Amy Plum's Blog, page 17

AFTER THE END’s Awe-tastic Cover Art

A couple of weeks ago, as part of the Young Adult Scavenger Hunt, I did the cover reveal for AFTER THE END. And here it is once again in all its spookily mysterious glory:

To give credit where credit is due, several people worked on this truly awesome cover. Much gratitude goes to Ray Shappell and Alison Donalty at HarperTeen as well as artists Craig Shields, Howard Huang, and Kelly Delay. And big thanks goes as well to all of the fantastic photographers and designers in the Acks.

So let’s deconstruct. The person you see on the cover is Juneau, our protagonist. My agent said she reminded her of Rambo, and I agree as long as you subtract the guns, bulging muscles, sweaty headband… let’s just say that Juneau’s tough. And she’s a survivor. And she might be a little bit magic as well, if you put something that’s complex very simplistically.

Next we’ve got the dogs. Now, the 2 dogs on the cover are special. Because they’re actually 1 dog-model named Beau, and here he is:

When I saw his volunteer name tag with his picture on it, I pretty much melted. And then I googled him and found this and this, which say that he was rescued dog and is now a therapy dog, which means I am a HUGE fan of Beau. Who better to represent Juneau’s huskies in the book: Beckett and Neruda? The dogs play important roles in the first part of the book: dogsled is Juneau’s mode of transport in the Alaskan wild, but beyond that the huskies are like family members to her.

I love the kind-of-snow/kind-of-sand foreground. Really creates a sense of desolation. And then you have that brand spanking new city on the horizon. An Alaskan reader informed me it was the Anchorage skyline. Which is completely in line with the story, but which I have never seen for myself, so I couldn’t swear on it.

The series can be described as fantasy or magical realism, and will fit perfectly in the YA Fantasy/Adventure shelf of your favorite bookstore.

I ran a couple of taglines by my Facebook fans the other day, and opinion was pretty much evenly split between the following two:

She believed the world had ended. For her, it was just beginning.
She’s searching for answers to her past. They’re hunting her to save their future.

So that gives you another tiny taste for what to expect. And then there’s the flap copy:

World War III has left the world ravaged by nuclear radiation. A lucky few escaped to the Alaskan wilderness. They’ve survived for the last thirty years by living off the land, being one with nature, and hiding from whoever else might still be out there.

At least, this is what Juneau has been told her entire life.

When Juneau returns from a hunting trip to discover that everyone in her clan has vanished, she sets off to find them. Leaving the boundaries of their land for the very first time, she learns something horrifying: There never was a war. Cities were never destroyed. The world is intact. Everything was a lie.

Now Juneau is adrift in a modern-day world she never knew existed. But while she’s trying to find a way to rescue her friends and family, someone else is looking for her. Someone who knows the extraordinary truth about the secrets of her past.

Some of you may be asking, “But what about the boy?” Oh, the boy, the boy, the boy. Let me just tell you that I accidentally typed the name Jules instead of Miles when I was writing today. They are not alike. But they both do funny things to my heart.

So now that you know a little bit more about the book, tell me what you think of the cover!

p.s. I found out that the book

just went up for pre-order!

Here’s hardback, and here’s Kindle.

Hurray!

 

Jʼapparais dans une série télévisée française- préparez vous au désastre

Lʼautre jour je vous ai raconté ma journée horriblement hilarant sur une série télévisée qui sʼappelle “Norbert et Jean, Le Défi”. Eh bien vous allez pouvoir regarder la catastrophe le premier novembre. Voici le lien décrivant lʼépisode. Et voilà un photo de moi avec les chefs, que la productrice mʼa envoyée.

En train de faire des bulles avec le caramel.

Je ne suis pas rouge homard dans cette photo ci, mais jʼai passé mes cheveux trempés de transpiration derrière mon oreille. Je commence à fondre sur scène comme la Méchante Sorcière de l’Ouest.

Heureusement, le premier novembre je serais au Vegas Valley Book Festival donc je ne vais pas voir lʼépisode en splendeur sur le grand écran. Je serais caché dans ma chambre d’hôtel avec Josephine Angelini, en train de la regarder sur internet et de décider si jʼose me montrer en France à nouveau.

Ma journée sur la télévision française: la vérité sale et suintante

Il yʼa un peu plus dʼun mois, jʼai lu un mail qui avait été envoyé au groupe américain/ français duquel je fais parti. Le mail mʼa dit quʼune série télévisée de cuisine cherchait une américaine avec des enfants qui allait fêter lʼHalloween. Mes enfants m’embêtaient déjà, en voulant faire parti dʼune série télévisée où un enfant est mis dans une labyrinthe et lʼautre doit le guider en lui donnant des instructions à voix haute. Donc, je me suis dit, puisque mes enfants meurent dʼenvie dʼapparaître à la télé, je verrais si nous pouvons participer à cette émission. Je leur ai répondu en disant que nous célébrons Halloween avec une grande fête, puisque lʼanniversaire de mon fils est le jour dʼavant. Et puis jʼai tout oublié.

Quelques semaines plus tard un agent de casting mʼa appelé a propos de lʼémission. Je lui ai parlé pendant quelques minutes, et il mʼa dit que lʼidée cʼétait de filmer une fête dʼHalloween chez moi, pour laquelle les chefs cuisineraient et mes enfants inviteraient leurs amis, tous déguisés. Donc, moi je pensais que je serais là dans le fond de scène, en train de regarder les chefs et manger de la très bonne nourriture.

