C.K. Kelly Martin's Blog, page 7

Just Like You Said It Would Be

I'm excited to point out the cover reveal for Just Like You Said It Would Be is tomorrow (Big thanks to Xpresso Book Tours for organizing this on such short notice!) ! I'll be linking to the cover then, and linking to places you can order print and e-copies in the days that follow. On sale date is February 15th. 

But today I'm pleased to post the first chapter of Just Like You Said It Would Be. If you want to learn more about the book, and my long history with it, you can jump back to the previous blog entry. Now, without further ado ...

Chapter 1
The time is right. The time is now.

Did you ever want something so much that it felt like a kind of sickness—one you didn’t want to be cured of because you knew stamping it out would leave you with so much less that you’d be a different person? I didn’t know what it was like to feel that way until last summer and I know the feeling better still now. 

Sometimes when I’m alone I let myself wallow in it until my throat begins to burn. Most of the time, though, I push myself to keep things together, act like I’m fine and remind myself that I can’t truly be as gone as I feel because it’s not like me to be out of control. 

But I am. I haven’t seen him in over four months and I miss him more today than I did the day after we said goodbye. I didn’t have any choice when it came to the way things ended, but I still feel like I made a mistake that I’ll never stop regretting. 

Pain begins to radiate across my forehead as memories from last summer stream behind my eyes. Fighting in the street with him, jealous, bitter, and sad. Us curled up together, skin to skin in my aunt and uncle’s shed, breathing each other in like we could never get close enough. The intent way he’d listen, his face a mystery to me. The way he’d look at me, his electric blue eyes making me feel restless, dizzy, and full of ache. I wanted to know every thought running through his mind, unlock him for good and learn all his secrets. 

Maybe none of that sounds earth-shattering, but it was to me. His voice. His fingers on the guitar. His perfect wrists. The intensity with which he loved music, as though it was something sacred. Every time he walked into a room he made it feel like a more interesting place. What could be bigger than that?

And what do you do when you don’t have that anymore and the memory of it has to be enough? I can’t work that out, but I know—as my eyes skip around the crowded living room searching out my friends—that it was a mistake to drag Lennox to this party with us. Lennox is someone I could’ve liked before—there’s a good chance we would’ve been something to each other if last summer had never happened—but after, when someone three thousand miles away is occupying all the emotional space inside me, it’s impossible. 

Lennox and I have always had a fun time talking movies and kidding around and I guess I wanted, for a few minutes when we were closing the store together earlier tonight, to be the old Amira on New Year’s Eve. The one who was always on an even keel and didn’t spend the majority of her time wanting someone she’d never have again. But now that Lennox is leaning in close enough that I can smell his aftershave it’s obvious I shouldn’t be here with him. Better still, I should’ve skipped any big New Year’s celebrations and headed over to Jocelyn’s place with a movie from the store. Being surrounded by varying levels of drunkenness, frenzied dancing and hoots of excitement is only making me more miserable.

Lennox smoothes one of his thumbs across my cheek and smiles at me as we listen to clambering voices count down to the New Year. I don’t flinch at his touch, but I don’t smile either. I feel bad for doing this to him. Bad enough to kiss him back when the voices reach “one” and he slides his mouth against mine. 

It’s not a bad kiss, but it just doesn’t feel like anything. It’s empty. For me, anyway.

Around us people are shouting in happy voices and Bono Vox peals out from the sound system. Being Irish and from Dublin just like him, U2 would have to be the first thing I’d hear in the new year and I almost laugh, the bitterness catching in my throat. Lennox sees my hint of a smile and thinks it’s for him. He moves in for a second kiss, but this time around he’s going to be disappointed because I just can’t.

I bend my head and push my hand gently against his shoulder, hoping Lennox will read my body language and revert automatically back to the friendly working relationship we had before tonight. Don’t make me explain, Lennox. Please. 

Lennox’s lower lip drops and disappointment flickers across his face. Only for a couple of seconds, but that’s long enough for me to digest it. Then he sort of freezes with his arms at his sides, his head slowly distancing itself from mine. 

Lennox’s brown eyes peer expectantly into my own. When I take too long to say anything he shrugs dejectedly, like he doesn’t understand. “What just happened?” he asks.

I’m grinding my molars and staring past him, trying to come up with the right words, when Yanna appears in my line of vision. She throws her arms around me and hugs me tight. “Happy New Year!” she bellows. 

“Happy New Year!” I yell back, my voice cracking.

By the time we’ve let go of each other the space where Lennox was standing is empty. I think I spy the back of his checked shirt disappearing into the crowd. “Where’s Ker?” I ask. Kérane’s the other friend we came with tonight and the one we usually worry about in party situations due to her tendency to drink too much, make out with random guys, and generally get out of hand.

I spin to look for her, but I don’t need to search very hard because seconds later she’s bopping over to us with a hedonistic grin plastered across her face. Obviously somebody is having a good time. Kérane hugs Yanna first, her streaked blond hair falling over them both like a cloak. I’m next and my nostrils flare as I inhale Ker’s beer breath. 

Our agreed rule is that none of us will drink at parties unless it comes out of a sealed bottle or can (it’s too easy for someone to slip something nasty in otherwise), but since it’s New Year’s and I have no reason to think Kérane’s broken the golden rule, I can’t complain until/unless she starts falling down, slurring or getting unduly frisky with someone she doesn’t know. 

