New York City, Revisited

I’ve just returned from a fantastical weekend in New York City. I collected some details during my wanderings: the gorgeous woman in times square with fair skin and black hair and the port-wine stain like a fingerprint on the tip of her chin; the nine year old girl swivel-swiveling on her figure-8-shaped skateboard through the crowds; the waiter who mixed our guacamole in a little clay pot with a swirl click click swirl; the woman walking down the street in Brooklyn carrying an enormous poster of a deer, followed (the woman, not the deer) by grinning children; the mariachi band that entertained us on the subway… There were so many details, but these rise to the surface as I type.

I visited with my wonderful writer-friend Lauren, and the always adorable Amanda and David. Overall, there was much talking, much ravioli and salad and Indian food ingested (though not all at once) and a lot of walking.

Lauren and I found The Strand bookstore and I’ve decided that Tom and I need to move in there. It could be like The Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, but with adults hiding in a bookstore. The place was amazing. It filled me with bookish glee and made me feel like this world is full of fascinating things that I’ve yet to learn about. I spent most of my time in the mythology (bought three books) and young adult sections. I pointedly stayed away from history knowing that I would emerge with several heavy books I would have to carry around all day. They had The Blood Confession in the YA horror section and I signed it for them. Aces! Lauren and I crouched on the floor and talked about our works-in-progress. Surrounded by those towering bookshelves I felt somehow safe, protected, lifted up from my writerly woes.

Another highlight was my second visit to The Cloisters museum. The museum has a lovely flowering courtyard in the midst of all the medieval art.

 

But I spent most of my time with the unicorn tapestries, getting lost in all those billions of tiny stitches. I simply could not tear myself away. I’ve been familiar with these tapestries since poring over pictures of them when I was a kid, so it’s wonderful to see them in person. They are overwhelmingly amazing (As the group of older women exclaimed upon entering the room: “Well would you look at this, how beautiful!”) so I wanted to spend some time with them. Like visiting an old friend.

 

I would live in the Cloisters too but there is no place to really hide in the unicorn room (I looked for a crevice but there was none, and I had been there so long that the security was keeping an eye on me). I’ll just have to plan another visit.

Today’s guest post: YA author Julie Berry

Do you have any writing rituals?
Not really. I’ll grab any snippet of writing time I can find, and any place that’s quiet and has an outlet for my laptop. Food and writing generally don’t mix for me — given the choice between snacking and writing, snacking’s bound to win. And I don’t play music while writing, though if I’m in a café and they play some nice instrumental music, that doesn’t bother me any. Given my present situation as mom to four young boys, I generally end up writing at night, and that means I write in my bed, curled up with my laptop and a portable lap desk. What’s awful about this is that I do have an office in my home. We refashioned a small bedroom with a lovely bay window into Julie’s Writing Space, but somehow it turned into The Place Where Julie Dumps Her Mail and Pays Her Bills, and Where Her Kids Dump All Their Junk. So there’s no room in the inn for me, and it’s all my fault. I write after the kids have gone to bed, because if they’re awake and popping into say hello, I can’t complete a thought. When I get the chance to write during the day, which isn’t often since I have a job, it feels luxurious. The brain fires on more cylinders in the morning.

What is one question you wish an interviewer would ask you?
I’m happy to answer any question I’m asked, but I’ve never wished someone would ask me something particular. I just hope the day never comes when someone asks me some basic question about a book I’ve written, and I can’t remember the answer, or remember the character’s name, or whatever. This is bound to happen. I can’t remember my children’s names most days. I can read the same murder mystery twice and forget whodunnit. I have a mind like a sieve, which is why I’m a writer and not a bard.

Name a book that inspired you to write.
This would probably be LITTLE WOMEN by Louisa May Alcott. I realize it’s a highly fictionalized account of her life, but still, I saw myself in the writer-as-heroine identity Alcott created for herself in Jo. I read LITTLE WOMEN dozens of times in elementary school and beyond, and that’s probably where the dream first began. I loved books so much that creating one seemed like the pinnacle of human existence. I had no idea whether or not I could. I don’t remember writing stories as a child, though I did write in a journal daily. Recently I read back through some of those early journal entries, and many times I’d written, “I worked on some stories today.” This astounds me. Apparently I’ve written a fiction in my mind about my own childhood, in which I wrote no fiction, when in fact, I did. I wish I could find those stories now.

