Bill Konigsberg's Blog, page 17

The 7 Deadly Sins of Young Adult Dialogue

Yesterday morning, I taught a class at the Desert Nights, Rising Stars Conference in one of my favorite subjects: dialogue.

I love me some dialogue. As an auditory learner, I tend to learn the most from listening. How people speak has a far greater impact on me than how they dress, for example, and I tend to form characters starting with their voices.

I like to teach dialogue by starting with a fun lesson about what NOT to do when writing dialogue for young adults. Here is the lesson I use. By all means feel free to use this in your own teaching, but if you do so, please credit me.

THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS OF Y.A. DIALOGUE

BY BILL KONIGSBERG

 Behold! These are the seven sins that will catapult your manuscript into the slush pile of oblivion for eternity. Practice not these sins, and your manuscript shall be saved!

The sins are:

-Overuse of Slang

-Movie Speak

-Backstorying

-On Topicide

-Oldstering

-Like-ness

-Plottishness

Examples of each of these sins and an explanation of the virtues you may choose instead, follow. Enjoy!

OVERUSE OF SLANG

From “A wingding to remember”* by Thomas Everdeen#

“Hey Man,” Chaz said. “Slap me five!”

“Far out!” Shaft enthused. “I can dig it!”

*not an actual novel

#not an actual author

–

Replace the 70s speak with what the kids are saying now in your novel, and now you know exactly how kids 40 years from now will feel about your work. As ”Tubular” and “Not!” have taught us, the shelf life on popular lingo is short. Use slang in exceedingly small doses!

 MOVIE SPEAK

From “Say Everything”* by Holly Shapiroberg#

“Don’t you see, John? You’re everything to me. Without you, I don’t think I can … go on…”

“No, Elizabeth, don’t say that! Stay strong, baby! Stay strong!”

*not an actual novel

#not an actual author

–

Life is not a soap opera or a movie. Be careful not to use television or movies as your auditory inspiration! That noise can get stuck in your head. Instead, go to coffee shops. Listen to how people actually speak to each other. Record some of it (secretly, of course, and don’t get caught), go home, and transcribe what you’ve recorded. No need to recreate actual dialogue, as actual speech is sometimes too disconnected from things like grammar and common sense. But better to veer on that side than on John Hughes’ side!

BACKSTORYING

From “It Happened Long Ago”* by Rafe Kumatsu#

“Hey Doris, remember the time we went to Café Simba, and you didn’t have enough money to pay for your hummus, and we ran out without paying?”

“Of course, John. That was two years ago, when I was 16 and you were 15. It was a year before your father died.”

*not an actual novel

#not an actual author

–

TV sitcoms do this all the time, but actual people don’t. Sitcoms recap past events to tell the audience what they need to know, especially about things that have just happened off screen. But in real life, Doris and John don’t need to recap, because they were there, and they know what they know. Better would be:

“Hey, remember Café Simba?”

“I remember bone crushing shame. I couldn’t sleep for a week thinking about that poor waitress.”

Notice that in this example, they harken back to an event they shared using the fewest words possible, as people are wont to do. Also notice that people don’t always say each other’s names. It’s rare, actually, to say a person’s name while talking to them.

ON TOPICIDE

From “I Mean It”* by Charlie Heston#

“I like you and I want to go out on a date with you,” Joseph said.

“Well thank you for the offer. I admit I’m taken aback but also intrigued. I don’t know you terribly well yet, but you seem interesting enough and I find you reasonably attractive. Perhaps one date, where we can get to know each other, might be a good idea,” said Sylvia.

*not an actual novel

#not an actual author

–

This would only happen in an insane asylum. People occasionally say exactly what they mean, but those moments are made meaningful by the fact that most often people color their words based on: Fear, discomfort, audience, what they want the other person to think of them, what they want the other person to do, who else might be listening, any number of factors. Better might be:

“So what’s going on this weekend?” Joseph asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sylvia said, crossing her arms in front of her chest and then uncrossing them. “I’m probably just studying mostly. What about you?”

