It's Still Tuesday

Despite the fact that I would like to keep my fabulous cover front and center on the blog forever, I have Tuesday duties to fulfill!

Teaser and Rebels video. Today's teaser is from the book I'm editing right now, ALL TOGETHER WITH FEELING!

--

“Personally,” he says. “I think you are faking acceptance of your stepmother in order to convince yourself.”

Sometimes he makes pronouncements like these, as if he thinks he is the only one who has figured these things out.

So I say, “Now now, Mr. Malik, you are being wildly inappropriate. Attributing motivations to my actions. I don’t believe that is characteristic of a good director.”

“My God, you’re pretentious.”

I grin and take a sip of my coffee. I offer it to him, and he makes a face and shakes his head.

“All right,” he says, “Than what about on the personal side? How are things with…what was his name, Zachary?”

Zachary is on the tennis team. The closest to a jock I've ever come. Once I caught him looking at me in the locker room; that was the extent of our relationship.

“Zachary is straight.”

“That didn’t seem to deter you originally.”

“It ruled out the possibility of a real relationship. I have a different target in mind now.”

“Anyone I know?”

I look down. “I don’t believe this is appropriate.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to push you.”

“That isn't quite what I meant.” I raise my eyes.

He is quiet for some time. At one point, he glances at his watch exactly when I look up at the clock. I have the feeling we are checking them for different reasons. But I do not know for sure. I never know.

And this is all I get. A few seconds of touching, Identical smiles, and some of the best eye contact a seventeen-year-old homosexual ever gets. Maybe it is over for today.

He says, “I enjoy your company, Oliver. I enjoy that I can talk to you. I enjoy finding an adult in my life.”

“Mmm. I suppose I am an adult.” But it isn't as if he ever tells me anything about his life.

“More adult than I am, certainly.”

“You’re only about five years older than me.”

“Well, seven, but I understand your point. You’ve probably slept with men older than I am.” He closes his eyes. “I should not have said that. I’m sorry. I’m exhausted.”

I start laughing.

He says, “Well, don’t make fun…”

“I am a virgin, Samir. I am such a virgin. I have preyed on men older than you, but I’ve never slept with one. I’m a virgin.”

He looks at me.

I roll my eyes and smile. “Just. Like. You.”

He blushes and looks down. “All right. That’s enough.”

That is enough; this time he's right. Sometimes it’s not. Sometimes I want more. Well, I always want more, but some days I want it specifically from him.
It will burn in my stomach a bit as I swallow a shared lunch, and I want to share dinners with him, dressed in tails and top hats and smiles, and breakfasts, dressed in bathrobes and bedhead and sleepy smiles. I should leave, go somewhere where I can catch my breath under the pretense of checking my makeup. I can tell that I am beginning to drown again in this. Winter break was too long. I have forgotten how to keep myself afloat above it all.

It comes in waves, like a bad trip, or the stomachaches after my mother died. It is not all the time, but it comes in distinct, peaked waves. Usually I can predict them before they hit their apex, and I can do something, something to control myself.
This one might have crested too quickly, or maybe I am still in the midst and it will get worse. It comes in waves, and I never know how big they will be. I hate not knowing.

Multiple POVs

SO. Let's talk about point of view.

First, some quick stats, just so you know where I'm coming from.


--Of my recent (read: decent) books, two use more than one point of view (hereafter POV.) These two are THE ANIMALS WERE GONE and ALL TOGETHER WITH FEELING, both of which you will have heard of if you are a regular reader of this blog, but the latter only if you are a REALLY regular reader. Because it has been in hiding for a little while. If you're curious about either of these, they're tagged at the end of the post. Click on the link and you'll see all the posts about 'em.
--THE ANIMALS WERE GONE is my favorite of all my manuscripts, and I love ALL TOGETHER WITH FEELING, too (though I like INVINCIBLE SUMMER more. In fact, if I ranked my top three of my YAs, it would probably be 1. ANIMALS, 2. INVINCIBLE SUMMER, 3. ALL TOGETHER WITH FEELING. Am I allowed to say this shit?)
--Here are some of my favorite books written with multiple POV, some of which are epistolatory, which may or may not be the word I'm looking for: Will Grayson, Will Grayson, The Realm of Possibility, Love Is The Higher Law, Are We There Yet, (can you tell I love David Levithan?) The Kings Are Already Here, The Year of Secret Assignments, Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants, Caddy Ever After, P.S. Longer Letter Later, 33 Snowfish.
--Despite that long list, the VAST majority of my favorite books are written in one POV.

So. It is fair to say that I am far more experienced, both in reading and writing, in single POV than in multiple.

However.

I love writing multiple.

I don't know. I just love it.

I wasn't planning to write THE ANIMALS WERE GONE in two POVs. In fact, I'd already considered and dismissed the idea. It was all going to be in Craig's POV. And then I finished the first chapter, hit enter a few times, and typed LIO at the top of the page. Because apparently it was Lio's turn.

Listen, I don't pull all that shit about how I'm controlled by my characters or my books have a mind of their own or something like that, because frankly, I think that stuff is stupid. I'm sorry if I offend anyone (but seriously, if you're reading this blog and you choose THAT to be offended by...)

