I kept trying to make a blog post these last two weeks, but I was juggling fifteen hundred to two thousand words a day on Bean 3, which is now called The Time She Forgot (follow my progress here) and keeping my head above water by being present for my mom...and occasionally doing something for myself that wasn't nose-to-the-grindstone. Meanwhile, the most beautiful autumn in the world happened. I had an amazing trip to Niagara-on-the-Lake, Ontario with some other Evernight authors--more from the Romance side of the press than from the YA, incredibly fun gals. Wine was drunk. Sweet young Canadian men attempting to serve our rowdy party were made to blush. A good time was had. Actually, passive voice was seldom used. That was some radical self-care. I got a fair amount of writing done, and I am grateful for every moment of it. I came home to NaNo, the dear husband and my church music duties with him, the Mom, and arghhhh! The American election. I have been hamstrung with sorrow for the past several days. I'm a bit of a political junkie, had been a Bernie Sanders supporter because of his understanding of working people--the real Democratic Party core--but I gladly sided with Hillary after the primaries, even if I haven't always agreed with her. And I came to a new respect for her during the debates. I was nervous, but certain that our country would be able to see through the ugly things Donald Trump was saying about women, minorities, the disabled, and Muslims. The adopted daughter of a friend of mine--a lovely girl who happens to be Chinese by birth--was harassed in her middle school this week. The Latina woman who runs the service that keeps my mom's house for her is frightened. Social media is a Category Five hurricane of fear, anger, false equivalencies, and finger-pointing. Never in all my years on this earth have I seen things get so ugly so fast. So yeah, I'm still somewhere in the five stages of grief that Colbert so richly sent up on The Late Show the other night. And the dirty trick is that it's gorgeous outside. Never has the Hudson River Valley looked quite this heartbreakingly, classically autumnal. I've been crying...a lot. And writing the final book in the Bean triology. Which is what I do. Which is what all writers do. And so on we go. Fight on, friends! |
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So it's been a while. Bean 2, In Her Own Time, has been out since late summer. And I've been juggling chainsaws ever since. (Okay, just metaphorically--had you going there for a minute though, didn't I?) My 92-year-old mom, the model for Julia, Bean's mom in the trilogy, fell down and broke her hip the day I returned from a few weeks in Nova Scotia, right after the release of that second book. Now, Julia isn't my mom and my mom certainly isn't Julia, but the complicated relationship and the older musician being the role model for the younger one wouldn't have existed without a very tough old bird named Gloria. See? Her name is even similar. Mom needed hip surgery, got it, and had an awful time in the hospital, but survived, had an awful time in the rehab center, but got released and is home with her aids, walking a little, still healing up. She had an equal chance of making it and not making it, and so far, she has made it. Perhaps Mom's Amy Winehouse-like spirit about rehab ("No, no, no!") was what got her through. Maybe not. It didn't work so well for Amy. But Amy Winehouse wasn't nearly as tough as my mom. So, I've been a daughter more than a writer lately, with weekly escapes to my happy place, the studio at Area 24 radio, where I spin records (largely the kind of stuff Bean would like) for a couple of hours. Bean 2, In Her Own Time has DJ's galore, by the way, and there's a Goodreads giveaway happening for the book right now. You can take a chance on getting it for free! Paperback! Autographed! You really ought to read it if you haven't. Sez me, anyway. In fact, there's a cool campus radio station in Book 3, as yet unnamed. I started writing that book while I was in Nova Scotia. I'm finally back to drafting it now that my mom is stable. Three and a half chapters in, and it's going to be a wild ride. The year is now 1972...and Bean is in college. The research I'm doing for it is super fun, although I have given myself a really nasty Cat Stevens earworm. Click here if you dare. I'm looking forward to getting another few thousand words drafted this week. That's because I'm going up to Niagara-on-the-Lake, just on the Canadian side of Niagara Falls, to meet with some of my fellow Evernight authors, drink wine, write, and plan my next moves. I'm riding the train up and back and that is going to be super great, I think. Plus: fancy hotel. Coolness! So I'm back in the ring, throwing punches. And tarot cards (lots of them in the new book). And emailing friends about was-it-really-like-that-in-1972-or-am-I-nuts? Do have a look at Bean 2! I can think of no better escape from the hideous political season we are having in the States than the ability to time travel, and I am offering it to you, right here, right now! A doc pal of mine on Facebook keeps us all informed by posting all the best new conclusions from medical studies. He was right on top of the one the NY Times has been talking about lately--that people who read books live longer. It