BAKED

     I know of one thing that's definitely baked: me. A week of 95+ degree temps has done me in. And never mind that I'm just going from air-conditioned house to air-conditioned car to air-conditioned office, and then reversing the process. Just knowing what it's like outside enervates me. My son asked me last night, "What did people DO before air-conditioning was invented?" He's not asking me because he thinks I'm smart; he's asking me because he thinks I remember. Much the way he asks me questions about the War of 1812. Actually, I'm not going to tell him this (and don't you tell him either!), but I seem to have a distant memory of my parents' apartment sans A/C. I don't remember what it felt like. I just remember time spent sitting on the fire escape, just for a wisp of breeze.
     I know of something else that I believe is baked, as in ready-to-come-out-of-the-oven: my book. I believe that my marathon revisions have advanced IS THAT SUPPOSED TO BE FUNNY? to the point where I can send it out into the world. And not a moment too soon, because the deadline for the Greenhouse Funny Contest is July 29th, a week from Monday! When I printed out a copy of the guidelines and posted it on the refrigerator in February, the date seemed eons away, but now it's virtually here. The same day my daughter will finally get her braces off, as a matter of fact. A red-letter day any way you slice it. Except that I'll be away this weekend and I won't survive leaving it to the last possible day, so my personal Funny Contest submission deadline is this Friday, July 26th. And since the book is baked enough for that, it's also baked enough to send it to the editor who critiqued the first 15 pages of my first draft at the NJSCBWI conference in the beginning of June, and said she'd love [sic] to see the manuscript when I'm done revising.
     Don't you think that "done revising" are two of the most beautiful words in the English language?
     Wish me luck. Send good karma my way. Do something spiritual on my behalf.  Because ... this is it!! Too late to turn back! This is the scariest, most exhilarating step of the entire process, and I'm ready for it.

CLOSES EYES - HOLDS NOSE - COUNTS TO TEN -




            
JUMPS!!!!!
  

THIS ONE HURTS

     I've watched very little of the coverage of the George Zimmerman trial, because I saw no point in playing the outcome-prediction game. But now that the verdict is in, I do have two things to say.
     1. Speaking as a criminal defense attorney, I have to admit that this verdict was a result of the jury system working correctly. Under the horrendous Florida "Stand Your Ground" law, the jury was probably correct in its conclusion that the State had failed to prove its case against Zimmerman beyond a reasonable doubt. The fault was not with the jury, but with the law itself.
     I haven't done a nationwide survey of each state's self-defense statute, but I know New Jersey's. Here, if confronted anywhere but in your own home, you have a duty to retreat.  If you can do so in complete safety, but choose not to, then you cannot assert a claim of self-defense.  In other words: you cannot go looking for trouble, and then claim self-defense when things don't go your way.
     By contrast, the Florida law permitted what George Zimmerman did.  It permitted a racist thug to stalk, then provoke, then shoot to death when he reacted to the provocation, an unarmed 17-year-old boy who had gone out to buy himself a snack.  That law, from the moment it was enacted, had been a Trayvon Martin case waiting to happen.  That law must be changed.
     2. Post-racial society, my ass.  I have a 17-year old daughter.  I have many reasons to fear for her safety, and those reasons center on the fact that she's a skinny, naïve, physically vulnerable little thing.  But she's white.  I don't have to fear her being stopped by the police for Driving While Black.  I don't have to fear her being racially stereotyped by any future employers.  And I don't have to worry that a self-appointed vigilante will assume she's dangerous if she wanders into his neighborhood.
     Mothers everywhere tell their sons, "Stay out of trouble."  But when black mothers say it, it means something different than when white mothers do.  It means not only: don't do anything wrong, but also: keep a low profile.  Be ridiculously polite to strangers.  Don't go anywhere you won't be welcome.  Don't take risks.  I need for you to come back home.
     I'll never forget what my friend Vernon, a black lawyer, told me many years ago.  He said that if he's ever walking down a street, and there aren't a lot of people around, and he sees a white woman walking in his direction, he'll cross to the other side of the street.  Why take chances?  Why risk a baseless accusation, or even a look of terror directed at him?  Easier to walk away.
     Vernon learned that lesson as an adult, after many years of who-knows-what kinds of incidents.  Trayvon Martin will never have the chance to learn that lesson, because he will never be an adult.  Being a hotheaded 17-year-old can kill you - but that can often depend on the color of your skin.
     I am proud to be an American.  I really am.  But we need to do so much better.

