| DEAD IS THE NEW BLACK |
[Jun. 16th, 2008|11:34 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  contemplative | ] |
Dead is the New Black is a totally fun new read by Marlene Perez. The school's most popular cheerleader (Nightshade High School) appears totally Goth including the "it" accessory, a small rolling coffin. And then things really get strange. Daisy has two sisters, Poppy and Rose. Daisy is a "normal" but her sisters and mother all have paranormal powers. And then there's a pesky werewolf and a coven and vampires that suck life force instead of blood and. . .well, how much fun can you have in one book?
I had a great time with this one. It skips along like a lilting tune with a hint of mystery that trails through out. Clever one liners sprinkled here and there. And the best part? It's the first book of a trilogy.
Now there's something interesting. I read another book, an adult read WHAT THE DEAD KNOW and it is about two girls that go missing and thirty years later one shows up claiming to be the youngest of the missing sisters. She knows things about the sisters she shouldn't know unless she was who she claims she is, but some of what she claims is inconsistent with known facts. Who is she? Now my interest was piqued because the girls were named Heather and Sunny. Both flowers. I wrote a book with a girl that returns claiming she is the dead Jasmine and her sister is Sunny (for Sunflower) and all the women in the family are named for flowers. Now we have three mysteries dealing with death and the paranormal the girls are all named for flowers. There has to be something psychological about this. All these females are strong in these three books and set against the big boogey man of all--Death. Do our fevered little author minds go straight to dichotomy,want the juxtaposition of the fragile beauty of the flower against the dark power of death? I know I had the idea of something that blooms bright then fades quickly but comes back, reviving and blooming again. Just wondering if the other authors were thinking along the same lines.
But I digress--Dead is the New Black. Get it. Read it. Have a great time. |
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| The Art of Racing In the Rain |
[Jun. 2nd, 2008|08:15 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  ecstatic | ] |
I was lucky enough to be during a speaking tour of Kansas City and a literary festival there recently (lovely folks, lovely place, had a a terrific time) and I saw a book in Starbucks with an intriguing cover. The Art of Racing In The Rain by Garth Stein. There was a dog on the cover which both attracted and repelled me. I'm with Gordon Cormon in NO MORE DEAD DOGS when the characters says (and I paraphrase) "If there's a dog on the cover you know he's gonna be a goner by the end of the book." The book was up front enough to say that the dog is the narrator and this is the last day of his life and he is looking forward to his reincarnation as a man--okay, I was hooked. It was either going to be silly or fabulous. It was fabulous.
Enzo the dog is determined to become a person. He belongs to a budding race car driver who excels at driving in the rain. Denny marries, has a child, loses his wife to cancer and his rich in laws make the next several years of his life sheer torture by taking possession of and trying to get custody of his child. WHy? Enzo--part dog and mostly philosopher say it's because they are evil but it shows us that it's because they are in pain, they have money and want someone to blame. THey have to drive their pain away by blaming someone, because being angry hurts less than accepting the death of someone you love. They want someone else to hurt more than they do and they want to watch that hurt than experience their own. Certainly it's horrible but it's human.
The last section of the book, where Enzo dies is heartbreaking indeed and Enzo learns a lesson that surprises him. I was barely able to read because of the tears, but I have to admit it's amazingly written. Not sugary, not florid, but fluid and wonderful. It ended up being not the part I dreaded but my favorite part.
This one stays on my shelf. It gets recommended but it doesn't leave my house.
Do I recommend it for young adults? Yes! Seeing people in the "I will do this to you because I can" is painful, but understanding it is essential. I think a young person that reads this will never resort to that behavior. I also think Denny's grace under pressure (through Enzo's guidance) is a worthy model. And those were the funny parts making it non-preachy.
And it tells you that the world isn't all sharp edges and dead ends. Sometimes there are people that offer a helping hand. You should release your pride and show the wisdom to take it.
"The car goes where the eyes see." |
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| Would I Tell You That If It Were True? |
[May. 25th, 2008|10:47 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  mischievous | ] |
I'm not sure if I'm a cheeky monkey or just mean. I have my opinion, but the the rest of the world might differ.
Here's the thing. I'm trying to teach myself to oil paint so I have been in and out of my local Michael's store lately. I'm not sure about other Michael's but this one is manned by cranky women who would rather take out their own eye with a corkscrew than help a customer. Seriously, when I need help, I ask nice with a pretty please and a smile. It bounces off the Michael's people like pebbles off a tin roof. So after about five sessions of increasingly rude behavior, I was losing my patience. But I refused to play their game and while I'm not up to Dahli Llama status I'm at least trying for Dahli Alpaca--but even Zen students can entertain themselves occasionally, right?
