Libba Bray's Blog
July 20, 2012
I’m supposed to be working on a draft of DIVINERS BOOK #2 this morning, but I’m finding it hard to concentrate after hearing the news out of Aurora, Colorado. Last night—or early this morning, rather—a gunman walked into a midnight showing of BATMAN: THE DARK KNIGHT RISES, threw canisters of tear gas and in the ensuing confusion and chaos, began gunning people down. As of this morning, there are twelve reported dead and thirty wounded, with the youngest victim being only three months old.
This happened far from me. It did not happen to anyone I know personally. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel loss and sadness about it. And it is a loss, not just for those families, for that community, but for the larger world, for we are all touched by such terrible acts. We lose a sense of safety and security, yes. But we also feel small chips scraped away from our collective humanity. How could such a thing happen? What does this say about us? What is wrong with the world?
It is very hard to understand what makes someone open fire in a crowded movie theater filled with people just wanting to watch a movie, an activity that most of us consider not only safe but downright cozy. It is something we do for pleasure. It is a coming together for a common purpose, a communal enjoyment. The answer, of course, is that someone who commits such an atrocious act is not in his right mind. He is sick. Agonizingly unwell. And, hard as it is to conjure, he needs our compassion. The world needs our compassion. Not a shirking of justice, of course. But compassion? Yes.
True confession: There is violence in my soul. When some seemingly entitled asshole cuts me off in the airport kiosk line, my initial feeling isn’t, “Why, sir, I can see that you are harried and in your harried-ness, you have forgotten the rules of polite society. Please, do go first so that you may feel less anxious. Safe travels to you, good sir!” No. My inner Samuel L. Jackson boils up in full “Pulp Fiction” mode, and in my head, I am squinting daggers at the dude while shouting, “EZEKIEL 25: 17, ‘The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men!’” And then the martial arts start, because in this fantasy, I can climb walls and hang in the air for a full thirty seconds of lag time before unleashing a "Matrix"-worthy six-pack of whup-ass.
That is my feeling. That is my reaction. Part of what civilization compels us to do is to whisper to that gut reaction: “Lawyers. Jail. Body cavity search.” That’s what keeps us in line, sure. But then, there is a step further—the thing I call B.E.A.D.: The Bad-Ass Evolutionary Development. And that is not just a stifling of the impulse but the taking of a deep breath (because this is very, very hard sometimes. Okay, most of the time) allowing me to step outside of my own head, my own selfish world, and try to offer that person whatever understanding and kindness I’ve got on tap at that moment.
Empathy and compassion might just be the most bad-ass moves we’ve got.
It doesn’t mean we don’t have the “I will cut a bitch!” feelings. It doesn’t mean we don’t feel angry, annoyed, even violent. What it means is that we make a choice. We examine our responses. We try, though it is very, very, very hard, to understand that the other person has a whole world going on inside him that has nothing to do with us: A plane that if not caught will mean missing the school play. A romance on the verge of collapse. A sick child. A cup of coffee spilled on a shirt that was just dry-cleaned for naught. A hundred small paper cuts of daily living, perhaps. It takes extraordinary strength to respond in such instances instead with the most genuine smile you can muster and a kind, “You look like you’re really in a hurry. You go first.”
It is—and I am ashamed to admit this—rather like that Liberty Mutual commercial (I think it’s for insurance. Please don’t let it be for a bank.) in which witnessing one small act of kindness inspires kindness in the observer and so on and so on, a contagion of kindness. Kindness, empathy, compassion, love—these things can be learned. In fact, they have to be learned. They have to be practiced. They are, in fact, the true mark of a superhero. As my pal Jo Knowles said recently, “Make love your superpower.”
Where am I going with this? What does this have to do with a terrible shooting in Colorado?
When terrible things happen, when we feel lost in the face of such senseless violence, but we are still not powerless in the world. We have choices. We have understanding. We have love. We have empathy and compassion. We have the ability not to be lost to the undertow of violence and terror. That is the stronger arsenal. It’s a little like a moment from the last "Batman" movie in which a prisoner on a ferry, given a detonator and the choice to blow up another ferry in order to save himself and his fellow passengers, opts instead for the only sane choice: He throws the detonator overboard thereby safeguarding his humanity and the humanity of everyone on that ferry.
I suppose this is what I’m thinking about this morning as I try to clear my head enough to put words on paper, to tell a story, which is always how I try to make sense of an often senseless world and of my own chaotic, warring soul. I’m thinking about kindness. About trying to find the strength to respond to the world with as much love and understanding as we can personally muster, whatever that may be, whether that is taking an opportunity to let the possible asshole with the attitude problem go first in line or volunteering to mentor kids at a homeless shelter or offering hugs to our downhearted comrades or even when waking to news of horrific violence, choosing to go about the day with a renewed sense of love and empathy.
For today, we must be the superheroes of kindness a weary world needs.
June 15, 2012
Welcome, ladies!
I’m so glad you could come over today. Help yourself to some Triscuit-and-cheese snacks. There’s Sanka in the kitchen. Big thanks to Mary Beth for the decorations. You know, friends, I’ve been thinking a lot about all the recent legislation regarding lady parts. So much interest in the Lady Parts! My, my, my. Every time I read the news, I feel like there’s a piñata in my privates. Wheee! All of this AND I can still earn 72 cents on the dollar? Wow! Sign me up!
While I know that we are all super appreciative that there are so many legislative gynecologists out there (good to know that if we ever run out of Monistat, we can just shimmy on up to the drive-thru at Capitol Hill for a refill), I’m sensing that the lawmakers introducing these bills haven’t really thought it through. That’s why I called this little meeting today, and big ups to Sally Jo for letting us use her rec room. You rock, Sally Jo!
Ladies, I’m talking about the Transvaginal Ultrasounds. I’m talking about a woman’s right to choose…her wand.
This is AMURRRICA, dammit, and we are all about the free-market economy! We are about CHOICE—as long as that choice does not involve the womenfolk and their irrational uteruses. Then, we are all about “protection.” Put a burka on that shit, ladies. Tell your vagina it doesn’t have the right to drive. Roll over, Beethoven, and give your ovaries the news. (Tabitha, this coffee is rad! How’d you make it? With gin? Love it! Mmmm…)
Seriously, though: Ladies, put down your knitting needles, let the cake sit, stop wiping down the woodwork with a Kotex soaked in linseed oil for just a moment, and gather close for this little Coffee Klatsch Quimtastic Summit. See, our economy is in trouble—oh, as an American Lady Person with sensitive feelings, it hurts my heart to admit it. But it’s true. And we can help this great nation of ours that has yet to ratify the ERA giving us equal protection as citizens under the law! Yes, us! I know! Wipe away those tears and wave those flags of freedom. They were on sale at Wal*Mart.
This is a golden marketing opportunity just waiting to take off—like Tupperware and Mary Kay and Scientology. Today, I’d like to introduce to you LadyOptions in Personal Wanding™, a business opportunity and helpful guide to your choices in Transvaginal Ultrasound and beyond. A woman’s right to choose just took on a whole new meaning.
Let’s open up the LadyOptions in Personal Wanding brochure and take a gander,+ shall we?
1. The OB-GYN Kenobi. Tie Fighter one on and slip into the stirrups for an experience that’s Star Wars meets Handmaid’s Tale! Use the Force of this super-smooth number that fronts like a Jedi but is as smooth as a Sith Lord. When you’ve only got one shot at making your Death Star go kablooey, use the force—of the OB-GYN Kenobi” *No longer available on Alderaan.
2. The Foster Friess. The only Transvaginal Wand you’ll ever “knee-d”, the Foster Friess model comes in an attractive, patriotic red, white and blue packaged with a bottle of Bayer aspirin. *Side effects include nausea, banging your head against a wall until you pass out, throwing the remote at your TV, and the strange sense that you’re living through the 1950s.
3. The Republic of Gilead. For the dystopian crowd comes this sleek, theocratic little number that’ll have you shouting, “Mayday!”
4. At Your Cervix. Do you like screwball comedies? I like screwball comedies! They’re ever so delightful! I’m saying this very, very, very fast in a Mid-Atlantic accent that makes me adorable yet ditzy, like someone who might need the care of an older, wiser Congressman to tell me just what to do with my reproductive organs and sex life but, oh, darling, it’s-ever-so-alright because raaallly, he’s just ducky, and in the end, we’ll all be Bringing Up Baby thanks to all of those simply boffo social programs aimed at helping lower-income women and those living below the poverty line, the Forgotten {Wo}Man, who are the hardest-hit by just such draconian legislation and…hmm? What’s that, my darling? There…ARE…no more social programs? Godfrey! A martini, please! And put that olive right between my knees!
5. The Optimus Probe. Transform your forced ultrasound into a juggernaut of simulated fiery explosions! A true 3-D experience, the Optimus Probe is perfect for the woman who has ever said, “Hey, wait…a minute ago, wasn’t that big-ass robot of right-wing destruction a “Right of Privacy” clause?” * A Michael Bay production
6. The Santorum. When you want something in your uterus that will make no exceptions for cases of rape or incest, you need the strength and conviction of the Santorum. If you’re a gal who knows that contraception is “not okay,” (just like the ladies having The Sex and being prepared for The Sex is so “not okay”), trust in the Senator from PA to patrol your inner sanctum Santorum. *Offered in two sizes: small and extra-small.
Oh my gosh! This is so exciting! Veronica, could we get some more of those Xanax-N-Blankets snacks? They’re fab! Okay. So. Loved the first set of options, but ladies, there’s more! Maybe you’re feeling a little state pride—am I right? Then you’ll want to show your colors with one of these beauties:
The Texas Two-Step. While other states have flirted with the Transvaginal Ultrasound law, Texas is an early adopter! (What up, my home state!) It seems only fair that there should be a wand named after our, um, second-biggest state. (Now, Texas, size isn’t everything…) With the Texas Two-Step: "A patient must make two visits…during the first visit the doctor who is going to perform the abortion must perform the ultrasound. The doctor must display the ultrasound image to the woman. She can look away but the doctor must describe the image. If there is cardiac activity that suggests a heartbeat the doctor is required to turn up the audio so the woman can hear it."++ Lights! Sound! Slide Show! Ladies, all of this and Rick Perry, too. Of course, we know you have a choice when it comes to Transvaginal Ultrasound—haha! Just kidding—and we thank you for choosing the Texas Two-Step. *Not available for purchase with Title X funding.
