Jennifer R. Hubbard's Blog, page 69
October 18, 2012
Risk and inspiration
A friend and I were talking about risk tolerance the other day. It's something writers tend to think about a lot, since the writing life is full of gambles: financial, emotional, artistic.
I have always been risk-averse. But in my writing, I've probably taken more chances than anywhere else in my life. Maybe that's where I pour all the risk-taking. I drive the speed limit and save for a rainy day, but then I expose the inside of my mind to total strangers. Probably no explanation I can come up with would top this one by Anais Nin.
In other news, Owlectomy posted a wonderful piece about starting new projects, inspiration, pragmatism, and that indefinable spark: "I am not willing to walk around waiting for an idea to hit me over the head, but neither am I willing to take up some idea that seems workable but not especially inspiring, just to have something to work on ..."
And in other other news, I'll be at the Doylestown (PA) Bookshop on Friday night with a great group of authors. Please join us if you're in the area.
I have always been risk-averse. But in my writing, I've probably taken more chances than anywhere else in my life. Maybe that's where I pour all the risk-taking. I drive the speed limit and save for a rainy day, but then I expose the inside of my mind to total strangers. Probably no explanation I can come up with would top this one by Anais Nin.
In other news, Owlectomy posted a wonderful piece about starting new projects, inspiration, pragmatism, and that indefinable spark: "I am not willing to walk around waiting for an idea to hit me over the head, but neither am I willing to take up some idea that seems workable but not especially inspiring, just to have something to work on ..."
And in other other news, I'll be at the Doylestown (PA) Bookshop on Friday night with a great group of authors. Please join us if you're in the area.
October 16, 2012
Excavating, with a dessert spoon
Two posts have inspired me today: a long one from Susan Taylor Brown ("When you commit to writing a novel there is no guarantee that the story you first start to tell will be the same story when you finally type “the end” and close the book. ... You have to be willing to fight your way through the multiple garbage drafts and revision and spend a lot of time gazing at the screen or the blank pages of your notebook and asking yourself, okay, what happens next and how can I make it work?") and a short one from Beth Kephart ("I sit here, my eyes closed, teaching myself writing all over again.")
The lesson for the day seems to be that every book throws curveballs. Writing a book teaches me a lot, but it doesn't necessarily teach me how to write the next book. It doesn't give me a shortcut. Every book I've written has kicked my butt around the block. Try Not to Breathe almost wrote itself sometimes; it was, comparatively speaking, the easiest book I've ever written. But I say "comparatively" because of those early chapters that I tossed out, the neighbor family that had to disappear because they contributed nothing to the plot, the entire ending that didn't even exist in the first draft because I hadn't yet realized that I needed to close the circle, to knock down a few more of the pins I had set up in the beginning.
Try Not to Breathe came about because I was trying to write a verse novel. No other book I've written has begun that way. They all insist on being written in their own unique Speshul Snowflake ways. It's comforting to know that so many other writers feel this way, that the order of a book begins in chaos for so many of us. Here's to that glorious mess!
The lesson for the day seems to be that every book throws curveballs. Writing a book teaches me a lot, but it doesn't necessarily teach me how to write the next book. It doesn't give me a shortcut. Every book I've written has kicked my butt around the block. Try Not to Breathe almost wrote itself sometimes; it was, comparatively speaking, the easiest book I've ever written. But I say "comparatively" because of those early chapters that I tossed out, the neighbor family that had to disappear because they contributed nothing to the plot, the entire ending that didn't even exist in the first draft because I hadn't yet realized that I needed to close the circle, to knock down a few more of the pins I had set up in the beginning.
Try Not to Breathe came about because I was trying to write a verse novel. No other book I've written has begun that way. They all insist on being written in their own unique Speshul Snowflake ways. It's comforting to know that so many other writers feel this way, that the order of a book begins in chaos for so many of us. Here's to that glorious mess!
October 14, 2012
Patience
I often talk about the need for patience in the writing world. This past week, I was reminded that patience is valuable while traveling also.
Traveling not only requires patience, but teaches it. When the daily to-do lists shrink from more than a dozen items to just a few (eat, hike, read, spend time with husband), the pace of life slows. There is time to admire the way the sun hits yellow aspen leaves, time to hike up a canyon and view an arch of rock, time to test the echo against a sheer wall of rock (the report from a handclap bouncing back, a second later, as sharply as a rifle shot), time to sit beside a lake and have a sandwich.