“This is gonna be our year,” Ker sings, shaking her hips. “Six more months of high school and then we’re free!” Well, not free if your definition includes avoiding educational institutions, but freer. No one calling our parents if we don’t show up for class or dictating when we can use the bathroom.

My mind flashes forward to next fall. I picture myself in a lecture hall with a hundred other eighteen-year-olds, analyzing Citizen Kane or The 400 Blows, movies most people my age don’t care about, but those ones will. The professor will be some award-winning indie director with dark corkscrew hair and a no-nonsense attitude. She’ll spot my talent early on, take me under her wing and help me fine-tune my writing skills, turning me into an unstoppable force of creativity.

This time last year that would’ve been my number one fantasy—that and my parents getting back together. But since then my dad’s moved into the house with us again and although I’m absolutely still heading for film school to meet other film fanatics and write screenplays, I don’t want the ache that goes along with having met him last summer to fade. The thought of forgetting him makes me so sad that I don’t know what to do with myself. It’s like that old Dusty Springfield song Jocelyn sent me a YouTube link for near the end of September when it still made sense to everyone that I was missing him because it was only freshly over. 

I just don’t know … I’m lost. 

Maybe it should take longer than one summer to get that fucked up about someone. But maybe if someone’s special enough for you to get fucked up about, the length of time you knew them doesn’t matter. Maybe I was as good as gone the night we met, when we had that first conversation out in my aunt and uncle’s backyard, under the stars.

“We should call Joss to wish her a Happy New Year,” Kérane adds, beaming. 

She’s right and Yanna reaches into the back pocket of her jeans to pull out her phone. If this party had happened last year Jocelyn would’ve been right here with us. So much can change in one year that if someone were magically able to confide what was going to happen during the next twelve months you wouldn’t believe them.

I haven’t had enough beer to excuse what I’m about to do, but I can’t take it anymore. The thought that this year will be one in which I don’t speak to him feels devastating. I can’t let it happen. 

Yanna is pressing her cell to her ear, Kérane’s swaying in time to the strains of early eighties U2 and I’m on the verge of tears smack in the middle of a New Year’s party that I should never have shown up at. My chin’s wobbling with the strain of trying to hold back the rush of emptiness working its way up from my stomach and into my jaw. I need to get out of public view before I break down entirely and Yanna and Ker have to mop me off the floor.

“Maybe the time is right,” Bono sings. “Maybe tonight.”

It feels like a sign, but who am I kidding because I’d do it anyway. The time is right. The time is now. I mumble to Yanna and Kérane as I point vaguely towards the right, “Bathroom! Be back in a sec.”

Yanna adjusts her ear as though she’s going to ask me to wait, but I don’t give her a chance, I’m motoring in the direction of the stairs like I’m about to puke. Yanna’s older cousin is one of the people throwing this party and he pointed out the main floor bathroom on our way in, but I don’t want to have to worry about people lining up behind me and banging impatiently on the door. I need more than two minutes alone.

Two girls, one with matted dreadlocks and the other with frizzy green hair and pasty makeup, are sitting near the bottom of the staircase with a stack of black and white photographs in their hands. Other than that the area looks clear of people. The house itself is in a semi-shambles state. Halfway up the stairs there’s a cigarette burn on the carpet and the lone picture hanging crookedly at the top of the steps is a faded one of the Toronto skyline on a summer’s day. The photograph’s glass front panel is smudged with fingerprints, as though someone was determined to molest it, and as I trek along the upstairs hallway I pass over a worn bit of carpet two shades lighter than the rest. Somebody bleached it trying to get out a stain, I bet. 

The house smells like it’s been in the possession of students for decades. Dusty and faintly like stale pizza. A dark grey towel’s hanging off one of the closed bedroom doors and I hear at least two people giggling behind it. My ears categorize the sound as drunken hook-up laughter and I start to panic that someone will be hooking up in the bathroom too. 

Luckily, when I reach it the door’s ajar and I can see at a glance that the room’s empty. The second thing I notice is that there’s a pint glass with muddy yellow liquid sitting in the middle of the sink. 

I flick on the light, slam the door shut behind me and lean back against it, my hands shaky. No, they only feel shaky. When I spread out my fingers in front of me and stare at them they’re as steady as they would be on any other day that I hadn’t made up my mind to do this. Equal parts longing and anxiety whirl around under my ribcage as I tug my phone out of my purse and key in:

I hope you had a great Christmas and I want to wish you and the band all the best for the New Year. World domination!!
I stare at my falsely cheerful words on the screen, my heart racing and my head pounding as though it’s about to split open like a fault line. My finger taps send and for about thirty seconds I savour the relief I’m feeling at having gone and done it.

Then doubt sets in and the ache springs back with a vengeance. I set my cell on the counter and focus on the abandoned glass in the sink. If this were a movie it’d foreshadow something. I’d open the door to leave and Lennox or some other cute guy would be standing in the hallway waiting to reclaim his glass. He’d be exactly what I need and we’d have a conversation that would be the beginning of me leaving last summer behind. 

Real life is more complicated. It doesn’t matter who’s waiting outside or what they might say to me. I’m not forgetting about him anytime soon. 

I dump the contents of the glass into the sink as a formal rejection of the phony movie scenario. Then I snap up my phone and sit on the edge of the bathtub with it, willing it to beep and let me know I have a new message. 

