The thing about sunsets and something important

We all love a good sunset.

Everybody with a camera or cell phone tries to catch that ephemeral moment.

And I thought I'd share some of mine right now, because things have been sooooooo intense for all of us lately, what with contentious elections and superstorms. So here's to joy and beauty and that sense of wonder a sunset can give.

The sun will come up tomorrow. We can count on that. Unless, of course, you're writing dystopian and have decided to scare the bejeebers out of us. Love you all! We're good here.
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And for those of you who write or are teachers or librarians there is an amazing online auction to raise money to benefit the Red Cross relief effort for people devastated by Sandy. The project is hosted by Kate Messner and the Twitter hashtag is #KidLitCares. Some of the authors, agents, editors putting up critiques, Skype visits, phone chats, books and more are Laurie Halse Anderson, Veronica Roth, Cheryl Klein, Ellen Hopkins, Linda Sue Park, Mo Willems, Jennifer Laughran. Oh, there are so many more. Check it out, put in a bid. Such a good cause.

You owe it to yourself: Vote

I am humbled by this right made possible by the founders of the United States of America, by the women who suffered ridicule, abuse and even incarceration to ensure the 19th Amendment, by soldiers who fought to defend our country, and by fighters for civil rights.

And, so, today I voted. Early and with conviction. To my friends in other countries, I hope you are able to exercise the same right.

I knew which man had my vote for President (when will it be a woman, I wonder?), but I spent hours studying the pros and cons of propositions and measures on my ballot. I hope I chose wisely, but I did, at least, make considered decisions.

It is my duty. It is my right.

I hope you made it yours, too.

Day of the Dead

Fern O'Brien as painted by Mary Guggenheim. This Day of the Dead post is simply in loving memory of two extraordinary women who made a huge impact on my life and many other people's, as well. They were smart, creative, outspoken, always curious and fiercely in love with what the world had to offer. My life was greatly enriched by knowing them.

 In fact, their influence in literature, art, theater, travel and good food is with me still. What a legacy, is it not, to bring wonder into some one's life, to spark new ideas, to open doors to places of discovery?

So this post is made with gratitude and love.

A'pumpkin carving I go

Every Halloween I carve a pumpkin.

 

Faces only I can love.

Such dreams are made of this...

In which I gush book love

SERAPHINA, you stole my heart (and a few hours of sleep).

Dragons to die for. Yes, this book has some of the most intriguing dragons ever written. But there is so much more. Rachel Hartman has written a smart, breathtaking, funny, poignant and fresh story with a heroine so full of heart she shines like a candle in the dark. And the love interest? His heart is just as huge.

 I read a lot of YA and some MG. Much of it is really good, but SERAPHINA is fabulous--a page-turner that has both substance and style. I hadn't been in a hurry to read this debut, expecting it to be a fun, lightweight fantasy that had something to do with dragons that I'd enjoy but not a story that would carry me off into an intriguingly developed and complex society.

What makes it so wonderful is the deeply-layered world building that includes cultural ramifications, such as religious beliefs and bigotries that feed into the political and personal landscapes. The main character, Seraphina, has something terrible and illegal to hide, but her astounding musical talent puts her in the spotlight and leads her into fascinating and dangerous territory.

Her father warns her to not draw attention to herself, never to play music in public, but when the flute soloist can't play at a state funeral, she has to. Here's her perspective as she sees the grieving royal family:

They needed Heaven's peace. I knew little of Saints, but I knew about sorrow and about music as sorrow's surest balm. That was comfort I could give. I raised the flute to my lips and my eyes toward the vaulted ceiling, and began to play.
I began too quietly, unsure of the melody, but the notes seemed to find me and my confidence grew. The music flew from me like a dove released into the vastness of the nave; the cathedral itself lent it new richness and gave something back, as if this glorious edifice, too, were my instrument.
There are melodies that speak as eloquently as words, that flow logically and inevitably from a single, pure emotion. The Invocation is of this kind, as if its composer had sought to distill the purest essence of mourning, to say, Here is what it is to lose someone.

In Seraphina's world there exists an unlikely truce between dragons and humans, but there are those on both sides who plot against it. Fear, distrust, resentment, hatred ripple through the population. Dragon-fighting knights of old have gone into exile, not willing to forget the wars they'd fought. Dragons, who can take human shape, walk among humans but they never are quite human enough, and are not trusted.

Along with the gripping tale, Hartman's writing soars and sings. Here's another sample of her style near the beginning of this 451-page novel:

He declined to tell me goodbye, as was his usual custom; he turned without a word and took off toward the cathedral. Its facade blazed red with the setting sun; Orma's retreating figure made a dark hatch mark against it. I watched until he disappeared around the end of the north transept, and then I watched the space where he had vanished.
I barely noticed loneliness anymore; it was my normal condition, by necessity if not by nature. After today's stresses, though, it weighed on me more than usual. Orma knew everything about me, but he was a dragon. On a good day, he was friend enough. On a bad day, running into his inadequacy was like tripping up the stairs. It hurt, but it felt like my own fault.
Still, he was all I had.

