Why I Read YA

Lately--lately, in this instance, meaning always--there are some opinion pieces making the rounds comparing YA books to
adult
literary
reeeeeal
books.

Sometimes my dad tells me that he likes my books and he thinks I have real talent, and he thinks I really could write a real book. He asks me when I'm going to write the
great
American
nooooovel.

I'm currently a senior year English major. You have no idea how many people I know whose big goal is to write the great American novel. In class, I read great piece of literature after great piece of literature and I really, genuinely like some of them. I do. But when it's time for me to curl up with something I'm actually looking forward to? When stretched out on a towel on the beach or balled up crying on my bed and I need that book, it's Melina Marchetta or Amy Reed or Steve Brezenoff or David Levithan or Jaclyn Moriarty, to name a few. It's YA.

People used to ask me if I would write
reeeeeal
books
when I grew up.

I am twenty-one-and-one-half as of last Friday. I'm not saying I'm ancient (I'll leave that to my infant girlfriend) but I'm unquestionably outside of the YA age group. I know I'm far from the only adult reading YA, and I don't know if it's my on-the-cusp age or my body of work or my major that has people so fucking confused by the fact that I care a lot more about stories about girls by their lockers than about men who want to fuck their sisters (what up, Faulkner, write a different book why don't you).

And see, that there is part of it. When my dad asks me why I haven't written that great American novel, I have totally told him, "Because I'm a Jewish girl."

There are some fucking fantastic literary ('what the fuck is literary anyway?' is a topic for a different post and a better writer) adult books written by women, but, um...where are they? Ohhh that's right, they're being ignored and shoved aside by literary purists just like YA books are! Come sit with us, ladies, our table is ever-expanding.

I've mentioned this before, I think, but I had a teacher in high school who once said to me, after Break sold, "I just feel like there's a level of depth missing in YA books, you know?" in this thoughtful voice like she expected me to agree.

Well, you know what? No, I don't fucking know.

There is a reason adults come back to these high school stories, and it isn't a reason I can figure out how to articulate. But it's the same reason people who very much aren't teenagers love Glee and Friday Night Lights. There is something enduring and universal about these stories.

And there is something twisted and weird and personal and so, so not monolithic. And while we're still working on the diversity-of-characters thing (and trust me I am giving myself a get-out-of-fucking-nothing-free card, I have written waaay too many books about white boys to get off scot-free--I mean, I love my books, but write a fucking Asian girl, hannah) we have a ever-changing, ever-evolving body of authors. 

And I get that literary canon moves a lot slower. I get that.

But maybe it means literary canon needs to shut the fuck up a little bit. Because this isn't 1950 and writers aren't (just?) impotent men with typewriters and dark rooms and alcoholism and complexes. Writers are moms and teenagers and gay boys and black women and Jewish girls trying to tap out a blog post while the aforementioned infant girl watches RuPaul's Drag Race. 

Maybe it doesn't have to be such a fucking art all the time. Maybe I shouldn't be getting a degree in this shit. Maybe I just don't get it.

Maybe I should go back to just reading my little YA books on the beach or balled up in my bed.

God, what a fucking waste that would be!

When I was a sophomore, a creative writing teacher told me that after he finished his

great

American

novel

he wanted to write some really commercial book about zombies. What a fucking joke, right! A real writer deigning to write about zombies!

Last month I ran into a girl from that class who has him again this semester. I asked if he'd finished his great American novel yet.

He has not.

My zombie book came out ten months ago.

(I love the taste of brains in the autumn. Tastes like legitimacy.)

Six Days From Now and Ten Years Ago

Six days from now, my 4th book, Gone, Gone, Gone, comes out.

It's been getting really good reviews, which is pretty fucking cool. Look at these nice quotes!