I bought three brushes and went to the front. The woman took oh, six to seven days to ring up the amount, I gave her cash and she still asked my phone number and zip code. I've gotten a little paranoid about giving out personal info and I said, as I usually do to such a request, "I don't give out that information." The clerk bristles and says, I HAVE TO HAVE it to ring this up." I leaned over the counter and whispered--"I can't give it to you because I'm in the witness protection program. Put in your information if you like." She backed away like I was leaking radiation. Magically the register no longer needed any of that information to clear the purchase. She was so still in surprise if I had put one finger on her forehead and pushed she'd have toppled right over.
The poor woman is going to tell people that she met a criminal and then her audience will explain that if someone is in witness protection they generally don't advertise that fact to cranky clerks.
But it was entertaining to me and payback to boot. Yes, I guess that makes me mean. Sue me. |
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| More Kindle |
[Apr. 26th, 2008|08:17 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | hopeful | ] |
For the Kindle people. It appears it will do all kinds of things. You can hook it to your computer and down load music. You can send manuscripts to it. You can clip, dogear pages, highlight passages and makes notes about sections (I think all for bookclub kind of stuff) there's a dictionary so you can look up words while you read and you can even get your e mail on it. You have to pay for the e mail part though and possibly a small fee to download your manuscripts, I don't remember. I think if you really work with it the Kindle does everything but answer the phone and cook dinner. I just want to read books without wagging a ton of them around and having to shelve them, when I know I'm not going to read them again.
Yep, the Kindle is my microwave. |
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| And now for the advertisement |
[Apr. 26th, 2008|08:46 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | excited | ] |
I just got a Kindle. You know that eReader that Amazon made and sold out of at Christmas. Well, they are shipping again. I had hoped to wait for Steve Jobs to make an IRead--but he went and said that people don't read (you know statistics say that men read 5 books a year and women read nine--that means that folks like you me are really skewing those numbers--I'm reading books for a small city) so I figured Apple wouldn't be putting out the iRead while I was still dementia-free enough to read it.
My e-friend Jackie Mitchard said she had one and loved it. If I go for a two day trip I take four books and that's heavy baggage since I don't like to check baggage--I'm toting it. I decided to give myself a mother's day present. It came. I have an Amazon account so when I plugged it in, it comes on reading "Hello Gail Giles, you are ready to read." And I was. All I had to do was hit a button to choose a book, no hooking to the computer, no nothing, and in less than a minute I had a book ready to read. No jacket art, no flap copy to read, no acknowledgments--that's disappointing because I love to peruse that stuff. It comes with a leather jacket that I had all of 6 hours before the dog chewed it up. I ordered a third party new one because there were things about the included jacket that I found irritating, but if the dog hadn't chewed it, I would have found a way around that. White page, black letters which you can make bigger (cool) and it doesn't scroll-you tap a button, there's one an either side, and it "turns" the page. This was must for me. I don't want to scroll. It has a sleep setting to conserve battery power and an off button. It goes to sleep if you haven't turned a page for ten minutes, so you can fall asleep over you book without worrying about battery power.
The rigid jacket serves well to prop it up on it's side if you want to read in bed on your side (as I do)--Can we just say, I love it so much I want to marry it? It holds up to 200 books. Traveling will be a breeze. Yes you can use it on the plane. Just turn off the whispernet (wireless) connection.)
It's not going to replace all books. There are books you still want to savor and feel and see the jacket and hold. There are books that need the color pictures. Research books are easier to deal with in regular form. But novels you read and generally don't want to shelve--and I have tons of those--for traveling with a bunch of books--it's beyond great.
Will we go completely to e publishing?
Can anyone remember when the microwave first came out? Everyone was trying to say we would do away with conventional ovens. They tried to force the microwave to do it all. Didn't happen. But can you function nearly as well without your microwave now? Not me. I used my oven for the things it does best and my microwave in tandem--it does part of the meal--it does things before the final product goes in the over. It does some things all alone. The microwave became a valuable partner in the kitchen, not a replacement. I think maybe the e readers are going to do the same thing.
It's a whole new world. Like it or not change is inevitable. We keep what works, we tweak what doesn't and we pitch what will never happen. I'm never going to bake a cake in a microwave. Some books will never work on e books. But right now, this one going in my purse with six or seven books ready for me to travel. |
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| AND THEN . . .TLA |
[Apr. 20th, 2008|10:13 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  exhausted | ] |
I got home from Denver to have a 12 day headache and as soon as it stopped, I went to TLA in Dallas. That's BIG D, to you non-Texans. I traded my big boxy Volvo for a sporty two seater, so I decided to let the TSA hassle someone else this trip and drive. I cranked up the iPod (Queen for most of the trip) and I won't tell if I obeyed the speed limits until the statute of limitations has expired. The hotel was posh, the staff was all Southern charm and hospitality as was everyone else that had to do with TLA (okay the lady checking badges wouldn't listen to reason when I didn't have a badge--have you ever seen eyes ACTUALLY narrow into slits? I'm not just talking squint.) The panel was fun. I love meeting authors I have read and totally enjoyed and then get to match the person to their book. I met some people I have "chatted" with on listservs. That's fun too. I cruised for ARCS. I feel cheated because after I got home I heard Nancy Werlin's new ARC was there and I missed it. The horror. I got to see my Texas buddy Libba Bray. We didn't need the bail money this time either. Libs, are we getting mellow? Nah. Cindy Chima, Jordon Sonnenblick, Terry Trueman, met the Printz winner for American Born Chinese--is very tall, very cute and really young. I'm SUCH A LATE BLOOMER--many others--how great is it when there are too many names to drop?
