Are we absolutely sure that there were 365 days in 2013? Maybe we skipped a month? I demand a recount. I don't want this year to end.
It has been a CRAZY AMAZING year. I can't believe how much has changed since this time last year. I have new interests! I have new friends! I have a friggin' BOOK DEAL with my dream publisher!!! And so first off, I want to thank all of the people without whom my year would have been very, very different: my editor and the rest the team at Greenwillow, my AMAZING agent, my critique partners, friends, family. Thank you, THANK YOU for indulging all of my writing neuroses (and all other neuroses).
The highlight of my year was probably that "Call me, I have good news" text I got from my agent back in February, but some other ones include meeting my agent and editor without looking too idiotic, seeing my cover and bursting into tears in the middle of class (it is SO BEAUTIFUL. I absolutely CANNOT WAIT to share it with you guys), deciding to go to BEA with one of my critique partners, joining the Class of 2K14 and getting to know so many wonderful ladies, and the crabcakes from G&M Restaurant and Lounge in Baltimore.
I think the best book I read this year has to be Wonder by R.J. Palacio. It's a fantastic example of so many things--characterization, POV, voice. It made me laugh and cry and stay up until 3:00 a.m, and I don't regret a minute of it. I also loved Forgive Me, Leonard Peacock by Matthew Quick, Daughter of Smoke and Bone by Laini Taylor, Eleanor and Park by Rainbow Rowell, Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn, Wintergirls by Laurie Halse Anderson, and Lies My Teacher Told Me by James W. Loewen.
As for 2014...okay, I admit it--I'm terrified. Some of the most fundamental aspects of my life are going to change next year. Most likely, I'll move halfway across the country. I'll be on my own for the first time in my life. I'll have a book on shelves. But here's the thing--my life changes every year. It changes every day. And change is always terrifying, but I guess all you can do is roll out of bed and put on pants anyway, right? (Ew, pants.)
And lastly, some resolutions: I didn't complete any manuscripts this year, but I started a few and I'm almost done with one. For 2014, I hope to write and revise three novels: MEMENTO MORI, THIS IS WHERE THE WORLD ENDS, and THE STORYWEAVER. I hope to learn more about publicity and marketing. I hope to keep up this blog. I hope to not go completely insane.
Bring it on, 2014.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Monday, December 16, 2013
S/O to Robert Frost (and Zombies)
On my wall, there is a tree filled with quotes. Last lines. Final words. Famous phrases. Love letters that weren't meant to be pasted all over the Internet. At the tip of one of the branches, the letters are scattered and bent to shape the vein-branches, but if you were to pull them together, they would spell out this: In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on.
Robert Frost. Quoted too often, right? Cliche (side note: isn't that kind of sad? We erode words. We say them too often and they start to lose meaning: it goes on. It goes on. Itgoesonitgoesonitgoeson). But here's the thing: sometimes you don't want it to. You get another rejection letter. You get food poisoning from the peppermint frappuccino at your favorite coffee shop. Some dude predicts another apocalypse right after you finish disassembling your zombie shelter, and all you really want is for the world to stop spinning for a minute, two, so you can crumple in a dramatic heap and take a nap.
Disappointment--we try to ignore it. You know what? It's okay to cry over your zombie shelter. It's okay to sit among your missile-proof pieces and wallow and dread the idea of putting them back together again. Have some hot chocolate. Reread your comfort-food book (you know the one). Sit in that heap and take a nap. A long one.
Because here's the thing: disappointment is not a road block. It's not a dead end. It isn't even a speed bump, really. It happens and then it ends, and you hope for other things. You wake up from your nap and the world is still spinning.
It goes on.
(I mean, unless you're a zombie).
Robert Frost. Quoted too often, right? Cliche (side note: isn't that kind of sad? We erode words. We say them too often and they start to lose meaning: it goes on. It goes on. Itgoesonitgoesonitgoeson). But here's the thing: sometimes you don't want it to. You get another rejection letter. You get food poisoning from the peppermint frappuccino at your favorite coffee shop. Some dude predicts another apocalypse right after you finish disassembling your zombie shelter, and all you really want is for the world to stop spinning for a minute, two, so you can crumple in a dramatic heap and take a nap.
Disappointment--we try to ignore it. You know what? It's okay to cry over your zombie shelter. It's okay to sit among your missile-proof pieces and wallow and dread the idea of putting them back together again. Have some hot chocolate. Reread your comfort-food book (you know the one). Sit in that heap and take a nap. A long one.
Because here's the thing: disappointment is not a road block. It's not a dead end. It isn't even a speed bump, really. It happens and then it ends, and you hope for other things. You wake up from your nap and the world is still spinning.
It goes on.
(I mean, unless you're a zombie).
Monday, November 25, 2013
"BLOGFEST: Class of 2k14 is Thankful For..."
Hey, guys! The Class of 2K14 is doing this blogfest for
Thanksgiving. What are you thankful for? Leave it in the comments!
I’m thankful for everyone who has supported my writing—agent,
editor, friends, family. I’m thankful for my critique partners, who deserve a
category all to themselves. I’m thankful that my book sold to my dream
publisher. I’m thankful that I’m debuting with so many amazing people. I’m
thankful that this year has given me the opportunity to grow up a little. I’m
thankful that this thing called perspective exists. I’m thankful for this line
in A Member of the Wedding: “It seems to me I feel the world going
around very fast. I feel it turning and it makes me dizzy.”
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
On
Every year, my church holds this pie sale. We go in for a
night or two, peel hundreds of apples, make pounds and pounds of crumble
topping, and throw food at each other. It would be fun, except we’re not
allowed to eat anything—all those pies, DO NOT TOUCH.
Last year, on Annual Pie-Making Day, my novel was rejected
at acquisitions. I was crushed. I cried in the car.
This year, I couldn’t stop smiling because my editor had
just emailed me, saying that she had read my revision and cried again.
(I like making people cry.)
It’s funny—so much has changed. So much hasn’t. Robert Frost
said it best, I think: “In three words, I can sum up everything I’ve learned
about life: it goes on.”
Monday, October 21, 2013
Post-Deadline Thoughts
As of 1:14 A.M. October 21st, I have finished my first round of revisions. I have met my first deadline, and it feels unbelievable.
Revising this book was the hardest thing I've ever done. Drafting it had been so simple--the story told itself, poured through my fingertips as if I were only a vessel for it. It is, as my publisher says, a "jigsaw puzzle," and while drafting, the pieces had fallen into place all by themselves, and I had expected revising it to be just as easily.
It didn't, of course. Because the book is told in a non-linear fashion, I couldn't move a scene without changing two scenes before it and three scenes that followed. I would try to make subtle revisions, a nudge here, a shift there, and everything would fall apart, and I would sit curled on my floor with my laptop cast among the circle of charts and revision plans and the pages of my edit letter, thinking about all that could go wrong, all that was going wrong. I thought about all that homework piling up and all of that college stuff I hadn't touched yet. I thought about the thirty, forty, fifty chapters of my book I had yet to edit. I thought about all of the chapters from contests that I had yet to critique and all those manuscripts from my internship that I had yet to read.
Basically, I sat there and whimpered. Cried. Sent panicky, all-caps emails to just about everyone--critique partners, non-writer friends, teachers, my agent. Cried some more, thinking about marketing and publicity and how I didn't know how to do any of it. A bit more, imagining all of the bad reviews I was sure to get. And then some more, because there was so much to do, and I would have more time to do if I would stop bawling.
Today, of all days, I should have had a breakdown. I had noticed a pattern--they usually came during the ungodly hours of Monday morning, surprise, start off the week strong! Today (well, yesterday, really) was the last day before my deadline, and I wasn't finished with my final read-through. It was a perfect opportunity to eat chocolate and cry, and I was ready to, when I was suddenly struck by what an incredible thing it was for me to be stressed at all.
I was stressing over turning in my manuscript on time to my dream publisher. My editor brought some of my favorite books, books that I've grown up with, into the world--she had made it possible for me to fall in love with these characters and peek into their distant lands and take them with me, between covers designed by people who were now working on my cover, copyedited by people who were combing my manuscript for mistakes, loved by a team that was now taking an enormous risk by loving my book as well.
It's two in the morning. I am exhausted, sleep-deprived, barely aware of what I'm typing, and I am the happiest person in the world.