"Moskowitz captures the teenage mentality and voice in this tender yet emotionally complex romance."
- Publisher's Weekly

“Moskowitz, as usual, imbues her prose with a dreamy quality that makes every off moment feel monumental….Despite featuring the very real sniper attacks of 2002, this is as amorphous as the author’s Invincible Summer—not necessarily a bad thing for those inclined to float along with the lullaby rhythm. The theme of the randomness of tragedy (literalized here by 9/11, the sniper, cancer, and Craig’s 14 lost pets) is particularly well-handled.”
- Booklist


So there's that, and that's awesome, but let's lay it on the line: this is my fourth book, and after four books it takes a lot to get my feathers ruffled (gross?) in either a good (yeah, it's gross) or a bad way. ANY review means that someone's picked up the book, and that's what's important to me at this point, and maybe that means I'm soulless, Supernatural or Zombie Tag-style.

Except the thing is...it's different with this one. Even though I'm pretty fond of that magic gay fish thing, GGG gets a special section of my brain all to itself. GGG is just very, very me. Both 'me' as a writer--pretty much every hannah-trope you know and hopefully grudgingly accept is in this book, seriously, make a drinking game--and as a actual, real human.

And it's kind of the end of an era. As of right now, this is my last male-POV fully contemporary YA book. This was me doing everything I love so much, wringing into one book, and letting it rest.

This was me closing a door, for now.

That's not really why it's special.

**

John Allen Muhammad, the mastermind of the D.C. metro sniper shootings, was executed on November 10th, 2009.

I was at Brown then, and a friend of mine had a blog where he wrote about political events and such, and he asked me to take a look at a post he wrote criticizing the death penalty with regards to Muhammad's execution. Because I was from Maryland, and also because I'm a bleeding heart liberal who was attending a bleeding heart liberal school and I assume he was expecting me to have a certain reaction to the news that someone had been executed.

In any other circumstance, he would have been wrong, but the thing was...

I'd been waiting for John Allen Muhammad to be executed for seven years.

Except, if you'd have asked me, I would have said eight. Because I would have sworn up and down that the sniper shootings and 9/11 were the same year.

I was young--ten for 9/11, eleven for the sniper shootings, so it makes sense that my memories get muddled. But I don't think that's the reason I was so sure that the sniper shootings were a month after 9/11, rather than thirteen.

I think it's a Maryland thing. A suburbs-of-D.C. thing.

They're linked for us. They always will be. We sat right next to a city that lost 125 people in 9/11, and we very obviously were NOT in New York. We weren't even in D.C. We were Maryland, uncomfortably close and uncomfortably detached, and thirteen months (feels like one month) later we, we fucking suburbanites, were the playground for two snipers and two weeks and ten casualties.

We have issues.

It's a Maryland thing.

So I was at Brown in 2009, and my friend showed me the blog post, and the way he talked about Muhammad's execution was...

normal.

He talked about it like it was any other situation, any other murderer. He used it as a support in a larger argument.

It just made so much sense.

And there I was, seven years out of it. Seven years of reading the Wiki page obsessively, of reading about John Muhammad and Lee Boyd Malvo and timing the shootings and figuring out how far I was from each when it happened (not far, never far, and how the fuck could I use that as a reason something was important? People die all the time. Why the hell does it matter if I'm five miles away?)

Seven years out of running in zig-zags on my way to voice lessons and reading about a boy my age getting shot on his way to school. Seven years out of our chief of police crying on TV and our faculty members wearing orange vests and patrolling our grounds.

There was nothing else on the news.

People ducked while they pumped gas.

People talked, all the time, about 9/11.

Seven years out of it, and still shocked that anyone could think it made sense.

So I wrote a book.

(I did what I have to do to make anything make sense. I made a love story.)

So I wrote GGG over a few days a month after Muhammad was executed, during final exams, because I take my studies very seriously, obviously. And because I can't be objective about it. I can't. I can't let it go.

I can't shut this door.

So I wrote a book.

I hope you read it.

2011 Round-Up

I do these every year.

Mostly real-life hannah, but writer hannah makes her appearances too.

