Tricia Rayburn's Blog, page 2
April 17, 2012
PW Asks: What's Not to Like?
We've gotten some wonderful early feedback. Here's what Publisher's Weekly had to say:
In this auspicious first entry in the Merits of Mischief series, 12-year-old Seamus Hinkle is sent to the Kilter Academy for Troubled Youth after he accidentally kills his substitute teacher, Miss Parsippany, with an apple. Upon his arrival, however, Seamus discovers that Kilter is actually a school for professional troublemakers: demerits are awarded for bad behavior, gold stars are looked down on, and students use the skills they’ve learned to trick their teachers. Despite his best efforts (and lingering guilt over the death of Miss Parsippany), Seamus appears to be a natural-born troublemaker. Burns (aka author Tricia Rayburn) has hold of a fantastic premise—what’s not to like about a school where pranks and destruction are encouraged and an arsenal of troublemaking devices are available for purchase? It’s easy to get drawn into this fast-paced, funny, and entertaining adventure, filled with sympathetic, eccentric, and mischievously talented characters. At its heart, it’s a story about the importance of individuality and being a good friend, and a last-minute twist will leave readers hungry for the next book. Ages 8–12. Agent: Rebecca Sherman, Writers House. (May)And from School Library Journal:Gr 4-7–Twelve-year-old Seamus Hinkle led a fairly ordinary life at a fairly ordinary school until the day he killed his substitute teacher with an apple. The projectile was well intentioned–Seamus was trying to prevent the teacher from getting hurt by intervening in a cafeteria fight–but the result was disastrous. Subsequently, he is shipped off to Kilter Academy for Troubled Youth. Not long after his parents drive away, he learns the truth about Kilter: it’s not a reform school, but rather a training academy for future professional Troublemakers; misbehavior is not merely encouraged, it’s required. Seamus intends to lie low and try to keep his infamy a secret from his fellow students, but he finds that he excels at being bad, despite his best efforts to behave. He also makes friends at Kilter, and they ask him to join an alliance to scare their history teacher. This first title in a projected series unfolds through Seamus’s narration as he navigates the challenges of training to be a Marksman Troublemaker. There’s plenty of humor, but the child’s conflicted feelings about Kilter and his guilt about the death he caused propel the story as well. Nowhere is his remorse more evident than in the emails he composes to his late substitute teacher. Though some readers may be frustrated by several dangling plot threads, the cliff-hanger ending will have others clamoring for the next title.–Amanda Raklovits, Champaign Public Library, ILSo exciting! The series website's still in the works, but more fun elements have been added—including teacher profiles and an interactive school map. Feel free to check it out HERE. And I hope to share the trailer very soon! Until then, Merry Mischief-Making!
April 2, 2012
Trouble? What Trouble?
I know you're not supposed to judge a book by its cover, but if you DID...doesn't this one look like so much fun?
It's kind of hard to tell on a computer screen, but that's an apple imprinted on the front cover!
In addition to creating a fabulous physical book, Simon & Schuster has created a fabulous book trailer to go with it. I hope to share that soon. They're also putting the finishing touches on a supercool, interactive website that I think readers will love. The main page looks like a K-Pak screen, and K-Paks are the handheld personal computers Troublemakers use at Kilter Academy. The website's not done yet, but when it is, you'll be able to email Seamus and his friends—and you may even hear back! Check out the work-in-progress here: www.meritsofmischief.com.
Back to the contest! To enter to win a signed copy, all you have to do is shoot me a quick email (triciarayburn@gmail.com) and tell me one thing you did as a kid that got you into trouble. Or if you were an absolute angel, tell me one thing you thought about doing before your conscious intervened! I'll pick a winner at the end of the week.
Can't wait to hear from you!
March 26, 2012
The Past Few Weeks in Pics
It's been several weeks since I listed what I'm most excited for this year, and I'm happy to report that so far, 2012 is everything I thought it'd be—and more. I had a fantastic time meeting booksellers at Winter Institute in New Orleans, my husband and I went to our favorite vacation spot, I've been experimenting with lots of yummy vegan/vegetarian recipes, I revised Merits of Mischief 2, and I've been dabbling in some new YA projects.
I've also been trying to expand my photography skills, which is a fun work-in-progress. Here are some shots of where I've been and what I've been up to lately:
That last one is a personal fave. Even after a mild winter, there's nothing like the first signs of the new season!
Speaking of excitement, I recently received finished copies of Merits of Mischief: The Bad Apple (out in less than a month, wow!), and they're SO FUN. Advance copies of Dark Water, the last book in the Siren trilogy, should also be arriving any day. I plan to give away copies of both, so check back soon for contest details!