Revising this book was the hardest thing I've ever done. Drafting it had been so simple--the story told itself, poured through my fingertips as if I were only a vessel for it. It is, as my publisher says, a "jigsaw puzzle," and while drafting, the pieces had fallen into place all by themselves, and I had expected revising it to be just as easily.
It didn't, of course. Because the book is told in a non-linear fashion, I couldn't move a scene without changing two scenes before it and three scenes that followed. I would try to make subtle revisions, a nudge here, a shift there, and everything would fall apart, and I would sit curled on my floor with my laptop cast among the circle of charts and revision plans and the pages of my edit letter, thinking about all that could go wrong, all that was going wrong. I thought about all that homework piling up and all of that college stuff I hadn't touched yet. I thought about the thirty, forty, fifty chapters of my book I had yet to edit. I thought about all of the chapters from contests that I had yet to critique and all those manuscripts from my internship that I had yet to read.
Basically, I sat there and whimpered. Cried. Sent panicky, all-caps emails to just about everyone--critique partners, non-writer friends, teachers, my agent. Cried some more, thinking about marketing and publicity and how I didn't know how to do any of it. A bit more, imagining all of the bad reviews I was sure to get. And then some more, because there was so much to do, and I would have more time to do if I would stop bawling.
Today, of all days, I should have had a breakdown. I had noticed a pattern--they usually came during the ungodly hours of Monday morning, surprise, start off the week strong! Today (well, yesterday, really) was the last day before my deadline, and I wasn't finished with my final read-through. It was a perfect opportunity to eat chocolate and cry, and I was ready to, when I was suddenly struck by what an incredible thing it was for me to be stressed at all.
I was stressing over turning in my manuscript on time to my dream publisher. My editor brought some of my favorite books, books that I've grown up with, into the world--she had made it possible for me to fall in love with these characters and peek into their distant lands and take them with me, between covers designed by people who were now working on my cover, copyedited by people who were combing my manuscript for mistakes, loved by a team that was now taking an enormous risk by loving my book as well.
It's two in the morning. I am exhausted, sleep-deprived, barely aware of what I'm typing, and I am the happiest person in the world.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
If You Give an Author Some Chocolate
...to encourage her to revise, she'll eat it.
She'll eat it slowly because there is an art to eating chocolate bars. She'll try to revise while holding the chocolate bar in one hand, but realize that she can't revise without proper music.
If you let an author look for proper music, she'll decide that her normal revising playlist simply isn't good enough, and she will use up a good half an hour trying to develop a new one before finding the perfect one on 8tracks.
If you give an author a perfect playlist, she'll sit at her desk and gush about how ABSOLUTELY PERFECT it is to anyone who will listen (IT IS ABSOLUTELY PERFECT). Eventually, she'll try to revise, but she'll drop her chocolate bar and leave an awful little smear on her manuscript. So she'll go to the bathroom closet in search of Clorox wipes, and find a spider instead.
If you let an author find a spider, she will scream. Loudly.
Once she settles down, she'll want to kill the spider. It'll jump and disappear off to some secret spider lair in her house to plan her later demise, and she'll scream a bit more before she remembers that she's supposed to be revising. But she'll realize that she clearly can't revise while holding a chocolate bar in one hand, so she'll open up an internet browser and look for a Halloween costume.
If you let an author loose on the internet to look for a Halloween costume, she will certainly find herself looking at books instead within five minutes, and eventually she'll go downstairs in search of her credit card.
If you give an author a credit card, she will buy ALL THE BOOKS.
If you let an author buy ALL THE BOOKS, she'll soon realize that she has blown way, WAY too much money in one night, and freak out. But she really wants the books...and that reminds her that she has her own book to finish revising.
But she still hasn't finished her chocolate bar.
She'll eat it slowly because there is an art to eating chocolate bars. She'll try to revise while holding the chocolate bar in one hand, but realize that she can't revise without proper music.
If you let an author look for proper music, she'll decide that her normal revising playlist simply isn't good enough, and she will use up a good half an hour trying to develop a new one before finding the perfect one on 8tracks.
If you give an author a perfect playlist, she'll sit at her desk and gush about how ABSOLUTELY PERFECT it is to anyone who will listen (IT IS ABSOLUTELY PERFECT). Eventually, she'll try to revise, but she'll drop her chocolate bar and leave an awful little smear on her manuscript. So she'll go to the bathroom closet in search of Clorox wipes, and find a spider instead.
If you let an author find a spider, she will scream. Loudly.
Once she settles down, she'll want to kill the spider. It'll jump and disappear off to some secret spider lair in her house to plan her later demise, and she'll scream a bit more before she remembers that she's supposed to be revising. But she'll realize that she clearly can't revise while holding a chocolate bar in one hand, so she'll open up an internet browser and look for a Halloween costume.
If you let an author loose on the internet to look for a Halloween costume, she will certainly find herself looking at books instead within five minutes, and eventually she'll go downstairs in search of her credit card.
If you give an author a credit card, she will buy ALL THE BOOKS.
If you let an author buy ALL THE BOOKS, she'll soon realize that she has blown way, WAY too much money in one night, and freak out. But she really wants the books...and that reminds her that she has her own book to finish revising.
But she still hasn't finished her chocolate bar.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Sh*t People Say to Writers
Last Sunday, my local newspaper wrote a story about me...and my writing...and stuff. Those of you who have followed my blog for a while know that I used to be very, very secretive about writing. I never talked about it. So this week was WEIRD and awkward and generally hard for me, but on the bright side, I FINALLY get to write this post! I've always wanted to. :)
So you wrote a book?
Actually, I've written five novel-length works. The first one will never, ever see the light of day. I queried the second one and found my agent with it (YAY!), but it never made it past acquisitions. I also wrote a (very bad) sequel to it that clocked in around 200K (LOLZ). I wrote a standalone Norse-inspired fantasy about wolves and hot chocolate and losing your first love, which I'm planning to revise. Then I wrote this one, which sold. And I'm currently working on a few projects--
Like, a novel? Fiction or nonfiction? Wait, what are you doing? Why are you poking me?
I'm trying to edit your redundancy, but your "delete" button seems to be broken.
How many pages is your fiction novel?
OH MY--*breathes* never mind. And I don't know. 51,000 words. Ish.
What is your book about?
(via Title To Come)
BONUS: What is your book about (old church ladies edition)
It's about fornication and drinking and drugs and abortion and basically what your grandson/granddaughter does on weekends, except I'm not going to tell you that because I'm afraid you'll have a literal heart attack.
Childhood, ma'am. It's about childhood and growing up. *insert smile and innocent head-tilt*
So how much did you have to, like, pay for them to publish this book?
Actually, in traditional publishing, the publishing house gives you money for the--
What?! How much did you make?
Good question. Would you like to know how much I weigh, too?
Dude, I wish I had the time to write a book.
What? What is this time thing that you speak of?
What's your book called?
Um, I can't tell you right now. I went through a title change, and the new title is still confidential. Hopefully I can share soon, though!
Whatever. You just don't want us to buy it, do you?
I actually really, really want you to buy it, because your money will trickle down to me. And I do like money an awful lot.
Okay, so can I read it now?
But you need someone to read it! What if it sucks?
Gee, that isn't the stuff of my nightmares or anything.
Am I in your book?
Oh, honey. Would I really tell you if you were?
Can I be in your next book?
Sure. I'll kill you brutally within the opening pages. I'll even let you choose your own method of death. Sound good? (but if I DO put you in a book and you don't like what you read, remember this conversation, kay? xoxoxo).
Well, can I be in the movie?
On the teensy chance that they make a movie...no.
Do you know J.K. Rowling?
Yup. We had lunch the other day.
Why did you write a book about suicide? You're not suicidal, are you?
No, but once I wrote a fantasy about a world at war and a girl who kills people, and I'm not homicidal.
Yet.
I'd like to write a novel. How does it work? Can you tell your publisher to buy my book?
Well. I can tell you that it DOESN'T work like that. First you have to write a novel and edit the unmerciful suck out of it. And after it's nice and pretty and polished, you have to slug through the query trenches and hope you find an agent who loves it enough to sub it for you, and then you have to hope that an editor loves it enough to invest money and time and tears and sweat and passion into it.
