Eric Devine's Blog, page 7

Hospitals and Sacrifice

Pre-surgery. The meds have kicked in at this point.

Over the past five days I have had the pleasure of assisting my wife, Carrie, through gastrointestinal surgery. I say that without sarcasm. The frailty of the human being is always astonishing, yet so is the resilience.  And in the twenty-one years I’ve known my wife, rare is it that she has shown frailty. Resilience, on the other hand, she has in spades.

Therefore, from last Wednesday through yesterday, I lived at Saint Peter’s hospital. I spent early morning hours at Carrie’s side, as pre-surgery anxiety overwhelmed her. After, I spent full days and evenings and well into the night, tending to her by adjusting the bed, fixing pillows, making certain the nurses were keeping watch, advocating for all aspects of her care, and making sure she was discharged in as timely a manner as possible.

Post-surgery. The meds have most certainly kicked in.

Most evenings I would pick up my daughters, or they would be brought to me, from my parents or in-laws, who were an absolute blessing through all of this, and it took all I had not to collapse. That was not a possibility; not when their mother was being so strong at the hospital miles away, and because of flu concerns, they could not see her.

Liquid diet. Meh.

Often, Carrie thanked me for helping. I could barely stand it. There was no need. It was my absolute pleasure to help, to sit, to fetch, to do whatever was necessary. That’s what love is. It’s not only the romance of flowers and jewelry and amazing dates. It’s the sacrifice that doesn’t feel like such. It’s the compassion and concern for someone else, far beyond your own concerns. It’s the actions my wife displays day in and day out. It was only appropriate that I return the favor.

On the move to get out the door.

She’s home now, and recovery will take far longer than the days in the hospital. Fortunately, that’s perfectly fine. She’s healthy and will heal. She’s better for the sacrifice, as am I. We both look forward to spring and positive change. It’s taken a bit to get here, but it’s a better place than where we have been.

YAK Fest 2016

I never met an author until I became one. That’s a strange concept, but one that I believe a fair number of authors my age and older–particularly those writing YA Lit–have experienced. But when I was a teen, there weren’t conventions like this past weekend’s YAK Fest pictured above. The Perks of Being a Wallflower didn’t exist, nor 33 Snowfish. Two books whose authors, Stephen Chbosky and Adam Rapp, respectively, either of whom I would have given my right arm to see. But I read them when I was in college, and still, there were no teen conventions I was aware of.

There’s a great importance in teens having the opportunity to have something like YAK Fest, or locally for me, Teen Reader Con. So many teens who are not athletes or musicians or thespians, will slog through high school without experiencing the joy of a community, of shared experiences over the things in which they love. And in this case, those things are books. When I present on Press Play, this is a topic I touch on. I ask the teen audience to raise their hands if they attended a pep rally for their fall sports teams. Every hand in the room goes up. I then ask them to do the same for the pep rally that was held for the honor students, or the book nerds :) There are no hands for that because there is no pomp and circumstance for teens who like to use their minds and who like to read. Sure, there are academic decathlons and locally, Engineering competitions and Odyssey of the Mind. But I’m talking about events where all you have to do is be part of the team and people cheer for you.

Teen Book conventions fill this void, and that was driven home so distinctly at YAK Fest. That crowd in the picture above is comprised of kids who care about books. Deeply. Sure, some were athletes and musicians and thespians, but on this day, they were book lovers. And aside from them, there were straight up book lovers. And there were librarians and teachers and adults who like YA. There was community. They came to be a part of a moment and I think they got a fantastic one.

The Contemporary, realistic panel. I have no clue what goofy thing I’m saying in this picture.

I was fortunate enough to be on a panel with authors who are writing stories that pull no punches and discuss teen life in frank and sometimes disturbing ways (from left to right: Meredith Moore, Kelsey Macke, S. E. Green, Julie Murphy, me, and moderator and librarian Rae Cheney).  The conversations we had truly underscored the need for teens to be immersed in the arts. They asked fantastic questions about why we write what we do, what we think about various topics in YA, and especially about the writing process. I still feel as if I’m finding my way through how to write, but I know that these teens gained phenomenal insight listening to our panel discuss how one goes about this writing thing. Again, to be a teen now, interested in books and writing, and to have this kind of access; how awesome.