INDEPENDENCE DAY

     So I've been thinking about freedom today, and specifically freedom as it relates to women and girls. Despite regressive setbacks - and there are many - it's an undeniable fact that women of some means who live in developed countries in this 21st century have more freedom to make decisions about their own lives than their counterparts have had at any time in history. Today, I'll focus on them, not on all the other women on our planet who lack what they need for basic subsistence or basic self-protection.
    Today, it's those more fortunate women I'm thinking about when I wonder: how much of their one and only lives do they spend worrying about whether or not others find them attractive?  How much of their time and energy and income do they devote to trying to ensure that they do?  And then I wonder the same things about their relationships with their children, with their homes, with their cars, with the voices in their heads telling them they, as women, are not good enough.  And then I think that whatever their answers might be, their male counterparts' answers would amount to less than half of those numbers.  And then I think how twisted that is.
     Why do we let our societies tell us that women, but not men, should be embarrassed to leave their houses without first putting makeup on their faces?  (And just think about that word, makeup. What is it that we feel we have to make up for? Our imperfections? Our aging process? Why aren't those our badges of honor?) That women, but not men, are only well-dressed if they're wearing shoes that will ultimately deform their feet and wreck their backs, because those are what the opposite sex finds attractive?  That the physical appearances of women, but not men, are fair game for commentary by any stranger passing them on the street?  That large-boned girls, but not boys, are destined to live their lives as losers?  That women, but not men, can and should be judged by the magazine-worthiness of their homes, no matter how important their roles are in the real world?
     Republicans (embodied by the eternally youthful Mitch McConnell) have discovered a brilliant new strategy to attack Hillary Clinton preemptively so that she won't sweep into the White House in 2016 virtually unopposed.  They're telling voters that they can't vote for Hillary in 2016 because she'll be too OLD to be President.  Because her face will be lined, and she'll be carrying around a few extra menopausal pounds, and plastic surgery isn't her style.  She won't be able to serve as President, the not-very-subliminal message goes, because at 67, she'll have lost her value as a woman.  If comments like that are considered valid political discourse in this country, I ask you: how free are women?  Any of us?
     I thought I'd end by linking to an article my sister-in-law Peg posted on Facebook.  It kind of sums up some of the things I've decided to rant about today.
     Hope you're having a happy Fourth of July.  Let's celebrate living in a country where women like Hillary Clinton can, and will, become President.  But please remember: none of us are free until we're all free.

WHAT PART OF 'BOOK GIVEAWAY' DID I NOT MAKE CLEAR???

      I offered a book giveaway contest this past week and have not had a single contestant.  Obviously there's been a failure of communication here, and I will now try to rectify it.
   
     This contest is a multistep process, as follows:
           Step One: I set it up and announce the rules.
           Step Two: People enter the contest.
           Step Three: I choose a winner and deliver the prize.
    
     I've performed Step One.  I cannot, however, perform Step Two, because it requires action by persons other than myself.  Nor can I perform Step Three, because there is no way in this world that I can select a winner from among nonexistent contestants.  I've actually given the matter some thought, but - nope. Can't do it.
     So. Whoever you are and wherever you live, please - step up to the plate. Enter the contest! Maybe win a wonderful book!  And if you don't win this time, I have a lot more giveaway contests in the pipeline, but someone has to win this one first!  Don't make me come after you!!!!

Why Is a Raven Like a Writing Desk?

     The answer: It isn't. The Mad Hatter had no idea what the answer was to his own riddle, and that's because it wasn't a real riddle, the answer to which would have been based on a clever pun; it was just a nonsensical question without an answer, which infuriated the practical-minded Alice.