Okay...so--
NO, I CANNOT TELL MY PUBLISHER TO BUY YOUR NONEXISTENT BOOK.
So...YA magical realism? That's like Twilight, isn't it?
Why won't you answer any of our questions? You won't even tell us what the title is. Stop being so stuck up about it.
Eek! I don't mean to come off that way--but I've never really talked about my writing with people, and this makes me feel so incredibly uncomfortable that I've pretty much depleted what little social ability I have. But I really can't tell you the title!
Geez, you talk about this so often. You sound so stuck up.
But--YOU ASKED! I don't mean to sound stuck up! But this is something I'm genuinely and overwhelmingly happy about, and I'm sorry if I'm doing something to make you misinterpret this. But I AM proud of myself, I DO love writing, and sometimes it's hard not to smile like an idiot about it.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
The Next Big Thing Meme
The fabulous Lori M. Lee tagged me for this one! I'm going to cheat a bit and tell you about both my about-to-be-published book and my WIP, because ERMAHGERD, guys, I'm so excited for both of them. Okay? Okay.
(Side note: those of you who have added my book on Goodreads, THANK YOU, but that isn't the official Goodreads page. My publisher didn't make it. And whoever did mixed me up with another author, so...yeah. Not me. I'll let you guys know when there's a book to add--it'll be around the time that I get to share my title with all of you!)
(Side note: those of you who have added my book on Goodreads, THANK YOU, but that isn't the official Goodreads page. My publisher didn't make it. And whoever did mixed me up with another author, so...yeah. Not me. I'll let you guys know when there's a book to add--it'll be around the time that I get to share my title with all of you!)
1. WHAT IS THE WORKING TITLE OF YOUR NEXT BOOK?
Still can't tell! But I CAN tell you that I submitted it as FOR EVERY LIFE, which is a reference to Newton's Third Law of Motion, and I CAN tell you that the title of my WIP is MEMENTO MORI, which is Latin for "remember you will die." Mori is also the name of my protagonist (who's dying. Shocker, huh?)
2. WHERE DID YOUR IDEA
FOR
THE BOOK
COME FROM?
UNTITLED (we'll just call it that for now--isn't it easier?) actually began as two short stories--one about an abandoned imaginary friend, and one about a girl who tries to commit suicide. UNTITLED is their lovechild. I'm not sure where the ideas for the two original short stories came from, but I knew there was a connection between them and I knew I wanted to develop that connection into a full-length novel.
MEMENTO, on the other hand, has been sitting in the back of my mind for...a year? Two? I don't remember where the idea came from, or when I got it, but I remember thinking, "I have to write this story. I have to."
3. IN WHAT GENRE DOES YOUR BOOK FALL?
UNTITLED is YA contemporary with a touch of magical realism. MEMENTO is YA contemporary with a touch of ice cream (or a lot of ice cream).
4. WHAT ACTORS WOULD YOU CHOOSE TO PLAY THE PART OF YOUR CHARACTERS IN THE MOVIE RENDITION?
Something about UNTITLED: there are no descriptions of the character's appearances. None. I want people to be able to see themselves in Liz and Kennie and Julia. I want them to be able to see their friends. I want the characters to be anyone, everyone. So no actors :)
As for MEMENTO....I don't know I'm just really bad with actors and stuff okay LEAVE ME ALONE
5. WHAT IS THE ONE-SENTENCE SYNOPSIS OF YOUR BOOK?
UNTITLED is about a girl who tries to end her short and catastrophic attempt at life, told from the perspective of her abandoned imaginary friend.
MEMENTO MORI is about a girl with half an immune system, a boy with half of his muscles, a cat named Schrödinger, and the road trip they take to solve the paradox of life.
6. WHO IS PUBLISHING YOUR BOOK?
UNTITLED is coming out in fall of 2014 from Greenwillow/HarperCollins. MEMENTO MORI is not currently under contract.
7. HOW LONG DID IT TAKE YOU TO WRITE THE FIRST DRAFT OF THE MANUSCRIPT?
I wrote the first draft of UNTITLED during NaNoWriMo 2012--so, a month. I'm actually super proud of that, mostly because November was a rough month for me, and I was under word count the entire time. I managed to pound out something like 13K in the last two days. Then I revised for about two months, and it sold the following February.
As for MEMENTO...well. I've been drafting for the last four months or so, and I have about another 15K to go.
8. WHAT OTHER BOOKS WOULD YOU COMPARE YOUR STORY TO WITHIN YOUR GENRE?
UNTITLED: BEFORE I FALL meets THIRTEEN REASONS WHY
MEMENTO: Hmmm....I'm not sure. My CP says it reminds him a bit of THE FAULT IN OUR STARS, except, you know, far less AMAZEBALLS.
9. WHO OR WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO WRITE THIS BOOK?
"Isn't this basically the same as question #2?"
Lori's answer, which I'm seconding.
10. WHAT ELSE ABOUT THE BOOK MIGHT PIQUE THE READER’S INTEREST?
UNTITLED is told by an imaginary friend, which opened up these incredible options for the story. The story is actually told in a non-linear fashion--there are three main times: a countdown from seven days before Liz crashes her car, a countdown of the hour before Liz crashes her car, and the day after Liz crashes her car. And there's a chapter with eleven words. I love that chapter.
In MEMENTO, Mori has written letters to the dead for as long as she can remember, and the book is actually her last notebook of letters. Among the addressees: Maurice Sendak, Gregory Peck, Nannerl Mozart, Georgiana Cavendish, and, of course, Schrödinger. I really love playing around with narration (have you noticed?)
I'm tagging fellow Greenwillow author Chessie Zappia, whose book ASK AGAIN LATER sounds totally amazefrackingballs and Mark O'Brien, because he's working on this new MS that I want everyone to be excited about. Take it away, guys!
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Life After THE DEAL
It seems like all of my blog posts are prefaced by "ERMAHGERD SORRY I HAZ NOT POSTED IN FOREVER" now.
But yes, I'm back. Hopefully?
So why the hiatus this time? A lot has been happening. We've decided on a title for my BOOK (I still get this stupid little grin on my face every time I say it), so hopefully I can share it with you soon! With revisions forthcoming and my spectacular talent for procrastination, the end of summer has devolved into a mad rush of holy crap holy crap I don't even know where to start working and ugly crying.
Oh, yeah, and I forgot how to write.
I think, as writers, we tend to view a deal as a climax. It's when the prince defeats the dragon and demonstrates a fetish for unconscious women, and all that's left is the happily ever after. Which, on the other side of the climax, is kind of a horrifying idea, because it means that we've already peaked.
It's ridiculous, of course. And I told myself so as I sat, day after day, in front of a manuscript that, all of a sudden, was impossible to write. And not just the manuscript--blog posts, interviews, essays. I couldn't WORDS.
I tried taking a break. I watched all three seasons of Downton Abbey in a weekend and got to level fifty in Candy Crush Saga and devoted, like, twelve hours a day to Pinterest. And then I sat down and tried to write again and the words just wouldn't come.
So I'm (hopefully) on the tail end of the worst writing schlump of my life, and I'm still terrified that I've depleted my quota of reasonable writing ability, terrified that I've peaked, terrified that I will never write anything decent again, terrified about what this says about me as a writer, terrified about what this means about the future. I'm terrified that the book I've already written won't sell and everyone will hate it and I'll have to dye my hair purple and get a new nose and become an alpaca farmer to escape the shame.
I know it's silly. I know I'll get over this eventually. But right now I'm terrified, and that's okay. Because writing isn't easy and that's why we can't stop. Because sometimes we end a story and have to take a deep breath, because endings are frightening and transitions are hard. Because our characters can have happily ever afters and all of my friends are dead endings, but we can't. We have tomorrows. And it's okay to be afraid of them.
...but existential crises still suck.
But yes, I'm back. Hopefully?
So why the hiatus this time? A lot has been happening. We've decided on a title for my BOOK (I still get this stupid little grin on my face every time I say it), so hopefully I can share it with you soon! With revisions forthcoming and my spectacular talent for procrastination, the end of summer has devolved into a mad rush of holy crap holy crap I don't even know where to start working and ugly crying.
Oh, yeah, and I forgot how to write.
I think, as writers, we tend to view a deal as a climax. It's when the prince defeats the dragon and demonstrates a fetish for unconscious women, and all that's left is the happily ever after. Which, on the other side of the climax, is kind of a horrifying idea, because it means that we've already peaked.
