Lisa Burstein's Blog, page 11
November 6, 2012
PRETTY AMY IS 6 MONTHS OLD-Lessons from a debut author
Today PRETTY AMY has been out for 6 months! I can’t believe my little baby book is 6 months old. There are a lot of things I’ve learned during my journey as a debut author that can help you as a writer or an author and I thought I would share them here.
1. You will get negative reviews or rejections. It is inevitable- no one likes everything. The thing to remember is there are people who will like it- WHO WILL LOVE IT.
2. There are so many AMAZING authors and writers out there. Make friends with them.
3. Bloggers, Librarians, Booksellers will be your saviors. They will go out of their way to help you. Make friends with them.
4. Say YES to everything you can. You have no idea what opportunity will be THE opportunity. That means guest blog posts, interviews, book signings, a short piece for the local paper. EVERYTHING!
5. Write and keep writing.
6. Be humble. You are lucky to have made it to wherever you have made it to and you should be thankful to the people who helped you get there.
7. Write and keep writing- this deserves 2 entries.
8. Support other writers and authors. This is a hard life and no one understands it better than someone else who has been in the trenches and still is.
9. READ! You cannot expect to write well without knowing what else is out there. Of course, if you’re a writer hopefully you will love reading.
10. Be positive! You might get a rejection, or a crappy review, or bad sales one day, but you have no idea what might be just around the corner!
Don’t FORGET AMAZON’s GIFT of having PRETTY AMY on sale for less than $4 in Paperback and E-book!!!!
If you are a nookie it is also just $5 for NOOK!
Happy Birthday PRETTY AMY!
October 31, 2012
HAPPY HALLOWEEN- What did AMY do?
In honor of Halloween, I thought I would share AMY’s Halloween at Age Sixteen originally posted on the Halloween Character Booktacular!
Have a scary day!!!!
The guys were waiting for us in the street in front of Lila’s house. They looked like variations on the same theme, clothes that hung on their scarecrow bodies, hair that was too long to be accidental. Even though it was Halloween they weren’t wearing costumes, like most things they were supposed to do, they couldn’t care less.
Of course, I wasn’t wearing a costume either, but only because Lila and Cassie told me not to. Well really Lila said, you’ll look like a total loser, Amy, I mean we’re sixteen, and Cassie said she’d take my costume and shove it somewhere it would take me twenty Halloweens to find.
Chris was the tallest and seemed the least interested in what was going on, his brown hair falling in his face as he kicked at the ground like a stubborn horse. Kyle smiled when he saw us, smoke leaking through the gaps in his teeth, his black hair reflecting the purple of the night sky.
“They’re here dick wad,” Kyle said turning to Nick who was pissing in the bushes.
I could see the small moon white sliver of Nick’s underwear as he pulled up his jeans. He put his hands through his blonde hair and turned to us. He was the guy meant for me. It was pretty clear what we were supposed to being doing together that night, considering I’d seen his underwear before we even met.
“Way to keep us waiting,” Lila said, cuddling up to Kyle, her small strawberry-shaped face fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck.
“You know we can’t go to the cemetery before midnight on Halloween,” he said. This was a rule they felt like following. Being on time and wearing costumes was not.
Yes, cemetery. On Halloween we were going to a cemetery at midnight—cue the scary pipe organ music.
“That’s a fucking lame excuse, even for you,” Cassie said, she walked over to Chris. She was almost as tall as he was and just as thin, like a paper cut of a person.
Nick turned to me and moved his chin in a what’s up. There were three of us and three of them, I was the only one who hadn’t yet been claimed, even someone in remedial algebra could figure out what this meant. Of course some words, a hello would have been nice too.
We walked in a gangly clump down the street, the guys in front, we trailing behind like pebbles they kicked up.
There was one cemetery in our town and it bordered the back end of our school grounds like a moat. Kids used it to party a lot, but before I met Lila and Cassie I didn’t party so I’d never been there. I guess it was viewed as a really good place to be left alone. No one cares about you when you’re dead and no one cares about you when you’re a teenager.
I’m not going to pretend I wasn’t scared as we made our way through the hole in the chain-link-fence, the metal sharp around it like skinny, razor teeth. I wouldn’t have wanted to be in a cemetery anyway, but on Halloween night that feeling was multiplied by old crusty bones in the shape of x’s and zombies in the shape of numbers.
