I woke up early with these lines of someone else's poetry running through my head:
So here hath been dawning another blue day.
Think: will thou let it slip useless away?
But I didn't know the author or the rest of the poem, so I googled it and can now present it to you in its entirety.
TODAY (Thomas Carlyle, 1795-1881)
So here hath been dawning another blue day.
Think: will thou let it slip useless away?
Out of Eternity this new day was born;
Into Eternity at night will return.
Behold it aforetime; no eye ever did.
So soon it forever from all eyes is hid.
So here hath been dawning another blue day.
Think: will thou let it slip useless away?
Wow. How's that for a guilt trip, huh? Thanks, Thomas Carlyle of Scotland, a.k.a. the Sage of Chelsea, for reaching down through 150 years to seize my shoulder in your Calvinist clutch.
It really is an intensely blue day today, though. Brilliant sun, low humidity. So I ask myself: What Would Carlyle Do? Based on his bio, I'm guessing he wouldn't have headed for the beach. He probably would have spent the blue day Thinking Great Thoughts while his wife arranged the guest list of Other Great White Male Thinkers for their evening salon.
Me, I'm going to do my post-vacation supermarket run this morning, and probably go for a short hike with my husband and dogs in the afternoon. And then later I'll make dinner and catch up on some laundry. And yes, Thomas Carlyle, I'm going to try to once and for all finish up my manuscript and stop torturing myself redoing the first few lines for the umpteenth time, so I can submit it to the editor who said she'd love to see it when it's done. And if all of that fails to meet Thomas Carlyle's standards, as I suspect it would, then I have nothing to say in my defense to that eminent, dour Victorian gentleman and possible pre-Fascist. I can only do what is in my power to do.
Reader: have a happy blue day.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Sunday, August 11, 2013
INTERVIEW: Y.A. AUTHOR JENNIFER HUBBARD
I had the pleasure of meeting Jennifer Hubbard in June at the New Jersey SCBWI Conference
when one of my volunteer assignments was to be her "faculty liaison." I didn't know what this meant,
but fortunately, neither did she, so I was able to fake it. I had signed up to attend both of the work-shops she co-presented with Kit Grindstaff, and as soon as they ended I proceeded straight to the Conference book sale, where I bought Jennifer's first two published YA novels, THE SECRET YEAR and TRY NOT TO BREATHE. Jennifer describes her work as "minimalistic contemporary realism" (see below), and that's a genre I feel is underrepresented these days in YA. At the book signing, Jennifer graciously agreed to let me interview her for this blog. Fortunately, I'm able to post our interview before the Sept. 12th anticipated release date of her third published YA, UNTIL IT HURTS TO STOP (Viking Press). What this means is that you now have time to pre-order!
1. In each of your first two novels, SECRET YEAR and TRY NOT TO BREATHE, the
protagonist has suffered a loss and now feels
an impulse to embark on new relationships, but
finds that a longing for
something from his past is holding him back. For Colt in SECRET
YEAR, it’s
memories of a girl who has died; for Ryan in TRY NOT TO BREATHE, it’s a girl
who has now made it clear that she wants their relationship to stay platonic.
Did you
consciously choose to leave both boys in unsettled emotional states as
their stories ended? If so,
why?
In both cases, I
felt that a “Hurray, all my problems are solved!” ending would be unrealistic.
But
I also view these endings as the points where each boy has achieved a
measure of peace and hope.
They both are forever changed by what they’ve gone
through, but they also have plenty to look
forward to.
2. SECRET YEAR puts a lot of its focus on
class distinctions between the teens who live in
The Flats and those who live
on The Hill. Colt makes a point of assuring the reader that his and
Julia’s
story is not Romeo and Juliet’s, because if they had taken their relationship
public, no
blood would have been spilled. But is Julia’s name really a
coincidence rather than a reference?
Is it your impression that caste systems
still operate as overtly and intensely in American small
towns as they do in
this novel?
Julia’s name is a
semi-coincidence. I originally chose her name just because I like it and
thought it
suited her ... but when I realized the connection with Juliet, I was
happy to get that additional layer of
meaning from it.
I do think that
divisions in our culture, whether based on income, politics, education, race,
religion,
or ethnic background, do operate this intensely—and often even more
intensely. They can be overt,
or subtle and insidious.
Colt and Julia
mostly use the economic division between them as an excuse for secrecy; it’s a self-
imposed limit, an aphrodisiac, an
important tool in the particular game they play. Yet as much as they
mock this
division, it affects them in more subtle ways that they don’t fully understand.
Where you
live, what kind of future you can expect, who you’ll meet, are all at
least partly determined by
income.