It's ridiculous, of course. And I told myself so as I sat, day after day, in front of a manuscript that, all of a sudden, was impossible to write. And not just the manuscript--blog posts, interviews, essays. I couldn't WORDS.
I tried taking a break. I watched all three seasons of Downton Abbey in a weekend and got to level fifty in Candy Crush Saga and devoted, like, twelve hours a day to Pinterest. And then I sat down and tried to write again and the words just wouldn't come.
So I'm (hopefully) on the tail end of the worst writing schlump of my life, and I'm still terrified that I've depleted my quota of reasonable writing ability, terrified that I've peaked, terrified that I will never write anything decent again, terrified about what this says about me as a writer, terrified about what this means about the future. I'm terrified that the book I've already written won't sell and everyone will hate it and I'll have to dye my hair purple and get a new nose and become an alpaca farmer to escape the shame.
I know it's silly. I know I'll get over this eventually. But right now I'm terrified, and that's okay. Because writing isn't easy and that's why we can't stop. Because sometimes we end a story and have to take a deep breath, because endings are frightening and transitions are hard. Because our characters can have happily ever afters and all of my friends are dead endings, but we can't. We have tomorrows. And it's okay to be afraid of them.
...but existential crises still suck.
Monday, July 22, 2013
East Coast Adventures (and Apologies for My Recent Incognito-ness)!
HELLO.
IT'S BEEN A WHILE.
Partly because I've been traveling the world (read: spending forty hours in a car while my brother sang "Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall"), and partly because life is more demanding than my nonexistent significant other. But I'm back! I promise! And I will be blogging regularly! Hopefully!
So, East Coast Adventures: It was HOT. Like, please-kill-me-before-I-melt-and-drown-in-my-sweat-and-tears kind of HOT. But it was also lovely and crab cake-y, and the history nerd in me exploded from giddiness.
We drove through Baltimore (and had THE BEST crab cakes in the history of crab cakes) and walked through Washington D.C. that afternoon. Unfortunately, we arrived just after most of the museums closed and it started raining halfway through, but then:
IT'S BEEN A WHILE.
Partly because I've been traveling the world (read: spending forty hours in a car while my brother sang "Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall"), and partly because life is more demanding than my nonexistent significant other. But I'm back! I promise! And I will be blogging regularly! Hopefully!
So, East Coast Adventures: It was HOT. Like, please-kill-me-before-I-melt-and-drown-in-my-sweat-and-tears kind of HOT. But it was also lovely and crab cake-y, and the history nerd in me exploded from giddiness.
We drove through Baltimore (and had THE BEST crab cakes in the history of crab cakes) and walked through Washington D.C. that afternoon. Unfortunately, we arrived just after most of the museums closed and it started raining halfway through, but then:
The sun came out and painted this gorgeous
double rainbow over the Washington Memorial (the second
one is really faint).
These plaques line the entrance to the WWII Memorial. They tell
the story of the soldiers, from hearing of the war to going to battle to
coming home. So beautiful and evocative. I stood there and cried for at least
ten minutes. People gave me weird looks.
Snapped this one while driving back to our hotel. No filter, just
a naturally breathtaking sky.
On Sunday, we went to Philadelphia and...got there just after tickets
for Independence Hall had sold out. Womp.
The House of Congress didn't require tickets, though, so we got to sit
in the wonderful, wonderful air conditioning and pretend to be Representatives,
where John Adams was inaugurated. This is the Senate room, where
George Washington was sworn into his second term.
And kept driving. Spent a few days in Boston for campus visits and
such, and visited Plymouth. Yes, this is THE ROCK.
And this. This is Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library.
It's the most gorgeous library in the entire world.
This is basically heaven.
IS THIS NOT BASICALLY HEAVEN?
YEAH, THIS IS THE GUTENBERG BIBLE.
And this is Grove Street Cemetery, the first chartered burial ground
in the U.S. It makes an appearance in MEMENTO MORI, so of course
I had to go see it.
NYC. From the Staten Island Ferry.
More NYC. So pretty. I loved walking through the streets.
I did not love sweating through five thousand shirts and smelling
like an exploded duck.
But the best part of the entire trip? I GOT TO MEET MY AGENT AND EDITOR. Unfortunately, I forgot to get a picture with my agent, but she was lovely and fantabulous and absolutely amazing beyond words. And she assured me that I succeeded in not making a complete fool of myself. YAY!
And. HarperCollins. I. Went. To. HarperCollins.
It was AWESOME. I got to meet my publisher and the entire
Greenwillow team, and we had donuts that were like pieces of heaven
that someone had killed angels to steal and mold into these perfect
little sugary lovebundles. Except mostly I sat there and stared creepily
around the table and thought, "HOLY SH*T HOLY SH*T YOU GUYS
PUBLISHED SOME OF MY FAVORITE BOOKS IN
THE ENTIRE WORLD."
THIS IS MY NAMETAG. I NEVER INTEND TO
TAKE IT OFF MY JACKET.
SO THAT HAPPENED.
P.S. I'm thinking about starting a vlog. What do you guys think? Anything you want me to talk about in particular?
Monday, July 1, 2013
Class of 2K14 Website Launch
More exciting news! I'm a part of the Class of 2K14, and today is the launch of our website! *throws confetti*
We're a group of twenty YA and MG debut authors with books that range from historical to contemporary to sci-fi. In particular, we target booksellers, librarians, and teachers (BLTs!), and we try to get some fantabulous books in the hands of readers. There are some CRAZY amazing people in this group, guys, so make sure you keep an eye out for the books.
The website features the authors, the books, opportunities for author visits, and information for BLTs, including fortchoming discussion guides and other curricular materials (the wonderful Addie Degenhardt is making mine! It's SO EXCITING because all of this seems so REAL now! I'm abusing exclamation points again!). There will be TONS of giveaways in coming months, including monthly ones of the Class of 2K13's books, but for the launch, we're giving away...a $100 gift card to the book retailer of your choice!
One. Hundred. Dollars. For. Books. You know you want it.
NOW GO CHECK IT OUT!!!
And make sure you also check out our Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, and Goodreads page!
We're a group of twenty YA and MG debut authors with books that range from historical to contemporary to sci-fi. In particular, we target booksellers, librarians, and teachers (BLTs!), and we try to get some fantabulous books in the hands of readers. There are some CRAZY amazing people in this group, guys, so make sure you keep an eye out for the books.
The website features the authors, the books, opportunities for author visits, and information for BLTs, including fortchoming discussion guides and other curricular materials (the wonderful Addie Degenhardt is making mine! It's SO EXCITING because all of this seems so REAL now! I'm abusing exclamation points again!). There will be TONS of giveaways in coming months, including monthly ones of the Class of 2K13's books, but for the launch, we're giving away...a $100 gift card to the book retailer of your choice!
One. Hundred. Dollars. For. Books. You know you want it.
NOW GO CHECK IT OUT!!!
And make sure you also check out our Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, and Goodreads page!
Saturday, June 29, 2013
ALL. THE. FEELS. (Part II)
Part DOS:
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After the phone call, I went to lunch and flailed and I'm sure other things happened, but I was drunk on happiness and honestly don't remember very much of it. I called my agent as soon as I got home to figure out the finer points of EVERYTHING, and I finally figured out that the offer was a pre-empt, and I had to give an answer like, yesterday.
It was all a bit hectic because my phone was acting up and the connection was crappy and I was barely at home all day because of prior commitments (stupid prior commitments). Everything was happening INSANELY fast, and I was still giddy and my sanity was questionable, so I wanted a second opinion (or a number of them) on the offer before I accepted (but HOLY CRAP AN OFFER I WANT IT GIMME NAO), so I talked with my family and my agent--
(Okay, I need to take a minute and gush about how fantabulous Emily Keyes is. You guys have no idea how much of my flailing she's had to put up with in these last few months. Emily, THANK YOU for believing in my writing and being the bestest agent a girl could ever ask for :)
--and the amazing Louise Fury, who all gave me wonderful advice, and at the end of the very hectic, badly-connected, most wonderfulicious phone call EVER, I accepted the deal.
(I really did this, but about 1/100000th as gracefully).