And when things don't go exactly as planned--when you discover your car has a flat tire--you discover that what would have sent you into a frustrated tailspin several years ago is something you shrug about. And then the blessings happen. Two maintenance men from your resort happen to be walking by with a compressor, and they inflate the tire so you can get to the rental-car place. When the next glitch happens--the rental place has no replacement cars that day--you find a nearby auto shop that fixes the tire by nine-thirty in the morning, and you end up having a full day of hiking after all. You hike up mountains and around lakes. But the best part is that you haven't freaked out; you've rolled with it. Is it because you've already spent days at a remote guesthouse near Capitol Reef, in the shadow of geologic formations whose beauty shows the slow passing of ages, the nights so clear you can see the veil of the Milky Way? Is it because you're now hiking in mountain country, where you scarcely see another person and you can hear yourself think? Is it because the night before your trip, you were at a memorial service for a friend whose life was too short?
Impossible to say. But while you sit in the auto shop, you just look out at the golden leaves on the mountain behind you, and wait without fretting. At the end of the trip, there has been time to do everything you wanted. Even when the rain pours down on the last day, you head to a bookstore with friendly employees and congenial fellow writers; you have dinner with writers, talking shop about the ups and downs of this life.
Now you begin to ease back into the daily busy-ness.
In closing, I'll say that for those of you near Salt Lake City: The King's English bookstore now has signed copies of The Secret Year and Try Not to Breathe.
And here's a shout-out to Mercer Automotive of Park City, Utah; the employee at the Park City Marriott who recommended them; and the two guys with the compressor.
Traveling not only requires patience, but teaches it. When the daily to-do lists shrink from more than a dozen items to just a few (eat, hike, read, spend time with husband), the pace of life slows. There is time to admire the way the sun hits yellow aspen leaves, time to hike up a canyon and view an arch of rock, time to test the echo against a sheer wall of rock (the report from a handclap bouncing back, a second later, as sharply as a rifle shot), time to sit beside a lake and have a sandwich.
And when things don't go exactly as planned--when you discover your car has a flat tire--you discover that what would have sent you into a frustrated tailspin several years ago is something you shrug about. And then the blessings happen. Two maintenance men from your resort happen to be walking by with a compressor, and they inflate the tire so you can get to the rental-car place. When the next glitch happens--the rental place has no replacement cars that day--you find a nearby auto shop that fixes the tire by nine-thirty in the morning, and you end up having a full day of hiking after all. You hike up mountains and around lakes. But the best part is that you haven't freaked out; you've rolled with it. Is it because you've already spent days at a remote guesthouse near Capitol Reef, in the shadow of geologic formations whose beauty shows the slow passing of ages, the nights so clear you can see the veil of the Milky Way? Is it because you're now hiking in mountain country, where you scarcely see another person and you can hear yourself think? Is it because the night before your trip, you were at a memorial service for a friend whose life was too short?
Impossible to say. But while you sit in the auto shop, you just look out at the golden leaves on the mountain behind you, and wait without fretting. At the end of the trip, there has been time to do everything you wanted. Even when the rain pours down on the last day, you head to a bookstore with friendly employees and congenial fellow writers; you have dinner with writers, talking shop about the ups and downs of this life.
Now you begin to ease back into the daily busy-ness.
In closing, I'll say that for those of you near Salt Lake City: The King's English bookstore now has signed copies of The Secret Year and Try Not to Breathe.
And here's a shout-out to Mercer Automotive of Park City, Utah; the employee at the Park City Marriott who recommended them; and the two guys with the compressor.
October 4, 2012
Stopping the clock
I'll be taking an internet break for about a week, to reconnect with the world outside my computer screen.
In the meantime, I recommend reading this interview with Gwenda Bond at Cynthia Leitich Smith's blog. Especially this part:
"But I also felt like I’d learned that working against some artificial clock wasn’t smart or productive or logical.
There is no clock. There is only you, your own development as a writer, and the support of the people you’re lucky enough to have in your corner."
In the meantime, I recommend reading this interview with Gwenda Bond at Cynthia Leitich Smith's blog. Especially this part:
"But I also felt like I’d learned that working against some artificial clock wasn’t smart or productive or logical.
There is no clock. There is only you, your own development as a writer, and the support of the people you’re lucky enough to have in your corner."
October 2, 2012
Books of our youth: Empathy and transformation
My guest-post series continues, with more discussion of the books that influenced us while we were growing up. Today's guest is Laurel Garver, writing about a book that had a great impact on me as well.