Read my first Arc of the pile: BURN. Frankly, it reminds me a lot of RIGHT BEHIND YOU. Covers a lot of the same themes and issues, so, of course, I liked it. It certainly tackles the issue close to my heart of second chances, of the courts trying young people as adults--which if you read my blog, I feel is a legal form of child abuse--and about the fact that a young person's brain develops the ability to foresee consequences later than the teen years. It tackles school bullying and how adults in the schools, the town, the homes allow the bullies to exist and that going to school every day is like going to a war zone unarmed every, single day for some kids.
Before I read this book, on my panel I said that bullying, taunting, teasing, making fun of another person is, in my opinion, a sin. A true sin. Because you take from them, dignity and humanity. And then I read this book and I think it shows that once you take what is human from a person--what you have left is dangerous, indeed. It's hard to decide who is most responsible. The person with no humanity left who did the horrible deed--or the person who knowingly stripped him of the humanity in the first place? What a tangled mess we created when we allow bullies room to operate.
Off my soapbox. Read BURN when it's out in November. |
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| Denver Rocks |
[Apr. 20th, 2008|10:02 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | chipper | ] |
So, a couple of weeks ago I was honored to speak and participate at the Denver Lit Fest. First, Denver is a great city and second, full of really nice people. And they read. Alane Ferguson of The Christopher Killers series was also there and it got a little creepy. We are sort of thinking we were separated at birth. Every time we uttered a sentence we found yet another connection between us. When we were on a panel together, the kids started laughing because one of us would say something and the other would get a surprised look and yet another "Me too!" would issue forth. Anyone, love her books, love her, smart, funny and tons of good times. Read all her books, that's a command.
My pals Jordan Sonnenblick and David Lubar are set for next year. This year was for creepy and next for fun. Don't miss them.
There was also a fun dinner and lots of top secret gossip. There was evil giggling. Yes, giggling from a very old woman--that would be me--and several young ones. Jenna O. Hi, you are the best and tons of fun and your lips had best be sealed my friend.
I had a great time in Denver. Thanks to the committee and to all the people who were so gracious to me.
Oh and I got to meet my third cousin. Haven't seen her in person since she was three but we e mail. Had dinner with her, the love of her life and their little boy, Logan, who is too cute to be legal. E-mail and GPS are the most wonderful inventions ever. |
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| The T Shirt that Roared |
[Mar. 23rd, 2008|10:47 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | amused | ] |
So I am in Wal Mart. A place I never, ever like to be. My husband is paying and I'm sitting in one of those benches that are made to be "cute." They are also made to be uncomfortable so you will get off your bohonkus and buy something already. People watching, as all good writers should do, I hit the jackpot. A mother, who looked amiable enough and her son walked by. He was in that age that's hard to pinpoint. A tall ten or one of those 12's that hit the growth spurt but still looked young, puberty is lurking, but it's lurking from afar. All elbows and knuckles and ears with glasses too big for his face and shambling after Mom on too feet like an affable pup, he wears a tee shit, bright red with screaming yellow letters that read "I POOTED."
I got a case of the giggles that wouldn't let go. It was the kid's total obliviousness, his innocence combined with the message that broke me up. I couldn't stop laughing. Then I got pensive. Okay, it was my old baggage clicking in--who bought the shirt and did the kid choose to wear it? Now, since the mother and child did have agreeable looks on both faces, I'm leaning in the direction of the kid is confident enough to think the shirt is funny and wears it on his own. And that just kicks butt. But if not. . . and that child is so used to being denigrated that he's now oblivious to it. . .
Yes, I know. I always go to the worst case scenario because my mother and frankly the nuns in elementary school used humiliation as a "discipline" tool. I've got to say it did work. If they humiliated you enough--you never did it again. But they broke something important and you either became wallpaper or you simmered in anger. I can't fault them. It was what they were told was the way to raise a child. How to "fix" us. Like the doctors in the 1400's were told to put fecal matter on a wound.