The sky is everywhere, oh yes

I wouldn't cope well with the crap we all step in from time to time if it weren't for this world giving me stunners like this:

When nature is glorious my spirit soars. I put my feet in the sea, reach for the sky and drag in the air. Have you ever gone flying in your dreams? It feels so right. Like we somehow in daily life forget how natural it is to let go and just be.

And, yes, I titled this post using a phrase that popped in my head but is also the title of a brilliant novel by Jandy Nelson. I'd reviewed it some time ago but never forgot the story of a girl upended by grief at the sudden death of her sister. Here's the unforgettable last line of the first chapter: It's as if someone vacuumed up the horizon while we were looking the other way. I know that empty, lost feeling too well. I think I need to read the book again, to remember how this story, which is also funny and passionate, never forgets the grief but discovers purpose--a place to flourish in this world.

We've all been buried by grief. We've all cowered from our demons or learned to stand up to them. We've all been betrayed by someone we trusted. We've all lost confidence at one time or another. Or, at least, I believe these things are universal.

But there is healing. There is beauty. There is hope.

The sky is everywhere.

Seizing the moment

Several times a year, large, well-shaped waves fire up in Venice Beach. When they do, professional surf photographers show up ready to snap pictures of pros repped by companies selling boards, clothes, etc. Look closely and you'll see there's a guy in the curl of that wave.

It's all about seizing the moment, being ready for opportunity and willing to take a chance, which is useful no matter what you do. My life has been stressed and chaotic of late, so I'm trying to carve out time here and there to write and keep up with all you lovely people.

There is a great quote attributed to Thomas Edison: "Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work."

I intend to get out my tools (I have a new book THE PLOT WHISPERER WORKBOOK that will be a lot of work, without doubt, but also may take my rewrite to a new level.) That's what I'm striving for: the big wave.

Lastly, please check out my last post about the release of THE SECRET UNDERGROUND by Natalie Bahm if you haven't and consider buying a copy to help the family of a very sick little boy. Jayden, poor wee thing, is back in the hospital again. Thank you.

Natalie Bahm is da bomb

Author Natalie Bahm unearths the excitement of exploration in THE SECRET UNDERGROUND, a novel with lots of dirt and blisters to accompany danger and adventure as a group of sixth-graders dig forbidden tunnels.

One of the fabulous things to know about Natalie is her heart is so big she is donating all proceeds from the sale of this book to the family of a very sick little boy. In this post, I interview Natalie and add a mini-review at the end, along with some significant links to learn more about this extraordinary publishing tale.

So for this Q&A, I had to ask Natalie about her personal relationship with shovels and got a surprising answer.

Me: So, shovels?

Natalie: To me shovels mean only one thing: yard work. When I was ten my family moved to a new house with a big weed-filled yard. I can't even tell you how many hours I spent with my parents and brothers digging up weeds and laying sod and planting plants. My brothers and I always joked that the only reason my parents had kids was so they could have cheap yard laborers. :) By the time I went to college the yard was amazing. Seriously. It was full of thick green grass and colorful flower beds and big pretty trees and a big playhouse that we'd built with dad. The next year they moved again and had to start all over.

Me: (taking that a shovelful deeper) Where did the idea about kids digging underground tunnels come from, and did you need to consider safety issues when tackling it?

Natalie: My dad used to tell us stories about him and his buddies digging tunnels in a vacant lot by his house. It was obviously an EXTREMELY dangerous thing to do, and he made sure to tell us about the scary stuff that happened because of their digging. In the book I tried to show that tunneling is treacherous. The kids build supports to make them safer, but they aren’t ever really safe. I really don’t think it would be possible to dig tunnels like the ones in the book in real life (thank goodness!)

Me: What is it about writing for middle grade readers that excites you to write?

Natalie: Middle grade is such an interesting time in kids’ lives. I love trying to capture that transition between being a kid and being a teenager. There’s still sort of a dependence on parents and family, but there’s also a longing for freedom. I also love writing about the changing dynamic between girls and boys at that age. When I was that age I only liked to read things that had a bit of a love story, so I make sure to include one in all of my books.

Me (looking over shoulder and listening for creeping sounds): The villains in this story are scary and dangerous how did you decide how far to go with them?

Natalie: When I first wrote the book (three years ago) the villains weren’t nearly so scary. Then I started reading some scarier MG, like Neil Gaiman’s THE GRAVEYARD BOOK and Suzanne Collins GREGOR THE OVERLANDER series and realized scary is good.  The story got a little scarier every time I revised. I hope that it’s just scary enough now, but I suspect it will be too scary for some kids and not scary enough for others.

Me: Do you have a favorite line in the book?

Natalie: This is sort of a random one, but it’s always been one of my favorites. The main character, Ally, is home alone when the doorbell rings. She expects to see a door-to-door salesman and has a speech all ready for him. “Sorry, we are vegetarians who would never think of killing bugs and have nothing worth stealing. Our vacuum works fine, we just bought knives, and all of our charity money goes to Greenpeace.”

Me: What do you want kids to take away from this story, especially from the actions and relationships of your characters?