One other phenomenal aspect about Book conventions for teens is the underlying message. So much of YA is about struggling through to find out who you are as a person and not allowing someone else to define you–an important message for adults, too. And often, the message isn’t so subtle, as when Julie Murphy gave her keynote speech about inspirational posters. See below:

As adorable and as super scientific as the slide show was, Julie’s own inspirational poster was the message that resonated with the teens: The Fat Girl Gets the Guy. Like I said, us contemporary, realistic authors don’t hold back. Julie is a self-proclaimed fat girl from Texas who loves Dolly Parton. And her message to the teens was to replace “Fat Girl” with whatever thing in their lives made them feel alone, and replace “the Guy” with whatever goal they desire for themselves. Boom. Instant, create your own inspiration. And inspired they were. I was fortunate enough to share a signing table with Julie at the end of the convention, and teen after teen came up and hugged her and thanked her for her message. Some cried during her speech, some after, with her. There is no more justification needed for why events like YAK Fest should occur. The need for support and validation and respect, which some teens only find in books, and if they are lucky, a real, live author, was overwhelming.

My heartfelt thanks goes out to y’all at YAK Fest. I was glad to be a part of this moment for your community, to be able to support the teens who care so deeply about stories and writing and finding themselves. It’s nice to know that for those who pursue a path in writing, the first sentence of this post will never be true for them.

The trouble with completing a novel

My next novel is complete. I finished edits over the phone with my editor yesterday afternoon. It didn’t hit me then that I was done, but it did later in the evening, and I feel a bit lost at this point.

And no, the woods above aren’t a metaphor for how I feel :) Much of the novel, Look Past, takes place in the woods, and it’s scary as hell. Yet, after having spent close to three years working on this story, I am kind of terrified by how it will be received. But first, here’s the catalog copy for the novel, for those of you who have no idea what Look Past is about:

Mary is dead—murdered in a brutal way. Avery, a transgender boy who loved Mary but who was shunned by Mary’s very strict Reverend father, can’t sit on the sidelines while the police, including his own uncle, handle the case. Therefore, his interest in forensics takes over and he goes to the crime scene. Avery’s investigating puts him in harm’s way, as the authorities are on edge, trying to decipher who the killer is, and have no time for the outcast teen. Avery must, like the rest of the town, wait for the police to do their job.

However, following Mary’s funeral, Avery receives the first in a series of disturbing texts that can only have come from the killer, revealing that Avery is now a target, dead-center in the continuing manhunt and investigation. With the entire town caught in the grip of fear and uncertainty, Avery is torn between finding the killer and protecting himself.

Soon, though, even hiding and hoping is taken from Avery. The killer, in a disturbing cat and mouse game, toys with Avery’s heart and his identity. If Avery plays along, can he bring Mary’s murderer to justice? Or will sacrificing himself be the ultimate betrayal?

With his characteristic honesty and gift for creating page-turning plots, author Eric Devine explores the depths one must go, in order to see past the superficial and to find the truth.

Gripping, right? And intense. At this point, these are facets of my writing that should be expected. But here’s the thing, I’ve never written a murder mystery before. I have read a ton since I was a child, but trust me, there’s a vast difference in having read one and having written one. Yet, I’ve pulled it off. It wasn’t easy, but with help, I figured it out.

Also, I’m not transgender. To me, I don’t find an issue with that. Like with the murder mystery aspect, for the gender disparity, I read a lot, and researched, and I interviewed people. I did the work. As an author, I believe that creativity is paramount to experience. To paraphrase Atticus from To Kill A Mockingbird, I should be able to climb into someone else’s skin and walk around in it. That’s the job. To be at a slight distance, objectively, from the world, but to feel, subjectively, everything.

And yet the landscape of social media and the ways YA is often picked apart for what it is, for what it lacks, and how the author is a manifestation of both, can be disturbing.

Possibly this is why my emotions are mixed. I love that Avery’s story is going to be out in the world. I love that a really good murder mystery is going to unfold. I love that perspectives are going to be challenged. Yet, it’s like raising a child for the past three years and having to let him go, only to then wait for people to bash him and my parenting skills. Good times.

Again, though, that’s the job. The words are complete. The story is finished. Soon I’ll receive a cover image, and by spring advanced reader copies will be available. It’s exciting, and terrifying, much like the story. Which I believe is a fair tribute to a little piece of my life, the years I have spent, which will now, morph into a new life in readers’ hands.

 

The gift of readers

I’ve been a writer for quite some time, but an author for only a short while. The distinction? Readers. Writers, write, and so do authors, but they have their work read by people they don’t know. It’s an oversimplified scenario, but it’s one that has an integral component for me: all of you.

This fall has been one punch in the face after the next, but one of the elements of my life that has kept me moving forward is my fall ’16 novel, Look Past. I so desperately want it to be as good as it can be, and so in spite of a host of personal issues, I have returned to the manuscript day after day, to make it better. To be a better author.  I have all of you to thank for that.