“You okay,” Nick asked, putting his arm around me. This close I could see his eyes were beer-bottle brown. He was talking. We were beyond chin flicks and grunts. That was progress.
I snuggled in. Maybe it was good he wasn’t much of a talker because I had no idea what to say, other than yes. I heard Lila laughing as Kyle led her away behind a mausoleum. We’d lost Cassie and Chris a long time ago.
“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” he whispered, a laugh in his voice.
This was all new to me. Boys, a cemetery, being out of my very pink room at midnight and so I was flattered to have someone who wanted to protect me. I let myself believe it. Certainly he could protect me from ghosts and werewolves and moaning mummies. But even that night I knew he couldn’t protect me from anything in the real world. No matter how cool I thought he was, or how cool he thought he was, life was just outside this place.
Here in the night we were free from the never-ending normalcy of it. Homework doing and dishwasher emptying and everydayness and what the hell we were meant to do with it becoming noiseless whispers when we were faced with the death that bordered our high school, squeezed at it like a clutching fist.
We walked past a row of high obelisk stones set up like a giant chess game, stones flat to the ground like fallen dominoes, stones popping out of the soil like vegetables in a garden. Luckily, we didn’t have to walk too far into the cemetery before Nick sat down. I was thankful, the further we walked in, the harder it would be for us to get out if someone, or something started chasing us.
We sat side by side on the grass in front of a huge oak tree with a trunk as thick as an elephant’s leg.
I knew he was going to kiss me and I sat silently waiting for it, licking my lips and feeling the cold air hit them. I tasted the candy corn I’d eaten earlier, that I’d made fangs with in Lila’s room.
He put his hand on my chin softly and tipped my head toward his, “Are you afraid of the dark?” he asked.
“No,” I said so quiet it was barely a word.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked.
“Depends,” I said, sucking in a breath to try and fight my nerves. This was the talking I didn’t want. It was the chance I could make a total fool out of myself in any number of humiliating ways. If he just kissed me, if we just started making out there was only one way I could make a fool out of myself.
“How about now?” he said, kissing one cheek then the other.
I felt heat flicker up from chin to forehead. “No,” I managed to croak out. His lips so close to mine, made me want him in a way I hadn’t ever felt before. Did he know what he was doing?
Did I know what I was doing?
If a ghost came and ruined this I was going to be so pissed off.
He leaned in and kissed me, my cold lips going warm. I tasted the sweetness of the candy corn, the smoke on his breath. He pushed my back against the tree, but I couldn’t feel the rough bark. All I could feel was him, me, here.
We made out under the stars on the sleeping grass, surrounded by tombstones that were stars themselves. Burning out of control as we kissed and groped above people who horror movies had taught us were surely groping too, trying to experience the life our bodies controlled in that night.
Life through the feel of a tongue and a hand and a breath, through the goose bump tickle of grass at our necks and the hum of mosquitoes in our ears.
The cold stone that represented life in that place, making us feel even more alive.
Don’t FORGET AMAZON’s TREAT of having PRETTY AMY on sale at $4 in Paperback and E-book!!!! Happy Halloween!
October 22, 2012
NEW CONTRACT!!!!
You may have heard my recent squeeing at being asked to contribute to Break These Rules: 35 YA Authors Write About Speaking Up, Standing Out, and Being Yourself
Not only because it is my first ever essay in PRINT, but because of the company(!!!) authors like: Sara Zarr, A.S. King, Francisco Stork, Gary Schmidt, and Kathryn Erskine
Well, I signed the contract today so I can officially say I will be included with an essay titled “Don’t Get Fat” chronicling my struggle with and recovery from an eating disorder.
I am so excited to share this with teens and with all of you! Look for it coming from Chicago Review Press in Fall 2013!
October 19, 2012
PRETTY AMY less than $5 in Paperback or E-book!!!
Hello all,
I know many of you have already read PRETTY AMY and for that I love you, but for those of you that haven’t, or want to maybe pick up a copy for one of your friends, I wanted to let you know that AMAZON is having an INSANE sale on PRETTY AMY right now.
Less than $5 for Paperback & E-book!!!
That’s right, hours of laughter, tears and Amy’s inner thoughts for the price of a latte. IN PAPERBACK AND E-BOOK!!!
