School’s out for the summer! What’s one of my favorite summertime activities? Why reading, of course. I’ll read at the beach, by the pool, in a hammock, on a roadtrip. (I’m starting to feel like Dr. Seuss here.)
But here’s a sneaky secret. All the books I read aren’t just for entertainment. They pull double duty as writing craft instruction.
When I read, I notice elements of the writing craft, like an author’s use of sensory details, lyrical language, story structure, the balance of text and illustrations, and more. Then, when I am trying to accomplish something in my own writing, I refer back to these books to help show me the way.
But here’s the thing. A mentor text is only helpful if I can remember what you read. How do I record what I’m reading? Through mentor text record form.
I’ve developed a Google form authors and teachers can use to record their mentor text reading. When you click the link, you will be forced to save a copy to your own Google drive. Once saved, you can fill out a form for each book you read, and save your records electronically. Or you can print off the form if you prefer to work on paper.
Looking for more mentor text resources? Fellow author and educator Marcie Flinchum Atkins has a wealth of resources on her website. Find them here.
Looking for mentor text recommendations? Check out educator Jen Vincent’s Teach Mentor Texts.
The Common Core ELA standards for grades 3 and up invite students to explore words that are specific to a field of study. The standards call this “domain-specific language.” That’s a fancy way of saying vocabulary words that often appear in glossaries or bolded in textbooks. The concept is introduced in grade 3, where students learn how to figure out what these words mean in context. Older students incorporate domain-specific language in their own informational writing.
If you’ve read my books, you know I love domain-specific language, whether it’s aviation-related words in WOOD, WIRE, WINGS or astronomy-related words in THE FIRE OF STARS. I know that using rich vocabulary in picture books, especially domain-specific vocabulary, adds another hook to my books. It offers one more way my books can be used in classroom, specifically in ELA lessons.
Exploring domain-specific language
With domain-specific language, a little bit goes a long way. If you go overboard, your book can start to lose its musicality and read more like a textbook. We don’t want that.
To see how writers strike a balance, I encourage you to grab a stack of recent nonfiction or informational picture books off your library or bookstore’s shelves. If you see a glossary or list of “key terms” you’ve definitely found a winner, though not all books include them. Mine don’t.
If you need some recommendations, here are a few recent picture book titles I grabbed from my current library stack that do domain-specific language really well:
Once you have your mentor texts, go ahead and read them. Jot down any domain-specific language you find. Then consider:
Are the vocabulary words easily understood within the context of the page?
How do the images add to the reader’s understanding of the words?
Does the book include text features like definitions on the page? Or are the words defined in a glossary?
What is the balance of these new vocabulary words compared to the rest of the book text?
An example
This spread from THE FIRE OF STARS reads: “shrinking and smashing — and Cecilia’s sphere feels smaller and smaller still when she realizes her new school is a black hole with none of her favorite classes.
No algebra. No German. No cinch. Not even any friends for a shy and studious girl like her…”
This book includes two vocabulary words related to astronomy/STEM — “sphere” and “black hole,” though I use them metaphorically. I don’t define either in a glossary or in a sidebar. Yet by studying the pictures and words together, readers can get the idea of what the words mean. Notice Katherine Roy’s gray circular marks, which help define Cecilia’s space and convey the idea that all the light and joy is being sucked away, much like a real black hole’s gravity prevents light from escaping. The dark colors in the illustrations reinforce that idea of a black hole, as does the repetition of the word “no.” Cecilia’s world has an absence of anything joyful and bright, an emptiness, like that real black hole.
Now you try
Are you working on a manuscript where you could inject some domain-specific language to add another hook? Can you do this (sparingly, please)? Do you need a glossary or sidebars to explain the words, or can you rely on the context of your words and potential illustrations?
Please let me know in the comments if you have any breakthroughs!
One of the biggest challenges of writing is making sure what’s in your head actually ends up on the page. It can be tricky, especially when you get so attached to all those lovely lines and individual word choices. How can you zoom out to take a big-picture view? I like to use a technique called “unwriting.”