1. What did you do in 2011 that you'd never done before?

Had two books come out in one year. Started dating a girl. Went abroad with my family. Starred--twice--in the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Wrote one, solitary book.

2. Did you keep your New Years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

I kept almost all of them. I'll probably make some more.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

Yes.

4. Did anyone close to you die?

No.

5. What countries did you visit?

Just Spain.

6. What would you like to have in 2012 that you lacked in 2011?

Serenity.

7. What dates from 2011 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

April 19th, 2011--Invincible Summer!

December 20th, 2011--Zombie Tag. And that other thing. She's going to come up a lot.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Selling magicgayfish was really, really amazing, as was Teen Author Carnival and doing a panel next to David Levithan, oh my God.

9. What was your biggest failure?

Not writing.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

There was the exciting head-over-heels-down-some-stairs adventure that left me with a sprained ankle and a shitton of scrapes, and I had the flu in the spring. And then I tested positive for Lyme, despite having been tested and treated and cured four years ago, so I had to do a round of antibiotics which made me sick, and hell if I even know what's up anymore. I'm finally on meds for the arthritis and they're helping a ton. THIS IS BORING, I'M SORRY, I DON'T MAKE THE QUESTIONS.

11. What was the best thing you bought?

No contest.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?

My magic gay fish, of course.

14. Where did most of your money go?

Clothes, as always.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

Turning 20. Invincible Summer. Each semester to be over. Holidays, always. Rocky shows. The deal for Fishboy.

16. What song will always remind you of 2011?

"Carry on Wayward Son" by Kansas, because...yeah.

17. Compared to this time last year, you are:

Happier?

God, yeah.

Richer?

Yep.

Thinner?

noooo

18. What do you wish you'd done more of?

Reading, like always. Sleeping. Being calm.

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?

Same as last year: "Freaking the fuck out."

20. How will you be spending Christmas?

At home with my family, and I can't fucking wait.

22. Did you fall in love in 2011?

Ask me in a few months.

24. What was your favorite TV program?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA come on. You know me.

(Supernatural.)

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?

No.

26. What was the best book you read?

SO GLAD YOU ASKED. There are six I read for the first time that I absolutely HAVE to mention.

BROOKLYN, BURNING by Steve Brezenoff
CLEAN by Amy Reed
JELLICOE ROAD by Melina Marchetta
THE PIPER'S SON by Melina Marchetta
STOLEN by Lucy Christopher
THE GHOSTS OF ASHBURY HIGH by Jaclyn Moriarity

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?

Frightened Rabbit.

30. What was your favorite film of this year?

I saw Easy A for the first time on New Year's Eve last year and loved it, so let's count that.

31. What did you do on your birthday. And how old were you?

Twenty. We went out for fondue like we have for my last five birthdays. It was fantastic.

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

Not being in school.

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2011?

Cozy.

34. What kept you sane?

Twitter, Rocky Horror, Supernatural, the Musers, my mom.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

He's surprised by the question.

36. What political issue stirred you the most?

Same as last year, DADT.

37. Whom did you miss?

Everything and all the things all the time. But it's going to be okay.

"I Write Children's Books" OR How I Learned to Stop Fighting and Love the Stigma

In Fall 2009, I started college at a certain Ivy League school that shall not be named. All that I will say is that I didn't have a good time there. And that it's a color.

For the semester I was there, I was enrolled as a "Literary Arts" major. I never really found out what Literary Arts is. I think it's a more pretentious version of an English major, but I'm not sure.

I was in a class called "Literature of Children and Young Adults." On the first day, our teacher had us go around and say why we were interested in children's books, specifically young adult books. When it got to me, I told them--"My first YA book came out in 2009. My next one is 2011."

I pretty naively expected to be congratulated.

What I got was an A on my first paper followed by a paragraph that had nothing to do with my paper and everything to do with the way I introduced myself the first day. Saying I was published was unprompted self-congratulation that set me up as a precocious kid with an attitude problem. And, my professor continued, the A on the paper should not be taken as a sign that my writing didn't need a lot, a LOT of work. I was young and naive and full of myself. I was all bark and no bite.