It’s after five o’clock in the morning in Dublin so it’s likely he won’t even see my message for hours. That doesn’t stop me from ogling the phone for at least another four minutes, after which I impulsively begin punching the keys again.

I miss you. I think about you a lot.
This time, there’s not even the most temporary sense of relief after I hit send. I immediately regret crawling out on a limb and I feel sick with myself as I shuffle out of the bathroom and back to my friends. 

Yanna’s standing next to Kérane, repeatedly pushing the same bit of stray hair back behind her ear while Ker laughs into Yanna’s phone. “There you are!” Yanna exclaims, pivoting towards me. “I was just about to go look for you.”

“There was a line for the bathroom,” I lie. 

“Say hi to Joss,” Kérane booms, shoving the phone into my face.

I pinch Yanna’s cell between my fingers and trill, “Happy New Year! I wish you were here.” Or that I wasn’t. Both of us are screwed in different ways.

“Happy New Year,” Jocelyn says back. “Yanna said you brought Lennox.” She says his name like he’s an expensive door prize. “Nice move.” 

“You’d think,” I say reluctantly, my eyes scanning Ker’s and Yanna’s faces to gauge how closely they’re listening. “But not so much really.”

“Uh-oh,” Joss chimes. “What happened?”

What happened is the two texts that I sent him when I wandered off to the bathroom and, with Yanna’s cell still pressed to my ear, I slide my own phone out of my purse and check it in case anything has changed during the last two minutes.

But no, he hasn’t texted me back. Has he even read my messages yet? Why did I have to confess that I miss him when he’s probably already with someone else? 

I begin striding away from Yanna and Kérane. My nose feels snotty and I’m keenly aware, with the part of my brain that’s still rational, that I’m being ridiculous. I’ve held it together (mostly) for four months. Why fall to pieces now? 

Because he’s receding further and further into the past and what we had, is now what we had last year.

“Hey!” Jocelyn exclaims. “You still there, Amira? Mir?”

I rub roughly at the corners of my eyes as I head for the stairs. “I’m still here,” I mumble. “Things are just…kind of messed up.”

“Messed up how?” she wants to know.

I feel stupid explaining because between the two of us she has the tougher situation, no question, but the second I reach the safety of the bathroom I tell her everything. The empty kiss with Lennox. My subsequent internal meltdown. The two text messages I sent to Dublin. 

By then my eyes are streaming and Jocelyn says, “Ohhh.”

“Yeah, ohhh.” I swipe at my eyes again and fight for control of my voice. “I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” she insists. “New Year’s makes people do weird things. Get nostalgic and lonely and—” 

She must feel it too, nostalgic and lonely for what her life used to be like, and I instantly want to apologize for being so self-absorbed. “Idiotic,” I cut in, almost trying to make a joke of it. “Maybe if he texts me back I can pretend my phone was stolen or that I got stupid-drunk and didn’t know what I was doing.”

“Do you think he’ll text back?” she asks gently. “I thought you guys said you wouldn’t do that—stay in touch, I mean.”

“Yeah,” I agree in a hushed voice. “That’s what we said.” That unless something changed and there was a way for us to be together again being in contact would only make things harder.

But admitting it rockets me straight back to the reason I texted him in the first place: I can’t stand the thought of never hearing from him again. If what we had was as real to him as it was to me, wouldn’t he feel compelled to answer me?

“It sucks that distance is the thing that had to keep you apart,” Joss says and I feel her sympathy deep in the centre of my chest. “But long distance relationships suck too. You know how it usually works out for those couples—they break up, same as you already have only it’s usually worse because then it gets messy—someone cheats or loses interest. You didn’t have any of that. You only had the high points.”

I don’t know about that, we had plenty of drama last summer long before we got to the end of it. But the main thing now is damage control and when I ask Jocelyn for advice on how to fix things she says, “If you text him again and try to explain you’ll probably only make it worse. If I were you I’d leave things alone, then if he does text you back try to follow his lead and be cool about it.”

That makes sense, except I was never cool when it came to us. If I’d been capable of being cool about him the whole thing probably wouldn’t ever have happened. 

“Thanks,” I say firmly. “Are you okay?” Joss’s been through so much since last spring and it’s not over yet.

“I’m okay,” she confirms, her tone only marginally wistful. “Taking things one day at a time like always.”

I bite back a sigh. “One day at a time is good. I sort of went MIA with Yanna’s phone. I guess I should get back to her and Kérane.”

“Kay. Call me tomorrow, all right? 

“I will. Thanks.” I can’t stop thanking Jocelyn for advice that I don’t intend to follow. 

I hang up Yanna’s cell and lean forward to set it on the counter while I deal with my own phone.

There are no messages from him, no new messages from anyone, and I wonder what would happen if I actually called his number right this second, in the early hours of the Irish morning on New Year’s Day. But as much as I need to hear from him, I can’t bear the thought of him sounding disinterested or disappointed to hear from me. That would crush me worse than saying goodbye to him at the end of last August because at least then I knew he cared. 

So I do a lesser thing and text him one last time. No, I really mean that. This is it. My final words to him unless he texts me back. 

I stare at my right hand for a moment before hunching over my phone and getting down to business. Miraculously, my fingers still aren’t shaking as they fly across the keys.

Did you mean what you said last summer about making things happen if we could?
I tap send and then, with the message flung out across the miles, immediately shut my phone off to stop myself obsessively checking for a reply that may never come.
 
