So last month when I posted about my BIG NEWS, little did you know that that was only part of it. And now I get to announce the whole damn thing.
Monday, May 6, 2013
Dancing
Labels: OMGOMGOMG, this is kind of a big deal, writing
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
INVINCIBLE SUMMER Playlist: Song 17
SONG #17: "Long Division" by Death Cab for Cutie.
We're four songs from the end, and we've finally hit the first of the VERY IMPORTANT SONGS.
Long Division is one of my favorite songs. I'm sure I'm not the only Death Cab fan who views this as a sequel to "Your Heart is an Empty Room." It's about someone who used to run away all the time who's trying to change. Trying to stay.
This one really could have gone anywhere on the playlist. It's where it is more for mood than anything. It provides a good break between "Little Sparrow" and song #18.
But this song is hugely important, because this song is where Noah came from.
It's no secret that Noah is one of my very favorites of the characters I've written. And that might be because he was the easiest. Being inside Noah's head would have been a nightmare (and a bitch for you to read, because God that kid is angry) but his lines were always the easiest ones to write. I could space out a little while I was writing dialogue with Noah. I would start with one line and then I would just let myself run with it. Noah is smart and poetic and cynical and so incredibly affectionate, and he knows a ton about the outside world and just about nothing about himself.
And in a lot of ways, Invincible Summer is Noah's story. Claudia is the real hero--I will forever maintain that Claudia is the hero--but if the story has a tragic hero, it's absolutely Noah. And the fact that the book is in Chase's head let me have a really fun time writing Noah, because Chase absolutely adores him. I mean, fuck, Chase is sleeping with a girl in attempts to be closer to him. It's fucked-up and crazy and it is all because of this song.
This song is where I got Noah, and Melinda, and the relationship between them. This song is all of that.
So let's have a lot of text today.
SAMPLE LYRIC:
His head was a city of paper buildings
And the echoes that remained
Of old friends and lovers, their features bleeding
Together in his brain
And once it'd start, it was harder to
Tell them apart
He was always distracted
By the very mention
Of an open door
'Cause he had sworn not to be what he'd been before
To be a remain remain remain remainder
To be a remain remain remain remainder
The television was snowing softly
As she hunted for her keys
She said she never envisioned him the type of person
capable of such deceit
And they carried on like long division
And it was clear with every page
That they were further away from a solution that would play
Without a remain remain remain remainder
CORRELATING PASSAGE:
I don't blame Noah for what happened. None of us do. I think, for a while, he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for us to lose it and finally scream at him that we were so angry and so disappointed and we wished he'd never come home that night. He used to steal my stuff every time he came over. He wouldn't be sneaky about it, and he always took stuff that I'd be sure to notice, like my favorite shirt or my toothbrush. I confronted him about it once, and he kept saying, “Why don't you tell me what you're really mad about? Why don't you tell me what the real problem is?” until I eventually told him to shut up and just stop stealing my shit. It's not as if we're still fighting about that, but that was when he stopped coming over.
I take a deep breath. I'm feeling okay about going back. Quiet, but okay. I'm feeling ready. After all, as Noah and Camus and probably Melinda—though I don't think of her much anymore—would say, "one always finds one's burden again."
--p. 242-243
PLAYLIST SO FAR:
1) "Turn Up The Sun" by Oasis
2) "Island in the Sun" by Weezer
3) "Just Like Heaven" by Gatsby's American Dream
4) "Bigger Than My Body" by John Mayer
5) "New Soul" by Yael Naim
6) "Across the Universe" by Rufus Wainwright
7) "Boys of Summer" by The Ataris
8) "Slang" by Def Leppard
9) "City Hall" by The Fray
10) "The Worst Part" by Motion City Soundtrack
11) "Time Won't Let Me Go" by The Bravery
12) "Hello Helicopter" by Motion City Soundtrack
13) "No One's Boy" by Marcy Playground
14) "You Can Do Better Than Me" by Death Cab for Cutie
15) "Sorry" by Pushmonkey
16) "Little Sparrow" by David Cook
17) "Long Division" by Death Cab for Cutie
Labels: Camus, Excerpt, Invincible Summer, playlist, writing
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Sparkly!Fairy!Prostitute!
Time for a teaser!
--
“So,” Josha said, his feet up on the railing of Beckan's balcony, his ass on the porch swing. They were watching the tightropers continue stringing their lines, and watching the fairies on the streets rushing around with their heads covered, like they were expecting rain. A news report blared from inside, where Beckan had left her father in front of the TV.
She knew what Josha was going to say, but she gave him nothing. She almost always knew what Josha was going to say. She loved him very much but had long ago given up hope.
“So,” Josha said. “Scrap?”
“He's teaching me to read.”
“How charitable.”
“Not really. Selfish. He wants someone to read his stupid stories. He's desperate.”
“Cricket won't read them?”
“Who?”
“His cousin,” Josha said. “They live together."
“I didn't know his name.” She had only seen him a few times. He was usually walking from room to room, usually with headphones jammed over his ears.
Josha said, “So you're really not crazy about him.”
“Scrap?”