You can also get PRETTY AMY for only $5.15 for Nook if you’re a nookie!
Enjoy!
October 15, 2012
WORDSTOCK Recap- See my reading that had them laughing in the aisles!
So Wordstock literary festival was this weekend and it was AWESOME! It was great meeting fans and also some super amazing authors including my panel mates: David Levithan, Katie Kacvinsky and Jen Violi. Below are some pics and a video of a short reading I did from PRETTY AMY filled with much audience and panel-mate laughter(!), which I have also included in print. All in all it was so fun and great to get out there and be authorish 
From the top: Festival Lobby, My book on the YA Table, ME and Katie Kacvinsky signing books, Jen Violi, David Levithan, ME and Katie Kacvinsky talking Contemporary YA.
The following night was Moons Over My Hammy for
Connor and his wife and chocolate milkshakes for me.
Connor had been right—I didn’t have a choice. I had to go
to dinner and to their church group with them, just like I
had to do all the other annoying things my mother told me
to.
I’d never admit it, but it was mostly because I didn’t
know what else to do. I called Aaron as Connor beeped in my driveway,
hoping he might come to my rescue, but he didn’t answer
his phone. He probably didn’t know it was me. I called
again as my mother banged on the basement door. It went
straight to voice mail and I hung up. What message was I
supposed to leave? Meet me at Denny’s?
I sat across the table from Connor’s wife, trying to
figure out what she saw in Connor. Not like she was
any prize, but she was female and she was breathing.
Considering the age of their children, they must have met
in high school. I wondered if he used to surprise her in
parking lots, if they used to have hot and heavy make-out
sessions in cars parked in dark places.
She had a chin-length bob and apricot-blond hair. The
color you get using an at-home color kit, which, other than
usually turning out orange, illustrates like nothing else that
you are completely uncomfortable with yourself. I knew
that because I’d used them.
She wore one of those plaid flannel overall dresses with
a yellow turtleneck that made her look like Big Bird from
the neck up. I couldn’t help feeling like I looked pretty
good sitting next to her. Maybe she could be my new best
friend. I tried not to wonder whether Lila had thought
something similar the night we first met.
I looked over at the blue daisies Connor’s wife had
brought for me. I guess blue daisies signified a last-ditch
effort with a burgeoning convict, like red meant love
and yellow meant friendship. I considered going back to
Blooming Maples to give them to Mrs. Mortar, since then,
at least, I wouldn’t have them around to remind me that
the only person who had ever bought me flowers had been
Connor’s wife.
“You could at least be grateful this whole prayer circle
is for you,” Connor said between bites of his sandwich.
I sipped on my milkshake. “Don’t they have anything
better to do? Like drinking strychnine or speaking in
tongues?”
“That is very closed-minded of you,” he said.
“I’m Jewish, Connor,” I reminded him again, in case
he’d forgotten.
“Well,” he said, wiping his mouth, “look where that has
gotten you.”
“This night is not about converting me,” I said,
spooning up chocolate ice cream from the bottom of the
glass.
“The night’s not over yet,” he said.
His wife stayed silent, but she ordered me another
chocolate milkshake.
“Do you guys eat like this all the time?” I asked,
starting on my second milkshake, even though I felt like I
might puke. I really hadn’t eaten much since the arrest. It
felt good to have a stomach full of chocolate.
“Only on special occasions,” his wife said, finally
breaking her silence, turning to look at Connor and rubbing
his shoulder.
Hopefully this prayer circle really did drink strychnine,
so I could kill myself as soon as we got there.
…
I hated to admit it, but part of the reason I didn’t want to
go to Connor’s prayer circle was because I was afraid of
churches. Any time I went to one, I was immediately made
aware of my otherness.
Sure, every church I’d been to looked the same as my
temple at first, brick on the outside, waxy tiled floors on
the inside, hallways flanked by classrooms and offices, and
school-grade public bathrooms. But then I would enter the
sanctuary and see that big cross hanging on the wall, and
I’d realize it was all different and I was all different. There
was nothing more terrifying than being completely unlike
everyone around you.
I felt that enough in my secular life.
Luckily, the prayer circle was in the rec hall, so at least
I could pretend I wasn’t in a church—that is, until they
started praying.
Connor paused for a second before we entered, just
long enough for me to see that all the women were dressed
exactly like his wife. Like they had taken a big pile of those
overall dresses that were on sale and had them all blessed.