When I was twelve and going through a painful growth spurt (four inches in six months), I fell in love with Lois Lowry’s beautiful coming-of-age story A Summer to Die. I was immediately drawn to Meg, the awkward, brainy girl and budding photographer who lives in the shadow of her sister, the beautiful cheerleader. The family moves to the country for a year, and Meg is forced to share a room with Molly. To escape the constant feuds with her sister, Meg befriends her neighbors--an elderly man and a young couple expecting their first baby.
When Molly’s constant nosebleeds are diagnosed as cancer, Meg goes into a tailspin, no longer able to hold on to her old role of enemy. She must learn to open herself to love and pain, to become a supporter and survivor when illness shatters her family.
This story shaped me deeply as a reader and a writer. I realized stories can be more than an escape. They can also train us in empathy. As we walk through experiences with characters and suffer with them, we also vicariously experience their transformation. And better yet, we feel less alone in our own struggles.
That aspect of realistic fiction--creating companionship--led me to dust off a trunked story idea about a teen stuggling through the loss of a parent. I’d lost my own father a few years before and found that giving voice to Dani’s grief helped me journey through my own.
Laurel Garver (@LaurelGarver on Twitter) is the author of Never Gone, a young adult novel about a grieving teen who believes her dead father has returned as a ghost to help her reconcile with her estranged mother. View the trailer. Add it on Goodreads. It is available at Amazon.com, Amazon UK, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Smashwords, CreateSpace.
When I was twelve and going through a painful growth spurt (four inches in six months), I fell in love with Lois Lowry’s beautiful coming-of-age story A Summer to Die. I was immediately drawn to Meg, the awkward, brainy girl and budding photographer who lives in the shadow of her sister, the beautiful cheerleader. The family moves to the country for a year, and Meg is forced to share a room with Molly. To escape the constant feuds with her sister, Meg befriends her neighbors--an elderly man and a young couple expecting their first baby.
When Molly’s constant nosebleeds are diagnosed as cancer, Meg goes into a tailspin, no longer able to hold on to her old role of enemy. She must learn to open herself to love and pain, to become a supporter and survivor when illness shatters her family.
This story shaped me deeply as a reader and a writer. I realized stories can be more than an escape. They can also train us in empathy. As we walk through experiences with characters and suffer with them, we also vicariously experience their transformation. And better yet, we feel less alone in our own struggles.
That aspect of realistic fiction--creating companionship--led me to dust off a trunked story idea about a teen stuggling through the loss of a parent. I’d lost my own father a few years before and found that giving voice to Dani’s grief helped me journey through my own.
Laurel Garver (@LaurelGarver on Twitter) is the author of Never Gone, a young adult novel about a grieving teen who believes her dead father has returned as a ghost to help her reconcile with her estranged mother. View the trailer. Add it on Goodreads. It is available at Amazon.com, Amazon UK, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Smashwords, CreateSpace.
September 30, 2012
The best-laid plans
I'm a planner, a listmaker. I've never been a big fan of spontaneity. In my experience, this is how a planned vacation goes:
Take flight. Get in rental car or public transit or shuttle; go to hotel. Check in. Get up next day and begin planned activities. See what you wanted to see and do what you wanted to do. Plans may be affected by late flights, lost luggage, lost reservations, unexpected weather, injury, or Hurricane Irene (ahem, see my attempted return from California last year), but most of the time they proceed much as expected.
And in my experience, this is how a spontaneous vacation goes:
Jump in car. When hungry, start looking for restaurants. No restaurants. Drive farther. At point when you are ready to chew the plastic off the dashboard, find horrible roadside restaurant with sticky tables and suspicious meat sauce. Get back in car. Realize you forgot umbrella and/or sunblock, but are too far from home to go back now. When tired, start looking for hotels. No hotels with vacancies. Drive farther. Contact lenses start drying on eyeballs. Highway hypnosis begins. At 11:30 PM, stumble into dark parking lot praying for a room, any room, even one near the elevator whose ping you will have to listen to all night. Etc. ...
I know there are exceptions. I've had some wonderful experiences from spur-of-the-moment getaways. But mostly, planning works out better for me.
Sometimes, though, you plan a weekend, and Unexpected Life Incidents interfere. You cling bravely to the plan, but at some point you give up and just take the cat out onto the porch and stare at the foliage for twenty minutes. And by "you," I mean me.
Plans are meant to make our lives easier, not strangle us with our own expectations. So sometimes, it's best to drop the plan.
