tap Out is not a story of my life turned fiction. I have witnessed poverty and extreme violence and insanity, but secondhand. I am not Tony, but I love him for all his flaws, and for his humanity. Because in the end, I believe there is hope for him.

Later, I messaged the teacher and she told me that the students were so awestruck that they demanded she give them all printouts of my response. Unreal.

But it’s also so validating, because I meant every word of that response, and to receive such feedback made my day on so many levels. It’s a tough job, writing. You have to fully commit, and must expect nothing. I’m there. I live that life, in the very odd, isolated way it can often feel. But then there are these moments, when all of it is worth it.

Not because of the money. Not because of the accolades or critical praise. But because some kid, somewhere is reading. And he or she is reading my book. And he or she loves it.

I did that. And I get the opportunity to continue to do that. Yes, that is awesome. And I’ll rough the chaos for that moment of order, whenever it materializes.

Have to share this now that it’s available. Want a sneak peek at Chapter One? Head over to Teen Librarian Toolbox.

http://www.teenlibrariantoolbox.com/2013/05/cover-reveal-and-chapter-1-of-dare-me.html?m=1

Every year I present to various schools that use my first novel, This Side of Normal, as a text within the Biology curriculum. I love these opportunities because I get to speak with teens I don’t work with, and have the opportunity to connect with them about storytelling. This past Friday I attempted this with an auditorium of freshman.

When I pulled up to Shaker High School I tweeted this:

Little did I know just how prophetic these words would be.

I know how checked out students can be on a Friday afternoon, and this group came in riled up and ready for the weekend. I watched the cliques form along the rows, saw the unimpressed looks, the phones out, the boredom.

This is a fear-inducing moment, that instant when you realize the story about to be told had better be one awesome experience or the next forty minutes are going to be painful for everyone. That “A game”? Yeah, bring it.

And so I did. My presentation is on Prezi, so score one there. I didn’t tell the kids to put their phones away, because that’s like asking them to hold their breath–it’s only going to last so long. Another score. Then I asked them to relax and let me entertain them before the weekend hit. They eased back, and I began.

I tell my story of realizing I have type 1, how I handled that at home and at school. I tell wacky stories and bounce around the room. Literally. And on this day I did so with more gusto than I would normally. And the audience was into it. They laughed at my jokes, answered questions when I asked, and overall had a good time.

Then came the true test–No, not the pitch for my other books, that came at the end. I cannot talk about diabetes without discussing my daughter, Kaygan*. However, this was the first time I did so in front of a room of strangers, of teenagers who wanted to be into the weekend.

I pulled up the slide with the following picture:

The room was silent as I explained. To their credit, this group of kids who had read my book, and may or may not have been interested in what I had to say, treated with reverence, what were, for me, some of the most difficult words I have ever uttered.

That was the moment. Not the one where I knew I had to earn this presentation, but the one where I knew they cared. Because, really, that’s what my presentation is about. Caring enough to share, to pay attention, and to tell powerful stories. They got it, and then I talked about Tap Out and gave them a sneak peek at Dare Me.

The presentation was nerve-wracking and painful and a little sad, but ultimately triumphant. Just like the novel they had all read. There’s something to that. And I have the freshman of Shaker High to thank. Here are a couple of their tweets to me:

Keep it classy, Blue Bison.

*For those of you who have followed Kaygan’s diagnosis and adjustment: she’s now on an insulin pump and doing very well. She’s the same diva, but with one exceptional accessory. 

In Daniel Pink’s latest book, To Sell is Human, he offers updated suggestions for the elevator pitch (see a synopsis in the video below). Since I spent the weekend finalizing Dare Me, I started thinking about the need to begin pitching and marketing my work. Therefore, I’ve outlined the six pitches Pink suggests, and have completed each for Dare Me. Let me know which one you like best:

1. Pixar:

Once upon a time _____________. Every day, ______________. One day _______________.  Because of that, _____________. Because of that, ______________. Until finally _______________.

2. Subject line (as with an email)
3. Rhyme
4. Questions
5. Twitter
6. One word

Here goes:

Pixar: Once upon a time, three friends, Ricky, John and Ben were considering how to spice up their upcoming senior year of high school. Every day they hung out, Ricky had suggestions, as if he had a need, not merely a desire. One day he pitched the idea of year-long, anonymous, daredevil stunts, as an ongoing senior prank, and the boys envisioned an awesome future. Because of that, they began their adventures with death-defiance, and saw the popularity of their disguised selves skyrocket. Because of that, an offer of money arrived–a financier agreed to pay them for their stunts if they agreed to his dares–and the boys took it without regard for the consequences of signing on the dotted line. Until finally the dares went too far, and the point of no return had nothing to do with popularity or money, but whether or not the boys would live to enjoy either.

Subject Line: This video is f******* crazy!

Rhyme: A dare requires that you make men, or liars.