Et puis jʼai regardé un épisode. Et je fus quasiment morte sur place.

La série sʼappelle Norbert et Jean: Le Défi. Il met en scène une personne normale (c.-à-d. moi) qui lance un défi à deux chefs qui ont gagné Top Chef. Ils filment tout un épisode pendant laquelle les chefs trouvent des idées brillantes et me montrent comment les cuisiner. À la fin de lʼépisode les amis/la famille de la personne normale viennent pour gouter la nourriture et deviner ce que fut le défi. Ce que jʼai alors compris cʼétait 1. je devais être la star du show, pas juste quelquʼun dans le fond de scène, 2. je devais faire quelque chose dont je ne suis pas très adepte (cuisiner) et 3. je devais le faire dans une autre langue (le français).

Mais, jʼétais déjà allé trop loin pour faire marche arrière: jʼavais dit a mes enfants quʼils allaient être sur la télé. Aussi, jʼai une règle personnelle qui dit que si je me trouve confronté à une situation qui me fais peur (…sans être dangereuse), je dois toujours la tenter. Sinon cʼest une expérience perdue. La vie est courte. Je devais lʼoser.

Jʼai signé les papiers quʼils mʼont envoyé; je leur ai envoyé des photos de mon appartement (qui était trop petit, donc au final ils ont loué un endroit plus grand); et jʼai fait lʼenregistrement du casting, pour laquelle jʼai mémorisé une page entière en français afin de la régurgiter devant l’appareil photo de mon iphone en mʼasseyant sur mon canapé. Dans lʼenregistrement je devais donner aux chefs leur défi: faire un repas entier en citrouille – un repas qui plairait à mes enfants (qui détestent les légumes) et leurs amis. Souvenez-vous…ce nʼest pas moi qui a créé le défi. Si ça avait été moi, je nʼaurais jamais inclus de la citrouille sur le menu. Cʼétait destiné à lʼéchec.

Pour lʼépisode il fallait pouvoir faire rentrer au moins cinq personnes dans la cuisine. Ma cuisine pourrait sûrement tenir cinq personnes…si tout le monde était serré les uns aux autres sans bouger dʼun poil.

Sautons quelques semaines. Cʼest lundi matin (hier) et je me réveille après deux jours de rhume SANS VOIX. Je veux dire rien. Jʼenvois vite un texto à lʼagent de casting et à la productrice afin de leur demander ce que je dois faire. Ils me réécrivent en me disant que je suis obligé de venir, ils ne peuvent pas tout annuler a moins quʼil yʼait quelque chose de vraiment sérieux. Alors je fais des gargarismes avec de lʼeau chaude salée, je tente de chanter sous une douche chaude, et lorsque jʼarrive dans lʼappartement quʼils ont loué au nord de Paris, je suis capable de coasser quelques mots dans une voix grave, comme celle dʼun amphibien.

Dʼabord je rencontre Marie, la productrice qui se charge de ma partie de lʼémission. Je lui ai déjà parlé sur le téléphone, elle est super sympa et fait tout pour me rendre à lʼaise. Elle me passe au preneur de son, un homme français, magnifiquement sexy, qui sʼappelle Hugues (“Hugh” in English, comme il a dit) qui commence a mettre sa main à lʼintérieur de ma robe.

Je porte une petite robe en laine, des collants et des bottes biker à la hauteur de ma genou. Le seul endroit que Hughes peut attacher les piles est le haut de mes collants, puis il doit passer le fil en dessous de ma robe pour attacher le microphone au niveau de mon décolleté. À chaque fois que le microphone bouge un peu, Hughes doit venir le régler. Donc, en gros jʼai un homme beau en train de mettre sa main sous ma robe toute la journée. Étrangement, je ne me plains pas.

Ensuite, Marie m’emmène dehors ou je dois réciter ce que jʼavais enregistré sur mon iPhone, mais cette fois ci devant leur camera. Jʼai du mal à mʼen souvenir, et il yʼa beaucoup de coupes puisque je dis une paragraphe à la fois et je procède à oublier mon âge et ceux de mes enfants ( Je ne peut pas me souvenir de chiffres. Selon la scène quʼils utiliseront, je vais avoir 45 ou 46 ans, Max va avoir 7 ou 8 ans et Lucia va avoir 6 ou 7 ans.)

Après ça, Marie mʼemmène à lʼintérieur où un camera et des lumières sont assemblés, elle commence à mʼinterviewer sur mes attentes, comment je mʼimagine les chefs et si je pense quʼils sont capables de faire face au défi. (Je dois répéter ses questions, puisquʼon ne voit/entend pas celle qui fait lʼinterview et certaines parties sont imprononçables). Cʼest ici que je commence à transpirer. Je nʼai pas peur, cʼest juste que les lumières sont si chaudes quʼà la fin mes cheveux sont trempés. Une fois lʼinterview terminé, je vais aux toilettes pour me trouver un sèche-cheveux. Cʼest mon meilleur ami pour le reste de la journée.

Alors arrivent les chefs. Nous filmons le moment où je les laisse entrer à travers la porte dʼentrée du jardin. Je marmonne bonjour et ils me regardent bizarrement. Puis, ils trouvent une brouette et se portent tour a tour à travers le jardin jusquʼà la porte. Je ne sais pas quoi faire, donc je prétend que tout est normal et les laisse entrer.