I first learned about unwriting from Renee LaTulippe’s Lyrical Language Lab. Renee defines unwriting as the process of stripping away all the craft and technique from the writing. For me, that means briefly summarizing what I’ve written on every page or two-page spread. It’s essentially outlining, but instead of summarizing what I plan to write on each page, I’m summarizing what’s already there. In fact, some people call this technique “reverse outlining.”
Once I’ve unwritten/outlined what’s on the page, I can analyze it to see what work my words are doing. Are they summarizing my big idea? Providing an example? Are they describing character? Building the world? Is this moment the inciting incident or all is lost moment? What am I missing?
Get some practice
To practice this technique, pull out a favorite picture book. It could be poetry or prose. Fiction or nonfiction. It doesn’t matter. Going spread-by-spread, summarize what is happening on each two-page spread. You can label each spread “Spread 1,” “Spread 2,” etc.
Here’s an example from THE FIRE OF STARS, which I unwrote a few days before I pieced together the parallel storylines.
Spread 1
Cecilia throws a fit until her mother puts her down in the snow so she can feel it for herself. It isn’t soft and warm like she expected. She realizes things aren’t what they seem. And she knows it’s the same with her too. [Character into and characterization]
Spread 2
She looks like other schoolgirls, but Cecilia likes to play outside in the garden, getting dirty, playing in the trees watching nature. [Characterization]
Speed 3
One day she figures out all by herself why a flower looks like a bee. She wants to feel that feeling again so she decides to be a scientist and study nature. [Inciting incident/quest kicks off]
You get the idea…
By unwriting my spreads, I was able to see what each one was contributing to the story. This was essential for constructing a parallel story. I went through the same process for the star’s story, summarizing step-by-step how they form. Only then could I line up the two stories to see how they worked together. The final step, after I had the structure in place, was to turn my attention to the lyrical language (which I wrote about here).
Now you try
After you’ve practiced this technique on a couple of favorite picture books, it’s time to test it out on a draft that’s giving you trouble. Unwrite/reverse outline your draft by summarizing each section or spread. Then analyze: are your scenes or examples unfolding in a logical way? What work is each scene/spread doing? If you are working with a narrative, does this spread introduce characters, provide glimpses into characters, build the world or convey major plot points?
This process is especially helpful for understanding the structure of expository picture books, which use non-narrative structures like “list” or “compare and contrast” or “question and answer.” If you text is expository, is this spread conveying your big idea, an example that makes your point, or is this a conclusion?
And no matter what you are writing, is your point clear, or did your lovely language get in the way? Did you get what was in your head onto the page?
Make any adjustments you need to your outline/unwritten draft BEFORE translating it back into lovely language.
THE FIRE OF STARS, written by me, illustrated by Katherine Roy (Chronicle Books) releases in just 18 days, and I’m getting excited. It’s hard to believe it’s been 8 and a half years since I wrote my first draft of this (now) lyrical nonfiction book. It certainly didn’t start out that way.
Here’s the opening of the book, which I’ve transcribed below:
Wrapped in a blanket of sparkling space, an unformed star waits for its bright future to begin. Cecilia kicks and cries. Until her mother sets her down so Cecilia can feel with her own tiny toes the cold and crackly snow, which isn’t soft and warm like she expected. It’s the first time Cecilia learns things aren’t always as they seem.
–THE FIRE OF STARS
An earlier draft my agent saw read much differently. Here it is:
“[Cecilia] was full of surprises and driven by a curiosity as wide as the universe. Young Cecilia spent hours outside watching slimy slugs slink through her garden, picking out constellations in the night sky, and counting trees among her best friends.”
What changed? Aside from starting with one, concrete scene, I learned to write lyrically thanks to Renee LaTulippe’s Lyrical Language Lab. That class was transformative for my writing, and today I want to focus on one thing I learned in that class, the use of sound devices. Sound devices add musicality to our writing, helping us set a specific mood.