Natalie: For me, the story is about friendship and loyalty. I hope that shows through.

This is Natalie, a mother of four and children's book author represented by Sara Megibow of Nelson Literary Agency.

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This is an excerpt from my Goodreads review: A mystery is brewing in Grantsville. Ally thinks it odd that her younger brother, Eric, is digging in the backyard every free moment, and the boys at school all have dirt caked under their fingernails. They whisper and pass notes. Something is up, and Ally decides to snoop.
THE SECRET UNDERGROUND by Natalie Bahm is a fun, spooky middle-grade novel about the adventure and also trouble kids dig themselves into when they sneak around behind their parents’ backs, trying to gain access to the secrets and wonder of a long-closed steel mill. Ally has more to worry about than tunnels. She likes Paul, the cutest boy in her sixth-grade class and the one who the most popular girl, Taylor, has called dibs on.
Ally is also plagued by nerves ever since she witnessed a bank robbery by the dangerous and not-yet-apprehended Gauze Men (they cover all but their eyes with gauze).
Ally’s curiosity and fearlessness gets her admitted to the all-boy, secret-tunnel project, but they get in over their heads digging to a place where real danger lurks.
 There is mystery, intrigue, mortifying middle-grade moments, best-friend fights, mean-girl betrayals, and the wonder of friendship, loyalty and family love in this story.
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Natalie is donating the proceeds of this book to help the family of a little boy who's had the odds stacked against him since before he was born and still puts up a mighty fight to survive. Meet Jayden in his Mr. Cool Spidey mode:

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Natalie's blog
Help Baby Jayden blog
Roni Loren's interviews with Natalie, Sara Megibow about publishing

Where to buy (eBooks and print books available Sept. 28, check Natalie's blog for additional sites):
Amazon
iTunes

Book winner and many musings

The winner of a copy of the wonderful new release THE SEVEN TALES OF TRINKET by Shelley Moore Thomas is Laurel Garver, who if you've never met her is a Hobbit-loving, grammar-loving author/editor/blogger. I drew the winner the old-fashioned way from slips of paper in my hat. The paper was recycled from my WIP, so on the back it read, "You'll wake everyone." There you have it: A very good morning to all.
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Here are some good moments I found recently:
On a trail in the Dana Point highlands, searching for a songbird.

a questioning tweet
above, from a bird as small
and gray as a mouse
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Dozens and dozens, perhaps hundreds of these odd, tiny jellies washed ashore. They look like pretty paperweights, but I wouldn't dare pick one up. Watched my step, as well.
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The space shuttle Endeavour flying over my neighborhood! I loved how the pier was packed shoulder-to-shoulder and the beach dotted with people holding cameras and cell phones, waiting, then cheering. It was like magic came to call, and, for a moment, we were transported.
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So many pretty sunsets. And because we started with good morning, here's a shot of dawn on my block:

PSA: Later this week I have a Q&A with Natalie Bahm, author of THE SECRET UNDERGROUND, and one of the nicest people on the planet.

For the love of Trinket and a giveaway

Do you remember the first time someone told you a story that gave you shivers or that lived in your head for days? There can be such power in a story well told, and a gift in finding stories in the world around us.

In celebration of the release of THE SEVEN TALES OF TRINKET by Shelley Moore Thomas, I'm giving away a hardcover copy (I'm keeping another for myself, by the way!) and posting a little review:

What do you do when your father’s disappeared, your mother’s died, and all you’ve got is an old map and faint hope? Go on a quest, of course. I love Trinket—an eleven-year-old girl who discovers her talent and courage and never lets a challenge defeat her.

 THE SEVEN TALES OF TRINKET is an old-timey story that weaves Celtic folklore into Trinket’s journey of self-discovery. Trinket and her young friend, Thomas, earn their way and sometimes make their escape from gypsies, selkies, fairies, ghosties and more. From each experience, Trinket creates new tales and songs, which encourage her dream of becoming a bard.

“My mother’s last breaths begin this story, for each story has a beginning. That is the first thing a storyteller must learn.” Trinket learns not only beginnings but endings, of which there may be more than one. More importantly, she finds that the truth can be both painful and healing.

I enjoy sharing small samples of an author’s writing, so I’ll give you a taste of Shelley’s style:

The king said nothing. He turned to leave, gesturing with his hand, and all of the Gypsies stepped back together, as if in a dance. ‘Twas strangely beautiful as they all faded into their caravans and tents, leaving Thomas, myself, and the Gypsy girl alone together.

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There were bones on the shore. Bones of large sea beasts called whales. Whiter than the clouds, they rose from the rocks like the ghosts of old tree branches.

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Thomas made me think sometimes, which was a good thing and a bad thing. True, ‘twould not be the smartest course to follow a woman the village regarded as deranged. Follow her into the ocean, no less! And yet, I felt in my blood that there was a story to be found among the selkies. My mother once said that the secret to a good story was to listen to the hum in your veins.

