Her Earliest Work

Someday, if I publish a book that people read and love, someone might want to interview me. And, if I’m lucky enough to pen a bestseller, and my name begins to be mispronounced* on tongues all over the literary world, someone might want to know, “But what was her earliest work? What did she write before she was famous?”

Well, I’ve got a little time on my hands, so I’m going to go ahead and save you all some trouble.

[*Note: Juettner is pronounced YOOT-ner. It’s German, and was a gift from my husband. My maiden name, Kinder, is pronounced like kindergarten, not like more kind than you. Kinder is also German and means children.]

Publications from my 2nd grade, 4th grade, and 6th grade classes at Terrace Elementary School
Publications from my 2nd grade, 4th grade, and 6th grade classes at Terrace Elementary School

Opening the Vault (And By “Vault” I Mean the Door to My Parents’ House)

My parents keep everything. I’m tempted to add the word “literally” to the end of that sentence, but since you won’t see them on an episode of Hoarders, I’m going to leave it off. They keep ALMOST everything.

My feelings about their tendency to over-collect are hard to express. During visits home, I can often be heard saying things like, “I can’t believe you kept all this stuff. Why did you keep all this stuff? You know, eventually, you’re going to need to get rid of… OOO! Is that my She-Ra coloring book? Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

Apparently I send mixed signals.

The truth is every time I open a box at my parents’ house or rummage through an old cabinet, I find more treasure. I then move the treasure to my house, while shaking my head at myself.

Recently, I unearthed a pretty good find.

My First Published Pieces

AllAboutFriendship

Three things I remember about second grade:

  1. It rained a lot that year. We ended up with a lot of “indoor recess” days where we played games and worked puzzles on the floor instead of running around outside. I now know that these were probably not fun days for my sweet teacher, Mrs. Medina. One of the games we had was Memory. In my memory, no one would play Memory with me because I was too good, but in reality it was more likely because I was a sore winner.
  2. We kept eggs under an incubator in Mrs. Medina’s room and hatched some of them into chicks. However, we also cracked open several of the eggs at various stages of chick development to see what was going on in there. It was VERY educational. I have no idea what happened to the hatched chicks.
  3. We made a book—a real, honest-to-goodness book—called All About Friendship. My story “The Runaway Horses” was published in it. Here it is in its entirety:
Not bad, but I'm not sure the horses have a strong enough motivation, and the farmer character needs a lot more development.
Not bad, but the horses could have had stronger motivation, and the farmer character needs to be more developed.

I also designed the cover of All About Friendship. While my writing has been published in various places over the years, I believe this may be the only professional illustrating I ever did.

In fourth grade, Mrs. Hammack took us on our first trip to Enterprise City. Enterprise City is a fake city inside a building where kids get to practice for the “real world.” We learned how to write and cash checks and make out receipts and everyone had a job—You could work at the bank or a store or the post office… There was even a police officer who could write tickets for anyone breaking the laws, like walking across the grass (carpet) where we weren’t supposed to walk. We all had work shifts, for which we were paid in Enterprise City money, and then we had time to walk around “town” and shop or hangout. It was pretty cool. I worked at the newspaper as the reporter.

Unfortunately, I was extremely biased in my reporting. Here’s a sample article, written in cursive like all good newspapers:

Ah, the purple ink of the mimeograph machine...
Ah, the purple ink of the mimeograph machine…

Paul Toal was my friend and coworker at the newspaper, Kelley Hamrick was my cousin, and Carie Kinder was… Oh, wait! That’s me! Yeah, the whole paper was like that. I dedicated an entire page to my best friend Camille’s store (Cami’s Snacks) but wrote not a word on the town’s crime statistics. Oh well.

ReadingAndWritingWorkTogether

In sixth grade, our teachers produced an eighty-page (eighty actual pieces of paper because page numbers were only written on one side) book called Reading and Writing Work Together! which included multiple writing pieces from every student in the sixth grade. This mammoth publication was printed on bright orange paper and a copy was given to every student. (80 pages x 40-something students = a number that would give any principal today a copy-budget-related heart attack, but these were different times.)

By this time, a boy named David Liu had taken over the job of cover artist, and rightly so. We were in awe of his dragon drawings. But I was well-represented in the pages of the book. My work in the anthology included two poems about Halloween, a descriptive paragraph about spring, a persuasive piece entitled “GIRLS’ RIGHTS,” and a personal narrative about the day I got braces. [Excerpt: “As we were about to pull into the driveway, I asked my mom if I could punch my brother if he called me names. She said no. I punched him anyway.”]

However, my favorite piece was my short story, “Mystery Mansion.” Here it is, with present-day commentary:

MysteryMansionPart1

* “Mystery Mansion” was previously published in Reading and Writing Work Together!, by Mrs. Fordyce’s sixth grade class, Terrace Elementary, 1989.
* “Mystery Mansion” was previously published in Reading and Writing Work Together!, by Mrs. Fordyce’s sixth grade class, Terrace Elementary, 1989.

Hmm… a horror story with a cliffhanger ending? Yep, I’m still partial to those today. For proof, you can check out “The Jack-in-the-Box.”