Connor put himself between his wife and me, then put
his arms around both of us. I elbowed him. “I was forced to
agree to praying, not to touching.”
“Touch is one of the most powerful healers.”
“So is morphine. I’ll take that instead.” I walked ahead
of them to a seat in one of the metal folding chairs they had
arranged in a circle in the middle of the room. I crossed my
arms and legs and harrumphed, letting everyone know I
was not a willing participant.
A woman in a blue-and-green-plaid overall dress sat
next to me and said, “You must be Amy.”
I wanted to say something smart, but I couldn’t figure
out what, so I just nodded.
“We get strangers here, but not too often,” she said, like
some maid in a haunted mansion taking you up to your
room, where you’ll be killed that night. “We are just so glad
to be able to help you with this decision.”
“I don’t know how much help you’ll be,” I said.
“Well, not us. Him,” she said, looking up.
The craziest thing about all of this—and there were
many crazy things: the fact that I was in a church, the fact
that I was with Connor and wasn’t at work, the fact that I
was with a bunch of Dress Barn rejects, the fact that within
minutes I was going to be praying to Jesus to ask Him for
guidance—was the fact that this was my mother’s idea.
My mother, who was an image Jew, which is a Jew who
only cares as much about her Judaism as the person she is
trying to prove it to, was sending me to the feet of Jesus for
help. She must truly have run out of options.
“Let’s get started,” some guy said, cupping his hands
around his mouth to make sure everyone could hear. I
guess this was supposed to include the Man himself.
Everyone sat down in the circle of chairs, alternating
man, woman, man, woman, and I felt instantaneously
uncomfortable. Not because it was obvious I was the only
one here who was not adhering to God’s Perfect Plan, but
because my stomach hurt and not in the tummy hurts sort
of way. It hurt in the dysentery sort of way.
Someone said something about taking your neighbor’s
hand, but I was afraid that if I let go of my stomach, which I
was clutching like a ball in my lap, it would explode, and by
explode, well, just guess.
Then Connor said, “Jesus, we come to you today for
guidance for our sister Amy.”
I think I groaned, because everyone looked over at
me—either that, or they were trying to picture me as their
sister, superimposing an orangey bob and my own overall
dress.
“She seeks your wisdom in making a decision with
immense gravity over the rest of her life.”
I groaned again, and Connor whispered, “It’s okay.”
Pulling me to him and shaking me, like an older brother
giving your whole body a noogie.
It caused whatever had been struggling to escape from
inside my stomach to start coming loose. I got up and ran
for the bathroom.
“Where are you going?” Connor yelled after me.
I didn’t bother explaining. I was afraid that if I took the
time to stop, my soul wouldn’t have been the only thing this
congregation was cleaning up.
I practically pulled the bathroom door from its hinges
as I ran inside, saying my own little prayer, thanking
whoever was responsible for putting the bathroom right
next to the rec hall.
As I sat on the toilet, I couldn’t help wondering
whether God was punishing me. Not that everything that
had happened already hadn’t made me consider it, but until
that night I hadn’t actually been purposely taunting Him.
Maybe this was His way of telling me that I had even less
control over things than I’d thought.
There was a knock at the bathroom door. It was
Connor’s wife, asking me if I was all right.
“Fine,” I said, even though my stomach was saying
something very different.
I heard someone come up behind her and heard her
whisper, “Just a case of the Loosey Gooseys,” and then,
“Hell hath no fury like lactose. That’s why Connor and I
stay away from it.”
Then I heard that someone chuckle.
Connor’s wife opened the bathroom door. “Do you
need anything?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I just groaned. Even if I
could talk, I was not about to have a conversation with this
woman while I was on the toilet.
“Some water, some juice?”
I said nothing, just answered with the sounds of
someone whose large intestine is turning to liquid.
“She’ll be okay. We’ll just move everyone out here into
the hallway,” she said as she closed the door.
To which I answered by puking onto the floor in front
of me, which seemed more than appropriate.
I sat there, dying on the toilet, as a group of Christians I
didn’t even know huddled in a circle in the hallway outside
of the bathroom and prayed that their Lord Jesus would give
me the wisdom to make the right decision. If that isn’t enough
to turn someone into an atheist, I don’t know what is.
