PLAYING HURT - NEARLY ONE YEAR OLD!

It's beyond hard to believe, but it's true: this March, PLAYING HURT will be a year old! Get ready to celebrate with me by snagging yourself a copy, if you haven't already done so.

If you've been a bit reluctant to read PLAYING HURT, perhaps because you're not usually a romance reader, this vlog is for you! (Or, if you've got a reading pal who's been reluctant for the same reason, pass them the link to this post!) Thanks to some lyrical writing and heavy subplots, PLAYING HURT is, as I explain here, more than just a simple summer love story:




For those of you with e-copies: get your books signed through Kindlegraph!

And be sure to check out my latest interview with the incredible Catherine Ryan Hyde for a chance to win a PLAYING HURT swag pack!

THE SCARIEST FIRST EVER (WHY I ALSO WRITE MG)

While many of the firsts in my own life carried with them a swirl of different emotions—excitement and joy and uncertainty and confusion and elation—one first has the power, even as I think back on it today, to bring back only one emotion: pure, 100% terror.

The first day of junior high.

Sure, it can sound a little goofy, now, to call it one of my all-time most frightening experiences. And, to be fair, I certainly faced firsts, as I grew older, during which I had more to risk, had more at stake, than I did facing my first day of junior high. But I’ve never been quite as frightened by anything. Never.

In some respects, I shouldn’t have been scared at all—my junior high was actually an extension of my elementary school. I was going to the same building where I’d been a student for seven years by the time I started junior high. But…my closest friend had moved away the summer before; we’d been friends since the second grade, and of course I felt a bit lost going into junior high without her. I was also just incredibly shy, and my heart would race at the mere idea of being in the midst of so many new faces, strangers, in such a new environment—sure, the building was the same, but lockers? Fighting hallway traffic every hour? Changing clothes for PE? It was all uncharted territory.

Gonna Party Like It's 1987:

Far right: me (in the penguin T-shirt) and my closest elementary-school friend (in the pink shorts) at my brother's birthday party.

Thinking back on it, I can still feel the nervous sweat breaking out and my legs going weak as I rounded the corner to East Hall that first morning, toward the science classes (my first class was biology). I remember what I was wearing (purple shirt, vest, shorts), and how I literally thought I would faint before I got to that classroom.

Long story short, I made it. No fainting. I even made it through lunch.

Surviving junior high is just one example of a first that makes me certain, as an adult, that I’ll figure my way out of tough or scary situations. Back when I was twelve, though, I didn’t have that certainty. I hadn’t maneuvered on my own enough to know that I could trust myself. And that’s what made that first day so frightening.

It takes serious guts to be the kids we write for. Because every single day, one of them is facing some first that terrifies them the same way the first day of junior high terrified me. And they don’t have enough triumphs in their lives yet to know for sure they’ll figure their way out. They’re just taking the plunge…

I so admire those kids. And that's a big part of the reason why, in addition to YA, I also write for the MG crowd. And I just feel so privileged to be writing for such an incredibly brave bunch.

VLOG OUTTAKE (ON WIFE-BEATERS...)

Filming vlogs is a blast...but I'm not sure if my usually-serious finished products (interviews, writing tips, etc.) have ever revealed how much fun I really do have filming them.

...I'm pretty sure, though, that this silly outtake from a vlog I filmed this week does a good job of showing what a joy they can be...

TOO OLD NOW TO...

I turned 35 this week. I’m really not quite sure how this happened. At first, seeing this age next to my name was a bit like those instances when you get your credit card bill and say, “Hey, there’s no way I spent this much money this month,” only you know, even before you get out that fine-toothed comb, that you really have. Somehow, I’ve raced through 35 years’ worth of time.

Some cool stuff I got:

* A Kindle cover. Now, I get to retire that sheet of Bubble Wrap I was using to protect it inside my purse. Nobody’ll snicker at me when I haul the thing out in public to read.

*A giant silver piggy bank (he’s so cute, I’m gonna wanna feed him). I named him Ponzi.