3. TRY NOT TO BREATHE has a teen
protagonist who was hospitalized following a suicide
attempt and is trying to
readjust to ordinary life. Who is the reader you saw in your mind’s eye
as you
were writing about Ryan and his struggles? What aspects of Ryan surprised you
by
appearing unplanned on the page while you were writing the novel?
I didn’t have a
specific ideal reader in mind. I just wanted the book to feel true—not that
there is
only one truth, but that it would reflect a believable scenario.
One thing that
pleasantly surprised me was Ryan’s loyalty. I knew his bond with Jake and Val
was
strong, but I also knew the distance between them was causing problems, and
I didn’t realize until
late in the book just how strong their underlying bond
was. Ryan would go anywhere or do anything
for them—and they would for him—even
if they don’t see each other much anymore.
The fact that he
wanted to go sky-diving also surprised me!
4. Your newest YA novel, UNTIL IT HURTS TO
STOP, will release on September 12th. Is
there anything about its
plot and/or characters that you’d like to share here? How did it feel to
get
into the head of a female protagonist after having male narrators in your first
two books?
In what ways was it easier for you to write your third novel than
your first? In what ways was
it harder?
The short version
of this book is: In junior high, Maggie was an outcast, bullied by her
classmates.
Then her chief tormentor moved away, and high school proved to be
less brutal, although Maggie has
never truly let her guard down. She only finds
peace when hiking in the mountains—with a friend
who may be turning into more.
But just when Maggie thinks she can move beyond her fears and her
sense of
worthlessness, her old enemy returns to town.
When I wrote
short fiction, I had both male and female narrators, about fifty-fifty. I have
written
both male and female narrators for novels, too, but it just happens
that the first two novels that sold
had male narrators!
This book was
very hard to write, harder than the first two. Not because of the female
narrator, but
because I was balancing the hiking, romance, and bullying
plotlines, and finding the balance among
them took a while.
5. You’re a member of YA OUTSIDE THE LINES,
a group of YA author/bloggers whose
motto is “YA Novelists Pushing the
Boundaries of the Genre and Writing From the Heart.”
What has that membership
meant to you, both personally and professionally? In what ways do
you feel you
push the boundaries of the genre? Are
there any ways in which you would like to
do so more?
I love blogging—I have my own blog, too. A group blog is fun
because I only write one post a month, but I get to see all these other
bloggers’ variations on the monthly topic. Sometimes the posts are heartrending,
full of raw emotion; other times they’re light and funny. I was a regular
reader of the blog before they invited me to join.
As far as boundary pushing, I’m a little unusual in writing
minimalistic contemporary realism at a time when long, description-rich
paranormal and fantasy books are more dominant.
I’ve experimented with form and format and unusual
point-of-view, but haven’t yet produced a publishable novel from those
experiments. I keep trying, though. Try
Not to Breathe actually started out as a verse novel.
I do try to take slightly unusual angles on my stories. Many
books about suicide end with the character’s decision to die or not, or they
begin after a suicide has occurred. In Try
Not to Breathe, I wanted to explore what happens after an attempt; where
does the character go then? In Until It
Hurts to Stop, I wanted to look at the aftermath
of bullying, the way it affects people even after the abuse stops.
* * * *
I want to thank Jennifer so much for taking the time to answer my questions to close to the
release date of UNTIL IT HURTS TO STOP, when I'm sure she has quite a few other things she
could be doing instead. In addition to her monthly blog posts at YA Outside the Lines, Jennifer does indeed have her own personal blog at http://jenniferrhubbard.blogspot.com (note the middle initial R!) She can be found on Twitter at @JennRHubbard, and her website is www.jenniferhubbard.com, where all her other contact and social media information can be found. Jennifer is represented by Ginger Knowlton at Curtis Brown. Thank you for stopping by, and please don't forget to pre-order your copy of UNTIL IT HURTS TO STOP! I, for one, can't wait to meet Maggie in September!
Thursday, August 8, 2013
SURVEY QUESTION
Okay, be honest. Do you think there's something seriously wrong with a person who's not sure she can survive for four more days until the Greenhouse Literary Funny Prize shortlist will be announced? Asking for a friend.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
YEAH? SO?
I know I've been a terrible blogger. You wanna make something of it? Call me names? Insult me and my family? Go ahead. The fact is that sometimes, a sense of guilt and obligation just isn't enough to get some normally introverted people to blog, because sometimes, they JUST DON'T FEEL LIKE IT.
