I have a two-book deal with Dutton (Penguin), and the first novel, ANNA AND THE ENGLISH FRENCH AMERICAN BOY MASTERPIECE will be released in 2011. My novels are YA and have funny bits and kissing. I find you very attractive. Let's be friends.
This comic has nothing to do with the rest of this post, but I had to share. The Asheville Dilettante and her husband recently introduced me to Hark! A Vagrant, and I'M IN LOVE. A history and literary comic! Kate Beaton — the artist — is my new hero.
I’ve never done a blog Q & A before, mainly because of my near-constant state of paranoia that believes no one would leave me ANY questions, and then I’d look like a doofus tool buttbag.
(Also among my paranoia’s chief concerns: the pungent smell wafting from Mr. T’s litter box, sharks evolving into land animals, and discovering my iPod has been replaced with one that only plays “Who Let the Dogs Out.")
But perhaps you have a question regarding writing or agenting or publishing that I could help you with. Films or books or HBMs or My Celebrity Boyfriends. Working in a library, having blue hair, or . . . er.
I’m out of things.
I’m willing to bet you’re a lot more creative than I am. So if you’re feeling kind and giving and a little curious, please leave some questions in my comments.
I’ll answer anything you ask in a few days. Thanks!
To combat the down-ish nature of this post, I’ve enlisted the help of Adorable Baby Animals.
Perhaps you've noticed a decline of writing talk here. Perhaps you've picked up on my aggravation and frustration towards Second Novel.
Perhaps these incidents are related.
For the last several months, I’ve had some. . . difficult things happening. And as these things have grown, they've merged and festered upon the other difficulties in my life, most notably, Second Novel.
It was inevitable that everything would become intertwined, so completely enmeshed that it'd become impossible to see where one problem ended and the next began. And it was inevitable that Second Novel would receive the brunt of the blame, an unwanted bounty of expectations heaped upon it. It's kind of like a parent seeking to rectify his own life disappointments by forcing his child to attend medical school.
OMG. Is he real???
In other words, Second Novel has suffered — from both a lack of attention and too much attention. From endless brooding and constant avoiding. From comparisons to award-winning work, comparisons to my friends’ work, comparisons to my own work.
It’s safe to say that I pretty much beat the crap out of Second Novel.
It’s no wonder I felt beaten in return.
Those EARS! That smile!
But this isn’t (necessarily) a pity post. Because I’m happy to announce that for the last two weeks, things have begun falling back into place for me, and Second Novel is moving forward again.
Slowly, but — most certainly — steadily.
During difficult periods, I tend to set MORE writing goals. This many words per day/this many hours per week/this many chapters per month. And the more goals I set, the more likely I'm setting myself up for failure. Maybe you can relate.
I’m learning that sometimes I need to cut myself a break. Which doesn’t mean giving up or taking a vacation, but it does mean going easy on myself when the writing isn’t moving as quickly or as smoothly as I’d hoped.
It’s okay that it’s hard. It’s okay that I dread it. It’s okay.
In the last couple months, I asked for and received a lot of advice regarding Second Novel. Most of it was logical and positive and good, but a handful of people wondered if the reason why I'm struggling so badly is because there's something wrong with it. Perhaps it's time to move on, and this story isn’t meant to be.
But I know this is untrue.
Anyone else want to rub the fuzzy panda butt?
For all of the horrible curses I've wished upon it, I love Second Novel. And I believe in it for the simple reason that I believe in these characters.
They fascinate me and torment me and push me. I want to know how they fit together and how they pull themselves apart. I want to know why they haven’t let me rest for the last EIGHT (gulp, yes) years. Why won’t they go away? What story are they really trying to tell?
I keep asking them questions, scribbling down their answers, and trying to make sense of it all. And I’m not there yet, but certain aspects are becoming clearer. I just have to keep moving forward. I have to remember that I don’t need all the answers yet.
Besides, I’m a firm believer that the equation for writing a book is simple:
Time + Effort = Novel
Snouters + Grippy Claw = Beh-Be Anteater
Of course, there are variables. But basically? Yeah. You sit for an ungodly number of hours, you work harder than you’ve EVER worked on ANYTHING before, and eventually it happens.
After all, there were adventure-romances about people with multicolored eyes and a special talent for butt-kicking that required my immediate attention:
LOVED.
Not to mention a serious and uncontrollable desire to reread Meg Cabot's entire Princess Diaries series. (I love those books so much, you guys, it makes me want to carve Mia + Michael = 4EVA into trees.)