Notice also that in this example, the author puts some of Sylvia’s reaction in her physicality. This is a useful tool, though you will want to vary the ways you use physicality to show what a person is feeling. It’ll get old (and a little insane-seeming) if a person is constantly rolling their eyes or crossing and then uncrossing their arms.

OLDSTERING

From “The Way We Live Now”* by Elizabeth Rutkowski#

“Those hooligans made off with our Rod Stewart album,” Sheena said.

“I believe that traversed the street and proceeded cattywampus down Carriage Lane,” said Ralph.

*not an actual novel

#not an actual author

–

Retro may be in, but it would be an extremely unusual teen who had a Rod Stewart album. In fact, the truth is that Sheena and Ralph might be teens who are extremely affected and trying hard to speak and behave in a certain way. Because otherwise, teens generally don’t say hooligans or cattywampus. My other half does, and he is 52.

Beyond this, while it’s fine to have your teen characters be very mature for their age, remember that they are still teens. Give them their youth! Let them enjoy their waging hormones, shorter attention spans, and economy of words. John Green already exists; you won’t be the first author to push the edge of precociousness with your highly advanced teens, so be careful!

LIKE-NESS

From “Gag Me With a Spoon”* by Valencia Haverspoon

“I’m like, you know, like, how would I like even like know what he was like saying?”

“I’m like totally with you, Cassandra. Like seriously.”

*not an actual novel

#not an actual author

–

Sadly, this line of dialogue could actually happen. Go record people speaking to each other! You’ll be horrified. Nonetheless, we can clean things up a little. Rule: You are allowed one “Like” for every 15 pages of your novel. Pepper it into dialogue for the sake of reality, in ways that readers will barely notice. Same goes for “You know” and “Um.”

PLOTTISHNESS

From “Watch Out for that Truck!”* by Patrice Wild#

“Careful! Spot just ran out into the street!” Jody yelled.

“Look out, Spot! Oh no! A truck just ran over our dog!” Marcus screamed.

*not an actual novel

#not an actual author

–

In life, as in books, events are not recorded in dialogue. If they are, they are recorded in more realistic ways.

“Careful!” Jody yelled.

“No!” Marcus screamed as the truck roared toward their dog.

In moments of great tragedy, people rarely have more words than that. Better to allow your descriptive powers to lead the way here.

The cool straight guy

When I was in college, I met a guy named Dave. He was a typical guy in a lot of ways; he played football in high school and went out for the team in college; he was in a fraternity, and he was funny and smart. 

We met in Spanish class. A lot of this is fuzzy, some 20-plus years later, but I remember we bonded over a shared sense of humor. For some reason, we had this joke that everybody was looking at us and talking about us behind our backs, and that all their thoughts were positive: “You see those guys up there? They are the coolest people ever,” everyone was saying about us, in our minds.

I remember he told me that he had played football against Drew Bledsoe one time as a teenager, having grown up in the Washington area. I thought that was pretty cool.

I came out to him as a matter of course, and his response was basically that he’d never met a gay person before. He had a lot of questions, and he listened to the answers and he told me about his girlfriend in Alabama. We’d talk about what they were going through, and I’d tell him my stories, too.

We cut class to go to the first-ever Colorado Rockies game. It was April 5th, 1993, at Shea Stadium. The Rockies lost 3-0 to Dwight Gooden and the Mets.

I took him to his first gay bar. He got hit on. A lot. I remember when we left he said it was “Interesting.” His father thought it was less interesting when we had a graduation party and he found out that the kid hosting the party had a 30-something boyfriend. Yup, that was me. 

All these years later, we’ve remained in touch. He lives in Los Angeles with his wife and kids, and he teaches at a high school.

I tell you these things because I’ve been wondering what makes some straight guys awesome and others not so much. I have a few theories.

1. Security in his own sexuality. A straight guy who simply knows he is straight is a step ahead in their quest for awesomeness, because a gay friend, or even a gay bar, isn’t a threat to him. I figure it would be like if I were an exchange student in a foreign country. I’d be interested in all the customs, but I wouldn’t be worried that I might become Tibetan because I’d be secure in my own American-ness, if you follow my terrible simile. 