But I guess I have a few things to say. One of them is that last Friday I submitted my entry to the Greenhouse Literary Funny Contest. At least, I think I submitted it. It's kind of a long story and it involves my frightening technological incompetence, but I don't want to talk about it. Nor do I want to talk about the Funny Contest itself, even though that's a much shorter story. Let me just say that I've learned since Friday that last year's contest winner was a picture book entitled SQUISHY McFLUFF, THE INVISIBLE CAT. I would not, and could not, lie to you about this. It's a series, actually, first one releasing in 2014 with three more to follow. Squishy McFluff gets around, evidently. Adventures galore. And I have no doubt that it will be a brilliant series, in both the American and British senses of the word. And my book, as hard as I worked on it and as good as I think it is, is no Squishy McFluff. Of that, I am sure.
But we're not going to talk about the Funny Contest. Instead, I will provide a helpful household hint, regarding a technique I just discovered this morning. Say you're getting dressed for work and you're wearing your nice white summer dress. Well, the slightly torn crocheted white espadrilles you inherited from your daughter when her feet outgrew yours seem just a little too casual, do they not? So that leaves the extremely old white sandals with the chunky little heels, but when you dig them out from the bottom of your closet - are you paying attention here? - those chunky little heels turn out to be in fair-to-poor condition, having been stained yellowish in many places. White shoe polish, you say? Are you kidding me? Who owns white shoe polish? Not my family, I can assure you. We don't golf. And there's no time to go out and buy white shoe polish, either, because you already spent a little too much time wondering how, and when, that ugly little cyst that's been sitting there for years at the inside corner of your right eye magically disappeared. I mean, you're at an age when ugly things make a habit of appearing somewhere noticeable on your skin, not disappearing. You're glad this one chose to depart, make no mistake, but it somehow feels like a perversion of the natural order. So anyway, here comes the advice for the stained chunky white heels, and it can be condensed into one word: Wite-out. And if my humble tip changes your life for the better - and I frankly can't imagine that it won't - I ask for very little. Just drop me a line and let me know that I've started a fashion trend, because I've always known that would happen someday but it's been taking a long frigging time and I'm not getting any younger here. Do you read me?
Maybe tomorrow I'll try Wite-out on my teeth. It'll be awesome. Stay tuned. Because if it works on my teeth, I know some invisible cats who could really use a touch-up.
But I guess I have a few things to say. One of them is that last Friday I submitted my entry to the Greenhouse Literary Funny Contest. At least, I think I submitted it. It's kind of a long story and it involves my frightening technological incompetence, but I don't want to talk about it. Nor do I want to talk about the Funny Contest itself, even though that's a much shorter story. Let me just say that I've learned since Friday that last year's contest winner was a picture book entitled SQUISHY McFLUFF, THE INVISIBLE CAT. I would not, and could not, lie to you about this. It's a series, actually, first one releasing in 2014 with three more to follow. Squishy McFluff gets around, evidently. Adventures galore. And I have no doubt that it will be a brilliant series, in both the American and British senses of the word. And my book, as hard as I worked on it and as good as I think it is, is no Squishy McFluff. Of that, I am sure.
But we're not going to talk about the Funny Contest. Instead, I will provide a helpful household hint, regarding a technique I just discovered this morning. Say you're getting dressed for work and you're wearing your nice white summer dress. Well, the slightly torn crocheted white espadrilles you inherited from your daughter when her feet outgrew yours seem just a little too casual, do they not? So that leaves the extremely old white sandals with the chunky little heels, but when you dig them out from the bottom of your closet - are you paying attention here? - those chunky little heels turn out to be in fair-to-poor condition, having been stained yellowish in many places. White shoe polish, you say? Are you kidding me? Who owns white shoe polish? Not my family, I can assure you. We don't golf. And there's no time to go out and buy white shoe polish, either, because you already spent a little too much time wondering how, and when, that ugly little cyst that's been sitting there for years at the inside corner of your right eye magically disappeared. I mean, you're at an age when ugly things make a habit of appearing somewhere noticeable on your skin, not disappearing. You're glad this one chose to depart, make no mistake, but it somehow feels like a perversion of the natural order. So anyway, here comes the advice for the stained chunky white heels, and it can be condensed into one word: Wite-out. And if my humble tip changes your life for the better - and I frankly can't imagine that it won't - I ask for very little. Just drop me a line and let me know that I've started a fashion trend, because I've always known that would happen someday but it's been taking a long frigging time and I'm not getting any younger here. Do you read me?
Maybe tomorrow I'll try Wite-out on my teeth. It'll be awesome. Stay tuned. Because if it works on my teeth, I know some invisible cats who could really use a touch-up.
Saturday, July 20, 2013
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!!!!!
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!!!!!
Sunday, July 14, 2013
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.
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.
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