I love the roles my characters play in my stories. I love writing them. I smile when I write good lines for them. I don't ever forget that they aren't real people. They are words on a page. I'm happy you like them. I like them too. But they're here to tell a story--my story--and, even though I'm a romantic (I am, damn it, don't laugh) I don't like to get stuck in that sensitive writer mode of thinking your characters are real people with real minds of their own. It sounds cold-hearted, but characters are tools. And point of view is a tool. And words are tools. All of these are tools to tell your story. Characters are not beautiful and unique snowflakes, etc.

So. Lio did not jump off the page and insist I write his viewpoint or anything like that. I just knew, in that second, that Craig's part was closed for now, and it was Lio's turn, or we were only going to get half of the story. But it was a revelation that came after I'd started writing.

ALL TOGETHER WITH FEELING, on the other hand, came into my head as four different points of view, because it's a story about four kids in a high school chorus--one soprano, one alto, one tenor, and one bass. (Yes, yes, girls, I'm writing girls.) The point of views, in this case, are a bigger toll for the story than the are in ANIMALS. They form the premise of the story, while, in ANIMALS, they're just making sure that you hear from both the quiet character and the loud character.

Which leads to another problem I'm having, now that I'm hardcore revising ALL TOGETHER WITH FEELING. Keeping voices distinct. This gets harder and harder the more POVs you have, and four is definitely in tricky territory for me. I'm concentrating a lot on speech patterns, rhythm, and word choice--my bass, if run through one of those scanner things, would result in a much higher reading difficulty than my tenor. But I'm still struggling with this. My alto and my tenor are still blending together a little, and sometimes my soprano starts to sound a little like them, too.

So. Let's wrap this up. What are your thoughts on multiple POV? Do you read it? Do you write it? If you do, how do you keep the voices distinct, and how do you approach revisions? (basically, HELP ME.)

Let's Answer These Puppies

You guys asked some truly excellent questions. HERE WE GO.

At the moment, would you prefer to write for adults or YAs?

YAs. I just finished my first adult novel, and I'd LOVE to have a career in both adult and YA books, but YA is my passion and probably always will be.

Are you sick of writing for YA?

Nope. But there are things about YA books as a whole that frustrate me. Namely, the hype of fantasy novels to the detriment of contemporary, Twi-hype--I haven't read Twilight, so I have no judgments to make on the quality of the books, but you guys already know I object to the notion that it's the be-all-end-all of modern YA--people's attitudes towards YA and YA writers as a whole...I don't have any complaints you guys haven't heard elsewhere from tons of other people. But, by and large, I love YA and I can't imagine ever getting sick of writing it. I worry that people are going to get sick of me, because a lot of times--big secret here--I do worry that I'm writing different versions of the same novel over and over again. I just hope people disagree.

And I always say I could write about 15 year old boys forever. God, they're so beautiful and angsty. Love them.

What do your parents think of the "content" (gahhh, what a horrible, prissy word) of "Break", i.e. swearing and stuff?

Oh, they're totally cool with it. I learned everything I know from then, y'know? ;)

Plus, my three best friends--all teenage boys--basically live at our house, so they have firsthand experience that some boys really do talk that way.

Do you worry about sharing your writing? I'm not sure what the hard and fast rules are on sharing your manuscript, but I've got a friend who molts whenever I suggest putting an excerpt out on the internet. She is sure people will snatch it up and whore it out and I will be left penniless AND bereft of manuscript rights or something. So, can you spill on the proper pimping protocol of an unpublished, unagented, completely naked of rights novel?

First off, nothing you write is EVER completely naked of rights. Your words are copyrighted (I typed that as "copywritten" the first time. What.) the second you put the down on paper. And, worst comes to worst, there are ways to prove that--your word processor will tell you when you started a document, or if you emailed it to yourself, that's proof, whatevs.

But honestly, I think the chances of someone stealing your novel are really, really slim. And maybe that's naive of me.

i wouldn't suggest putting a whole manuscript online (unless you're doing a serial on your blog or something, and that's a whole different sack of potatoes) but a snippet? Sure.

Yes, there is a chance that someone might steal your idea. But who's left out there who doesn't know that the idea is the easy part? God, I can think of seven ideas for a book a day, but that doesn't mean I have to discipline--or the time--to sit down and write the books for them. And even if I did, it would be a completely different book from someone's based off the exact same idea, just because things always evolve differently, and there is so much variability out there.

And ideas are recycled and reused all the time. And books are similar to other books all the time. And that's entirely okay.

I'll give you an example. A few months before INVINCIBLE SUMMER sold, when the manuscript was already edited, polished, and going out to agents for round of querying numero dos, I started stalking publishers. Because that's how I roll. On Knopf's website, I saw an ad for their new book just out by Brent Runyon, one of my FAVORITE authors. The book? SURFACE TENSION, a coming-of-age about a boy over four summers.

So I basically shot myself and slit my wrists and overdosed on painkillers and told myself my book was never going to sell. And guess what? It sold. We even submitted to Knopf. And they didn't even mention SURFACE TENSION in the rejection!

I didn't steal the idea from Brent Runyon--I swear!--but the two books do have a sort of eerie similarity. They're not by any means identical; INVINCIBLE SUMMER, like most of my stuff, is very very family focused, while SURFACE TENSION is more romantically-based. But if you read descriptions of the two, they definitely sound alike. And they both sold. And, fingers crossed, we'll both be fine.