2. An interest in the world outside his own head. Some guys may be great people, but really only interested in what’s going on in their own world. You’ll recognize these people as the ones who, at parties, answer the question “How are you doing?” with a long, dragging story that is not followed by a question. Guys who have a true interest in understand the world around them have a step up. 

3. A sense of humor. Let’s face it… gay is funny. I mean, it isn’t funny in any real way, but it’s funny in the basic sense that for someone who has a heterosexual orientation and has only been around that, it’s different. Our brains are attuned to notice differences. People who notice these things and find them to be humorous and not scary are much more likely to be awesome straight guys than those who freak out when they see a person with is obviously different than they are. I want to be clear here that I am not talking about making fun of differences; I am simply saying that one can respond positively or negatively to seeing something that is dissimilar. An early positive reaction to difference is humor as opposed to fear.

4. Empathy. Awesome straight guys can put themselves in another’s shoes. Dave and I would talk about what it was like to be gay. I remember telling him about the time I went to one of the Columbia dances and some kids walked by and said something about “a bunch of fags” and I turned around and called him on it. One of the kids and I almost got into a fist fight, but thankfully his friends pulled him away. Anyway, Dave was sensitive enough to wonder how it would feel to be called a name like that by strangers. Not all straight guys have that sort of empathy, but I think a lot of them do.

Anyhow, I want to send a big thank you out to my original cool straight guy, and a larger shout out to the rest of you who are also cool and straight. I know so many of you now. Frank. Carson. Dan (my brother). Jim. Chuck (not my husband). Steve. Paul. Andrew. Adam. Cliff. Way too many to name. I am appreciative because I think that cool straight guys can make a huge difference in the world. In your awesomeness, you can help change hearts and minds. Every time you simply are who you are, you show your less awesome brethren what a real man can and should be.

Thank you.

When I tell you that I’m gay…

…I am actually NOT telling you about my sex life.

This is important. In fact, it’s one of the most misunderstood aspects of gay life. For so much of my life, I’ve felt conflicted about when it is appropriate to tell people about my sexual preference. And rightfully so. It’s complicated. When I tell someone that I am gay, I am actually telling them something about me that straight people generally don’t say. Of course, they don’t say it because they don’t have to. In most of the world, it is assumed that a person is straight, so there is no need for a man on an airplane, when asked about the ring he wears, to tell his seatmate that he prefers girls over boys.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

All my life, I have carried around a varying amount of guilt and shame, some of it stemming from the idea that perhaps I am “oversharing.” Because so many times in my life I’ve heard people say things like, “It’s okay if you’re gay. I just don’t want to hear about it. I don’t feel the need to tell people about my sex life, so why do you need to do that?”

When people say things like this, they may be well meaning. They also may not mean well. Not important. What I want to say is that this is an extremely unfair argument.

Here’s why:

-When I tell you that I’m gay, I’m sharing with you NOT my sexual history or my likes or dislikes in bed. Instead, I am telling you who I am.

-I’m telling you that unlike a straight person, I must decide what to call my partner, since there is no official word for our relationship.

-I’m telling you that when I walk down the streets of my neighborhood in suburban Phoenix, I must decide whether or not to hold the hand of the person I love (the answer, by the way, is no).

-I’m telling you that I have spent a good portion of my life being told that the most famous book in the world, the one upon which a large portion of the world bases its morals, hates me. It’s unclear whether that is actually so, but I have certainly heard about the Bible’s hatred of me enough. Until you’ve heard that a million or so times, you probably don’t understand its impact on your soul.

-I’m telling you that every year when I fill out my taxes, I must lie. There’s a box that says, “Single” that I must check, because to the federal government, I am single. But in reality, that doesn’t describe me at all.

-I’m telling you that while people spout off about whether or not my relationship should be considered equal to that of a straight couple, my partner and I pay approximately $5000 a year more in taxes because we are not considered a couple.

-I’m telling you that when I was younger, the day came when I realized I was not like my family of origin in an extremely fundamental way. They were all heterosexual, and I was not. You can pretend this is like being lefty when everyone else in your family is righty, but that argument falls apart quickly. They don’t kill or jail people in many parts of the world for being lefty.