would appear to be true. How cool is that? Here's what I especially like: reading a book is an escape from life. It's that most ancient of pleasures. It's a story whispered in your ear. And you can hear that story's magical whisperings whether you are riding home on the subway or reclining on the beach in these last few days of summer. Or, in my case, helping my 92-year-old mom recover from a hip operation. She falls asleep, and I silently thank all the authors I know for putting a book in my hand to keep me hopeful until she wakes up and I can smile at her and try to inspire her to keep on keeping on. It's funny when you think about it. We keep getting told we sit too much, but reading a book is not an activity usually done while marching along on the treadmill--although again, I'll admit to being so much into a good novel that I have done just that. We keep getting told to be productive, to multi-task and organize our lives so we can get it all done, to use Life Hacks so we can slice cherry tomatoes between two plates (spoiler alert: it doesn't work)... Reading a book is the ultimate mono-tasking. It's a private silent movie. After a while you don't even feel yourself turning the pages, or touching the screen on your Kindle. Maybe it's like meditating. That's supposed to be good for you, too. And for a time travel author like me? There's even another layer of magic. My main character, Bean, slips around in time. And my readers slip around in time with her--but it sounds like they get given MORE time by doing so! Wouldn't it be cool if the amount longer you live because of your reading habit were the exact amount of time you spent reading? "What about writing books?" I wrote to my friend the doc. "Does that make you live longer, too?" "That'll kill you," he Facebooked back at me. Le sigh. I have a day off from caring for Mom today, so I'm cranking the book promo, and getting ready to do a radio show on Area 24 radio at 4 PM today (tune into the stream anytime--all the DJ's on our little internet place are great). And I'm wanting to get back into drafting Bean 3, which I started while I was in Canada this summer. Damn it--that sounds dangerously like multi-tasking! I think I need to read another book! Maybe I'll get to the second Night Angels book by KH Mezek. She's a fellow Evernight Teen-er, and she's really good. I'll leave you with the view down the creek. Imagine lots and lots of late summer insects buzzing, just a little water moving (it's been dry here), and a few blue jays bragging about how they drained the feeders again. ...is an enviably productive writer of over 70 romances, a consummate pro. I stand in awe of folks who can write that much, that well. Her newest book, Battered Not Broken is available online today, and I thought I'd give it a little push. It sounds pretty cool--and would you check out that great cover? Charity and I both love it the most when we get to work with Evernight's ace illustrator, Jay Aheer. But there's plenty of goodness inside, too! Since she's so amazing at it, I'll let her speak for herself. Ladies and gentlemen, Charity West! The story behind Battered Not Broken As I heard a parent speaking angrily to their teen in the middle of a store, their tone harsh and unforgiving as the girl’s eyes teared up, heard the words “worthless” and “stupid”, I realized that she wasn’t the only girl out there who’d had an abusive dad, verbal or otherwise. I wanted to give these girls a voice, let them be heard, and give them a happily-ever-after that some may never live to see. That girl who wears long sleeves even in summer? Like my heroine, she may be hiding the physical signs of the abuse she deals with every week, if not every day. The one at the back of the class, trying to go unnoticed? Maybe she was served a dose of verbal abuse before she left for class that morning. Some are brave enough to come forward, to say ENOUGH and stand up for themselves. Others are scared that things could be far worse than what they deal with already. For those who don’t have family to stand by them, going into the system could be a terrifying thought. Every last one of these girls deserves the chance to be heard and deserves a life full of happiness and love. I hope that one day they find their voice, their strength, and find a way out of the darkness and into a better life. And yes, I know it isn’t just girls who suffer, but I’m saving the tortured hero for another book. About the Book: Battered and bruised, Wren has taken a lot from her father over the years, but when he throws her out of the house, she sees it as a blessing in disguise. She has no job, no home, and never finished high school, but what’s all that compared to a life without abuse? When she starts over in a new town, under a new identity, she makes it her goal to fly under the radar. New town, new life. Only, there’s a corrupt deputy intent on stealing Deputy Gray Frampton’s family fortune, a slight case of aggravated identity fraud, and a night in the local jail. It’s enough to make any girl’s head spin. Wren Michaels has to find a way not to spend the next three years in jail, warn Gray that Deputy Pritchard is after him, and somehow hold onto the happily-ever-after that is finally within her grasp—assuming Gray wants a felon as his girlfriend. Who knew falling for a man in khaki