In the Summer, I "Y.A."
If the best face lift is a smile, then my anti-aging regime is working. Every summer I flip off my flip-flops, dip my toes into the pages of yesteryear, and belly flop into the fountain of youth. Diving into my favorite teen reads is rejuvenating.
It’s a blast barging in on old gems. I'm transported back to the safe realm where my only responsibilities were getting good grades, weaning on old wives' tales, dusting on Saturdays, trading off dish duty with my middle bro and powering up the built-in-babysitter switch for my youngest when the folks went to Bingo on Sunday nights. Young adult angst conjures up the rad days of MTV transforming those Sunday evenings into punk rock soirees and booking other sitter gigs, the buck an hour boosting my modest allowance.
In between being the good student and obedient daughter, I'd escape to read or write. Books were always in my comfort zone. In fact, when I first started high school, my Trixie Belden mysteries, like this first one, The Secret of the Mansion, were my buffer during those awkward moments waiting for class to start, free time and lunch. They were my best friends until a new girl turned around one day and started chatting.
Funny how some of the plots I devoured as a teen seem a bit underwhelming now as a middle-ager. Upon renewed scrutiny, I realize the kissing scenes that once melted my naivety were barely a smooch. This is especially true with Beverly Cleary’s fifth-decade fiction. Her heroines, such as Jean in Jean and Johnny, are boy-crazy but in a civilized innocence-intertwined-with-the-fifties fads sort of way. It's a preserved preciousness I still value, even though it was twenty years before my adolescence.
I just finished, The Princess Diaries (Volume 1) by Meg Cabot, which is new to me, except for the movies. Pretty funny stuff. The book is a bit different. She lives in Manhattan, NY, not San Fran and her Grand’Mere is mean. Also so far, her dad is alive. I will get the next one when I return to the library.
In the meantime, I'm in the middle of a current contemporary teenage paranormal called Dream Angel by Jane West. It's more mature than the younger YA books previously mentioned. It intriguingly pulls you in as Stevie Ray's past is unearthed and nothing is what it seems when she is dragged town to town by her mental case mother for the hundredth time. Stevie's sass makes for an entertaining read but for a vulnerable teen who would live on chocolate shakes and french fries if not for her kind voodoo-ish neighbor, it's her only survival skill. At least as far as she knows.. and besides the mysterious bane of her existence, the hunky but exasperating Aiden Bane who whooshes in out of thin air whenever she's in trouble. I can't wait to find out what happens next and what the heck is going on!
This whole summer quest for YA started when the movie “The Duff” came out in 2015. Bianca is on the school newspaper, which because of technology seems to be all online. It reminded me of my days on the high school paper and then I suddenly remembered a book series I read in the 80s about a girl reporter who had a crush on her editor, Chip. He forced her to write an advice column. Her witty answers were spot on, even if it did get her into trouble. Then in another adventure, she and Chip did some investigative reporting on the school cafeteria that got them into a scrape too.
When I got home, I Googled the books. I found out the scoop. Dear Lovey Hart, I Am Desperate and We Interrupt This Semester for an Important Bulletin were written by Ellen Conford. I remembered how much I loved her books. Seven Days to a Brand New Me was the first book I ever read of hers. As a gawky geeky teen, I always wished for a magical makeover so I could wow my class. I even daydreamed about kick-assing it up a notch like Sandy at the end of Grease! Now wouldn't that be something? But even if it was possible to sashay into school like that, I'm too shy to feel comfortable with that much attention. Besides, I'd have tripped in those heels and broken my ankles.
Well, once I shed light on the titles, I wanted to read them ASAP. I debated buying them from Amazon since I am known to crack open repeats. I decided going on a dig at the library would be fun, too. I always loved browsing the shelves.