October 8, 2012
Help Bring a Free Library to Palo Verde Costa Rica
One of my very good friends Cassandra has spent the past year teaching English for WorldTeach in Costa Rica. During her time there, she noticed the need for a library in one of the communities where she visited. Please consider donating to her cause.
She is very passionate about libraries and wants to start a community book exchange there. She hopes to accomplish this by mounting a Free Little Library (a small structure to house the books) in the center of town and stocking it with books from the International Book Project. Please help us bring this innovative, community-buliding book exchange to a rural community with little access to books.
I’ve asked her questions about her experiences in Costa Rica below.
DONATE AND FIND MORE INFO HERE: http://www.indiegogo.com/fllpaloverde
1. What was the best part of your time teaching in Costa Rica?
The best part of my time teaching in Costa Rica has been all the great friendships I’ve made with my fellow teachers. There is something extraordinary about realizing that there are only 18 other people on Earth having the exact same unique experience at the same exact time. Even after we go our separate ways I imagine that we will be bonded for life.
When things are tedious or difficult at our sites we’ve been able to lean on one another. A simple 30 minute conversation with another teacher can make everything better, or at least get you through another day. During a hard week, the thought of escaping to another teacher’s site or meeting up for a weekend get away, is the only thing that gets me through. But, we are also together through the good times too. We’ve taken part in numerous cultural events and even organized our own flash mob. We share in each other’s joys and hardships, because we understand them.
Most of all, my fellow teachers help me keep everything in perspective. When our students are crazy and our host families don’t understand us, they remind me that things will turn around tomorrow and that, oh yeah, we live in beautiful Costa Rica. How can anything ever be that bad when we are surrounded by such natural beauty?
2. What has been the hardest thing to get used to?
Well, I’m an only child and I’ve lived alone for many years, so living with a host family has been the most challenging part of my year. My host family is very kind and very respectful of my need for alone time, but it is very difficult to have much quiet time here. Yes, I have my own bedroom, but even with the door closed it is easy to hear everything that everyone is doing – the walls are very thin.
I think culturally, Ticos are used to living with less personal space. Many of them share a bedroom with a sibling when they are growing up and a lot of times a large family will share one bathroom. They are trained to be heavy sleepers; Ticos make a lot of noise in the morning even if someone is still sleeping. They will turn on loud music, they will shout at one another across the house and they will make quite the commotion in the kitchen as they make breakfast.
Admittedly, it is good for me to learn how to live with other people. I have been forced outside of my comfort zone time and time again. When my natural inclination has been to have some quiet time in my room, I often force myself to sit in the living room and socialize. When I want to spend an hour in the bathroom showering and grooming, I make myself take a 5 minute cold shower. When I want to eat all the cookies for my daily snack, I don’t because I know there are four other people in the house who may want a snack.
Sharing and socializing are things most of us learn in Kindergarten, but I’ve been able to forget these lessons as an adult. It’s been a good growth experience. I’m definitely glad I purchased some ear plugs for those loud early mornings though.
3. How do you think a free library in Palo Verde would improve life for the community there?
There is little cultural interest in reading outside of school and I think that is due to three factors: 1. Books are very expensive , 2. libraries aren’t easily accessed and their lending rules are very restrictive – you can only read books there at the library, instead of taking them home and 3. Ticos aren’t used to associating reading with pleasure as the only books they usually read are text books, which can be rather dry.
I have a small library in my classroom that the students get very excited to read during down time. I mean, REALLY excited – if I forget to offer that as an option to them when they are waiting for other students to finish an activity they take the initiative to ask if they can read. That is always surprising to me, but it makes me really happy to see them having so much fun reading. I have one Halloween book that makes “spooky” noises as you turn the pages – they’ve actually been fighting over that one lately and I have to make them take turns and calm down. Who knew that books could cause such a frenzy in a culture where people supposedly don’t like to read?
So, I think if I am able to make books available in a venue Palo Verde can easily access, that I can help nurture this interest in books that my students already have. I am hoping that having adult books available will help reignite an interest in books that many of the adults here may have lost along the way. I think this would improve life for the people of Palo Verde not only because they will have access to another form of entertainment, I think it will also get them excited about learning more. For many people, once you get them reading, making sure to offer them subjects that may speak to them, it is really just a jumping off point that leads to them seeking out knowledge in other forms. I feel that this thirst to learn can only be a good thing, leading to individual self-improvement and probably more.
