Gae Polisner's Blog, page 27

Today's stop on The Teen Book Scene.

Really love this review:
http://alisialeavitt.blogspot.com/2011/04/book-review-pull-of-gravity-by-gae.html

- gae

Friday Fizzle Out.

I am upside down.
Yes, I totally spaced on Friday Feedback.

I did.

Spaced with a capital S - P.

er, come to look at that, the s and the p look pretty lower case. But still.

I think I shall put Friday Feedback on hiatus until my book launch and BEA week are over. Then we shall see.

If you protest this concept, let me know. Otherwise, for those of you who are my regular posters, keep posting excerpts for me in the comments. I love to see them from all my budding writers out there.

And, if you want to read all about what I read as a kid/teen, you can, here: https://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.theresabook.com%2F2011%2F04%2Fguest-post-gae-polisner-author-of-the-pull-of-gravity%2F&h=63f2c

where I'm on a blog tour with TPoG.

More soon.

Kisses.

- gae

The Pull of Gravity, First Blog Tour Ever

Yes, this is me,
standing in water,
fully clothed.
What of it?
I am on my first blog tour ever at The Teen Book Scene.  



If you want, you can follow it here:

http://theteenbookscene.weebly.com/the-pull-of-gravity-tour-details.html

or tune in on my facebook author page: https://www.facebook.com/gaepolisnerauthor?ref=ts

Thanks for reading!

- gae

Friday Feedback, Dream Five

Lori is working on a book of dream poems
and illustrations.
This is my friend Lori Landau. She and I have been friends for a long (long) time.

As teens we wrote endless poetry together, but she has continued to work on her craft and grow as a poet, while I have veered in other directions (she has also forked and veered, but has taken her poetry with her).

And, the truth is, few other's poems move me the way Lori's do.


So, when, I found a poem of hers -- Dream Five -- in my email box the other day like a small gift, I did what I always do: I coveted it.

Her poems make me want to eat them, drink them in. I have tried once or twice to suck them up through the computer screen but the glass intervenes.

So this morning, I did the next best thing. I sat down in front of my computer, turned my webcam on and read the words aloud, hoping by doing so, I could somehow send them into the universe in just the way I heard them in my head and have you understand.

I sent the vlog to Lori and asked if I might post my reading of Dream Five here and she said yes. First I will post the written version below.

Because it is Friday Feedback, and because it is my page, today I'm breaking our usual FF rules. I'm not asking for any constructive critique of Lori's poem (or of my reading of it, thank you very much) but rather just offer it up for your appreciation and enjoyment.

You may also offer up an excerpt or poem of your own in the comments as always and tell me your wish for feedback.

So, then, below is Lori's poem and below that the video of my reading.

-gae

Mixed media dream dog by the multi-faceted Lori Landau.Dream Five


The plane has already taken off but I am unseated. The rows are full of travelers, settling in, gazing out windows, opening books, leaning back, eyes closed, to listen to iPods. I pass by them on my way to the doorway that separates coach from a part of the plane I never knew existed but enter anyway. The thrust of the plane overcomes the drag and the plane is pushed up through the bright air. I am in some type cargo space, stripped clean of carpet and seating and storage. The floor is whitewashed, with blackened steel planks, held down by rivets and antique fasteners. It is the type of place that in another time might have housed sturdy parts: landing gears, propellers, spare luggage bins, but as of now, it is empty, save for two seats that are anchored to raw metal and facing me from across a divide. They are slatted chairs like you'd find at a movie theater or a ballgame, attached at the legs and bolted to the floor with antique studs. No safety belts, just old-fashioned straps made to wind around knees and waists like a harness, clumsily buckled, like arms that are poised to grab hold. The whole thing feels like a throwback to the 40s, like some kind of old military jet, it hums with the purgatory air of a waiting room. By the force of motion, I know we're ascending. The plane shifts then stabilizes, and I eye the two empty seats, deciding whether or not they will hold me to gravity, when I see that my two long-dead dogs, Annie and Gypsy, who are very much alive, are here, just a few steps from the sealed exit door. To see a dog in your dream symbolizes intuition, loyalty, protection, two must be doubly so. I know this as well as I know that I am dreaming. I am overjoyed to see them, but I am aware that in waking life they are still dead. I realize that they are here to tell me something I've forgotten, some important information that has slumbered long within me. I look out the windows of the plane to see what direction we are going in, to assess the likelihood of turbulance, to see if the plane is trailing some message, skywriting symbols that will decipher why I am here, and where I am going, and I see through the cold glass what has been there all along, the altitude of blue sky and everything beyond, and I am flying through it, carried like Dorothy hurtling toward Oz ,holding on by my feet, rooted to the unseen, to that which has come before and all that is yet to come, soaring toward the unknown without a safety net, flying far over the articulation of earth, away from the bent elbows of women squatting long over muddy water, over corrugated fences and bitter branches weighed down by leaves and birdsong, over the long slow trains that run past crumbling walls etched with graffiti, lifting over the hinge of the horizon, on my way to waking.