(Also, you should buy SURFACE TENSION, because I did as soon as I recovered from my wrist-slitting, and it's really good. And also you should buy INVINCIBLE SUMMER, but not for another year, which is annoying.)

Why do you hate Brown? DETAILS PLZ. :)

Bwahahaha. I'm so hard on Brown. To be honest, it's not Brown's fault. Brown is a perfectly lovely school IF you are willing to work your ass off. Which I am not. I want to lie around and write books.

Also, just personal stuff. I don't like being far away from home, and I don't like living in a building full of teenagers. I need my space sometimes. I'm a SENSITIVE ARTIST or some shit.

What's your favorite color? (boring question, I know)

Indigo, due in no small part to my obsession with Hilary McKay's INDIGO'S STAR, which you should also buy. It's MG. I think MGs are some of the best books out there.

How do you feel about YA books today compared to YA books in the past?

I'm crazy about YAs from the 80s and 90s--Joyce Sweeney, in particular. There's this certain kind of angry sitcom feel to them. Everything is super angsty and dramatic and affectionate and...you're not really the same after you read one of them. Stuff now is more realistic, I think, which is cool, but it some ways less fun. I lurve the drama.

Do you think there needs to be more edgy, true-to teenage life, f-bomb dropping books or do you think writers should continue to sugarcoat things?

Ha, I'm sure anyone could predict how I'm going to answer this one--fuck sugarcoating.

What's you favorite song at the moment?

"When My Boy Walks Down the Street" by The Magnetic Fields.

Have you always been a fast writer?

Nope. BREAK was my first fast-draft, and INVINCIBLE SUMMER and the book I just finished (working title THE ANIMALS WERE GONE--more about that in a minute) are the only ones I've written very quickly. Of those, INVINCIBLE SUMMER took the longest--8 days, and was also the shortest, with a first draft of about 23K words--and THE ANIMALS WERE GONE was the fastest and the longest--5 days and 40K words.

I love the ones I write quickly. They feel the most passionate to me, and they're my favorites, and maybe it's not a coincidence that they keep being the ones to sell. But some of my slower drafts turn into good books, too, I think. The first drafts of those generally take me about two to three months.

If you could have one writer, dead or alive, read and critique your work, who would it be and why?

He's not a YA writer, sorry, but...John freaking Irving. I love him so much. And he knows how to pack a punch like no one's business.

I read THE HOTEL NEW HAMPSHIRE when I was staying in a hostel in Florence on a school trip. I was alone in my room, devouring a box of Special K, when I got to the big scary twist. I had to crawl out into the hallway and wait for my best friend to come hold me. I want to do that to someone someday. I want to totally fuck up their lives with words in the middle of a box of Special K.

ooh and how about if they made a movie about your journey/success, who would you want to play you? :)

Joseph Gordon-Levitt, if he doesn't mind the gender-bending.

So I know that your novel-that-hasn't-sold-yet, THESE HUMANS ALL SUCK, is kind of quirky speculative fiction. What's the difference, for you, between writing this kind of YA and contemporary? And which do you like better? And why?

Ohhh, THESE HUMANS ALL SUCK. sniff. I hope someday to bring that shit out of the closet. We'll seeeeeeeeee.

I'm trying to figure out if it feels any different. I think it's scarier for me, trying to write spec; it's like I'm dipping my feet into very unfamiliar territory. I never go very deep into the spec elements, because I'm sure I'm going to screw something up, and intense worldbuilding absolutely scares me. (Pop Quiz: Where is BREAK set? Yeaaaaaaah I don't know either.)

So I probably prefer writing straight contemporary just because it's less scary for me. Btu when the ideas come to me with spec in them, sometimes it's hard to excise out. But I try. Sometimes.

I do love magical realism, so as long as I can tell myself that's what I'm writing, it gets a little easier.

Could you give us a kind of outline of your favourite books that-you-haven't-sold-yet, like THESE HUMANS ALL SUCK and a couple of others? Whenever I read about you mentioning them, I'm always curious :P.

Absolutely. Are you ready? HERE WE GO. Big explanation of ALL MY BOOKS OF ALL TIME.

Warning: This shit is long.

Crash, Burn, Etc. (2005)--a story about a kid named Jason whose mom hangs herself in the basement. His sister tries to keep the family together. Lots of angst. So bad it hurts, but, guys, this was my FIRST NOVEL EVER so it was really exciting. I finished it at the end of 8th grade. I queries FSG with it. I'm so silly.

Color us Blissful (2005)--a boy named Jamie discovers a government plot to eradicate unruly teenagers when his best friend becomes a target. Pretty dumb. I loved it.

Craving Private Ryan (2005)--This was about two half-brothers who met for the first time and fell in love. I was obviously a precocious little thing. No plot, lots of angst. My main character was 19, which was weird, since I was 14. I subbed this one to small presses and got a few partial requests. That was pretty sweet for me. I didn't really know about agents at the time, because I was too busy writing about gay incest to do any research, I guess.

The Sublime (2006)--Jack gets stuck on a mysterious island with some mysterious people, mysterious things ensue. This came out on ebook with a small press. It's out of print now. My agent and I might do something with it, but probably not. We'll see. I like it, but it's very quiet.

