Samantha Schutz's Blog, page 3

Bonus Features: Behind the Scenes of You Are Not Here

If I see a really good DVD, I almost always watch the bonus features. I love hearing the behind the scenes info about art direction, actors talking about their experiences, etc. It often doesn't faze me to immediately rewatch most of the movie with the director's commentary on. (If you haven't seen the Diving Bell and the Butterfly, rent it asap! Then watch the movie with the commentary on. It will blow your mind!)

So, below are a few pictures of the real places that inspired the setting for You Are Not Here. All of these places are in the neighborhood I grew up in: Douglas Manor, NY. It's right on the border of Queens and Long Island. It's a beautiful place and I feel very lucky to have grown up there.

(In order the photos are: where Brian and Annaleah first met, where Brian died, where Annaleah watches fireworks with her friends, the cemetery where Brian is buried.)

Hello, my little friend!

BREAKING NEWS: My book has been spotted at the B&N in Union Square in NYC!!!

Excerpt from You Are Not Here

I walk down my block

and then take a right turn.

Two more blocks

and I'll be with Brian.

For the first time

in a long time,

I know he'll be there

waiting for me.

I sit down on the grass next to him.

He has flowers,

but I know they're not for me.

I wonder who gave them to him,

but I don't ask.

I tell Brian about my day.

I say, "I saw your dad

at the supermarket.

I didn't talk to him—

it's not like he knows who I am,

and even if he did,

I wouldn't know what to say.

I watched him

take things off the shelves,

look them over,

and then put them back.

There was almost nothing

in his cart.

I wonder if he's always been like that,

or just lately."

I say, "I miss you."

I ask if he's missed me too,

then wait for his answer.

If that squirrel runs up that tree,

then his answer is yes.

If it stays on the grass,

his answer is no.

The squirrel doesn't move,

and my breath catches in my throat.

After a moment,

it zips up the tree.

I smile and lie down

next to Brian.

I wish he could hold me

like he used to,

but he doesn't.

The warm sun makes me drowsy

and I fall asleep on my side

next to Brian.

When I wake up, grass is imprinted

on my arm and leg.

I brush myself off,

but Brian doesn't move.

I say, "I'll see you tomorrow."

I reach out to touch him,

and my fingers make contact

with words:

Brian Dennis

died age seventeen

Beloved Son and Friend

PART I

If I do not sleep,

it will not come.

If I do not sleep,

it will not come.

If I do not sleep,

it will not come.

I need this night

to last forever.

I need it to go on

because once I fall asleep,

it will be tomorrow.

It will be the day

of Brian's funeral.

And I can't do that.

I can't see that.

I can't feel that.

My eyes are burning.

They want to seal shut.

They want a break from crying.

My body is sore from tensing,

and it wants release.

It wants the softness of sleep,

but I cannot give it that.

I cannot

let that happen.

I cannot

go from today to tomorrow.

If I do not sleep,

it will not come.

If I do not sleep,

it will not come.

If I do not sleep,

it will not come.

I repeat these nine words

like a mantra.

I try to hold on to them

like worry beads,

like a rosary,

but instead of keeping me focused

they are lulling

me to sleep.

If I do not

sleep it will

not come if I

do not sleep

it will not

come if I do

not sleep it

will not come if

I do not

sleep

it

will

not

come.

Morning light streams in my window.

The air in here is stale.

I need to get out.

Marissa will be here in an hour,

but I can't wait that long.

On my way out of the house,

I pass my mother's bedroom.

Her door is open.

Her bed is perfectly made,

unslept in.

Outside, the late June air

is heavy and hot,

but it's better than in my room.

I'm not sure where I'm going,

but when my flip-flops hit the sidewalk,

I know.

I walk down the street

and take a right turn.

I go two more blocks

and find myself at the cemetery.

It doesn't take long before I hear it—

the sound of dirt and rock

sliding against metal shovels.

There are men digging Brian's grave.

They are digging a hole

in the cool earth,

on a hot day for the boy who has occupied

my thoughts and my heart

for the last three months,

for the boy I lost

my virginity to,

for the boy I think I loved.

I've heard these guys dig before.

I've heard these guys talking,

but today I want to scream

them into silence.

I want to tell them

to have some respect

and not talk

about everyday things,

like how hot it is

or how much more

they have to dig.

This

is not

every day.

This is how I found out:

I was watching a special about the pyramids

when my cell phone vibrated angrily

against my dresser.

I looked at the phone and was surprised

to see Marissa's name.

I cautiously said,

"Hey . . . what's up?"

"I have to tell you something.

It's about Brian."

There was something

about how she said it

that made me think

she was finally going to apologize

and say she had been wrong about him.

But instead she said,

"Something happened today

while Brian was playing basketball."

An injury, I figured;

he had a broken leg or something.

But what was with all the drama?

And why was she

calling to tell me?