could cause so much trouble? ...and a little excerpt to get you interested! I was blessed to have this job, and I vowed not to screw it up. With that thought circling my mind, I fell asleep and didn’t wake until my alarm started beeping. It took a moment for my sleep-fogged brain to realize what the noise was, but when my neighbor started pounding on the wall between our apartments, I startled awake a little more and shut off the alarm. I’d already showered for the day, but I needed to figure out something with my hair. Sleep had left it tangled, and I doubted they wanted my long hair hanging down where it could get in everyone’s food. After brushing it thoroughly, I twisted it into a knot on top of my head and fastened it in place with an elastic band. I splashed some icy water on my face and studied my reflection. I looked pale and tired, not the kind of impression that would earn me good tips. I didn’t have much in the way of makeup, but I put on a little blush, some mascara, and a touch of lip gloss. It was an improvement. I had just enough time to stop somewhere for lunch before I had to report to work. Knowing I would be eating diner food for dinner every night, I couldn’t stop myself from enjoying a slice of pizza at Tony’s just around the corner from my new job. I drew some attention in my uniform when I went inside, but I ignored everyone as I inhaled a slice of supreme and a soda. Not a bad deal considering the slice was as big as the plate and the entire meal only cost me five dollars. Things were bustling at the diner when I got there, with several tables full and the waitresses buzzing to and from the kitchen. I went into the back, and Buck pointed out my locker and showed me where to clock in. Then he led me back to the front and introduced me to Rachel and Esme. “You’ll be working section two, which covers the three booths along the window in the middle of the room, as well as the tables in that same vicinity. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask,” Esme said. “We don’t serve anything stronger than sweet tea or soda, so you won’t have to worry about drunks. And several of the deputies from the sheriff’s department tend to swing by for meals. If that happens, they get a ten percent discount.” “ Got it.” The thought of sheriff’s deputies coming in for meals made me a little nauseated, but I hoped they wouldn’t pay too much attention to me. Since Dad had thrown me out, I doubted there was a missing person’s bulletin for me, but the thought of someone realizing I wasn’t really Wendy Somers terrified me. It took me about an hour to find my groove, after surviving an hour of training, and I nearly dropped someone’s lunch on my way to their table, but all in all I hadn’t had a bad start to my shift. The customers were friendly and had left decent tips. The next several hours passed quickly, and I enjoyed a good, hot meal during my half-hour break. One thing was for certain: if I ate the diner’s food every day, I was going to gain some weight. Not that it would be a bad thing. I’d been told more than once that I was too skinny. My break came to an end, and I clocked back in and tied my apron around my waist again. I pulled out my pad and pen as I headed back into my section, pausing momentarily when I saw broad shoulders covered in khaki and knew one of the deputies was in my section. It seemed I was going to be baptized in fire tonight. Plastering a smile on my face, I approached the table. My jaw nearly dropped when I got a good look at the guy. I’d been expecting someone older, but he had to be around my age. As his green gaze clashed with mine, my breath caught in my throat. His lips tipped up in a smile, and my heart gave a kick. I gave myself a mental slap and reminded myself that I needed to focus on my job and avoid the law, even if they came in tempting packages like this one. I licked my lips and tried to steady my hand as I gripped my pen. “Are you ready to order?” I asked. “Sweet tea with the special,” he answered. “I don’t believe we’ve met before. I’m Gray.” I stared at the hand he held out before finally grasping it. He had a firm shake, and the callused feel of his palm against mine made shivers run down my spine. I had to admit, uniform aside, he was just the kind of guy I would normally go for. If it weren’t the fact that I was fairly certain I was breaking some sort of law, I might have been tempted to flirt a little. But the last thing I needed was a cop getting close to me. Cops asked questions, and I was pretty sure he wouldn’t like my answers. “Wendy,” I said after realizing I never gave him my name. "You must be new to the diner,” he said. “I come in here all the time, and I’ve never seen you before.” “It’s my first day.” He nodded. “I figured as much. I hope you decide to stick around.” I opened and shut my mouth a few times. Was he flirting with me? “I, ah…” Gray winked, and my knees nearly buckled. Hurrying away from his table, I turned in his order, glancing over my shoulder to find him still watching me. Something told me he was going to be trouble, but I wasn’t sure if it was the kind of trouble that would find me arrested or the kind that was going to arrest my heart. Either way, it was better to steer clear of him, if I could. Buy it HERE! Amazon has Battered Not Broken--and of course, so does Evernight