I still have a soggy lump in my throat. I’m still craving him in a hundred different ways. In my head I can hear him singing as clearly as if he were standing next to me with his mouth pressed to my ear, his voice turning me to mush. If it really is over I’ll have lost him twice now, but either way that knowledge will have to wait until at least tomorrow because tonight I’m going back to my friends to try my hardest to celebrate the birth of a brand new year.
 

New YA Next Month: Just Like You Said It Would Be

Sometimes you hear writers talk about the book of their heart, the one they love beyond all others. The book I'm about to tell you about is the book of my heart. I began writing the first version of Just Like You Said It Would Be back in 1999, making it a nineties baby and a current eighteen-year-old. It was the book I started writing young adult fiction for (at one point it was even a trilogy) and the book I've never really stopped writing. In fact, I doubt I've left the story alone for more than eighteen months at a stretch since 1999; over the years I've revised, reworked and rewritten the novel more times than I can count.
Just Like You Said It Would Be centres around a love story set in Dublin, and focuses on a Canadian girl with screenwriting ambitions (and an Egyptian and Irish background) and an Irish boy in a garage band— that much is the same as it was eighteen years ago. Pretty much everything else is different. It's grown, and then grown again so that except for its heart—which I know well—I can barely recognize it myself. In 2013 I was incredibly lucky to receive a Canada Council grant for the project and rewrote the story from scratch. This was where the book made it greatest leaps, but the work didn't stop there.The novel was under construction again in 2015/2016 and even more recently, in minor ways.

And now, when it's exactly where I want it to be, and after much internal debate, I've decided to release Just Like You Said It Would Be myself next month. There's a cover reveal scheduled for it February 2nd and because I designed the cover I'm extra excited (if that's even possible for  considering how much I already love this book). If you're a book blogger who wants to take part in the reveal you can head over to Xpresso Book Tours to sign up. You can also add it to your Goodreads list. If you're wondering how it fits in with the rest of my work, I'd say its closest living relative is Come See About Me but without the grief and featuring younger characters. 
I'll be posting the first chapter on my website shortly (after my laptop comes back from the shop) but in the meantime, here's the official blurb:
Did you ever want something so much that it felt like a kind of sickness, one you didn’t want to be cured of? On New Year’s Eve the feeling compels seventeen-year-old Amira to text the Irish ex-boyfriend she’s been missing desperately since they broke up at the end of summer, when she returned to Canada.
They agreed they wouldn’t be friends, that it would never be enough. But that was then—back when Amira’s separated parents had shipped her off to relatives in Dublin for the summer so they could test-drive the idea of getting back together on a long haul cruise. Back when Amira was torn away from a friend in need in Toronto only to fall in love with a Dublin screenwriting class and take a step closer to her dream career. And only to fall for cousin Zoey’s bandmate, Darragh, the guy who is first her friend, then her enemy and later something much more complicated—the guy she can say anything to, the guy who makes every inch of her feel wide awake in a way she hadn’t known was possible. The guy she might never see again. Or is there, despite the distance, somehow still a chance for them?

Art Council Happiness

I'm not going to lie, life has been rough on multiple fronts lately. But I'm immensely grateful to have some wonderful writing news to share. Monday afternoon I received notification from the Canada Council for the Arts that my young adult WIP has been approved for a grant. On that same day I also received a cheque from the Ontario Arts Council Writers' Reserve program for the same project.

I couldn't feel more grateful and elated to have this support and vote of confidence. If there were a hilltop handy I'd probably be singing from the top of it like Julie Andrews. This happy news comes at a time when I sorely need it. I can't thank the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council enough. I'm also intensely thankful to live in a country that values and supports the Arts with grants like these. They make a very real and tangible difference to Canadian artists.

Election Day: the view from outside the U.S.

I'm not American but globally I think we all feel we have a stake in this election and so many of us—both inside the United States and out—have watched with unease and disgust as Donald Trump has stoked the flames of hate and flaunted his ineptitude, ignorance and boorishness like they're things to be proud of. They're not.

I completely agree with Bill Maher that this election is a referendum on decency. I am very nervous today. I have no formal vote, but I am a big believer in decency.

New Looks for Old Books & Goodreads Giveaway

It’s the kind of dreary rainy day where everything looks gray, and feels cold and slow. The kind of day where you don’t have much energy, but force yourself to march along regardless. According to the local forecast we’ll have four days in a row like this before we break free of the pattern on Monday. With little temptation to go outside by all rights this should be a great day for writing—and I’m trying, but like everything else today, my writing is gray and slow.
  So I’ve designated the next little while as break time, or update time. Not long ago I blogged about releasing paperback copies of Yesterday and its sequel Tomorrow together as one book. Those copies are currently available at Amazon.com and other various Amazon outlets, as well as Barnes and Noble. I also hope to have the duology ready for ebook formats in a couple of weeks. In the meantime there's a Goodreads giveaway for Yesterday & Tomorrow under way.


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Goodreads Book Giveaway Yesterday & Tomorrow by C.K. Kelly Martin Giveaway ends October 14, 2016.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads. Enter Giveaway
Draw date is October 14th and the contest is open to residents of Canada and the United States. I have my own copy for safe keeping and I have to say it looks pretty spiffy. Weighing in at 516 pages and 170,000 words it's a whole lot of book!