Until then, Happy Spring!
January 6, 2012
12 Things in 2012
Exactly one year ago I wrote about 11 things I was excited for in 2011. That list included my sister's wedding, finding the perfect spaghetti-and-meatballs recipe, spending a few days lakeside with my family, returning to a favorite vacation spot with my husband, and submitting a brand-new middle-grade project to editors. And I was right to be excited! Here's why:
This last photo is of the wonderful team at Aladdin/Simon & Schuster, who will be publishing said brand-new middle-grade project, Merits of Mischief, this spring. (You'll notice I didn't include a picture of spaghetti and meatballs. That's because my husband and I, voluntarily and happily, stopped eating meat last February, before I found the perfect recipe.)
Needless to say, it was a great year—and I think it paved the way for an even better one! So in no particular order, here are 12 Things I'm Excited For in 2012.
1. The release of Merits of Mischief, The Bad Apple.
2. Continuing with yoga classes, which I started over the summer, and hopefully, eventually being able to do both headstand and handstand.
3. The release of Dark Water, the final book in the Siren trilogy.
4. Returning to my husband's and my favorite vacation spot.
5. Attending ABA Winter Institute 7 in New Orleans as my alter ego, T.R. Burns, later this month. I've never been to Winter Institute OR New Orleans, so this is doubly exciting!
6. Making countless loaves of yummy bread with the amazing breadmaker Santa brought me.
7. Revising Merits of Mischief 2 and writing Merits of Mischief 3.
8. Maybe spending a few days in the Green Mountains with the fam.
9. Trying new vegetarian/vegan recipes.
10. Brainstorming new YA projects.
11. Experimenting with photography beyond my current point-and-shoot capabilities.
12. Discovering new authors and reading as much as possible.
How about you? What are you most looking forward to over the next 12 months? And do you have any book or veggie recipe recommendations? If so, I'd love to hear them!
Best wishes for a happy, healthy year!
October 11, 2011
Mailbox Mischief!
So exciting!
October 1, 2011
Presenting...Merits of Mischief!
And Seamus Hinkle, a great kid and natural, accidental...Troublemaker.
For regular blog visitors, this is the first book of my new middle-grade series—or the project formerly known as Troublemakers. I think the new title suits the cover, which I absolutely LOVE, perfectly!
For a behind-the-scenes look at how the cover came to be, as well as some earlier versions, check out this post by the super talented artist, Gilbert Ford. http://gilbertford.com/news/?p=1175
I've been so excited to share this, and I hope you like it as much as I do!
August 18, 2011
A Sad Sight
But I didn't expect this:
Or this:
I'd planned to get an iced coffee on my way out, just like I've done countless times over the years. But the cafe was closed. Empty. I hadn't looked that way when I entered the store so literally stopped short when I saw the space and realized that if I was going to have iced coffee that afternoon, I'd have to get it elsewhere.
For some reason, this hit me harder than the yellow signs and barren shelves. I spent a LOT of time in that cafe. I worked on every single one of my books there, sometimes several hours a day, several days a week. I wrote more pages of Siren by those windows than anywhere else. I enjoyed the atmosphere and, depending on the time of day and year, the company of students and knitters, retirees and families, writers and readers.
Borders wasn't just a bookstore. It was a gathering place. A community. And I miss it already.
July 12, 2011
Undercurrent Release Day, and the Entire 1st Chapter!
It's a muggy gray morning here, the kind that usually means storms are coming—which is bad for our nervous shih tzu but perfect for Undercurrent's release day!
I had such fun spending more time with Vanessa, Simon, Paige and Caleb, and I'm so excited for you to find out what happens when Vanessa returns to Boston for her senior year of high school. To get you started, the entire first chapter is below. I hope you enjoy, and THANK YOU for reading!!
It was September first. The day my older sister Justine should have been starting classes. Buying textbooks. Thinking about her future. The day she should have been doing all the things freshmen do but wasn't, because her future had been decided the second she jumped off a cliff in the middle of the night three months earlier.
On this day, I walked a college campus instead.
"That's Parker Hall," my tour guide said. "And there's Hathorn Hall and the chapel."
I smiled politely and followed him through the main quad. The pretty, parklike square was surrounded by redbrick buildings and filled with kids talking, laughing, and comparing schedules.
"That's Coram Library," he continued, pointing. "And right behind it is Ladd Library, the one-hundred-twelve-thousand-square-foot Mecca of learning."