Finally, my official book trailer

with thanks to

Megan,

Selbern,

Becky,

and Jillian,

here it is:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vA5S51glK_I


- gae

You and me and Friday Feedback.

Hey peepos.

Shhh. It's just us. You and me and Friday Feedback.

With my debut book launch for The Pull of Gravity a mere seven weeks (!!) away, it's getting a little hairy around here.

*cue butterflies*

Anyway, I've got a ton to do, so we're just gonna get right to it.


I'm going to post the opening to Part Three of my WIP entitled In Sight of Stars so we're in the middle of the story here. This ms is geared toward an upper YA audience. The narrator is 17-yr old Klee Alden (pronounced Clay with a long a). You know the RULES:

Tell me what works for you, draws you into the piece, and why;

Tell me what doesn't work for you (if something doesn't) and why.

If you'd like the same feedback on something you're working on, please post your brief excerpt at the end of your comment (and tell me what it is -- e.g. opening to a novel, short story, poem...).

Please post no more than 3 -5 paragraphs. If there's more, I will only read the first 3 -5. If the comment gets too long, feel free to reply in two separate comments. If you are a student from a particular class, please identify yourself as such.

----


Week Three


My mother is wearing jeans again. I wonder vaguely if she's gone out and bought herself a whole closet full. The expensive kind at $160 per pair. I never understood that, the difference between cheap jeans and expensive ones except that it looks like the expensive ones have been ironed which is just weird. You don't iron jeans. But it's better than a Channel suit and heels, and besides, I'm trying not to be angry with her. I'm trying to be sympathetic. After all, she has suffered too.

My eyes skate away from my mother to Dr. Alvarez's wall. It's sunny and bright outside today, and she has the curtains pulled wide. Her office is awash in sunlight; dust moats float through the air. I think of Mindy Ansail and the cats and the dust, and Sister Agnes Teresa and Sarah. Why does everything always rush in like a jumble like that?

On the far wall between Dr. A's chair and the couch are two new framed prints, Starry Night and, better yet, The Pink Orchard. She's matted them, but still.

"Klee." My mother stands and holds her arms out, which throws me. I don't know the last time my mother and I hugged. I sit on the couch instead. I'm not exactly ready to go there. She smiles weakly and sits down, so I move a few inches closer to make up for things. She puts a hand on my knee making her gold bracelets jangle. "You're looking stronger and stronger," she says.

-gae

OyMG, it's Friday AGAIN?!?!

Hey, Peepos,

It's that time again, Friday Feedback time, but I'm not here because I'm here:


At the NYC Teen Author Festival (NO, not as a speaker (boo) just as a fan (yay!)). AM excited though because I get to meet some writer peeps I've known virtually for some time, but have never met in person, like fellow CLASS OF 2K11'er Alissa Grosso, author of Popular. Yay!). Anyway, I'm not here in person, but I'm here in spirit, or, um, shoe:

 


WHY in shoe, you ask? (yes you did, I heard you think it all the way from here. Also, you thought, those are some kickass Frye riding boots you have there, and they match those beach rocks nicely. Why, yes, thank you, they are and they do).

Anyway. Why in shoe? Because my super awesome guest Feedbacker today is a bit of a shoe girl herself.

Here, I'll show you. This is her:


                                                                      
 And, this is her:

And this is her:


Yep. She likes her feet shots.

But, don't be fooled, the rest of her is gorgeous and adorable too:

Amy Fellner Dominy of the Beautiful Hair*
*yes, that is her real name.
See? I kid you notsies. Yeah, I wrote notsies, what of it ? (you try writing four gazillion blog posts in a few weeks...)

Anyway, THAT, is Amy Fellner Dominy, one of my fellow Class of 2K11'ers and all around greatest persons in the world. And she's here for Friday Feedback today. But before we put her in the hotseat (*shoves more newspaper and kindling under to keep it toasty warm*), let me quick tell you about Amy's debut YA novel: OyMG, due out the same day as mine, May 10!


