Funny and painful, WINGER is a winner

I had to go for a long walk after I finished WINGER by Andrew Smith. I can’t say I was sucker-punched by the ending because I’d guessed what was coming. I was still gutted and distraught, because the characters are so real I felt like something terrible just happened to a friend.

And somewhere on our planet that terrible thing (I won’t give away the spoiler) has happened to someone’s friend, their loved one, and it will never be okay and we must never forget. I believe that books like WINGER matter. They can open eyes and hearts.

  But, that said, there’s a ton of witty, laugh-out-loud humor, love and hope in this story of a brilliant fourteen-year-old boy who is the youngest junior at a private boarding school for kids of very rich, too-busy parents. He’s been moved to the dorm for troublemakers, full of boys much bigger than he is. Some of them are dangerous, and some of them are his rugby teammates, who are tough, courageous and tight-knit.

The protagonist Ryan Dean is smart and cocky—this gets him into and out of trouble again and again. I loved him except when I sometimes wanted to yell at him, like his friend Joey does, to get his shit together.

His relationship with his best friend Annie is a perfectly penned story of young love—rocky, uncertain and pure despite Ryan Dean’s missteps. In one scene, he draws a Venn diagram (the book is sprinkled with his often hilarious drawings) to show Annie that he wishes people wouldn't always focus on what's outside the overlapping circles, which in his case is his age.

If you don’t like cussing or being in a teen boy’s head when his hormones are raging, this may not be the book for you. But I recommend it to anyone who likes storytelling that shakes up the world, that makes you both feel and think. The emotions and the consequences in this are very raw and very real. I have a feeling I won’t forget these characters for a long, long time. If ever.

Here are some writing samples. The first one is a tiny prologue. I’m not always a fan of prologues but I really like the set-up of this one:

Joey told me nothing ever goes back exactly the way it was, that things expand and contract—like breathing, but you could never fill your lungs up with the same air twice. He said some of the smartest things I ever heard, and he’s the only one of my friends who really tried to keep me on track too.

And I’ll be honest. I know exactly how hard that was.

*

It took about five minutes for me to unpack. That’s all. I didn’t have anything. Of course Chas wasn’t there. He’d be out goofing around with his friends, or sneaking off somewhere with Megan Renshaw, who I also thought was unendurably sexy, but not in a mature, Annie kind of way; it was more like an intimidating and scary female-cop-that-arrested-me-in-Boston way. But she was still hot. And, yes, I did get arrested in Boston when I was twelve. It’s what inspired my parents to enroll me in Pine Mountain Academy in the first place.

I know you’re going to ask, so I might as well tell you: It was for breaking into and trying to drive a T train.
*

Book love: The Witch of Little Italy

My New York grandmother used to read tea leaves and cards. She whispered to me a secret--that she’d done this until one day she saw a man’s death, then she did it no more. It is one reason I like magical realism—stories set in ordinary life but with fantastical elements, things that are not easily explained, the mysteries of life. However, this isn’t meant to be a discussion of what constitutes magical realism or whether it’s just another name for fantasy. It’s about falling in love with a story no matter what genre is slapped on it.

What I can say for certain is Suzanne Palmieri’s The Witch of Little Italy is about authentic, flesh-and-blood relationships, and it’s magical—a wonder of a debut novel.

When I picked up The Witch of Little Italy I felt at home with the characters and their intuition, their ability to know things from afar or before they happen. Suzanne has created a richly-layered family of women who all have The Sight, which gets them into trouble as well as leads them out of difficulties. The few surviving members of the Amore family (a number of them died on one terrible day) live in a Bronx apartment house they’ve owned for decades.

If you like the stories of Alice Hoffman, you should love this. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve listened to the audio version of Hoffman’s The Probable Future, and what I love most about that story are the relationships between grandmother, daughter, granddaughter.

  Suzanne has developed women and relationships every bit as complex, difficult, estranged and heartrendingly beautiful. It’s what I hoped I’d find, since I’d been following Suzanne’s blog for a long time and admire her honest and beautiful writing. She’s gutsy, inventive and lyrical.

  In The Witch of Little Italy, college student Eleanor Amore, is pregnant by an abusive boyfriend. Her mother is dismissive and cold, so Eleanor takes a chance on a grandmother and grand-aunts she hardly knows since she’s lost her childhood memories. They welcome her to their apartment house as though they expect her. Because they do; they all had “seen” her come home. They see something darker, too.

I won’t give away spoilers. The story slowly reveals the family’s secrets and mysteries. And gives the characters a chance to breathe and grow.

Here are some samples of writing style:
(From Eleanor’s POV):
 Eleanor stood very still outside her family’s building on 170th Street. The night was mild for December but the snow fell anyway, glittery dancing dust. It rested in delicate layers, coating Eleanor’s hat and oversized sweater. She kicked the snow and faced her past.