There is nothing more I need in my life . There are plenty of things I want. But the former is all that matters. And the gift of readers helps fulfill that. Without you, I’m not here. I doubt that I would have continued had I not broken into the industry. That’s sad, but true. Yet, ever since I made it, so many of you have been here for me.

I know I’ve sprinkled thanks here and there, but right now I’m thanking all of you very directly. Many of you are here because you know me as Carrie’s husband. Some are colleagues, and others are friends, family, and acquaintances. And then there are those of you I’ve never met, and yet whose support I feel as much as the others. When I think about that, it kind of blows my mind, and I gush with the realization of how lucky I am.

Life is so incredibly busy these days, it’s tough to breathe. But I regularly make time to read, both books I like, and books with my daughters. There are few things I believe in this world, and one of them is that reading has the power to teach you more than any lesson from school. Somehow all of you have managed to find the time to read my work. Probably not for grand life lessons :) But you have taken the time out of your busy schedules to read my work, to make me an author. That right there is a powerful gift.

As we are now fully entrenched in the Holiday season, know that just this morning I sent off Look Past to my editor. By spring I’ll have advanced copies, and then it’s off to the bookstores for the fall.

This novel is incredibly ambitious. Which means I will either succeed or fall on my face. That’s how one should live, artistically–by the heart. I have all of you to thank for the  courage it takes to write like I do. To take chances, to risk criticism and rejection, to swing for the fences. You deserve as much.

Enjoy your Holidays. Spend time with your loved ones. If you have time, slow down and read a little. I hope the author whose work you choose thanks you as much as I do.

See you in the New Year!

Saratoga: Multi Author Book Signing | Northshire Bookstore

Join us during Saratoga’s Victorian Streetwalk for a multi author book signing – a great chance to stock up on signed books to give as gifts! The evening will feature authors of books for children, young adults and adults. Our friends from Healthy Living Market & Cafe will be serving complimentary light refreshments. If you can not attend this event and would like a signed book, place an order here, and include information on how you’d like the book signed in the notes field of your order.

Children’s & Young Adult Authors:

Karen Magnuson Beil
Joseph Bruchac
Nancy Castaldo
Kathy Ceceri
Mark Cheverton
Eric Devine
Selma Nemer
Jennifer Sattler
Alexandra Siy
Steve Sheinkin

Adult Authors:

Cara Connelly
Thomas Dimopoulos
Jeanette Grey
Field Horne
Bill Howard
Cynthia A. Lovely & Mary Vigliante Szydlowski
Daniel Nester
Ray O’Conor
Jacopo Della Quercia





Event date:

Thursday, December 3, 2015 – 6:00pm to 8:00pm



Event address:



424 Broadway

Saratoga Springs, NY 12866

Source: Saratoga: Multi Author Book Signing | Northshire Bookstore

Holiday Giveaway

It’s that time of year again. Yup, the precarious plunge, post-Halloween, where all the fall and winter celebrations have been rolled into one and are sale in everywhere. Right up until New Year’s. Then it’s time for the Valentine hearts. Or maybe the shamrocks.

Therefore, in an effort to help you have one less thing to buy for whatever it is you are celebrating, let me give you something. Some things, really.

If you would like Press Play, Dare Me, and Tap Out, go and enter this Goodreads giveaway. Not a member of Goodreads? Sign up. It takes like two seconds and really is a great place to keep track of books you’ve read and books you want to read. Oh, and there are tons of giveaways, like this one. So if you’ve read my work and don’t want more, cool–well, not cool, but understandable–then check out Goodreads for other giveaways.

Or, be that kind and benevolent Father or Mother or awesome relative who gives away books. Yeah, be that person, and do it for free. Now we’re talking, right?

You have until 12/11 to enter, and I promise to get the books in the mail ASAP after that date. So, spread the word, or at least enter. The holiday hustle is fast approaching.

Day by day

 

Tomorrow my youngest starts psychological counseling. The pressure of dealing with a chronic illness has taken its toll. For the past two weeks my father-in-law has been in the hospital. He has already lost a toe and has become so demented that the potential surgery to fix his circulation issues may never happen. In the past few months I’ve lost both my publicist and my editor at my publishing house. And as many of you know, I have a book scheduled for next fall. Deadlines loom. Appointments are crammed into place. Work is a non-stop juggling act. I’ve barely seen my wife in weeks because of the countless trips to the hospitals. And yet I parent and teach and write to the best of my abilities. But the cost of maintaining is enormous.