That is Ellie. I adore her.Ellie Taylor loves nothing better than a good argument. So when she gets accepted to the Christian Society Speech and Performing Arts summer camp, she's sure that if she wins the final tournament, it'll be her ticket to a scholarship to the best speech school in the country. Unfortunately, the competition at CSSPA is hot-literally. His name is Devon and, whether she likes it or not, being near him makes her sizzle. Luckily she's confident enough to take on the challenge-until she begins to suspect that the private scholarship's benefactor has negative feelings toward Jews. Will hiding her true identity and heritage be worth a shot at her dream?


FYI, this is one of the few Class of 2K11 books I've already read and let me just tell you it a beautiful little gem. You should order it.

But enough gushing about Amy, let's put her in the hot seat.

Below is the opening to her NEXT book (yep, deal is made!) Audition and Subtraction due out September 2012, but she's got more revisions to do. She's been working on a new opening and really wants your feedback on what works and what doesn't. In fact, those are the rules today: tell her what works and what doesn't. Period. Then, if you want the same feedback, post your own little excerpt (and tell us what it is!) at the end of your comment or in a new one. Not more than three paragraphs, remember! Also, FYI, I won't be around today and neither will Amy, so the feedback will trickle in Saturday or Sunday. But I promise we won't forget you.



Chapter 1

Death by Bikini.

When I died of embarrassment today that was going on my tombstone.

"Tatum?" Mom called from the bottom of the stairs. "You up?"

"Yeah," I called back. I was up. I'd even made it as far as my swimsuit drawer. Now, I just wanted to crawl back in bed. I rubbed a hand over my face and felt a frown line between my eyes. Was I face-scrunching in my sleep? Great. One more thing to worry about—wrinkles at the age of fourteen.

I held up the red flowered bikini top, so faded it was practically see-through in the center of one triangle. No way I could wear this to the band car wash. Not without getting arrested for indecent exposure.

"You better get moving," Mom called again. "Lori will be here in twenty minutes."

I groaned and dug deeper into the drawer. Normally, the car wash would be a good thing—even if it did mean getting up early on a Saturday. But not only was I bathing-suit-impaired, he was going to be there. Michael Malone. None of us had met him yet, but I already hated him.
---

- gae

Forget this

What moments in your life have you absolutely wanted to forget?


If you could, would you?

What if you had to?

Welcome to Nora James' world. In Angie Smibert's gripping debut novel, MEMENTO NORA, one little white pill can take away all your bad memories.

Here's a brief summary of the book:

Nora witnesses a horrific bombing on a shopping trip with her mother. In Nora's near-future world, terrorism is so commonplace that she can pop one little white pill to forget and go on like nothing ever happened. However, when Nora makes her first trip to a Therapeutic Forgetting Clinic, she learns what her mother, a frequent forgetter, has been frequently forgetting.

Nora secretly spits out the pill and holds on to her memories. The memory of the bombing as well as her mother's secret and her budding awareness of the world outside her little clique make it increasingly difficult for Nora to cope. She turns to two new friends, each with their own reasons to remember, and together they share their experiences with their classmates through an underground comic. They soon learn, though, they can't get away with remembering.

Intense, right?

MEMENTO NORA releases on April 1st, and to celebrate, Angie asked a group of writer friends to participate in a blog tour where we share a memory we might not want to forget, even if it was a painful one. Here's one of mine:

It's a sunny July day; I'm nine years old and we've just moved into a new house. My sister, Paige, and I are home. She's 11 so I guess she's "watching us" while my dad makes his "rounds" at the hospital. It's only a few minutes from our house. Our mother is out at a horseback riding lesson -- she's ridden horses since she was a kid. She's learning to jump and leaves looking beautiful and cool in her riding jodhpurs and boots, etc. My mother is beautiful, for sure.

okay, this is really circa 1976 or 77 probably so I'm 12 or 13 not
9... but there's my mom. Beautiful, right?
And, yes, my dad had a lot of hair (still does), and please no comment on my aviator glasses
and, why, yes, two weird boys in the background, we STILL see you there 40+ years later, so thanks for that.


Anyway, my father comes home from rounds looking shaken. He calls us outside and sits us on the deck and tells us our mother has been in an accident.

"She was jumping," he says, "and the horse threw her off. She hit her head on a rock." These are the years before helmet laws, when her long, shiny black hair would fly out in the wind behind her as she galloped on her favorite horse.

"She's hurt?" one of us asks, as if not wanting to grasp it.