 But Yesterday and Tomorrow aren't my only books to get new looks. A couple of weeks ago I also redesigned the cover for Come See About Me and am quite pleased with the new approach. The ebook versions share the same new cover design, and if you order a paperback, the front and back cover will appear like this: 

If today was as pleasant a day in Oakville as we see pictured on this cover, I probably wouldn't be typing this update now!

Ireland 2016 Photo Album

Being back in Ireland I always feel as though I'm visiting my previous self. Of course, in some ways our past selves are always with us. I'm still a twelve year old with braces, a film student in love with screwball comedies, a newly married twenty-eight-year-old, and a thirty-seven-year-old who landed her first book deal.
––particularly Dublin - I always feel as though I'm visiting my previous self. It's an interesting feeling. Every version of ourselves is still with us, every day, in some way, of course. I'm still a twelve-year-old with braces, a film student in love with screwball comedies, a newly married person of twenty-eight, and the thirty-seven-year-old who landed her first book deal. 
But in Dublin it's different. I almost feel as if I could catch sight of my former self ambling past on Dame Street wearing Levis and Doc Martens, and with a lion's mane of wavy hair. As though the touch of my soles on Dublin city streets year after year has solidified various ghost versions of myself. It beams the visions back to me as I round the corner onto Grafton Street, stand on the cobblestones in the Trinity College grounds, or when the light catches my eyes at certain magic angles while waiting to flag down a bus.

When people talk about love at first sight usually they mean with a person, but I had that with Dublin. Even when it drove me crazy in the worst ways, I never stopped loving it too.

I first landed in Dublin in 1990. Then I came back and came back and came back and stayed for years. Left for Canada but came back to Dublin to visit. Came back, came back, came back.

Every time it knows me. It never forgets. We have some special thing going, Dublin and me. I've written about it on the blog before and I've written about it in the book closest to my heart. I hope someday you'll get to read it. In the meantime, here are some of the things I saw while in Ireland this August.


Moody sky on Dame Street, Dublin Dun Laoghaire pier, Saturday evening, County Dublin
Dun Laoghaire pier, County Dublin
GPO, O'Connell Street, Dublin
Grafton Street, Dublin
Kilkenny Castle grounds, August 24
Picturesque downtown Kilkenny
Lovely Kilkenny, by the river
Homemade soup from the tea room in Kilkenny castle
If you go to Kilkenny castle don't miss the tea room - the dessert counter is pure amazing.
Love that someone gave Phil Lynott a rose! Harry Street, Dublin
Muckross House, Killarney National park
Hobbit-themed pub, downtown Killarney, bundled up for the rain
Stunning Killarney National park in the rain and mist
Downtown Killarney
Pint of Killarney in Killarney
This was the scene in Henry Street, Dublin last week. So sad to see all of the Republic of Ireland's HMV stores closing. Closest one you can find is now in Belfast, the sole HMV left on the island.
Inch Beach, Kerry. Wild weather day. Could hardly turn to face the water because of the sand gusting into your mouth. Stunning beach. Saw it once back in 98 in the sun and was in awe. But this wasn't the right day for it. Having said that, was impressed with the kite surfers out there, flipping into the air and flying.
Torc waterfall, Killarney National park
Tipperary Bridge
Happy to get some of our dirty clothes out of our suitcases and onto the line at my mother-in-law's house
The place I seriously started writing - my in-law's roomy back garden shed where we lived for several months before leaving for Canada. The location also figures largely in my YA currently out on submission.
Stray cat living in my mother in law's backyard we were all feeding. It boldly tried to get into the house one day and after being chased out and went back to calmly basking in the Irish sun.
Cabinteely Park, County Dublin

Yesterday & Tomorrow (Yesterday Books 1 and 2)

I've been waiting a long time to finally, finally be able to package my sci-fi YA Yesterday and its sequel, Tomorrow, together but that's in the works right now. The book cover and interior are all ready to go and when I'm back from vacation at the end of the month I'll be putting together a Goodreads fall giveaway. If you've already read Yesterday and want to know what happens to Freya and Garren afterwards, you can of course simply order a copy of Tomorrow. But if you happen to want the whole story all in one shot, this is it! 516 pages and a whopping 170,000 words.

And if you have no idea what I'm even talking about, here are the blurb and book trailers to clue you in:
Yesterday: The future’s fast collapsing. In the United North America (U.N.A) of 2063 sixteen-year-old Freya’s losing her brother to a plague that threatens to bury a world already crippled by nightmarish climate change, terrorism, mass global migration and severe unemployment. But when Freya wakes up seventy-eight years earlier – the dystopian future entirely swept from her mind – her life is one of high school cliques and crushes, new wave music and television repeats. Until she meets a boy (Garren) she’s sure she knows yet has never met. Suddenly nothing about her life feels right. Soon Freya and Garren are on the run from people they believed they could trust, struggling to uncover the truth about their lives and fighting for their very survival.

Tomorrow: The sci-fi adventure that began with Yesterday continues with an eco-thriller where no one is safe. The future's reach is long.


A couple of years ago I wrote a blog entry about the science and technology behind Yesterday and Tomorrow—stuff that inspired  my vision of the United North America of 2063 (hint: nanomedicine and Kiva) you might find interesting if you're curious about the books too.