“Either.”
“I told you.”
“Since you don't know his family or anything. Don't know anything about him.” He gave her a sloppy grin. “After all, you know me. So.”
She watched the trightropers instead of responding. Josha said “Cricket” quietly to himself a few times. “Must be a genius if he avoids the stories,” he mused.
“Cold-hearted genius, maybe.”
“A genius is a genius. I don't need another heart, anyway.”
Then the first bombs went off, and they sprang towards each other as if they had previously been stretched apart. Beckan felt some heat on her cheek, like the city was breathing on her, but she couldn't see where the bomb fell or detect any damage. From the porch of Beckan's house, at the bottom of the hill, it was hard to see much of anything.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Promises
NOTE: This post contains possibly incorrect spoilers of the following, many of which I know nothing about:
--Queer as Folk (US TV series)
--Harry Potter (the whole series
--Lord of the Rings (okay and I've only seen the movies but I'm pretty sure either format works for the example I'm using)
--Twilight series (which I have not read, but know enough about to perhaps erroneously cite)
--The Boyfriend List series by E. Lockhart (only very minor spoilers)
--The Great Gatsby (also minor)
--The Stranger (ditto)
You have been warned.
--
One thing I rarely talk about on this blog is--aside from my cries in the night for more strong male characters--what I like to see in stories, and how I try to write my stories. But when my dear friend Scott Tracey suggested I blog about Queer as Folk, I realized that the show (which is possibly my favorite show ever) highlights a lot of elements that can make or break a story, in my mind.
And they're all about promises you make your reader.
One True Pairing. This is a concept rooted, I think, in fanfic. (which, TANGENT: I adore almost as much as Queer as Folk, and even more if the two are combined. Some writers get all up in arms--and, in my opinion, up in their own egos--about it. Use a pseudo, don't try to make money, and write on, bitches.)
The concept of One True Pairing is that there is a couple you are rooting through throughout the entire book--or, commonly, throughout the entire series. This doesn't mean the couple is always obvious, or together through the entire work. There are bumps. There should be bumps.
But they should end up together.
I know a lot of people are going to protest this. They're going to talk about how books should resemble the real world, and the real world isn't always fair, and couples break up all the time regardless of how much they love each other, and it isn't fair to promote some kind of fantasy in our books, blah blah blah.
To which I say: bullshit.
I am 100% pro happy endings--see the next heading! But I don't think my definition of a happy ending is the same as other people's. Most of my stories have an ending that is bittersweet, but goddamn it, the couple stays together.
This togetherness doesn't have to be very overt, even. In Queer as Folk, Brian and Justin are set up from episode 1 as the One True Pairing. For the entire first season, they're not officially a couple. They go episodes at a time without seeing much of each other. Brian doesn't even like Justin that much, despite bringing him home in the first ten minutes of the first episode.
By season 2, they're as official as they ever really get. Neither of them is into monogamy or serious relationships, at least not for a while, so they are happy and very much, even though Brian would never admit it, in love. They break up twice over the series, and it's painful to watch, even though you know they will get back together.
And they do. You know why? Because the whole fucking thing would suck if they didn't. A book I really love broke this rule, and it was absolutely crushing. They spent the whole book trying to get together, then together and deliriously happy, and then they broke up in the last 5 pages. It was so sad, and the book lost so many points with me for that.
I want payoff. I want hope. I want promises fulfilled, and the biggest promise a lot of books give you is that One True Pairing. Your readers are trusting you.
Queer as Folk ends with Brian and Justin calling off their engagement (more on that later) and separating when Justin moves to New York for a while to work on his art. For me, this ending was not open. I was a hundred percent satisfied. They're still together, they're just living in different cities for a while. A lot of people didn't agree with me. There are huge sections of the fan base convinced that they ended the series broken up.
To which I say, again, bullshit! And recently, someone did an interview with the two creators of the show, one of which said, "I have no idea why people think they broke up."
So HA. One True Pairings win again. And I never had any doubt, because I trusted the creators the way I trust authors. I trust the good guys to win and the right people to make out. You never REALLY think Bella's going to end up with Jacob. If you're paying any attention at all, you never REALLY think Harry's going to end up married to Hermione.
And, to extrapolate a little on this point--
Give me a goddamn happy ending.
I get it, realism realism blah blah blah. But to quote Seinfeld, "If I want a long, boring story with no point to it, I have my life."
Your book has a goal. Achieve it. The ring gets destroyed, guys. Voldemort doesn't win. Even if Harry had died, which many people think he should have (holla) it would have been a happy ending because evil would not have triumphed. Guys. Evil can't fucking triumph. Come on now.
I'm crazy about books that make me think about life and the universe and the world at large. And I don't even everything to work out peachy keen. Think The Great Gatsby. Think The Stranger. Those are some of my favorite books, and both of them have someone kicking it at the end.
But there is hope. There is spirit. Evil isn't winning.
No evil winning. Your characters don't have to be making out in the sunset, but they have to at least be holding hands in the wreckage.
You're fulfilling a promise you're giving the reader. Don't be that asshole who's trying to teach the reader there are no promises in real life. You're like the Grinch right now.