* The realization that I am right now in the very place I would have given my eye teeth to be, four years ago.

It’s so easy (for me, at least) to always be looking at some distant prize, dancing on the horizon somewhere. This week, though, I was reminded that four years ago, I had yet to land any sort of deal with anyone—publisher, agent, etc. Although I did have a fabulous hole in the drywall, where I’d been knocking my head against the office wall…

Which brings me to the coolest gift of all, which arrived in droves:

* Happy Birthday wishes, from readers and fans via Twitter, Facebook, my website, and my various email addresses. I always say the best gift is just a, “Happy Birthday.” And I got so many this year, it brought a tear to the eye…Thanks, guys. Seriously.

I wound the day down with a performance from my favorite musician, Will Hoge, on Kimmel. Get this—he sang “Too Old to Die Young.” Come on. How perfect is that?

YA TO A

My own second YA, PLAYING HURT, features slightly older characters, for the genre: Chelsea's already graduated from high school and Clint has finished his first year of college when the two meet and embark on their love story. One of the reasons I chose protagonists of that age is because I love stories that focus on characters who are in the midst of one of life's times of transition—a rocky, scary, thrilling new beginning. The kind of beginning that finds us at the end of our school days, or as we set out to establish ourselves in "the real world," etc.

That's a big part of why I love this video; I can't help it—I smile every single time I watch it. I really appreciate the transition Ms. Swift is making here; this is the first time I've ever viewed her in an adult capacity...Plus, as PLAYING HURT also illustrates, I'm just a sucker for a sweet love story:




Speaking of PLAYING HURT, I absolutely loved bumping into Best-of-'11 lists throughout the blogophere late in December that featured the book. I wanted to highlight a few here, from Reading Angel, Book Goonie, and Magnet 4 Books.

I'd also like to know: how do you prefer your characters in YA? Older? Younger? Weigh in below!

...And with that, I officially kick of '12 here at the blog! I can't help it—I just have this fabulous feeling about '12. Life is good...

CONFETTI & SHEER HAPPINESS...

Happy New Year!

Here's to 2012!

SEASON'S GREETINGS!

I just want to take a moment at the end of 2011 to thank all my friends and followers here at the blog for such an incredible year. 2011 saw the release of my second YA, PLAYING HURT, and it was because of the support I received from bloggers during the successful PLAYING HURT Blog Tour that the book got into the right hands. (Thanks to my fabulous readers, discussion of the novel lit up the blogosphere...)

I'm so glad that I got a chance to meet so many new readers and fans throughout the year, and can't wait to find out what's just around the bend in '12...It's bound to be a fantastic year, and I'm thrilled I'll get to share it with all of you!

For now, though, I'll wish you all a very happy holiday season. (The card below is one that I drew many years ago, for my parents to send out. Now, I'm sending it to all of you!)


Season's greetings!

COVER PARTY: TIFFANY TRUITT'S CHOSEN ONES

Hey, all! I'm happy to participate today in the big cover reveal for Tiffany Truitt's CHOSEN ONES, set to release with Entangled in April 2012. Here's the lovely cover:

And here's the jacket copy:

What if you were mankind’s last chance at survival?

Sixteen-year-old Tess lives in a compound in what was once the Western United States, now decimated after a devastating fourth World War. But long before that, life as we knew it had been irrevocably changed, as women mysteriously lost the ability to bring forth life. Faced with the extinction of the human race, the government began the Council of Creators, meant to search out alternative methods of creating life. The resulting artificial human beings, or Chosen Ones, were extraordinarily beautiful, unbelievably strong, and unabashedly deadly.

Life is bleak, but uncomplicated for Tess as she follows the rigid rules of her dystopian society, until the day she begins work at Templeton, the training facility for newly created Chosen Ones. There, she meets James, a Chosen One whose odd love of music and reading rivals only her own. The attraction between the two is immediate in its intensity—and overwhelming in its danger.