"Impressive," I said, thinking the same thing about him. His brown eyes were warm, his dark hair slightly messy, like he'd fallen asleep on an open textbook before meeting me. His toned arms shone bronze against the sharp white of his crew team T-shirt. If Bates strived to appeal to teenage girls' romantic aspirations in addition to their academic ones, they'd picked a good representative.
"And comfortable. Trust me, I should know." He stopped, took my sweatshirt sleeve in one hand, and tugged. As I stepped toward him, a Frisbee sliced through the empty air space my head had just occupied.
"I do," I said.
We stood so close I could hear his quick intake of breath. His fingers tightened on my sweatshirt, and his arm tensed. After a few seconds, he released me and grabbed the backpack straps near his shoulders.
"What's that?" I asked.
He followed my nod to a tall building next to the libraries. "That is the deciding factor," he said, starting down the sidewalk. When he reached the building's front steps, he turned toward me and grinned. "Behold Carnegie Science Hall."
I covered my chest with one hand. "The Carnegie Science Hall? Where some of the world's most brilliant, forward-thinking scientists conduct groundbreaking research that continues to shape the landscape of modern science as we know it today?"
He paused. "Yes?"
"Hang on. I have to get a picture."
"If you're familiar with the building," he said as I rummaged through my purse for my digital camera, "then you know the work it houses sets this college apart from the rest. Even if you're not a science major,
I think that alone warrants the hefty two-hundred-thousand-dollar price tag."
Vox clamantis in deserto.
I stared at the digital camera screen and my mind filled with images of green key chains. Coffee mugs. A sweatshirt and an umbrella. All bearing the familiar Dartmouth shield.
"Vanessa?"
"Sorry." I shook my head once and held up the camera. "Say lobster."
He started to speak but then stopped. His eyes lifted and landed somewhere behind me. Before I could look to see what had caught his attention, there was a tap on my shoulder.
"That's all wrong," a guy said when I turned around. He looked about my age, maybe a year or two older, and was flanked by two other guys who smiled when I glanced at them. He wore cargo pants, a fleece, and hiking boots, like he planned to hit the trails as soon as he was done with classes.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean it's a fine shot . . . but it'd be better if you were in it." He held out one hand, palm up. "May I?"
"Oh." My eyes fell to the camera. "Thanks, but—"
"Mitosis," my tour guide said.
The hiker looked up, toward the steps behind me.
"I just remembered that there's an excellent photography exhibit of cellular mitosis inside. It's best seen right about now, in the late morning. We should get going before the light changes."
"Right." The hiker nodded. "You know, you'd probably recruit thousands more students each year if you included her in the school's promotional materials."
"I'll be sure to pass that along to Admissions."
The hiker gave me one more appreciative look before leaving. I waited for him and his friends to walk away and round the corner, out of sight, before turning back. My tour guide stood on the same step, hands in his pockets, his face tight with . . . what? Nervousness? Jealousy?
"Is there really an excellent photography exhibit of cellular mitosis inside?" I asked.
"If there is, it wouldn't be on the tour. We don't want to bore kids into not applying."
I held up the camera.
"Lobster," he said.
I took his picture and put the camera back in my purse. "So, I realize the Carnegie Science Building sets your college worlds apart from others, but there's still one other thing I'd like to see before making any decisions."
"The gym? Theater? Art museum?"
"The dorms."
My pulse quickened as he looked down. Thinking I'd made him uncomfortable, I prepared to offer an alternative—like someplace off campus, where there were fewer people, fewer distractions. But then he started down the steps and turned right, back the way we came.
"Just wait till you see the concrete walls and linoleum floors," he said. "You might never go home again."
We didn't talk as we walked through the quad. Every now and then he greeted friends or classmates, but I stayed quiet. My head spun with thoughts of Justine, last summer, this fall, and I didn't know which thought would come out if I tried to speak. The spinning continued all the way across campus, into a tall brick building, and up four flights of stairs.
Fortunately, the silence wasn't awkward. It never was.
"I should warn you," he said when we stopped in front of a closed door. "The décor leaves something to be desired. That's what happens when you throw two bio majors together in one small space. Or any space, for that matter."
"Is your roommate . . . ?"
"Out. At a four-hour seminar that won't end for another three and a half hours."
My heart lifted, and my stomach turned. The mixed feelings must've been clear on my face because he stepped toward me, instantly concerned.
"Well," I said, relieved when my voice was calm, even, "if that's the case, we should probably get on with the tour."