Nous passons au cuisine. Les lumières sont deux fois plus chaudes quʼavant et je commence immédiatement à fondre. Mon visage ruisselle de sueur et quand je me regarde dans le miroir, ma peau est dʼune couleur entre le rouge et le rose- un peu comme la carapace dʼun homard cuit. Je suis les chefs à travers la cuisine, sans savoir ce que je suis censé faire, alors quʼils commencent à faire tout et nʼimporte quoi: sʼenflammer tour à tour leurs tabliers, arroser la cuisine avec de la crème chantilly…

Moi, quand je me trouve face aux cinglés, je recule afin de regarder le spectacle à distance. Nous y étions à peu près une demi-heure, quand Marie descend les escaliers et me dit, “Amy, tu dois intervenir plus avec Norbert et Jean. Pose-les des questions. Dites le si tu penses que la nourriture va plaire à tes enfants. Dites quelque chose!”

Donc je mʼélance en me mettant entre les deux, ce qui est bien dangereux. Je reçois au visage plein dʼherbes (quʼils utilisent afin de sécher ma transpiration) et un “baiser français” de Norbert ( il mord un oignon, puis il essaye de me faire la bise) et je suis obligé de danser autour dʼune grosse citrouille au milieu de la chambre.

Jʼessaie de participer. Vraiment, jʼessaie. Les chefs sont si sympas et à chaque foi que nous arrêtons de filmer, Norbert me pose des questions sur mes enfants, et me raconte des histoires des siens. Il s’intéresse à mes livres, me parle de ses livres de cuisine et mʼintroduit aux autres comme “Vous connaissez la dame qui a écrit Harry Potter? Eh bien, Amy elle est un écrivain encore plus connu quʼelle!”

Jean me prend de côté au moitié de la journée et me dit que je suis la fille la plus élégante quʼils nʼont jamais eu sur la série. Je me demande si cʼest parce que jʼai lʼaire tellement choqué chaque fois quʼils racontent une blague grivoise. Ou bien parce que je nʼarrive pas à me détendre. Parce que JE NʼARRIVE VRAIMENT PAS À ME DÉTENDRE. Une fois Norbert même arrête les cameras et me dit “Amy tu dois te détendre. Nous sommes entre amis, juste en train de sʼamuser.”

Et cʼétait amusant. Mais cʼétait comme regarder un cirque. Cʼest amusant de regarder des cirques. Mais moi je nʼai pas envie dʼentrer en piste et commencer à jongler. Ils avaient besoin dʼune autre clown. Pas dʼun écrivain américain tendu, qui transpirait à flots et qui avait la voix dʼune grenouille laryngitique.

Norbert, moi (couleur homard) et Jean pendant une des pauses.

Nous avons filmé toute la journée et pendant une des pauses, quelquʼun est parti me chercher des losanges spéciaux quʼils espéraient ramènerait ma voix. Ils ont marché un peu, donc jʼai pu continuer à parler dʼune voix rauque jusquʼà la dernière partie quʼil restait à filmer: le dégustation.

Lulu en train dʼêtre filmé dans son costume dʼange.

Les enfants arrivent avec leur babysitteur ainsi que mes amies Anne Nesbet, aussi écrivain, et Corinne avec ses enfants Bruno et Loup. Les enfants sont déjà habillés et sont filmés en train dʼentrer dans le jardin. À ce moment, Jean sort la tête dʼune fenêtre et arrose Max avec de la crème chantilly. Max panique et ils doivent lui trouver un autre costume.

Max dans le déguisement de diable quʼils lui ont donné après son costume de pirate fut couvert de crème chantilly.

Maintenant, mes cheveux tombent en mèches trempés autour de mon visage. Jʼai si chaud que lʼon pourrait cuire un oeuf sur mon visage. Jʼemmène tous mes invités à une table décorée dans lʼesprit dʼHalloween et je leur apporte le premier plat. Je ne suis pas sûr si jʼai le droit de vous dire quels plats ils ont cuisiné avant que lʼémission nʼapparaisse, donc je dis juste que cʼétait quelque chose de très joli, que tout le monde admirait et que Max voulait le gouter en premier.

Il se penche, sirote un peu, et se redresse tout de suite, lʼair horrifié. Puis il fait quelque chose qui ferait grimacer toute mère: il la recrache sur son assiette. Mais ce nʼest pas tout. Après, il commence à avoir mal au coeur. Je prends sa main et le traine jusquʼà lʼautre côté de la chambre pour quʼil ne vomisse pas devant les cameras. Quelquʼun lʼemmène à

lʼétage et je rejoins la table, l’oeil un peu hagard, en priant que Lucia nʼaura pas la même réaction que Max. Heureusement, elle demeure polie et dit “cʼest un petit peu bon”.

Je ne vous donne pas tout les détails, mais le reste de la dégustation est à peu près pareille. Les garçons refusent de manger quoi que ce soit dʼautre. Les filles sont polies et les adultes adorent tout et disent tout ce quʼil faut. Cʼest après 22 heures alors quʼils finissent de filmer la scène et que je renvoie les enfants dans un taxi avec leur baby-sitter afin que je puisse terminer.