Birthday Cake (2006)--The first draft of this one took me 6 months. That's my longest ever. It's been through like a zillion different drafts, and it was the first book I used to query agents. Unsuccessful! Probably won't ever see the light of day. It's cute but quite flawed. It switches viewpoints between 4 best friends the week of their eighteenth birthdays, when they've promised to give up their bad habits.

These Humans All Suck (2007)--So this is the first book I wrote that I think has any hope of being really good. Ian follows his adopted brother to D.C. where he meets his brother's pregnant virgin cousin and wonders if Noel might have been conceived in the same way. I...really, really love this book. I queried my ass off with it, and it's actually the book that got me my first agent, though we subbed BREAK instead and, well, you know what happened after that. We subbed this one after and it didn't sell. I'm not really sad about it anymore. It happens. (Published authors out there--hate to say it, but one book deal, or two book deals, or twelve book deals does not guarantee another.)

Singleton (2007)--This book is randomly pretty awful, which is kind of a shame. It's about identical twins, but it's also about, like, every single thing you could possibly imagine. It tried to do way too much and it didn't work. I stole lots of bits from this and used it in later books, though, so there's that. I queried this one, too (basically I was querying four different books at once) and I got all of two full requests for it.

Break(2007)--yaaaaaay. Originally called If It Ain't Broke. Jonah wants to break all his bones. My first novel, Simon Pulse, 2009, you all know the story. Tons of requests through querying, no offers for months, then suddenly three offers in a week. Wrote the first draft in six days. It was less than 30K--basically a detailed outline. The 2nd draft was much different, added major characters and subplots and things.

Pumpkin Patch Kids (2007-2008) Co-wrote with a really good friend of mine, Andrew Carmichael. I'm really, really hoping things will happen with this one. It's about two teenagers at a boarding school who have a fake romance and a very real pregnancy. I wrote a girl's POV for this one!

A La Mode (2008)--a sequel to Birthday Cake, mainly written just for fun.

Invincible Summer (2008)--Written in eight days of not-sleeping. Like I said, it's a coming of age about a boy and his big family that takes place over four summers. I love it. Break sold a few weeks after I finished this one. It comes out in Spring 2011. It's my second novel--do you see now how ridiculous the terms "first novel" and "second novel" are?

The Beekeeper (2008)--my first NaNo! I like this book okay, but my betas basically trashed it. As did everyone in the publishing world who read it. Haha, okay, I get it, it's not going anywhere. It's a cute romance between two boys at boarding school. Super innocent. 3rd present, switches viewpoints. I stole all the good parts for it and harvested them into The Animals Were Gone.

The Support Group (2009) -- really weird and teeny and...weird. And pretty bad, to be honest.

All Together With Feeling (2009)--drama centered around a high school chorus, told from the points of view of a soprano, an alto, a tenor, and a bass. I have hope for this one. I like it a lot.

A.P.D. (2009)--my first adult book. It's about a leper colony of sorts for people with a blood-borne illness that makes them turn into machines. It's pretty sick. And it has PICTURES. Stay tuned (hopefully).

The Animals Were Gone (2009)--finished this last week. It's about two teenage boys falling in love and staying in love over the course of the D.C. Beltway sniper shootings in 2002. I'm...sort of crazy in love with this one.

So there you have it.

It takes a lot of books to get a book deal.

It takes a lot of really shitty books to get a book deal.

It takes a lot of good books to get a book deal.

And most of all, it just takes tiiiiiime.

When you are hammering out a story at the speed of lightening, I'd like to know what's going through your mind. Are you just putting down whatever comes to mind and riding the wave or are you writing carefully from a well-thought outline in your head (or on paper)?

I don't outline. Generally, I won't start writing until I know the beginning, the end, and a few things that happen along the way. I keep the next big plot point in mind while I'm writing, but I give myself a lot of leeway when I'm trying to get there, and I basically just fool around.

What is your energy is like? Urgent or mellow?

Ha, definitely urgent.

How much do you edit your rough draft and when do you abandon? Do you feel that you edit your work to it's satisfying optimum or do you get scrambled at some point and feel like you aren't sure anymore if it is better or worse for the pen lashes? Do you struggle with tuning in on some of your characters? If a character is giving you a hard time, how do you get them clearer?

I actually only like to edit my first draft once or twice before I had it over to my agent, because I like to get feedback early on in the process. I don't want to burn out before I've done the work that it needs. And...this isn't going to win me any fans, but here we go. I'm not an editor. I'll edit to the best of my ability, but I'll be completely honest and say I do NOT have the ability to see or fix what's wrong with my story as well as, like, an editor. So while I'll clean up the manuscript the best it can, I don't edit the thing to within an inch of its life before I actually get editorial feedback.

Are there any themes or subjects in particular you feel you cannot tackle or feel very uncomfortable in doing so?

I have a hard time with race-related issues; I tried to incorporate some into All Together With Feeling and I'm not sure I was entirely successful.

As your next question says, I do a lot with gay teens, and I feel, to be honest, a little weird about that too. I absolutely love writing gay teens and I don't think I'm going to stop anytime soon, and honestly I'd be fine with that being my brand, of sorts. But there are so many GREAT gay men out there writing GREAT YA fiction about gay boys--David Levithan (I LOVE YOU) and Alex Sanchez come immediately to mind--and I don't want to be, well, the fag hag of YA lit. I'm not going to stop what I'm doing, but it does make me wonder if I'm doing the genre a disservice by stepping all over it with my straight girly feet. I just hope I do a good enough job that nobody minds that, no matter what, I will always be an outsider to the issue.