Questions: How much is your life worth?

Twitter: Pride goes before the fall, unless you’ve been asked to jump. #DareMe #Iaccept

One Word: Gamble

I have expectations as an author and I have expectations as an educator. One is not necessarily exclusive of the other, but I haven’t had the opportunity to see the two merge. That is until last Friday, when I delivered a presentation/lesson on plotting for fiction writing at a school different from my own (Queensbury for the locals).

As an author I expect to nail the nuts and bolts when writing. At this point I should have an easy ability to construct a story premise out of thin air and see how the foundation for it will emerge to support the rest. Once the foundation has been poured, I trust in my ability to design as I see fit. The story that rises will hopefully not be a cookie-cutter model, but rather, a distinct and intriguing dwelling. This can often take an extensive amount of revising, but that is fine, because everything stands on a firm base. I can tear down and begin again until it is complete.

As an educator, the goal is not about me. It is about what I can extract from my students. The constant thinking is: What can I do to tease out their knowledge of the topic? Along the way I facilitate this extraction and fill in the spaces where gaps in understanding exist. In short, I make them work in order to understand. If the following adage is true, this approach makes sense: “We remember 10% of what we read, 20% of what we hear, 30% of what we see, 50% of what we see and hear, 70% of what we discuss with others, 80% of what we personally experience, 95% or what we teach others.”

Therefore, on Friday, I approached a Creative Writing class hoping that I could provide them with a way to build a foundation for story-writing through a lesson that centered on the higher end of the percentages.

It was intriguing, because I was not Mr. Devine. I was Eric, and I was there as an “expert” someone who has written multiple novels and short stories. This lent a credence to the lesson that I otherwise would not be afforded as a teacher. The irony, though, is that I don’t think I could have pulled off as good of a lesson if I only wrote and did not teach.

Regardless, my blend of advice from Anne Lamott and  her ABDCE structure, combined with Jo Knowles’s storyboarding, mixed with one of my short stories and then the students’ own designs, made for one fantastic class. Every student in the room walked away with the bones of a fully formed story–the structure.

I left feeling very accomplished, because as an author, I knew it was sound advice I had given, mostly because it wasn’t all my own. However, as an educator, I had no idea if what I did had any impact, because the time for feedback from the students was limited. Even though the majority of the lesson was focused on the 80-95% realm, I had no idea if it would stick.

I checked my work email on Sunday and found a message from a student in this class, who offered thanks for my appearance and then discussed his writing and shared links to his work on a popular teen writing site. He wanted feedback. He wanted to know if the structure was sound. He had worked his way through my lesson and then viewed his previous work in a different light. He had taken what he had learned and applied it.

Moments like this are few and far between for an English teacher. It’s difficult to know if students fully “get it” because comprehension and communication are processes that continue to develop through adulthood. But this was evidence that I had succeeded on both fronts.

I could not have been happier. My two expectations converged with success. Maybe I know what I’m doing? At least I did in that moment I did.

That’s an expectation I can live with.

For the second year in a row I have had the opportunity to work through the dark and cold of winter, to emerge into spring with the anticipation of my novel’s publication.

This past week, while in NYC, I had the opportunity to meet my agent, Kate McKean. She’s sold two of my novels and has helped transform me into the writer I am today, so it made sense to finally talk face-to-face. We had lunch and the opportunity to sit and discuss. Meeting Kate was more like talking to an old friend than it was having a business engagement, which was ideal. This is a weird, artistic, and very personal field. Yet, it’s still business. So for this to work, a lot of pieces need to click. And they did. So, thank you, Kate.

However, during our conversation, one question affected me more than the rest: “So what’s next?” This wasn’t a cautious curiosity. Kate wanted to know what I’m working on, because the expectation is that I am working on something. Because that’s what writers do. And even though people ask me this question all the time, it has never felt as profound as when I was seated across from someone with the power to turn the answer into reality. So I was happy that my response was greeted with laughter and then intrigue. Yeah, I’ve got some interesting things coming down the pipe, and I have no doubt Kate will keep asking the same question.

Then, on Friday, I received word that Dare Me is scheduled for publication on October 10th. Pre-order is available, and the cover image will be released soon. I know I teased before, but seriously, the reveal will be worth it.

With this news in hand, I immediately examined the calendar, strategizing for when I should hold a release party and signings. It’s six months out, but I’m already getting excited. And I hope all of you who are reading this are as well. Because the fun for me is the process. Write, release, and celebrate. Without you, this isn’t nearly as exciting.

I like this cycle, this building anticipation. And I like that its reach has expanded. Because, who knows what’s next?

I haven’t updated this week. Here’s why:

We took the girls to NYC and I barely had time to catch my breath, much less post. But we’re home now, and the girls are thrilled with their American Girl dolls and their memories of our trip.

I’ll report back next week, when break is over and my feet aren’t so sore.