Pendant la dernière interview ma voix se casse et meurt en croassant. Les chefs et Marie me disent au revoir et je prends un taxi pour rentrer. Je suis arrivée ce matin à 8 heures et je rentre à 23 heures 30. Cette journée a été longue. Une journée folle. Une journée de démence et dʼévénements surréels. Jʼenvoie des textos à quelques amis pour leur dire à quel point je suis horrifié et ils me consolent. Tard la nuit, je suis enfin capable dʼoublier la journée et je mʼendors.

Le jour dʼaprès Marie mʼappelle. Elle me dit “Oh mon Dieu, ta voix est encore pire”. Elle me demande si jʼai été traumatisé et je lui avoue que oui, jʼétais quelque peu traumatisé. Je lui dis que peut-être la robe en laine et les collants étaient une mauvaise idée et elle est dʼaccord.

“Donc si vous ne pouvez pas mʼentendre dans la vidéo, et comme les enfants nʼont pas aimé la nourriture, est-ce-que vous pensez que ils pourraient ne pas diffuser cette épisode?”, je demande avec espoir. “Non cʼest sûr quʼils vont la diffuser”, elle me réponds “je te préviens quand elle passe”.

Je raccroche en réfléchissant. Ce fut une expérience bien intéressante. Je me suis amusé avec tout le monde, quand nous nʼétions pas en train dʼêtre filmé. Mes enfants ont réalisé leur rêve dʼêtre à la télé. Jʼai eu une super photo des chefs en train de tenir mes livres. Et jʼai même appris comment cuisiner certaines choses. Mais surtout, je suis devenue très reconnaissante pour le travail que jʼai: écrire des livres pendant que je suis confortablement installé dans mon petit appartement ou dans la bibliothèque du coin.

Jʼaurais peut-être des regards étranges dans le métro si quelquʼun me reconnait comme lʼaméricaine suintante, enroué, qui ne savait pas comment faire de la crème chantilly. Mais je saurais toujours que jʼai fait quelque chose de plus effrayant que la plupart dʼentre eux. Et je lʼai survécu.

Me on French TV—get ready for DISASTER!

I told you the other day about my horrifyingly hilarious day on a French reality TV show called “Norbert et Jean, Le Défi.” Well, you’re going to be able to witness the catastrophe on November 1. Here’s the link describing the episode. And here’s a picture of me with the chefs, sent to me by the producer.

Blowing bubbles with caramel.

I’m not lobster-red from the heat in this one, but my sweaty hair is tucked behind my ear. This was the beginning of me melting on set, Wicked Witch of the West-style.

Luckily, on November 1 I will be at the Vegas Valley Book Fair and will not have to see the episode in its full-screen glory. I will be tucked into my Golden Nugget hotel room with Josephine Angelini, watching it on the internet and deciding whether or not I dare show my face in France again!

YA Scavenger Hunt: Oct 3-6

Welcome to the Autumn 2013 YA Scavenger Hunt!
Oct 3-6 (noon pacific time)

For you first timers, the YA Scavenger Hunt is an online blog hop created by the lovely and talented Colleen Houck. It’s a chance for you to see bonus material by your favorite YA authors as well as winning amazing prizes.

If you came here looking for my bonus material, THE COVER REVEAL for AFTER THE END, you’ll have to keep hunting!

At each stop on the hunt, you not only get to meet a YA author and read their bonus material, but you get a clue to enter for a grand prize–one lucky winner will receive at least one signed book from each author on my team! But play fast: this contest (and all the exclusive bonus material) will only be online for 72 hours—until noon PST on October 6!

You can start right here or you can also go to the YA Scavenger Hunt homepage to find out all about the hunt. There are THREE contests going on simultaneously! I am a part of the RED TEAM–but there are also blue and gold teams. You can enter all three contests!

(If you get stuck as you are moving through the hunt, click through to this page.)

SCAVENGER HUNT PUZZLE



Directions: You’ll notice that I’ve included my favorite number at the end of the post. Collect the favorite numbers of all the authors on the red team, and then add them up (don’t worry, you can use a calculator!).
Entry Form: Once you’ve added up all the numbers, make sure you fill out the form here to officially qualify for the grand prize. Only entries that have the correct number will qualify.
Rules: Open internationally, anyone below the age of 18 should have a parent or guardian’s permission to enter. To be eligible for the grand prize, you must submit the completed entry form by October 6, at noon Pacific Time. Entries sent without the correct number or without contact information will not be considered.
ARE YOU READY??? Here we go…

BONJOUR!

I’m Amy Plum, and I live in France.

Here I am on a French reality show with 2 famous French chefs (Norbert Tarayre and Jean Imbert) holding my French books. Is that French enough for you?

As my favorite French chefs are so kindly demonstrating, I’m the author of the DIE FOR ME series, a paranormal romance series set in Paris (which is where I live) featuring supernatural beings of my very own making called “revenants.” The first book of my new series, AFTER THE END, releases May 2014!

Now that I’ve introduced myself, I’m excited to tell you about the author I’m hosting today:

For this year’s scavenger hunt, I have the honor of hosting the lovely P.J. Hoover!

P. J. Hoover first fell in love with Greek mythology in sixth grade thanks to the book Mythology by Edith Hamilton. After a fifteen year bout as an electrical engineer designing computer chips for a living, P. J. decided to take her own stab at mythology and started writing books for kids and teens.

