First, a confession: I’m a good student. And I’m not proud of it. This is because being a good student has nothing to do with talent, intellect, or even hard work. Being a good student is all about good grades. Think of Martin Prince, resident effete nerd on The Simpsons, sitting in front row, waving his raised hand, straining out of his desk for recognition. “Oh! OH! Pick me, teacher! I’m ever so smart!” Even now, I still translate percentages into letter grades. It’s that bad.
By E. B. Moore
Sex, lurid or otherwise, wasn’t covered in Grub Street’s Incubator 2011- 12, the first year-long workshop. Or maybe it was, and I repressed it, or perhaps felt I didn’t need to pay attention since my novel followed an Amish family battling for survival on the Overland Trail of the late 1860s. Not that people didn’t have sex back then. I did hint: five children in the family might have suggested something went on behind closed doors
I never expected that after the Novel Incubator ended I would find myself at a loss for words. I had a completed second draft, a circle of wonderful readers, folders of feedback piled high in my study, not to mention all the wisdom I’d acquired. Since I’d started in Grub Street’s Novel Incubator program almost a year ago, I’d taken my novel further than I’d dreamed possible, but as I tried to continue revision, I hit a wall.
by Marc Foster
Kelly carried her novels on an iPad with a clip-on keyboard we all coveted. Rob carried his on a MacBook Air. He would set the sleek machine nonchalantly on the seminar table next to his iced coffee. Liz never seemed to carry any novels at all. One hand folded over another, she would lean to one side and comment from memory, no matter how complicated the plot or how numerous the characters
by R.J. Taylor
The first book I remember falling in love with was Dealing with Dragons by Patricia C. Wrede. As the title might suggest, it's a playful YA fantasy novel about a princess who refuses to be proper and runs away to live with dragons.
I read the book twenty-three times.
I know this because our sixth grade English class required us to track our reading. Not surprisingly my teacher politely suggested—at around read-through number twenty-two—that I might want to try to, ah, diversify my reading.