2024 Fall Writing Frenzy Entry

Photo credit: Unsplash via Kerwinelias

Happy October, friends!

I've been looking forward to fall for a while now. For life to slow down a bit, to get back into a good rhythm, and to spend more time writing!

In line with getting into fall rhythms, I really wanted to focus on my goal of writing for at least a little bit each day, so I kicked off the season by searching for up-and-coming contests, pitch parties- anything to get the creative juices flowing.

I was thrilled to happen upon the Fall Writing Frenzy contest hosted by Kaitlyn Sanchez, Lydia Lukidis and Ebony Lynn Mudd.

What I love about this contest in particular is that it focuses on building connections within the writing community. And it's just plain fun! I can't wait to read what everyone's come up with!

This story was inspired by my own experience. My dad died of Cystic Fibrosis when I was fourteen, a theme that comes up in my writing frequently.

When I selected this image, I initially imagined myself writing a happy, cozy little story. But, as most writers know, sometimes what you sit down to write and what you end up with are two very different things. And that's where a lot of the beauty of the craft lies.

So, without further ado, here is my YA 2024 Fall Writing Frenzy entry (at 200 words exactly!)

Autumn Light

I was done ignoring it. Life. Death. Him.

I set my book down. Would reading ever bring me joy again? Would anything? 

I looked at the tree above me, blazing spectacularly, then to the leaves at my feet.

Their journey was done. Nothing left for them but to be scattered to the wind.

Rage burned. I kicked them. 

The season where everything dies. Grass, leaves, sunshine itself. 

Then I thought of him. Dad. A fading light. 

Someone came out to me.

“He wants to see you.” 

Time to say goodbye. 

I was fourteen then. 

What lurked in the shadows of my consciousness, what I refused to believe then was this:

That one day, just one day, I’d find it again.

Happiness.

I’d pick up that same book.

I’d hear the crunching leaves.

I’d feel warmth.

I’d smile.

I’d know that October wasn’t about death. It was about life.

Life in its truest sense, having lived through two epic seasons. Each brilliant color a memory, a foreshadowing, a promise of new life to come in spring. 

I’d know that one day, just one day, this truth would come out of the shadows and bathe in the butterscotch glow of autumn light.

A Note on Rejections and Robert Frost

Big news. I got my first official agent rejection this week and I. Am. Pumped.

I know that probably sounds ridiculous. But did you know that the very reason that I started on this journey to becoming traditionally published is that I was excited for the rejections?

About a year ago, my aunt was in town visiting from Hawaii. My aunty is a nerd (just like me), so when she comes to New England, we fill our time with art museums, historic sites and every literary hot spot known to man. She has been here countless times over the past several decades, so it was a huge surprise to learn that she had never been to the Robert Frost Farm.

This being obviously unacceptable, we adventured there on a rather chilly weekday in early summer. The place was empty, so we got the luxury of a private tour. However, the tour guide was a little eccentric and painted a picture of Robert Frost that I was not familiar with. The story of a city slicker who was forced into life on a farm and who wrote poetry to pass the miserably dull days. The story of a kid who was actually from the west coast and left New England the second that he had the chance.

Let me tell you- I was crushed. It was nothing short of an existential crisis sort of situation. Robert Frost was a New England hero in my books. He was the first poet I studied in school, and one of my biggest inspirations. How could this possibly be?

I took the guide's word at face value, and for about a month, every time I thought about it, it really bothered me.

Eventually, I just couldn't take it anymore. I decided to conduct my very own research project, and I'm happy to report that I fell in love once again.

It turned out that while the tour guide had his facts (mostly) straight, he took it upon himself to embellish and skew things to paint this odd picture of my beloved Frost.

For instance, Frost was in fact born on the west coast and lived there until he was 11 years old. He did, in fact, leave New Hampshire and go to England in his adult life.

However, the reason for his trip to England was not because he was eager to leave behind rural country life. It was because he was tired of the constant rejection that he was facing from American publishers. He went to England for three years. He gained success in publishing, and then quickly returned home to New England.

My faith was restored. But I also began to ponder his rejection in the US. I knew countless other famous authors and poets had been rejected time and time again over the course of history. It was like a club. The Rejected Writers Club. Every writer has to join if they really want to get anywhere.

And I wanted in.

I began to write voraciously. I started reading about writing children's literature. I started reading about the process of becoming traditionally published. I joined SCBWI. I joined critique groups. I wrote and wrote and read and critiqued and wrote some more.

And finally, this week, I decided (somewhat on a whim) to begin to query agents. I had a few polished manuscripts ready to go, so what was I waiting for?

I sent out four queries to well researched agents whom I felt a connection to.

And not even 48 hours later I received my very first rejection.

It was an easy letdown from the lovely Laura Rennert, and I couldn't be more thrilled.

This week, I join the ranks with Robert Frost.

I am part of the club.

If you're a writer facing rejection from agents or publishers, I hope this helps to shift your perspective a little bit. If the club is good enough for Frost, it's good enough for you!

Happy writing (and happy rejections).

Authentically,

Savi

An Origin Story

I recently realized that it was time to create an online presence, which was a fairly difficult undertaking for this introvert. Putting myself out in the open feels very raw. I wanted to be sure that I represented myself naturally and authentically.

So begged an important question- who am I? Do I write under my legal name, my maiden name, a pen name?

I love my husband dearly- we've been married for over a decade, but his surname still feels like him.

Using my maiden name wasn't a simple choice either. My legal maiden name belongs to a father who I didn't have a relationship with until my teen years. My mom met my stepdad when I was just four, and they married when I was seven, so he was always just "dad" to me. I struggled throughout my childhood to decide which name felt right. If I abandoned the name of my biological father, I felt as if I was abandoning my heritage. The reason that my hair has a reddish tinge and that my eyes are green. But my stepdad, "dad's" name was steeped in sentiment. This man raised me as his own. He is the reason that I love art and writing. He was my greatest critic and cheerleader.

My initial thought was to use my stepdads name, especially since my online presence is a representation of the creativity that he nurtured in me - his name felt right in that sense.

Then I realized that my children share my married name, and they're one of my biggest inspirations.

I talked it over with a writing friend who suggested a pen name, maybe a mashup of all the names that were important to me.

Ultimately, after some research, I realized that pen names are not incredibly popular in the kidlit world, and that it can cause some confusion when it comes time to query agents and sign contracts with publishers. I also couldn't imagine introducing myself in person to anyone by a pen name, or any other name.

Feeling defeated after spending several days trying to decide who I was and walking away with my boring legal name, I realized that there wasn't any reason that I couldn't convey the authenticity I craved in some capacity.

That's when it dawned on me- my nickname, Savi. I have always been Savi- past, present and future. Throughout my childhood, my teen years, before and after marriage, in the midst of my entire existence changing when I became a mother. Through every single major life change which has carried me from birth to present, I have always been Savi. Authentically, Savi.

I know, I know... "A rose by any other name...." and all that jazz, right? But it still felt good to find the right fit.

So, there's a little origin story for you. My intention is to use this space to speak openly and honestly about the highs and lows on the path to becoming traditionally published. I hope you'll stick around for what's sure to be a whirlwind adventure, and hopefully learn with me along the way!

Authentically,

Savi