When not writing, P. J. spends time with her husband and two kids and enjoys practicing kung fu, solving Rubik’s cubes, and watching Star Trek. Her first novel for teens, Solstice (Tor Teen, June 2013), takes place in a global warming future and explores the parallel world of mythology beside our own.

Her middle grade novel, Tut (Tor Children’s, 2014), tells the story of a young immortal King Tut, who’s been stuck in middle school for over 3,000 years and must defeat an ancient enemy with the help of a dorky kid from school, a mysterious Egyptian princess, and a one-eyed cat. P. J. is also a member of THE TEXAS SWEETHEARTS & SCOUNDRELS.

For more information about P. J. (Tricia) Hoover, please visit her website at www.pjhoover.com.

 

 

IS THIS A GORGEOUS COVER, OR WHAT?!?!?!

About SOLSTICE:

Piper’s world is dying. Each day brings hotter temperatures and heat bubbles that threaten to destroy the earth. Amid this global heating crisis, Piper lives under the oppressive rule of her mother, who suffocates her even more than the weather does. Everything changes on her eighteenth birthday, when her mother is called away on a mysterious errand and Piper seizes her first opportunity for freedom.
Piper discovers a universe she never knew existed—a sphere of gods and monsters—and realizes that her world is not the only one in crisis. While gods battle for control of the Underworld, Piper’s life spirals out of control as she struggles to find the answer to the secret that has been kept from her since her birth.

 

SOLSTICE can be bought here: Amazon.

 

For her scavenger hunt BONUS MATERIAL, P.J. has given us an…

Exclusive Video, in which she talks about real-world influences for Solstice, illegal flowers, and rivers of the Underworld.

 

How awesome is that? So the video is our exclusive content from the fabulous P.J. Hoover. BUT THAT’S NOT ALL I’VE GOT FOR YOU! There are 2 contests you can enter.

YA SCAVENGER HUNT CONTEST

To enter the contest for a chance to win a ton of signed books by me, P.J. Hoover, and more! To enter, you need to know that my favorite number is 3. Add up all the favorite numbers of the authors on the red team and you’ll have all the secret code to enter for the grand prize!

My very own DIE FOR ME Contest

You have several chances to win a fabulous prize pack including 3 signed bookmarks and 3 signed and dedicated books! (I know…huge prize pack!!!) (International.)

How to get your points:

follow me on Twitter at @AmyPlumOhLaLa (1 point)
get friends to follow me on Twitter (1 point per friend)
like me on Facebook (1 point)
get friends to follow me on Facebook (1 point per friend)
subscribe to me on YouTube (1 point)
get a friend to subscribe to me on YouTube (1 point per friend)
Leave me a comment here under this blog post telling me how many points to give you. Just leaving a comment counts 1 point. (And if you have done 1-6, give me your user names and your friends’ user names so I can credit your points.) Please leave all of the information inside one comment, instead of a comment per person. The drawing will be random, but the number of points you get determines how many times your name will be put into the hat.

Note: to be eligible to win you also need to submit a valid entry for the YA Scavenger Hunt grand prize.

Ready to go to the next website on the Scavenger Hunt?

Click HERE!

My day on French TV: the dirty, sweaty truth

Just over a month ago, I read an email sent to the American/French Meet-up group that I’m in. It said that a cooking show was looking for an American with kids who celebrated Halloween. My kids had been bugging me about being on this show where one kid is put in a maze blindfolded and the other talks them through it. So I thought, Since the kids are dying to be on t.v., I’ll see if we can do this one. I wrote them back, saying that we celebrate Halloween with a big party since my son’s birthday is the day before. And then I forgot about it.

A couple of weeks later, a casting agent called me about being on the show, I talked to her for a few minutes, and she told me that the idea was shooting a Halloween party at my house, for which these chefs would cook, and my kids would invite their friends, all dressed in costumes. So I’m thinking I’d be there in the background, watching the cooks, welcoming the guests, and eating some really nice food.

And then I watched an episode. And about died.

The show is called Norbert & Jean: Le Defi (which means “the challenge”). And it is basically a normal person (e.g. me) challenging two chefs who won Top Chef and filming a whole show where they come up with amazing ideas and show me how to cook them. At the end of the show, the normal person’s friends/family come to taste the food and guess what the challenge was. What I then realized was that 1. I was supposed to be the centerpiece of the show, not just someone in the background, and 2. I had to do something I’m not very good at (cooking), and 3. I had to do it in another language (French).

By this time I had gone too far to back out: I had told my kids they were going to be on t.v. Also, I have a personal rule that if faced with a scary situation (scary…not dangerous), I must do it every time. If not, it’s an experience lost. Life is short. I had to do this thing.

I signed the papers they sent me, sent pictures of my apartment (which was too small, so they ended up renting a bigger place), and made the casting tape, for which I memorized a whole page in French and spit it back out to my iPhone’s camera while sitting on my couch. In it, I was giving the chefs their challenge: to make a whole meal out of pumpkin—one that my kids (who hate vegetables) and their friends would like. Keep in mind…I didn’t make up the challenge. If I had, I would never have included pumpkin on the menu. It was sure to fail.

For the show, you had to be able to fit at least five people in the kitchen. My kitchen could definitely hold five…if everyone stood very close to each other and didn’t budge.