(skipping ahead after Eleanor becomes nervous and stubborn about going inside, even after several invitations from the inhabitants.)
Eleanor turned around and walked to the curb to try and hail a cab.

A crumpled ball of paper flew over her head and landed in the snow at her feet. It began to unfurl. Eleanor picked it up.

That’s right. Move along. Nothing here to see. Love, Aunt Itsy.

“Itsy,” Eleanor said the strange name aloud. It rolled off her tongue and mingled with the snowflakes. Her heart knew the name even if her mind only contained a small recollection. She turned back to see the woman who tossed the paper, but as she turned the door shut tight against her.

(From great-aunt Itsy’s POV):
 I thought of the girl, her back pressed against the door in the hallway. That face. Light, like Mama. Soft features, not hard like Carmen. A softer version of her mother in all the good ways. The last time she was back she was about thirteen or so. She wasn’t at all the little spitfire she’d been when we’d first had her. I remember I was so worried that night. Worried she’d remember—just like I am now.

(Itsy, remembering her mother, Margaret Green, who taught them magic and more)
"Life gets heavy," she told us, "like hot summer nights. At first you toss and turn, but slowly you learn that if you keep very, very still your body can capture a random breeze that latches onto you and cools you for a moment. Infinite and blissful, your body soars to greet it and holds onto it, but it leaves. And that's love. That's what love does."

*
Suzanne did a wonderful interview with Joyce Lamb at USA TODAY. She talks about sealing agreements (on the same day!) for two-book deals with two publishing houses. Her second novel, I'll Be Seeing You, is co-written (as Suzanne Hayes) with Loretta Nyhan and will be released in May. It is letters between two women during World War II. You know you want to read this interview and these books. Really, you do.

We live here

We live here.

Well, not exactly, here in this awe-inspiring supernova (photo courtesy of NASA), but our little, lovely planet Earth exists in the midst of space, in the dark wonder.

We are the luckiest of organisms to live, breathe, run, sing, imagine and create--all because our planet evolved to allow sentient life.

And then we make bombs and poisons. We level forests and slaughter animals to extinction. We throw trash on the ground, dump chemicals in the precious water, like Earth is something we can buy another one of whenever we use it up.

I've been thinking of going on hiatus, because my posts are sparse these days. But it's Earth Day and this blog is my little soapbox in the universe. I'm, no doubt, preaching to the choir, with the folks who read my blog. Still, I have to shout out: Do what you can to save this planet. It is the only one we've got.

I love Earth. That is all.

(credit: NASA)

Out of darkness, light

Human beings have known since the beginning of time that survival depends on Spring bringing rebirth. Light after darkness. Renewal. Hope. It is fitting, and probably not coincidental, that Easter (life after death) and Passover (freedom after slavery) are celebrated around the time of the vernal equinox. We all feel the change in the air. We are creatures of nature, of this world.

I have nothing profound to say about a basic human need we all understand; I'm just going to share my joy in the season with pictures of flowers, like the calla lily above, and some silly shots I made by putting artworks outside in our garden to let them live the moment.

This brass bunny is about the size of a walnut and came from Czechoslovakia more than 65 years ago. I set him on a bed of baby tears.

Iceland poppies. They make me smile, bobbing in the breeze like tiny kites. So fragile and yet enduring.

Dancing young bear I found in a shop in Canada. There is something so winsome in his expression. He was carved by Markoosie Papigatuk of Cape Dorset.

Backlit pansies, because I love the sun's illumination through petals, that reminder that light changes the way we see things.

A gift from a friend long ago--vintage glazed ceramic rabbit. I always thought she was beautiful, but taking her off the black enamel cabinet and out into the garden puts her in a new light. Vulnerable, aware, alive.

Ranunculas. Every garden in spring needs them. Such joyous color.

Dancing walrus! Oh, how I love this guy. Purchased him in Canada. Created by Ed Kabluitok Panikotuapik of Rankin Inlet.

Everybody dance, please, 'tis the season.

The week that was

I'm back from my writing-retreat vacation. Well, I did do some writing, and had one excellent world-building idea. But I had a problem with my neck, which made typing on my laptop painful. The good news is it was gorgeous where I was, so I will share the pretty.

Dragon kelp! Really, doesn't it look like a dragon's wide open jaws and slithery body?

Here are some thoughts that came that day as I walked to the far end of the pier:

Birds, white and silent,skim the placid jade-green sea.
From shore, a muffled thud and whoosh.
Farther out,sea lions take to sun bathing and barking from their flat-topped rock.

Storm coming. Actually there were several rain events, but they came in spurts (ha) that allowed for walks and awe.

From a underpass. Makes me feel like an explorer coming into a secret land.

Swinging at the end of the day. And, yes, I found a moment when kids weren't on the swings to pump myself into flight.

A bright splash along a dune.

Have I said lately how much I love walking by the ocean? I do. I do.