I do a lot with Jewish or partly-Jewish teenagers feeling ever-so-slightly at odds with their surroundings, and that's really the only minority-related issue I feel like I do well.

You've written about gay males more than once. Any plans for a lesbian or bisexual female protagonist/major character?

No concrete plans, but I do definitely want to have one at some point. The only reason I haven't is that I have so much trouble writing girls. A girl who falls in love with a girl means I have to write TWO GIRLS.

Hey JOHN GREEN

In response to this video:

First of all, I'm in love with you.

Second of all:

Here is something I've learned about about writing.

Sometimes things take a lot of time.

Other times, things do not take a lot of time.

First draft of BREAK: 1 week
Subsequent revisions: 3 weeks
TOTAL TIME SPENT ON NOVEL BEFORE SALE: 1 month of work, 5 months of getting the agent/the editor/chewing my fingernails.

First draft of INVINCIBLE SUMMER: less than 1 week
Subsequent revisions: 8 months on and off.
TOTAL TIME SPENT ON NOVEL BEFORE SALE: about 8 months of work, 4 months of getting a different agent/the same editor/chewing the same fingernails.

First draft of ALL TOGETHER WITH FEELING: 4 months
Subsequent revisions: 2 months so far and a loooooong way to go.
TOTAL TIME SPENT ON NOVEL BEFORE SALE: bitch please no one wants this thing and no one will for a looooong time.

Sometimes, things take a lot of time.

Sometimes, other things take a lot of time.

Sometimes, things do not take a lot of time.

Also, there are no hard and fast rules.

EVERYTHING IS SUBJECTIVE. THIS IS AN IMPERFECT UNIVERSE.

p.s. John, if Sara ever leaves you, hit me up. Seriously had a period of mourning when you got engaged. You and Ned Vizzini. I'm still bitter about this, guys. My boyfriend barely knows how to read.

Just when you think...

...you'd kill yourself before you'd start another first draft, when you think you're SO GLAD you're on the second draft of your WIP and you NEVER WANT TO START ANOTHER BOOK AGAIN...

...a new idea comes along and slams you across the head.

God. Damn. It.

FINISHED

words left: 0

days left: 6

yessssssss. I did it! 58some thousand words, and it's all done! And I'm actually pretty happy with it, yay. And I have tons of ideas for edits.

Now I want to see if I can get a 2nd draft done before BREAK comes out. Clearly I am insane.

My release date is "soft," which means it's possible there's a copy of BREAK in your local bookstore RIGHT THIS VERY SECOND. SOMEONE ELSE COULD BE BUYING IT RIGHT NOW. ARE YOU GOING TO STAND FOR THIS?

Ugh, when did I become such an annoying little publicitywhore?

But you guys love me anyway, right? (say yes)

Oh dear lord single digits

Words left; 3,500

Days left: 9

It's getting sooooooooo close.

I have nothing constructive to say.

It's sooooooo close.

You've pre-ordered your copy, right? Good.

keep on truckin'

words left: 4,000

days left: 11

I Love My Editor

Have I mentioned my editor? Because oh my God she is fabulous. If I haven't yet convinced you to buy my book, here's another reason--because it will make her happy, and she is like my favorite person in the world I would loooove you to help me make her happy.

/gush

IN OTHER NEWS

words left: 6,000 (didn't cheat this time, I swear.)

days left: 13 (still. am I posting too much? I'm so bipolar with this blog.)

Lalalala first draft cheating...

Words left: 8,000

Days left: 13


move along, move along, nothing to see here...**sweeps words under rug**

In other news

I can't count. Damn it.


Words left: 16,000

Days left: 14

damn iiiiiiiiiit. This is looking less feasible.

Progress report

Words remaining: 12,000

Days remaining: 15

Goals and Things! My Teachers Would Be Proud

SO here's the plan.

My outline for All Together With Feeling says it will be 68,000 words.

It is currently 45,000 words.

Here is the goal. Finish the 1st draft of All Together With Feeling before BREAK comes out.

Can she do it???

(Also, BREAK got a great review today! Check it out. http://kidslit.menashalibrary.org/2009/08/08/break/)

So how are you guys? Life is good?

Oh hey, are you a fan of me on Facebook? Because I'm pretty awesome, even on Facebook.

Hannah Moskowitz on Facebook

Another Fake Post!

Otherwise known as another All Together With Feeling Excerpt!
--

Oliver calls around nine. “We’re going out, bitch.”

“Tonight?” I’ve been reading all night, and all the websites say Oliver needs time to grieve and process what happened, or whatever. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised he’s breaking the rules. The advice all sounds the same as what he got when his mom died. He didn’t follow that, either.

“You want to drive?” I say.

“I would rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”

“I was planning on drinking…”

“I will be drinking tonight.”

“All right, all right. I’ll drive.”

I ignore the drama downstairs—honestly, could it be less important?—and push through the crowd and out the door. I don’t tell them where I’m going, but only because they don’t ask. And only because I don’t know.