The next day, I got to talk to Virginia Duncan over email. She was lovely and enthusiastic, and the best part? GUYS. SHE SAID SHE LOVED MY BOOK. SHE SAID SHE WAS THRILLED TO BE WORKING WITH IT. AND ME.
ME.
Except I was mostly too starstruck to form intelligible responses.
And we talked about revisions and the contract and the FUTURE, and it was so wonderfully wonderful that I have honestly stared at the screen for about ten minutes trying to figure out how to describe it, except I. Cannot. Describe. My. Feelz.
So what happened after that? Why didn't you guys get to hear my news sooner? Why all of my mysterious tweets and hints in the last four months? Something got in the way, Internet.
THE LAW.
See, apparently being a minor causes all sorts of silly problems, like not being able to sign a contract or receiving more than a certain amount of money without court-appointed Fancyschmancy Guardians of My Estate or Something (and no one would hop on my anarchy bandwagon. I mean, no law = no messy litigation things, amirite? JUST KIDDING. Anarchy is bad, boys and girls) I...am still relatively unclear as to what happened because it was all narrated in fancy lawyer lingo. Basically I needed a lawyer and my parents needed a different lawyer, and we went to court and I tripped in front of the judge and almost fell on my face.
And then finally, FINALLY, I could tell all of your wonderful faces my news (I think I've said "wonderful" about a thousand times in this post, but guys. GUYS. It was all so wonderful and you are all wonderful and cheese is wonderful). SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I am so, so, SO unbelievably excited that you guys will get to read my ickle-widdle-squishy baby manuscript. I loved writing it, I love the story, I love the characters, and I hope you will, too. I still haven't completely wrapped my head around the idea that in just over a year, people will actually be able to like, HOLD IT. AND READ IT. I feel crazy-lucky that I have this opportunity, and crazy-luckier that I've been surrounded by absolutely INCREDIBLE people through this thing (looking at you, Mark, John, Ari, and Olivia <= BEST CPs IN THE WORLD).
So...thank you. All of you. For caring what I have to say. :) xoxoxoxoxoxox
(P.S. I ultimately decided not to make start another Rafflecopter giveaway, but in celebration of Part Dos, I've added another prize to the first giveaway. It's a fancyschmancy wall hanging like this:
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which I will make with a quote of your choice and send in addition to the two YA books of your choice and a copy of Chicken Soup for the Soul: Writer's Inspiration) SO GO ENTER!!!! :D
Thursday, June 27, 2013
ALL. THE. FEELS. (Part I)
Hi, Internet. HI.
There are some important questions we must address today. Why hasn't Amy blogged in a month (actually, this has nothing to do with today, so IT CAN WAIT)? Why the faux-calm and creepy smile? Why is she acting even more freakish than normal?!
Well, Internet. Let me tell you.
MY BOOK, FOR EVERY LIFE, HAS SOLD TO VIRGINIA DUNCAN OF GREENWILLOW/HARPERCOLLINS!!!!!!!!!!
Here's the PM announcement:
And PW Children's Bookshelf (it's my deal! And my face! My deal! My face!)
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
What exactly happened, you ask? (Please ask). WELL...
A lot, actually. So, this is going to be the first of two blog posts about ZE BOOK DEAL (I'm beaming at my computer screen like an idiot), which means...TWO POSTS CRAMMED WITH .GIFS. TWO GIVEAWAYS. TWO TIMES THE EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!!!!
Okay. Let's TALK.
Some of you might remember that for a while, I blogged constantly about FOR EVERY LIFE. And then I took like, a two month hiatus from blogging. What was happening? I revised. I felt good about this manuscript--I really did. I was so excited to start subbing it, and finally on February 25, the only acceptable Monday in the history of Mondays, my agent emailed me saying that my ickle-snugglykins baby manuscript was officially READY. She sent me the list of editors she was going to sub to, and basically I saw it and died.
And so I waited.
And then I waited some more.
And then there was still nothing and I was like, THEY HATE IT.
...Then it was the next day, and I had to get up and function like a normal human being, which was practically the definition of cosmic cruelty.
BUT THEN. I got an email from my agent saying that editors had requested the manuscript! And they were asking questions! And one of them wanted to know what my inspiration was! And I had to come up with something! Like, RTFN! There wasn't even time for fainting!
The next day, more editors asked for information about me (me! They wanted to know about me! Like I was interesting! And it was a snow day!), and my agent told me that she had given them my blog address. And I entered an obligatory panic attack because, hello, I don't inhibit my stupid on this blog.
So I sat around and bit my fingernails and ate my refrigerator.
And then it was Thursday. There I was, sitting in class, and...my phone started vibrating. But I figured it was the library calling again to ask where my overdue library books were (oops)...except then I got a text, and it was from my agent saying she had good news.
GOOD NEWS? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?! I had to wait a whole FIFTEEN MINUTES to go to my independent study and call her back.
Here's basically how that conversation went:
Agent Emily: So Greenwillow! Book deal!
Me: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Emily: Amy, breathe--
Me: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Emily: DO YOU NEED A PAPER BAG
Me: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
I AM GOING TO BE AN AUTHOR! MY BOOK IS GOING TO BE PUBLISHED BY MY DREAM PUBLISHER. GUYS.
There are some important questions we must address today. Why hasn't Amy blogged in a month (actually, this has nothing to do with today, so IT CAN WAIT)? Why the faux-calm and creepy smile? Why is she acting even more freakish than normal?!
Well, Internet. Let me tell you.
MY BOOK, FOR EVERY LIFE, HAS SOLD TO VIRGINIA DUNCAN OF GREENWILLOW/HARPERCOLLINS!!!!!!!!!!
Here's the PM announcement:
And PW Children's Bookshelf (it's my deal! And my face! My deal! My face!)
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
What exactly happened, you ask? (Please ask). WELL...
A lot, actually. So, this is going to be the first of two blog posts about ZE BOOK DEAL (I'm beaming at my computer screen like an idiot), which means...TWO POSTS CRAMMED WITH .GIFS. TWO GIVEAWAYS. TWO TIMES THE EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!!!!
Okay. Let's TALK.
Some of you might remember that for a while, I blogged constantly about FOR EVERY LIFE. And then I took like, a two month hiatus from blogging. What was happening? I revised. I felt good about this manuscript--I really did. I was so excited to start subbing it, and finally on February 25, the only acceptable Monday in the history of Mondays, my agent emailed me saying that my ickle-snugglykins baby manuscript was officially READY. She sent me the list of editors she was going to sub to, and basically I saw it and died.
And so I waited.
And then I waited some more.
And then there was still nothing and I was like, THEY HATE IT.
...Then it was the next day, and I had to get up and function like a normal human being, which was practically the definition of cosmic cruelty.
BUT THEN. I got an email from my agent saying that editors had requested the manuscript! And they were asking questions! And one of them wanted to know what my inspiration was! And I had to come up with something! Like, RTFN! There wasn't even time for fainting!
The next day, more editors asked for information about me (me! They wanted to know about me! Like I was interesting! And it was a snow day!), and my agent told me that she had given them my blog address. And I entered an obligatory panic attack because, hello, I don't inhibit my stupid on this blog.
So I sat around and bit my fingernails and ate my refrigerator.
And then it was Thursday. There I was, sitting in class, and...my phone started vibrating. But I figured it was the library calling again to ask where my overdue library books were (oops)...except then I got a text, and it was from my agent saying she had good news.
GOOD NEWS? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?! I had to wait a whole FIFTEEN MINUTES to go to my independent study and call her back.
Here's basically how that conversation went:
Agent Emily: So Greenwillow! Book deal!
Me: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Emily: Amy, breathe--
Me: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Emily: DO YOU NEED A PAPER BAG
Me: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
I AM GOING TO BE AN AUTHOR! MY BOOK IS GOING TO BE PUBLISHED BY MY DREAM PUBLISHER. GUYS.
OKAY. Okay. I've abused enough exclamation points already, so let me tell you about the first giveaway. What do you get? TWO YA books of your choice and ONE copy of Chicken Soup for the Soul: Inspiration for Writers!
And come back on Saturday (at which time I will hopefully have calmed down) for the rest of the story and the second giveaway!
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Saturday, May 25, 2013
One Thing YA Writers Must Know
There's one thing YA writers have to know when writing to and about teenagers:
Most of us don't know what the hell is going on. Like, ever.