The Oh-No Idaho. From the state that gave you the potato and fringe survivalist groups comes the bill that “gives {a woman} a window into her womb.” So thoughtful, Idaho! In New York real estate, we’d kill for a window into our wombs instead of, say, an airshaft where someone is cranking Slayer at 10 PM. But Idaho, I don’t think you’ve really thought this through: Will there be treatments for those windows into our wombs, because, just saying, those do not come cheap. I mean if you want quality and options—privacy lining? Eco-friendly bamboo? Top-down or tie backs?—you’re going to have to shell out the bucks. Still in development, the Oh-No Idaho looks to be an exciting new entry into the booming business of Personal Wanding™.
The Illinois: The “Ultrasound Opportunity Act” advanced by the House Agriculture Committee gives every woman the chance to know just where she registers in the national consciousness. I mean, usually, they are busy presiding over matters related to hunting and farming but they cared SO MUCH that they took time away from those concerns to look into our wombs. A moment, please. So sweet. Apparently, the farmer and the rancher can be friends—but only when it comes to rescinding women’s rights. Hooray for peace! Remember ladies: It’s not a violation; it’s an opportunity. Spin the wheel, and this frisky filly will play a variety of delightful livestock sounds or the Illinois Transvag theme song: “Old MacDonald had a bunch of old men…”
The Michigan: Sorry, we can’t even tell you about this one. Talking about (whispers) ladyparts upsets the lads on the floor. #VagiNO
Pennsylvania: Ladies, the state of brotherly love cares about you and your rights. That’s why they introduced the “Women’s Right to Know Act”. They want you to know that you have the right…to have a large plastic probe inserted up your vaginal highway. Not only that, but in PA, doctors will need to give you copies of the results to take home and pour over before making your decision. Who doesn’t love an ultrasound swag bag? Ladies, keep your eye on this one—it’s the little “Transducer Seducer” that could.
The Virginia: From the state that put transvaginal ultrasound on the map. Ladies, you know how important building codes are for women’s health clinics? I mean, when you’ve driven fifty miles to the closest clinic to find out if you might have cervical cancer or if that lump in your breast is just, please God, a cyst, you do NOT want your shui all fenged by the wrong number of janitor closets in the building. I mean, seriously, woman-to-woman, when you’re lying there in the stirrups, do you want the added anxiety of wondering whether or not the heating vents are positioned just so or there are enough parking spaces? Relax and scoot on down, because Virginia Attorney General Ken Cuccinelli is ON that for you, closing down any women’s health centers that don’t meet the brand-new list of arcane building codes just invented for them or, like, have a fern near the front door or whatnot. Yes, Virginia, there IS an insanity clause—and it’s coming for your womb. Yay! (Mary Beth--another round, please?)
The Georgia: Do you hear the banjos playing? Rep. Terry England, R. is a-pickin'! He wants ladies to know that even if their high-risk pregnancy has life-threatening consequences for them, or if the fetus they are carrying is already dead, they should buck up and deliver on schedule rather than terminate the pregnancy, you know, just like cows and pigs do. The “Women as Livestock” Law is deliciously edgy, detached from humanity, and borderline BDSM, like a David Fincher movie for your uterus—perfect for those crazy hipster gals who find compassion for women making agonizing decisions about termination, so, like, 1973. *For a limited time only, will come with a free “Ask me about my udders!” sticker.
The Arizona House Bill 2625. Oh, Arizona. Swoon! You’re so mavericky! Who else would think up something like this: “House Bill 2625…allows any employer to refuse to cover contraception that will be used ‘for contraceptive, abortifacient, abortion or sterilization purposes.’ If a woman wants the cost of her contraception covered, she has to ‘submit a claim’ to her employer providing evidence of a medical condition, such as endometriosis or polycystic ovarian syndrome, that can be treated with birth control’…the law would give Arizona employers the green light to fire a woman upon finding out that she took birth control for the purpose of preventing pregnancy.”+++ Take all of the office supplies you can fit in your purses, ladies. Just don’t even think of taking the pill. Gives a whole new meaning to pink slip.
Oh my. Mary Beth, I think these PatrollingThePink Cocktails have made me giggly! Don’t be silly, Mary Beth—OF COURSE it’s okay to say “cocktails.” It’s lady parts we can’t talk about.
Anyhoo-hoo…Hey. Can I tell y’all something? Because you’re, like, my besties and shit, and I love you soooo much? See, I’m a lifelong romantic, and I kinda want to introduce my own bill: The Put A Ring on It Law. (Sally Jo, you dropped your aspirin! Put it back! Quick!) Basically, any senator, congressman, mayor, governor or garbage collector who wants to control my lady business has to court me first and prove he's husband material. I mean, fellas, if you’re all about old-fashioned values like Bayer aspirin between the knees and the recall of the equal pay act, then before you get near my PunanyPrecious with your Frisky Wands of Mordor, I want dinners, walks on the beach, porch swing confessions over a good old-fashioned glass of lemonade, sweet love songs about rescinding my rights to own myself and make my own decisions as guided by my conscience, my faith, and my medical provider. Also roses. Chicks dig roses. That makes everything better. Naturally, you’ll meet my parents and make your intentions clear. You’ll even ask my father’s permission. He’s dead, so it might take a while for him to get back to you. Just be patient—and keep a Bayer aspirin between…well, being a lady, I don’t like to say. This is going to keep you fellas really, really busy, I think. I mean, I'm sorry to say, but it might make it hard for you to pass further legislation what with all the making honest women of us. But clearly, it's the right thing to do. Because you care so much. We can see that now. We can see just how valuable we are.
Oh my gosh. Look at me! I’m such a mess. I’m crying! What a sentimental sap. Can you believe I’m crying?
No, I have no idea why, either.
+ I would’ve said goose, but that makes some folks think of “vagina” which is, like soooo not appropriate.
++ Rochelle Tafolla, spokeswoman for Planned Parenthood Gulf Coast, explain, via Associated Press
May 9, 2012
I had intended to name the winner of yesterday’s free copy of SEE YOU AT HARRY’S, by Jo Knowles. I will do that tomorrow. I have something to talk about today.
Yesterday was a research day for me. I spent a few hours exploring the far-reaching effects of the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 on the shaping of America. Then I came home to see news reports that in North Carolina, Amendment One had passed.
And for a moment, I wondered in which time period I was living.
In researching DIVINERS, again and again, I have come up against America’s uncomfortable relationship with its national identity, a fractious, “Fight Club”esque twinned self of progress and regression that has produced some truly terrible laws. The Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 prohibited Chinese immigrants from becoming naturalized U.S. citizens and only allowed in certain classes of immigrants. As Republican Senator George Frisbie Hoar of Massachusetts said of the Act, it was “nothing less than the legalization of racial discrimination.”Okay. Thanks for riding along through the quick history lesson. Now, let's jump ahead to 1963 and Loving v. Virginia.
Mildred Jeter, an African-American woman, and Richard Loving, a white man, traveled to Washington, D.C., to marry since they couldn’t do that in their home state of Virginia where it was illegal. When they returned to Virginia years later, the police raided their home, caught them together, and charged them with a felony under the state's Racial Integrity Act of 1924. They challenged the decades-old racist law as a violation of their rights as citizens guaranteed by the Fourteenth Amendment of the United States Constitution:
“All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside. No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.”What does all of this have to do with yesterday’s vote, you may ask?
History is a beast with many tentacles, and it's good to keep your eye on them. History proves that sometimes laws are bad, that they can be enacted by scared, ignorant, and/or hateful people for terrible, racist, bigoted reasons. This seems to be a pattern in our history--to take away and take away, an erosion of the rights of a group of marginalized people which then becomes an erosion of the very soul of our nation.
In 2012, nearly a century after the Racial Integrity Act and 130 years after the Chinese Exclusion Act, we are still talking about denying American citizens--AMERICAN CITIZENS!--full rights under the law.
Recently, I read a quote from activist and self-professed "gender outlaw" Kate Bornstein aimed at helping LGBTQ youth who were considering suicide (one of those many tentacles snaking out from laws which tell you you are not worthy, not equal, that you are shameful.) She said, "You can do whatever it takes to make your life more worth living...just don't be mean."
And this law isn’t simply bad or wrong or bigoted or, frankly, illegal. It’s just plain mean. Because same-sex marriage is ALREADY banned in North Carolina. But this law goes further. Here's the official language of the amendment: "A Constitutional amendment to provide that marriage between one man and one woman is the only domestic legal union that shall be valid or recognized in this State."
Most importantly, on a fundamental level, it makes LGBTQ citizens into a powerless faction whose rights are subject to a popular vote. Certain rights are inalienable. They are not up for a vote. If reading the various historical acts above doesn't convince you of that, then I'm not quite able to penetrate the walls of your pretty sugar castle surrounded by a moat of chocolate pudding.
So how does this continue to happen? Well, very often—well, actually about 99% of the time—God and the Bible are offered as rationale. This, to me, is a bit like using unicorn lore as a basis for legislation. Your religious beliefs are your own, but do not use them to take away the rights of others. God is not our President. He is not a Congressman from North Carolina.
"You don't rewrite the nature of God's design based on the demands of a group of adults,” argued Tami Fitzgerald, head of the pro-amendment group Vote FOR Marriage NC.
Demands? Demands. You mean a "demand" for equality? The “demand” not to be treated like pariahs by the state? The “demand” to be allowed to love the person you love and to forge a legally recognized union with that person, to build a life, possibly raise children with that person while enjoying the same rights and privileges afforded heterosexual American citizens? Yes, these do seem like the sorts of “demands” adults would ask for. And other adults, it seems to me, would recognize the fairness of these “demands.”
I’m not sure if I believe in God or not, but as a minister’s daughter, I have been exposed to the Bible here and there. And if the Bible is to be invoked, then let me invoke First Corinthians, 1-13. If you’ve ever been to a wedding, odds are good you’ve heard this one:
"But now remains faith, hope, love, these three;
but the greatest of these is love.”
It would seem to me that this carries “God’s design” and that it is North Carolina’s
legislators (and, sadly, 61% of its voters) who would like to “rewrite” that design.
Ironically, yesterday as I was researching hate legislation masquerading as “protective measures,” I was spending time with my good friends Delia Sherman and Ellen Kushner, who married in Massachusetts as soon as it was legal. They bantered and playfully bickered as married couples are wont to do. Theirs is a true marriage and it made me happy to be in their presence just as it saddens me to think that there are people who would work against their happiness. And to what end? To what purpose? In a world in which senseless, horrible acts take place every day, a world in which children go hungry, families can be blown up in market places, and a teenager can be shot and killed over a bag of Skittles—why, why, why would you legislate against love?