Last year I did buy The Wednesday Witch when the movie "Hocus Pocus" tripped a memory switch about a tiny black cat drinking milk from a thimble and living in a girl’s dollhouse. I ordered the image of the same dark blue cover in the link above, just like the copy my grandmother had given me in 1977, most likely one of her thrift store finds. But alas, what arrived was the tan and red reprint. Drats! Still, it was a fun read even if it was more for elementary school kids; I liked the author's simplicity and descriptive style, which is why it strummed a pleasant chord in the first place.
Re-exploring the Ellen Conford books was enjoyable but again, the climaxes were a bit deflated from what I remembered. Still, they were worth the trek and I would read them again. And I found one I never perused before, The Alfred G. Graebner Memorial High School Handbook of Rules and Regulations, about a girl with activist parents and an integrity for writing. She kept trying to get her poems in the school’s literary magazine, but they were always ignored or rejected. (Ah, a publishing pain that felt all too familiar!)
Until one day the boy in charge loved what she submitted! She was ecstatic. Finally! Too bad in order to fit into their publication, she would have to change her style. She thought deeply about it. Should she cave or stay true to herself?
This resonated with my own rejection trajectory and strengthened my decision to self-publish, especially when it came to my second book, The Pearly Gates Phone Company
Just because the editors thought my stories were “not the droids they were looking for,” * did not mean they were scrap metal. I'm all for tweaking and taking suggestions, (the word "no" made them better!) but even after the rewrites, the process began to feel more like, "It's not you, it's me." and “I’m just not that into you."
I’m glad I finally moved past that one-sided relationship. it really took the edge off. I'm so thankful for the voice telling me to put the spiritual snippets together myself because amazingly, the anecdotal collection of mini-miracles has been enthusiastically received. After all the frustrations, it's a nice validation every time someone grabs the book or expresses interest.
If you feel like you're slamming into a hard-headed wall trying to catapult your dream, don't give up. Stay true to yourself and walk around it instead. There's always another path which usually turns out to be the right one.
Even as a grown-up, I'm still getting something out of these teenage page-turners. Self-worth, valuable lessons, and wholesome entertainment; you can’t wrong with that!
Hey, let's get a book fair going in the comments! What's your go-to nostalgic novel?
acknowledgement
(* quote from George Lucas' Star Wars Ep IV)
It’s a blast barging in on old gems. I'm transported back to the safe realm where my only responsibilities were getting good grades, weaning on old wives' tales, dusting on Saturdays, trading off dish duty with my middle bro and powering up the built-in-babysitter switch for my youngest when the folks went to Bingo on Sunday nights. Young adult angst conjures up the rad days of MTV transforming those Sunday evenings into punk rock soirees and booking other sitter gigs, the buck an hour boosting my modest allowance.
In between being the good student and obedient daughter, I'd escape to read or write. Books were always in my comfort zone. In fact, when I first started high school, my Trixie Belden mysteries, like this first one, The Secret of the Mansion, were my buffer during those awkward moments waiting for class to start, free time and lunch. They were my best friends until a new girl turned around one day and started chatting.
Funny how some of the plots I devoured as a teen seem a bit underwhelming now as a middle-ager. Upon renewed scrutiny, I realize the kissing scenes that once melted my naivety were barely a smooch. This is especially true with Beverly Cleary’s fifth-decade fiction. Her heroines, such as Jean in Jean and Johnny, are boy-crazy but in a civilized innocence-intertwined-with-the-fifties fads sort of way. It's a preserved preciousness I still value, even though it was twenty years before my adolescence.
I just finished, The Princess Diaries (Volume 1) by Meg Cabot, which is new to me, except for the movies. Pretty funny stuff. The book is a bit different. She lives in Manhattan, NY, not San Fran and her Grand’Mere is mean. Also so far, her dad is alive. I will get the next one when I return to the library.