We hadn't talked in weeks.

Marissa said, "No one knows

exactly what happened yet.

But he died, Annaleah.

I am so sorry.

I hate that I am the one

telling you this.

Especially after . . ."

I stopped listening.

My whole body was shuddering.

Uncontrollable.

"What?" I said.

It was the only thing

I could say.

"My dad was walking the dog

by the playground

and saw an ambulance.

He asked who was hurt

and they told him it was a teenager

named Brian Dennis,

and that he had suddenly died.

My dad came home and asked me

if I knew who Brian was."

"What?" I said again.

"He collapsed on the court.

The paramedics said

he died on the spot.

There was nothing

they could do."

Not possible, I thought.

Brian was healthy.

Seventeen.

Just finished his junior year.

How could he be playing

basketball one minute

and then be dead the next?

How could there be no in-between?

No treatment.

No drugs.

No surgery.

No hope.

No nothing.

Not possible.

"Annaleah, are you still there?"

"Uh-huh."

I couldn't even make real words.

I thought, I need to call someone.

I need more information.

But who could I call?

Brian and I didn't have

the same friends.

I could call Joy or Parker,

to tell them what happened,

but they didn't know Brian

other than from my stories.

I could call my mom, but I never

told her Brian and I

were together.

I could call Brian's house

to see if his parents knew more,

but I bet the last thing they'd want

is to talk to a girl

they'd probably never heard of.

"Annaleah?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna go."

"Do you want me to come over?"

"No. I'll talk to you later."

I hung up the phone

and looked around my room.

There were pages from magazines

and posters on the wall,

photos of friends,

piles of dirty clothes,

and all of it seemed absurd.

It was absurd

that I had dirty laundry

and that Brian

was dead.

Where Does Inspiration Come From?

After writing my memoir, I Don't Want to Be Crazy, I was eager to try fiction. Eager, but totally stumped as how to begin. When I wrote I Don't Want to Be Crazy, I knew the story, the characters, the setting, the ending. But when I started developing You Are Not Here, all I knew was that there was a teenage girl whose boyfriend died, and that he is buried very close to her house. That was it. That was all I had. At times, it was scary to think that every moment — every word — had to come from somewhere inside my brain. I have some friends who write fiction, and they think that all those possibilities are freeing (and that writing a memoir would be considerably harder), but it was the opposite for me. So I started with what I knew…

We all struggle with loss (including losing touch with a friend, moving away, or someone dying) and I very am interested in how people cope with those feelings. Much to my surprise, I found that when I was working on You Are Not Here, I could draw on my own experiences—even the saddest of them. For example, when I was nineteen, a friend of my best friend died suddenly. While I had only met this girl a few times, her death reminded me that scary, unexpected things can and do happen. Also, there are people that I've dated or been friends with that are no longer part of my life…and on some days that void seems really big, and I start wondering things like: What is that person doing right now? What would my life be like if that person were still in it? And finally, on a lighter note, I've had a few "sort-of-boyfriends" like Brian and have plenty of experiences to draw from.

I wish I could do some sort of annotated manuscript or interactive website where you could click on a part of You Are Not Here and it would tell you the real story behind the inspiration. [You'll be able to see some inspiration photos in a later post.] For starters, an important photo from Annaleah's past is based on an actual photo of me as a baby.

Names of people in the book are based on people in my family. Even one of the final scenes is VERY heavily based on an experience I had when I was about seventeen. Or at least it's based on what I remember all these years later.

I am also very inspired by the books I read, the art I see, the music I listen to. While I was working on the manuscript for You Are Not Here, I was reading The Bell Jar and had been to see a Francis Bacon show at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Both of those things found a direct way into the book. Also, I've been into listening to podcasts lately. I'm addicted to "The Moth" and "This American Life." "The Moth" is a live taping of people telling true stories–without notes. "This American Life" has all sorts of fiction and nonfiction stories—often with unique twists. A story I heard on "This American Life" actually inspired the idea for my third book. But that's another story…

The Life Cycle of You Are Not Here

Only 30 days until You Are Not Here launches! To celebrate I'll be doing several new blog posts about my writing process, inspiration, behind the scenes info, and more. So check back every few days for something new!

People often ask me, "How long does it take to make a book?" I still don't have a good answer (besides: somewhere between a few weeks and a lifetime). But I can tell you how long it took to write You Are Not Here…and how long it took to get from the manuscript stage to a finished book! 

Summer 2006

Sitting in a work meeting, a coworker says something like: "Wow. That would be a crazy place to live." The first thing I think of is that it would be weird to live across the street from a cemetery. Later, I think it'd be even weirder to live across the street from a cemetery if someone you cared about were buried there. Then this little idea becomes a bigger idea. What if a teenage girl's boyfriend suddenly died and was buried outside of her window? At first I think that I would make it about really lovely relationship, but soon realize (or was it my editor who told me?) that happy relationships are boring (to write or read about anyway). After telling my editor, David Levithan, this idea he suggests making the boyfriend already dead on page one. And so it went… (Only now, the cemetery is a few blocks from her house. It seemed like overkill to have it be right out her window.)