Later, when I asked the kids in my class what they were working on, one of them mentioned that children's books were just practice for him, and--by the way--he was so glad he wasn't planning on perusing publication for years to come, because good GOD he would be so embarassed to have anything less than his very best life's work out in the world.

I don't think I have to tell you guys how hard it is to have any self-confidence at all in this business. From the outside, it's probably very easy to see published authors as self-satisfied assholes who refuse any more growth. From the inside, I haven't seen anyone who fits this stereotype. Not to say some don't, but I think this is far, far from the norm.

We're still scared. We're still searching. We're still learning and editing and crying into our pillows. I don't have to tell you guys this. You know.

They didn't. I was surrounded by people trying to knock me down a peg, except I had nothing underneath me when they did.

I stopped going out. I couldn't write.

I went home.

That professor and those students were not the reasons I left Brown.

They didn't help.

(Oops, look at that. Said the name.)

I transferred to the University of Maryland, I started out as a Theatre major just to try to get away from the drama (ha ha ha) and the baggage. It worked, but it turned out I was a really shitty Theatre major. I started my sophomore year a month and a half ago, as an English major.

I was fucking terrified.

My plan was not to tell anyone I was published. No one. Lips zipped. It was going to be my complete and absolute secret.

And then the first day of Introduction to Creative Writing, my teacher has us go around and say what we write.

Everyone else in the class writes poetry, short fiction, doesn't write anything but wants to start. A girl is working on a sci-fi novel. Besides that, no longer works.

He gets to me, and I say, "I write children's books."

I don't think I'd ever said this sentence out loud before. I hadn't been intentionally avoiding it, but this was the first time I'd spoken about what I write since Zombie Tag sold in June. Before that, I wrote young adult books. Now I write children's books.

And then my teacher said, "Are you published?"

Well, fuck.

What was I supposed to say to that?

So I said yes and he acted impressed and I said to the class, "I'm normal. I swear. I'm normal."

And my professor said, "Don't worry. I'm sure you're not here to show off."

And that sentence cracked my whole world open and filled it with sunshine.

The moral of this story is that I would have to be beaten heavily with a stick before I'd take another children's book class.

I love being an English major. I am absolutely crazy about 20th century American Lit and literary criticism and a million other aspects of this world. I'm considering doing a second major in English Education so I'll be certified to teach those English classes down there, like, ferrealsies. Surprising no one here, I love books. I love learning about books and learning about writing.

I like that I am branded as a children's book writer.

There is still a ton of stigma around writing children's books as opposed to "real books." This is another thing you guys don't need me to tell you. But it's working for my advantage now, and I love it.

It feels a little like playing a game, because I'm pretending to check the children's books at the door. And it probably looks that way. They probably think I'm holding everything I'm learning in a separate vessel for the day I grow up and decide to write a Real Book. People see my writing as this slightly hacky side career I do while I'm not at school learning about Real Writing.

They have no idea I'm stealing all the Real Writing techniques and bending them and shaping them and hacking them into pieces and smushing them together and simplifying them and extrapolating them and plugging them into my zombie book.

They don't need to know. I'm not cheating. I'm learning. I'm enjoying myself. And I got to do it through being honest. And since I'm in classes for "real" writing, not children's writing, no one sees me as the girl who's there to show off. I'm the girl with the job on the side who's learning something totally new.

I have friends now.

It feels like I'm winning this game.

I can deal with being a hack.

Update

Sorry the blog has been quiet for the past week. I'm finishing up my freshman year (!!!) right now, so I've been on the fritz while I'm just trying to get everything done. I hope you all have been checking in on the Do The Write Thing for Nashville auction to entertain you.