-I’m telling you that when I was younger, the worst possible word a person could use as an insult described who I secretly was inside. Think about that for a second. I had to make the decision, every day of my young life, to reject or accept that label, to partake in calling others that name, or not. To accept or reject self-hatred.

So please, the next time you feel compelled to tell a gay person that he needn’t express his or her sexuality because it isn’t “your business,” remember these words. You may mean to say that you don’t wish to hear about that person’s sex life, which is fine. That’s true for me too, when it comes to about 92% of the people I sit next to on airplanes. You may mean to say that, but what you’re really saying to that person is that you don’t care who they are.

And that’s a terrible thing to say to a person.

MIT Baseball Team Captain Comes Out

Here’s a story that is very close to my heart: MIT junior Sean Karson, the co-captain of the school’s baseball team, came out to his coaches and teammates last week.

The response? Overwhelmingly positive. “It was so supportive, it was ridiculous,” he said.

Karson, who has his own website, is living the life I wanted to live, twenty-some years ago. I’m thrilled for him. And because I’m a selfish person, also maybe a touch mournful for my younger self.

In 11th grade, I was a reasonably good pitcher for my high school team. In fact, the team’s other pitcher was James Balliett, who happens to be the step-brother of Blue Balliett, an amazing author of mysteries for middle grade authors whom I unknowingly sat across from at a Scholastic dinner a few months ago. But that’s another story for another time. 

What’s important is that all my young life, I lived for baseball. It was my favorite thing in the world. From about the age of 9 until I was 15, I would play baseball simulation games like Strat-O-Matic on the floor of my room instead of doing homework; on fall weekends, I’d go out with my buddies and play stickball; in the spring it was always whiffle ball or baseball; and in the summers when I went to camp, baseball was all that mattered to me.

And then, around the time I was 14 or 15, I realized I was gay. 

I was devastated.

It didn’t make sense, because I was one of the guys. We made fun of gay people. They were weak sissies. And now I was one of those weak sissies. You have to understand: there were no athletic gay male role models that I knew about at the time. David Kopay (now a friend of mine) had already written his book, but you can rest assured I didn’t know anything about that back then. I thought I was the only jock in the world who was also gay.

I hid my sexuality from my baseball teammates through eleventh grade, even as some of my friends (especially my theater friends) knew. But by the time I was a senior, I just wanted to be me. I’d grown up some. I no longer thought of gay guys as sissies, but I also didn’t think they had the choice to be athletes. I knew if I came out and then tried to play baseball in the spring, there would be trouble.

So I quit the team. I blamed it on a play I wrote with friends. It was all about racism and homophobia and all sorts of teen issues, and we put it on that spring. I came out in the play. But in reality, I would have quit the team anyway. I was too scared to be me, the out gay kid, and me, the baseball player, simultaneously.

I tried again at Oberlin, my freshman year. I joined the team, and I practiced with the team, for a few weeks in the fall. But a few things got in my way. One, I wasn’t as good as I thought I was. I probably would have made the team, but I wouldn’t have played a lot. Two, there was still this niggling gay thing. I was out at Oberlin, and in the back of my head was this idea that I’d be out on a dangerous ledge with my teammates, and that scared me. I wimped out. Instead, I took a role in a production of The Normal Heart, and I never played organized baseball again.

This was not a great loss for the baseball world, but I do think it was a great loss for me. I limited myself, based on my understanding of society and the place of gay men in it. Who knows what would have happened had I chosen to be both versions of me at the same time? Maybe I wouldn’t have left Oberlin that spring in a severe depression.

So when I hear stories about the Sean Karson’s of the world, getting high-fived by teammates who fully support him, coaches who stand by him, I am overwhelmed with a feeling of happiness that is a tinge bittersweet. Because, selfishly, I wish that I could have had that experience. 

And I’ll never know: was society not ready, or was it just me?

To Come Out, or Not to Come Out

Bill at 18, clashing with a recliner.

To come out, or not to come out. That is the question.