So surely you can understand why a large and imposing novel about the horrors of slavery got a little buried for awhile. Right? Right. Which brings me to my first confession: I almost returned this book to the library without finishing it, like, a dozen times.
Because here's the thing about Octavian — it's difficult.
Though The Book Thief was more difficult for me emotionally, Octavian is just plain HARD. And there is a tiny (embarrassing) part of me that does not like hard things. This part is much happier when it's sipping sparkling blueberry juice, painting its fingernails glittery red, and re-reading The Princess Bride for the dozenth time.
[Side note: If you love the film The Princess Bride and have yet to read the novel, you MUST. I joke about it, because it's a fun and easy read, but it's also completely and utterly brilliant and filled with commentary that is VERY, VERY FUNNY, especially if you just-so-happened to be an English major.]
So, naturally, this part of me wasn't thrilled to pick back up something that it knew was written in a challenging style (pseudo-18th century, classically educated, and smacking of Reason). This part really wanted to shove Octavian in the library drop-box and get back to the love stories.
But this part also knew that the whole point of my Shameful Bookfest was to read novels that were shaming me professionally. Books that I believed were important to be familiar with as a young adult novelist. And I knew if I returned Octavian, my guilt at NOT having read it would only grow.
And I also knew that the longer it sat on my nightstand, the more likely I'd have to re-read those first forty pages. Plus, it was overdue.
These, therefore, were my motivating factors: Guilt, Dread, and Thrift.
I have never claimed to be a role model.
Now, a quick catchup for those of you unfamiliar with the plot. It's set during the start of the American Revolution, and it's about a black teenager (Octavian) who has been raised in the house of a group of scientists and philosophers who call themselves The Novanglian College of Lucidity. These are men who believe in reasoning so strongly that they no longer see actual reason. And they have kept Octavian in their house as an experiment to prove that people of African decent are lesser than people of European decent.
Yes. We're talking about a Serious and Depressing Subject Matter. Which brings me to my second confession:
Until the last hour of reading, I had no plans whatsoever to read Volume Two.
I clearly saw that this was Well-Written, Respectable, and Important, but I also thought enough was enough.
Until.
Until I reached the climax, and discovered I was wrong. This book is about slavery in any time period. Like, right now. It's about human rights, freedom, and the true meaning of the word "liberty" (particularly as it relates to our often misguided representations of history).
This book is flat-out monumental.
And I'm definitely reading Volume Two.
Though I still find it hard to say, "Yes yes yes. You MUST all read this novel," because, yeah, it's not fun. And, for me at least, I still believe the primary function of a novel is entertainment. (I DO believe novels should teach us things, but I believe that this capacity is best served in a way that's not, well, boring. Or preachy. Not that this book is either, but it's not exactly a rollicking good time.)
But, having said that . . . yeah. It is worth the effort.
Recently I went with some dear friends to see The Brothers Bloom, a story about con artists trying to pull off that one last job. Plot-wise, I'd say it was three stars — good ideas, but the execution had a few holes. Acting-wise, a solid five stars, which was to be expected with a cast including Adrien Brody, Rachel Weisz, Mark Ruffalo, Robbie Coltrane, AND the lovely Rinko Kikuchi (best known to Americans as the deaf-mute teenager in Babel), who nearly stole the show out from everyone.
But stylistically? Is it okay with you guys if I break the unspoken rule?
Because this was definitely worthy of SIX shiny, shiny stars.
This film was gorgeous. The lighting, camera angles, locations — Prague! Greece! St. Petersburg! And the most beautiful element of all? Yeah, I'll say it.
The clothes.
My friends and I couldnot get over the wardrobe. Heck, I'm still not over it, two weeks later. It kinda makes me want to make out with the costume designer, Beatrix Aruna Pásztor (who, according to IMDB, also did the sumptuous costumes for Vanity Fair).
Let's take a moment to appreciate her good work, shall we?
Hello, pleahz do not breathe on new suit. Iz vurry expensive.
You like coats? Dey are worf more than your first born childrens.
Oh hi. I have most beautiful gloves and glasses and hat. I like your flip-flops. Snert.
You did not receive invitation to P. Diddy's annual white party? Fer shame.
Ha! Ha! Ha! We are so well dressed! Everyone else looks like beans beside us. Ugly leetle beans.
You enjoy my hat? Only exceptionally wealthy could possi-blee pull off, so sorry.
It's all very Sartorialist, no? Happy sigh. The pretties, the pretties.