But why not listen to the words of Mildred Jeter Loving herself, who had this to say about same-sex marriage: “
"Surrounded as I am now by wonderful children and grandchildren, not a day goes by that I don't think of Richard and our love, our right to marry, and how much it meant to me to have that freedom to marry the person precious to me, even if others thought he was the "wrong kind of person" for me to marry. I believe all Americans, no matter their race, no matter their sex, no matter their sexual orientation, should have that same freedom to marry. Government has no business imposing some people's religious beliefs over others. Especially if it denies people's civil rights.
I am still not a political person, but I am proud that Richard's and my name is on a court case that can help reinforce the love, the commitment, the fairness, and the family that so many people, black or white, young or old, gay or straight seek in life. I support the freedom to marry for all. That's what Loving, and loving, are all about."
I like to think that you cannot stop love. That it will burn through hate given time and the perseverance of those who will fight for justice, of those whose love—righteous, hopeful, “the greatest of these”—will not be denied by the bigoted, wrong-headed ideas of the fearful and ignorant whose same fears and ignorance can be manipulated by those who stand to gain from such manipulation.
This morning, I made a contribution to the Human Rights Campaign. It can’t erase yesterday’s terribly disappointing vote, but it’s a step toward fairness. It’s an act of faith and hope on the path toward equality and love for all.
May 8, 2012
If life were a teen movie, Jo Knowles would be the kind, smart, somewhat shy girl in the back row who offers the new kid half of her sandwich at lunch, then stands up to the bullies who try to take his hat. (She’d get that hat back without ever throwing a punch.) Then later, she’d bust out a poem in English class that had everybody going, “Whoa.”
In her career, Jo has faced down book banners and fought for intellectual freedom. She’s also been writing beautiful, quietly powerful books, which are testaments to humanity in all its flawed, impossible, hopeful glory. In case you can’t tell, I’m a big fan of hers, and not just because she makes a mean chocolate chip scone.
Jo’s new book, SEE YOU AT HARRY’S, comes out today.
In a starred review, Kirkus Reviews called it, “pitch-perfect…Prescient writing, fully developed characters and completely, tragically believable situations elevate this sad, gripping tale to a must-read level.” Word, Kirkus Reviews, word. You can also enter to win a free copy of SEE YOU AT HARRY’S simply by leaving a comment in the comments section. Winners will be selected by random number generator. Think of it like the claw game in Toy Story.
I sat down with Jo to talk about her new novel, her writing process, censorship, and compulsive hair touching. These were her answers.
(*Note: Sorry for the formatting issues. It has taken me 1 1/2 hours to try to format this %*&* thing. LiveJournal sucks. Also, I am the least tech savvy person on the planet. Please do not leave me irritated comments about the crappy formatting. Those comments will NOT be chosen by the Loving Claw of Possible Book Winning. You have been warned.*)
LB: This book should come with a warning about the tear-shedding quotient. I mean, seriously—I went through a lot of tissues, Jo. There was a small snot-rag mountain by my bed. Why do you like to make us sad? Why? And what do you think your punishment should be for this?
JK: I do not like to make you sad! I promise!!!
You know, I set out to write a humorous novel about growing up in the restaurant business, per request by your husband/my agent. I really did. I thought, This is going to be a tribute to my brother. I’m going to incorporate a bunch of funny stories from our childhood, and then I’m going to reinvent the past and give us a happy ending. Well I guess you know that didn’t happen. While I had no trouble moving the story away from our literal truth, I couldn’t steer it away from our emotional one: loss. That is not the book I wanted to write. But it turned out to be the one I had to. It was the most painful thing I’ve ever written, and also the most cathartic.
As for punishment: Make me buy stock in Kleenex?
LB: I really love the familial relationships in the book. There’s snark and in-fighting as well as a surprising amount of love and support, and all of it feels unique to this family yet universal. Did you draw from your own sibling relationships in any way?
JK: Oh yes. There was a lot of snark and infighting in our household. But there was also so much love. It took me a very long time to realize just how much love there was. I was the youngest of three. My brother was 5 years older than me, my sister 3. My sister and brother fought like maniacs. And my sister and I had our moments too--I still have a scar from our worst battle. But we also loved each other just as fiercely. We stood up for each other. I think we had that sense that it was OK for us to throw insults at each other, but damned if anyone else did.
LB: You are a very compassionate author. (Not surprising as you’re one of the most compassionate people I know. Lucky me. J ) I once heard George Saunders, my personal writing deity, defending heart in novels. (I think he was answering a jab about being sentimental.) In our post-modern-with-a-side-of-ironic-foam world, do you think there is a place for books that proudly wear their hearts on their sleeves? How do you find the heart of your novels? And what, for you, makes a story stay with you?
JK: First, thank you. <3 Second, I love your way with words. “Post-modern-ironic-foam world!” *dies* Ummmm YES! There is a place for books with hearts up and down their sleeves, spines, jacket flaps. We NEED books with heart. We need more compassion in the world. My God. When a book like the Hunger Games can feel a little too possible, you just know it’s time to get back to Charlotte’s Web and find some Humble. To remember what friendship is. And love. To remember what it’s like to cheer for Fern and that helpless runt Wilbur. The more books we read, the more compassionate we become. The more thoughtful. The more introspective. The more, well, aware of each other and each others’ feelings.
I think since I am a fairly open person who does where her heart on her sleeve, the heart in my books just tends to be there. It’s not something I’m conscious of trying to expose. I have a feeling that makes no sense. So… I’m not sure how to answer?
Books that stay with me are ones that feel real. That I believe in. Books that don’t try to be beautiful or pretty, but whose beauty and humanity comes through in the honesty of the telling. Marcus Zusak is a master at this.
LB: The emotionally tone-deaf dad embarrasses his children mightily in HARRY’S. The scene in which they have to make the TV commercial is cringe-worthy. What embarrasses you? What embarrassing family or teen stories do you have? C’mon, Jo. Open up. Humiliate yourself. It’s only the Internet.
JK: My list of embarrassing moments is kind of endless. When I was in high school, some of my friends even had a phrase for times when they did something embarrassing that reflected back on me because I was apparently the queen of it all. So, for example, if they spilled chocolate pudding down their shirt, or tripped in front of a cute senior, they would say, “Oops, I just did a Jo.” I’m not lying. Here are a few examples of how this came to be: My dad once ran over my foot with his car. In gym, I was trying to pull off one of those ridiculous mesh things that shows which team you’re on and by mistake I pulled my shirt off too, revealing that I still wore an undershirt and not a bra. It even had a little bow at the chest. During a basketball game, the elastic on my underwear broke and my undies were slipping off under my shorts. Jeez Lib. Must I go on? Thanks for bringing up all of these suppressed moments of horror. *waves to Internet*
LB: You’re not only a writer but you’ve also been a teacher. You’ve taught teens, adults, and you’ve taught at a women’s prison. What do you find rewarding about teaching? How does it inform your writing? Any advice for those of us in the trenches?
JK: This is going to come out sounding a little chest-puffy, but I love being able to give students the freedom to simply write. Here’s an example: I can give a writing prompt to a group of students and say, “You have 7 minutes. Go!” And they all just start writing! And then when they share their work, I’m just blown away! Everyone comes up with completely different pieces. There is a room full of stories that didn’t exist 7 minutes earlier. Talk about rewarding. Even more rewarding is when someone is so inspired by what they wrote from a prompt I gave that they create a whole novel or picture book out of it. That’s just the best. And it reminds me to try these techniques, too. I tend to forget that it’s important to have FUN with writing and not just focus on whatever novel I’m struggling with. Writing exercises can remind us jaded writers that writing is actually enjoyable! Sometimes, I think we forget that.
My advice: When someone gives you a writing prompt, don’t poo-poo it. Try it!
LB: What do you find to be the most challenging aspect of being a writer? The most rewarding?
JK: I sweat the stuff I can’t really control, even though I know there’s nothing I can do about it. Like reviews and publisher support or publicity stuff. I think there’s so much easy-access to book chatter, authors can get bogged down in career comparisons and stuff they really shouldn’t be worrying about. The most rewarding aspect has to be hearing from readers, especially reluctant ones. The first time a teen told me my book was the first novel she’d ever finished I cried. As a reluctant reader myself, knowing that I helped a person reach that kind of milestone feels pretty darn great. The other one that always gets me is when a teen tells me he or she feels less alone after reading one of my books. That’s really what it’s all about. Connecting.
LB: I know you’ve taken up the guitar recently. I’m not going to ask you to bust your best Angus Young moves—though I’m sure you could work that school boy outfit just fine. But I do want to ask you what would be playing on the jukebox at Harry’s Restaurant? Did you have a playlist for the book?
JK: What? You aren’t going to let me play my rendition of “Only Love Can Break Your Heart”? *cries* Oh wait. That’s Neil Young. Never mind.
I’m going to sound like an old fogey but there would be a lot of Grateful Dead, UB40, and Bob Marley. When I was in high school I worked at this little health food restaurant called “For Every Season and this is the music that was always playing in the background, so these are the songs that came to me as I was imagining Fern’s family and what their background music would be. In truth, I listen to Vermont Public Radio all day. I work at home alone and it makes me feel less lonely to hear people talking in the background. Please don’t judge.
LB: Let’s talk about book banning. I think we’re both in agreement that it’s a bad idea. You’ve been banned a few times and had to face down those who think Farenheit 451 is a how-to manual rather than a cautionary tale. What do you say to those who want to ban books, especially books for young readers? What do you think we can do to fight back?
JK: Oh gosh. Book banning. It’s so crazy! WHY, people? WHY???? PLEASE STOP IT. I think a lot of people are terrified. They want to protect their kids and they unwisely think that keeping their kids from reading books that expose them to the real world will help do that. Actually, I think it does the opposite. As I always say, books shed light on the darkness, they don’t perpetuate it. Censorship does that. The more we write books that reflect reality, the more conversations we start, the more light we shed, the more we make that reality better. If anything, so-called “dark books” are preventative. When one kids says, “I feel less alone now,” and maybe even gets the courage to finally tell someone what’s going on in his or her life, and asks for help, we’ve done the right thing. That’s how we fight back.
LB: You also have written a fair number of LGBTQ characters. In SEE YOU AT HARRY’S, Holden, Fern’s 14-year-old brother, is gay and faces bullying. Can you tell us about the importance of writing LGBTQ characters? What are some of your favorite LGBTQ-friendly books?
JK: Well, my brother was gay, and so was one of my best friends growing up. I really wish they’d had books with gay characters in them when we were kids. I think they would have felt less alone, too. Less “different.” I like to depict gay kids being kids. Getting by just like everyone else. But I also have to be realistic. It’s not easy being gay. And that sucks. There are a lot of gay kids in the world and a lot of them feel pretty scared and isolated. One way for them to feel a little less so is in a book. My favorite LGBTQ books are by David Levithan. I love his honesty, and hope.