But, I'm back to the kid and the shirt. I'm voting that this young man was telling me something entirely different. I think he might be the child I wanted to be and wasn't. I think he looks a bit nerdy (adults can see past the adolescent disproportions and know he'll grow into his features and be quite a looker, BTW) but wears that shirt to say, "I know, but I also know that I can make fun of myself because pooting is only for a minute. I can walk away from it. I am more than a poot. I am more than this body. I am fun. I am funny and I know just who I am. And I can take it."
Or maybe it was just a shirt that he took out of his brother's drawer because all of his were dirty. |
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| Responses |
[Feb. 29th, 2008|08:21 am] |
This is a comment I got on my blog recently.
YOU LOOK LIKE A MAN IN YOUR PICS LOL YOUR FAT
I'm not sure if all bloggers get this kind of response at one time or another, but the same person left another comment of much the same type on another entry. I think it's an interesting dynamic. Does this person come back to see if and how soon their response is removed? What is the purpose of this invective? So I'm going to do what isn't expected and answer.
First of all, hi Mom. Not Mom? Oh, see Mom used to talk to me like that a lot. Then it was was "You look like a boy." Nice to see I've grown up. So this is old news to me. And I pretty much agree with you. I longed all my life to be beautiful, or pretty or even just passable. I did used to be skinny. I would correct your grammar on that part, but, why bother? I don't like my picture taken because of the whole "looks" thing, but those that know insist readers want to know what authors look like. I am sorry my look offended yet another person. I did put the dog in there so there would be something cute to look at.
Interesting thing about that dog. He's dead now. I had to have him put to sleep. He was a fear biter. I don't know what happened to him in his past (maybe it was just getting a good look at me) but when he was afraid he turned aggressive and growled and bit. He bit me, his trainer, the dog whisperer I hired, the vet techs and even took out after my grandchildren. He was afraid of boxes, bicycles, running children--all sorts of things. He weighed 135 pounds so he was dangerous because he was so unpredictable. It broke my heart to have to put him down. I guess because I knew he spent his life afraid and when you're always afraid you can't possibly be happy. |
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| "You Are Nothing" |
[Feb. 17th, 2008|09:30 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  angry | ] |
I was a speaker at a lit fest a few weekends ago and I KNOW I shouldn't talk about another speaker but this is just too much for me to ignore. The speaker said some things I agreed with, but I didn't like how he said them. I don't need a thought to be pounded in with a chisel AND a hammer--but some things--I wanted to stand up and say "Don't listen to what he just said."
So any teen who was there--you'll know-- don't listen. Basically, the theme was good--aim for greatness. All good. Defining greatness, personal greatness might be the problem here. I don't see greatness as wealth or power or celebrity and I think, possibly that might be the terms this man was working with. He told the audience that if you don't go to college and get a degree "You are nothing. Nothing. NOTHING!"
I wanted to jerk the microphone out of his hand and send him to the principal's office. College degrees are not a determinator of one's worth. Do I wish teens would strive for a degree? Sure. Why? Because it gives them options. It lets you choose if you want to be an engineer or a janitor. And hey, someone might rather be a janitor. (I don't think that's the politically correct term now.) But, if someone wants, really wants a job that they can see immediate results, go home without worrying about the stress and strains of the next day, likes a job that's fundamentally repetitive and so he or she can think their own thoughts, and go home and enjoy their children, really enjoy their home and family without worrying about whatever happens when an engineer does something wrong--and doesn't long for all the things a more lucrative work will bring. This sounds like a good life to me.
I'm one of those early baby boomers. Those people that rejected a lot of standard issue thought. We ALL got degrees because we were supposed to. And I know a lot of my friends ended up rejecting the jobs they studied to get. I was one of them. I ended up teaching. Yes, you do need a degree for that. We're back to options.
But is everyone suited for college? Just look at the word everyone and guess what my answer is. Am I suited for the military? Try to get me to take orders for ten minutes without questioning them much less a whole day then a life time? Try to get me to GIVE an order without explaining why it's necessary. You can't run a war that way. But then ask me how to really run a war. Get two leaders in a room and let them throw manure at each other until one gives up. Yes, I know it won't work. But it should.I wish no country needed a military to protect. But we do. And we need people--the right people in it. Yes, lots use the military as a way to get to a degree. But some just love it. Some need a degree to advance. Some want to stay right where the action is.
If you want to measure money--some of the world's richest men don't have degrees. Some of the greatest writers didn't. But these are exceptions to the rule. I am NOT knocking continuing your education. It does make you--I don't know--different in all kinds of ways. It gives you confidence--maybe because it gives you choices and options. But not having one--just not being able to get the money or the help to get there--or knowing deep in your gut that you aren't ready or it's not for you--doesn't put a big subtraction mark that equals out to zero.