In the meantime, I'm in the middle of a current contemporary teenage paranormal called Dream Angel by Jane West. It's more mature than the younger YA books previously mentioned. It intriguingly pulls you in as Stevie Ray's past is unearthed and nothing is what it seems when she is dragged town to town by her mental case mother for the hundredth time. Stevie's sass makes for an entertaining read but for a vulnerable teen who would live on chocolate shakes and french fries if not for her kind voodoo-ish neighbor, it's her only survival skill. At least as far as she knows.. and besides the mysterious bane of her existence, the hunky but exasperating Aiden Bane who whooshes in out of thin air whenever she's in trouble. I can't wait to find out what happens next and what the heck is going on!
This whole summer quest for YA started when the movie “The Duff” came out in 2015. Bianca is on the school newspaper, which because of technology seems to be all online. It reminded me of my days on the high school paper and then I suddenly remembered a book series I read in the 80s about a girl reporter who had a crush on her editor, Chip. He forced her to write an advice column. Her witty answers were spot on, even if it did get her into trouble. Then in another adventure, she and Chip did some investigative reporting on the school cafeteria that got them into a scrape too.
When I got home, I Googled the books. I found out the scoop. Dear Lovey Hart, I Am Desperate and We Interrupt This Semester for an Important Bulletin were written by Ellen Conford. I remembered how much I loved her books. Seven Days to a Brand New Me was the first book I ever read of hers. As a gawky geeky teen, I always wished for a magical makeover so I could wow my class. I even daydreamed about kick-assing it up a notch like Sandy at the end of Grease! Now wouldn't that be something? But even if it was possible to sashay into school like that, I'm too shy to feel comfortable with that much attention. Besides, I'd have tripped in those heels and broken my ankles.
Well, once I shed light on the titles, I wanted to read them ASAP. I debated buying them from Amazon since I am known to crack open repeats. I decided going on a dig at the library would be fun, too. I always loved browsing the shelves.
Last year I did buy The Wednesday Witch when the movie "Hocus Pocus" tripped a memory switch about a tiny black cat drinking milk from a thimble and living in a girl’s dollhouse. I ordered the image of the same dark blue cover in the link above, just like the copy my grandmother had given me in 1977, most likely one of her thrift store finds. But alas, what arrived was the tan and red reprint. Drats! Still, it was a fun read even if it was more for elementary school kids; I liked the author's simplicity and descriptive style, which is why it strummed a pleasant chord in the first place.
Re-exploring the Ellen Conford books was enjoyable but again, the climaxes were a bit deflated from what I remembered. Still, they were worth the trek and I would read them again. And I found one I never perused before, The Alfred G. Graebner Memorial High School Handbook of Rules and Regulations, about a girl with activist parents and an integrity for writing. She kept trying to get her poems in the school’s literary magazine, but they were always ignored or rejected. (Ah, a publishing pain that felt all too familiar!)
Until one day the boy in charge loved what she submitted! She was ecstatic. Finally! Too bad in order to fit into their publication, she would have to change her style. She thought deeply about it. Should she cave or stay true to herself?
This resonated with my own rejection trajectory and strengthened my decision to self-publish, especially when it came to my second book, The Pearly Gates Phone Company
Just because the editors thought my stories were “not the droids they were looking for,” * did not mean they were scrap metal. I'm all for tweaking and taking suggestions, (the word "no" made them better!) but even after the rewrites, the process began to feel more like, "It's not you, it's me." and “I’m just not that into you."
I’m glad I finally moved past that one-sided relationship. it really took the edge off. I'm so thankful for the voice telling me to put the spiritual snippets together myself because amazingly, the anecdotal collection of mini-miracles has been enthusiastically received. After all the frustrations, it's a nice validation every time someone grabs the book or expresses interest.
If you feel like you're slamming into a hard-headed wall trying to catapult your dream, don't give up. Stay true to yourself and walk around it instead. There's always another path which usually turns out to be the right one.
Even as a grown-up, I'm still getting something out of these teenage page-turners. Self-worth, valuable lessons, and wholesome entertainment; you can’t wrong with that!
Hey, let's get a book fair going in the comments! What's your go-to nostalgic novel?
acknowledgement
(* quote from George Lucas' Star Wars Ep IV)
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