4. What is the craziest thing that happened to you while you were there?
I was waiting for a bus on the highway. I’d been waiting about 30 minutes and it was pouring down rain. Suddenly, a silver SUV pulled over and honked. Against my better judgement and the advice of my supervisor, I decided to get in. It was weakness, laziness and impulsiveness all rolled into one. I quickly realized that the older “gentleman” who’d picked me up was wasted. I could smell the liquor and I could see its result in the way he was swerving down the winding road from my site into Cartago. Luckily, he was so drunk he couldn’t drive very fast – we were crawling along at a snails space. He proceeded to ask me if I had a boyfriend and if I like to drink. I lied and said I had a boyfriend back home; he responded by saying I didn’t have one here though, right? I told him I didn’t drink, and he actually said, but what about when you do, how much do you drink? It was like he had a checklist of all the things we’d been told that men would ask us here and was following it verbatim. We finally reached Cartago and he dropped me off without incident. I could
only shake my head and laugh. Luckily, he was a mostly harmless old man, but I learned my lesson and I’ve refrained from hitchhiking on the main road.
5. What will you miss most when you leave?
So, while it drives me crazy at times, most of the time I love the laid-back attitude of Costa Rica. It can be frustrating when I’m trying to get something done in a timely manner or if I want to make plans. There are very rarely a sense of urgency or timelines here.
But, honestly it has been a refreshing perspective for me. Most of the time back home we are always GOING, GOING, GOING. We don’t take a lot of time to just relax and enjoy the view. Americans always need to be doing something. We live and die by deadlines; we kill ourselves to get things done quickly, letting sleep and healthy eating fall by the wayside. Work is king and vacations are few and far between.
Here, especially in the countryside where I live, there is a lot less to fill your day. I teach four hours a day and maybe spend some time after school planning for future classes. After that the day is mine and I’ve felt stressed at times trying to fill all these empty hours with something to do, like I would back home. I’m learning to enjoy these gentle pauses, the long winding hours where I have little else to do but sit and enjoy the view. I used to be stressed by this lack of “something to do”, but I’m now grateful. It is a blessing to be able to relax and enjoy this life. I am perfectly happy to sit and do nothing. I am in fact content to sit and do nothing – I know when I am home that I won’t have many moments like these and I’m thankful that I’ve had this chance to breathe, if only for this short year.
October 5, 2012
PRETTY AMY Banned Books Week Round-up
AMY got her moment in the sun this week as her, I and teens got to talk about her magazine review censorship and how it made us feel. If you missed any of it, I’ve got it all here in one handy-dandy blog post!
First, AMY visited Teen Librarian Toolbox and talked about her thoughts on her own book’s censorship
Then I visited The Story Siren to talk about censorship of PRETTY AMY in the editing process and after
Then some teen readers and I visited Novel Novice and they talked about why they thought other teens should read PRETTY AMY
Finally, I visited The Book Latern with an interview about why “Dark Subjects are Real Life” They also posted an AMAZING 5-star review of PRETTY AMY
All in all, it was a busy and great week! Thank you everyone for your support this week and always. We need to fight censorship and book banning however and whenever we can.
October 1, 2012
BANNED BOOK WEEK SALE ON PRETTY AMY!!!
This week is banned book week and PRETTY AMY is on sale in paperback on Amazon for under $7.00!!! The e-book is only $4.99!!! Take the opportunity to pick up a copy this week in honor of banned books week!
Happy reading!
September 24, 2012
PRETTY AMY Banned Book Donation Drive
Many of you know the story of PRETTY AMY being passed over for review in a national teen magazine because of drug use in the book.
They said it was because “the book contained drug use and they didn’t want to promote it to their readers.”
I was shocked. Sure there is nothing in the description that overtly mentions “drug use”, but “drug use” encompasses about two pages of the book. They smoke some pot. The book is not about using drugs. It does not glorify it, or promote it.
Since this occurred, I have been in touch with teens who *gasp* read PRETTY AMY and were amazed and upset that a teen magazine deemed it inappropriate for their readers.
I was angry too and I knew I needed to do something to help get my book into the hands of teens. I knew it was a book that could help them. So The PRETTY AMY Banned Book Donation Drive was born.