Anyway--the moral of this story is--no one else gets to tell you that you are nothing. Ever. It's never true. And even if you might believe it just now---I believe in second chances--so take one of those if you need it. |
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| Peace, joy and swift jab with the elbow |
[Jan. 4th, 2008|05:24 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | touched | ] |
If you're new here, you might not know that I'm a Christmas Scrooge and I'm married to another one. Don't even put up a tree. Used to when my son was little but once he moved out--it was over. Of course, I overindulge my grands with presents, I'm a Scrooge, not an ogre, but really, all the Christmas stuff. HATE IT. As soon as the Salvation Army people start clanking that bell, I get in a bad mood and I'm not over it until New Year's fireworks are done.
So, I could have made this all up. But I didn't have to. I'll swear on Bibles stacked thirty deep that I witnessed this behavior. I didn't want to. It was ugly. But it wraps up my feelings about Christmas in a bow. I stupidly went to Target last Sunday because I needed to wash towels and I was out of detergent. And really, it's near a bookstore where Libba Bray's new book was supposed to be on sale(SOLD OUT). As I entered the parking lot, I got a bad feeling. Too many cars. People behaving badly. Arguing in the lot. Tension. Anger. Then I hit the store and it's packed. People are fighting for the carts. What is going on? Then I see the signs. Seventy five per cent off all Christmas items. And that how many IQ points that had flown out the window of each person racing toward the sale aisle too. I just wanted detergent. But as I walked back to get it, I passed a man that elbowed a woman that was, well let us call her quite senior to him. He absolutely jammed his elbow into her arm and side pushing her away so he could grab a box. She screeched "That's mine. It's mine. I saw it first." He put the box in his cart. "I got it first. My wife sent me to get these and I'm not leaving without them." He turns his cart and I see the item they have gone to blows over.
Christmas cards. Doves holding a banner that reads: Peace and Joy to All.
Irony in the aisle at Target. I love this country. |
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| Sometimes you don't just THINK you're stupid. . . |
[Dec. 26th, 2007|12:31 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  ditzy | ] |
So, I have this really, really old iPod mini. Like the first generation of the iPod mini. And I've worn the poor thing out. The wheel that you turn and press to get to your tunes is all mushy and sometimes you get there and sometimes you don't. So, I hooked it to my car. But my car isn't exactly as iPod friendly as touted. It lets you have six channels for your Pod and it doesn't play your audiobooks as the Pod does. You have to kind of cheat and put them on a regular play list and do it that way. It works okay. Sort of, kind of. I downloaded FINN. It's the backstory of Huck Finn's father. And it's really good. But, I don't drive a lot. Short trips here and there and not many of those so I hear the story in bits and pieces. But, I'm thinking, wow, this guy really takes chances here. This story is complicated by it's non-linear story. It hops to and fro from future to past and even that is out of order. Usually when there are time shifts, you start at one place, skip to the future but come back to the place in the past where you left off. Not so, this story. It's all over the time line. Brilliant, but chancy, I thought, hard to follow but showing the chaos of Finn's life, the way he couldn't couldn't count on what would happen tomorrow, how he was at the mercy of fate, and Huck, of course, at the mercy of his father's fate was chaos compounded.
Then it happened. Something sounded familiar. A chapter repeated. Something tugged at my clouded brain. I had been thinking this book seemed like the author had written it, then taken the chapters and shuffled them like a deck of cards.
SHUFFLE.
Ah, you Podians were all so ahead of me, weren't you. Yes, indeedy. If the Pod were set on Audiobooks, it couldn't happen, but it was cheated and the book set on a playlist and the whole flippin' thing was set on shuffle. The chapters had been shuffled as I listened. There was no author brilliance in setting a world of chaos. I was simply techno-stupid.
And as the great and gone Kurt Vonegutt would have said: "So it goes. Po-tweet." |
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| It Might As Well Be Oz |
[Dec. 4th, 2007|09:38 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | contemplative | ] |
All righty then. I moved. Yep. Twenty driving minutes from where I used to live. But it might as well be Oz. You see when I moved here from Alaska we moved into one of those 55 and over subdivisions. Gated. Quiet. Lodge with activities and pool and club rooms. We thought it would be great, no squealing children playing on Saturday mornings. No teens with tires squealing late at night. Nice. WRONG.
I'm guessing some of those places are nice. With nice people. But this was like the movie MEAN GIRLS with walkers and wrinkles. These people had nothing to do but get into each other business and complain to the association. Our next door neighbors would ignore their nicely appointed back yard with its shaded porch that had an overhead fan, to sit in their stifling hot garage in cheesy lawn chairs to watch the neighbors walk down the street to the mailbox, the lake to walk the dogs, whatever, and then write anonymous letters to the association. Or simply bitch to anyone that would listen--and that was most everyone about any small infraction.