I’m exhausted. I’m besides myself with worry and anxiety. I’m holding my own as best I can. This is my life and these are my challenges and I am the one who must face them head on. There are no shortcuts.

I wish my 8-year-old wasn’t riddled with anxiety. I wish my father-in-law were well and that all was moving swimmingly in my writing life. But none of those statements are true.

It’s also National Diabetes Awareness month. A fact that I love and hate. I will have had type 1 for 25 years this month. My daughter has had it for almost 3. Her anxiety stems from the overwhelming pressure of dealing with this disease, and potentially with how she’s coping with her grandfather’s current condition. Talking to the psychologist, it became so very apparent that the tics she possess are mirror images to my own. I’m lucky though. I get to be the quirky artist. She is a child, so all anyone sees is weird.

Nine years ago, my 72-year-old father-in-law had a massive heart attack. The family lore is that he lived for my youngest, who my wife was pregnant with at the time. This may be true. And his current state may be pushing his savior over the edge. I don’t know. Life is full of such strange ironies.

And yet through all this, I get up every morning and I write. That’s not boastful. Writing is my own sort of therapy. The words distract me from all the noise of my life, as well as give me a sense of footing. Because all the story demands is that I listen and try my damndest to get it straight. Right now I’m working on a fantastic story about race and sports and small mindedness. The pain within the story is physical and psychological and so very emblematic of how I feel right now. And yet, when I am done, I’m not exactly sure to whom I will be submitting.

Facing a roomful of students and meeting their demands with all I have swirling in my head is superbly challenging. Facing my own disease and knowing I am in large part to blame for the very issue that causes my daughter so much pain is downright debilitating. Facing my wife and the tough decisions she and her brother and sister and her mother must is simply unbearable.

But I must bear it all. Right now I’m living day-by-day. I write this not for pity, but to unburden myself, to let it out of the box what I’ve kept it in. I’m writing this while my daughters do homework in the kitchen, with me at the end of the counter, finding solace in what is, and what could be.

 

For the Love of books

 

Have you ever loved something so unabashedly that you didn’t realize there was any other way to feel? I have. About books. YA, specifically.

Last night I had the good fortune to present to graduate students in the University at Albany’s Literacy program. My audience was a group of book lovers, just like me. Some are already teaching, some or serving in other education capacities, and some are working on the degree, primarily. It was my job to talk to them about my path to being an author and then about the importance of YA Lit in the classroom.

My story to publication is well-worn terrain for me, so I had no trepidation about regaling them with my narrative of hitting wall after wall, but finally breaking through. And they were a fantastic audience. My criteria are simple. 1. Are they awake? 2. Do they laugh at my corny jokes? Yes, to both, so I knew I was solid. But then I had to transition from author to teacher, and to be honest, that is a much lesser worn path for me to speak publicly about. I gave the class a break, pulled up my presentation and swallowed my nerves.

The opening line of this second presentation reads as follows: If, capital L, Literature is the only access point we provide for students to grow in their reading comprehension abilities, then we’re failing the majority of them.

Yup, a nice bold and assertive beginning, just as you should expect coming from anything I write :)

And with that, I launched into the reasons I believe this. As I spoke, I felt myself defending that aforementioned  love. I very much wanted to throw down with all the naysayers who state that YA Lit isn’t deep enough, nuanced enough, important enough to teach. I threw out the statement that teens are not small adults, but rather, on the spectrum of life, are far closer to birth than death, and we should respect that fact and give them art that reflects their world. 

Yeah, I was preaching.

But preaching to a choir, I believe. Really, I was just getting all fired up over the very issue that so many educators currently face, and as new educators enter the field, will face. There is such hostility and elitism over the Literature vs. YA Lit. debate. When educators look down their noses at the very books their students will actually read (and not find shortcuts regarding, like Sparknotes) it does so much more damage than good.

Because you know what happens to kids whose reading habits aren’t bolstered? They stop reading. Yup, they become the giant swath of adults who rarely, if ever, read. So what good does all that jamming Literature down kids’ throats do?

That said, I am not an advocate of dismissing all Literature and having students only read YA. I am an advocate of difficult texts, and building reading stamina. But all in good measure. Reading is a tonic; it is a strong medicine. Too much at too potent of a level and our body can be overwhelmed. But at just the right dosage, well, then it’s an elixir. A love potion, if you will. One that’s still working on me, and one I hope the class I spoke to will concoct for their own students.

Thanks again, Dr. Stuetzel and all of her students! Go forth and share the love.