Let’s look at each sound device in turn with examples to see how it adds to the lyrical voice I’ve chosen.
Alliteration
Alliteration is when words that are close together start with the same letter or sound. For example, “Wrapped in a blanket of sparkling space,/ an unformed star waits for its bright future to begin./Cecilia kicks and cries.”
In this passage, I’ve started many word with the soft “s” sound, giving the first couple of lines a hushed sound, like a baby sleeping. Then I pivot to a sharp “k” sound for “kicks and cries” and “cold and crackly snow” mimicking the sharp cries of a baby (and the harsh snow). That’s alliteration, and I’ve used it to create a specific effect.
Assonance
This phrases above also have examples of assonance, including bright/cries and own/toes/snow. You might also notice that I picked a lot of long vowel sounds, which add the overall soft/hushed tone of the opening.
Consonance
Consonance is when words close to each other have the same consonant sound anywhere in the words. A good example of this is in the very first line, which is peppered with “p” sounds: “Wrapped in a blanket of sparkling space…” Again, these are soft consonant sounds adding to quiet mood of snow-covered stillness and of wonder.
Rhyme
In prose picture books, we don’t usually use end rhyme, but we can use internal rhyme. Internal rhyme is when words in the middle of a line rhyme. Later in the book, I have a line that reads :”Cecilia is forced to say hello to city streets full of strangers/ and good-bye to the company of trees and bees.” Trees rhymes with bees, a good example of internal rhyme.
Your Turn
Ready to apply some of these sound devices to your own work?
Think about your draft and the mood you are trying to create. Is it quiet and soothing filled with soft consonants and long vowel sounds? Or is it active and playful, with hard consonants and short vowels?
Once you’ve decided your approach, you can use tools like Thesaurus.com (for help with alliteration and consonance) and Rhymezone.com (for assonance and internal rhyme). How could you transform a sentence like “The kite flies through the air?” using the thesaurus and Rhymezone?
You could try, “The kite glides through the sky” for extra assonance. Or “The kite swoops through the sky” for alliteration. What else can you come up with? Do any of these alter the mood?
Adding musicality isn’t hard. The key with sound devices is not to overdo them. Too much alliteration, for example, can cause the reader to stumble over the words. Always read your work out loud to make sure it’s both clear and musical.
For me, one of the most difficult parts of writing nonfiction (or any narrative, really) is choosing what fascinating parts of the story to include and what to delete because it doesn’t fit the focus of the book. One of my most valuable tools for figuring out what belongs is three simple words: “because of that.”
The story spine
I first learned about linking plot points with the phrase “because of that” in this Pixar/Khan Academy video about story spines, pictured below. Once the main character sets off to pursue her big goal in Act 2, her choices should drive the action. “Because of that” ensures that each action and each choice in the second act leads directly to the next. If you can fit “because of that” between your plot points, then your main character has agency.
But what if “because of that” doesn’t fit? What if your plot is more like, “This happened, and then that happened, and then that happened.” If you are using “and then” to link your plot points, that’s a strong indicator that your plot is a random collection of events happening to your protagonist. You need to reevaluate. Who is driving the action? Does each scene have a connection to the protagonist’s big goal?
An example
Let’s look at THE FIRE OF STARS as an example. Cecilia Payne was such a fascinating woman, and there was so much I wanted to include in the book. At one time, the book included all kinds of tidbits, including the fact that when Cecilia won a prize at school and could pick any book she wanted, she selected a textbook about fungi. Though this fact was interesting, it didn’t have real bearing on the Cecilia’s lifelong quest to discover something new, so I ultimately discarded it. In a novel, I might have had the space to keep the scene to illuminate Cecilia’s character, but in a picture book I had to be ruthless.
Let’s look at a plot outline for THE FIRE OF STARS, and you’ll see what I mean.
Once upon a time there was a young girl, Cecilia Payne, who was captivated by the natural world.
Everyday she studied trees and flowers.