Last but not least I can't talk about these two books without mentioning how 80s infused they are. A sci-fi book about the future set in the 80s, uh-huh. If that sounds cool to you, and if you have BIG 80s love like I do and still get chills listening to Space Age Love Song, know all the words to Talk Talk's It's My Life and 99 Red Balloons (yeah, even Nena's original German version), this book might be your kind of thing. But don't take my word for it, here's a snippet from the Kirkus review of Yesterday:

"A vivid infusion of 1980s culture gives this near-future dystopia an offbeat, Philip K. Dick aura...The cultural homage is nostalgic fun, from Care Bears to MacGyver. But for delivering that uniquely ’80s flavor, nothing beats music. Fans of the Smiths, Depeche Mode, Scritti Politti—this one’s for you."
A vivid infusion of 1980s culture gives this near-future dystopia an offbeat, Philip K. Dick aura...The cultural homage is nostalgic fun, from Care Bears to MacGyver. But for delivering that uniquely ’80s flavor, nothing beats music. Fans of the Smiths, Depeche Mode, Scritti Politti—this one’s for you. - See more at: http://www.ckkellymartin.com/p/booksy...

Ain’t No Cure, But I Have My Z-Coils

It looks like I need to do some dusting around here. Yep, it’s been a long time since I posted to this space. Mostly I’ve been saving up the words for my fiction writing. In recent months that means work on my young adult horror novel. But for the most part that’s not what I’m going to talk about here today. The subject I want to get into is the other thing that’s been eating up a good chunk of my time on a daily basis—the health problems that originated almost three years ago and became markedly more severe in April, 2014. If you’re interested—and particularly if you’re suffering from what medical professionals are telling you is plantar fasciitis but that won’t budge after years of severe pain—you can read some background on my feet/health problems here: The Pain of Standing Still.

Since the writing of that fall 2015 post my diagnosis is still the same—idiopathic polyneuropathy that’s causing numbness, pain, tingling and other weird sensations in my feet AS WELL AS something mysterious and as yet unidentified that the three neurologists I've seen swear isn’t caused by neuropathy but which has been creating a sensation of constant tightness and weakness in my legs, mainly below my knees. The results of these multiple issues are as follows: because I can’t feel my feet properly, I tend to stumble over them, particularly the right one. My feet hurt to a certain extent all the time but stiffen to an incredible degree if I’ve been off them for more than half an hour to forty minutes, and then stand. The odd tightness near the back of my legs which makes walking feel exceptionally weird and tiring also worsens once I’m off them and then stand again. Unfortunately, remaining on my feet for long periods isn’t a solution either because after a fairly short period walking or standing results in even worse pain.

All of this means I have become a Jack in the Box, constantly popping up!

Topical magnesium and daily Vitamin B Complex pills seem to have greatly reduced the painful foot and leg spasms that were waking me in the middle of the night. But as for the rest of my issues, unfortunately I don’t have solutions—I definitely don’t want to fill the hardcore prescriptions I’ve been written for Gabapentin and Lyrica which would only mask my symptoms, and judging by the list of side effects posted at the People's Pharmacy potentially create more problems than they cure.

So if I don’t have answers, why am I writing this post? Basically, SHOES. If you're having problems with foot pain, whether due to plantar fasciitis, neuropathy or another condition, it's enormously important that you find supportive footwear that helps take the sting, ache and electric zing out of walking. Some foot-pain sufferers swear by New Balance running shoes, others by Oofos recovery sandals, or Vionic Orthaheels, or many other brands.

What has worked best for me—the only reason I’ve been able to stay on my feet as much as I have, limited as this is, are Z-Coils. They reduce impact by fifty percent because of their unusual coil heel and as a result have helped me stay mobile where orthotics failed miserably (even though they were designed by a professional C-ped and revamped on four separate occasions). Z-Coils aren't the answer for everyone. No such single answer exists. They aren't cheap either, but they have definitely cut my pain and elongated the amount of time I can spend on my feet.

 About a month ago, a poster on a Foot Pain message board I visit put Adidas Tubulars on my radar. I picked up a pair on sale and personally have found them very comfortable too. As you can see below, they also have a very unique heel which is quite good at absorbing impact.
I'm going for a back MRI in late September and have recently started acupuncture. I'm still fighting for my health, still trying to pin down exactly what's happening in my body, and in the meantime am still looking for helpful tools (like good shoes!) to help too. I hope if you're dealing with mysterious health problems that you keep fighting and searching for answers also. And, more than anything, I hope you feel better in the future than you do today!  Now, for the people with no health concerns, and no sore feet who have made it this far into the post, here are the first two paragraphs of my creepy horror novel.

The Books That Made Me Fall In Love With YA

Recently I was thrilled to learn that School Library Journal had written an extremely positive review of my latest contemporary young adult book, Delicate. They call it a “fascinating work” and a “refreshing look at contemporary issues.” You can read the entire review at Barnes and Noble by following this link and then scrolling down to the editorial reviews section. For me, one of the best things about the SLJ review is that it recommends Delicate for fans of Stephen Chbosky, who wrote one of my all-time favourite YA books, The Perks of Being a Wallflower.

So, the moment I read that I felt “infinite”, you know?

And with that, came a wave of fresh love for the young adult books I read when I was only beginning to write YA myself, years before I ever got a deal to publish I Know It’s Over (2006, and the book’s release date was in fall 2008).