LB: I am not going to give any spoilers, but something truly terrible and unexpected takes place in the book and shatters the family, making a sharp line between “before” and “after.” There is a great deal of shame and guilt along with the guilt. I was reminded a little bit of Anne Tyler’s Saint Maybe, which also deals with issues of guilt, blame, rebuilding, and, ultimately, redemption. I think many of us, especially in our teen years, have experienced overwhelming shame/guilt at times, and it can cripple. Have you ever experienced something that divided your world into a before and after, something that crippled you emotionally, if that’s not too simplistic? How did you cope?
JK: There have been two big moments in my life where I felt these things. The first was when I was in high school and a classmate committed suicide. I felt, and still feel, tremendous guilt about his death. Why didn’t we know he was hurting? What stupid thing might I have said in those dark teen years that might have confirmed his own dark thoughts? I don’t know. I will never know. It still eats me up.
The second is when my brother died. We didn’t really know how truly sick he was. He was living in Chicago at the time and when he went into the hospital, we thought he had pneumonia, and would get well. But he had AIDS. And he didn’t. When his doctor called to tell us we should get out there, my mom and I got on the first available plane, but we were too late. He died while we were in flight. I will never forgive myself for not pushing harder to find out just how ill he really was. There are so many “what if’s” with death. So many should haves and could haves and if only’s. I still haven’t learned to cope effectively. But I cling to our final conversations on the phone. The “You know I love you, right?” sort of things we said to each other. That’s all I have.
LB: Was there a book or books that defined you as a teenager? A book that saved you or made you feel less alone? Which characters spoke to you?
JK: Robert Cormier’s THE CHOCOLATE WAR, for sure. And John Knowles’s A SEPARATE PEACE. And of course J.D. Salinger’s CATCHER IN THE RYE. I cringe that those are all by men. But those were the ones that got me. They were so much about facing the ugly, the gritty truth, you know? About what people are capable of, and finding a way to say no to it all. Each of the main characters in those books were so utterly misunderstood, and that’s how I felt a lot of the time, too. But when I read those books, I felt less so for the first time.
LB: Have you ever wanted to touch my hair? Be honest.
JK: Yes. Yes I have. *reaches*
LB: The lovely and delightful Nova Ren Suma wanted me to ask you which of your books was the easiest to write? Which was the hardest? (She also wanted to know if you know just how awesome and amazing you are.)
JK: Oh, Nova Ren Suma! When will we meet? YOU are amazing.
As far as easy and hard, none have been easy. But certainly SEE YOU AT HARRY’S was the most emotional. I re-opened a lot of wounds with this one. But I also found myself remembering a lot of great times with my family, too. Writing this book turned out to be a truly necessary step in understanding and learning to live with my own grief.
LB: Fern feels unnoticed and lost in the shuffle. She doesn’t have superpowers. She’s not particularly snarky or beautiful or crazy talented. She’s a very decent, searching person. Her bravery is of the hard-won, quiet sort. You do such a nice job of giving voice to characters who ride along just under the radar quietly trying to make sense of themselves and the world. What is it about these extraordinarily ordinary characters that draws you to them? Were you such a child/teen? And what would you want to say to teens who might feel the same way?
JK: This is one of the nicest things anyone has said about my work. Thank you! Fern has a lot of the qualities I had as a kid: Quiet. Trying to be good. Feeling invisible. Noticing too much about my world for my own good and getting a little depressed by it. I think I was never as “good” as Fern but I wanted to be. I wanted to be the hero who stood up for her brother. Who didn’t put up with unkind people. I was far less brave. I guess she’s my ideal me.
I would say to teens who feel the same: You have the ability to make your world less dark. It’s actually not so hard. Start by being a good friend to someone who needs it and go from there. It doesn’t take much to spread some light. Make kindness your superpower.
LB: One of the things I marvel at in your writing is how spare it is—it’s so restrained, yet so much is said in the unsaid. It’s quite beautiful. Reading PEARL and SEE YOU AT HARRY’S reminds me of an Andrew Wyeth exhibit I saw once; there is a cumulative power in those spare images, the clean lines. That you’re both New Englanders seems interesting to me. Do you think that’s a New England thing? A Jo Knowles thing? How do you approach writing? Do you do a lot of revision/editing to skim the fat?
JK: That is a really interesting question. You know, the word “spare” has been used a lot in reviews of my work and I’ve always thought it was a nice way of saying “simple.” But we’ve talked about this, and you, Robin and Holly have all assured me that’s not what it means. I’m grateful for that! Honestly I just write what I see and feel as I imagine each scene playing out. My style isn’t intentional. It’s just me.
LB: Where and when are you at your happiest?
JK: 1. Reading to my son as we sit on the deck at our house on a perfect summer day.
2. Spending an evening with my family, making dinner together and then snuggling in to watch a movie. I know it sounds boring, but I love those together times.
3. Searching for sea glass with my extended family during our vacations in Maine, laughing and basking in the sea air.
4. Writing across the room from you, dear Libba. J
LB: What is your #1 pet peeve?
JK: Hypocrisy.
LB: Is there a book you’re dying to write? A medium you’d love to try?
JK: I’ve been toying with a project for many years (had the initial idea 8 years ago), and I’ve finally started to work on it a bit. There are ten points of view, so it’s very challenging. But I’m having a lot of fun.
LB: You are willing to take on tough issues, and you do it with nuance, respect, and refreshing honesty. JUMPING OFF SWINGS deals with teen pregnancy and with female sexuality. LESSONS FROM A DEAD GIRL explores the murky boundaries of power and dominance within friendships, the slippery slope into abuse. PEARL deals with sexual identity, family secrets, and the lasting impact of self-loathing. HARRY’S also explores sexual identity as well as familial negligence and forgiveness.
What drives you to write about these difficult issues? (Full disclosure: If somebody asked me that question, I would want to drive my head through a window. Please don’t drive your head through a window, though, Jo. It’s such a nice head. And smart.)
JK: *pulls glass shards out of head* Be right back. I need a band-aid…
…Hi! I don’t know how to answer this, to tell the truth. I don’t really set out to write about an issue, necessarily. I just get these story ideas in my head and start writing. Well, back up. That’s not totally true. I think I get a character with a problem in my head and can’t get her/him back out. I think a lot about the character’s plight, and how he or she got into the situation, and how he or she will get out. I tend to explore what could have made a person do something, or say something, or be a certain way. The more questions I have, the more curious I get. For me, writing is the process of learning more about a character and helping him or her find a way through.
LB: If you weren’t a writer, what would you be?
JK: Lost.
LB: What’s next for you?
JK: I’ve written a companion novel to JUMPING OFF SWINGS, which is in the “final” stages of revision. It’s currently called LIVING WITH JACKIE CHAN, but I don’t know if it’ll keep that title. It follows the character of Josh his senior year, when he goes to live with his uncle. Of all the characters in JUMPING OFF SWINGS, readers most often ask what happened to Josh. I decided I wanted to know, too.
It has been really great talking with you, Libba! Thanks for the thoughtful questions and for making me think about all this stuff. It’s been fun! Can I touch your hair now?
Yes. Yes, you can, Jo. *waits for Jo's magical touch*
Don't forget to leave your comments below for your chance to win a free copy of SEE YOU AT HARRY'S!
April 18, 2012
Writing stories set in the past can be exciting and educational for a writer. (So many facts to spout at parties! Bore your friends and complete strangers! Have the fondue station to yourself!)
"Hey, did I tell you about that story about the effects of the Immigration Act of 1924 on...wait, where are you going?
There's melted cheese here!"
Sometimes, though, it can be frustrating and slow-going.
For instance, on Monday, I was working on a scene in DIVINERS TWO, ELECTRIC BUGALOO*, in which someone drives a car down the street. Seems simple enough, right? That’s what I thought, too. I opened my paragraph with a mention of the sound of the wheels on the rain-slicked streets. Hmm, I thought. So it’s raining in this scene. Are they listening to the rain or to the radio—oh wait. There was no car radio in 1926, was there?** And if it’s raining, they’ll need to clear the rain away from the glass…did 1920’s cars have windshield wipers?
My fingers twitched over the keys. Just go on with the story and fix that point later, I scolded myself. (I scold myself often. I am a Scoldilocks.) But I found that I couldn’t go on. I really needed to sink in and feel, see, hear, and smell that scene. And to do that, I needed to know everything about this car from the 1920s on this rainy night in New York City.
Off to Google I went. Here’s what I found: Cars did have windshield wipers. In the early 1920s, they were manual. Yes, you’d have to flick the little switch back and forth to clear away the wet. (This does not seem like much fun to me, and I am already thinking about hair and humidity issues.) By the latter 1920s, windshield wipers were largely vacuum operated: http://www.secondchancegarage.com/public/history-windshield-wipers.cfm
So this tells me how hard I want the rain to fall: If it’s too hard, the driver probably has to pull over. If it’s just sort of spitting or misty, it’s perfect weather for my scene without the distraction of "Let me interrupt the creepy to just mess...with...this...darn...wiper...Hold on, Evil, having some visibility issues here..." Details, details.
Anyway, I spent a good twenty minutes on this one small moment for two sentences in what will probably be a 600-page novel. Do the math. This is why I don't get out much.
But while research can certainly pin you down or force you to come up with creative ways around a sticky point—“Those high-falutin’ windshield wipers were invented by a crazy automotive wizard and that's why they're so super-fast!”—Most times, research can set you free.
When I was researching REBEL ANGELS, the second book in the Gemma Doyle Trilogy, I knew I wanted to have scenes set at Bethlem Royal Hospital, a.k.a. Bedlam. I corresponded with Colin Gale, the archivist there, who directed me to some wonderful resources. It was while reading these interesting case histories that I came across something truly extraordinary: Bethlem Royal Hospital hosted periodic dances open to the public. You read that right—they opened the doors of the asylum to the public for a dance. It was believed that such social activities were important for the well-being of the patients. (By the late 19th-century, treatment of the mentally ill at BRH was much kinder than it was in the horrific days of the 18th-century when it earned its nickname.) This single discovery, which I never in a million years would’ve imagined, opened up all sorts of possibilities for interaction. I was able to have the patient, a young woman named Nell, deliver vital information to the girls in a rather theatrical way in a public forum. Plus, it was a criminal amount of fun to write.
