Beth Kephart's Blog, page 182

Talking YA With Elizabeth Mosier, Siobhan Vivian, and Melissa Walker (at Philadelphia Stories)

What a thrill to be joined by my friends Elizabeth Mosier, Siobhan Vivian, and Melissa Walker in a two-part conversation about favorite young adult books, writing influences, and process.  A big thanks to Michelle Wittle who pulled this all together for Philadelphia Stories.



Please visit this link to 'hear' us talk (Part 1).

Saying More Than I Should About the BEA (but saying it briefly)

At the BEA yesterday, I met with people I love.  People I respect.  People whose integrity teaches me, whose books and blogs instruct me, whose hearts are true.  There are so many people like that.



But I also saw, in my travels, so much that unnerved, worried, further sickened me that I in fact fled the building early, hoping (futilely) to catch an early train home.  Books as commerce.  Self promotion as a form of public humiliation.  Personal needs on flagrant display.



I lost my rudder.  I felt overcome, and sad.



For example:



The man in the skin-tight devil suit, riding that escalator up and down, pimping a book with sheltered eyes, a slightly embarrassed impishness within his reddishness.  And what was it for?  I saw him three times; I still don't know what his skin-tightness advertised.



The long lines of people eager for free copies of books by authors whose on-stage conversations were sparsely attended.  Why should a free book trump an interesting, human conversation?  Why should product—the material thing that can be taken home—always rule?  Have we no time to give to the people who made the things we want?



The bare-chested (utterly bare chested) woman patrolling the streets just outside the Javits Convention Center—a black hat on her blonde head, a thin oily mustache drawn onto her lip.  Was this part of authorial self promotion, too?  Is this what we are coming to?  If it is, I have penned my last book.  (Note:  my dear sister-in-law, Donna, has cleared this one up.  It was not, apparently a BEA stunt.  It says something, though, that I assumed it was:  http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1...)



The surge of aspiring writers toward established authors, the questions, the requests.  The audience members wanting blurbs for their own books, wanting agent representation, wanting introductions to editors.  Please.  So many requests. Such insistence.  Should it be like this?



The perfect strangers who saw, on my badge, that I was at the BEA not as an author but as a reporter for Publishing Perspectives.  Suddenly I, too, was a perceived bridge—a person to be entrusted with self-published novels and raw manuscripts.  Please take my book, review my book, help me with my book, I was asked, more than once—questions that made me feel powerless, and raw.



Books are—or they can be—beautiful things.  They take years, patience, perseverance.  They are born of hope or courage, love or need, faith in stories and storytelling.  Book expos should be celebrations of the book, in the end, and of the people who make them.  I lost sight of that, for long parts of yesterday.  I found myself trapped in something more carnivalesque, more pressing and too bruising.



I'm not naive.  I'm not new to the BEA.  But something happened yesterday.  Some small hollow something went click.




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My BEA Day (with photos)

I rose at 3 AM, walked the just-before-dawn streets, took one train and then another (much, oh much too much delayed) train, then ran the long blocks toward the BEA.  I was, shall we say, windblown by the time I arrived.  But there to greet me were the ever-lovely, ever kind Danielle (There's a Book) and Florinda (The 3rs Blog)—first-rate bloggers and people. It was about time I met the generous Danielle.  About time I gave Florinda (who was my unofficial publicist last year at the BEA) another hug.



From there to see my dear friends at Philomel, to meet more of that tremendous team, and to finally say hello to the phenomenal Ruta Sepetys in person; she has a new book coming out that I think will be just as amazing (in many different ways) as Between Shades of Gray.  From there to listen to four of the buzz adult authors talk about the process, their books, their hopes.  A beautiful interlude with Lauren Wein.  Then to sit in the audience of Jennifer Brown (the fantastic children's editor for Shelf Awareness) and Kristi Yamaguchi, an Olympian with a heart of gold. A run from the Downtown Stage to the Uptown Stage so that I could sit in the front row (all other seats were gone) of the YA Buzz panel, featuring, among other people, Melissa Marr, Jenny Han, Tonya Hurley, and my friend Siobhan Vivian.



Just after dawn now, and I've filed all my stories for Publishing Perspectives. I'll link to them here when they go live.