In the back of THE SEVEN TALES OF TRINKET, Shelley wrote Author’s Notes about the folklore she used in the stories, such as this tidbit she shares about The Harp of Bone and Hair: “Harps made from bones and hair have appeared in folktales all over the world. More often than not, the bones used are human. However, there is an old tale of a babe stolen by faeries and a mother who bargains with a harp made of sea creature’s bones, which is the basis of this story.”

One of my favorite moments in this book comes in the Acknowledgments when Shelley tells her daughters: “My stories are always for you, first and foremost. So is my advice: never be afraid to live your dreams and tell your tales.”

And that is the heart of THE SEVEN TALES OF TRINKET.

Shelley’s blog StoryQueen’s Castle features her life as a professional storyteller, schoolteacher and author of ten children’s books, including the popular GOOD NIGHT, GOOD KNIGHT series.

 

Two launch parties are planned for Thursday, Sept. 20—one on her blog and one at the Barnes and Noble in Oceanside, CA at 6 p.m. where you’ll find Trinket swag, Shelley the StoryQueen and Irish dancers!

If you'd like to win a copy of this wonderful book, leave me a comment. In the spirit of Trinket, if you can, tell me a little anecdote of an early memory of a story that made an impression on you. And be sure to leave your email address so I can contact the winner chosen by random draw. I'll let this contest run through the weekend. If you want to Tweet or post, just let me know you did and you can add an extra draw for each.

To purchase Shelley's books:
IndieBound
Barnes&Noble
Amazon

Kids and books and dirt, oh my

This kid's abandon makes me grin as he plays in the water near Marina del Rey, CA. Behind him looms a barge and dredging machine. In this post I'm going to link kids and digging and books. Trust me.

This multi-million-dollar dredging project has been going on for months. The dredger lifts up buckets of sediment to clear the boat channel, and the barge gets hauled miles south to dump the sand at other ports where its needed.

When I first saw that tall rig, I couldn't figure out what it was, so I walked a mile or so to the marina for a closer look. I was even baffled the first time I saw the barge being hauled to sea. Eventually, I put all the puzzle pieces together (and looked online for an explanation!). There are so many projects and jobs in this world that are discoveries to me.

Here's someone watching the barge being tugged out to sea by a smaller craft.

Anyway, I promised kids and books and digging. Yesterday as I walked the shore, a boy yelled, "Dig faster!" to his friend. They were trying to beat the tide as they burrowed into wet sand. Their energy and enthusiasm were contagious, and again, I had to smile. This time I was thinking of a middle-grade adventure I just read, THE SECRET UNDERGROUND by Natalie Bahm, which captures the excitement of kids digging tunnels, the problem of where to put the dirt so they go undetected, the dark secrets they uncover, as well as the value of friendship and loyalty.

I'm not going to give away more than that today, because I have a fun Q&A with Natalie planned for the week of Sept. 28, the release date. Natalie will talk about why she likes to write for middle-graders--that transition period between being a kid and a teenager. If you haven't heard that she's donating all proceeds from the sale of this book to the family of a sick, little boy, she explains why here. *
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More heads up: There's another middle-grade book I'm going to highlight, THE SEVEN TALES OF TRINKET by Shelley Moore Thomas. I plan to review it this coming week, because Shelley is going to hold a launch party Sept. 20 with all kinds of Trinket-swag. You don't want to miss her party or this delightful book.
UPDATE: Shelley is hosting two parties on the 20th--one on her blog and one at 6 p.m. at the Oceanside Barnes & Noble in Southern California. If you're anywhere in that neighborhood, it looks like it's going to be really fun.

Retreat, retreat!

Hey, how was that writer's retreat, you might ask? I'm not posting tell-all pictures of round table discussions or people belting out Queen's "We are the champions," although that did happen (and I'm sure photos will surface...). Lyrics custom-made for writers, right? Karaoke night rocked. Agent Abigail Samoun put the cool into "Mack the Knife," and former stand-up comedian Karen Soliday sizzled Patsy Cline's "Walking After Midnight." What a night.

My phone camera came out, though, in reflective moments, which happened, too. Like this morning walk around a duck pond with a few other early risers.

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dabbling ducks jockey,
spreading frothy trails across
the olive-green pond

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This weekend event was held by the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators on the grounds of a religious retreat, which had the perfect blend of quiet areas and up-to-date facilities. Our four-person critique groups moderated by agents and editors were intensive and inspiring. Most of us did revising between sessions, coming out with stronger work before we went home.
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Letting my mind wander in the non-intense moments was restorative:

web invisible,
spider huge as an acorn
against the pale sky
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A grotto Mary
prays for eternity
in her rock cave
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The early-morning clouds shifted from pale pink and gold to white-against-blue quilts. On the eastern horizon one stark white thunderhead fist-pumped.

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So what's the take-away? I'm still processing, but some immediate thoughts:

Inspiration: It's hard to beat pros discussing your work with you, giving insight into what they think will make it better. Great advice was given by author/agent Jill Corcoran of the Herman Agency, Abigail Samoun, who was a children's book editor for ten years and now is an agent at Red Fox Literary and from Judy Enderle and Stephanie Gordon of Writers Ink. Heather Alexander, assistant editor at Dial Books for Young Readers, gave such substantive suggestions to each person that it was the buzz of the conference. Agent Jennifer Rofe of Andrea Brown Literary Agency came only for the final first-pages readings, so her comments came as one who hadn't heard earlier and longer versions.