Fast forward a couple of weeks. It’s Monday morning (yesterday) and I wake up after 2 days of a head cold with NO VOICE. I’m talking none. I quickly text the casting agent and producer and ask what to do. They write me back and tell me I have to come, they can’t cancel the whole production unless it’s something really serious. So I gargle with hot salt water and try singing under a hot shower, and by the time I arrive at the rented apartment in the north of Paris, I’m able to croak out a few words in a low, scarily amphibian voice.

First I meet Marie, the producer who’s in charge of my part of the filming. I had already talked to her on the phone, and she is super nice and doing everything to make me feel comfortable. She passes me on to the sound guy, this gorgeously sexy French guy named Hugues (“Hugh in English,” as he said) who proceeds to stick his hand up the back of my dress.

I’m wearing a little wool dress, tights, and knee-high biker boots. The only place Hugues has to attach the power pack is to the top of my tights, and then he has to run it up the front of my dress and attach the mic inside the neckline. And any time it shifts around a bit, Hugues has to come adjust it. So basically I have this hot French guy sticking his hand down the front of my dress all day long. Funnily enough, I don’t complain.

Next, Marie takes me outside, where I have to recite what I recorded on my iPhone, but this time into their camera. I have a hard time remembering it, and there are lots of cuts as I say one paragraph at a time, and proceed to get my own age as well as that of my kids, totally mixed up. (I can’t remember numbers. Depending on which take they use, I will be 45 or 46, Max 7 or 8, and Lucia 6 or 7.)

After that, Marie takes me inside to a bedroom where a camera and lights are set up, and begins interviewing me about my expectations, what I think the chefs will be like, and whether or not I think they can meet the challenge. We get through it okay, with her prompting me and helping me with difficult words. (I have to repeat her questions, since you don’t see/hear the interviewer, and parts are unpronounceable.) It’s at this point that I start sweating. I’m not nervous, it’s just that the lights are so damn hot that by the end my hair is drenched. After the interview is over, I go to the bathroom and rummage around until I find a hair dryer, and it is my best friend for the rest of the day.

At this point, the chefs arrive. We film a bit where I let them in through the front gate. I try to say, “Hi,” but my voice comes out in a squeak, and they just look at me strangely. They then find a wheelbarrow and use it to push each other to the front door. I don’t know what to do, so I just pretend that nothing’s wrong, and let them in the house.

Then we go to the kitchen and get started. The lights are about twice as hot, and I immediately begin melting. Sweat is streaming down my face, and when I catch a look of myself in the mirror later, my skin looks kind of pinky-red—kind of boiled lobsteresque. I’m following these guys around the kitchen, not sure what I’m supposed to be doing, and they start pulling all this crazy stuff like lighting each others’ aprons on fire and spraying whipped cream all over the place.

I don’t know about you, but I—when faced with madmen—back up and stand out of the way to watch the show from a distance. We’re about a half-hour in, when Marie comes down the stairs and says, “Amy, you have to interact more with Norbert and Jean. Ask them questions. Tell them if you think your kids are going to like stuff. Say something!”

So I throw myself between them, which is dangerous because I get a face-full of herbs (which they use to dry my sweat), get a “French kiss” from Norbert (where he bites into an onion and tries to kiss me), and am forced to dance around a pumpkin in the middle of the room.

I try to be a good sport. I really do. The guys are SO nice, and each time we cut, Norbert is talking to me, asking about my kids, comparing stories about his kids, asking about my books, telling me about his cookbooks, and introducing me to all of the crew as, “You know that woman who wrote Harry Potter? Well Amy’s an even bigger writer than her!”

Jean takes me aside halfway through the day and tells me I’m the classiest (or most elegant, something like that) girl they’ve ever had on the show. Which makes me wonder if it’s because I look so shocked every time they tell a dirty joke, and trust me…they tell some doozies. Or because I can’t loosen up. Because I JUST CAN’T LOOSEN UP. Once Norbert even tells the cameras to stop, turns to me, and says, “Amy you’ve got to loosen up. We’re all friends here. We’re having fun.”

And it was fun. But it was like watching a circus. Circuses are fun to watch. But I’m not the type to jump into the big ring and start juggling bowling pins. As far as I could tell, I was clearly wrong for this show. They needed another clown to play with, not an uptight American writer who was sweating rivers and spoke with the voice of a laryngitic frog.

Norbert, me (lobster-colored), and Jean during one of the breaks.

We taped all day, and during one break someone ran out and got me some special lozenges that they hoped would bring my voice back. That worked a little, and I was able to keep wheezing out words until the last bit of taping: the tasting.

Lulu being taped in her angel costume.

My kids arrive with their babysitter, as well as friend and fellow author Anne Nesbet, and school mom-friend Corinne and her kids Brune and Loup. The kids are all dressed up in costumes, and are filmed coming through the garden. At this point, Jean leans out a window and sprays Max with whipped cream, Max freaks out, and they have to find him another costume.

Max in the devil costume they gave him after his pirate costume got whip-cream bombed.

By this time my hair is hanging in wet strands around my face. I am so hot, you could cook an egg on my forehead. I lead all of my guests to a table decorated with Halloweeny stuff, and bring in the first dish. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to tell you what recipes they made before the show is on t.v., so I’ll just say that it was something really pretty, and everyone oohed and ahhed over it, and Max wanted to try it first.