My earliest work has taught me that I’m on the right track. I’ve abandoned my dreams of illustrating and have (wisely) veered away from a career in investigative journalism. Fiction, poetry, and memoir writing seem to be my niche, and I’m sticking to them. Who knows, maybe I’ll turn “Mystery Mansion” into a full length novel someday.

Thank you to Scott Montgomery for the illustrations on my poem.
Thank you to Scott Montgomery for the illustrations on my poem.

Thank you to my 2nd, 4th, and 6th grade teachers– Mrs. Medina, Mrs. Hammack, Mrs. Fordyce, Mrs. Cottam, and Ms. Ouzts– for providing me with such a great start in my writing career and for giving me such wonderful souvenirs of my time at Terrace Elementary. Thank you also to my 3rd and 5th grade teachers– Mrs. Jonas, Mrs. Henderson, and Mr. Dodd. I have so many wonderful memories from your classrooms.

 

My Home Office is on Display at The Decorative Writer

HomeOffice

 

Hi Internet Friends,

I have some fun news to share. The talented and creative Annie Neugebauer has kindly added my home office to the writing spaces featured at The Decorative Writer. I’m so excited to be included among the other beautiful and unique offices on display there!

If you’d like a peek inside the room where most of my writing takes place, click on the link to The Decorative Writer above and then select my photo to see the rest of the pictures. (My dog, Uno, was in his usual spot during the photo shoot and had no desire to get up, so he is featured heavily in the album.) You can also click the little i in the top left corner of each photo to read the captions I’ve included.

But please don’t stop with my album. Spend some time looking at the other authors’ spaces as well. I love Judy Clement Wall’s “love board” and Annie’s hyper-organized craft closet.

Enjoy!
-Carie

Writerly Ramblings on a Rainy Afternoon

"Up a Tree" won Second Place in the Austin Poetry Society’s Moving Along Award, 2014
“Up a Tree” won 2nd Place in the Austin Poetry Society’s 2014 Moving Along Award

 

After two years of writing, I still expect stories to pop out of my head and form, nearly-finished, on the page. Despite more than a decade of telling students to slow down and take their time, I still rush. Although lately I’ve urged myself to focus, to finish things before I start new ones, I still make daily to-do lists that say things like…

  1. Finish chapter 14
  2. Revise short story
  3. Write a blog post
  4. Read for one hour

…and I actually expect that such quick accomplishments and multitasking of the mind are possible.

A few mornings ago, I woke up with a story in my head. I developed it, tweaked it, walked around with it, honed it, until it was practically bursting from me. I was so excited to sit down and write it out. (That simple. Just write it out.) It was my first ever effort in the world of magical realism, yet I expected that this story (so beautiful and seemingly fully-formed in my mind) would just whoosh out onto the page, needing only a little revising before it was ready. (Just draft-ready, of course, but, you know, a pretty polished draft, good enough for me to take to a critique group the next day.) But then I sat down to write it, and that first simple scene took WAAAAAAAY longer to create than I thought it would. And the characters that were so crisp in my head came out kind of fuzzy. And the plot… (I so often struggle with plot, but this story had one! It did!)… the plot seemed less, well, “plotty” when I got it down on paper.

The experience reminded me of Ann Patchett’s essay about writing in her book This is the Story of a Happy Marriage. In “The Getaway Car,” Patchett writes:

This book I have not written one word of is a thing of indescribable beauty, unpredictable in its patterns, piercing in its color, so wild and loyal in its nature that my love for this book, and my faith in it as I track its lazy flight, is the single perfect joy in my life. It is the greatest novel in the history of literature, and I have thought it up, and all I have to do is put it down on paper and then everyone can see this beauty that I see.

And so I do… I reach up and pluck the butterfly from the air. I take it from the region of my head and I press it down against my desk, and there, with my own hand, I kill it… Everything that was beautiful about this living thing—all the color, the light and movement—is gone. What I’m left with is the dry husk of my friend, the broken body chipped, dismantled, and poorly reassembled. Dead. That’s my book.

My protagonist, in a tree.
My protagonist, in a tree.

The thing is, writing is WORK. Real, actual, difficult work. We read books on craft and we pepper our favorite novels with sticky notes and we stay up nights thinking of all the brilliant ideas floating around in our heads. But eventually we must come to the page, and we must take all that inspiration, all that knowledge, all those brilliant ideas, and we must type them. And delete them. And retype them. And type them some more in a different order. And look back at our sticky notes to see if maybe we missed something important. And open those craft books to the highlighted passages to see if maybe the answer is there. And re-read our favorite novels, asking ourselves, How did she DO that? In sum, we must WORK.

So why do we do it? Because it’s so much fun. Writing is like working a puzzle and playing a game and opening an old treasure box all at the same time. When you put in the time and do the work, you find hidden gems, see pieces lock together, and get bursts of joy and energy when you finally figure out how to defeat a frustrating transition and “level up” so to speak. The moment when the thing you thought you had killed suddenly gasps back to life and takes a breath and then another and then another… that moment makes everything else worth it.

And now, back to work. 🙂