Here, have a pretty autumn picture, courtesy of Iceland Eyes.
Take flight. Get in rental car or public transit or shuttle; go to hotel. Check in. Get up next day and begin planned activities. See what you wanted to see and do what you wanted to do. Plans may be affected by late flights, lost luggage, lost reservations, unexpected weather, injury, or Hurricane Irene (ahem, see my attempted return from California last year), but most of the time they proceed much as expected.
And in my experience, this is how a spontaneous vacation goes:
Jump in car. When hungry, start looking for restaurants. No restaurants. Drive farther. At point when you are ready to chew the plastic off the dashboard, find horrible roadside restaurant with sticky tables and suspicious meat sauce. Get back in car. Realize you forgot umbrella and/or sunblock, but are too far from home to go back now. When tired, start looking for hotels. No hotels with vacancies. Drive farther. Contact lenses start drying on eyeballs. Highway hypnosis begins. At 11:30 PM, stumble into dark parking lot praying for a room, any room, even one near the elevator whose ping you will have to listen to all night. Etc. ...
I know there are exceptions. I've had some wonderful experiences from spur-of-the-moment getaways. But mostly, planning works out better for me.
Sometimes, though, you plan a weekend, and Unexpected Life Incidents interfere. You cling bravely to the plan, but at some point you give up and just take the cat out onto the porch and stare at the foliage for twenty minutes. And by "you," I mean me.
Plans are meant to make our lives easier, not strangle us with our own expectations. So sometimes, it's best to drop the plan.
Here, have a pretty autumn picture, courtesy of Iceland Eyes.
September 28, 2012
First draft
Reminder to self:
It's only a first draft. It doesn't have to be perfect. It's not time to edit yet. The first draft is not for solving all the world's problems and taking the literary world by storm. It's for getting the words down. It's the clay that will get shaped.
It's only a first draft. It doesn't have to be perfect. It's not time to edit yet. The first draft is not for solving all the world's problems and taking the literary world by storm. It's for getting the words down. It's the clay that will get shaped.
September 26, 2012
Speaking the language
I was talking with some people today about how many words in the English language are specialized; they're only used by small fractions of the population. Like "odontoblast," "jabiru," and "gallet," from the worlds of dentistry, ornithology, and masonry, respectively. Many occupations have their own special languages. Geologists might talk about chert, gneiss, and the vadose zone, while doctors speak of tachycardia, cyanosis, and the corpus callosum. In fact, that's one of the difficult parts about writing characters who share a profession if you're an outsider to that profession: getting the language right, whether your setting is a hospital, a restaurant kitchen, a military base, a police station, or a dance studio. (The other challenge is to keep it intelligible to those readers who are not insiders.)
Writers of books for children and teens can often skip this problem, because our characters usually don't have these occupational vocabularies. But sometimes our characters do live in specialized worlds--if they're Olympic gymnasts, for example. And of course there are other vocabulary issues, like slang and regionalisms.
Another challenge in getting the vocabulary right is in writing historical novels. I'm always fascinated by novels written in the 1920s, with the characters' references to "flivvers" and "runabouts" and "berries" and "brilliantine," and the frequency with which the phrase, "I'll tell the world!" is uttered. A time traveler from the early 1920s would be puzzled by our references to "surfing the web" or "texting" or "TiVo," not to mention "MRIs," "in vitro fertilization," or even "penicillin."
What "language" do your characters speak?
Writers of books for children and teens can often skip this problem, because our characters usually don't have these occupational vocabularies. But sometimes our characters do live in specialized worlds--if they're Olympic gymnasts, for example. And of course there are other vocabulary issues, like slang and regionalisms.
Another challenge in getting the vocabulary right is in writing historical novels. I'm always fascinated by novels written in the 1920s, with the characters' references to "flivvers" and "runabouts" and "berries" and "brilliantine," and the frequency with which the phrase, "I'll tell the world!" is uttered. A time traveler from the early 1920s would be puzzled by our references to "surfing the web" or "texting" or "TiVo," not to mention "MRIs," "in vitro fertilization," or even "penicillin."
What "language" do your characters speak?
September 24, 2012
What I mean by revision
Jane Lebak's post, "The Art of the Complete Rewrite" (which I discovered via Jon Gibbs) made me think about revision, and what I want to say about it.
Often, when I mention revision to beginning writers, they immediately start talking about punctuation and spelling. But that's not what I mean by revision.