The drive to Oliver’s is through a lot of the windy roads with very few streetlamps, the ones that give you time to think. A lot of times this annoys me, and I blast the radio and sing at the top of my lungs to keep my mind from spinning around with stupid shit like boys and homework and my parents. Tonight I don’t mind the silence. I have a lot to think about and, as worried as I am about Oliver, I don’t feel like avoiding any of it, particularly, at the moment.

I park to ring his doorbell, like a good date or whatever, but he comes prancing through the front door before I get a chance to open it. He really pulled out all the stops tonight, and he looks fantastic—some polka dot party dress, with a sash around an empire waist. I think he cut more of his hair off. It looks shorter and spikier than usual. He didn’t wear the falsies, so his whole body is smooth and flat underneath the dress. When he’s in girl’s clothes, I can really tell how thin he is, and it worries me.

“Ready?” he climbs into the passenger seat. His eyes are really done up tonight—smokey silver. I can’t seen any of the bruises on his face, and I wonder how many layers of cover-up he had to put on.

“Where are we going?”

“There is a gay pride festival at the park. I thought we might attend.”

I groan a bit. “I love how you’re always so sensitive to my needs when you plan our excursions.”

“Oh Etta. I’m sure you won’t be the only fag hag present.”

“Yeah, sure, except I’m looking for a boy. What do you call them?”

“Fag hogs?”

“Hogs are girls, Oliver.”

“I suppose those are the fat fag hags, then,”

I give him a look.

“Stop it,” he says. “You are not fat.”

“But some girls are, and I don’t appreciate your making digs at them when they’re not here. I don’t make fun of ugly gay people—”

“Bleh.”

“—homosexuals in front of you.”

“Yes, because that would be insensitive to the ugly homosexual present.”

I frown at him. “Never say that.”

He laughs and looks out the window. “All right, all right.”

He has a bottle of his premium vodka with him, and he sips while he goes through my CDs. “Little Shop of Horrors?” He makes a face.

“It’s a Broadway musical, Oliver.”

“Yes, so was Legally Blonde.” He rolls his eyes. “Little Shop of Horrors is…”

“Is what? I like it.”

“It’s no Heathers.”

“You’re no Heathers.”

“Fair enough, fair enough, though honestly I am not sure how accurate that statement is.” He examines his fingernails—repolished, I notice. “Little Shop is not dark. Little Shop is barely dusky. And it is a metaphor so broad that I find it has very little meaning. It is the most useless warning I have encountered in my large history of musical theater. And yes, upon thinking about it, I would like confirm that I do, indeed, believe that I could be Heathers.”

“It’s not a musical.”

“Yes, you have me there.”

“So put in something you like,” I say. “Whatever.” I don’t want to pick a fight with him tonight, and I’ve gotten too close already. Even though I know we’re just bantering, it’s making me nervous. I don’t want him to make him cry.

Until he puts in Wicked, and then I just want to put his head through my windshield.

I say, “God, Oliver, really?”

“What’s wrong with Wicked?”

“Nothing, except—all right, you want to talk metaphors?”

“Wicked is a metaphorical masterpiece, Etta.”

“Yeah, and Jesus Christ, it knows it. It’s so busy caressing its metaphors that it loses all hope of actual, you know, plot. Or—God forbid—character development.”

He rolls his eyes. “We are allowed to like different things, Etta.”

This burns like a slap in the face.

And the winner is....

The committee (uh, me) has voted and the winner is definitely Miss Sarah and her most fantastic kayaking story. I was laughing all over my keyboard.

Sarah, please give me your character name for this chapter of ALL TOGETHER WITH FEELING as soon as you're ready, because I think right now I have her named Tabitha or something. And she is not a cat.

And she could be a boy, too, so no worries there.

OKAY. Thanks so much everyone who participated! Reading your stories was even more fun than I expected, so I think there will definitely be another contest in the near future...maybe a 2-weeks-until-BREAK contest? Maybe a get-in-the-acknowledgments contest?? Hmmm.

All I know is I need to start blogging more often. I judge other bloggers who only post once a week. Juuudge.

Tonight (or like, three days from now, knowing me) I'm going to post a supah-secret deleted scene (okay paragraph) from Break. It was one of my favorite favorite little bits of the book, but it got cut...so we'll look at that and maybe talk about why our writing that we love is, a lot of the time, not our best writing.

Look at me, having an agenda and shit. Damn, am I growing up???

1 Month CONTEST!

In a few hours, it will officially be 1 month until BREAK.

I can't believe this is happening.

In honor of this momentous occasion, I want to hear any funny injury stories you have. Bonus if it involves a broken bone, but it's fine if not--I've never broken any bones myself, so I'm sympathetic if you don't have a story to share...

Give me your stories, I'll choose my favorite and the winner gets to name a character in the next chapter of ATWF. Male or female, doesn't matter. I need some names!

Another Excerpt

Samir didn’t schedule a meeting with me, but he invites me to hang around while he meets with everyone else. I’m organizing his office, he explains to each person who enters. A special favor. I’m going through some old music.

I’m trying to help him decide what to teach the chorus next semester, actually. He’s worked here for six years—since he graduated—and he still can’t make a single decision independently. I wonder who chose music for him before I came around. I assume there was another girl.

He finishes conferencing with a freshman and steps out of the theater and back into his office. He sits on the couch—an old prop, everything in here is an old prop—and pushes his sleeves up to his elbows. He rubs his forehead and the wrinkles he’s starting to get. “Well?”