But back to DIVINERS, Book the Second, and that itchy little fact about the windshield wipers. Why so much attention to detail for a throwaway moment? Well, maybe because I’m a geek. (True) Maybe because God is in the details, as they say. (Also true.) Maybe it’s a form of procrastination, um, kind of like writing a blog about research instead of writing the actual book. (Why, that’s CRAZY TALK!) Maybe because I’ve made mistakes before and it bothers the hell out of me when I do. (Sadly, true. And thank you to the kind folks who have taken the time to school me when I’ve been wrong about something.) When that happens, I feel like I’ve messed with the reader’s trust. I’ve punched a hole in the world I’m trying to construct—it’s a loose brick that can send part of a wall tumbling. But also, I really want to know for myself, because it helps me become a part of that world if I know the limits and the possibilities.
And for the record, I’m really grateful for automatic windshield wipers and car radio.
*Do not worry. This is not going to be the actual title of the second DIVINERS book. But it is what David Levithan calls it to make me giggle.
**Did they have car radios, though? This was the second question brought up by this one sentence I was trying to write. Once again, I went on the hunt and found this: http://www.radiomuseum.org/forum/first_car_radios_history_and_development_of_early_car_radios.html This would seem to suggest that they did or that they could have been around, but the iffy-ness around the dates means that I will have to do more research if I want to state conclusively that these two characters are listening to the radio in the car in early 1927. You always want more than one source.
April 13, 2012
I started this blog about a month ago and then abandoned it like a toddler being shown something shiny. (In my defense, the something shiny was the copyedited manuscript followed by the first-pass pages of THE DIVINERS, so, you know, it wasn’t so much distracted by THE SHI-I-I-NEEEE as it was distracted by the cold kiss of the revolver at my head.) Anyhoo, said blog was about playlists.
As many long-time readers know, I write a playlist for everything I write. Well, not grocery lists. Then again, I don’t make grocery lists. Even in food procuring, I go on a wing and prayer. This would explain why I come home with fancy mustard and eco-friendly dishwasher pellets and forget things like milk and bread. But I digress and it’s only paragraph two.
I make playlists because, like a sense-memory exercise, they really help me get to a certain place in the writing. But lately, I’ve been thinking about the various kinds of playlists I like to make: Happy songs playlist. Slightly melancholy with a twist of lime playlist. Beyond melancholy through sad and right into morose self-pity with delusions of grand opera playlist. (Come on. We’ve all been there…) Road trip playlist. Workout playlist. Good make-out songs playlist. Bad make-out songs playlist. (Although, it should be noted that I once made out while watching “Dawn of the Dead” so I may not be a good authority on that one. Or else the undead really turn me on.) You get the picture.
Today’s blog is about the very necessary Happy Song Playlist. See, when the winter doldrums are upon me, I get into complete hibernation mode. My conversations run along these lines:
Husband: Why don’t we go see a movie?
Me: (snuggled under blanket on couch) Can’t. Movie is out of house.
Husband: Yeah, but the theater is only 8 blocks away.
Me: Our house cannot walk those 8 blocks.
Husband: Ho-kaaaay…
Me: (heavy sigh)
Husband: What’s wrong now?
Me: (slightly sad whine) I really want some hot chocolate.
Husband: So go make some. Kitchen’s right there.
Me: (heavier sigh) I know. But I’m here and the kitchen’s all the way over… (with great effort, rolls head to assess the twelve feet from chair to the kitchen) …there.
And so it goes. When winter comes, all I want to do is wear my bear suit. (For the record, I do not actually own a bear suit. But man, I wish I did. Then I could be like Susie the Bear from THE HOTEL NEW HAMPSHIRE, which is one of my Top Five favorite books of all time. Talented sewing people, if you can make me a bear suit, I would WEAR IT AND VIDEO MYSELF DANCING IN IT! I would probably never stop wearing it. It would be my fashion lovey. And my family would disown me, but that is because they don’t understand my hirsute hibernation needs. This is a strange, strange digression. I’m leaving this paragraph now. Okay…turning the knob aaaannd shutting the door.)
This is why I need a Happy Song playlist. Something to get the energy flowing. Something to make a person say, “Hello! There is a bear suit in my future! And now, we dance.”
And now, without further weird, weird ado, here is one of my Happy Songs Playlists:
Solsbury Hill/Peter Gabriel. The first time I went to the south of England (“Thomas Hardy country!” as I was told again…and again…) I imagined that this song had been written about a beautiful green hill I found there. I conjured images of Camelot and the Lady of the Lake…and then this very stoned dude in a black velvet dress came over and showed me his Excalibur and asked if I wanted to play Sword in the Stone. I declined. Now this song always makes me giggle. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I-9NEFalsjE&feature=related
Linus & Lucy/Vince Guaraldi Trio. It’s not just that it reminds me of being five, which, as I recall, was a pretty good year, with plenty of cookies and juice. It’s that from the jazzy opening piano riff, I am up dancing, arms at my sides just like the Peanuts gang who clearly would’ve been at home in “Riverdance.” http://www.metacafe.com/watch/2863789/linus_and_lucy/
Goody Two Shoes/Adam Ant. I will not speak too much of my nearly incapacitating crush on Adam Ant in the ‘80s except to say
that boys wearing frock coats, eyeliner and naughty sneers had an automatic in with me. (I kept expecting to date a 19th-century highwayman.) That I also wanted to dress like that says something about the fluidity of gender lines—and the appeal of puffy shirts. http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x2ofd_adam-ant-goody-two-shoes_music
"Fancy a little eyeliner, darling?"
It’s Oh So Quiet/Bjork. Most Bjork songs feel like Artaud for the ears. (For the record, I love Bjork. And Artaud.) But this is pure 1950’s Technicolor musical and lordy, that woman can sing. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TEC4nZ-yga8&feature=related
Let’s Go Crazy/Prince. “Dearly beloved…we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life…” Oh, Prince. You are proof that good things come in small packages. Most Prince makes me, um, “Delirous”-ly happy, but this one in particular puts the groove in my groove-shaker. As the Purple One says, “U better live now/Before the grim reaper come knocking on your door!” Word, Prince. Word.
"Baby, baby, baby, what's it gonna be..."
Gay Bar/The Electric Six. Maureen Johnson turned me on to this Detroit band, naturally. We were sitting in a café when she turned to me with one of those MJ inscrutable expressions which could indicate either “Let’s share a cookie” or “How do you feel about an outing that could result in possible incarceration?” Instead, she showed me this video. And now, it’s on my happy list. 
"It's all Maureen Johnson's fault."
It’s All Too Much/The Beatles. This is the song I want played at my funeral, not to get all morbid or anything. I would also like people to wear bear suits and dance. Thank you. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ghRODy2B5Zo
Everyday Sunshine/Fishbone. This song, to me, is what I wish church had been like. Then I might’ve actually wanted to go. “I wish everyday the sun would shine…” I also love the infectious joy of this video, so I hope the link proves linky. (I just took five minutes to watch it and now I’m grinning like a fool and chair dancing, which is getting me some interesting looks here in the café. Just wait until they see my bear suit.) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QV5Nkah8nP8
"You, too, could be having this much fun if you will abandon gravity."
She’s So Modern/The Boomtown Rats. “She’s so twentieth century. She’s so 1970s!” Duuuude, I listened to this song so much my freshman year of college that I wore the grooves out on it. (Yes, it was vinyl.) I mostly remember my roomie, Christina, and I dancing around the dorm room to this in our underwear. No doubt, Michael Bay could turn that into a movie scene in which we’d have sex with robots…and then be engulfed in a fireball from a spectacular explosion. 
"Tiger, do not eat Bob Geldof, or there will be no Live Aid!"
Beat Surrender/The Jam. Oh, the skinny tie era makes me so, so happy. “Come on, boy! Come on, girl! Succumb to the beat surrender!” I mean, how often to you hear the word “Succumb” in a pop song? I would’ve killed to have seen The Jam back in the day, but I can still groove to Peter Weller’s soulful growl in the privacy of my living room. 
"What do you blokes think of the name The Style Council?"
Ain’t No Thang/Katzenjammer. This is the ultimate all-chick, Norwegian pop/folk band kiss-off song. (You HAD been searching for that, right?) Because nothing says, “I burned your stuff, asshole, and now I’m walking away and I really don’t care what happens to you” quite like a rockin’ balalaika solo. I defy you not to fist pump through this. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-AIdYoMpINQ
Mistress Mabel/The Fratellis. I heard the Fratellis perform this live on some show late at night, maybe it was Jools Holland. I don’t remember. But every time I hear it, I have to sing along. Even if I’m at the gynecologist’s office. Which can be awkward.
"But this IS my Casual Friday outfit."
Cool, from “West Side Story”/Bernstein & Sondheim. Not gonna lie—when I was fifteen and in the absolute hey-day of thinking every day was a possible musical revolving around…me, I would put on my bronze Danskin leotard and multi-colored leg warmers, affix my headband like the girl on the cover of “A Chorus Line” and totally Jerome Robbins it out in my bedroom to this song. That I was not much of a dancer did not deter me. The sharp edges of my bed, however, eventually did. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xkdP02HKQGc
What Makes You Happy/Liz Phair. This is the only song I for which I had a burning desire to direct the music video. It was a weird idea that involved Edward Hopper and The Venus de Milo. I suppose this is why they don’t allow me to make music videos. But I love this, and so I suppose, Liz, that what makes me happy is your song. It’s nice when it works out that way. 
"Behold the awesome."
Cruel to Be Kind/Nick Lowe. I saw Nick Lowe with Rockpile in concert back when I was but an impressionable teen. I had a crush on him. (Really, I’m hard-pressed to think of anyone I DIDN’T have a crush on.) This song reminds me of hanging with my BFF Eleanor, the two of us singing at the tops of our lungs and trying to outdo each other with ridiculous antics including running into walls for laughs. Man, we were some weird, weird teens. 
Dance to the Music/Sly & the Family Stone. This one does double duty: The extended Dance to the Music Medley (about 12 minutes long) is #1 on my workout playlist. I live for the moment when they cut out and break it down with the acapella “Boom-boom-boom boom-boom-boom…” Sly Stone was also born in my hometown of Denton, Texas, and, as everyone knows from “Rocky Horror”, Denton is the Home of Happiness. ‘Nuff said.
"All of the squares, go home!"
Take Your Mama/The Scissor Sisters. “Gonna take your mama out tonight/Yeah, we’ll show her what it’s all about/Get her jacked up on some cheap champagne/We’ll let the good times all roll out…” Well, that works. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IPoFXmzaOqk&feature=related
Ray of Light/Madonna. Yes, it’s a Madonna song. Sue me. I love this song. And it’s easier to dance to than Patti Smith. (Don’t start—I adore Patti Smith. Revere her, even. But she’s not on my happy songs playlist.) 