Quickie list of other things I'm loving right now:
(2) Gummy Sour Candy
Because sometimes it's not about want, it's about need.
(3) Radiohead's Com Lag (2Plus2isFive) — a surprise gift from Best Husband Ever, Jarrod. How did I not know this existed? Where was my memo?!
Droooool. GENIUS.
(4) Sarah Dessen, fellow North Carolinian and author of brilliant summer reads. Yes, there are cute boys in her novels. And also intelligent writing and real characters. And cute boys.
Never read her? Try one of these first!
(5)The Tudors — I enjoyed watching the first season last winter, and now I'm indulging in season two. LOVE. THIS. SHOW. The screenwriters have stayed close to the historical record (this is one of my favorite periods to study), and the acting is superb.
Plus, fancy costumes. And steamy-steamy illicit love.
I'm looking forward to season three, when Henry will get more disgusting and Cromwell will get more desperate and more people will lose their heads for dumb reasons.
So I was just thinking about Trent Lane from Daria.
Do you remember him?
Of course you do. Because he was TOTALLY HOT.
I know I'm not the only girl who grooved on that deep sleepy voice and those armband tattoos. I've always found it a wee unfair that the world is filled with billions of smoking hot cartoon chicks, but seriously lacking in hot cartoon boys. Most of them are so beefy. And superhero-y.
Which is fun and great and all, but not exactly boyfriend material, you know?
And I know it's weird to be talking about hot cartoon characters, but whatever. Like that's ever stopped me before! I mean, my first crush EVER on ANYONE was a cartoon character:
Stephanie's First Love
What can I say, Robin Hood was . . . a fox! (Cough. Snort.) And I so wanted to be Maid Marian. I wanted to dance with him surrounded by fireflies in Sherwood Forest, and I wanted to kiss him and marry him and live happily ever after.
And I wanted to borrow his cool pointy green shoes. And his hat.
To this day, I still have a peculiar obsession with Robin Hood. I'll watch any adaption, and I have a shelf filled with scholarly texts. I wonder what that says about me?
Anyway.
As far as other animal cartoon crushes go, once upon a time I also had it bad for Wordsworth from Heathcliff and the Catillac Cats. Remember him? He had roller skates and headphones and talked in rhyme? (No? Just me?)
To be frank, not nearly as hot as I remember.
I also had a thing for Shaggy from Scooby Doo.
Him? (Arrested Development voice.)
Shaggy is the third guy here wearing green. Significant?
Probably, because I also loved Peter Pan.
This Peter was slightly less gender-bending than most.
As an adult, I think the only cartoon(ish) character who made me sit up straight was Victor in Corpse Bride. Surprisingly, he isn't skinny nor is he dressed in green. And I like him anyway! It was this scene that did it for me:
A piano-playing, stop-motion Johnny Depp? Of course I love!
But still. Trent.
Trent.
He was unusual, wasn't he? I tried to find a cool video of him, for anyone not of the Daria generation, but there weren't many to choose from. (Darn those copyrights.) This one made me laugh though:
So let's open the comments to silliness. What cartoon characters make YOU swoon? (If there are any guys still reading this — and if there are, bless you, I love you — feel free to speak up about which cartoon ladies you dig! I, for one, think that esurance girl is a babe.)
Despite being a month dated, this post feels appropriate as my husband — as Gred & Forge — is currently in the final week of his summer tour. If you love to read, love to rock, and live near one of the following cities:
6/15 — Dayton, Ohio 6/16 — Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 6/17 — New York City 6/19 — Norwood, Massachusetts (plus Harry and the Potters — 500th show!, The Whomping Willows, & Pottercast)
you should check it out! (All dates are with The Remus Lupins. More information here.) And for anyone who doesn't know what WIZARD ROCK is, you might want to read this post before continuing. Otherwise, this will just sound weird.
Weird-er.
And slightly confusing.
So Part One concerned Boston itself, but the real reason we were in town was for LeakyCon, a gigantic Harry Potter conference organized by The Leaky Cauldron, the most popular HP news website. Three days of programing, each capped off by a HUGE wrock show. Shows that my husband had been invited to play.
Why did the wizards cross the road?
To get to the FRIGGIN' CASTLE!
Can you believe?? The only way the setting could have been more perfect was if it took place in JK's actual Scottish castle. And if you think the outside was amazing, check out the inside:
[The following pictures were grabbed from Flickr & Facebook. I snatched so many that I lost track of who took what. So if you've wandered here and found YOURS, please leave a comment, so I can give you credit! And thank you for letting me borrow your pics. Mine were terrible.]