He leans over, takes a sip out of a straw, and then sits up and gets this horrified look on his face. Then he does something that will make every mother out there cringe: he spits it back out on the plate. But that’s not all. He then opens his mouth and starts dry-heaving. I grab him by the hand and pull him to the other side of the room before he can throw up in front of the t.v. cameras. Someone takes him upstairs, and I return to the table, wild-eyed, praying that Lucia won’t have the same reaction as Max. Thankfully, she goes the polite route and says it is “a little bit good.”

I won’t give you all of the details, but the rest of the tasting is more of the same. The boys refuse to taste anything else. The girls are polite about it, and the grown-ups love everything and say all the right stuff. It is after 10pm when the taping finishes, and I send the kids home in a taxi with the babysitter so that I can finish up.

During the last interview, my voice breaks and dies a croaking death. The chefs and Marie kiss me goodbye and I take a taxi home. I arrived that morning at 8am and get home at 11:30 pm. It has been a long day. A crazy day. A day of insanity and surreal events. I text a couple of friends to tell them how horrified I am, and they talk me down off the ledge. And late in the night I am finally able to forget about it and fall asleep.

The next day Marie calls. “Oh my God, your voice sounds even worse,” she says. She asks if I was traumatized, and I confess that yes, I was moderately traumatized. I tell her that a wool dress and tights might have been bad clothing choices, and she agrees.

“So, if you’re not able to hear my voice in the show, and seeing the bad reaction of the kids to the food, do you think they might just junk the show and not televise it at all?” I ask hopefully. “No, they’ll televise it for sure,” she says. “I’ll let you know when it’s showing.”

I get off the phone and think about how it was definitely an experience. I had a really nice time with everyone when we were off-set. My kids got their wish of being on t.v. I got a great photo of the chefs holding my books. And I even learned how to cook a few things. But most of all it made me incredibly grateful for the job that I have: writing books while comfortably tucked into my cute little apartment or neighborhood library.

I might get weird looks on the metro if anyone recognizes me as the sweating, hoarse American who didn’t know how to whip cream, but inside, I’ll know I’ve done something scarier than most of them have. And I survived.

Fear of Poetry

I have a confession to make. I have never been a lover of poetry.

Okay, now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, and now that Amy Plum is, in your mind, a literary cretin, let me explain. I’ve been thinking a lot about poetry lately, and have decided that my distaste for the whole form comes down to two things.

One: My own poetry was rejected by my university’s literary magazine, making me think that I knew nothing about poetry and that my poems were crap. Which they were. And that poems were just not my thing, which…how could I even say that? It’s like saying “food’s not my thing” when in reality it’s just oysters that trigger my gag reflex. Poetry is massive. It covers all sorts of styles and subjects. I shouldn’t have thrown the baby out with the bathwater, which is something I’m prone to doing. But still…

Two: The stuff we were forced to read in high school was not my style of writing. It didn’t engage me. It didn’t plunge me into that state of wonder and admiration that good writing often does. I can’t even remember what poems we read back then, I just remember the taste of saccharine sweetness curdling my tastebuds. I remember TOO MANY WORDS. Again…I didn’t realize that this was just one tiny town in the world of poetry (a town in the Cotswolds with thatched roofs and ducks-in-a-line)…

Where’s my toothbrush? *panics*

and that entire continents dotted with yurt villages and lined with brownstones and skyscrapers existed out there, just waiting for me to discover.

Feeling much better. *sets toothbrush down*

In my mid-twenties I decided that my poetry aversion made me uncultured, so I set out to memorize a poem. I chose “Jabberwocky,” mainly because it was the only poem I knew that didn’t make me want to brush the fuzz off my tongue (again with the saccharine). I memorized it while I commuted to work from one side of Paris to the other, and had an oral rhythm to match my stride as I hopscotched down the dog-poo riddled sidewalks of the 16th arrondissement.

“‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves” (leap over pee puddle)

“Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:” (dodge poop mountain and skip over chihuahua-sized pellets)

“Jabberwocky” is the only poem I’ve ever learned, and I’ve used it in all sorts of situations. It comes in particularly handy with impatient children, especially if you do sword swings and sound effects, and emphasize the part where he comes gallumphing back with the monster’s head.

If there are swords and decapitations, of course I’m going to like it!

But lately, I’ve been feeling the need for beautiful words. For a pattern for my mind to follow when it is feeling cloudy. It’s time to memorize some poems. And I’m choosing some that make my heart sing.

To hold me accountable, I will post a video once I get each one memorized. I’m doing just a couple of lines a day…I want every word to stick, like the words of “Jabberwocky” still do 20 years after I first memorized them. Feel free to learn along with me and post your own videos, although curses to you with rapid memorization skills.

Here’s my second-ever poem to learn—one that reminds me of my New York years:

Letter to N.Y. (for Louise Craine)

In your next letter I wish you’d say

where you are going and what you are doing;

how are the plays, and after the plays

what other pleasures you’re pursuing:

taking cabs in the middle of the night,

driving as if to save your soul

where the road goes round and round the park

and the meter glares like a moral owl,

and the trees look so queer and green

standing alone in big black caves

and suddenly you’re in a different place

where everything seems to happen in waves,

and most of the jokes you just can’t catch,

like dirty words rubbed off a slate,

and the songs are loud but somehow dim

and it gets so terribly late,

and coming out of the brownstone house

to the gray sidewalk, the watered street,

one side of the buildings rises with the sun

like a glistening field of wheat.