"Libba, you will look back on pictures of yourself in your Desperately Seeking Susan phase and be afraid. Burn them, Libba. Burn them, now."
What’s New Pussycat?/Tom Jones. When I listen to this, I like to imagine I’m a 1960’s-era Ann Margret with serious, serious hair frugging it out next to The Man himself. It also involves a white-lace jumpsuit and a swing. I don’t know why. I don’t question the images the brain hamsters send. They’re artists, dammit! And they want, nay, NEED, me to be Ann Margret for this song. Thank you, brain hamsters. Thank you. (For the record, I also saw Ann Margret in concert. She was fabulous. My Ann Margret love runs deep.) 
"Sexxy Beast!"
"Rawr!"
What a Wonderful World/Louis Armstrong. Kind of self-explanatory, n’est-ce pas? Take out us, Mr. Armstrong. “And I say to myself…what a wonderful world.” http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1ysp1_louis-armstrong-what-a-wonderful-wo_music
"Life is beautiful. But wear sunscreen."
In a weird moment of kismet, just as I was finishing this, Prince's "Let's Go Crazy" starting playing in the cafe where I'm (avoiding) writing. The power of positive thinking, perhaps?
So...what about you? Which songs would be on your happy song playlist?
April 8, 2012
On Tuesday, April 10th, Robin Wasserman's most excellent THE BOOK OF BLOOD AND SHADOW comes out. It's a riveting novel of centuries-old secrets, murder, friendship and danger that globe-hops from the ivy-covered halls of American academia to the streets of Paris and Prague. http://www.robinwasserman.com/bloodshadow.html
I had the good fortune to interview Robin this weekend, and by that I mean, I forced her to answer these questions by bribing her with baked goods. She likes baked goods. AND...one lucky winner, chosen at random, has won a free copy of THE BOOK OF BLOOD AND SHADOW. (No peeking!) So, without further ado--take it away, Robin!
LB: So, Robin, I was going to start by lobbing you a softball question like, “If you were stuck in a falling elevator with your two main crushes, Robert Downey, Jr. and Rahm Emmanuel, and you could only save one of them, which one would you save?” But no. I’ve decided to get RIGHT INTO IT with you. *Ahem* You have famously said that you do not like historical fiction (clutch the pearls!). And yet…AND YET…what have you done here but write, oh, I don’t know…a cleverly disguised bit of HISTORICAL FICTION. What up with that, my scornful one?
Look, historical fiction, it’s not you, it’s me. I mean, you can be very nice and very pretty, and there are plenty of people out there who love those fancy dresses you where and can’t get enough of that adorably kooky way you talk. You deserve better than me. You deserve someone who can love you for you. (Or at least for your fancy dresses.)
And, for the record, Libba, I don’t hate all historical fiction—for example, your new book is pretty damn good (she says, trying not to sound like she’s sucking up). But it’s true that it’s about as far from my thing as we are from Tahiti. (Which reminds me: Can we discuss ways of getting ourselves a little closer to Tahiti?) Unfortunately, I happen to love history, and I’m always wishing that I could find a way to cram it into my novels…without actually having to set the novels in the past. You probably don’t remember this, but you’re the one who gave me the idea for The Book of Blood and Shadow’s historical thread in the first place. It went pretty much like this:
Me: [whines about wanting to write fiction about history]
Libba: So why don’t you write historical fiction?
Me: [hisses] I HATE HISTORICAL FICTION.
Libba: You know I write historical fiction, right?
Me: Um…
Libba: Okay, how about writing a novel set in the present, but throw in a small parallel plotline set in the past.
Me: That sounds confusing.
Libba: Not if you tell us the past storyline through a series of letters. There’s lots of books that do that.
Me: You mean like Possession?
Libba: Yes, one of the all time greatest books ever. And it has all those beautiful letters from the past.
Me: Yeah…when I read it, I kind of skipped those letters.
Libba: What?
Me: I always skip the old-timey letters when I read books like that.
Libba: Get out of my house.
Me: But—
Libba: [shuts door]
It turns out I had to stop thinking about The Book of Blood and Shadow’s letters as historical fiction, and start thinking of the girl who wrote them, Elizabeth, as a character just as real and vivid and interesting as all the characters in the present day storyline. Once I was able to do that, I found myself having an inexplicable amount of fun writing a sixteenth century love story.
(But if any of you are like me, and tend to skim over that kind of thing, don’t worry—I made extra sure the book would still make sense either way.)
LB: What made you wake up one morning and say, “You know what? I’m going to write THIS book now,” making all of the other potential book ideas go, “Awww,” and leave their headshots and resumes with the casting director? Did it come to you in a dream? Did your evil twin, Skippy, whom we never actually see, tell you to write it or bad things would happen? Tell us, Robin.
“Other potential book ideas”? Sorry, give me a second to stop laughing.
I am the WORST when it comes to coming up with ideas. Other writers are always whining about how they have soooo many ideas, they don’t know how they’ll have time to write them all. When they whine like that around me, I punch them in the nose. (Okay, I don’t actually do that, because I don’t believe in violence, blah blah blah, but I’ve certainly imagined it in gruesome detail.) For me, coming up with the right idea for a book is agony. It’s also agony for everyone around me. (cf the nose punching.) Basically I force myself to brainstorm a list of as many ideas as I can, no matter how dumb-sounding, and I also keep a running list of any random thing that pops into my head.
With this book, I thought a few years ago that it would be cool to write a book with a sort-of supernatural historical mystery at its center, so I remembered that and wrote that down on my list of maybe-stupid maybe-not ideas. I was actually on my way out to dinner at the time, and got so wrapped up in the potentials of the story that I had to buy a notebook on the way and start scribbling. That’s how I know which book I’m going to write next—it’s the idea (generally the only idea) that my brain goes running away with, and I have to scurry to catch up.
LB: Parts of the novel are set in Paris and Prague. I know you went to both places to conduct research. Can you tell us about that and about what was involved in your research in general?
This is going to be the longest interview ever, so I’m going to start giving shorter answers, beginning with this one. Yes, this novel required a crapton of research, some of it (gloriously) in Paris and Prague. Both of which were awesome trips, even if they did involve me wandering through the streets with my embarrassing journal in hand, just like I used to do when I was 22 and thought myself very profound. I think there’s a good chance you don’t know how to post photos here*, so if anyone’s interested in seeing some of the pictures I took, you can find them http://<a href=”http://cloverhillbookreviews.blogspot.com/2012/01/blog-tour-robin-wasserman-author-of.html”>here</a> and <a href=”http://www.bookofbloodandshadow.com”> here.</a> <a href=”http://cloverhillbookreviews.blogspot...; and <a href=”http://www.bookofbloodandshadow.com”&...;
LB: There’s a great deal about religion and science in BOOK OF BLOOD AND SHADOW and about the battle between the two (and the occasional blurring of the two). What are your thoughts about that?
I say I think I should start giving shorter answers and you ask me about the relationship between religion and science? Are you kidding me? You do realize that I’m a former history of grad student and once wrote a twenty-page exam about the question of whether there was a war between religion and science?
Short answer: No. And I think it does modern society a disservice to act like religion and science are fundamentally at odds with each other, or have traditionally been so. (The Galileo story, as it’s popularly told, contributes a lot to this myth, which irritates me to no end, and I’ve got a good rant on the topic, but I’ll spare you.)
One of the things I love most about the Renaissance period and the scientific revolution is the way that science and religion are inextricably intertwined. They were two sides of the same coin: A quest for knowledge about the universe. The scientists we all know from this period—Copernicus, Kepler, Newton, Galileo—were all deeply religious men who believed the universe was wholly divine and that their investigations were serving God. Yes, in those days there were a lot of scuffles between “radical” scientists and the Church, but that’s not because the Church was anti-science. The Church loved science. It just loved Aristotelian science, and the radicals were throwing Aristotle out with the trash.
Not to get all sincere on you, but I believe you can’t fully understand civilization without understanding science, and you can’t understand science without knowing where it came from, which, at the beginning, was religion. Magic, science, religion—in those days, it was all a little bit the same thing, and I love it.
LB: In addition to international conspiracy, intrigue, academia, mystery, murder, and awesome travelogue, there is also a very refreshing take on friendship and romance. On the blog, Phangirl27 perfectly articulated the question I wanted to ask you when she posited, “It seems like everything is a cliché nowadays, particularly when it comes to romance in novels. How do you avoid clichés?”
Do I? I certainly hope so. I think there’s a difference between clichéd language—which is easily avoided (or used consciously to your advantage), if you’re diligent—and clichéd plot/character, which can be much harder to avoided. And maybe even impossible since, for example, how many different kinds of romances are there to write? I think the best way to avoid seeming clichéd is to try to stay away from generalities and make your characters as specific as possible. For example, in the first draft of The Book of Blood and Shadow, Adriane was just your ‘typical’ kind of bitchy, kind of ditzy best friend—which made her hard to like, and also hard to see as a real person. Similarly, in the first draft, the friendship between Nora and Chris is pretty generic. They could be any two people hanging out, and the only reason you know they care about each other is because the author tells you so. I think specifics save you from all that, most of all when you’re writing about two people falling in love. Because the structure of every romance may be the same—and may be a cliché—but the details of two individuals connecting over their shared weirdnesses? That’s got infinite possibility.
LB: They say there’s more than one way to skin a cat. I have no interest in skinning a cat, but I am interested in all the ways writers approach craft/story. Some are elaborate plotters/outliners. Others like to plunge into the deep end without any floaties. What is your method? Are you a planner/plotter? An “Outline? I don’t need no stinkin’ outline!” sort of writer? Do you read/research a ton then get down to it? Write out diagrams and index cards? Make an offering to the Writing Gods? We want to know!
Oh, I’m as anal as they get. I didn’t start this book until I’d whipped all the research and made a very detailed plot outline noting exactly when all the clues would be discovered and who was doing what to whom. I think that’s especially important (at least for me) when writing a mystery, but I do in general feel like writing without some form of plot outline is like jumping off a cliff and building your parachute on the way down.
Which makes it all the crazy that I’m trying to write my newest book without an outline. And now you know why I so often walk around screaming in terror.
As you know, over the past few days, people have been leaving questions for you here. (You were referred to there as the “Uber-Awesome Robin Wasserman.” Word.) They’re far better than anything I can think up, and I’m including several of them here. (Lovely blog questioners: Due to the volume of questions, I couldn’t include them all, but I tried to hit as many as I could. If your question isn’t answered here, you can always visit Robin at www.robinwasserman.com or on Twitter: @robinwasserman and demand an answer.)