Back in 2009 I blogged about how the TV show Party of Five inspired me to start writing YA, and that’s true, but the books that showed me what kind of young adult fiction I wanted to write were mostly realistic contemporary YAs that I devoured between 1999 and 2004. These types of books are still being released but in fewer numbers and often with less publishing support, as high concept fiction generally seems to rule the market. It’s a damn shame because the titles I’m about to name are the books my heart believes in most deeply. They’re novels that are emotionally complex and that fearlessly tell the truth about being a young person without glossing over problems or winding themselves around a splashy plotline and/or a series of high octane events.

If you haven’t read these books yet, and you love and admire realistic contemporary young adult fiction as much as I do, you might want to add them to your reading list. I have been remiss not to thank these amazing authors and their wonderful works earlier.

Here, complete with back cover blurb material, are some of the books that made me fall in love with contemporary YA and helped shape my own writing.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky (1999)

Charlie is a freshman.

And while he's not the biggest geek in the school, he is by no means popular. Shy, introspective, intelligent beyond his years yet socially awkward, he is a wallflower, caught between trying to live his life and trying to run from it.

Charlie is attempting to navigate his way through uncharted territory: the world of first dates and mix tapes, family dramas and new friends; the world of sex, drugs, and The Rocky Horror Picture Show, when all one requires is that perfect song on that perfect drive to feel infinite. But he can't stay on the sideline forever. Standing on the fringes of life offers a unique perspective. But there comes a time to see what it looks like from the dance floor.

Life is Funny by E .R. Frank (2000)

From the outside, they're simply a group of urban teenagers. But from the inside, they're some of the most complex people you'll ever meet. There's Eric, fiercely protective of his brother Mickey-but he has a secret that holds together his past and future. Sonia, struggling to live the life of a good Muslim girl in a foreign America. Gingerbread and Keisha, who fall in love despite themselves. Life Is Funny strips away the defenses of one group of teenagers living today, right now-and shows their unbearably real lives.

Damage by A. M. Jenkins (2001)

As the Pride of the Panthers, football star Austin Reid is a likable guy, good with the ladies. Lately though, he doesn't like his life -- or anything else -- so much. And the worst part is that he can't seem to figure out why.

Breathing Underwater by Alex Flinn (2001)

Like father, like son.

Intelligent, popular, handsome, and wealthy, sixteen-year-old Nick Andreas is pretty much perfect — on the outside, at least. What no one knows — not even his best friend — is the terror that Nick faces every time he is alone with his father. Then he and Caitlin fall in love, and Nick thinks his problems are over. Caitlin is the one person who he can confide in. But when things start to spiral out of control, Nick must face the fact that he's gotten more from his father than green eyes and money.

Borrowed Light by Anna Fienberg (1999)

Sixteen-year-old Callisto May feels a deep connection to astronomy. She can name all the moons of Jupiter and even tell you the dimensions of the Great Red Spot. But she feels completely alone on planet Earth. And now that she’s pregnant, her loneliness is acute. She can’t turn to her mother, who’s always been too consumed with unspoken grief to care for her children; she can’t turn to her father, who buries himself in work and pretends that life at home is normal; and her surfer boyfriend wants freedom to catch the perfect wave more than he wants to hang around Callisto. Only Callisto’s little brother loves her unfailingly, but she can’t be there for him right now. She’s got to make a huge decision—and, for a change, that means thinking of herself first. Somehow, though, as her world orbits out of control, Callisto finds the courage to fight through the secrecy and silence that are suffocating her family, along with the strength to decide what’s best for her future

The Parallel Universe of Liars by Kathleen Jeffrie Johnson (2002)

Robin’s neighbor Frankie is like walking sex. He’s 23, hot, charming, and used to getting what he wants. When Janice, Robin’s stepmom, first meets Frankie, they lock eyes with an almost audible sizzle. Not long after, Robin discovers they’re having an affair. She is shocked, angry, curious, even jealous—but not really surprised. It’s just one more hurtful secret to be kept in this parallel universe of liars.

Surrounded by superficiality, infidelity, and lies, Robin, 15 and a self-described “chunk,” has a secret of her own—she can’t stay away from Frankie, either. But when a new guy ambles into her life, Robin must find a way to escape her own tangle of deception to capture something real.

Target by Kathleen Jeffrie Johnson (2001)

Why had the men chosen him? Savagely violated by two strangers, sixteen-year-old Grady West retreats into silence. Some hells just can't be shared. Searing and powerful, Target shows that people can go through unspeakable things and emerge whole-- and sometimes your friends can save you.

If You Come Softly by Jacqueline Woodson (1998)

Jeremiah feels good inside his own skin. That is, when he's in his own Brooklyn neighborhood. But now he's going to be attending a fancy prep school in Manhattan, and black teenage boys don't exactly fit in there. So it's a surprise when he meets Ellie the first week of school. In one frozen moment their eyes lock and after that they know they fit together -- even though she's Jewish and he's black. Their worlds are so different, but to them that's not what matters. Too bad the rest of the world has to get in their way.

Monster by Walter Dean Myers (1999)

This New York Times bestselling novel and National Book Award nominee from acclaimed author Walter Dean Myers tells the story of Steve Harmon, a teenage boy in juvenile detention and on trial. Presented as a screenplay of Steve's own imagination, and peppered with journal entries, the book shows how one single decision can change our whole lives.

Fade In: Interior: Early Morning In Cell Block D, Manhattan Detention Center.