     On the other hand, there are such things as questions that may sound nonsensical, but that are, in fact, so sensical that even Alice would approve. Here's one: why is the process of performing revisions on a novel like the process of preparing an argument before the state Supreme Court?
     I guess I should explain. I have two jobs: (1) being an appellate lawyer, which consists of writing briefs and orally arguing cases, and (2) writing novels, which consists of writing novels. The first job brings me a paycheck; so far, the second one doesn't.
     For the past week and a half, I've been in the throes of revising my latest novel. In the process, I've come to realize that I managed to create the characters and narrative, and write an entire first draft, all without being aware of some major themes I'm now discovering.  I was trying to understand how this could even be possible, when - eureka! I discovered an analogy to my other job.
     When I prepare an appeal for the lower of the two state appellate courts, I do research; I analyze the issues; I organize my arguments. By the time I've written my brief, no one knows my case the way I do.
     Depending on how the case is decided by that court, it has a small chance of eventually winding up, one way or another, in the higher-level state court, which always entails my not only writing a second, more focused brief, but arguing the case orally as well. In my state, there are seven Justices who hear all the arguments, and each of them can, and often does, interrupt the attorneys at any point during their argument to ask any question he or she chooses to ask at that moment. The attorney must immediately stop what she was saying, perhaps mid-word, and pivot on a dime to answer the question asked, as well as any follow-up question asked by that same Justice, or any of the others. I'm not kidding - that's really how it works, and I live in New Jersey, not Wonderland. In other words: in order to prepare for a state Supreme Court argument, an attorney has to try to anticipate, and be able to answer, just about any rational question about the case that might be thrown her way.
     I've done a lot of those state Supreme Court arguments over the years. Almost without exception, during the period of intense preparation leading up to them, I've experienced a moment in which I suddenly realized for the first time what the case was actually about. I'm always stunned by this. How could I possibly have missed it before? And yet, I did.
     Revision is about taking your novel to a higher level. It's about knowing your characters so well that you could answer any question about them that anyone could throw at you. Revision teaches you that you were only scratching the surface before. All those things you thought you knew? You hardly knew them at all.
     Why is a raven like a writing desk? Beats me. But when is a novel really a novel? When its author  could stand up and defend it before the Supreme Court - and win.

    

GIVEAWAY CONTEST: R.J. PALACIO'S WONDER

All righty then. Here I go with the first of my giveaway contest series, and the prize is well worth your contest entry: my own virtually pristine copy (I treat my books well) of this bestselling MG novel, published last year by Knopf.  It's an easy contest for me to begin the series with - easy peasy, as Maddie from CODE NAME VERITY would say - because I've already reviewed the book on this blog.  I should add, though, that as I just learned today, Auggie's facial deformity is due to Treacher-Collins Syndrome, which is a very real condition and which Palacio obviously researched extensively in order to be able to create such a compelling version of it in Auggie.
     So.  Are we ready?  The correct response, as my son and I have learned during our epic crossword-puzzle matches: "I was born ready."  Okay, let's go.  Here's the question:
                
As a child, what were you told (other than not to stare) about people who were "different" in some way?  Looking back now, what do you think about that advice?

That's it!  This contest will run until next Sunday night at midnight Eastern time, or until however long I choose to extend it beyond then.  The person who submits the answer I like the most will win my copy of the book, regardless of where in the world he or she lives.  LET'S DO THIS THING!!

BACK TO BLOGLAND

     I was at the New Jersey SCBWI Conference this past weekend, and it's given me a much-needed jolt of energy.  I got some positive feedback about my book, as did my friends Michele and Julie about theirs, but that wasn't all.  I've been going to this annual conference for years now, but this year, the sense of community really came together for me.  I was able to celebrate with Yvonne Ventresca about her new book contract.  I met Jennifer Hubbard and asked her if I could at some later point interview her for this blog, and she said yes.  I watched Ame Dyckman graciously accept her Crystal Kite Award.  I saw and experienced a lot of people doing some very kind things, expecting nothing in return.  And, sappy as it sounds, I kind of felt like I was home.
     Since I got back on Sunday evening, I've been thinking about the revisions I need to make to IS THAT SUPPOSED TO BE FUNNY?, as brought to my attention by my critiquers, and I've actually gotten a running start on making them.
     And one more thing.  In past years, the chapter has held fundraising raffles at this conference, and I've gotten in the habit of setting aside excellent YA or MG novels after I've read them during the year, in order to donate them.  This year, as it turned out, there was no raffle, and I completely forgot about my bag o' books until I just happened to stumble across it yesterday.  Eureka!  What a perfect find!  I need to get back to blogging, and here's the perfect way to do it.  Here and now, I commit to running a book giveaway contest at least once every two weeks until all those books have been placed in loving homes.  So, please!  Stay tuned to this blog!  I'll try to connect each contest question to a theme running through that book, and the person coming up with the best answer will soon have my gently-used copy of said book winging its way to him/her.
     I'M BACK!!