This seemed to reassure him. He smiled as he took his keys from the pocket of the jeans and unlocked the door. Once inside, he leaned against the closed door with his arms folded behind his back and surveyed the room. "Interesting," he said.
"What is?" I asked.
"The décor."
I looked around. It was a typical dorm room with two beds, desks, dressers, and bookshelves. One side was messier than the other, and I assumed that side belonged to his roommate, who probably wasn't expecting company. The only accessories were a blue area rug, the college banner . . . and a framed photo of a girl in a red rowboat.
"I knew something was missing," he continued gently, "and I'd had a pretty good idea of what that something was. But now I know for sure."
My eyes found his and stayed there. He didn't move as I came closer. He was
waiting to make sure that whatever happened next happened because I wanted it to. It had been two months and that hadn't changed. In two years—in two decades—it still wouldn't.
I stood as close as I could without our bodies touching. I smelled the soap on his skin and saw his chest rise and immediately fall. His jaw clenched, and his broad shoulders squared as he leaned harder against the door, locking his arms in place.
"Vanessa . . ."
"It's okay," I whispered, tilting forward. "I'm okay."
My lips had barely grazed his cheek when his hands were on my hips. He pulled me to him, closing the remaining distance between us. His hands moved from my waist to my neck and then lingered there, cradling my face like it was made of glass. His eyes held mine once more, just long enough for me to feel their warmth, before lowering his mouth to mine.
The spinning stopped. My head cleared. There was just this, us, him.
Simon. My Simon.
The kiss started slowly, sweetly, as if our lips were getting to know each other again after a long
separation. But soon they pressed harder, moved faster. I grabbed the front of his sweatshirt with both hands and held on as his mouth moved across my cheek, over my ear, down my neck. He paused only once, when he ran out of bare skin. Not wanting him to stop, I released his sweatshirt and pulled mine up and over my head. By the time I dropped it to the floor, his was already there.
He rested his forehead on my shoulder and his palms moved slowly down my back and over my jeans. We kissed all the way to the bed, until he was lying down with me on top of him, my legs hugging the sides of his waist.
"We can stop," Simon said softly when I pulled back. "If you're at all nervous or unsure . . ."
I smiled. If I was ever nervous or unsure around Simon, it wasn't because I was afraid of being too close to him.
It was because I was afraid of not being close enough.
"I missed you," I said.
"Vanessa . . . you have no idea."
Except that I did. I knew it every time he looked at me, every time he said my name, every time he held my hand or kissed me. He'd said it only once, but reminders weren't necessary.
I knew Simon loved me.
Unfortunately, I also knew why.
He opened his mouth to say something else, but I kissed him first. I kissed him until he seemed to forget whatever he was going to say, and until I pushed the familiar nagging thought far enough aside that I could focus on him, on us, together in this moment.
Because this moment would end. It had to. Sometimes I was so caught up, so happy, I let myself pretend it
didn't . . . but reminders were never far off.
Like when we lay together later, our legs entwined, my head on his chest. While Simon's fingers twirled absently through my hair, I stared at the picture of the girl in the rowboat on the dresser next to the bed and counted the steady, relaxed beats of his heart.
"Be right back," I whispered.
I gathered the sheet around me, stood, and forced my feet to walk to the closet. After switching the sheet for Simon's robe and taking a towel from the shelf, I retrieved my purse from the floor and left the room.
In the hallway, I ran. I'd noted the bathroom on our way up and found it easily. Ignoring the curious looks of kids passing by, I flung open the door and flew inside.
Each shower had two parts: the actual stall and a small area to change and dry off. I dashed into the last shower and yanked the vinyl curtain closed. I dropped my purse three times before my shaking hands got a good enough grip to hold it open and grab the container inside. Once they did, I dropped the purse and Simon's robe to the tile floor and stepped into the stall.
My chest and skin were on fire. I couldn't feel my legs. It took every bit of strength I had left to turn on the water and pry the lid off the plastic container.
I tilted my head toward the shower nozzle so water streamed down my face. I opened my mouth and brought the container to my lips, coughing as the water and powder shot down my throat.
But then, finally, relief. It came little by little, with every swallow. Slowly, the invisible flames on my skin extinguished and the burning in my chest subsided. Feeling stronger, I took handfuls of salt and spread them across my body. The tiny granules scratched then soothed as they mixed with the water.
It's just body wash, I told myself, that exfoliates, like at a spa.
As soon as I could feel my legs again, they folded beneath me. I sank to the floor and brought my knees to my chest. Cold water flowed from my head to my toes, washing away the warmer liquid that seeped from my closed eyes.