I hear from middle school, high school and college students all the time, wanting advice about whether they should come out to their friends and family. It’s such a complicated question without a simple answer, and I try – to the best of my ability – to offer a reasonable response based on their situation.

I generally say something like this:

I think, in the long run, it is best for people who want to be happy to live their lives out in the light. I know that for me, I never enjoyed having deep, dark secrets. I wanted to be able to share my life with those I love. For that reason, yes, I think that coming out is IN GENERAL the right thing to do.

The question is, is it safe to do so? For some, the answer is yes. They have parents on whom they know they can depend, friends they are pretty sure will not abandon them, a support system in place that can help them deal with issues that might come up at school or work or home. Maybe it’s a counselor or a teacher at school, or maybe even church, someone they trust and know has their best interests at heart. For those people, I say: Come out! Come out now! Come out yesterday! The water is fine. I guarantee that by being who you are, you will become a happier person. I guarantee it.

But for those who have concerns about our safety, either due to parents who may not be accepting or understanding of LGBTQ issues, or friends who make homophobic comments, or a school system where bullying isn’t addressed by the administration, I want you to be VERY SURE you have in place a support system before you say something you won’t be able to retract. Once you tell people you’re gay or lesbian or bi or transgendered, that news isn’t going away. And sadly, in some places, that news can still be dangerous.

Remember that your safety is my biggest concern. I want you to be safe, first and foremost. Happiness is a secondary issue.

For those of you in that second group, know that there are people out here in the world who care deeply about your well being. Know that there are groups that will try to help you, hotlines to call. Talk to people who will understand what you are going through, because they went through a similar thing. A lot of us did, you know. And we made it to the other side, and you will too. It just might take a while. So find some good books with LGBTQ characters that help you know that you’re not alone. Settle in for what will sometimes feel like a war. Be a good soldier and stay strong and stay brave. Keep fighting. See if you can find one friend or family member or someone at school who you can trust. It’s important to have an outlet.

And finally, one last word on coming out: Please, young people. Stay away from those who would hurt you. There are predators out there in any society, and so there are in ours. I’m not telling you anything you probably don’t already know, but there are far better and safer places to come of age than in internet chat rooms, especially ones where people cruise for sex. You may think you want that, but take this as a voice from your future self: You don’t want that. You just think you do.

Step away from the chat room.

Thank you.

Michelle, ma belle, or, gays writing straights and vice versa

Michelle Miller had blond hair with bangs and she wore wire-framed glasses. She had a sweet smile and I thought she was beautiful.

I was 12. I met her in charm school. I am not making this up. My mother sent me to charm school, where we would learn how to ballroom dance and talk politely with people of the opposite sex. Ever watch Gossip Girl? Well, one of the things many people don’t know about me is that I was part of that world (well, 20 years earlier) through about eighth grade. I went to an all-boys school in New York City with some of the wealthiest, most powerful and connected kids on the planet.

Yeah, I know. What happened to me?

Anyway, Michelle. I met her at charm school and I was charmed by her. I wanted her to be my first girlfriend. I remember the feel of her hand in mine when we danced the first time, and I liked it. 

I’d call her up and we’d have the most stilted conversations.

 

“Do you have a lot of homework?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Homework is the worst.”

“Yes, it is.”

“MTV just played the video for ‘Goodbye to You.’ Did you see it?”

“Yes, I did.”

“That’s a good song.”

“Yes, it is.”

I would have written conversation topics and lines to say on paper, and I’d fumble through them, and if they showed any interest in anything I said, or if the conversation lasted longer than a minute, I’d replay it all night in my mind. 

And when it went particularly well, I’d sing this song to myself in bed, picturing us with our children, 20 years later.

I remember when I found out she liked the Quiet Riot song “Cum on Feel the Noise.” I went out and bought her the 45, and I went to her house on Madison Avenue and gave it to her. Her mom was so fancy! She allowed Michelle to come to the door, and she watched as Michelle took the record and thanked me. I’m not sure if I was invited in. I don’t remember. 

I do remember getting a thank you note. “Dear Billy, Thank you for the record. I don’t have a record player, but I can hear the song on the radio!”