The last few lines in the entire Queer as Folk series:
So the thumpa thumpa continues. It always will. No matter what happens. No matter who is president. As our lady of Disco, the divine Ms Gloria Gaynor has sung to us: We will survive.
Excuse me while I wipe my eyes a little.
But before we get all sappy, we have one more promise you make your reader, and it's one that Queer as Folk very badly fucks up.
Character consistency. On a larger scale, this is valid more in a series than in a stand alone, though it's valid as hell either way.
When you introduce a character with a certain set of traits and abilities, you make a promise to your reader. And that promise is--if this character is changing from this thing I've set up from you, you will know.
By all means, your characters should develop and morph throughout the story. But the reader needs to see it happening. They need to understand why and how, or they're going to feel like they're looking at a different character at the end of the work than they were at the beginning. And that's not good.
E. Lockhart's The Boyfriend List series does a fantastic job of this. Roo is Roo, through all of them. Yes, you can see her growing and maturing and learning new skills to cope with her ridiculous life, but she is still very consistently Roo.
Now. Queer as Folk.
In case you missed it in the OTP heading, Brian fucking proposes.
What the fuck is that shit? We get that they love each other. We know. We've got it. We don't need to hear Brian say it, or see him fucking plan a wedding. It completely destroys the image we have of who Brian and Justin are. If they'd both just started quietly wearing wedding rings, that would have been one thing. But the last season of Queer as Folk turned Brian into some kind of domesticated animal, and a looooot of people are unhappy about it. He sent out fucking wedding announcements. He bought a house. What is this shit? This is not the Brian we were promised.
So if you want the reader to follow through with reading your whole book, you have some things you need to do to deserve that. Or to make sure, if they do finish it, that they don't end up throwing it at a wall.
There are of course a million ways to do all the things I've mentioned and still write a wall-throwing-worthy book. And there are ways to ignore everything I've said (except maybe the consistent character one...but you never know) and write something phenomenal. And in all honesty, if you're writing something you want analyzed in English class, you're probably going to need a less happy ending.
But, looking back, there are very few endings I've read that I've read that I would consider altogether too depressing. The only ones that I think really fit the bill are ones where the One True Pairing fails.
So guys. Less realism, more making out. End scene.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Getting Your NaNo On
So! National Novel Writing Month is coming up. I'm sure most of you know the gist already: 30 days, 1 book, 50,000 words. Details are here, and if you decide you're interested, you should hurry up and sign up! We're starting in 5 days!
This will be my 3rd year doing NaNo. For me, the challenge isn't writing quickly; it's getting a 50,000 word first draft. This is really, really long for me. A lot of my finished books clock it at around 50,000, and my first drafts are usually significantly shorter, somewhere in the 25-30,000 range. So even though people assume NaNo is easy for me because I'm a fast writer, it's actually a significant challenge for me as well. I won in both 2008 and 2009 (though in 2009 I cheated by adding 50K to an existing project. shhhh. But 2008 was legit).
If you're interested in NaNo but nervous about the idea of 50K in 30 days, here are some tips that you can take or leave as they suit you.
--Take a risk. I like to do something weird for NaNo. My planned project for this year is a ghost story, and hopefully (hopefully!) the first of a trilogy I have mapped out.
This is so astronomically far from anything I've ever done, but the good news is, I can't give up. I am absolutely positive that I'm going to start panicking and trying to jump ship 10,000 words in. And any other time, I probably would. But not for NaNo. For NaNo, you have to keep going. Or you LOSE. I don't like losing.
--Nail down the beginning. Choose your first line NOW. You don't want to be staring at a blank page. You can change it later, whatever, but give yourself a springboard. I have my first chapter all written up in my head. Then God knows what happens.
--Don't pace yourself. It doesn't work that way, at least not for me. Start strong. Write as many words a day as you can. Aim for 5K a day. Power through for as long as you can.
There will come a day where this gets absolutely impossible. You'll be lucky to get 1K out. And that's okay. Because you have a few days of writing 5K behind you, and you're already ahead of the game.
It will get harder to write as you get to the middle of your book. You will start doubting yourself and pulling out your hair, and the lack of sleep will catch up with you. Keep pushing as hard as you can, but give yourself permission to have some days when you're barely trickling out words. It happens. But don't try to slow down the part where you're buzzing and exciting because your book is shiny and new in hopes of saving your energy for later. It doesn't work.
--Get a support group. Physical ones work really well for some people; ask around and see if there are meetups in your area. You might be surprised!
If you're a hermit like me, there's always, thank God, the internet. You can find friends on the NaNo forums, or you can bully some of your existing friends into participating with you.
It's very, very helpful to have people to bitch to. If the Musers didn't do NaNo, I can't imagine I would. Most of the fun of this month comes from suffering together. It breaks up the loneliness we all feel sometimes, when it's just us and our laptops and our boyfriends complaining they never see us.
--Welcome help. Once you sign up, you'll get pep talk emails. Read them! Love them! They really DO help, if you let them. (And you might just find a quote from someone you know in there. I mean, maybe. You know a lot of people, right? I'm just saying it's possible. Stop looking at me like that. I don't know anything...)