"Badly. They've closed her up, but there's swelling. . . right now, she doesn't know who we are. . . "

Something like that, the report goes something like that. My father is visibly distraught. The sun beats down.

"Is she going to die?" Me asking That one is definitely me.

"She might," my father says.

I may not remember the exact words, how events properly unfolded, but I remember the feeling that day, the frightening sights and sounds and smells of walking into that hospital room to see our mother, her hair chopped off, shaven completely on one side where betadine-stained sutures poked up. The look on her pale face -- one of utter non-recognition -- when my father said her daughters were here.

"Hi, girls," I remember her mumbling groggily. But it was clear she had no idea who we were.

Over the next few weeks, her head healed and her memory came back. If her sense of taste and smell were never quite the same, her gorgeous hair grew back quickly, well below her shoulders.

I cannot tell you how often I've called up that memory in my writing and my real-life parenting, to remember and understand both sides of how a child feels and behaves. Not just the terrified, longing side, but the resilient side too, the side that goes off to play, and giggles and has sleepovers, in the midst of the awful possibilities.

The memory of course had a good ending, but I wouldn't want to forget the painful roots where it began.

What about you? Do you have a hard memory you'd still rather not forget?

Okay - back to Angie's contest: One lucky winner will win this great PRIZE PACKAGE:

Signed copy of Memento Nora
Temporary tattoos and stickers
Bookmarks
Your very own supply of forgetting pills. (Ok, they're really Jelly Belly's.)
And a glossy charm bracelet.

How do you win? All you have to do is leave a comment here on my blog AND leave a comment back on Angie's blog here. Angie will announce the winner on her blog on April 7th. DON'T FORGET to check back there ( http://www.mementonora.com/) to see if you're the winner!

Good luck. Hold on to your memories. And check out Memento Nora when it comes out.

- gae

Friday Feedback, Oh So Lickably Good

This is me. I am not licking anything.Er.

Pay me no attention. I'm just a little excited about my guest blogger today, the lickably awesome Carrie Harris, author of Bad Taste in Boys !

What?

Silly people! I call her lickable because for a long, long time now I've been wanting to lick her cover.

Wait. That still sounded wrong. Here, I'll show you. Really. It's not nearly as bad as it sounds. (and, why, yes, I did try to start this post with a stock photo of a licking tongue, and NO you do not want to know the kind of images that show up if you happen to Google for photos of licking tongues. So, um, yeah, just trust me on this).

So, here is the adorable Carrie:
Don't let her fool you. She morphs into some
sort of Ninja Zombie.












and this,

THIS is the incredibly lickable cover of BAD TASTE IN BOYS:



Oh. My. God. See what I mean? Give me a second. . . no, no, I am not doing that, whatever you think I am doing. Okay, fine, maybe I am. But I'm done now, so carry on.

Anyway, for months now, this licking joke has been going on and I decided as *gift* to Carrie -- because you can just imagine how much she's going to love this -- I would do an homage to her cover. Of course, it's late, and I have like a thousand important things to do tonight, not to mention I haven't showered today, nor put on makeup, or brushed my hair. Oh, and as it turns out, I only had orange dot sprinkles in the house. All of which should have stopped me.

But, didn't.


Trust me, those are all bright orange, and, yes, I am a total idiot.You're welcome.

Anyway, here's the description of Bad Taste in Boys from Carrie's website:

Someone's been a very bad zombie. Super-smartie Kate Grable gets to play doctor, helping out her high school football team. Not only will the experience look good on her college apps, she gets to be this close to her quarterback crush, Aaron. Then something disturbing happens. Kate finds out that the coach has given the team steroids. Except . . . the vials she finds don't exactly contain steroids. Whatever's in them is turning hot gridiron hunks into mindless, flesh-eating . . . zombies. Unless she finds an antidote, no one is safe. Not Aaron, not Kate's brother, not her best friend . . . not even Kate . . . It's scary. It's twisted. It's sick. It's high school.

There. I hear it's great. You know you want to read it in July.

But, of course, that's not why Carrie is here today. SHE'S IN THE ZOMBIE HOTSEAT FOR SOME FEEDBACK! It's from her sequel, Bad Hair Day, already sold to Delacorte! So, say what you will because sticks and stones can't hurt her. Plus, she's a zombie, so even if they could, they couldn't (can you tell I know nothing about zombies?) Also, there's licking in it, so I am a happy camper.

Anyway, you know the rules:

1. Since it's the opening of a book, tell us if it "hooks" you or not. Enough to make you want to keep reading? If yes, why? If no, why not?