As for the writing (rewriting a novel), all that rest and rejuvenation (I had two massages and a facial!) combined with my neck getting better has resulted in three chapters rewritten since I got back.

I wish everyone such a holiday. And, I hope you find a place that makes corned beef pizza (with mustard) and another that whips up dark chocolate crepes. *grins*

Next Big Thing

Sarah Wylie, author of ALL THESE LIVES and one of the funniest bloggers ever, has tagged me for the Next Big Thing Blog Hop. Sarah is working on her second book: SOMETHING BEGINNING WITH YOU (FSG/Macmillan in 2014). She shares a stunner of a line from the book in her Next Big Thing.

Yikes, I thought, do I have anything interesting enough to say? This is me, the perennial writer of a dark fairy tale, currently still in rewrite. But I guess I do get cut some slack for last year, which pretty much sucked all the wind out of any and all of my sails. I’m back now, though, so here are my answers to the Next Big Thing.

What is the working title of your next book? PRINCESS CHARMING: A DIFFERENT KNIGHT’S TALE

Where did the idea come from for this book? I was toying around with the idea of gender-switching a fairy tale and creating a kick-ass heroine.

What genre does your book fall under? YA Fantasy, a retold fairy tale

What actors would you choose to play the part of the characters in a movie rendition? Totally wishful thinking but I’d pick Jennifer Lawrence to play the princess knight. As for her love interest, Alex Pettyfer or Chord Overstreet would do nicely. I don’t ask for much.

What is a one sentence synopsis of your book? Tournament-winning dragon fighter, sixteen-year-old Princess Charming believes her “Destiny” is naught but fairy tale until she rides into the uncharted Wilds and discovers her true purpose, which was never as simple as kissing a musty prince awake.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency? I hope to be represented, but I haven’t even begun to query.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript? The very first draft was just weeks because it was a bare-bones, 90-page fairy tale. The subsequent drafts to turn it into a novel and then completely rewrite it from somewhat MG to totally YA have been much longer.

What other books would you compare this to in your genre? There are so many retold fairy tales now it would be hard to pick. This is dark but there are elements of humor.

Who or what inspired you to write this book? I took a workshop with author Bruce McAllister and used a prompt that led me to this idea.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest? A bat-shit crazy witch, a forbidden love interest and an ecological disaster—not too much for our heroine to deal with.

And since Sarah shared a snippet, here's one from Charming: I soak up the rare, soft warmth of the sun, which will disappear too soon behind clouds. The wind carries rain in its memory, rain that is coming, rain that is always coming.

As per rules of being tagged, I hereby tag the following writers to share their Next Big Thing. Yvonne Osborne, HoboAnnie (Annie Howland) and Wen Baragrey. I can’t wait to see what these talented women are cooking up.

In which I eviscerate

Laurie Halse Anderson (SPEAK, CHAINS, WINTERGIRLS) tweeted something the other day that made me spew coffee. In part, she said, “Am busy eviscerating the middle part of my book. Ink & guts are everywhere.”

Since I was slicing out whole scenes of my manuscript, I felt a bit bloody myself.

For a long time, I knew the beginning of my story was weak, didn’t capture the protagonist’s voice as it shows up later. I’d also been told by some crit partners that the love interest was coming across as a creep. I tweaked. I revised. I subtracted a bit here, added a touch there.

 None of it worked. The unworkable scenes had to go. *cut* *slash* *burn*


I let my imagination run and a new idea popped up. It added depth to the characters and the world-building.

Some months ago, I had an amazing crit and brainstorming session with Kathleen Duey (SKIN HUNGER, SACRED SCARS). One piece of advice she gave me was to start over with a blank page. I thought I did by changing the protagonist’s POV from third to first, getting under her skin more and by altering some structural elements of the manuscript. But I still tried to save a lot of the original scenes. That was a mistake. It undermined the voice by dragging in elements from earlier versions.

So now I’m in the daunting position of a true rewrite, not tweaking. Amazingly, I’m looking forward to it, because the voice is stronger, the story is more alive and compelling. Already more than fifty pages in and feeling really good about what’s happening.

I found some other great comments on rewrite:

“I've found the best way to revise your own work is to pretend that somebody else wrote it and then to rip the living shit out of it.” – Don Roff (ZOMBIES: A RECORD OF THE YEAR OF INFECTION)

“There is a difference between a book of two hundred pages from the very beginning, and a book of two hundred pages which is the result of an original eight hundred pages. The six hundred are there. Only you don’t see them.” – Elie Wiesel (NIGHT)

“Books aren’t written--they’re rewritten. It is one of the hardest things to accept, especially after the seventh rewrite hasn’t quite done it.”—Michael Crichton (JURASSIC PARK)

“That’s the magic of revisions – every cut is necessary, and every cut hurts, but something new always grows.” – Kelly Barnhill (THE MOSTLY TRUE STORY OF JACK)