People will reassure you. People who haven't read a word of your novel will tell you that it's brilliant and you can finish and you can do it. Believe them! Don't be a sourpuss. Sourpusses don't finish novels. I won't say what they do. This is a family-friendly blog. (Stop looking at me like that.)
So. If you decide to sign up, make sure to look me up. I'm right here. You can read a description of what I'll be working on, if you like. I'll put up an excerpt once the month has started. Add me as a buddy if you want to see how I'm doing, and leave links to your profiles in the comments so I can friend you back! And good luck!
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
The Boy Problem
First, you need to know my position.
--I am a writer, not a publisher or a bookseller.
--I am primarily a YA writer, but I write MG as well.
--I am female, sex and gender alike.
--So far, all of my finished novels, and certainly all of my published ones, have had male protagonists.
--95% of what I read is contemporary. I don't generally like SF/F.
--I generally prefer to read books with male protagonists
--About 70% of my reading is in YA.
Now.
People have been talking about the issue of boys in YA for a long time, but these discussions seem to have reached a head recently--one that I think has been a long time coming.
I want to make it clear that there are going to be exceptions to every single thing I say. One of the big points I'm trying to make in this post, in fact, is that generalizing doesn't fucking work. So please understand that none of what I will say is true 100% of the time, and your knowledge that there are exceptions to what I'm about to lay out might not invalidate what I'm saying. This is literature. Nothing is universal.
So.
The problem we're talking about is fairly simple: boys don't read YA. This isn't an issue of "boys don't read"--we're not talking about these boys. We're talking about avid readers, boys who ate up middle grade but go to adult fiction and non-fiction instead of passing through YA, and nobody really knows why.
I'm not an expert on this. I'm just a chick who writes, at least from my point of view, the kind of YA that is the closest that we have right now to "boy books," which is really just to say that my books have male main characters, because right now that is all we offer boys.
And it isn't enough.
I've been thinking about this a lot, and I've come up with a lot of theories for why boys aren't reading YA. Some of these probably aren't true. Maybe most of them aren't. But whether or not these are the root of the problems, they are issues that I'm seeing swept under the rug, and I believe they're truths we don't want to look at.
It's not all the writer's fault. We've all heard that publishers don't buy boy books--and 1. they do, and 2. why should they if they aren't selling--and it pisses me the fuck off how many boys there are who won't pick up a book with a girl main character or, heaven forbid, a book with a chick's name in the cover.
It's not entirely our fault. But it does start with us.
Here's what we did:
--We've stereotyped boys. Most boys in YA fit into four very particular categories.
1) The gay best friend. The gay best friend is sassy. He's also deeply damaged and vulnerable from the trauma of being gay. The girl--our main character, always--might be his only friend. He desperately needs her. Maybe he has a drug problem due to his inner torment.
2) The best guy friend. Practically like the gay best friend except he's straight, and he doesn't have inner torment. In fact, he's sweet, attentive, and as reliable as death/taxes. He's also in love with the girl MC, who for some reason hasn't noticed him even though he was always there. Don't worry, by the end of the book, she'll realize he's The One.
3) The bad boy. This is the one we're all familiar with. He's pure motorcycle on the outside, but deep down, he's just a marshmallow of love for our main character. He doesn't open up to anyone else, but he loves this one girl. He needs her. Yeah, you're all thinking about that series I haven't read, I know it, you know it, we don't need to name it.
4) The nerdy boy. This is (usually, remember usually, we're talking about usually) the only boy you will ever find as a main character. If you find a male POV, it's usually him. He's geeky but never pimply, nerdy but always in a socially-proficient, sarcastic, endearing way. He talks about masturbation because it's funny, not because of something he really likes. He's a bookworm girl's wet dream.
Which leads me to the second thing writers have done:
--We've sanitized boys. What MG books do boys love? Captain Underpants, Diary of a Wimpy Kid, books that appeal to their light side. In our efforts to empower girls (oh, and trust me, there will be much more on this later) we've forgotten that it's irrelevant right now that it's hard to grow up as a girl in today's world full of fashion magazines and celebrity marriages and mirrors in every dressing room; it's hard to grow up a boy in a world where Dad wants you to play baseball and you want to draw pictures or you want to play baseball but your best friend didn't make the team.
I'm simplifying, obviously, and you can flip and flop the sexes here--boys don't always love the mirrors either, and maybe Dad would rather braid your hair then cheer you on in the stands--but we're not arguing about which sex has it harder, we're just acknowledging a fact that YA isn't right now--boys aren't skipping their way through high school, either.
So why do MG books remember this and not YA? Why are MG books looking at showing boys every aspect of themselves, like Greg's issues with his drippy friends and his little brother, and simultaneously giving them an escape with superheros and gross-out humor, when this seems to be something that YA can't grasp?
Well, I'll tell you why.
--We've stripped boys of substance and we did it to empower girls. Somehow, the message "girls can do it too" became "only a girl can do it," and men became the weaker sex in YA.