Teen! About Charity West: Charity West is a young adult/new adult romance author who has always had her head in the clouds. She had her first crush when she was four, and it lasted for six years. Then she quickly fell head over heels for another boy, until she had to move away and leave him behind. Jumping from one boy to another, she finally found a keeper when she was twenty, and she’s been married to him ever since. By the time Charity was twelve, she was sneaking her mother’s Harlequin romances and reading them in secret when she was supposed to be asleep. Teased throughout middle school and high school for the bodice ripper covers on the books she openly read in class, she knew that one day she wanted to write her own happily-ever-afters. If you’d like to be kept up to date with new releases or any sales, please take a moment to sign up for Charity’s newsletter. If you visit Charity on Facebook or Twitter, be sure to look for cute kitty photos, funny memes, and quotes on writing, along with updates on what she’s doing now. ,So I get the gift of a new book out on my last day in this lovely place. My Facebook feed is full of the ugly clatter of American politics today, but I'm still up here, watching the flash of the sea, the green fields...and this character. He really IS Mr. Fox--or at least the one in the Wes Anderson flick of a few years past: he has no tail! (Can't remember if Mr. Fox in Roald Dahl's original children's novel, The Fantastic Mr. Fox, loses his tail or not.) Mr. Fox has come out to meet us several times as we've returned to our rented place from the beach or from a Ceilidh (a kitchen party, literally--a place to hear traditional Canadian fiddle and guitar and piano music.) His friends all have tails. His friends are also afraid of us. He isn't. There's a lesson in there somewhere. And isn't there a character in The Fantastic Mr. Fox named Bean? A farmer, I think. Speaking of Bean... Yeah, it's HERE if you want to save a buck on the ebook version by going direct to the fine folks at Evernight Teen. Amazon link and paperback are coming soon! At the beginning of the book, Zak and Bean are looking at a perfect weekend: Bean's prickly mom Julia is off at a business convention with her new boyfriend Tone. But then Bean gets whisked back into the past...and now there's something very different happening in her time traveling. There's also a renegade rock and roll FM radio station, a crazy third of July party, a sort-of ghost, and the American Revolution. A new character named Crow. And a host of zany hippie DJ's. You'll like it. It's kind of perfect to have something to jump into at the end of a vacation. We'll be making our way home starting tomorrow, but we won't be back in residence in Rockland County until Thursday. Mad thanks to my super house-sitters, Sis Sue and her hubby, and Area 24 Radio music director Tom Jones, The Cat Whisperer. Ken and I are celebrating the release of In Her Own Time in St. Andrews, New Brunswick tomorrow, with two days at a good hotel--and then we'll be pushing through New Hampshire to home, with a brief stop-off in North Adams, Mass to see what's up at the art museums around there. Something I have learned from my hard-traveling husband: save the best treats for the trip home. (And always keep up with your laundry :) ) So I'll leave you with this moment of Zen from Nova Scotia last week. I'll be jumping back into the noise and clamor that is my beloved home country and trying to remember this picture. Here's my other offering to you: the new book. If you haven't read Time Runs Away With Her yet, here's the Amazon link. And when you're done with that, why not keep hanging out in 1970 for a while? We got through Vietnam; we'll get through this stuff, too. You, me, and Bean. Oh, that new book link again--right here. ,Hi, folks! The top YA books on my to-read list right now are written by teacher and world traveler KH Mezek, my colleague at Evernight Teen. In Night Angels Chronicles, KH has drawn on her childhood in a Slovenian castle (!) and her work teaching writing to incarcerated young people in Los Angeles. Did you know there was a place called Lizard City five thousand years ago, built beneath what has become modern LA ? I sure didn't, but now I'm fascinated with the idea! KH Mezek's got lots of stories to tell. Here's one about how her traveling and teaching has influenced her new Evernight Teen series. Book Two, Book of Angels, is hot off the presses right now! Book of Angels, volume two in the NIGHT ANGELS CHRONICLES All Sera ever wanted was to solve the mystery of her dad’s death and find out whether or not the Night Angel, Peter, really loved her. Now, there are bigger issues at stake. After being saved from death by the Night Angels, Sera returns to Oak Haven to find her brother, Salem, has been saved by her nemesis, the sinister Los Angeles mayor-to-be, Fabian Gore. Sera and her brother meet again in their hometown of Oak Haven as powerful denizens. And as enemies. Someone is channeling power to the Queen, imprisoned in St. Catherine’s Monastery. If she escapes, the Ancient Ones will rise up from their sarcophagi beneath churches throughout the world and wreak vengeance on denizens and humans alike. To thwart the Queen, Sera has no choice but to form an uneasy alliance with Gore. Meanwhile, Sera’s