Notes on writing and revising:
Learn to love revision. It's a time to explore.--Abigail
Look at every sentence and ask if it's developing the plot, the character, the world. If not, change it. --Heather

Fun: People had a good time despite the terror of reading their work in front of strangers and the horror of finding out how much work they still have to do if they hope to sell that work. Yeah, baby, no one said this is easy, so take a deep breath and try to enjoy the ride.

Deep breathing: Speaking of. The event included several stretch moments with Lynette Townsend, a certified Jazzercise instructor, who helped get the kinks out, not only for conference time but with tips for everyday desk work.

Organization: This almost deserves its own post. Every thing from check-in to meeting spots to meals was spot-on. I've rarely attended anything that ran so smoothly and was so well-planned in advance. Besides pre-event emails of our schedules and on-site print-outs, our name-tag holders included a little slip of paper with our individual schedule on it, so we'd never be clueless on where to be next. Just wow. On top of that, the organizers are all volunteer. I don't know everyone who helped out but here are some super-deserved shout-outs: Sarah Laurenson, Lee Wind, Nutschell Windsor, Marilyn Morton.

Would I go again? In a heartbeat.

The good things

I've had a terrible year as some of you know, but good things have happened, as they do, and I want to do a happy dance for some wonderful moments this summer.

Is this not the happiest little typewriter you ever saw? This bright watercolor surprised me when I opened an envelope with a note from writer/artist Faith Pray at Sacred Dirt, which read in part: "I offer a teeny bit of book swag and a very small painting I did to fuel your writing muse."

And there I was with a smile painted all over my face.

I admit my writing muse has been MIA, most likely due to the stress and grief I've been through, but I hope to keep working around that. In September, I'm attending the SCBWI's working retreat for a few days in LA. Anybody going?
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I've decided to leave this next photo as mysterious to you as it was to me: Easter Island comes to Venice Beach.

 

Not only giant heads but a carnival hit town that weekend. Except hardly anybody was on the rides, which looked time-shifted from the 1970s. It felt like something Ray Bradbury could've turned into a spooky story.
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We had a block party on our walk street, too. Venice Beach has residential streets that are pedestrian-only, with vehicle access in alleys behind homes.

It was fun, chatting, watching kids run about, eating. The food was amazing. I made these strawberries filled with cream cheese (just a tad of vanilla and sugar added) and sprinkled with sliced almonds. Big hit--easy, pretty and like healthy cheesecake.

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I met this colorful, friendly lady who vacations on her yacht in the marina during summer and lives in the desert Southwest other times of the year. Like me, she's had bouts with skin cancer, so she walks with this gorgeous purple parasol.

I love when someone turns an obstacle into a celebration.
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And, look! A guy reading on the beach! Doesn't this make your writerly, readerly hearts flutter?

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I hope everyone had a happy summer. May fall bring us a cornucopia of goodness.

And I have to mention a couple of book releases coming right up:  THE SEVEN TALES OF TRINKET by Shelley Moore Thomas and Natalie Bahm's THE SECRET UNDERGROUND. Two fantastic writers who will make the middle-grade readers in your life happy when you buy these books.

The continuing journey

A journey can begin in many ways.

It can be the act of traveling from one place to another, like this flight I took from L.A. to Phoenix. Or it can be a passage from one stage of experience to another, which was what drew me to Arizona in the middle of summer.

After days of sitting by my father's hospital bed, of being caught in a slipstream of my own making, I needed to take a drive.

I found a road that stretched for mile after mile through sparse brush and cactus. It was a relief to have a road almost to myself, no lanes packed with commuters and semis, no sense of jostle and push, just endless desert and sky.

And the occasional timeless mesa.

Out here I could let my thoughts go where they would. I had a lot to remember, a lifetime of love and regret to ponder, as my father faced the last journey he would ever take, one in which he had to travel alone with no luggage, no map to guide him.
I drove my rental car up, up, up a steep mountain road, needing to keep going, not knowing where. I came upon this.

When I stumble on nature in all its terrifying, stupendous glory, I'm reminded that we are the short-term visitors on this planet. Each of our lives, which seem so intensely important as we live them, is but a blink in the universe.

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My father's death came right before this year's WriteOnCon. I thought I would sit this one out. For those who don't know, the event is a free online conference for writers of children's lit. Tons of editors, agents and authors come together to talk  writing, revising, publishing.

I stuck my nose in, just to check it out. Next thing I knew, I'd decided to put a small sample of a WIP on the forum boards. Soon I was devouring the live chats, posts and critiques.

This year, the event helped me step back into life, but not just because it's inspiring and informative, which it is, but because of the people. There is so much good will, so many helping hands. And that's what life should be about.
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None of us knows when our journey's exit will be here, but there's a lot we can do to make the ride itself worth the price of the ticket.