Where are the epic fantasy trilogies with male main characters? Harry Potter isn't YA, people, stop pretending. When, since Eragon, have boys gotten to save the world? Where is the Melissa Marr for boys? Where is--yeah--Twilight for boys? Where is the science fiction that boys loved in YA, and we just assumed, for some reason, they were fine with losing when they turned 14?
Oh yeah--they're over there in adult fiction, and that's where the teenage boys are going to be, too.
Boys in YA are rubber walls for our 3D female characters to bounce off of. They're props for girls to throw around to show that they're the stronger sex.
And I get that we need to empower girls, people. I get it. But how many books about girls do we need before we can consider that a job well done?
So here's how to fix it. And this is a call to writers, and it's a call to publishers, and it's a call to readers.
--Write, publish, and promote books with real boys. Stop talking and just fucking do it. Read Shaun Hutchinson's The Deathday Letter. Now read it again.
There will be no question in your mind about whether or not Oliver is written as fantasy fodder for a girl. Oliver is not written for a girl. Period. Oliver is written for Oliver, and he is real.
Now realize that he is just one boy, and that you can write any boy you want. Nothing pisses me off like a writer saying that boys have to strong, quiet about how they're feeling, but secretly weak underneath their hardened exterior.
NO! Your boy does not have to be ANYTHING. STOP MAKING BOYS THAT HAVE TO BE SOMETHING. We are no longer allowed to even hint that a girl has to have a specific quality for fear of someone calling sexism, so I am calling sexism on you.
Stop writing this boy you've imagined in your head and write a real boy. Make him gross or sweet or angry or well-adjusted or affectionate or uncomfortable or confused or ambitious or overwhelmed or smitten or anxious or depressed or desperate or happy. Write a boy the same way everyone has been telling everyone, forever, to write a girl; free of gender stereotypes, three-dimensional, and relatable.
Write books that lead logically from middle grade, that don't assume that boys wash their brains out when they hit puberty.
Put covers on books, no matter the gender of the main character, that boys will not be embarrassed to read on the subway. (My vlog tomorrow will have more on this). Teach boys that they don't need a man's name on the cover to know that they will like it.
Agents and publishers, either stop saying you're looking for boy books or start meaning it. Or figure out what a boy book is, because we need someone to explain it to us.
And I'm okay if it means, right now, "books with a male POV." Because I understand that that's a stepping stone boys need right now. I'm not okay with boys indefinitely refusing to read books with a girl's point of view. I'm completely okay with them only reading books that have real male characters in them. Let's make it easy for them to find them, first.
Write and publish fantasy and science fiction (FOR GOD'S SAKE WHERE IS THE SCIENCE FICTION) with strong male main characters. Boys need their blockbusters, too, and it doesn't matter how you feel about YA fantasy--you know just as well as I do what's selling, so let's expand that past the girl's point of view.
Boys. Shut up and read YA. The books are there. There aren't enough, we're absolutely sorry. But they're there. Stop insisting they're not. And I'm trying. And we're trying.
And we can't do this without you.
And the boy reader in your life isn't going to find this post on his own because he doesn't know me because he doesn't read YA, so you know what to do. This post has a link for a reason.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Influences
For each book, I'm usually inspired by two specific things, often ones that have nothing to do with each other. And then my brain mashes them up and makes an idea.
BREAK: Fight Club and Into the Wild, first the movies, then the books.
INVINCIBLE SUMMER: A book of essays by Camus and The Hotel New Hampshire.
THE ANIMALS WERE GONE: Love Is The Higher Law and the 2002 Metro sniper shootings.
ZOMBIE TAG: How To Train Your Dragon (movie) and this comic.
FISHBOY: Peter Pan and Choke (the books).
For me, the experience of going to the movies always triggers something. There's something about sitting in the theater and just getting assaulted by someone else's ideas. Something, even something tiny, always hits me.
What are your inspirations?
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Because I'm Me
And if I didn't start a new book every week, I wouldn't be me!
So here's a bit from the middle of a brand new book.
--
Mom sits at the table with me and beats eggs. She has the baby monitor pressed against her ear for Dylan's nap, like she's trying to use it to make a phone call.
I tell her, “I saw Fiona today.”
Mom shoves her hair off her forehead. “What are you paying attention to her for?”
Fiona is a ragged woman who lives at the end of the island. She tells fortunes.
“She was telling me this story about the ghosts who haunts this island. Not even just Mrs. Delaney. It's the whole island.”
Mom says, “Really, Rudy,” in this voice like she hasn't slept for days. Maybe she hasn't.
All the more reason she needs a good story. “It's a ghost of this boy they threw into the ocean, and he drowned.”
She looks up. “Why would you say something like that?”
“It's not my story, Mom, God.” Never mind.
Her eggs are all the same color now, but she doesn't stop beating them. Her whisk keeps tapping against the bottom of the bowl. I have this thought that she's going to keep going forever, like a wind-up toy that never winds down. Like her whole purpose in life is to beat these eggs.