But there is more to the goings-on at Templeton than Tess ever knew, and as the veil is lifted from her eyes, she uncovers a dark underground movement bent not on taking down the Chosen Ones, but the Council itself. Will Tess be able to stand up to those who would oppress her, even if it means giving up the only happiness in her life?

...What do you guys think?

A HOLIDAY GIFT: A BLUE SO DARK FOR 99 CENTS!

I'm so excited about this: right now, for just .99, you can grab yourselves a Kindle copy of A BLUE SO DARK! And, to accompany this fantastic offer, I will sign your Kindle copy through Kindlegraph!

Spread the word, my lovely bloggers...

PUKE

Okay, so not the classiest of titles for a blog post. But that's what I've been doing lately. I'm not sick...I'm just drafting new work. And I've decided that's actually the most accurate, vivid way to depict the drafting process. I mean, a first draft isn't supposed to be pretty. It's just supposed to come out. Just like, well...

I've also discovered a fantastic new way to get through the puking drafting process. I call it Give Credit Where Credit's Due. So often, at the end of the day, a writer can look at the number of words (or pages) and feel a little rotten about how skimpy it seems. Really, though, it's so much better for a writer's mental health to take stock of what really happened during the drafting process that day. If you figured out a plotting problem or made a breakthrough with backstory, that's worth far more than the sheer number of words typed that day. Always remember to take stock of what you accomplished, not what you think you should have accomplished.

Speaking of word count, though, I've also started giving myself credit for all the words I write during the drafting process...even notes to self, scrawled down the margins of notebook paper. I find that if I give myself credit for the words written outside of the story, I allow myself to go on tangents, to explore aspects of the story that might not ever have been addressed (at least, not in the earliest stages of writing the book).

All of this makes drafting infinitely more enjoyable. And that's definitely important, for someone who far prefers revising to drafting. Drafting's now so much more enjoyable, in fact, that I'm celebrating all WIPs at my house—even the WIP belonging to my dog, as this snazzy new sign illustrates! (More on Jake's WIP here.)


Happy puking drafting, everyone!

#FF FUN

I'm back for the Follow Friday fun, courtesy of Parajunkee...I just couldn't resist this week's question:

Keeping with the Spirit of Giving this season, what book do you think EVERYONE should read and if you could, you would buy it for all of your family and friends?

Well...



New followers, please leave a comment so I can check out your own blogs!

IDEA. JUNKIE.

I've said it before: I’m an idea junkie. It’s a bit of a disease, actually. I get two, three chapters into a new project when I'm suddenly bowled over by the concept for yet another book.

When I first began the pursuit of publication, those new ideas would sometimes get me sidetracked. I learned I need to keep a spiral-bound notebook where I can jot down the basics of a new plot, then get back to the project at hand.

Being the idea junkie I am, I recently found myself with a backlog of projects I wanted to get out of outline form…I reorganized my office, getting all my materials in order so that I could move straight from one project to the next, throughout 2012. Ten in all. Yeah. I know. Ten new books. I’ve got the list of books (written in the order in which I'll tackle them) thumbtacked to the wall above my computer, in my office.

My true goal for 2012, though? Not to get all the way through the list.

Writers know the scenario well: you get about halfway through drafting a new book when your editor sends you the revision notes for a book you’ve already got in development. You have to put your current project aside, to work on revisions.

Right now, my agent’s shopping several new books...and I have to admit, my Christmas wish is that my agent will sell those projects, and I’ll be interrupted all through 2012, as the revision notes for those books come in from editors…

At this point, I’ve quit just crossing my fingers. I now have my toes crossed, my eyes crossed, the strands in my ponytail crossed…A little bit of praying doesn't hurt anything, either:

Until then, I’ll be plugging away at the first project on my list!

OLD DOG, NEW TRICK

About a year ago, Jake discovered he could dig. Yeah, I know—most dogs get hip to this discovery fairly early in life, but Jake’s funny about what touches his feet (don’t even get me started on the recent boot fiasco), so it took him a while to finally get his—ah—paws dirty.