power and her connection to the Key of Mystery is growing. Only she can open the Book of Angels. But whoever does that will become something that Sera never wants to be: the Seventh Angel. How can Sera solve her own problems when everyone else wants her to solve their problems as well? So, without further throat-clearing, here's KH Mezek! *** Hello everyone and thank you Christine for inviting me to share on your blog! We have something in common—a love of travel. I’ve been traveling since I was ten years old. This is how it happened…. True story: When I was ten, my dad heard the voice of God telling him to give up the business world and become a writer. He gathered our family of six in his study, opened his Bible and pointed to the verse, “Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature.” “That’s what we’re going to do,” he said. Sure enough, we left our safe haven in a quiet Los Angeles suburb and took off for the unknown, our plan to follow where God would lead us. Some of those childhood adventures included escaping out of Egypt right before the 6 Day War, living in a 17th century castle in Switzerland, and smuggling Bibles into communist countries. My dad went on to become one of the most influential fundamentalist Christian writers of the 1980s. For me, traveling ignited a million questions that would eventually cause me to turn my back on man-made religion all-together. I met so many incredibly inspiring people on our journey, visited so many magical and mysterious lands. I couldn’t accept that all those people of different faiths were going to hell while we, the select few, were going to heaven. Discovering the magic of books in a magical place…. It was the beginning of our traveling adventure and we were visiting friends of my parents. They lived in an ancient thatched house in the Cotswolds, in Castle Combe, the most idyllic village you could imagine. It was blustery, rainy day and my older sister, Janna, and I wandered into the library and began to look around. I took a book off the shelf that looked interesting to me. It had a picture on the cover of a girl about my age, disappearing into a big closet. It was called The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. I sat down and began to read. I found out what it meant to literally loose myself in a book. Janna and I devoured the series and I’ve been devouring books ever since. Imagine discovering Narnia in such a setting! From England, we went to France where they had wardrobes almost everywhere. Naturally, the first thing my sister and I did was to walk up to each wardrobe, take a deep breath, wish with all our might that this would be the wardrobe that would take us to Narnia, open the door, and—sadly, we never found the right wardrobe, but I haven’t given up hope! How this all this relates to Book of Angels, volume two in the Night Angels Chronicles…. I could never have written a series like this without those childhood experiences. It opened my mind and gave me a love of other cultures and a desire to embrace all people. It also gave me an understanding of what it was like to be a stranger in a strange land. We settled in Switzerland and lived for a time in a real castle and attended the village school. Back then, for those village kids, I might as well have been an alien from another planet. A lot of misunderstandings occurred before I figured out how to communicate. Night Angels Chronicles has a world-wide cast of characters. In Book of Angels, Sera’s relationship with the Night Angel, Peter, grows stronger. He is from Slovenia and his history goes back to the Ottoman Empire, when the Sultan stole him from his land. I heard stories of this history from people I met in Slovenia. In Book of Angels, the book starts with Sera in Professor Strejan’s castle in Slovenia. I know about castles because I lived in one as a child! I know about Slovenia because I visited it as a child and a teenager, and I ended up marrying a Slovenian and living as an adult between London and Slovenian village near Lake Bled. So, I am using my experiences to create this completely fantastical world, putting a lot of heart into it. The “urban” side of Book of Angels and NIGHT ANGELS CHRONICLES….. Sera and Salem end up being outcasts in their snooty neighborhood of Oak Haven. Their father died in a mysterious accident beneath the city, and their mother is an alcoholic and drug addict. My three kids grew up in a neighborhood very similar to Oak Haven and I know first-hand what evils can lurk beneath a pristine façade, and to what hypocritical lengths people will go to protect appearances. I came back to live in Los Angeles when my daughter was four years old. I went on to have two sons and then I became a single mom again, which I happily am to this day. I started a creative writing program for incarcerated youth called InsideOUT Writers. : http://articles.latimes.com/print/2002/jul/13/local/me-jvwrite13 I have strong feelings about the injustice of the juvenile “justice” system. In Book of Angels, I introduce the character of Ruben, a street smart kid who Sera saves from a gang. Sera’s nemesis, the mayor-to-be, Fabian Gore, wants Ruben because of his knowledge of the underground tunnels that run beneath Los Angeles. Gore is able to get Ruben put in Central Juvenile Hall on a trumped up charge. I