Before Dylan was born, I never would have thought my Mom was the kind of person who could handle a sick kid. She'd cry that she was a horrible mother if I ever got a scrape. I always felt like I needed to keep her safe. Even when I was a kid. Dad would give me these talks about how we needed to protect her, and I would feel like a knight.
Now she's made entirely of steel, and Dad's the one who cries every time any little thing is wrong. He thinks every cough from Dylan or bad grade from me is going to be the breaking point, that we're just going to crumble in on ourselves at any minute.
The house creaks in the wind.
“Your father wants to take you fishing,” Mom says.
I wonder how hard dad would cry if he dipped his fishing line in the ocean and pulled out a boy.
Or a ghost.
Maybe he was a ghost.
I should have touched him. I missed my chance to find out what he was.
I can't believe I've turned into the kind of guy who wonders if people are ghosts. I guess that's what this place does to you.
A ghost is as good a guess as any for what he is, I suppose.
And now my father is trying to schedule time to be with me, acting like Mom is his secretary, and that feels even more unbelievable than a ghost.
We used to play ping pong in the backyard.
The ancient clock on the wall clicks with every second, but the hands are so springy that every click has two tones.
I'm trying to drink water, but all I taste is salt.
Mom gets up and goes to the stove. I say, “Mermaids can breathe underwater, right?”
She doesn't look at me. “Rudy, can't you do your homework?” She presses the monitor harder against her head.
“Can you look at me for a second?”
She turns around and does, of course. She has this soft expression in her eyes like I'm her baby. I'd forgotten that she still looks at me like that.
The fisherman was touching him, I realize. He couldn't have been a ghost. The fisherman had his hands all over him, kissing him, trying to...
“How do you have sex with a mermaid?” I say.
“Rudy, honestly.”
“Okay, sorry, God,” but I don't know if she even hears me, because she's holding that monitor like she wants it to be a part of her skull.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
It's Tuesday
My brother told me months ago that relationships are animals. You have to feed them and pet them and let them outside and give them a warm place to curl up at night, or they will turn on you while you're sleeping and gnaw you to pieces. I said he was full of shit.
The irony that Anthony was the one telling me this didn't escape me; Anthony and I haven't coddled our relationship in years. We are twins who pass the peas nicely and sit across the cafeteria, who forget we have the same math class until one of us mentions something Miss Jarible tripped over on her way to the chalkboard, and we look at each other with wide eyes and a little laugh in our throats. Still, on vacations, when we're shoved into a room together, we whisper secrets as easily as we did when we were five.
And he is still the better listener.
My relationship with Michael didn't take any more work. We kissed for the first time when we were twelve and started dating when we were fifteen. After that, we were MichaelandEmme, one breath.
He's tall, but has the smallest hands I've ever seen, fingers thin as spiderwebs. I always touched them when we watched movies, straight ahead, not talking, and pressed his nail beds against my lips, sometimes, because it made me feel like he was fragile.
He ordered breakfast with fruit so he would have something not to eat.
I know all these stupid things about him.
We're seventeen now, him barely so, me for so long it feels like years. We're in my basement where we watched all the movies, where we had sex for the first time, tried to have me on top but I fell off, got a rug burn from the moldy carpet.
My mom's walking around upstairs, talking to her sister on the phone, and she is oblivious.
I wonder if there's even anything she could do. When I think of my mom as a hero, there's one story that always comes to mind. I was playing with Caroline, my favorite friend, in the backyard, and we found a dead—
half dead?
--raccoon down by the creek. We pushed it with a stick and rolled it over—kicked?--and we shrieked our way up the path back to the house, breathless telling the story to my mom, fingers pressed against out mouths, we would never go back outside again, never again, it was so so big.
All mom did was call Animal Control, and everything was cleaned. We went back outside.
Everything my mom has done for me and Anthony, and this is the story that sticks in my mind.
I don't even know where Anthony is.
Michael sits in front of me, hands to himself, on his biceps, squeezing. He watches me like I've died in a car crash.
I want to reach out and touch his hand. Just
touch.
But I don't.
He says, “Are you...”
Am I what?
Sure?
Scared?
Fucked?
“I'm sorry,” I say.
So even if relationships aren't animals, dead relationships are dead animals. I always thought I could break up with Michael and I would feel as if my hands were washed, and I would get up and walk away. I would get a haircut and a chocolate bar and fix everything, just me. I would be just me.
But no, I am me and my dead relationship, or Michael and our dead relationship, cold frozen eyes staring up at me from the ground, glassy like Michael's, on its back, stinking and swelling with everything it was. And I just want some number to call to come take the carcass, because I don't know what to do with it. I don't know where it goes, or if one of us will have to drag it forever.
Labels: depressing stuff, Excerpt, I'm writing a GIRL?, writing
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Teaser Tuesday!
Remember that zombie book?
--
Even before Graham died, I had nightmares all the time. I used to sleepwalk, too, and sometimes I’d blame that when I ended up in Graham’s room after a nightmare, even though most of the time I walked there fully awake and shaking.
“Graham?”
He cracked his eyes open. “God, Wil, what?”
“Please?”