I was asked to leave the book club because I talked about the books. Not so gently I was informed that they were there to drink coffee and talk about the people that weren't there and I kept bringing up characters and theme and they just weren't interested. They had guest authors attend. I was never on the list because, writing YA, I wasn't a "real author." Because I wouldn't join the "people bashing" I was snobby.
The activities? The reigning elite told others they couldn't join the groups at the lodge. The gate? Our opening device almost never worked. We couldn't get out and if we did, we couldn't get back in. The house was nice. The neighbor on one side were nice. One man felt it was his duty to tell us for three years that my Great Pyrenees was going to die in this heat. She's still alive. His German Shepard isn't. I didn't feel eaten alive but pecked to death by ducks.
So we moved. No gates. LIttle kids everywhere. Squealing. Teens. No squealing wheels that I have heard yet. They must be better behaved than I was. I feel. . .younger. Less harassed. The neighbors are much younger than I am, but don't seem to hold it against me. Nice, nice people.
I became convinced of something. Homogeneous groups bring out the worst. You have to mix it up. Cultures, ages, races, faiths, attitudes. Too much commonality is stifling. And that turns mean too easily. You can't stay open if the gates are closed.
That's my story and I'm stickin' to it. |
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| Teen Read Week |
[Nov. 7th, 2007|07:46 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | chipper | ] |
The reason I'm so slow about Teen Read Week is that I'm finally getting over it. Wow, exhausting. First I spent a few days in Maricopa County, Arizona. Amy Fiske drove me from library to library for two days and they were F-A-R apart and it was hot and hotter. But that's the only bad part. (The hot and far, not Amy, she's wonderful.) I talked to big crowds and small groups and loved both. I know some librarians get embarrassed when three or four people show, but I get to sit, forget the speech and simply talk to the teens. Ask them questions, answer theirs, laugh with them and they see me in a relaxed, open way and I get to see them the same way. They tell me things I need to know if I'm going to continue writing for this age. They see authors are not unapproachable, the ones that want to write know we don't have anything "special". We simply work hard at something we do better than something else--I write better than I can fix a car, or keep accounts straight. I would so be fired from those jobs. But I had to work hard at getting better at what I do. And I'm still working. I still want to get to be as good as Sonya Hartnett. If I ever get there. . .who knows. Is there a higher goal?
Anyway, several nice librarians wrote me and I seemed to have some impact on the young people I talked to there. You don't know how good that makes me feel. No only that I had some impact but that the teachers took time to relate stories to the librarian and that librarian took the time to tell me.
Thanks Maricopa County, I had a great time.
Home to the Woodlands, Texas and a small group during the week. It was a monthly book discussion group and they were discussing Cass McBride. We discussed cursing in the book and the group agreed that I use curse words correctly. That seemed funny when they put it that way. But one boy went on to state that young people swear out of habit, in each others company as a way of upping their cool quotient and then as I loved the way he stated it "I swear to keep from using my fists. It's letting off some steam so I don't punch." The overall agreement is that no one swears at a parent unless you know you're out the door, and you don't swear at a teacher unless you are trying to get thrown out of class. The student's form of suicide by cop. But swearing about them, out of earshot--almost obligatory.
I went to talk to them and got a seminar on swearing.
Saturday was an all day Teen Fest at Clear Lake, Texas. Ty Burns was the lead there. Great Fun. Walter Mayes was there to keep the fun popping. Have you ever heard him read a children's book? Fabulous. Lots of other terrif authors. I bought all their books, just like the little wanne be I am and got autographs. I gave a speech on what a rotten kid I was and how books and librarians pretty much saved me from becoming Skye in Playing in Traffic. Later a woman brought her daughter to me and said. "I want you to meet yourself." This wonderfully beautiful girl smiled shyly at me then growled at her mother. Growled. Yep, she might have been me. She had bought a book, but I gave her more. She wants to be a writer and she has e mailed me wanting advice. How great is that?
Then off to Baltimore. For the first time in about thirty flights, my plane left on time. I was sure we were doomed. But no, we got there in one piece but it was raining enough to drown giraffes. First thing I had to do was go buy a raincoat. I spent a day cruising Poe's grave and going to his Baltimore house (in a suitably drug infested neighborhood.) The curator was properly, well, odd, it rained like mad during the cemetery tour. How perfect could it be? I'm serious. The movies couldn't have done it better.
The Books for the Beast people took me to dinner at the Art Museum. The food was truly a work of art as well. My stuffed little self went back to a lovely bed and breakfast. The man in charge has a fabulous first name. I'm not telling because I'm using it in a book someday.
The fest was terrif. I met great people, talked to fabulous, smart teens. I asked them what they called each other. Teens? No. Kids? No. Finally, I asked, okay, Younguns? Yes, they shouted. That's it. We call each other younguns. Absolutely. Must be like a secret handshake. Or they were making fun of the old lady.