know CJH very well, due to over ten years of teaching creative writing in that horrible place and others like it. Traveling opened my mind…. More than anything, traveling opened my mind. Before I started to travel, I had never interacted with people of different religions, ethnicities, cultures. I’m grateful my parents gave me such incredible experiences. With his strong resolve, my dad inspired me to follow my own dream of being a writer, even though our paths diverged in subject matter. As an adult, l continued to travel. I started my childhood memoir, Into the World. An excerpt, ‘Reflections from Istanbul,’ won the 2015 New Millennium Writings Award. http://www.newmillenniumwritings.org/blog/40th-nonfiction-award-winner Traveling and writing and working with kids…. I am traveling as much as I can, and using the experiences to inspire my writing. Over the past two years, I have traveled to Istanbul (my favorite city and I am so heart-broken and worried to see what is happening there now); Slovenia, Switzerland, Italy, Austria; Costa Rica; Morocco; Bolivia; and now I am back in Costa Rica! In 2015, I founded My World Project, an art and writing program connecting kids around the world who live in remote areas. So far, we have connected kids in Amazonian Ecuador, a village in the Sahara Desert, Morocco, Hoopa kids in Northern California, kids in Colombia, and soon Syrian refuges in Slovenia, and refugees in Nigeria. http://themissingslate.com/2016/05/18/an-interview-with-my-world-project-founder-karen-hunt Who knows, maybe, just maybe, in some far-away land when I least expect it, I will find that magical wardrobe and make my way to Narnia at last! Karen Hunt aka KH Mezek is the author and/or illustrator of nineteen children’s books. She is the co-founder of InsideOUT Writers, a creative writing program for incarcerated youth, and the founder of the MY WORLD PROJECT, connecting youth in remote areas through art and writing. She is a 2nd degree black belt in Tang Soo Do, a first degree brown belt in Eskrima, and a boxing and kick-boxing trainer. As a child, her family escaped out of Egypt right before the 6 Day War, lived in a 17th century castle in Switzerland and smuggled Bibles into communist countries, to name a few of her adventures. As an adult, she continued her adventures, living between London and a village in Yugoslavia. She is the author of Key of Mystery and Book of Angels, volumes one and two in the NIGHT ANGELS CHRONICLES, are published with Evernight Teen. https://khmezek.com https://khmezek.net https://www.facebook.com/karen.hunt.355 https://www.facebook.com/nightangelschronicles https://www.facebook.com/khmezek https://twitter.com/karenalainehunt It's so weird to be out of the US when all Hell is breaking loose. Ken and I drive around in the long-suffering Prius, the car that Would Not Die, and listen to CBC. Top news stories: house fires. Water worries on Prince Edward Island (the Maritimes are pretty much in drought although it rained hard enough to jolt me from sleep with the sound of it on the roof last night). Top stories from home: guns. More guns. Anger. The horrific murders of two harmless black men by police, one of them in front of his partner and their little child. Anti-Semetic ugliness from Donald Trump. A disappointing lack of transparency and judgement from the otherwise bright and qualified woman who is all we've got to keep Donald Trump from the White House. And now waking up this morning to the news of the shootings at the Black Lives Matter protest in Dallas. Ken is downstairs, reading. I'm sitting in the loft of this cottage,watching the tide come in, trying to comfort myself with metaphors. Sometimes I think we're making progress in the States when I spend time around very young people. The ones I know tend to be incredibly open-minded, quick to love, and slow to judge. Sometimes I tell myself that we've come so far in my country, that gay folks can get married, and women are all over the broadcast media and in high office, and a black man has been our cool-headed and effective President for the past seven years. And sometimes I think that the ugly stuff has retreated. But maybe it's only gone out with the tide, and now it's back, crashing on the beach on a day too cold to even walk down there. No. That's got to be wrong. It's not the tides. It's no part of the natural world, except for our species' deeply-wired surrender to fear. Fear is what makes people cling to their own racial and social and economic groups, and see others as threatening. Fear is what makes people buy worse and worse guns, horrible guns that can kill a room full of people dancing. Fear is what makes cops panic. Fear is what sets off the cycle of violence and anger and hate. So I'll leave you with the sidewalk affirmation I saw last week in St. John, New Brunswick. Dammit, we are all pretty. We are all wired to love as well as to fear. I'm glad I get to write books for young people about magic and love. Magic and love are really important. No book plug today. But I'll have some needed good news very soon! Peace, my friends, and fear not. I swiped the title of this blog entry from John Sebastian--you know, from The Lovin' Spoonful? OK: the guy who wrote the theme song to Welcome Back, Kotter. I played the song cycle that comprises the whole second side