2. What else works for you, draws you into the piece, and why?

3. What doesn't work for you (if something doesn't) and why?

If you want the same feedback, please post your brief excerpt at the end of your comment (and tell us what it is -- e.g. opening to a novel, short story, poem, etc...). Please post no more than 3 paragraphs. If there's more, we may not read it. If you are a student from a particular class, please identify yourself as such because we like to throw smooches and such.

So, without further ado, up for your feedback, the opening of Bad Hair Day by Carrie Harris:
Bad Hair Day .


"Braaaaains!"


Trey Black lurched up and down the bus loop outside our school, moaning about cranial anatomy. As if I wasn't annoyed enough already. Our bus was fourteen-and-a-half minutes late. The Future Doctors of America program would be starting without me; watching our future salutatorian act like a complete dipwad only added insult to injury. The students selected for the FDA program were supposed to be the best. Apparently, our school administrators defined "best" as "guy who puts backpack on his head and pretends to be a zombie."

He staggered over and accidentally grabbed my breasts, one in each hand. And when I say accidentally, I really mean on purpose. I wasn't sure if he had a see through backpack or an unerring sense of breastal positioning, but either way, it was going to get him into trouble. Like now.

I knocked his hands off my chest, grabbed him by the strap, and yanked him close enough to talk right in his ear. Or right in his backpack, anyway.

"Listen up, dorkwad," I said in the pleasantest voice possible, which wasn't very pleasant at all. "I don't have the time or masochistic tendencies necessary to deal with you. So how about you keep out of my way, and I'll pay you the same courtesy?"

He ripped the bag off and sneered, which only served to make him more unattractive. Don't get me wrong; Trey was one of those guys with tousled blond hair and surfer boy good looks. The girls at our school constantly threw themselves at him. I didn't find him even remotely attractive. Frankly, his infantile tendencies made me want to grab his head and yank really hard in an effort to dislodge it from his backside. No amount of prettiness could compensate for that.

Picking on me was one of his favorite ways to pass the time. On the first day of freshman year, he took one look at my stylicious braid and granny glasses and decided I'd be an easy target. Back then he was right, but now things had changed. He just hadn't realized it; he was studying in France for a semester when I stopped the zombocalypse.

He leaned toward me, getting right up in my face. I expected one of his stereotypical insults, but he licked me instead. A long, slow lick that started at my jaw line and went flat-tongued all the way up to my hair. I had never been a violent person, but there is only so much random licking a girl can take.

----

- gae

p.s. seriously you guys, that little guy down there *points to last Friday's blog post* is still juggling. Somebody get him some food or a glass of water.

Friday Feedback: You Machete through; I'm In the Weeds

I am in my monkey hat
because it is magic and bringing me luck.
Hey peepos.

Coolio Kudzu WeedsThis is me. *points left*

And I am officially

In the weeds.

Hmm. Those *points right* are Kudzu weeds. We don't have them here in NY but I'm kinda fascinated by them.

If you want to see another kind of weed (no, no, stop it, I'm not like that, seriously), go here to Caroline by Line, and check out my writer-friend Caroline's tumbleweeds. Man, those things need googly eyes, fuzzy slippers and a leash! (Hey, no cheating! Stop reading right now, and click on that link and go and look at Caroline's tumbleweeds!)

But where was I? Oh yeah, how I am in the weeds.

For those of you who have never worked in the restaurant business waiting tables (oh lord, yes I did *shudders*), this means: In the Weeds: A colloquial expression used when persons are near or beyond their capacity to handle a situation or cannot catch up. Struggling. Very busy.

Yep. That would be me. Struggling. Very busy. Cannot catch up. Juggling too many balls:
Oooh, yay. I like this dude!

Er, yeah, and mixing too many metaphors. ;\
 
At any rate, no excerpt from me today. I'm leaving Friday Feedback up to you! Yep, you heard me, you're in charge. Whoever you are. Post an excerpt in your comment and I'll read it this weekend and give you some groovy feedback. Maybe some other people will happen along and also give you some feedback.

You know the rules (weeds or no, they're still the same):

Please post no more than 3 -5 paragraphs, 3 if they're longish, 5 if they're short. If there's more, I will only read the first 3 -5. If you are a student from a particular class, please identify yourself as such. If you're providing feedback: does the piece hook you? What works? What doesn't? (please be nice in your criticism. Criticism sucks, so it's nice to be nice).

Okay, peepos that's it. Peace out. See you in the comment box.

-gae