And finally, home again. Teen Read Week was over. I slept a lot for the next few days and dragged about slowly for another few, but it was certainly worth it.
And thanks Elissa Glick Webber for dragging me all over Baltimore. |
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| Total Rant |
[Oct. 18th, 2007|12:58 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | annoyed | ] |
I've got a cell phone. I got a nifty iPhone. I really like my cell phone. But it is my opinion that cell phones have turned semi-decent people in raving lunatics with gigantic annoyance factors.
I'm not even going to start with the chat on the cell phone, paint my fingernails, while I pluck my eyebrows drivers. That's been done to death. If I get killed by one, I'm coming back to haunt her blondeness with wicked determination.
But I am going to rant about the "I'm so important" people that blather into their cell phone in the airport gate waiting area. Now, they are aided and abetted by the airlines that overbook their flights (who else gets to deliberately sell a product they do not have to offer?) so that you have to arrive hours early to make sure you get a seat. People come with books, their lap tops, their ear phones, whatever, to sit quietly as they should in a crowd of people. I don't think many people mind short conversations about late flights, pick up times, etc. But there is ALWAYS some blatantly rude moron that thinks the entire waiting area is waiting breathlessly to hear the mundane details of his or her life for an hour or more. Loudly. I always plug in my iPod, the in-ear phones that block out noise and I can still hear about Muffy's implants that leaked or Bob's being embarrassed about needing Viagra.
Now I put forth this question. If a person sat in the waiting area and simply talked loudly to his or herself, wouldn't someone ask them to stop disturbing the others? If someone sat and starting singing Christmas carols and chanting limericks of questionable taste wouldn't we deem that person rude?
So, why does a person feel entitled to do much, very much the same as long as he or she holds a cell phone? A cell phone is a convenience. It is not a right to disturb the peace of others around you.
I swear on all that's holy, the next time a person starts yapping on a cell phone next to me--I'm going to start reading my book aloud. Nice and ALOUD. Let them try to 'splain the dif to me. |
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| SIBA |
[Oct. 4th, 2007|09:49 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | chipper | ] |
SIBA. That stands for Southern Independent Booksellers Association. They all got together in Atlanta last weekend and invited me to speak on a panel. Weird panel, all but one of us started our books with a death. But I digress. Now I think Southern and Independent are redundant. Hello, anyone know a Southerner who isn't? But I think the idea was to pair the Independent and Booksellers together. And sorry, Alaska, but I saw more smiles in the Atlanta Hilton in ten minutes than I did in the six years I spent in Alaska. Maybe it's the weather.
One lovely man (I ask you what's sexier than a man with books in his hand) even gave me his copy of an autographed book because I was envious that he had two. In the elevator. (Oh, there were other people around, don't go there and I'm old enough to be his grandmother and fat enough, well. . .don't go there.)
I got a bag full of free books. I'm shameless around books. I'll beg if I have to. I'll threaten to bite if that doesn't work. SHARK GIRL by Kellie Bingham was so good, that I got halfway through on the plane, then found out I left it, so I went to the bookstore at ten that night to buy a copy to finish.
I'm reading an adult novel now, but then I'm onto Wendy Mass's HEAVEN IS A LOT LIKE THE MALL. We spent time together with Ames O'Neil our great Little, Brown rep and Wendy is fun and funny and I can't wait to read her book. Ames, thanks for making the trip flawless.
Thanks Atlanta, for being so---Southern.
Southern Independent Booksellers--long may you thrive. |
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| I've SO Got to Get Over Myself |
[Oct. 4th, 2007|09:38 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  determined | ] |
Seriously. And I just figured that out yesterday. I'm kind of remedial, huh?
This is how it happened. I'm driving along. Not good for other people. And I'm behind a woman, younger than me, but older than young and she's blabbing on the cell phone and not paying attention to the road and the lights or much else and I'm getting irritated and calling her mean names in my Darth Vader whisper voice. Then I notice that she's driving a red Mustang and she has vanity plates. That read: GYDY UP.
And just like that. I was all smiles. Sure, she should put the phone down and pay attention. She's a danger. But probably no more danger than me and my poor driving skills. And the woman is driving a car named for a horse, in Texas with plates that say Giddyup. The woman has 'tude. Old enough to be a grandmom and flaunting her 'tude.
I need to get over myself. Stop thinking about what people are doing wrong and think about what they are doing right. Yep, I becoming an old fart, despite my best efforts not to.
Sometimes ya gotta stop and smell the roses and the coffee and read the flippin' license plates.
And since I know all writers, um, steal--Hands off that character--she's all mine. |
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| I'm Such a Loser |
[Sep. 18th, 2007|09:45 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  nerdy | ] |
Seriously. First, because I even know who the people I'm about to discuss are. Second, because I'm going to waste time discussing them. But at least I'll round them up in one post. The "What were they thinking" group.