Swept up in a caper

Woo-hoo, what a fun read! I've had Heist Society for a year or two, bought on a whim and buried in the TBR pile. I'm so glad I picked it up to read yesterday also on a whim and then couldn't put it down. A brilliant teen protagonist and her crew get into danger way over their heads. Or maybe not.

I loved all the art references and historical import embedded in this thrilling mystery/caper about a family of thieves and con artists. Fun and smart is a winning combo. Ally Carter you've got a new fan.

Here's a sample from the opening chapter, which says a lot about Kat and her family:

"Kat's bags were packed in twenty minutes. She might have lingered, saying her good-byes, but there were no good-byes to say. And so, after three months at Colgan, Kat couldn't help but wonder if the day she got expelled from boarding school might become the proudest moment of her family's long and colorful past. She imagined everyone sitting around Uncle Eddie's kitchen table years from now, telling about the time little Katarina stole a whole other life and then walked away without a trace."

There are hot boys, of course, but, like the rest of this story about beautiful things, they are far more than eye candy. Here's another writing sample, still early in the story but setting up the danger to come:

"She tried to pull away, but Hale's chest was pressed against hers. His hands were warm against her skin. There was a new urgency in his voice as he whispered, 'Listen to me, Kat. He's not a bad guy like your dad and Uncle Eddie are bad guys.' He took a deep breath. 'Like I'm a bad guy. This guy? His name's Arturo Taccone, and he's a whole different kind of bad.' In the two years since she'd met him, Kat had seen Hale wear a lot of expressions: playful, intrigued, bored. But she had never seen him scared before, and that, more than anything, made her shiver."

And, finally, here's a snippet of a scene when she is closing in on the terrible secret at the center of this mystery:

"Despite the freezing wind, she pulled her black ski cap from her head. In the glass of the door's small window she saw her hair standing on end, felt the static coursing through her--a charge that had been building for days. She knew answers lay behind that red door. Not all. But some. And she feared that if she turned to walk away now, gripped the metal railing of the stairs, the charge might stop her heart."

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For regular followers of my blog, my father did pass away last week. I will, no doubt, write more about that loss, but I don't want to now. There is gratitude that I spent time with him and we talked, as well as grief, of course. Lauren Oliver's Liesl & Po, which I wrote about in the last post, helped me tackle some issues, and this review of Heist Society is just what I needed to regain my footing in life, which goes on and is always filled with import and wonder despite its sorrows. And, anyway, my dad loved to read and he always enjoyed a good mystery. Here's to you, Dad.

Writing from the heart of loss

I haven't had an easy time reading lately due to life stuff, but as soon as I picked up Liesl & Po I was sucked in. Perhaps it was because my father is dying and the the first line of this MG novel is "On the third night after the day her father died, Liesl saw the ghost." I felt drawn to the story then, as if it was meant to be read at this time, and, also, I'm a fan of Lauren Oliver's storytelling, having loved the incredible YA books, Before I Fall and Delirium.

Liesl has been locked in the attic of her family home by her stepmother since her father took ill. Po, a shadowy figure who exists in the Other Side, comes to visit her, curious about the pictures she draws. He helps her escape whereupon she meets Will, another orphan escaping from wicked adults. This has the feel of a Gothic fairytale for kids, dealing with the murky concepts of life after death, of the possibility of ghosts and why they stick around, of something else beyond that in-between place. I thought Oliver did a good job of exploring these concepts and their nebulousness.

Here is a sample of when we meet Will, the mistreated apprentice of an alchemist who sends him on errands at all hours of the night: "As he walked down empty street after empty street, past row after row of darkened houses, in silence so thick it was like a syrup that dragged his footsteps away into echoes before he placed a heel on the ground, he had imagined it perfectly: how he would come around the corner and see that tiny square of light so many stories above him, and see her face floating there like a single star."

And Liesl as she remembers life before the attic: "And so she squeezed her eyes tight and climbed down the tower of months she had been in the attic, reaching back into the rooms of her memory that were dusty and so dim she could catch only little, flickering glances of things. There! Her father leading her into the shade of the great willow tree, patterns of green dancing across his cheeks."

And here is a sample of Po's reaction when Liesl tries to grab the ghost's hands. The ghost's gender is nebulous, as well, by the way: "Po could pass through brick walls without feeling a thing; it could disperse into currents of air without pain. But it had felt the girl's hands, somehow, as though she'd been able to reach in and pull at Po's Essence. Essence was not a physical matter, Po knew. No one could touch it. No one could destroy it either; that was the nice thing about Essence."

And that is the nice thing about Liesl & Po, it lets us imagine the possibility of something beyond our troubles, to find comfort in friendship, to accept the wonder that is the essence of those we love.

When I read Oliver's Author's Note, I knew why the book resonated so well with me. She had written this story from the heart of loss, after the death of her best friend. She says writing isn't an escape, it's a way back in, a way to make sense of the world. And so is reading sometimes.

My dad

My dad is in the hospital. Very weak. Fluid around his heart. A growth on his lung.

I feel like this hat. Lost. Beat up. Waiting for the tide to carry me to the deep, as it has too many times this past year.

You'd think I'd be used to it.

I am not.