of John Sebastian's terrific album The Four Of Us during my last radio show before Ken and I left for vacation. "On the road and laughing" are the last words on that John Sebastian record. They describe a state to which I aspire. It is not a state I attain effortlessly. My great-spirited husband lives to travel. Had I never met him, I'd probably never have seen more of the world than I had by the time I was thirty: my own beloved Hudson River Valley, a bit of the American West, Montreal, Quebec, and Cape Cod. Ken took me to England and to Europe. The first time we traveled together, it was backpacks and hostels, and I referred to it as The Bataan Death March. A different bed for every night, big hikes up steep cathedral town hills, and questionable pub food. I was a total grump by the end of it, not realizing the gift I had been given. Somehow it was all funnier than it wasn't, though, and we are still traveling together. And laughing more than we don't. Ken doesn't need to spend every free minute in motion now, and so we've graduated from the hostels. (I used to refer to his down-'n'-dirty travel guides, the Let's Go series, as Let's Grow Up.) And lately, we've been doing easy trips: Nova Scotia mostly, rented seaside cottages (which turn out to be bargains in these days of HomeAway), and a couple of good hotels coming and going. Ahhh--good hotels! I'm in one in St. John as I type these words. We have a room on the fourth floor here in New Brunswick--almost to Kingsburg, Nova Scotia--and it's Canada Day. They'll be shooting off fireworks right outside our window tonight, at dusk. I cannot believe my good fortune. All day, happy Canadians have been parading back and forth along the waterfront, wearing Canada t-shirts, with maple leaf flags in their pockets or decorating their hairdos. Ken and I got a couple of pocket flags and did as the locals do. We took a horsey ride in a carriage through the downtown. We hiked up to the park and checked out the flea market up there, and walked through the historic food market that's just a block away. Again: I cannot believe my good fortune. It is indeed lovely here. Just before we left, Evernight Teen mailed me the page proofs to In Her Own Time, which I read as Ken loaded the car. The book should be out around the 22nd if all goes as planned. I cannot wait to see what Jay Aheer, Evernight's superb illustrator, comes up with for the cover. Only a year ago, I was submitting my first YA novel, Time Runs Away With Her, and nervously wondering if it would be accepted. Now, I think of Bean, Zak, Sam, and Suzanne--my main characters--as actual people. I'm super-excited to get the new book out. And I'm planning the third, which I'll start drafting, if I have time, on this trip. Again: I cannot believe my good fortune. I am indeed "on the road and laughing!" That's right: June 5th, KGB Bar, 85 E. 4th St, NYC at 7 PM sharp. I'll be reading poems with my friends Rick Mullin and Hilary Sideris. We are going to rock the house. We are going to shake all the Soviet-era artifacts off the walls. And you oughta be there. Hilary and Rick are terrific poets and readers. And...um...there's also me.
Because I am a can of ham. Did you hear that? A CAN of HAM. The first time an actor friend of mine described himself using those words, I knew they would become a mantra. He truly was, by the way, a can of ham. Except that I'm a bigger one. I love to perform. Which is very weird. Because I also love sitting where I am right now, in front of my great big computer screen, typing really fast and watching words appear upon it. I would appear to be one of those introverts I keep reading about on the internet. Yes, thank you, I am exhausted after parties (although I love to throw them). And when my beloved sister, who has always maintained a much fuller social schedule than I do, tells me what she's been up to, it always makes me a little dizzy. My mom says that when I was a little girl, I'd sometimes bring a friend home from school, wander away from her, and later be found in a corner, reading. I don't remember doing that, but it sounds about right. Except: a POETRY READING WITH ME IN IT. Ta-dah! June 5th! I may be an introvert, but I really like reading my poems out loud. There's a script for that; it's way less scary than cocktail party banter. I have some new poems I really like, and my friend Nancy Quaglia, who did the art for both my poetry books, is making a sort of broadside with me: an art piece that contains one of my poems, Blake-style, with pretty stuff all in and around it. Suitable for framing, and if we're both lucky, she'll be at KGB, too, with a pack of them to sell. Yay! So open up that CAN OF HAM and let's rock and roll! If you're in or near New York City, I'd be super-happy if you showed up. (That's KGB Bar, friends, 85 E. 4th St, 7 PM!) Besides the broadsides, I'll have books of poetry to sell, and I'll bring down a few copies of my young adult time-travel novel Time Runs Away With Her, too, if anyone wants an autographed copy. Sequel's coming soon! In other po-biz news, I was honored this week to be asked to blurb Stephen Bunch's excellent new collection of poems, Transmissions From Bone House. They are dark, austere pieces, hugely imaginative and skillfully compressed. I really like Stephen's poetry, and it's cool being one of