Oh well. I was not suave with the ladies at 12.

I bring this up because I am having so much trouble writing a character. He’s a heterosexual 17 year old, and he’s deeply in love/lust with a girl his age. I am pressing, I know. I have about six chapters done and notes on a bunch of others, and what I’ve written is strong, I think, but the actual writing is going slowly.

Last night, it dawned on me. I am having trouble because I’ve never been a heterosexual 17 year old boy. And it just doesn’t translate. Love and lust are the same, but everything else is different. The interior is different.

I have written heterosexual protagonists before, twice. But as I look back, I realize that I was successful both of those times because my characters were pre-adolescent or just at the start of adolescence. I can relate to those boys, because I had those feelings toward girls. I don’t know if it was sexual attraction, exactly, but I was girl crazy at 12 and 13. It just never went beyond that. So I don’t know how my 17 year old feels, really. I wish I did, but I don’t.

I’m now wondering if my character needs to be heterosexual. I’m not sure why I made him that way in the first place.

What do you think? Can straights write gay characters? Can gays write straight characters? I’d like to think that the simple answer is yes, but my situation gives me pause.

 

I’ve read some books in which women write from the point of view of gay men, and I think that for me, the results are mixed. Sometimes I buy it. The lustful feelings toward boys is something heterosexual females can tap into. But is there something missing in terms of authenticity? 

What do you think?

Stuck!

The question I hear most frequently as a writer is, “How do you overcome writer’s block?”

There are two answers to that question. One is my tried-and-true, ‘do-as-I-say-not-as-do’ answer: “Give yourself permission to write poorly. Stay at the computer and type. Stop judging what’s coming out, and sooner or later, the right words will come to you.”

The other is what I really do: Procrastinate. Clean my office. Take Mabel for a walk/run. Play Hearts, or FreeCell. Peruse Facebook.

These are not the habits of a highly effective writer.

Occasionally, I overcome these and do the right thing. I recently purchased Freedom, a program that disables my internet for periods of time while I focus on writing. It’s kinda sorta like buying a computer virus, which is weird, but I must say this has proven to be a useful tool. The weakness of the program is that I still have an iPhone. Freedom does not automatically turn that off. I can do that, but sometimes I forget.

So what to do with this common problem? Let’s say, for instance, I was struggling with a chapter of a new book and doubting myself and my ability to write an actual sentence. Let’s say that was happening today.

What I might do, after writing a blog entry about being unable to write, is open a new document. I sometimes find that a blank page helps. Especially if I’m in the middle of a chapter and there are notes and ideas I’m trying to include, I take them off the screen. And then, I might focus on my characters.

Who are they?

What do they want in this scene?

Is it possible that I’m stuck because I am pushing my characters to behave in ways that they might not behave?

Is it possible that I’ve had my car-less and bike-less 17-year-old boy travel to a coffee shop  that is two miles from his home in summer without mentioning that he’s sweating?

Is it possible that my secretly homeless female is sitting in said coffee shop without her belongings next to her?

And there it is. Unstuck. Sometimes I just need to let my people be who they are rather than what I want them to be in order to move my plot forward.

What really happens when the barista is a homophobe and the secretly homeless female (SHF) is an out lesbian? Does the barista openly antagonize, as might help the plot, or does he do so in a more subtle way, in the way that people often do things so that they don’t get fired? order to move my story forward.

Back in business, baby! Now do the same with your book. Who are you manipulating in ways that are unnatural for them? Might you be stuck because your characters won’t budge?

Openly Straight

One day a couple years ago, while living in Billings, Montana, and struggling to write a new novel called Openly Straight, I went to play some racquetball. 

I went to the Billings Athletic Club, the almost-always empty gym where I sometimes attempted to work out. Around lunch time, a group of middle-aged men would get together and play. I’d seen it, and thought it might be fun to showcase my barely adequate skills.

So I played with these guys, and between games, there would be conversation. Now, I wear a wedding ring. It’s the ring I got from my partner, Chuck, back in 2006 when we had our Civil Union.

“So you’re married?” one of the guys asked me.