*
I have a journal I gave him as a gift (blank), which he filled up and sent back to me some years ago. I'm reading it again, seeing his life through his eyes.

Here are a few lines from his lifelong love of travel and adventure:
"Our first stop was Bermuda...the island could not hide its beauty, and I knew I would visit it again sometime, somehow." (He did indeed return and ended up living there awhile with my mother and sister.)

"Fez is built on a hill, overlooking two valleys landscaped with date and palm orchards. The city is over a thousand years old and at one time had constructed a tall wall around the outer perimeter to protect themselves from enemies. Most of the buildings are white with red slate-tiled roofs and , as you approach the city from a distance it appears to be shimmering."

At the journal's end he wrote: "Well, at least I got as far as Shanghai. I'll get another book and continue..."

Flying high on DEVINE INTERVENTION

Time for a little book love. This one has wings. Well, not the way you think...

There's one thing I have to say about Martha Brockenbrough's YA novel DEVINE INTERVENTION before anything else:

Great voice!

Seriously, I don't know how she found Jerome's voice but it is golden.  Jerome, a bit of a screw-up with attitude, gets shot in the head with his cousin's arrow and finds himself in soul rehab, where he's assigned as guardian angel to Heidi Devine, a girl with confidence issues. Of course, he immediately "loses" his guardian angel handbook and does as he pleases.

On her website, Ms. Brockenbrough calls herself an author of books for smart kids and juvenile adults, which couldn't be more on mark. This book is clever, hilarious, honest and insightful for almost any age.

 Can I, or may I, say again how great the voice is? Because I have to. The story is told in two POVs--Jerome in first person and Heidi in third.

 At the end of the first chapter when Jerome reflects on his failed school assignment in 8th grade to take care of an egg all week as if it were a baby, we discover he has some pretty complex layers: "At school the next day, I didn't tell Mrs. Domino it was my pop who ate my egg baby. Even with how things were at home, I have a rule about not ratting because I don't do that to family, no matter what. So I told her I did it, and that it tasted excellent. Because if you're going to get in trouble anyway, you might as well go out in a blaze of glory. That has always been my style. Which explains a lot about the thing that happened later with Heidi."

Life is messy and complicated and this story doesn't pretend it isn't. This is no angel saves the day tale. It is full of misunderstandings and mistakes made by Jerome and Heidi, but they both see the world and other people differently by the end, and, in one way or another, save themselves. And, speaking of the end, this one is a shocker.

Peace to you, Sage Stallone

The world has lost a fine storyteller with the untimely death of Sage Stallone at 36. My heart aches for a death so young and for the terrible loss to his family.

I interviewed Sage in 2006 when I was a features writer for a daily newspaper (The Press-Enterprise) and I annually covered the Palm Springs International Film Festival. Sage's short film "Vic" played the festival.

He was 30 at the time, and I was so impressed that he'd chosen to write and direct a character-driven film about an aging actor whose career and life were in free fall.

"All my life I've been into film and following the careers of actors who once their contracts expired they were nowhere to be found," Sage said in that interview. "It always intrigued me and bothered me at the same time." Some of those actors died in near-poverty, some took roles in low-budget horror films to get by.

 Because he knew actors like that he said he sometimes had trouble watching his own film. "It makes me sad," he said. "It affects my soul."

Sage paid his own dues as an actor and an assistant to cinematographer Vilmos Zsigmond. When he was only 19 he used his earnings from film work to purchase the rights to horror classics, which he re-mastered and presented uncut on DVD. He was passionate about film.

I'm disturbed by conjecture about whether his death was suicide or drug overdose. I don't pretend to know the answer, but I do know the person I talked to was vibrant and compassionate and had a whole lot to offer the world.

My thoughts are with his family and friends.

Nine lives and counting with Sarah Wylie

Two-for-one! This post is longer than usual because it contains my Goodreads review of Sarah Wylie’s debut ALL THESE LIVES and a lovely interview with Sarah. So if you already read my review, skip on down to find out what Sarah has to say about writing, procrastinating and playlists.

 Review: If someone you loved was dying, what kind of deals would you make with God or the Universe or whatever might have the power to change things? What would you try if you believed you had nine lives and your twin had been granted only one and it was faltering? This is what drives Dani, the teen protagonist of ALL THESE LIVES.

 I loved this book. That's the first thing I have to say. Second, I've followed Sarah Wylie's blog since before she had a book deal. What drew me there was her humor, fresh take on the world and her oh-so-clever commentary. I pretty much figured I was going to like her debut novel, because I already liked her writing style and spirit. I not only like this book, I'm stunned by the risks Sarah took, or I believe she took, in developing this character, who is flawed and absolutely authentic. Dani tugged at my heart.

 A few reader-reviewers have said they dislike Dani because she is sarcastic and sometimes verbally aggressive, but this is the very thing that is so real in this story. Dani wasn't always this way. She is doing what so many kids, or even adults, do when they're helpless and afraid, she's striking out, and because she's smart she often uses barbed words. Even she knows it's inappropriate. She does it anyway until she learns some things about herself, her family and her friends.