A few updates from my life: I'm gearing up for the boyfriend's gallant return and our subsequent trip to NYC (just before and sadly, not during BEA). I cut off my hair today. here is a scene kid-style picture.



And I'm very excited to tell you that, through the aforementioned auction, I'm getting a book trailer for INVINCIBLE SUMMER and a website redesign that will involve merging this blog with my existing website. I'm not exactly sure how that will work (If I understood how this shit worked, I'd do it myself!) but I assure you it's going to be fabulous.

I have this feeling I'll have an INVINCIBLE SUMMER cover to show you guys really soon. Keep your fingers crossed. I'm also having an excited week, publishing-wise, so cross some other fingers that I'll have good news to share shortly!

Emptying My Pockets All Over My Blog

Here's some stuff that's going on in my life right now!

I'm in publishing limbo again.

Did you think it ended once you sold a book? HAHAHAHAHA.

That is the sound of me laughing at your foolishness and LAUGHING AT MY PAIN.

I'll take any crossed fingers you can throw at me. Or you can mail them, if that's easier. I'd give you my address, but I just rethought and pictured my roommate's face if fingers, crossed or otherwise, started arriving in our mail, and it wasn't pretty.

So let's talk about nicer things. Chances are, a year from today, you will have a copy of Invincible Summer in your pretty little hands. I'm assuming here that if you read my blog, you like me enough to buy my book. Also, that your hands are little and pretty. There's something pretty exciting about that. A lot of times I feel like Invincible Summer isn't coming out for ages and ages, but right now a year doesn't feel like too long. In a few days, I'm sure I'll be crying about how it's never going to come out and omigod what if I turn TWENTY before the release date and waaaah.

Copyedits on Invincible Summer are all done and getting mailed back to my editor in the next few days. After this, typeset pages and galleys and all the reaaaally exciting stuff. LIKE ARCs. I mean, I should shut up, because ARCs won't be for ages, but um ARCs. ARCs. That is all.

For those of you who care about my life as a human (vs. my life as a word processor) I'm finishing up my freshman year of college in the next two weeks and preparing for the return of my boyfriend, who's in been in Ohio for school the past year. I am astronomically excited for both these things.

This summer is going to be pretty fantastic. I'm doing a lot of low-key traveling (including a weekend in NYC over May 21st-23rd) and, of course, attending my very first WRITING CONFERENCE. I've met very few writers in real life, and no publishing professionals, so SCBWI LA is going to be insane and fantastic. Who's going to be there? You all better come find me. I'll be the nervous girl with the pink hair.

I Thought About Giving You a Serious Excerpt

But this one is more fun.

--


From that point on, all I can think about is kissing. And it’s like it’s everywhere. Noah and Melinda in the rain. Mom and Dad after they fight. Even in Gideon and Lucy’s stupid cartoons, kissing! The only person who isn’t kissing is Claudia; I would have expected she’d be on Shannon by now, but he’s apparently devoted to his girlfriend back home, and Claude’s making this big deal out of being heartbroken.

Bella never made me feel this way. Bella was just lips. We’re talking about whole bodies, now. We’re talking about lungs.

I’m just confused. Suddenly everything has this subtext. I’m beginning to understand what Noah meant about foreplay. I think my whole life is foreplay. The girls lying on their stomachs on the beach every day? It doesn’t matter if they’re six or sixteen or sixty. It’s sex. Girls are sex! I feel like I’ve opened up a Pandora’s box of adolescence full of sunlight and lip gloss and Camus.

Noah says, “Seriously, Chase, what’s gotten into you?”

“The idea that the female race extends beyond Bella and my sisters.”

Noah laughs. “The things you discover when you live your life on beaches.”

I know I’m only fifteen, but I’m going to bed every night terrified that I’m going to die a virgin if I don’t have sex right now. I don’t think I’ve ever needed anything this badly. It’s almost terrifying. I’m addicted to something I’ve never tried.

“Do you want to borrow a magazine?” Noah asks. “Or, like, an internet connection?”