Brittney: Don't worry, I'm not going to slap her around. The press is doing plenty of that. But folks, if she is smearing her own face with food, running around without her drawers, shaving her head and dancing drunk for millions to see--can't we say this little girl is in TROUBLE? Can't we be worried sick about her rather than laughing and scorning her? She's pushed her own self destruct button. She's keeping anyone from stopping the downward spiral by the protection of her millions, but this is a pathetic, lost child.
Lindsey Lohan: See above. She at least has the added sadness of real talent being squandered.
O.J.: What kind of hubris, arrogance, thumbing his nose at authority does it take to take a gun and break into a place when he lugging the kind of baggage OJ has? Does he subliminally WANT to go to prison?
The Goldmans: Lost all respect. You lost a son and that's horrible, but you lost all dignity along the way. Stop and remember your son in all this. Not the hate, not the injustice. Remember your son's life and celebrate it.
Warren Jeffs: Something to think about. I might be wrong, but I'm fairly certain you aren't God. Not even with a little g.
Phil Spector: You only put a gun in five women's mouths? Only five in twenty years? Your lawyer says that's not so bad. Who does that once? Can we just say--okay, all the rest of the stuff that went on for months is quite interesting, but she was by the door, and SHE HAD HER PURSE STRAP OVER HER SHOULDER. Dear Mr. Phil tended to use the gun if women were LEAVING.
Suicide my Aunt Fanny's fanny. Can we use common sense?
James Gandolfini: Didn't get the Emmy? Huh?
Oh and 3:10 to Yuma was terrif. Russell Crowe is a charmingly, bone deep bad guy. |
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| Scott Baio |
[Aug. 30th, 2007|09:27 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | impressed | ] |
Yup, I watched all six episodes of Scott Baio is 45 and Still Single. The part I really can't believe is that I'm admitting it. Seriously, I liked it. Here's this guy that's pretty much a mess. So much so that he needs----a life coach. Oh jeez. If you have to hire someone to tell you, give you instructions on what to do, who to do it with, etc.--But I changed my mind. The guy knew he was a mess and would remain one without help. So he reached out. And televised it. Okay, he gets money and a small amount of exposure for this, but I have to give this to Scott. He showed all his warts. This was not a love poem to Chachi. In fact, it appears Scott hates Chachi and I think he effectively killed off his Chachi image for good. He showed himself as shallow, sometimes cruel, totally self centered and needing a leech like friend to keep him feeling god like. And we saw him--gasp, change. He faced the people he hurt. At first, it bounced off his rhino hide, then it started sinking in. Then he began to actually admire rather than ridicule his married friends. And finally his leech became a source of irritation and then embarrassment and finally repugnance.
Scott Baio grew up. It was about time. He was the Peter Pan myth made flesh and we watched him change. I was channel surfing when I bumped into the first episode. I didn't intended to watch but a few minutes. But I got hooked. His resistance to his coach interested me. The honesty of his being shown as a lout interested me. But he became a lout that didn't want to remain one. That's when I set TiVo for the entire run.
I didn't even care if he failed. I wanted to see the journey. Because I think it was an honest one. Cheers to you Scott. You'll never to Chachi or Charles to me again. |
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| The Invention of Hugo Cabret |
[Aug. 30th, 2007|09:10 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | rejuvenated | ] |
I can't tell you how much I DIDN'T want to read this book. Mostly because I had to pay my very own money for it. And I'm buying furniture for the new house I can't really afford right now. But I kept hearing all the hooting and hollering from people that I generally agree with about books (hello Deb Garfinkle). I saw all those pictures and I thought, this just isn't going to be for me. But, I bought it. And I read it. Now is this Selznick guy related to all the Selznick movie people? I know he's done other award winning books, but this one screams MOVIE to me. The integration of illustration and prose is perfect. We see the train station from afar, we pick up Hugo then we come closer and closer until we only see the sole of his shoe as he disappears through the grate, Like a camera, zooming in on our subject. THe prose then zooms in on Hugo's thoughts and reasons why he lives, thinks and acts as he does. When we just need his actions, we're back to graphics, when we need thought, to prose again. This isn't a graphic novel, it isn't a prose novel, it really isn't a hybrid--it just is what it needs to be.
I don't like trick books. (I know some of you out there think Dead Girls was a trick book, but well, read it again--there's clues in the first page, and the second--I didn't hold back any clues at all) But this book isn't tricky, it's just brilliant. And remember I came to it with a hostile attitude.
If Newbery doesn't think this is a winner--I'll shake my little head until it rattles. And Brian Selznick--Sorry I jinxed you, because there can't be much other reason.
This book doesn't get lent. Goes on my shelf to wait for my grands to enjoy with me. I can't wait. |
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