(Yes, if you tweet me your questions, I will do my very best to answer right away, albeit in 140 letters or less.)
From the Internet-i-verse:
What music, if any, did you listen to while writing The Book of Blood and Shadow?
Full playlist is <a href=”http://thepewterwolf.blogspot.com/201...; but the number one song for me (especially for part II) was “Breathe Me,” by Sia.
Do you speak & read Latin? Is there some significance to the Latin language in your life?
Not a word of it (except cogito ergo sum—so I guess that’s three words). It had to be Latin because the real Elizabeth Weston (ie the protagonist of the historical plotline) wrote all her letters to her brother in Latin, so I was just following her lead. Trust me, if she’d written in French, or better yet, English, it would have made my life a lot easier.
After listening to your amazing high school poetry at Leakycon last year, I rather imagine you writing in a dark, tapestry draped living room with a fire as your only light while some death marches play on a gramophone. So just curious what it's really like? (LB: For the record, Robin’s teenage poetry was MIND-BENDING.)
I like this idea, and I think from now on I’m only writing in a place like that. (Previously, I’ve occupied a well-lit coffee shop with bad music and an ample supply of cookies. The cookies are key. I shall bring them with me to my tapestry room.)
What is your least favorite part of the writing process? How do you overcome and get through it? What is your favorite part?
Least favorite: Almost all of it, after the first few chapters. I think of the middle of a book a bit like a death march. Around page 75 I become convinced that everything I’m writing is crap, and this lasts until I’m almost at the very, very end. I love preparing to write, and I love having written, and every once in a while I hit on a few pages that make me dance, but for the most part, I make it through the middle by promising myself I’ll get to the end.
Favorite: The end. Writing the last page of the book and then jumping on my couch and shouting, “I’m done!” (I actually do that. Every time. It’s embarrassing.)
If you were this dictator of a small (and tropical) island nation, what would be your first decree and why?
Everyone must bring me baked goods. For obvious reasons.
I believe I read on your website that you found Hacking Harvard the hardest to write of all your books. Is this true, and if so, did you find it difficult to write about Harvard after having attended the school, or was it easier?
It was actually easy to write about Harvard as a physical location—those scenes practically wrote themselves (especially since I was coming right off of the Seven Deadly Sins series, which was set in an imaginary town…and my imagination is not great at architecture). I’m not sure why the rest of the book was so hard, but I’ve always suspected it was because the book was so autobiographical. The main character is a lot like me, and it’s hard to get enough distance to tell a good story when you’re practically writing about yourself.
If you were doing any other career other than writing, what would you want to be doing, regardless of lack of talent or experience?
Robotics engineer. (Specializing in artificial intelligence.) Also maybe a theoretical physicist on the side.
What is your favorite kind of pie? How many tacos can you eat?
(LB: This question involves math. Math is hard. But Robin is smart.)
Sorry to say, I’m team cake. But I am also team taco, so let’s see. If you calculate the volume of carne asada contained in an average taco shell and divide that by the rate of digestion and then factor in stomach capacity and attenuation of taco temptation over time…let’s say I could probably eat six at any given meal. Perhaps I will start now.
How do you become awesome? (How much some is in awe?)
Practice. (And: More than you’d think.)
Thank you, smart people of the Blogo-sphere/Twitterverse. Last two questions from me, Robin. Yes, it's Bonus Round Time, where your answers could win you a NEW AMANA RADAR RANGE!**
What are you working on now?
I am trying to write a really long, really scary old-fashioned horror novel. I won’t tell you what it’s about, but I will tell you that there will be blood. (And making out. Though not at the same time. Mostly.)
If you were in a falling elevator with Robert Downey, Jr. and Rahm Emmanuel, and you could only save one of them, which one would you save? (This is your moment, Robin. This is why you have a Harvard education.)
WHY MUST YOU TORMENT ME?
It’s a tough call, but in the end, I must save my beloved Robert Downey, Jr. Not just because he’s my beloved, and not just because he’d be eternally grateful to me and sworn to do whatever I asked him to do for the rest of my life (that’s how it works when you save someone, right?) and not just because he looks and talks like Robert Downey, Jr (though that helps). But because Rahm Emmanuel is basically Rambo, Mr. T, and MacGyver all in one, and I’m pretty sure he can save himself.
Now, where’s my cookie?
*Robin knows me—and my lack of technaptitude well
**If, by Amana Radar Range, we mean a cookie.
AND NOW, FOR THE LUCKY WINNER OF THE BOOK OF BLOOD AND SHADOW, DETERMINED BY THE CAPRICIOUS HAND OF FATE DIPPED INTO A HAT:
(drum roll)
(I love this part…so tense!)
(I’m just having a snack while I wait. You can have a snack, too, if you like.)
(cymbal crash)
x
x
x
x
x
x
Winner: lbkeenan on LJ, whose question was: How do you organize your life to include your writing? And, (this goes along with the first one), how did you work writing into your life before you became the fabulously published writer you are today?
lbkeenan, be sure to contact Robin at Robin (at) robinwasserman (dot) com to claim your awesome free book!
April 4, 2012
I promise to get back to a more regular blogging schedule very soon. I have much to talk about where THE DIVINERS is concerned. So many fun things. All will be revealed. Mwahahahaha!!!*
But in the meantime, I have an exciting and fun contest to announce: I am giving away a brand-spanking new copy of Robin Wasserman's most excellent THE BOOK OF BLOOD AND SHADOW, which comes out next Tuesday, April 10th.
I am in love with this book. TOTAL. LOVE. If you took all of the things I love to read about--conspiracy, academia, secret societies, dodgy-but-possibly-not-dodgy-or-possibly-dodgy-to-the-point-of-being-killers people, history, magic, the supernatural, travel, non-cookie cutter romance, mystery, high stakes, and smart people--you would have this awesome book. I mean really, the only thing it's missing is taxidermy. (Robin, I demand a sequel: THE BOOK OF BLOOD AND SHADOW AND DEAD HAMSTERS ON THE MANTEL!)
I love this book the way I love Donna Tartt's THE SECRET HISTORY and Katherine Neville's THE EIGHT (both excellent books and the best comparison I can come up with). Liz Burns of School Library Journal calls it, "Dan Brown meets Indiana Jones." And in a starred review, Publishers Weekly said, "Readers who enjoy fast-paced, bloody, historically inflected thrillers...will be riveted."
Next week, I will host the fabulous and fabulously smart Robin Wasserman (did I mention she went to Harvard? Haaah-vaaahrd?) on this blog next Monday. But for now--right this red-hot second--you can enter to win a copy of THE BOOK OF BLOOD AND SHADOW for your very own.
How? I'm so glad you asked.
THE RULES:
1. Submit your question for Robin in the comments section below. Really, any question at all. Well, maybe not, "What were the results of your last pap smear?" That seems a bit personal.
2. I will choose some of your questions to include in my interview with Robin which is NEXT MONDAY, APRIL 9TH.
3. Then, I will put all of your questions into my super-fancy-technologically-advanced-created-through-alien-technology-stolen-from NORAD hat, mix them around while singing a Cher song, and pull out one lucky winner. This is democracy, folks. This is how the next election is going to work. You heard it here, first.
4. Lucky winner will be announced on the blog with the interview with TheFabulousAndFabulouslySmartRobinWasserman(TM) NEXT MONDAY, APRIL 9TH.
5. Winner will then scream, jump up and down, kiss a random stranger, and make the obligatory Taylor Swift, "OMG, Me?" surprised face. Then s/he will send relevant address deets to Robin c/o robin@robinwasserman.com. Easy peasy.
So, stay tuned. And send those questions in 3...2...1...NOW!
* By "all", I mean some. I'm not good with math. This might explain why when someone says, "Would you like some pie?" I say "Yes!" and take the whole thing. This might also explain my dearth of dessert invitations.
January 23, 2012
Today, the ALA Youth Media Awards were announced, which is always an exciting day in our field—like the Oscars for books. This year was no exception, with many surprises announced and, as always, my perilous TBR pile grows ever more tippity with titles. “Tippity with Titles”—alliteration fans, I am here for you.*
What was so cool was seeing book titles trending on Twitter! Yes, book titles and author names trended on Twitter! Attention: We haz control of your Internetz! Mwahahaha! Also, I can’t believe it’s January. And not even new January but a week-away-from-the-end January. Yow. When did that happen?**
I’ve been living in the Writing Cave for so long I’ve forgotten how to do anything but work. So it was such a treat to spend five days at Vermont College of Fine Arts (VCFA) earlier this month as their writer-in-residence. It was a life-changing experience for me in many ways. As excited as I was to be there, I was also very nervous. Whenever someone wants me to talk about writing, I feel a profound lack of authority on the subject. Usually, I avoid the topic by shoving food into my mouth then making “I’m sorry, as you can see, it would be rude for me to speak” hand signals. This gives me the air of a very polite psychotic. But truly, all I know about writing could probably be summed up in these profound thoughts:
That’s it—the sum total of my advice, unless you want to get into specifics about snacks. (Morning: bagel & coffee. Afternoon: brownies & water. It is important to hydrate. And to brownie-ate.***) So I felt more than a little trepidation about standing at a lectern. At any moment, I expected someone to rush into the auditorium and shout, “J’accuse!”**** This is the Fraud Syndrome. Perhaps you have experienced this?
I wasn’t always a great or willing student. Unfortunately, a great deal of my education was wasted. This is not due to my teachers and professors who were mostly excellent. No, the fault is squarely mine. I was a doodler of pages, a looker-out-of-classroom windows, a constant daydreamer, teller-of-jokes-in-class, and, sometimes, a pig-headed arguer of wrong notions from which I refused to be separated even when confronted by evidence. Sometimes I would even argue a point I didn’t believe in just for the sake of argument. I think some of this stemmed from insecurity over feeling that I wasn’t nearly as smart as everyone else in the room. (Of course, arguing for the sake of arguing rather proves that notion.) I had a pick-and-choose game plan that involved skipping out on lectures that “bored” or intimidated me (most science and math) and sometimes not giving my all out of a fear of failure. Of course, failure and boredom and intimidation are all part of the learning process, but you couldn’t tell me that.
As a consequence of my misbegotten youth, I’ve spent a loooot of time learning how to become educated—yes, learning how to learn. I had to acquire the willingness to be taught. The willingness to say, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Could you please explain that to me?” A willingness to look like the dumbest person in the room. I had to develop an openness to other points of view, to the idea that that my ideas might not be as right as I thought they were and that letting them go isn’t being “weak”; it’s being smart. I began to add the words “explore” “examine” “question” “wonder” “consider” to my educational vocabulary. Oh yeah, and “listen.”