We do have to think about punctuation and spelling, but it's the last step. Punctuation and spelling are like the toppings on a pizza.Worrying only about punctuation and spelling at the revision stage is like moving a few slices of pepperoni around on a pizza whose crust may be raw, or burnt, or falling apart, or missing an essential ingredient. Or, to borrow Jane Lebak's house analogy, it's like trying to fix a damaged house with a new coat of paint.
The first things to check before revising are the structural elements, the ones akin to a house's foundation, plumbing, wiring, and roof. These include the plot arc, the theme, the character development. If the story doesn't build to a satisfying conclusion, if the main character doesn't change or doesn't have the most exciting storyline, if the characters are flat and lifeless, if the story doesn't make sense or if it drags on or wraps up too quickly ... then these are targets for revision.
As Jane Lebak notes, this is about more than fixing commas. This is about deleting entire scenes, moving chapters around, writing new scenes. Bringing in new characters, or getting rid of old ones, or merging two characters who have too-similar reasons for being in the story. Changing the plot: changing what happens or when or in what order. Chopping unnecessary pages from the beginning, or the end, or even the middle. Introducing new subplots. Jane Lebak discusses the most thorough kind of revision: the rewrite that starts from a blank page. Sometimes it does come down to that.
After the story is structurally sound, then it's time to focus on the sentence-level issues: word choice, flow and rhythm, repetition, naturalness of vocabulary, awkward phrasing, etc. This is often called "line editing," and it's probably my favorite step.
And then comes the punctuation-and-spelling step, also known as "copy editing." This is when you discover that you've been using "comprise" when you mean "compose" and "pour" when you mean "pore," and that everything you thought you knew about commas is wrong.
This is why I say I spend 10% of my time drafting new material and 90% of my time revising. I want to make sure that the house of my novel stands, that it doesn't have drafts or leaks or catch fire or collapse. It's always easier to repaint or put a new rug down or slide a piece of furniture in front of that hole in the wall. But when readers walk through the rooms and the house shakes or their feet crash through the floors, they notice. They know something's wrong.
This progression, from big-picture overhaul through small-scale changes, is what I think of when I think of "revision."
Often, when I mention revision to beginning writers, they immediately start talking about punctuation and spelling. But that's not what I mean by revision.
We do have to think about punctuation and spelling, but it's the last step. Punctuation and spelling are like the toppings on a pizza.Worrying only about punctuation and spelling at the revision stage is like moving a few slices of pepperoni around on a pizza whose crust may be raw, or burnt, or falling apart, or missing an essential ingredient. Or, to borrow Jane Lebak's house analogy, it's like trying to fix a damaged house with a new coat of paint.
The first things to check before revising are the structural elements, the ones akin to a house's foundation, plumbing, wiring, and roof. These include the plot arc, the theme, the character development. If the story doesn't build to a satisfying conclusion, if the main character doesn't change or doesn't have the most exciting storyline, if the characters are flat and lifeless, if the story doesn't make sense or if it drags on or wraps up too quickly ... then these are targets for revision.
As Jane Lebak notes, this is about more than fixing commas. This is about deleting entire scenes, moving chapters around, writing new scenes. Bringing in new characters, or getting rid of old ones, or merging two characters who have too-similar reasons for being in the story. Changing the plot: changing what happens or when or in what order. Chopping unnecessary pages from the beginning, or the end, or even the middle. Introducing new subplots. Jane Lebak discusses the most thorough kind of revision: the rewrite that starts from a blank page. Sometimes it does come down to that.
After the story is structurally sound, then it's time to focus on the sentence-level issues: word choice, flow and rhythm, repetition, naturalness of vocabulary, awkward phrasing, etc. This is often called "line editing," and it's probably my favorite step.
And then comes the punctuation-and-spelling step, also known as "copy editing." This is when you discover that you've been using "comprise" when you mean "compose" and "pour" when you mean "pore," and that everything you thought you knew about commas is wrong.
This is why I say I spend 10% of my time drafting new material and 90% of my time revising. I want to make sure that the house of my novel stands, that it doesn't have drafts or leaks or catch fire or collapse. It's always easier to repaint or put a new rug down or slide a piece of furniture in front of that hole in the wall. But when readers walk through the rooms and the house shakes or their feet crash through the floors, they notice. They know something's wrong.
This progression, from big-picture overhaul through small-scale changes, is what I think of when I think of "revision."