But seriously, I’m afraid there’s something wrong with me. There’s this girl I work with, and before I would have thought she was cute and that would have been okay, but now? I feel like doing things with her. To her!

Her name is Joanna, and she always wears pink shirts underneath her white apron. She must have at least twenty pink shirts, I swear. She wears her hair all on top of her head, like every girl in the world, but it looks better on her. She doesn’t wear makeup.

Once, when she was reaching for the gummi worms, and I was going for the wax bottles, the inside of her wrist touched the top of my hand. I got an erection immediately. It was horrible. I had to serve the next set of customers with my crotch pressed against the cash register.

And that’s just one of the things that’s hard about working.

Happy Editor Appreciation Day!

This post is going to be lame and quick and not NEARLY what Anica deserves, but today is GTFO OF BROWN DAY so hopefully it will suffice.

Anica is my editor at Simon Pulse. She handled BREAK, and she'll also be doing INVINCIBLE SUMMER and whatever that third book turns out to be. And she. Is. Fabulous.

Not only does she do her job with humor, grace, and a hell of a lot of skill, but she makes you absolutely love eviscerating your novel for her. Not to mention, she sends me chocolate bars in the mail.

And every once in a while I'll get an email from her like the one I got this morning...

Do you need any books to read over break? Nothing Like You? Beautiful? The Hollow? Getting Revenge on Lauren Wood? Stupid Cupid? Other Pulse titles? Let me know what you want and I’ll send a package.

Like, are you kidding me? FREE FRICKIN' BOOKS???

I love Anica and I love Simon Pulse.

College and Writing

Still trying to figure out if the two coexist.

For those of you who don't know, I'm currently in my freshman year at certain University (6,000 undergrad, its name can also be an adjective used to describe cows, belts, and suspicious stains, it's right there on the sidebar if you need help <---) and It's been a little rough so far. One of the main sources of difficulty, I think, is I've been basically unable to write since I got here.

I've written some--maybe 2,000 words total? But there are a few things keeping me from being productive:

--other things I have to do. This one's pretty major. I'm in class a lot. When I'm not in class, I'm doing homework (something I didn't really do in high school, so there you go). When I'm not doing homework, I'm usually staring at my TV trying not to think about homework.

--lack of time to think about anything. Let's face it, if I could just daydream through my classes the way I did in high school, I'd have a million ideas of what to write about by now. But my classes here are hard, damn it! So I don't have that luxury anymore.

--the assumption that if you're just sitting in your room by yourself, you're doing something wrong.

That's the major one.

So this post is really an open letter to all the people in my life who think I'm unhappy when I'd rather be by myself. Maybe you can use it for people in your life, too.

Guys.

It's okay.

Sometimes I need to get shit done, and sometimes that shit is something you don't understand, and that's okay, but it means you shouldn't make me try to explain it to you.

It's not that I don't love you, it's that sometimes the people in my head really are more interesting. (They're also more likely to make me money than you are. Sorry. Go buy me a sandwich).

Sometimes I really don't care about my Human Development homework because I'm trying to care about something that isn't real.

Sometimes I can't read the beautiful literature you assign me because it makes me too goddamn intimidated to write anything down.

Sometimes I just want to go home and go back to my real writing spot--in my basement, under a blanket, cat on my lap, watching Project Runway reruns.

That's how I roll. So far, this really isn't.

:)

Sorry for being all crazy MIA and abandoning you guys. If you thought reality TV was a timesuck, try college.

If you've missed the melodious sounds of my voice, you should DEFINITELY check on Blogfest--it's a very cool S&S project where 40 authors sound off on some different topics---and guess who's one of the 40? Stay tuned for a few more posts there from me in the next few days, but my first one's already up!

http://www.simonlittlegreen.com/blogfest/

Definitely check it out.

I haven't forgotten about you!

I'm just so busy it hurts.

I will have some BIG NEWS in the coming days/weeks whatever, however. Stay tuned.