Justine had always said the best way to deal with your fear of the dark was to pretend it was really light. It was a theory she'd applied to countless situations when we were growing up—and for better or worse, it was one I still relied on whenever I found myself too scared to think straight.
Which was why in a few minutes, I'd stand up, dry off, and walk down the hall. I'd climb back into bed and curl up next to Simon. And when he kissed me and asked if I was okay, I'd assure him I'd never been better.
Because when it came to telling Simon the truth, I'd never been more scared in my life.
July 5, 2011
Scenic Inspiration, part 2
Siren takes place in Winter Harbor, Maine. If you've read any of the blog interviews I've done, you know that I chose Maine for its dramatic coastline and Winter Harbor because its namesake harbor never freezes, not even in the middle of winter. I thought that'd be very appealing to migrating, water-loving ladies. I haven't had the pleasure of visiting Winter Harbor in person, but I have spent a lot of time in New England, and whenever I imagined the small seaside town—specifically the Sands' vacation house—I always pictured one place in particular.
That place is in the Lakes Region of New Hampshire. Many years ago my family and I rented the same tiny cabin for one week each summer. We returned this year after a lengthy hiatus, and I made sure to get some shots of the spot that inspired Siren's setting. I was very happy that the red boat I imagined Vanessa and Justine drifting along in was still there—though in real life it's a canoe!
I hope you enjoy. And be sure to check back for the rest of Undercurrent's first chapter, which I'll post before its official release ONE WEEK from today!
June 30, 2011
Undercurrent Excerpt, part 2!
Undercurrent hits shelves in less than two weeks! The next two pages of the first chapter are below. I hope you enjoy!
I took his picture and put the camera back in my purse. "So, I realize the Carnegie Science Building sets your college worlds apart from others, but there's still one other thing I'd like to see before making any decisions."
"The gym? Theater? Art museum?"
"The dorms."
My pulse quickened as he looked down. Thinking I'd made him uncomfortable, I prepared to offer an alternative—like someplace off campus, where there were fewer people, fewer distractions. But then he started down the steps and turned right, back the way we came.
"Just wait till you see the concrete walls and linoleum floors," he said. "You might never go home again."
We didn't talk as we walked through the quad. Every now and then he greeted friends or classmates, but I stayed quiet. My head spun with thoughts of Justine, last summer, this fall, and I didn't know which thought would come out if I tried to speak. The spinning continued all the way across campus, into a tall brick building, and up four flights of stairs.
Fortunately, the silence wasn't awkward. It never was.
"I should warn you," he said when we stopped in front of a closed door. "The décor leaves something to be desired. That's what happens when you throw two bio majors together in one small space. Or any space, for that matter."
"Is your roommate . . . ?"
"Out. At a four-hour seminar that won't end for another three and a half hours."
My heart lifted, and my stomach turned. The mixed feelings must've been clear on my face because he stepped toward me, instantly concerned.
"Well," I said, relieved when my voice was calm, even, "if that's the case, we should probably get on with the tour."
This seemed to reassure him. He smiled as he took his keys from the pocket of the jeans and unlocked the door. Once inside, he leaned against the closed door with his arms folded behind his back and surveyed the room. "Interesting," he said.
"What is?" I asked.
"The décor."
I looked around. It was a typical dorm room with two beds, desks, dressers, and bookshelves. One side was messier than the other, and I assumed that side belonged to his roommate, who probably wasn't expecting company. The only accessories were a blue area rug, the college banner . . . and a framed photo of a girl in a red rowboat.
"I knew something was missing," he continued gently, "and I'd had a pretty good idea of what that something was. But now I know for sure."
My eyes found his and stayed there. He didn't move as I came closer. He was waiting to make sure that whatever happened next happened because I wanted it to. It had been two months and that hadn't changed. In two years—in two decades—it still wouldn't.
I stood as close as I could without our bodies touching. I smelled the soap on his skin and saw his chest rise and immediately fall. His jaw clenched, and his broad shoulders squared as he leaned harder against the door, locking his arms in place.
"Vanessa . . ."
"It's okay," I whispered, tilting forward. "I'm okay."
My lips had barely grazed his cheek when his hands were on my hips. He pulled me to him, closing the remaining distance between us. His hands moved from my waist to my neck and then lingered there, cradling my face like it was made of glass. His eyes held mine once more, just long enough for me to feel their warmth, before lowering his mouth to mine.
The spinning stopped. My head cleared. There was just this, us, him.
Simon. My Simon.
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