I will be donating 10 copies of my book to High School libraries around the country (if you are an interested teacher or librarian please comment on this blog post), but I wanted to open it up to you guys too and sweeten the pot with a contest for Gift Cards to Barnes and Noble and Amazon.
Please consider purchasing a copy of PRETTY AMY or another banned book and donating it to your local High School or Public Library.
Please consider buying an e-copy of PRETTY AMY or another banned book and gifting it to a teen in your life.
We need to make sure teens have access to books that can help them. We cannot allow the media to decide what it best for our teens. We should be able to decide.
Please find a link to the contest here
September 19, 2012
What PRETTY AMY has to do with TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY
I may be stretching here, but I figured today was a great opportunity to highlight one of my favorite characters from PRETTY AMY. Her pet parrot AJ. He is the reason for the title of the book, as Amy has taught him to say “Pretty Amy”, he is the only thing Amy can trust as her world crumbles around her post-arrest and he is many readers favorite character, even though he just repeats what others say.
I added AJ during a major rewrite when I realized I needed “something” that Amy loved unconditionally and loved her back the same way. I had him be a parrot that talked since she finds it so hard to speak her true feelings and live her true life.
Here is one of my favorite scenes featuring AJ’s humor. This scene takes place after a meeting with Amy’s therapist where she lies about hiding Heroin in her mattress because she is so fed-up with him and her parents calling her a drug addict when all she’s done is smoked pot.
The minute I got home I tried to call Lila again. Well, not
the minute I got home—first I had to deal with my mother
slamming the front door in my face and telling me I could
sleep on the street with the other junkies.
After having a cigarette and deciding that dealing with my
mother was in fact better than holing up under the nearest
underpass, I went inside, though I did reconsider when I found
her in the basement ripping apart my mattress with a steak
knife.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Getting that monkey off your back.” She picked up
a handful of stuffing from the inside of the mattress and
compared it with a book in her hand. It was called Heroin: Not
a Horse You Want to Ride. She must have gotten it from the
library while I was at my appointment with Daniel.
“Mom, this is ridiculous,” I said, taking AJ from his cage.
“I’ll tell you what’s ridiculous—that you would put poison
into your body. That you would bring”—she paused and
turned the page—“that Lady H into my house.” She picked up
another pile of mattress stuffing, studying it.
Lady H, AJ squawked. Lady H, he squawked again.
“Where is it, AJ?” my mother asked, like he was Lassie or
something.
“Mom, there’s nothing in there. It was a joke,” I said. I
thought about Daniel’s claim that he didn’t tell my mother
anything I said. Well, apparently he’d told her about the
mattress.
She pulled out another handful of stuffing and compared
it with her book.
AJ perched himself on my shoulder and bit at my hair.
Snow, AJ said, snow, snow, snow.
I knew he meant the white beads of stuffing my mother
was throwing into the air as she searched, but luckily she
didn’t hear him, or she probably would have thought I was on
cocaine, too.
“Why don’t you just buy yourself a microscope?”
“Don’t tempt me,” she said, dragging the mattress up the
stairs, the corner of it smacking each step, so she could do in
private whatever tests she needed to do.
I closed the door behind her, put AJ back in his cage,
got underneath my heap of blankets on the floor, and called
Lila. My hand glowed green from the buttons on the cordless
phone as I dialed the number. I didn’t really know what I was
going to say, but I needed to hear her voice. I needed to hear
her words, whether she meant them or not.
But instead of her voice on the line, or even the phone
ringing and ringing and ringing, I got the punch in the
stomach of a recorded operator telling me the number I had
dialed was no longer in service and no other information was
available. The only way I could reach Lila no longer existed.
I wanted to ask the operator if she knew why, to ask
her if Lila had been forced to disconnect it by her parents,
or whether she had chosen to disconnect it herself. I kept
listening, as if she would give me the answers I was looking
for.
I needed that woman in the phone. I needed to know
why no other information was available. Why I was in my
basement, under my covers with a phone to my ear, and only
her recorded voice to turn to.
That day I realized that insanity isn’t just about being
crazy; it’s also about being lonely.
I brought the phone upstairs and saw my mother in the
backyard through the kitchen window. She was next to the
swing set. She doused my mattress in kerosene and then lit it
on fire.
As Cassie would have said, She must have been really
fucking lonely.
If you loved AJ too, I would love to hear from you in the comments! 