He’d think about it for a minute, watching me. “I have a test tomorrow.”
“I’ll be so quiet.”
“You’re getting kind of old for this.”
I gave him my smallest smile. “I’m a kid forever, remember?”
He chuckled and sighed and pushed back the covers so I could get in. I crawled into bed next to him and snuffled against the mattress until he gave me a corner of his pillow.
“Tell me a story?” I asked.
He nodded and rolled onto his back, his eyes still closed. “Once upon a time there was a magical world where nobody ever got lost.”
“Nobody ever.”
“Ever.”
I lay awake and let that sit in my head, while Graham, too tired to finish the story, stroked my hair until he fell asleep, his palm pressed against my forehead.
Labels: eat your brains, Excerpt, Hannah Moskowitz, writing
Friday, February 19, 2010
Stalling
I am sick and look DISGUSTING. (name that movie in the comments)
HERE'S AN EXCERPT. this is the first page of my WIP.
I only invented Zombie Tag three weeks ago, and we’ve already lost seven spatulas. For awhile, I stole my Mom’s, but now she’s out. I make my friends bring them now. Once our mothers find out where all their spatulas are going, they’re going to be so mad. They’re going to team up and form some kind of army against us, I swear. But we’d be totally prepared. Mothers can never be as scary as zombies.
I guess we could play Zombie Tag without the spatulas, but that doesn’t sound like nearly as much fun.
Today is Anthony’s birthday, so we should be sleeping over at his house. The problem is, Anthony has an awful house for Zombie Tag. His place is like a museum. There’s all this great stuff, but you can’t touch any of it. And there’s nowhere to sit.
But because it’s his birthday, we let him be Zombie God. That means he’s the one who writes the words on the post-it notes--BARRICADE, BARRICADE, BARRICADE, BARRICADE, ZOMBIE. It’s pitch black, so he’s using his cell phone. The air conditioning is on too high because my dad is always hot. It’s coldest here in the basement. We’re all jumping up and down and shivering while Anthony folds and shuffles the post-it notes.
Eben comes thumping down the stairs. “Dude, shut up,” I say. “My parents are sleeping.”
“All the lights are off,” he says. He’s panting from running through the entire house. He volunteered to do it. He should man up and stop acting like he just ran a marathon or something.
Anthony clears his throat dramatically. “Okay,“ he says, holding the post-it notes above his head.
“No trading, no showing, no sharing.” He passes them out. We peek at them and stuff the evidence into our pockets.
I can’t believe it. I’m Zombie. In our millions of games of Zombie Tag, this is my first time being the zombie. It’s like it’s my birthday.
But no one would know from my face. I am the world’s coolest cucumber right now.
“Okay, eyes closed,” our Zombie God orders. We snap our eyes closed, and I slowly open mine to make sure the other guys aren’t peeking. They have their fingers stuffed into their ears, just like they’re supposed to. I feel kind of proud that they’re following my rules so well. It’s not every guy who has a bunch of friends who really understand how sacred a thing like Zombie Tag is, you know?
Time to fulfill my first duty as Zombie. I walk away from the circle as quietly as I can. I put all my weight on my heels before I lean onto each toe. When I was a kid, my brother told me that hunters used to walk like this so they didn’t get eaten by tigers. I totally believed him and put it in early settlers history paper a few weeks ago, and Ms. Hoole gave me a C and wrote THERE ARE NO TIGERS IN THE UNITED STATES. And that wasn’t even the point. I hate when teachers don’t pay attention.
So I keep my tiger-sneak walk up until I’m well out of the circle, then I run to the table and pick up the dinosaur. It’s this plastic coin bank my dad got be as a souvenir when he went to Russia a few months ago. He was checking up how they’re doing on the development of Time-Based Travel. I think they’re beating us, because Dad was really depressed when he got home, and he had this whole stack of papers to work through and all these reports to file. I asked him if he was a spy, and he said “Quiet, Wil,” and gave me this bank. And, it’s like, I’m not six, Dad, but at least it comes in useful for Zombie Tag.
It’s our Key. The other guys need to find the Key, or else they’re stuck in the house forever, and I’ll eat their brains.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Teaser Saturday
We should get my name out of the way first. It's Body Count Beatrice.
I mean, really it's Beatrice Tanerbaum, but the Disco Dykes always were fond of alliteration. I've been Body Count Beatrice ever since Kiley, who was girl number two. Kiley was the accident. That's how I think of her in my head. Elizabeth was the tragic. Kiley was the accident. Lea was the mistake.
When the Dykes came up with the name, after Kiley, in September, it was joking, gentle, to make me feel better. You silly girl, can't you see it's a coincidence? You're a voodoo princess, they'd say, rolling their eyes, mocking me. Body Count Beatrice, two isn't so impressive.
After Lea, in January, no one said it, everyone pretended the name had never existed, because that rule they teach you in acting class, about how things are funny when they happen three times? It doesn't count when your girlfriends are dying.
And then in April, I started dating Benji, and the few people who hadn't been avoiding me because I carried death on my fingers suddenly were, and “Body Count Beatrice,” they whispered in my ear while they pushed me into my locker, “How long are you going to give the boy?”