Now I'm going to go fix my hair. Then settle down, and teach.

this is a picture of people I love

Tamra Tuller, Michael Green, Jessica Shoffel: Philomel.




That's all I have to say.

BEA, tomorrow

My dear friends:  I'm leaving in the pitch black of the morrow for the BEA in NYC.  I'll be covering three stories there for Publishing Perspectives and seeing some dear souls in between.



But as I travel I will ponder the beauty of today—this gift that arrived, this love that exists.



I am a very lucky woman.

The Small Damages Quilt: Wendy Robards, Artist Supreme

Less than an hour ago, I discovered a big box on my front porch.  It was addressed to me.  Return address:  Wendy Robards, of Caribousmom.  I had written of her just yesterday.  Called to thank her for her glorious words about Small Damages.  Listened to her wise counsel.  We talked for a long time.  She never said a word about the sensational, handmade, unbelievable, I have never received a gift like this, I am stunned Small Damages quilt that she had already boxed and sent my way.



She never even hinted.



Look at this quilt!!!  Look at the colors, the care.  "Use it!" she kept saying, when I phoned her just now to say (fumbling for words, breathless) thank you.  But how can I? How could anyone?  This is art and it belongs on a wall.  This is an extraordinary gesture of friendship.  This is color interwoven with love.



I truly am too speechless to write much more. But Wendy, on her blog, has described her process.  She has photographed this quilt throughout its making.  Please, I implore you, visit her there.



And celebrate her heart, with me, today.

Small Damages, The LA Times, and Caribousmom

Late in this day I sat down at my desk for the first time and there discovered two kindnesses.



The first from my friend Wendy of Caribousmom, one of those extraordinarily gifted people who reads, who writes, who heals, who thinks, who quilts, who makes flowers grow.  She had read Small Damages and (sneaky woman that she is) had decided to blog about it. Her words are indescribably gorgeous, and so meaningful to me.  Read them all simply to see how beautifully Wendy writes.  Here is a passage dear to me:

I loved this novel and its appealing young protagonist. I loved the
journey, and the discovery, the hope and the sadness, the path toward
healing after trauma, the knowledge that we are never really alone, and
that home is not a place on a map but the people who love you. Beth
Kephart is an artist with words and Small Damages is another astonishing literary success.

Shortly after reading Wendy's beautiful post I learned from my friend Paul Hartel—a Hollywood type, an LA guy—that he had found Small Damages in the pages of his newspaper, The LA Times, in the 2012 Summer Reading Guide.



My surprise is sincere.  My happiness radiant.



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Devon Horse Show 2012: Final Images

By the time I return from a quick trip today, the horses will be gone.  I will miss them, will wait for their return.  Here are some of the stray shots I took over the course of these days—in the early morning, in the stables, out in the Dixon Oval, on the corner of my street, within the storied country fairgrounds.



Time to return to the more than 20 memoirs that are piled here, waiting for my read.  Time to return to work, too.[image error]

The gorgeous Jessica Springsteen rides at Devon. (And happy news about the Glory Days proposal.)

My deep affection and admiration for Bruce Springsteen is well known.  I won't repeat myself here, not tonight.  I simply wish to say this evening how happy and proud I am to be joining April Lindner, Jane Satterfield, Ned Balbo, and Ann E. Michael for Glory Days:  A Bruce Springsteen Symposium, to be held this coming September.  Our proposal (April planted the seeds) was accepted.  We'll sit together to reflect on the impact this great artist has on the way we think about words and storytelling.  And we'll listen to what others have to say (and how they sing).



I also wish to say that I had the privilege, hours ago, of standing at the rails at the Devon Horse Show and watching Jessica Springsteen, Bruce's daughter, float above her gorgeous horse.  She is a distinguished rider and person, this Jessica Springsteen.  She made it to the jump off, rode last in a tough, brave field.  Here she is in a bold attempt to best a toweringly fine time.

The Triana Flood, 1936: the image that inspired pages of Small Damages

Today, as I prepare for my first in-person interview in advance of the release of Small Damages, I return to the boxes of books I have collected through the years.  Spain then and Spain now.  All those recipes.  Those who have read the book might be intrigued by this photograph, taken in Triana in 1936, during a flood.  This was one of the many historic images that inspired the stories my Estela, the old cook, tells.