THE GREAT HALL! Complete with house banners!
Ooo, pretty lights!
Major props to the Leaky staff. The atmosphere was perfect for a wizard party. For the first few hours, we all just walked around with our jaws hanging open. What I loved so much about the entire weekend was how inspiring it was to be immersed in this highly unusual community of people who are genuinely enthused about not only a fantastic work of literature (all of this for a series of BOOKS!), but also about making the world better and being just plain kind to one another.
HP fans are the nicest, warmest, friendliest people I know. There's no way I could count the number of hugs, smiles, and well-wishes I exchanged. And in this culture where kindness as a virtue is far too often overlooked, it was a welcome reminder that GOOD PEOPLE are out there.
LOTS of good people.
I'd seen all (but one) of these bands several times before, but every single musician took their performance to — and it sounds way cheesy, but it's true! — a new level. I mean, previous levels of awesomeness were SHATTERED. And hundreds of people sang and danced and HAD FUN, without that uncomfortable pressure to fit in or look cool that normally comes with listening to live music.
Draco and the Malfoys went bluegrass for the night!
The next day, I attended two of the convention's keynote events, a Nerdfighters party with John and Hank Green, and a discussion about writing and editing with John Green and Cheryl Klein. Their talk was definitely a highlight for me. These are SMART PEOPLE, you guys. Two of my favorite ideas, paraphrased from their talk:
— "Because I wrote it that way" is never a good enough reason to keep something [in the editing process].
— We have a responsibility to tell true stories. We can't lie about the brokenness of the world, but we also have to show hope, and that people have a responsibility to fight that brokenness. (John)
SMART PEOPLE. (One of the pics I took. See how blurry?)
Silly me forgot to get a picture with John, but it was very very exciting to meet him again because:
(A) I'm a gigantoid, gushing fan . . . though hopefully at least semi-under control in person.
and
(B) Now we share the same editor! WOO HOO! (I still have no idea how I swung that. Mystery of the Universe.)
Also, I'd just like to add that you know those kind, friendly, genuine, fun people I was just talking about? John is totally one of them.
I was also fortunate enough to meet another favorite author, Maureen Johnson. Maureen was a huuuuge part of why my agent, Kate Schafer Testerman, was/is my dream agent. But I was dumb here too — another forgotten photo opportunity! I only talked to Maureen for a quick moment, but she was also very nice.
I've never been so proud of Jarrod. He was incredible. It was so surreal, so thrilling to hear the crowd singing along to words HE wrote.
I grinned from ear-to-ear the entire show.
Here's the video of the final song, with his wrocker pals onstage with him. He's singing "Brotherly Love," a very naughty song! I wish you could see how big the crowd was, but the person who filmed this was pretty close to the front. There were TONS of people there. (I wish the sound quality of the video was a little better/fuller too, but whattaya gonna do?)
And I heart this picture of Jarrod and Justin (of JFF), because you can tell they're having a BLAST:
The last band that night was the one-and-only Harry and the Potters. Paul and Joe DeGeorge have been playing wizard rock since 2002! Not only are they completely talented and adorable (and SUPER nice and SUPER intelligent), but they know how to bring the epic.
Imagine hundreds of fans screaming "Harry Potter" to the tune of "Smells Like Teen Spirit" while a unicorn, a chicken, a giant squid, a wizard, Santa Claus, and an assortment of other creatures thrash up and down.
Shaky video proof:
I'd like to see the Twi-hards rock like that!
I did take this one of the Potters, from my post at the merch table.
Paul played a BROOM GUITAR, you guys!
That would be Jarrod dressed as the Giant Squid. And yes. We all know what the costume really looks like! HA!
The final rock show was Saturday afternoon at the Boston Park Plaza Hotel (where Jarrod and I were roomies with the lovely Nina and Adam). Riddle™, The Mudbloods, The Moaning Myrtles, and The Remus Lupins played. Jarrod was BUSY — he had full sets with The Mudbloods and the Myrtles, plus a song with the Lupins.
Jarrod the drummer, in demand. And wearing three different hats.
Don't you love the Lupins' drum head? Fight Evil, Read Books!
In true rock-n-roll style, Alex Carpenter of The Remus Lupins ended the festivities by setting his guitar on fire and smashing itinto smithereens.
Note to the cool kids: Geeks party just as hard.
Alex and the last of his beloved LOVE guitar.
Okay. I declare that more-than-enough. Hope all of you had a wonderful weekend, reading good books and traveling happily.