the early sets of eyes on a book. I'm about two-thirds of the way through it, and I'll probably get the blurb done this afternoon when I get back from my workout break. In fact, I'm not letting myself read any more of Stephen's book before I exercise, which is how I am getting myself to exercise today. So look at me livin' the dream. Or something. Watch this space for news about the new YA book, In Her Own Time. And for news, I hope, of some more poetry publications; since NAPO month, I have logged some serious hours playing the submission game. I 'd be surprised if The New Yorker bit, but I'll be in the Silver Birch Press beach poem series (film at eleven on that), and I think I'll have some good news on the little mag front soon, too. Still working on putting together my third poetry collection, too. Hey. Did I mention I have a poetry reading with my friends Hilary and Rick? Yeah. Guess I did. Better keep practicing for it!! So I got a Facebooger message from my number one fan, sister in a complicated fashion, and general partner in crime, Jean Valentine Jones. She works in the library up in Morris, NY, and they just got around to putting Time Runs Away with Her in the stacks. Her boss picked up the book. Jean watched as his eyes zoomed in on the lower right-hand corner of its cover, where super-cool Evernight Teen illustrator Jay Aheer had signed her pen-and ink-and-watercolor portrait of the book's heroine, Bean Donohue, as Bean's artist boyfriend, Zak. "What the hell?" said Jean's boss, trying to erase the cartoon with his thumb. "Somebody DREW on this!" Zak would have been thrilled. I laughed, hard. And if you don't get the joke, you'll just have to go here, and buy a copy! (And gee--if you have read it, and you haven't reviewed it, I'd be mighty pleased if you went to Amazon and said what you thought!) Enough shameless self-promotion. On the the writerly musings of the hour. Big shout-out to my friends over at the world's best little poetry forum, The Waters. There are bigger forums on the 'net, and places the specialize in cut-throat, and/or kindly-phrased criticism. But there's a space on The Waters called 77 Sunset Beach that is specifically for doing a poem a day for...well, you decide how many days. They're always there in April and November for the big marathons. The group of poets who meet there are supportive without being gushy--just what a writer in mid-first-draft needs. I recommend it. In fact, I recommend the whole marathon-style for writing, and I'm a little surprised to see myself typing those words. But it shouldn't be surprising, really. If you play an instrument, you practice every day. If you make art, you do it every day. Why should poetry--or any writing, really--be different? Spiritual realization of the month: I believe in God, but I don't believe in The Muse. Or maybe that sounds harsh. Maybe I should say that I believe the Muse is best summoned by putting your butt in a chair and telling yourself that what you are about to write is worth writing. Having a community to cheer you on helps--a LOT. (Also, it helps to buy a really good chair for your desk with decent lumbar support.) So I did 30 poems in 30 days. It wasn't as crazy-making as drafting all of the Bean sequel--In Her Own Time--this past November. But here's the thing I'm doing a praise-a-lulia dance about today: it was a whole lot easier than it ever has been, and I've done the poetry marathon in April for a bunch of years. The reason why was super-clear: I have been writing a WHOLE lot lately. The New England Journal of Duh, as a doctor friend of mine would say. Shattering truth of the hour: writing genre YA can feed your poetry. Your poetry can feed your genre YA. It's not apples and oranges. It's words, friends! I expect that drafting Bean 3, which I'm already thinking about, will be easier yet. Well, maybe not EASY EASY, but you know what I mean, right? Okay, forgive me: maybe I am a little addled from 30 poems in 30 days, after all. Or maybe not! The other big realization of this past month, and really the almost-year-now since the first Bean book was accepted: don't be afraid to go into the haunted house. And don't let anyone tell you that it's (a) not haunted or (b) not your story to tell. What haunted house, you're saying? THE haunted house. The thing that you think you couldn't bear to tell anyone. The fact that you are indeed responsible for some of the incredibly screwed-up things that happened when you were ten. The fact that you WEREN'T responsible for most of them. And the screwed-up things in general: they are YOUR screwed-up things. You own them. It is all, as Zak would say, BIZARRE. But true. I'm in the calm between the storms, now. Soon, I'll be doing line edits on the Bean sequel, and okaying cover art. I'll be whipping up attendance for my poetry reading with Hilary Sideris and Rick Mullin at the KGB bar in early June soon, too. Time for me to go pound the treadmill so I can keep this empowered-writer-poet thing going. Watch this space for more news! |
Author...
...Christine Potter is the author of three collections of poetry: Zero Degrees at First Light (2006) and Sheltering In Place (2013). Unforgetting, her third poetry collection, is available on Amazon and Kelsay Books. Archives
March 2023
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