 What is so beautiful about Dani is the way she tries to use up her extra lives to buy her sister more time. Other people see a girl acting up or looking for attention when she does crazy stuff and gets hurt. She never tells anyone that she's bartering with the universe and doesn't believe she deserves to be spared while her sister is destroyed.

When I was a newspaper features writer I did a series of articles on a teenage girl with leukemia. She was undergoing bone marrow transplant, and I clearly remember her younger sister standing in the shadows of her sick sister, their parents, the doctors. It's a tough place for a kid to be. I was awed by how Sarah not only got that but built an unexpected story around it.

Recently, I wrote about Patrick Ness's A MONSTER CALLS, another book with a kid protagonist facing cancer in a close family member. That boy, too, acts out in frustration and tries to survive in a terrifying situation. Both Ness and Wylie found extraordinary ways to help their characters cope and grow.

 Sarah put a short prologue on this story that is breathtaking: This is how it feels to die. It starts from outside and works its way in. Your cuticles, the tips of your fingers. Fire under your nails that spreads into your bones, burning and freezing everything it comes into contact with. Your arms, your ankles, your teeth, your knees, your stomach, and the place where your heart should be. Your heart is always the last to go. One hundred irregular beats per minute, and then zero. But that's just the start. The start of dying. This is the rest.

 Sarah graciously agreed to an email Q&A, which I hope you enjoy:

 Q: How did this story develop? Did it begin with an idea of a girl who thought she had nine lives? Or with a character who is helpless in the face of her sister's illness? Or something else?

Sarah: At the very start, the story was going to be from Jena’s perspective – about her illness and her family’s attempts to cope with it. But as soon as her sister, Dani, showed up, I knew the story was hers. She had such a distinctive voice, and I couldn’t get it out of my head. The idea of Dani having nine lives came along later. I’d figured out that the story was Dani's, but I wasn’t quite ready to start writing it. Something seemed to be missing.

 So I did what I do best – procrastinate. Actually, I called it “making a playlist.” And in the process of doing so, I came across the song “All These Lives” by Daughtry, which isn’t about having multiple lives, but the idea for Dani’s nine lives popped into my mind, and I finally felt ready to write the story. Take-home message: er...procrastinate?

(Insert your goofy blog host laughing and loving that she can now make a playlist and her WIP will fall neatly into place. :D )

 Q: Did you have any personal experience that led to this story idea, or did you become interested through research in how siblings cope with traumatic illness? Was there anything surprising in what you learned?

 Sarah: Thankfully, All These Lives didn’t come from one particular personal experience. But the last few years, I’ve watched many people I care about go through enormous loss. There was a period of time when I was completely paralyzed by this fear of something happening to the people I love most, of being powerless and unable to help them in any way. I wanted to capture that a little bit in All These Lives. Most of the research I did pertained to the medical aspect of the book. I tried to trust the fear and uncertainty I’d been battling with personally in writing the more emotional aspects.

Q: Did the story change much from concept to final book?

 Sarah: I don’t think there were any huge changes to the story from concept to final book. The heart of the book, the characters, and plot were always pretty much what you see in the final version. Which isn’t to say that the book didn’t need quite a bit of revision, but most of the changes were smaller things; things like pacing and consistency (it turns out there are 26 hours in a day!). We also worked quite a bit on Dani’s belief that she has nine lives.

 Q: How would you describe the personal journey for you from idea to publication?

Sarah: The journey to publication has definitely been an adventure. It has been more than I ever thought it would be. In every sense of the word. More surprising, more eye-opening, more terrifying, more humbling. I’ve learned so much about the publication process (and writing! And revising!), but there’s still so much I’m learning. I feel really grateful to work with the people I do, and to have gone on this incredible journey.

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Book trailer

Sarah's next young adult novel is scheduled for release in 2013.

Don't diss the dragons

There are dragons in my dreams. They tell me their secrets from when the world began and how our stories intertwine.
I never cared about dragons one way or another. I didn't seek out books about them or draw their pictures when I doodled. I didn't pay much attention as to why they pop up throughout the world in many cultures with their leathery wings and spiked spines and fiery breath.
But, for whatever reason, they sought me out, whispering tales in my ears and making them spill out my fingers.

And now I see them.

Lost

When are we lost? When we can no longer see our path, find our way?

When we no longer care where our feet lead us?

When our feet don't move at all?

When the contents of our lives become untethered?

A couple of weeks ago I saw a single, filigree earring half-buried in shore sand. I walked on a little way, thinking I should do a post on things lost, so I turned around and went back to photograph the earring. I couldn't find it again. Sometimes things and people are truly lost and stay that way.

But I went looking for lost things again and found some and thought about how melancholy I was feeling. The water-logged spiral notebook in the drowned tote above made me wonder if a writer or student lost their musings and creations to sea and sand. Did the bag fall from a boat, off the pier? (I directed the county harbor crew to it, by the way.)

 I've lost a lot of people this last year and some precious things, including faith in myself at times. It is the nature of life--birth and death, lost and found, doubt and confidence, joy and sorrow. Without the dark would we appreciate the light?