“Uh huh.” I was. I am. I mean, semantics and laws aside, I am married.

“What’s your wife’s name?”

Now this question I was not entirely ready to answer. I mean, I don’t have a problem being open about being gay; I’ve been gay in a predominantly straight world for many years, and I’ve come out to people thousands of times. It’s what we do, we openly gay folks. We constantly have to come out. Straight people can’t possibly understand what that’s like. But sometimes, you just want to play racquetball. Why do I have to explain myself to this near stranger, I thought. Why do I need to expose something to this person that is beyond what he probably wants to know, and beyond what I feel necessary to share?

“Rachel,” I said.

After, in my car, I thought: What the hell just happened? Did I just lie about my sexuality? 

And then I realized that this was exactly what my novel was about, and I didn’t know it yet. I was focused on it being a retelling of the Wizard of Oz, with a gay boy going off to a magical land (an all-boys school) and in the end coming back because even though there were problems with his life at home, there’s “No place like home.”

This incident opened up my novel completely. Suddenly I understood what I was really writing about. I was writing about being tired of always having to be labeled. Which is, actually, a universal issue.

So I allowed a part of me to become part of Seamus Rafael Goldberg. And the novel came pouring out of me.

And now, you’ll be able to read that novel in just a few months!

I hope you’ll love it as much as I loved writing it.

Welcome!

OK. Pretend it’s 1987.

George Michael wants to be your father figure. Bill Cosby is

America’s favorite dad. And a 6-foot-1, 135 pound, acne-riddled geek

named Billy Konigsberg sits alone in a corner of the hallway at

Riverdale Country School, scribbling lines in a notebook.

He is miserable. He wants to die. Sometimes he sits on the radiator

in the bedroom of his mom’s Upper West Side apartment, staring out at

the courtyard below, wondering how far the needle can be pushed without him popping. Wondering what it would feel like to plummet and smash into the ground. He thinks about running away to Los Angeles to become a hustler. That way, he’ll feel

something other than this bone crushing pain that he feels every day of his life.

He’s known he was gay for a few years now. He’s told a few people at

school. This girl Liz in his math class blushes every time she sees

him, because being gay is “disgusting.” This guy David he used to hang

out with and play basketball with keeps telling him to “eat a pussy

for once.” He wrote that to Billy in his sophomore yearbook. Some of

the guys who used to be his buddies, guys he used to play stickball

with, have moved on to cooler people. His mom has just found out he’s

gay and is devastated. So is his stepdad. He’s afraid to tell his dad,

because so far, every time he’s told anyone, it’s blown up in his

face.

So yeah. Maybe being a hustler might work. He could fall in love

maybe, be taken care of.

The truth is, Billy was too much of a coward to do that. And thank

God he was. Instead, he scraped through his high school years in a

heavy depression.

And his senior year, he picked up a book called Tales of the City

by Armistead Maupin. And the world opened up for him. He read about a

bunch of misfits who create their own family on Barbary Lane in San

Francisco, and even though it’s just fiction, he feels a little like

he’s with them, like they are his friends. He reads a young adult

novel called All-American Boys about a gay football player, and he

sees himself in it. He’s a good baseball player, see, and before that

book, he has no idea that being an athlete and being a gay guy are

remotely reconcilable. He reads a scathingly funny novel called

Eighty-Sixed that is about AIDS, and even though it’s hard to handle

the pain and anger of the book, it makes him understand that he’s not

the only one feeling pain.

These books don’t make his life perfect, but they help him survive.

He hopes that someday, he can write a book that can help a kid

survive, too.

So now it’s 2013. Billy is Bill. He’s happy and healthy. He writes

books for teens, especially for LGBTQ teens. Once in a while he hears

from someone who sounds a lot like Billy would have, 25 years ago, and

he’s glad to know that his words have helped that kid feel a little

bit better about himself. Or herself. He imagines the way the radiator

felt against his legs on those cold, numb nights in New York City, all

those years ago, and he imagines it radiating hope up into his spine,

and by extension, into the spine of the kid who’s written him.

He hopes to God it’s enough.