Want to hear live ranting from me? I’ll be at Teen Reader Con on 10/17 and New York State Readers Association conference on 11/9

In the Meantime

For the past three years I’ve had a book published in the fall: Tap Out, Dare Me, Press Play. The same cannot be said for this year, which feels like a mixed blessing.

School started last week and the business of the classroom is now underway. It’s nice to have the decks cleared of promo work so I can focus solely on getting the year off to  a good start. But I was able to do that even when my schedule was packed with interviews and posts and book trailers.

I moved in late July, and have been settling my new home ever since. Sure, it’s nice to have the time to focus on the tweaks that are needed here and there, but fortunately nothing is so consuming to gobble up all my time. I could be promoting.  I’m not, though.

I’m reading the paper on the weekends. I’m tending to my lawn and paying attention to the window with a blown seal. I’m watching the leaves begin to change. The pool is being closed this week. I’m curious to watch how that is done.

In essence, my mind is again free enough to notice the things that authors should. Removing the noise and pressure that come with a new release has freed up this enormous amount of space in my life to just think. And I love and hate that.

Because I have pushed so very hard over the years to get where I am, that I worry about slipping through the cracks. It’s not as if I’m some titan of the industry, so well established I can take time off. The authors I emulate are the one who publish at least a novel a year, win awards, go to all the conventions. And since I’ve missed a beat this year, I wonder what that says about me?

Am I right to be concerned? Or have I followed a perception of success that is misguided? Do I really need to have a book out every year? And if my goal is to be a titan, what sacrifices come with that? And how much is simply not under my control?

Unanswerable, first world problems of the YA writer. But they are shared by so many. I at least know I am not alone.

The fact remains that I am in a void of time. I have a book forthcoming in the fall of ’16. I have other projects written and in the works. I’ve been super busy. But you can only go so far, before you’ve gone too far afield. So I’m reigning it in and focusing on the here and now and taking the opportunity to enjoy the rhythm of the wave cycle of writing and publishing. The lull.

As I have tattooed on my ribs, “It is what it is.” There is no better truth to this than that. I would not consider my issue a problem, rather a circumstance of the business. However, another platitude also applies, “This, too, shall pass.” It will and then I’ll be mind-boggling busy when it does.

In the meantime, here’s a current list of local events I have scheduled for the fall. Come and join me and I’ll tell you all about my next book :)

Teen Reader Con: 10/17

New York State Readers Association Annual Conference: 11/9 (Two Sessions)

Teachers as Authors Luncheon at 11:45 
“The Sound and the Fury: Why YA Literature Matters” at 3:40

Book signing with multiple authors at Northshire Bookstore during Saratoga’s Victorian Walk: 12/3

Consumed

I live an all or nothing kind of life. I’m either working on a novel, or I’m recovering from having just written a novel. Or am dying under the edits of yet another novel. The same is true for how I have spent my summer.

I wrote only in June and July. I have taken August completely off. That’s because owning my new home has consumed me. And now that I’m feeling the cool stirrings of fall in the air, I understand that my approach to life nets results, but certainly comes at a price.

Even if I had wanted to write more than just entries in my journal this past week, I wouldn’t have been able to. My right hand kept going numb. Pins and needles, completely useless kind of numb. That’s because I spent up to 6 hours a day using an ax and a mattock to pull the root system out of the hill on my property.

The work was grueling, and painstakingly slow, but the result is a piece of land that with only a little more work (chainsaw those big stumps) will be an unbelievable place for sleigh riding in the winter and should produce beautiful wild flowers in the spring.

Note the hand pulled roots below O_o

But it’s more than just that I wanted a little more yard and a way to escape writing for a month.  It’s that I wanted to give it my all. I wanted to move into my new home and make it just that. My wife has better design sense than I ever will, so she set to work on the interior. Which left me the option of being lazy or being productive for August. Being lazy doesn’t really work for me.

Yet, last night, when I sat down after having spent most of the day picking up from our incredibly successful house warming party on Saturday, I realized my feet weren’t just sore, they were puffy. Really puffy. With a night’s sleep they’ve gotten better, but I’m taking the arm and foot fatigue as a sign that’s it’s time for me to stop being consumed by my home, and to enjoy these last days of summer.

My dogs enjoying the party :)

Which is smart, but which also means that soon I will be consumed by teaching and writing. At least those jobs do not need an ax and a mattock. Well, literally speaking ;)

But they do come with their own challenges, and their own consuming demands. As will my home with a change in season. But it’s worth it. All of it.

So as the real New Year begins for so many of us and our children, good luck with your own consuming lives. They’re worth every ounce of energy you can give them.