“Vivaldi for the classical. It sounds beautiful if we can get any kind of wind instrument for accompaniment.”

“We’ll have to hire someone,” he says. “All we have is that sophomore who butchers the tuba.” He pulls at his knuckles. “The sopranos go high in Vivaldi. Can any of the girls really handle it, do you think?”

“There has to be someone.”

“Carly, maybe. Tyla probably could. I don’t know. I’m rapidly losing faith in the sopranos.”

I leaf through the music I’ve examined, rejected, examined again. “We still need a medley.”

“Everyone hated Bye Bye Birdie last year.”

“Bye Bye Birdie is trash. I was thinking The Sound of Music, maybe? Edlewiess…”

He winces. “You’ll make me a laughingstock.”

“I like Sound of Music.”

“Everyone likes Sound of Music, Bianca, but no one but you would ever admit it.” He looks at me strangely then looks down at his lap. He’s smiling in that funny way that wrinkles the skin between his eyes. He isn’t even thirty, and parts of him look so old.

“I don’t see the problem with Sound of Music.”

“It’s an influenza musical.”

“What?”

“The thing you watch on a sick day.”

“Fine.” I flip to the next piece of music. “The Fiddler on the Roof?”

He sighs.

“You can’t hate Fiddler on the Roof.”

“I don’t hate it…” He gestures. “It’s just so slow. The story speeds it up, I’ll grant you that, but can you imagine singing Sunrise Sunset, then Far From the Home I Love, then Anatevka…really, they’re all the same song with different words, they all elicit the same emotional response, they’re all tugging at the same heartstrings with the same harmonies and chord progressions.”

“Rent?”

“Oh, God, Rent.”

I cross my arms. “Come on, shut up. Everyone loves Rent.”

“Rent is very…”

“Overwrought?” I’ll admit this, even though it hurts my singer’s soul.

“White.”

“White?”

“Yes.” He waves his hand towards me. “Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t have anything wrong with—”

“Rent is not white. Collins and Angel and Mimi, Joanne, that guy who sings Christmas Bells—”

“That’s exactly what makes it so white. The racial diversity in the cast is one of the most blatant examples of white construction I’ve seen in ten years in the United States. It’s practically one of those advertisements for a hospital.”

“What?”

“Oh, you know. One black boy, one white boy. Maybe even an Indian boy. A girl with glasses and a wheelchair. An East Asian. It’s white guilt amplified.”

“You should talk.”

“Hmm?”

I mumble under my breath.

He says, “I’m sorry?”

I breathe out through my teeth. “You are a white construction, Mr. Malik. The Arabic man unsatisfied with the artificial rule of the U.S. You are possibly the most blatant white construction I’ve seen in eighteen years in the United States.”

He smiles again.

I don’t know what possessed me to say that. I do that sometimes—snap at him with something completely inappropriate. Ever since sophomore year, when he gave the alto solo to a girl with half my voice, I suppose I’ve made a point to make sure I will not be overlooked.

He stands up. “I suppose you’ll be trying for those Maureen solos, then, hmm?”

“We’re doing Rent?”

“I daresay you made a valid point. Plus, I love the beautiful irony of a Muslim choral director teaching a show that flaunts every race but the Middle Eastern. Have I mentioned I love irony? It really is beautiful.”

Scared

I've been putting off writing the next scene in All Together With Feeling because it's...well...intense. I have to be honest--it's going to be the most frightening and graphic scene I've ever written. And if you know my writing, you know that's saying something.

I'm worried it only seems so intense because I haven't written it yet. There are so many times, especially in 1st drafts, when I do something halfway because I'm afraid of going through with this. In this scene in particular, there are a million places I could back out and make the scene less than what it needs to be. I just hope I don't take any of those opportunities.

I'm going to try it tonight, I think.

I just don't know how to say it.

Ever had a similar problem? How did you push through and write a scene that scared you?

Teaser Tuesday

(yes, I know it's not Tuesday. shhhh)

----------------------

The song ends, and I can hear the street even through the closed windows. I am driving too quickly, and everything blows by. James touches his hand to my hand.

I say, “I really wasn’t aware that you are…”

“I don’t exactly advertize it. I mean, people know. My friends do, I guess. I mean, we haven’t talked about it…”

“Then how do you suppose they know?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t date.”

“That proves only that you are not unambiguously straight. There is a large gap between ambiguously straight and…”

“And?”

“Me.”

“Gay.”

I wince.

He says, “What? I mean, you are. God, you are, right? Oh, holy shit, Oliver.”

I laugh a bit. “I do not use that word.”

“Um, shit?”

“Well, generally no.”

“Holy?”

“That one I do use. Gay. I do not use the word gay in the context of homosexuality.”

“What do you use?”

“Well.” We are getting close to the light where I will have to choose to whose house I am driving. I don’t want to ask. “Homosexual. Queer. Fag.”

“You like fag better than gay?”

“Yes.”

He watches me. “Okay, this I’ve got to hear.”

“It is a values choice, I suppose. The word fag makes more sense to me as a description of myself.”

“Oliver, it’s an insult. It’s an offensive thing straight people made up.”