I never went to grad school, though I would’ve liked to very much. But by the time I started getting my act together, I needed to have a job and support myself and so my learning took on the patchwork quilt approach. So I decided that while at VCFA, I wanted to be open to everything. I wanted to go as a student, too, and attend everything that I possibly could while there. I did, and it was extraordinary.
There were wonderful lectures by Matt de la Pena, Betsy Partridge, Susan Fletcher, and Mark Karlins. Lena Schubert & Bonnie Christensen led a great research workshop, which included a guest appearance by the extraordinary Katherine Paterson*****. I also had the pleasure of hearing a few wonderful grad student lectures on topics ranging from the omniscient narrator to writing outside your culture, race or gender. Coe Booth and I stretched out in my dorm room and munched some snacks and talked about where we were feeling stuck with our books. And there was time, too, to hang out and get to know many wonderful, smart, engaged and engaging people.
I came away from these experiences with new insights, with a new way of seeing my writing. Honestly, my synapses were firing like the Macy’s Fourth of July fireworks display. It was like all of the hamsters in my brain who usually lie around on the carpet with empty pizza boxes while watching infomercials on ShamHamsterBalls suddenly went from “ ‘sup? When’s din-din?” to “Holy Edification, Batman! We are receiving pellets of wisdom from the mothership! To the wheels! Fly! FLY!”******
After Susan’s lecture, I went back to my room and cut several passages from the third draft of DIVINERS. They were sentences that I could now see were lazy or not as strong as they could be. My verbs needed some jazzing. (Another educational moment: I remember reading Jane Yolen’s THE SWORD OF THE RIGHTFUL KING in which every single one of her verbs socked me right between the eyes—nothing passive about them—and I thought, wow, I really need to up my verb game.) Matt’s talk about patience and taking your time was fantastic, and I looked back at places where I had been in a hurry and had not drawn out the action in a satisfying way. Thanks, Matt. Again and again, there were moments like this. And in round-table (well, oval-table, really) discussions with students over food that was…well-plated…it was brought home to me the amount of thinking and rethinking that goes into writing a book.
Being a student was wonderful. I guess that’s the thing I’m trying to say here: We’re always learning. There is never a moment where you say, “Well, I’ve got this writing thing down.” I left VCFA with even more questions about DIVINERS. And so, new books were procured. I put in a call to my amazing research goddess, Lisa Gold, and asked for some leads on my rather specific questions. The stalwart Tricia Ready and I will head back to the MTA Transit Museum this week for another round in the archives. I will keep digging—into the research, into the work, into the lives of the characters; I will keep thinking, keep the channels open for something I might learn that will change how I see. And so it goes, to quote the late, great Kurt Vonnegut. But I also left Vermont with a sense of gratitude—for the chance to be a storyteller, for the company of people who love books, for the educational opportunity. I’ll be honest with you: I also left feeling a little scared about the work ahead of me. But scared is good. Scared is the enemy of complacent. I always want to be a better writer than I am. I want to find the best way to serve the story I’m trying to tell. I have a lot to think about.
This past year has been a tough one, writing-wise. Fracturing both elbows back in March put me waaay behind on the writing and even the reading. (Holding a book when you can’t really move your arms without pain—not conducive to a nice reading experience.) At times, I thought I would lose my mind both from the dizzying pace and from my inability to make the various puzzles of the book intersect and work as they should. I am not a linear writer, nor am I particularly good at organization, including outlining. I tend to write madly, stop suddenly with a “Wha????” look on my face, and, in a last-ditch act of desperation borne of utter confusion, try to outline or organize the various threads/character arcs of the book. Usually, I get to about number 14 on my bullet pointed “(p)outline” before I am seized by a new idea at which point I abandon the outline and start writing until, maybe one hundred or one hundred-fifty pages in, I’m forced to reorganize. Lather, rinse, repeat. Amazingly, it all works out in the end. Or, as my friend Bill would say, “The worst thing that can happen is that they take us out into a field and shoot us.”******* Bill plays piano and sings in a lot of NYC bars. His sense of what’s a problem and what is not is finely honed.
And so I am back at it, still searching, still thinking, still learning, still writing. Fortunately, I have friends and brownies both at the ready. And when I’ve put this baby to rest—or the production team wrestles it from my grasping hands—and before I dive into the research on DIVINERS #2, I look forward to reading from that stack of award winners. I’m sure I will learn something there.
*Tippity Titles does sound like a children’s book heroine. Or a porn star.
**It happened right after December, Libba. Keep up.
***Brownie-ate should absolutely be a word. “Dude, it’s four o’clock. Time to Brownie-ate for sure.”
****I really don’t know why the villains of my nervous daydreams are always French.
*****Seriously, this woman is amazing. If you ever have a chance to hear her speak, go at once. Or, like, whenever they open the lecture hall.
******The hamsters in my brain don’t get out much.
*******This is good perspective. As opposed to, “OMG, THIS IS SO TERRIBLE THAT AN ANGRY MOB WILL CHASE ME INTO THE FOREST WHERE I WILL BE FORCED TO LIVE THE REST OF MY DAYS SURROUNDED BY DISGRUNTLED FOREST ANIMALS WHO WILL GRUMBLE ABOUT MY ADVERBS!” That is lacking in perspective. And possibly sanity.
November 2, 2011
No, I’m not going to perform an alien autopsy (too messy) or jump on a couch to profess my love for Katie Holmes. (She seems lovely but we’ve never met.)
I need to say hello to Paula from Baltimore. * waves * Hello, Paula from Baltimore! Now, you may rightly be asking, “Who is Paula?” Oh, silly people. She’s Paula! You know…from Baltimore?
Wait…you don’t know Paula from Baltimore? Huh. Well, she’s cool. I’m sure you’d like her.
Here’s the story: A few years ago, I had the pleasure of attending the Baltimore Book Festival where I met Paula for the first time and I promised I would blog about it all. Except I didn’t. * facepalm * So in September, when I had the pleasure of attending the Baltimore Book Festival again (in the pouring rain—thank you so much, stalwart book lovers, for coming out in that wet mess. You rock!), Paula walked up to me and said, “Libba Bray, I have a bone to pick with you.” She gave me the stern face. Paula gives good stern face. I’m just saying. I could feel my butt firmly entrenched on the naughty mat from whence I rarely stray. I’m usually in trouble for something. Just ask my friends. Anyhoo, Paula pointed out my transgression and I promised her that I would give her a shout-out here on the blog. So, HEY PAULA! HOW’S IT GOING DOWN THERE IN BALTIMORE?
Now, I have made good, and when next we meet, Paula will not give me the frowny face.
I am hard at work on the second draft of THE DIVINERS. Second draft is really a misnomer as there are a gazillion revisions, large and small, that go into the writing of a book. Everything from revising two lines of dialogue so that it sounds more authentic to moving chapters around to throwing out entire sections that—sad as it is—simply must go.
You’ve probably heard the phrase, “Kill your darlings.” This refers to the arduous process of cutting things from your manuscript which you may very well love—perhaps you find them clever or you like a set-up or turn of phrase. But somewhere along the way, as the writing takes its twists and turns, you realize that those things you love no longer really serve the story. Maybe it serves your ego or that burning desire you've always harbored to write a wombat love story filled to the brim with witty wombat banter. (Those wombats, so devilishly clever with a line. Also, try saying "witty wombat banter" three times fast. I just did and I had to untie my tongue at the end.) But serve the actual story? Not so much.
This just happened this past week. In the original draft, I had written a scene that takes place at a big, Gatsby-esque party. I’d spent weeks lovingly crafting scenes of decadent partying, layering in social commentary, adding that dollop of simmering romance and a reflection on grief. There were some evocative passages about the moonlight on the Long Island Sound and the echoing light of the city in the distance. These are the moments as a writer that make you say, “Boo-yah!” and celebrate with a brownie. Then you scratch the scene’s tummy and say, “Who’s a pretty chapter! Who’s a pretty chapter, huh? You are! Yes, you are you are you are, hunny bunny puddin’ pie.” (This is ugly. I usually try to spare you from knowing these things, gentle reader. But it’s time you saw the world for what it is…a deeply strange and uncomfortable place populated by many drive-thrus.)
So I was very happy with this scene. It was dandy, EXCEPT….that it stopped the story dead. DEAD. Crickets chirping. Hell, I probably would have tried to work those chirping crickets into the TOTALLY DEAD scene and pretended it was metaphor.
My editor, Alvina Ling, gently suggested that I might consider cutting it. Two dear friends who also read the manuscript early on suggested the same thing. “But it has pretty imagery,” I said. “And someone vomits in a funny way.” They looked off into the distance and said nothing.
Now, I love me a challenge (please see: Wombat Love, the Musical!), and I thought, “There has to be a way to make this work!” So I spent several days trying to do just that. Turning it this way and that. Playing with the placement of the scene—perhaps if it took place earlier or later in the action? And then, the realization began to sink in, like when you understand that no amount of make-up will cover that zit and calling it a “mosquito bite” isn’t fooling anyone. That scene, pretty as it may have been, full of stylish ennui and one amusing vomiting moment just wasn’t cutting it. To quote the great Bette Davis, “It. Won’t. Play.” (Thank you, Margo Channing.)
With a heavy heart, I axed it. But the funny thing is, once I cut that scene, I was liberated. I went on a cutting rampage. As of this posting, I’ve jettisoned five of the original chapters and ripped out an entire character storyline, which I am now retooling so as to make it more germane to the plot. (Usually a good idea in general.) It’s like the eleventh hour of “Project Runway”, after you find out that you have to start your couture clown dress all over using only staples and a few handfuls of fertilizer, and then Tim comes in, takes a look at the dirt and staples all over you, your bloodshot eyes and borderline psychotic grin, puts his finger to his mouth in a thoughtful way and says, “I’m concerned.” And you say, “No, Tim, it’ll all work out—I swear!” And you staple some fertilizer to the floor and laugh.
This revision is due in…* squints at calendar *… 22 days. My manuscript has been blown apart and is in complete “I don’t know what I am yet” tatters. I am fully psychotic and so terrified that I’m living on coffee and Tums and sometimes I go up to perfect strangers, pet their faces and say, “You have a beautiful light inside you. Shhh, don’t speak. Let’s just have this moment together. You smell good.” Interestingly, I have not been arrested yet.
But the game’s afoot. And hopefully, when that dress heads down the runway, it will be, “I had no idea it was made with staples and fertilizer!” and not, “You know what this novel needed? A funny vomit moment.”
See you on the flip side.