Teenagerdom is a paradox. It's a series of life crises. It's a transition period and a conclusion, a journey and a destination, a time to be stupid and a time to grow up. One moment your life was made of happily-ever-afters; the next, everything is about is puberty and cynicism and sex ed, and in the middle of a world that's trying to fall back into place, you realize that
you
know
nothing.
Do you go to church because you want to, or because you always have? Do you know what it means to be a Republican or a Democrat or a Libertarian or a Bull Moose Partier, or do you call yourself one because that's what your parents are? Suddenly, you're realizing that life isn't simple at all, and the truth is about as hard to define as it is to find, and good and evil such stupid terms, because the world isn't black and white, or even gray--it's made of colors and differences and shifting.
And personalities? We have personalites--we just don't know what they are yet. Our likes and dislikes are so different from what they were a year, a month, a week ago. "Impressionable" is an understatement; sponge might be more fitting--we swallow information, habits, desires, and make them our own, unconsciously. We talk, dress, and act like our friends or our role models, but we never decided to do so. We're basically ruled by hormones. We want to fit in, but suddenly fitting in isn't cool anymore--but if hipster is mainstream, then isn't old-mainstream hipster? Conformity is out, but does originality exist? If we're defined by our interactions, and if everything we've ever created is no more than an enormous collage of our conversations and experiences and mistakes, then is there really such a thing as an original thought?
It's all very confusing, you see.
This. This is what it means to be a young adult. The thing is, we're afraid. We're uncertain. We doubt our abilites and our beliefs and our values and pretty much everything else, but we can't show it because we're teenagers, and society expects us to be careless and irresponsible and...young. And this is also why there are so many YA books out there. Teenagerdom is an incredibly dynamic time, brim-full of the angst that readers hunger for. But it's also a time that we desperately need to read books and realize that we're not alone. That we don't have to be alone.
And lastly, this is why well-developed characters are so vital to YA. We need to know that everyone else is struggling, too, and that they're wading through a tide of influences to try to find themselves. Those pretty, perfect, self-assured ones? They make us feel like misfits. Like failures.
We're not failures. We're wanderers. We're trying. Please remember that. And please write characters that help us remember, too.
Most of us don't know what the hell is going on. Like, ever.
Teenagerdom is a paradox. It's a series of life crises. It's a transition period and a conclusion, a journey and a destination, a time to be stupid and a time to grow up. One moment your life was made of happily-ever-afters; the next, everything is about is puberty and cynicism and sex ed, and in the middle of a world that's trying to fall back into place, you realize that
you
know
nothing.
Do you go to church because you want to, or because you always have? Do you know what it means to be a Republican or a Democrat or a Libertarian or a Bull Moose Partier, or do you call yourself one because that's what your parents are? Suddenly, you're realizing that life isn't simple at all, and the truth is about as hard to define as it is to find, and good and evil such stupid terms, because the world isn't black and white, or even gray--it's made of colors and differences and shifting.
And personalities? We have personalites--we just don't know what they are yet. Our likes and dislikes are so different from what they were a year, a month, a week ago. "Impressionable" is an understatement; sponge might be more fitting--we swallow information, habits, desires, and make them our own, unconsciously. We talk, dress, and act like our friends or our role models, but we never decided to do so. We're basically ruled by hormones. We want to fit in, but suddenly fitting in isn't cool anymore--but if hipster is mainstream, then isn't old-mainstream hipster? Conformity is out, but does originality exist? If we're defined by our interactions, and if everything we've ever created is no more than an enormous collage of our conversations and experiences and mistakes, then is there really such a thing as an original thought?
It's all very confusing, you see.
This. This is what it means to be a young adult. The thing is, we're afraid. We're uncertain. We doubt our abilites and our beliefs and our values and pretty much everything else, but we can't show it because we're teenagers, and society expects us to be careless and irresponsible and...young. And this is also why there are so many YA books out there. Teenagerdom is an incredibly dynamic time, brim-full of the angst that readers hunger for. But it's also a time that we desperately need to read books and realize that we're not alone. That we don't have to be alone.
And lastly, this is why well-developed characters are so vital to YA. We need to know that everyone else is struggling, too, and that they're wading through a tide of influences to try to find themselves. Those pretty, perfect, self-assured ones? They make us feel like misfits. Like failures.
We're not failures. We're wanderers. We're trying. Please remember that. And please write characters that help us remember, too.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Contest Reminder
Remember that giveaway? If you haven't seen it in the comments of the last post...Deserae McGlothen, you won the giveaway! Yay! Would you please email me soon (or leave some other way for me to contact you in the comments), so I can send you a copy of Chicken Soup for the Soul: Inspiration for Writers? Thanks!
If I don't hear anything by Wednesday night, I'm going to have to pick another winner. So please reply! :)
If I don't hear anything by Wednesday night, I'm going to have to pick another winner. So please reply! :)
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Giveaway!
GUYS. Guess what arrived this week?
SQUEEEE!!!!!!! You know what this means? GIVEAWAY TIME!!!!!!!!!!!!
It's an awesome collection of stories for writers at any stage, and mine just happens to be about the way I started writing. So, to enter this giveaway: In the comments, briefly tell me about how you started writing. You can earn an extra entry if you tweet about it! Next Sunday, I'll put all of your beautiful names in a hat and the winner gets a copy! Yay! (U.S. only, please. I'm a poor high school student).
SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *dances* *trips* *twitches on ground*
EDIT: Contest is now closed! The winner is Deserae McGlothen! Deserae, please find my email under the Contact tab and give me your address. :D :D :D
EDIT: Contest is now closed! The winner is Deserae McGlothen! Deserae, please find my email under the Contact tab and give me your address. :D :D :D
Sunday, April 14, 2013
I Keep Forgetting to Blog About This... *cue belated confetti*
One day last summer, I was bored (okay, let's face it--I was bored almost every day last summer, but it just happened that this particular day's boredom led to something less boring), so I started Googling random things, and eventually this led to the search, "writing contests." I was in between manuscripts, so I figured that I'd write a few short stories or something (maybe. Fine, I don't actually really remember much...). I ended up finding a call for submissions for Chicken Soup for the Soul: Inspiration for Writers. So I wrote an essay. And I submitted it. And then I went back to watching reruns of Friends.
A few months ago, I got an email during Physics that said that my essay had been accepted for publication. I had to read the email twice because a) I was simultaneously trying to take notes on Bernoulli's Principle or something, b) it took me a minute to remember what this was about, having completely forgotten that I had submitted anything at all. Once I did remember, I flailed and accidentally-on-purpose slapped my friend in the arm. She slapped me back.
But then other things happened, our teachers began throwing homework at us like possessed dodgeballers (I've never been good at dodgeball, okay?), and between it all, I kind of forgot about it again until I got an email a few days ago for publicity info and other exciting things. Soooo, without further ado...
Here's the cover!
And here's the Table of Contents (LOOK AT MY NAME :D)
And here's the first page of my essay (this is all from Amazon's Look Inside feature)...
And here's my bio!
You can buy it here (B&N), or here (Amazon), or here (Chicken Soup). Also, Goodreads! I'll be doing a giveaway sometime in the next few months, so stay tuned!
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Want High Schoolers to Learn About Your Upcoming Book?
Hi, everyone!
So, you guys may or may not know that I'm the head editor of our school newspaper. Recently, I had this idea of interviewing the lovely Leigh Ann Kopans about her upcoming book, ONE (and yes, the hyperlink is a less-than-subtle hint to add it on Goodreads. DO IT! :) .....
So, you guys may or may not know that I'm the head editor of our school newspaper. Recently, I had this idea of interviewing the lovely Leigh Ann Kopans about her upcoming book, ONE (and yes, the hyperlink is a less-than-subtle hint to add it on Goodreads. DO IT! :) .....
And then I managed to get ARCs of ONE displayed in both our school library and in our local library...
It's only been up for about a week, but so far, the response has been really positive. The thing is, the kids in my school aren't big on reading (I know. It's seriously depressing), and I think having this opportunity is exciting for a lot my peers. I mean, it isn't every day that you get to read about an author's writing process, recieve advice about writing, and oogle at books that haven't even been released yet.
I really, really like doing this. First of all, it makes high schoolers excited to read, and second of all, it captures the attention of the target audience, as well as that of teachers and librarians. I'd really like to keep doing it.