INTERMISSION

I toy with the idea a bit, do some reading about religions and burial practices, read books about grief…start working on an outline and some sample poems.

September 22, 2008

Email my awesome editor the concept for You Are Not Here (which is about 20 pages of poems and story notes mixed together) and ask if we can have lunch to talk. I feel pretty nervous, but I want his feedback to see if he thinks I've got something. I assume lunch will entail him giving me ideas/suggestions…then I'd go off and rework and formally submit the proposal to him.

September 23, 2008

Miraculously, David and I schedule lunch for the next day. While sitting at an outdoor Soho café, David tells me he loves the proposal and doesn't need me to rework it. He wants to show it to his colleagues at Scholastic to see if he can acquire it. This is highly shocking!

I sold my first book, I Don't Want to Be Crazy, without an agent and wanted to do things differently this time around. So, the search for an agent becomes a lot more pressing. I make lots of phone calls, read lots of agent websites, poll author friends, etc.

October 10, 2008

Send first choice agent, Barry Goldblatt, my proposal.

http://bgliterary.com/

October 14, 2008

Meet with Barry. It's a love fest. We decide to work together!

October 16, 2008

David makes Barry an offer—and it's for two books! I wonder, can I handle two books—especially when I have no clue what the next one will be about? I get more than a little freaked out, but Barry talks me through it. We accept the offer!

INTERMISSION

Work, work, work. Coffee, cafes, visits to cemetery, muffins, reading about religion.

June 15, 2009

Send first draft to David. Finger crossed!

INTERMISSION

Excitement turns to nervousness. Why hasn't David gotten back to me? Is the manuscript that bad? Mild panic is soothed when David tells me he's workload is really backed up and it's going to take awhile to get back to me.

September 10, 2009

Get general comments from David. He says,

"I think what you've written is fantastic – thoroughly disturbing at first, then with the right veins of hope toward the end. The writing itself is nearly flawless – you capture her voice perfectly, and the verse is deeply effective in its starkness."

I may be a teensy bit too excited that he called it "disturbing." But that sounds like a compliment to me.

September 11, 2009

We meet for lunch and David gives me various general "homework assignments" about things he's like to see developed. Among other things, he wants more about Annaleah and her mom and more happy flashbacks about Brian and Annaleah together.

Work for about a month on the homework poems. It feels strange–but good–to be writing again after a few months off.

November 5, 2009

See first cover. LOVE IT! But later find out that there is another YA cover that is very similar and we will have to rethink our plans. Sad. (And yes, my last name is mispelled. I'm used to it by now.)

November 8, 2009

Send David second draft! This includes all the new "homework poems."

December 28, 2009

Get amazing comments back from David.

"As you'll see, I think it's in wonderful shape – I'd say the mass majority of my comments are words of praise. It's really come together beautifully – I think the additions you've made really deepen the work, and that you've conveyed Annaleah's experience is a genuinely moving (if at times profoundly sad) way."

 Review David's edits. Accept most (after all, David is a genius). Reject some.

January 11, 2010

Send David third and final draft!

February 3, 2010

See second cover. Do NOT love it. It's good, but not great. Have VERY long talks with friends (especially ones who are designers/artists). Have long talk with Barry (my agent) about my concerns.

 

February 12, 2010

Get copyedited manuscript from David. The copy editor (the person who goes through the manuscript with a fine toothed comb and notices all sorts of errors) seessome really funny typos. Also, it is clear that I do not know how to use commas. CE also noticed some creepy typos. For example, on two separate occasions I use the word "widow" instead of "window." (color key to image below: yellow is the copyeditor, blue is my editor, red is me.)

February 22, 2010

Return copy edited manuscript.

 

 

 

 

March 4, 2010 

See third and final cover and LOVE IT! Hurray!

As an editor it is SO hard not to make notes about nerdy things like leading (the amount space in-between the lines), fonts, colors, etc. I do send excessive notes, but I am pretty sure that I will be ignored. I need to be the author not the editor here.

March 11, 2010

Get first pass (aka "pages"). This is the first time I see the manuscript designed and looking like an actual book. It's real. And really big! I make some additions and deletions.

March 22, 2010

Return first pass (aka 1P) with comments.

 

March 28, 2010

See and return 2P. Perfecto!

May 21, 2010

Twitter post: "galleys are in for You Are Not Here. if you see a crazy person runnin thru Soho, throwing people aside & muttering 'it's here!' that's me!"

August 25, 2010

Get first copy of You Are Not Here. Run around the office like a lunatic showing anyone and everyone that will talk to me.

October 1, 2010

You Are Not Here goes on sale…