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
More on the Word Count Myth
So I hinted a few posts ago that word count isn't nearly as big a deal as a lot of writers would like to believe. I thought I'd elaborate on that, so you know that [this time] I'm not talking out of my ass.
BREAK is 272 pages. This would make you believe that it's a reasonably average sized novel, yeah? 272 pages, that sounds about normal for a YA book. It's not huge--huge is like over 400, right? And small is like 150 or under, yeah? So BREAK probably hits what a lot of people site as the YA word count sweet spot--60,000 to 80,000 words.
Yeah, no.
BREAK is roughly 42,000 words. It was about 44,000 when I handed it over to my editor. She cut that extra 2K because the story didn't need them.
Dozens of writers saw my query letter and told me that my book would never get me representation, let alone an editor, if I didn't beef up the word count. I was in Nathan's "Agent For a Day" contest, and a ton of the people who rejected me said they did so because the word count was too low.
And I got a ton of rejections for agents. And I got my fair share of rejections from editors, too.
Not a single. One. Mentioned the word count.
My next book, INVINCIBLE SUMMER? About 42K. God knows if my editor will chop any of that off. I'm sure any writer would tell you an editor would have to be insane to make a 42K book shorter.
But the only think that matters with words is this: does the story need them?
Here is your ideal word count: Exactly how many the story needs and not a single one more.
Don't freak out. Write a good book and no one will give a shit.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Massive Playlist for the WIP
Working on something new. You'll get a query teaser later, but first you get the huge playlist...
Monster Hospital--Metric
All That's Known--Spring Awakening
Rent--Rent
Boston--Augustana
How the Heart Approaches What it Yearns--Paul Simon
Octopus's Garden--The Beatles
Bleed Like Me--Garbage
I'm Just a Kid--Simple Plan
Never Be Ready--Mat Kearney
This is Why--Say Anything
Where I Belong--Motion City Soundtrack
Life Support--Rent
Walk Away--Kelly Clarkson
This Is Not an Exit--Saves The Day
Quiet As a Mouse--Margot and the Nuclear So and So's
Tic--Loch Lomond
Can't Break Her Fall--Mat Kearney
An Insult To The Dead--Say Anything
Talking in Code--Margot and the Nuclear So and So's
Waiting On The World to Change--John Mayer
Sons and Daughters--The Decemberists
Everyone I Know--Mat Kearney
Falling Awake--Gary Jules
Walter Reed--Michael Penn
Let's Not Shit Ourselves (To Love and Be Loved)--Bright Eyes
You've Got To Hide Your Love Away--The Beatles
Virgin Mountain--Loch Lomond
I Don't Want to Die (In the Hospital)--Conor Oberst
For No One--The Beatles
Say What You Will--Damhnait Doyle
See The World--Gomez
Same Old Stuff--The Feeling
Train Under Water--Bright Eyes
Listening to this now, trying to figure out WTF actually happens in this book.
Monday, September 28, 2009
I'm Serious.
Agents don't give a shit if you use Times New Roman or Courier.
They don't care if you do underlines or italics.
They don't care if you space between your ellipses.
They don't care if your margins are an inch or an inch and a quarter.
They don't care if your book is a few thousands words shorter or longer than the guidelines writers quote like the Bible.
Your readers don't care if you have a bit of telling instead of showing.
Your readers don't care if chapter one isn't your absolute strongest chapter.
Your readers really don't give a shit what your query letter looked like.
You have to believe me. The writing world is full of archaic rules and guidelines that only exist because writers preach them. WRITERS preach them, and they are the ones who do.
Don't let this bullshit infiltrate your mind. Get a few beta readers, but for God's sake go easy on getting critiques from other writers. Writers know every rule in the book and they will tell you every single one. Which is awesome. If you want your book to sound like everyone else's.
Read agent blogs. Read editor blogs. Find out what's going on in the agency.
Listen to readers.
For God's sake, listen to readers.
But remember to cover your ears sometimes when you're talking to writers.
We don't know as much as we think we do.
If you ever believe anything a writer says, believe this: Writing is all about the readers.
All about them.
And that's all it is.
Monday, September 14, 2009
WIN WIN WIN
From Publisher's Marketplace...
18-year-old author of BREAK Hannah Moskowitz's INVINCIBLE SUMMER, the story of a young man who tries to come to grips with his family's slow dissolution while also finding himself in a chaotic love triangle, pitted against his own brother, which plays out across four summers, again to Anica Rissi at Simon Pulse, in a two-book deal, by Brendan Deneen at FinePrint Literary Management.
:D
Sunday, August 30, 2009
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.
Friday, August 14, 2009
keep on truckin'
words left: 4,000
days left: 11
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
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.)
Labels: All Together with Feeling, Break, I am your queen, my editor, promotion, WIP, word count, writing
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Lalalala first draft cheating...
Words left: 8,000
Days left: 13
move along, move along, nothing to see here...**sweeps words under rug**
Labels: All Together with Feeling, am I legal yet?, Break, racing, WIP, word count, writing