Basically, I'm wondering if any other authors debuting in 2013 or spring 2014 would be interested in being interviewed and having an ARC or two displayed in our library. Just think, you'd be getting some publicity AND helping anti-reading kids fall in love with your books. I'm also starting a writing club at our school, so during the 2013-14 school year, I'd like to have a featured author every month that the club can Skype chat (or otherwise communicate) with about writing, revising, critiquing, etc.
A few other things:
1. The featured books must be YA.
2. We have one more issue coming out this May, and five next year (November, December, February, March, and May), so the books would have to release close-ish to those dates.
3. The authors would obviously have to send me cookies (I'm only mostly joking)
EDIT: 4. The book would preferably be a debut. If it isn't, it must be a standalone or the first of a series (I'm afraid doing second installments would be confusing for people who haven't read the first).
EDIT: 4. The book would preferably be a debut. If it isn't, it must be a standalone or the first of a series (I'm afraid doing second installments would be confusing for people who haven't read the first).
If you're interested, please shoot me an email at azhang68[at]gmail[dot]com!
EDIT: The May and February slots are filled. The October/November slot may be filled, but you might be able to convince me to double up :)
EDIT: The May and February slots are filled. The October/November slot may be filled, but you might be able to convince me to double up :)
Monday, April 1, 2013
On Pleasing Everyone
This morning on Twitter, I ranted about a book. This post is about that book. So if you know what book I'm talking about and don't want to see spoilers, please don't read on!
......
............
.................
I don't think I've ever felt as insulted as a reader than I did this morning.
Writing is hard, okay? It's part perspiration and part inspiration and part masochism and part sadism and part wasting time on the Internet (mostly the last one). It's hard because of a lot of things, but I'm only going to talk about two today. First: there is going to be suffering in your book. Your characters are going to miserable for the majority of the story, or you will have no conflict and therefore no plot. A part of you is going to enjoy tormenting these characters (because ANGST), and another part of you is going to be suffering just as much as they are. Do not DO NOT DO NOT chicken out, or your readers are going to close the book.
Second: at some point, you have to relinquish control. When you got that first flash of inspiration, you made a promise to your newborn characters: I will tell your story. You are documenting lives that, even though they're fictional, have backstories, secrets, whys. Plot twists have to make sense. Endings have to stay true to the journeys that led up to them.
When they don't, your readers will know.
Anyway. Back to the book. I'm not usually a big fan of love triangles, but last night, I was about halfway through this book and I found myself thinking, this love triangle is amazingly executed. The author didn't make either of the two boys the obvious choice, and the girl caught between them wasn't annoying, and she didn't spend her time staring out into the rain, picturing their two smexy faces. The triangle didn't hinder the plot or drive it, and the characterization of the protagonists wasn't dependent upon the romantic tension. And, most importantly, it seemed that the author was going to make everyone live with their choices. In fact, she could have written a fantastically happy/tragic/satisfying ending.
But then she introduced a loophole that nearly caused me to throw the book across the room. The very essence of a love triangle is that somebody has to choose and somebody has to lose, right? You don't get to believe that one boy is dead so you can get together with the other one, and then wait till that one is dead to get together with the first one.
As a reader, I felt completely bullshitted.
Please don't write to please people. Please don't try to please everybody. Please don't write an ending that betrays the themes in your book. Please don't force an ending on your characters that isn't theirs.
......
............
.................
I don't think I've ever felt as insulted as a reader than I did this morning.
Writing is hard, okay? It's part perspiration and part inspiration and part masochism and part sadism and part wasting time on the Internet (mostly the last one). It's hard because of a lot of things, but I'm only going to talk about two today. First: there is going to be suffering in your book. Your characters are going to miserable for the majority of the story, or you will have no conflict and therefore no plot. A part of you is going to enjoy tormenting these characters (because ANGST), and another part of you is going to be suffering just as much as they are. Do not DO NOT DO NOT chicken out, or your readers are going to close the book.
Second: at some point, you have to relinquish control. When you got that first flash of inspiration, you made a promise to your newborn characters: I will tell your story. You are documenting lives that, even though they're fictional, have backstories, secrets, whys. Plot twists have to make sense. Endings have to stay true to the journeys that led up to them.
When they don't, your readers will know.
Anyway. Back to the book. I'm not usually a big fan of love triangles, but last night, I was about halfway through this book and I found myself thinking, this love triangle is amazingly executed. The author didn't make either of the two boys the obvious choice, and the girl caught between them wasn't annoying, and she didn't spend her time staring out into the rain, picturing their two smexy faces. The triangle didn't hinder the plot or drive it, and the characterization of the protagonists wasn't dependent upon the romantic tension. And, most importantly, it seemed that the author was going to make everyone live with their choices. In fact, she could have written a fantastically happy/tragic/satisfying ending.
But then she introduced a loophole that nearly caused me to throw the book across the room. The very essence of a love triangle is that somebody has to choose and somebody has to lose, right? You don't get to believe that one boy is dead so you can get together with the other one, and then wait till that one is dead to get together with the first one.
As a reader, I felt completely bullshitted.
Please don't write to please people. Please don't try to please everybody. Please don't write an ending that betrays the themes in your book. Please don't force an ending on your characters that isn't theirs.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
I am Not a Teen Writer
I am a writer.
I sit curled in corners with my laptop balanced on my knees, the keyboard chattering beneath my fingers, a story spilling onto my screen. I strain my eyes squinting at my dim computer screen in the ungodly hours of morning. I stay up into the even ungodlier hours of night trying to patch up plot holes or developing characters or figuring out what to say to Oprah when she asks me to be in her book club.
I am a teenager.
I waste money on clothes I don't need (also at Cherry Berry, because what's the world without frozen yogurt?). I procrastinate. I have a microwave and a goldfish in our editing room for the school newspaper, both of which are strictly prohibited by the school. I do stupid things. I go to Walmart with my friends, and we race each other in shopping carts. I pull all-nighters before exams. I worry about college. I'm afraid of responsibility.
I am a writer. I am a teenager. But I am not a teen writer.
We don't call 30-year old writers "adult writers" (I mean, unless they write for adults, but THAT DOESN'T COUNT). We don't call 50-year olds "middle-aged writers." We don't call 70-year old writers "senior writers." But we're free with the "teen writer" label, and too often, that label is associated with phrases like, they took pity on you. Or they want to use your age as a marketing strategy. Or you're good, for your age.
Listen up. I don't want to be good for my age.
I want to write. I want to get better. I want other people to read the manuscript I've spent hundreds of hours working on. I want what every other writer wants.
I'm not saying that my age doesn't matter--it does, because being sixteen affects me every bit as much as being a writer does. But being sixteen doesn't make me less of a writer. Being a writer doesn't make me less of a teenager.
We are writers. We don't measure ourselves in years, or successes, or failures. We measure ourselves in words. In drafts. In revisions. In the mistakes we learned from. In the stories we promised to tell.
I am not a teen writer. I'm just a writer.
I sit curled in corners with my laptop balanced on my knees, the keyboard chattering beneath my fingers, a story spilling onto my screen. I strain my eyes squinting at my dim computer screen in the ungodly hours of morning. I stay up into the even ungodlier hours of night trying to patch up plot holes or developing characters or figuring out what to say to Oprah when she asks me to be in her book club.
I am a teenager.
I waste money on clothes I don't need (also at Cherry Berry, because what's the world without frozen yogurt?). I procrastinate. I have a microwave and a goldfish in our editing room for the school newspaper, both of which are strictly prohibited by the school. I do stupid things. I go to Walmart with my friends, and we race each other in shopping carts. I pull all-nighters before exams. I worry about college. I'm afraid of responsibility.
I am a writer. I am a teenager. But I am not a teen writer.
We don't call 30-year old writers "adult writers" (I mean, unless they write for adults, but THAT DOESN'T COUNT). We don't call 50-year olds "middle-aged writers." We don't call 70-year old writers "senior writers." But we're free with the "teen writer" label, and too often, that label is associated with phrases like, they took pity on you. Or they want to use your age as a marketing strategy. Or you're good, for your age.
Listen up. I don't want to be good for my age.
I want to write. I want to get better. I want other people to read the manuscript I've spent hundreds of hours working on. I want what every other writer wants.