Steve (Voice-Over)

Sometimes I feel like I have walked into the middle of a movie. Maybe I can make my own movie. The film will be the story of my life. No, not my life, but of this experience. I'll call it what the lady prosecutor called me ... Monster.

Slam! by Walter Dean Myers (1996)

Seventeen-year-old Greg "Slam" Harris can do it all on the basketball court. He's seen ballplayers come and go, and he knows he could be one of the lucky ones. Maybe he'll make it to the top. Or maybe he'll stumble along the way. Slam's grades aren't that hot. And when his teachers jam his troubles in his face, he blows up.

Slam never doubted himself on the court until he found himself going one-on-one with his own future, and he didn't have the ball.

Bringing up the Bones by Lara Zeises (2002)

Bridget Edelstein is taking a year off before she goes to college, to try to recover from the the recent death of Benji, her longtime best friend-turned-reluctant boyfriend. Rather than accept support from her friends or family, Bridget turns to Jasper, a wonderful guy willing to nurse her broken soul–when she lets him. As she comes to terms with life without Benji, and the truth about their relationship, Bridget learns that being able to love deeply and truly is essential, even if the one you love doesn’t feel the same. More importantly, she discovers that happiness pinned to another person is only an illusion–now it’s time to find happiness on her own.

Make Lemonade (Book #1) by Virginia Euwer Wolff (1993)

An award-winning novel about growing up and making choices.

Virginia Euwer Wolff's groundbreaking novel, written in free verse, tells the story of fourteen-year-old LaVaughn, who is determined to go to college--she just needs the money to get there.

When she answers a babysitting ad, LaVaughn meets Jolly, a seventeen-year-old single mother with two kids by different fathers. As she helps Jolly make lemonade out of the lemons her life has given her, LaVaughn learns some lessons outside the classroom.

True Believer (Make Lemonade #2) by Virginia Euwer Wolff (2001)

LaVaughn is fifteen now, and she's still fiercely determined to go to college. But that's the only thing she's sure about. Loyalty to her father bubbles up as her mother grows closer to a new man. The two girls she used to do everything with have chosen a path LaVaughn wants no part of. And then there's Jody. LaVaughn can't believe how gorgeous he is...or how confusing. He acts like he's in love with her, but is he?

After January by Nick Earls (1996)

Alex Delaney is waiting for the beginning of the rest of his life. Marking time till his tertiary offer, he's not expecting much, just the usual holiday in Caloundra. So he's not prepared for the girl with the nose-ring who cuts past him on a wave and draws him into a new way of looking at himself and the world.

48 Shades of Brown by Nick Earls (1999)

Australian teenager Dan Bancroft had a choice to make: go to Geneva with his parents for a year, or move into a house with his bass-playing aunt Jacq and her friend Naomi. He chose Jacq’s place, and his life will never be the same. This action-packed and laugh-out-loud-funny novel navigates Dan’s chaotic world of calculus, roommates, birds, and love.

Dreamland by Sarah Dessen (2000)

Ever since she started going out with Rogerson Biscoe, Caitlin seems to have fallen into a semiconscious dreamland where nothing is quite real. Rogerson is different from anyone Caitlin has ever known. He's magnetic. He's compelling. He's dangerous. Being with him makes Caitlin forget about everything else--her missing sister, her withdrawn mother, her lackluster life. But what happens when being with Rogerson becomes a larger problem than being without him?

Someone like You by Sarah Dessen (1998)

Halley has always followed in the wake of her best friend, Scarlett. But when Scarlett learns that her boyfriend has been killed in a motorcycle accident, and that she's carrying his baby, she was devastated. For the first time ever, Scarlett really needs Halley. Their friendship may bend under the weight, but it'll never break--because a true friendship is a promise you keep forever.

Every Time a Rainbow Dies by Rita Williams-Garcia (2002)

Ever since he found her battered and raped in the alley near his home, Thulani hasn't been able to think about anything but Ysa. This is the first time since his mother died that he's given a thought to anything but the rock doves he keeps on the roof of his house in Brooklyn. Now that he has seen Ysa, Thulani finally has a reason to come down from the roof. But it's not so easy for him -- especially when it seems that Ysa doesn't want him in her world at all.

Rainbow Boys by Alex Sanchex (2001)

Jason Carrillo is a jock with a steady girlfriend, but he can't stop dreaming about sex...with other guys.

Kyle Meeks doesn't look gay, but he is. And he hopes he never has to tell anyone -- especially his parents.

Nelson Glassman is "out" to the entire world, but he can't tell the boy he loves that he wants to be more than just friends.

Three teenage boys, coming of age and out of the closet. In a revealing debut novel that percolates with passion and wit, Alex Sanchez follows these very different high-school seniors as their struggles with sexuality and intolerance draw them into a triangle of love, betrayal, and ultimately, friendship.

U.S. Goodreads Giveaway for Delicate

The U.S. giveaway for Delicate is now underway at Goodreads so if you'd like to enter, head on over. These books are waiting for good homes to go to! They are housebroken, independent-minded and inquisitive but prone to periods of angst.

The contest runs until May 14th to coincide with the U.S. release of Delicate. There'll also be a blog tour around that time. Details to come...

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Goodreads Book Giveaway Delicate by C.K. Kelly Martin Giveaway ends May 14, 2016.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads. Enter Giveaway