September 22, 2012
FYI and Thanks
Today's a catching-up sort of day here on the blog:
For the 15-18-year-old writers out there, a chance to apply for a Master Class in writing, taught by Beth Kephart. From Beth's blog:
"Those who are selected—in nine disciplines—are eligible for the week-long immersion in the arts (Miami, early January), for U.S. Presidential Scholar in the Arts recognition, and for monetary awards." The deadline to apply is October 19; see Beth's blog post here.
The blog "From the Mixed-Up Files" is hosting a giveaway for libraries that serve middle-grade readers. Follow the link to donate books or nominate a library. (Nominations due October 16.)
I recently blogged at Boylit.com about "Armchair mountaineering."
This is now my favorite quote about finding a title for a story: "Titles are difficult, like wrestling a bear when armed with a pair of pantyhose. Not easy. You are trying to do too many things at once and nothing at all." (from Reif Larsen, in an interview at OneStory) So often I try to find the "perfect title" that encapsulates my whole story, and it takes me forever to find a title. As Larsen puts it, "trying to do too many things at once."
Kelly Fineman, poet and author of At the Boardwalk, will be appearing in Belmar, NJ next weekend for boardwalk-themed fun: follow the link for more details!
Finally, I want to share a pretty picture from last night:
photo courtesy of Children's Book World, Haverford, PA
(Left to right: David Levithan, me, Beth Kephart, Ellen Hopkins, Eliot Schrefer). I was honored to be in such company last night, and energized by the wonderful crowd at Children's Book World--which included A.S. King, K. M. Walton, Tiffany Schmidt, Jessica Dimuzio, and many other book-lovers who helped make our panel discussion a fun and thoughtful exchange about books and writing. If you ever get the chance to hear any of these authors speak, or to go to an event organized by David Levithan, or visit Children's Book World, do so! Beth whisked us to Spain, Ellen discussed the human costs of war, Eliot showed us pictures of bonobos and took us to Africa with his prose, David made us contemplate the connection between our inner and outer lives and what identity means, and I shared a bit from my novel about recovery from a suicide attempt. Children's Book World provided an amazing array of books and refreshments. I can't tell you how exciting it is to be in a roomful of people all devoted to the world of reading, and how much I appreciate those who come to these events, and listen, and ask questions, and share your own stories. Thank you.
For the 15-18-year-old writers out there, a chance to apply for a Master Class in writing, taught by Beth Kephart. From Beth's blog:
"Those who are selected—in nine disciplines—are eligible for the week-long immersion in the arts (Miami, early January), for U.S. Presidential Scholar in the Arts recognition, and for monetary awards." The deadline to apply is October 19; see Beth's blog post here.
The blog "From the Mixed-Up Files" is hosting a giveaway for libraries that serve middle-grade readers. Follow the link to donate books or nominate a library. (Nominations due October 16.)
I recently blogged at Boylit.com about "Armchair mountaineering."
This is now my favorite quote about finding a title for a story: "Titles are difficult, like wrestling a bear when armed with a pair of pantyhose. Not easy. You are trying to do too many things at once and nothing at all." (from Reif Larsen, in an interview at OneStory) So often I try to find the "perfect title" that encapsulates my whole story, and it takes me forever to find a title. As Larsen puts it, "trying to do too many things at once."
Kelly Fineman, poet and author of At the Boardwalk, will be appearing in Belmar, NJ next weekend for boardwalk-themed fun: follow the link for more details!
Finally, I want to share a pretty picture from last night:
photo courtesy of Children's Book World, Haverford, PA
(Left to right: David Levithan, me, Beth Kephart, Ellen Hopkins, Eliot Schrefer). I was honored to be in such company last night, and energized by the wonderful crowd at Children's Book World--which included A.S. King, K. M. Walton, Tiffany Schmidt, Jessica Dimuzio, and many other book-lovers who helped make our panel discussion a fun and thoughtful exchange about books and writing. If you ever get the chance to hear any of these authors speak, or to go to an event organized by David Levithan, or visit Children's Book World, do so! Beth whisked us to Spain, Ellen discussed the human costs of war, Eliot showed us pictures of bonobos and took us to Africa with his prose, David made us contemplate the connection between our inner and outer lives and what identity means, and I shared a bit from my novel about recovery from a suicide attempt. Children's Book World provided an amazing array of books and refreshments. I can't tell you how exciting it is to be in a roomful of people all devoted to the world of reading, and how much I appreciate those who come to these events, and listen, and ask questions, and share your own stories. Thank you.