I'm not saying that my age doesn't matter--it does, because being sixteen affects me every bit as much as being a writer does. But being sixteen doesn't make me less of a writer. Being a writer doesn't make me less of a teenager.
We are writers. We don't measure ourselves in years, or successes, or failures. We measure ourselves in words. In drafts. In revisions. In the mistakes we learned from. In the stories we promised to tell.
I am not a teen writer. I'm just a writer.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Why I Write
I have a confession to make. Last week, our AP English teacher told us to write a "Why I Write" post as homework. Well, I kind of forgot to do it, and ended up reposting my "This is Why" post on my school blog. I know, I'm a terrible person.
So, this week, I'm (finally) writing my "Why I Write" post.
*clears throat*
Um.
...
...........
I don't know.
I don't know why I write. I write because I breathe. I write because I have to. I write because I don't know how to stop.
Maybe I write because I'm a narcissist. Or maybe I write because I doubt myself. Maybe neither. Maybe both (probably both). Maybe it's just that I love that letters make words and words, stories. Or that I love beautiful things, and a story is the most beautiful thing of all.
Maybe I write because there are too many worlds and not enough bridges. Because there are many chasms and many faults, many directions to go and many reasons to run away. Because I'm a dreamer. Because when I jump, I do so knowing that I might fall flat on my face. But maybe I write because I know that I may also fly.
Maybe I write because my head is full of doors, otherworlds, caged stories. There are so many stories to tell, so many beating hearts, so many breaths and bodies and lives. Maybe I write because I can't resist the lure of motion, or maybe because I'm afraid of passing moments and oblivion. Maybe I write because I don't want to let go.
Maybe I write because I'm insane and writing makes me more insane and less insane and embrace insanity. Maybe I write because the sound of tapping keys organizes my confusion, quiets my neuroticism and obsessiveness and nerves, makes my fear of failure a very small and silly thing.
Maybe I write to remind myself that I'm not alone, that I'm not the only person on the planet who is sad or lonely or afraid, that we all have hidden tears and fake smiles. Maybe I write to give myself a voice, a place, a name, a reason, a choice.
I don't know why I write. I don't know why I started. All I know is that I do write, that I will always write, that I love to write. And that's what matters.
So, this week, I'm (finally) writing my "Why I Write" post.
*clears throat*
Um.
...
...........
I don't know.
I don't know why I write. I write because I breathe. I write because I have to. I write because I don't know how to stop.
Maybe I write because I'm a narcissist. Or maybe I write because I doubt myself. Maybe neither. Maybe both (probably both). Maybe it's just that I love that letters make words and words, stories. Or that I love beautiful things, and a story is the most beautiful thing of all.
Maybe I write because there are too many worlds and not enough bridges. Because there are many chasms and many faults, many directions to go and many reasons to run away. Because I'm a dreamer. Because when I jump, I do so knowing that I might fall flat on my face. But maybe I write because I know that I may also fly.
Maybe I write because my head is full of doors, otherworlds, caged stories. There are so many stories to tell, so many beating hearts, so many breaths and bodies and lives. Maybe I write because I can't resist the lure of motion, or maybe because I'm afraid of passing moments and oblivion. Maybe I write because I don't want to let go.
Maybe I write because I'm insane and writing makes me more insane and less insane and embrace insanity. Maybe I write because the sound of tapping keys organizes my confusion, quiets my neuroticism and obsessiveness and nerves, makes my fear of failure a very small and silly thing.
Maybe I write to remind myself that I'm not alone, that I'm not the only person on the planet who is sad or lonely or afraid, that we all have hidden tears and fake smiles. Maybe I write to give myself a voice, a place, a name, a reason, a choice.
I don't know why I write. I don't know why I started. All I know is that I do write, that I will always write, that I love to write. And that's what matters.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
The One That Could Have Been
If you caught the Friends reference in the title, be my lobster.
Anyway.
Between finals and SATs and revising and interning, the last two weeks were probably among the most hectic of my life. So, while running around and studying and reading and missing the deadline for tennis leagues and forgetting to practice piano and trying to boost my SAT score up another thirty points and doing homework and desperately searching for time to revise, I found myself wondering if my life would have be easier if I hadn't started writing. I wondered what it would have been like.
I came up with this.
***
Amy Zhang is a small and rather clueless junior with a love of books. In the morning, she gets up after hitting the snooze button 3.4 times (on average, that is--her most recent career interest is statistical analysis), gets dressed, and goes to school. She has maintained her class rank, due to the fact that she has nothing better to do in AP Chemistry than listen. She actually takes notes in her notebook instead of scribbling ideas and worldbuilding details in the margins. Her Physics grade is in good shape, because she is also considering a major in civil engineering (not that she knows what civil engineers do. She just thinks it sounds cool).
When she meets with her counselor to discuss her future, she lists off a few other careers she's thinking about and tries very hard to ignore the fact that she isn't quite suited to any of them. Math and science are her strengths; that's what everyone has always told her, so it must be true. Sure, she likes reading, but she can't exactly read for a living. Or at least, she had never heard of such a career. Anyway, her AP English grade is wobbling; she only took this class so she could write it on her college application. Her mind obviously isn't meant for literature. Her world is made of numbers and lines, and creativity is a childish thing.
After she goes home, she does her homework and plays piano, and then she reads, because frankly, she doesn't have much else to do. Writing is a mystery to her, authors are distant and mystical figures, and she is only vaguely aware of the existence of a publishing industry. She digs through an old box out of boredom and comes across an old notebook. It's mostly empty. The first few pages hold a story with no end, and she smiles because she was once silly enough to try to turn her imagination into a tangible thing.
***
The fact that I was thisclose to living that reality scares the hell out of me. There's a line, I think, between writing and being a writer, and when you cross it, there's no going back. You don't write, you are a writer. Words become a desperately, irrevocably living part of you. Don't ignore them. Don't abandon them. Write until your fingers are brittle and your heart is raw with all the stories you've told. Write until your words are greater than your doubts. Just write.
(Also, what would you guys have been doing if you hadn't started writing? Share! I'm curious :)
Anyway.
Between finals and SATs and revising and interning, the last two weeks were probably among the most hectic of my life. So, while running around and studying and reading and missing the deadline for tennis leagues and forgetting to practice piano and trying to boost my SAT score up another thirty points and doing homework and desperately searching for time to revise, I found myself wondering if my life would have be easier if I hadn't started writing. I wondered what it would have been like.
I came up with this.
***
Amy Zhang is a small and rather clueless junior with a love of books. In the morning, she gets up after hitting the snooze button 3.4 times (on average, that is--her most recent career interest is statistical analysis), gets dressed, and goes to school. She has maintained her class rank, due to the fact that she has nothing better to do in AP Chemistry than listen. She actually takes notes in her notebook instead of scribbling ideas and worldbuilding details in the margins. Her Physics grade is in good shape, because she is also considering a major in civil engineering (not that she knows what civil engineers do. She just thinks it sounds cool).
When she meets with her counselor to discuss her future, she lists off a few other careers she's thinking about and tries very hard to ignore the fact that she isn't quite suited to any of them. Math and science are her strengths; that's what everyone has always told her, so it must be true. Sure, she likes reading, but she can't exactly read for a living. Or at least, she had never heard of such a career. Anyway, her AP English grade is wobbling; she only took this class so she could write it on her college application. Her mind obviously isn't meant for literature. Her world is made of numbers and lines, and creativity is a childish thing.
After she goes home, she does her homework and plays piano, and then she reads, because frankly, she doesn't have much else to do. Writing is a mystery to her, authors are distant and mystical figures, and she is only vaguely aware of the existence of a publishing industry. She digs through an old box out of boredom and comes across an old notebook. It's mostly empty. The first few pages hold a story with no end, and she smiles because she was once silly enough to try to turn her imagination into a tangible thing.
***
The fact that I was thisclose to living that reality scares the hell out of me. There's a line, I think, between writing and being a writer, and when you cross it, there's no going back. You don't write, you are a writer. Words become a desperately, irrevocably living part of you. Don't ignore them. Don't abandon them. Write until your fingers are brittle and your heart is raw with all the stories you've told. Write until your words are greater than your doubts. Just write.
(Also, what would you guys have been doing if you hadn't started writing? Share! I'm curious :)
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