“So is ninety percent of the known world. At the very least it means something. It means homosexual. Put whatever politics on it you like, but a fag is a homosexual. If someone says fag, you know what he means. And I am.” I look at him. “Assuredly. A fag.”

“But you’re not gay.”

“The word gay? It means happy. It means carefree. That is what the word means.”

“That’s not what it means now.”

“That is not the point. It is…like a battered ex-boyfriend. Use it if you want, but I am warning you that I believe it comes with too much baggage. That I might judge.”

“You wouldn’t date someone who’d been hit?”

“I don’t believe that was my point.”

James is quiet. “So you’re not happy?”

I look down only briefly. “Even when I am, I don’t believe I should be required by nature or nurture to have it as a part of my identity.”

He doesn’t speak for too long. Then, “Oliver? I think you’re fantastic.”

“Let’s go back to my house, all right?”

In a way, I hate myself for saying that. But, more than that, I just cannot believe it. I cannot believe I haven’t yet done something to irreparably mess this up. Even my tirade on the merit of homophobic lingo hasn’t discouraged him. And hasn’t discouraged me. I continue to look at him and smile. I continue to feel something in my stomach, several inches higher from where I usually feel any sort of connection to anyone.

Usually, my chest would begin to hurt around this time. I would begin looking for an escape route. I would kiss goodbye. Tonight, that is not going to happen. Not with James. I cannot believe that it is not going to happen.

“God, you have a nice house,” he says.

“Thank you.” I lead him inside and show him where he can put his coat. “Would you like a drink?”

He touches the mezuzah at the door. “You’re Jewish?”

“I am. To drink, James?”

“I don’t know what you mean by drink. Um.”

“Anything, really.”

“Maybe a Coke?”

I pour him one, and a gin and tonic for myself. We drink without sitting down, leaning over opposite sides of the island in the kitchen, facing each other.

“Where are your parents?” he says.

“They like to go out. They will probably be home soon.”

He touches one of the cookbooks. “Who does all the cooking?”

“My…mother.”

“Your…mother?” He looks up.

“And occasionally me.”

“Who plays the piano?”

“I do.”

“Play me something?”

I laugh and bring my drink to the piano. He slides onto the bench next to me. I play from the music book that is already open—Beethoven.

He listens with his eyes closed and his fingers rested on keys too high for me to use. “Sing.”

“It is Beethoven, James. There are no lyrics. It does not remind me of summer.”

He smiles, his eyes still closed. “Sing anyway.”

I do. It takes me a moment to pick out which notes to sing in the seemingly hundreds I am playing, but I find them and I sing on an open A. He opens his eyes and watches me.

He begins quietly, but soon he is singing with me. He does not know quite how to hold his mouth, so the sound isn’t as clean, but it is there. He sings. The notes that are high for him are high for me as well; he is clearly a bass. His voice builds, until it is nearly the same volume as mine.

And something feels more complete in this house than it has in a long time. James’s hand is not on my chest, but I feel as if it is.

We are on top of each other on the piano bench. We are kissing and furiously unbuttoning. The front door opens.

“Oliver?”

We sit up. He fixes himself more urgently than I do. “It’s okay,” I say softly. “We are not in trouble. It’s okay.”

My parents are here. My father is shorter than I am, but he dresses well and has a nice smile. Karen is taller than either of us. She has curly hair and red stilettos. Her nails match the patent leather.

“Did you have a nice night?” I say.

My father messes up my hair. Someday he will get stuck there from my hairspray, and I do not know which of us this would punish, if either. “We did. How was the concert?”

“It was very nice. This is James.”

They shake his hand. James looks incredibly frightened.

We talk about Etta; they tell me they are glad she’s all right. James nods that he is as well. My father leaves to get ready for bed, and Karen takes the opportunity to notice my glass resting on the piano. She lifts it. “This will leave a ring, Oliver.”

I wrap my fingers around James’s. “I know.”

“Bring it to the kitchen.”

“I am not finished with it.”

She sniffs it and makes a face. “Finish your drink and tell your friend to go home,” she tells me, her eyebrows lifted, and clicks her way to my father’s room.

James had only just started to relax, and now he looks so cold.

“Sorry about that,” I say quietly.

He clears his throat. “She doesn’t look much like you.”

I fold the music and put it away. “She is my stepmother.”

“Oh.” He laughs just a bit, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was going to say…”

Please do not say anything. I wish I had never brought him here.

“She’s a little, um, pointy,” James says.

Pointy. That one is new.

He says, “I mean, those shoes—”

“Those were my mother’s shoes,” I say, softly.

He doesn’t say anything, and I cannot look at him. “You see,” I say. “My father has a very distinct type, I suppose, and that type is my mother, and Karen is very nearly exactly my mother. Actually.”

He is still not speaking, and now I cannot quite breathe.

“I think you should go,” I whisper.

He says, “Oliver…”

“No.” I can look at him. I can grit my teeth. “You do not understand, I don’t think. I believe it’s time for you to go.”

Why hello there

On Thursday I'll be leaving for England until June 1st. Most likely no posting while I'm gone, but there will hopefully be LOTS of writing.

I'm 21,000 words into ATwF, and it's going quite swimmingly.

I have little other news of consequence. So, in the tradition of Nathan Bransford--open thread! I doubt mine will have as many visitors, buuut I'd love to know if there's anything you'd like to ask me. So. Any questions? Anything at all?