Until one day, she discovered on her own why a bee orchid looked like a bee, and her whole body hummed with that discovery. In that moment, she decided she wanted to feel like that her whole life.
But Cecilia’s family moved to London to find a better school for her brother, and because of that, Cecilia went to a new school with no space for a curious girl like her.
Because of that, she hid out in a secret place — a dusty science lab for older girls.
Because of that, she taught herself about science, and soon required a science tutor who gave Cecilia her first book on astronomy.
Because of that, Cecilia was accepted to Cambridge University to study botany (because girls couldn’t study astronomy).
Because of that, she took science classes where teachers wanted her to learn facts, not learn anything new.
Because of that, she jumped at the chance to hear astronomer Arthur Eddington talk about his new discoveries at a lecture.
Because of that, she switched her studies to physics where she was the only woman and teased by the men.
Because of that, when she graduated and learned there was no place for women in astronomy at Cambridge, she moved to America to work at Harvard College Observatory.
Because of that, she was surrounded by glass plates capturing the essence of stars and women who cataloged them.
Because of that, Cecilia studied the star ingredients for her thesis, but grew frustrated when she couldn’t make out their meaning. But she stuck with it.
Until finally, she made her groundbreaking discovery about what makes the stars — and our universe.
And ever since that day, other astrophysicists have used Cecilia’s discovery to ask new questions and make more amazing discoveries about our universe.
And the moral of the story is that what makes a scientist is curiosity, passion, hard work, and belief in oneself.
By using “because of that” I’ve made sure Cecilia is driving her own story and that every action has a consequence that forces Cecilia to make another choice in a smooth chain of cause and effect.
Your turn
Grab a narrative draft (nonfiction or fiction) and outline your plot using the story spine. Are you able to use the words “because of that” between your plot points? Or is it a bunch of “and then this?” What adjustments do you need to make to your plot a series of causes and effects?
One more thing
If you want to study THE FIRE OF STARS, illus. Katherine Roy, more closely, the book will release Feb. 7, 2023 from Chronicle Books. It’s a lyrical, double read aloud with Cecilia’s story told alongside the story of star formation. You can preorder it now wherever books are sold. You’ll find all the buy links here. Or ask your local library to purchase a copy.
Graphic nonfiction is a growing market with new publishing imprints and book series springing up all the time. This webinar will introduce both seasoned nonfiction writers and nonfiction novices to the exciting world of graphic nonfiction for all ages.
I hope you can join me for this 90-minute webinar through The Writing Barn. It’s only $25, and recordings are available. Learn more and sign up here.
We’re three weeks into 2022, and in many ways, it feels like 2020 all over again. Boo! Still, I’m not despairing. I’m using this time of “hunkering down” to recharge for the year ahead using these five strategies.
Plan for the year ahead – I don’t do traditional New Year’s resolutions, but I do like to plan for the coming year. This year, my goals are to research and draft a new picture book, draft a middle grade graphic novel, and work on a middle grade fantasy as my “just for fun” project. And I’ll track each milestone along the way and celebrate it. (Of course!)
Binge on Brainstorming – For picture book writers, January is Tara Lazar’s StoryStorm, a month-long challenge where we brainstorm a new picture book idea each day. This year, I was a guest blogger and got to share about my brainstorming process. You can read the post here. I find generating ideas to be like a muscle: the more you do it, the easier it is.
Commit to lifelong learning – Each year I recommit to learning my craft through webinars, classes, reading craft and creativity books, and, of course, writing. A book I reread frequently, especially when I’m casting about for my next project and experiencing self doubt, is Liz Gilbert’s BIG MAGIC. It’s always so inspiring.
Read – For me, the best way to study the craft of writing (and to get ideas for new books) is to read, read, read, and not just in the genre I’m writing. I find everything I read has something to teach me if I just pay attention. Plus, all this study costs is the price of a library card — FREE!
What are you doing in 2022 to improve your craft and creativity? I’d love to hear from you!
Kirsten W. Larson 