Now, though? He’s got one hole he’s been working on for some time (kind of like the sweater I’ve been knitting since ’07)… He’s incredibly proud of it, and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind a bit that I’m showing it off here:

But the thing is, even though he’s obviously proud of his creation, he actually prefers to do his digging when he thinks nobody’s looking. And then he shows up at the back door looking like this:

That nose will give you away every time, buddy…

GRATITUDE & HAPPY THANKS

This year, I'm just really into the Thanksgiving vibe. For those of you who follow my MG and YA author blogs, you know that both are featuring "gratitude" as the theme of the month.

Gratitude, it seems, is a little like these flowers I just found in my front yard—at this time of year, my yard's a giant patch of brown. But once I noticed these little spots of purple, it was suddenly all I saw. Start focusing on what you're grateful for, and all the brown, scraggly annoyances in life fade away, too.

This month, I've been rerunning the below post everywhere I can. Originally written for Tracy Barrett's Goodbye day job! blog, it turned out to be my favorite guest post of all time, because it gave me a chance to talk about all the insanely incredible support I've received while working to get my writing career off the ground.

I'm definitely lucky, as the post explains...but as I find myself saying a lot lately, we're all lucky, in our own ways. Here's to focusing on the bright spot of purple, wherever it happens to pop up in your own life!


ON GRAND DELUSIONS AND UNENDING SUPPORT:

When I got my master’s in ’01, my mom invited me to stay home and devote my full-time efforts to getting a writing career off the ground (my lifelong dream). I figured it’d take a year or so to write a novel, then it’d sell (I was lucky enough to have placed poetry, short fiction, and literary critique in journals when I was in college, and was under the grand delusion that selling a manuscript would be a breeze for me), and in oh, two years or so, I’d have money in the bank, and I’d be off and running.

Okay, seriously. You can stop laughing now.

The truth is that it took seven and a half years just to get my first acceptance. In that time, my friends from college finished up PhDs, started teaching, doing research, became professionals. I often felt like all I had was a deep gash in the drywall where I’d spent months upon months banging my head against it.

And, let’s face it: I had guilt.

I cringe at the stereotypical portrait of the kid who’s living at home: the slacker who lies on the couch, playing video games, letting Mom do laundry, mooching, no sense of direction to speak of. That certainly has never been my life. I feel that your family is your family, regardless of what it consists of: your spouse and your children, or your siblings and parents. I participated in everything going on in my home: the upkeep, the repairs, the lawn, the floor-laying, the painting, the grocery shopping, the meal-planning…My office butts up against the laundry room, and, yes, I’ve always done my fair share of the laundry, as well.

Still, though: the guilt. You aren’t a responsible adult without feeling the sting of not contributing financially (I did teach piano and guitar lessons, and everything I made went to paying off what few bills I had—I got out of college with no student loans). Still, though, no matter how much I contributed, I often felt it wasn’t enough. I butted heads with my mom about finding work out of the house (she always talked me out of it). Instead, I worked, as we’d agreed, on my manuscripts: I created a floor-to-ceiling stack of them in those seven and a half years.

During those years, I learned to balance my writing with the comings and goings of a household. I can fix a lawnmower with one hand and outline a novel with another. I also learned that my greatest first reader is also the same person who insisted I stay home to write in the first place (Mom’s a great titler, too—she was the first to suggest the titles for both my published books). And when the triumphs finally arrived—selling a book, seeing my first book on a store shelf, getting the starred review, receiving a few lit prizes—my mom and brother, who had been my support, my sounding board for project ideas, my first set of eyes, took pride in it, too. They had a hand in it.

Come on—getting started is beyond rough. Everybody has to have some sort of help when they set out to forge a writing career. Now, when I step inside a library or a bookstore, I think there’s not just one person behind each of those titles, but a whole group of them—in addition to the writer, there’s some combination of parent, sibling, partner, spouse, etc., who supported that writer as they got started. It’s pretty incredible, when you stop to think about it…