—Wheat, not oats, dear. I’m afraid

if it’s wheat it’s none of your sowing,

nevertheless I’d like to know

what you are doing and where you are going.

—Elizabeth Bishop

 

Book Art

I dug through my kids’ bookshelves this morning to find the copy of IF I SHOULD DIE that I gave to my daughter (6 yrs old) when I showed her that I had dedicated it to her. The reason: I’m dedicating AFTER THE END to my son (7 yrs old), and, based on the fact that they always want to have THE SAME THING, thought his dedication should be similar.

Much to my surprise, I saw that Lucia had done her own book art inside her copy of IISD. Isn’t it perfect?

Lucia’s version of the cover swirls. I’m not sure if that’s Kate or Lucia in the bottom left. (Or both, if she’s identifying with the main character, like I hope my readers do!) In any case…great shoes.

More swirls. The page was obviously lacking in decoration.

Mutant Fowl

I especially love the turkey/chicken/peacock (we’ll just call it Mutant Fowl). Because its inclusion on that page is shrouded in mystery. Maybe Mutant Fowl stands for strength, joy and love to a 6-year old. Or maybe Lucia wished there were more animals in the book. I’m not going to ask. I have a feeling it’s one of those mysteries that’s better left unsolved.

CONTEST MONDAY: win an ARC of Michele Jaffe’s MINDERS

Today I’ve got a special version of CONTEST MONDAY, because I’m giving away something EVERYONE’s going to want: an ARC of Michele Jaffe’s MINDERS. The book releases Jan. 30, so you have the chance to read it 5 MONTHS before everyone else!

I’m doing this contest for 2 reasons: 1. Michele is incredibly awesome; 2. MINDERS is a book you can’t miss. Let me tell you why.

Michele’s BIO: Michele is the author of the Bad Kitty series of YA books as well as thrillers and romances for adults. After getting her Ph.D. in Comparative Literature from Harvard, she retired from academia and decided to become an FBI special agent or glamorous showgirl, but somehow instead ended up writing.  A native of Los Angeles, California, Michele and her sparkly shoes currently reside in New York City.

I met Michele at the RT conference in Chicago, 2012. And the reason I met her was because I was having serious dress-envy with a floor-length skull-print dress she wore to the Teen Day party. We swapped emails (unfortunately we didn’t swap dresses), stayed in contact, and Michele came to my UNTIL I DIE launch party in New York. Later on, over breakfast at one of those cool little places in Williamsburg, she told me about the YA novel she was thinking of writing…which became MINDERS. And just a few weeks ago sent me an Advance Reader Copy.

And let me tell you…it is AMAZING. You know those stories that make you feel like you’re RIGHT THERE? Yet at the same time, you can totally see it in movie-form while you’re reading. Well, MINDERS did that for me. Here’s the synopsis:

A high concept, cinematic read with a surprising twist, MINDERS asks the question: who is really watching who?

Q: If the boy you love commits a crime, would you turn him in?

Sadie Ames is a type-A teenager from the wealthy suburbs. She’s been accepted to the prestigious Mind Corps Fellowship program, where she’ll spend six weeks as an observer inside the head of Ford, a troubled boy with a passion for the crumbling architecture of the inner city. There’s just one problem: Sadie’s fallen in love with him.

Q: What if the crime is murder?

Ford Winters is haunted by the murder of his older brother, James. As Sadie falls deeper into his world, dazzled by the shimmering pinpricks of color that form images in his mind, she begins to think she knows him. Then Ford does something unthinkable.

Q: What if you saw it happen from inside his mind?

Back in her own body, Sadie is faced with the ultimate dilemma. With Ford’s life in her hands, she must decide what is right and what is wrong. And how well she can really ever know someone, even someone she loves.

Pre-order it here from Indiebound.

Pre-order it here from Amazon.

Pre-order it here from B&N.

Today’s contest is one of my “link to the author” ones, where all you have to do is follow Michele on different sites. You get 1 point toward the random drawing of MINDERS for each site you follow. And here they are:

1. Michele on Twitter

2. Michele on Facebook

3. Become a fan of Michele on Goodreads

4. “Want to read” MINDERS on Goodreads

I’ll let this contest run for 2 days this time, just because it’s such a desirable prize. As usual, it’s international, and I will randomly draw on Wednesday at 10am Paris time. Just let me know in the comments below which ways you followed Michele, how many points to give you, and some way of getting in touch with you.

(People who are reading this on Goodreads: please leave your comments on my actual blog, not on the Goodreads page…or else I won’t see them to count them in the contest. Thanks!)

Ready? On your marks…get set…GO!

Amy Update

Last year I proclaimed 2012 the official “Year That Kicked My A**”

Things are just now starting to get a tiny bit better. I’m beginning to feel more whole again. And I recently found a poem that expresses how grateful I am to have sloshed through the lake of crap and gotten to the other side. (Though there’s still a bit of shit on my shoes, I won’t complain about the little things.)

For those of you who have had a hard time lately, celebrate with me….

won’t you celebrate with me

won’t you celebrate with me

what i have shaped into

a kind of life? i had no model.

born in babylon

both nonwhite and woman

what did i see to be except myself?

i made it up

here on this bridge between

starshine and clay,

my one hand holding tight

my other hand; come celebrate

with me that everyday

something has tried to kill me

and has failed.

—Lucille Clifton