Julie, thank you for your being a guest blogger! For more about Julie and her books, visit http://www.julieberrybooks.com/.

if I had to live in a piece of fruit…

…Then I would most certainly choose to live in a peach. Yes, I realize I’m a day late, but allow me a little tribute to children’s author Roald Dahl. I’ve loved many of his weird and wonderful books, but none more so than this one.

While I certainly would not advise living inside of a peach, this book surely made me want to eat one. It also gave me a new perspective on insects, some of whom may be very interesting and friendly creatures if one only takes the time to get to know them.

In other news, I’ve got an interview posted on this YA literature site. It was a fun interview with really great questions:

http://www.alan-ya.org/2009/09/an-interview-with-alisa-libby-by-pam-b-cole/

Guest author blogger: Jacqueline Kolosov

Welcome to today’s guest-blogger, young adult author Jacqueline Kolosov.

MY WRITING RITUALS:

Since my daughter was born in January 2007, I’ve learned to be incredibly flexible–or perhaps I should I say I’m just eager to snag the time I can get. Essentially, though, I generally drink a big mug of tea while I write.

Question an interviewer would ask me:

Well, that would have to be, how do you get it all done–teaching, writing, raising a child? If it’s legal to answer, I’d say, by being overly scheduled and used to running around looking like leftovers.
An author who inspired you to write:

Virginia Woolf all the way, and my favorite is To the Lighthouse!

For more information about Jacqueline’s books, visit http://www.jacquelinekolosov.com/

Thank you, Jacqueline, for participating!

Happy birthday, Queen Elizabeth I

I was reminded by a fellow tudor fanatic that today is the birthday of Queen Elizabeth I. I would like to read more about Elizabeth. My favorite historical novelist, Margaret George, is writing a novel about the later part of her reign, which I expect will be wonderful. Elizabeth was certainly her father’s daughter in many ways – they both knew how to use their appearance to inspire the awe and devotion of the masses. Maybe she was her mother’s daughter too, in more subtle ways – fiercely intelligent and willing to use her feminine wiles as she saw fit, flirting with men and tempting them with her immense power to win their loyalty. Personally I doubt she ever intended to marry anyone, but the merest promise of marriage to the queen was valuable, and the Queen used that power to her advantage. She needed no king to rule over her – perhaps having learned a lesson from her pitiable sister, Mary.

I highly recommend The Virgin Queen, a BBC miniseries about Elizabeth; it really inspired me when I was writing The King’s Rose.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Speaking of which – I’ve got another terrific blog review! The reviewer mentions that she liked Catherine’s descent into madness, which is just so good for me to hear:
http://scarpettajunkie.wordpress.com/2009/09/06/book-review-the-kings-rose/

every book has a theme song

I’m hesitant to prescribe a contemporary song to a historical novel, but the fact is that both of my books have theme songs. While I listened to more era/mood appropriate music while writing, I’ve already mentioned that “Sympathy for the Devil” by the Rolling Stones was definitely my theme for The Blood Confession.

I was inspired to write this post when the theme song for The King’s Rose snuck up on me earlier today: “The Other Side” by David Gray. It may seem an odd choice, but take a look at some of these lyrics and imagine it from Catherine to Henry:

Maybe I oughta mention
Was never my intention
To harm you or your kin
Are you so scared to look within
The ghosts are crawling on our skin
We may race and we may run
Well not undo what has been done
Or change the moment when its gone…

Something about the tone of this song always made me think of the end of the book. As much as The Mediaeval Baebes were my muse throughout the writing process, this is the song you should listen to once you’ve finished the book. I’ve found a live (and sort of long) version for you on youtube.com:

As for my current work in progress, I don’t think it has a theme song yet. But there are certainly a range of things that I listen to when I’m writing it or trying to get into the mode of writing. I was suffering some serious writer’s block when I started this book, so sitting down at the computer often became an uncomfortable experience. So instead of worrying about choosing music that would make me think about my character or the time period, I just put on music that I love, that makes me happy. And that, my friends, equates to David Bowie.

Guest author blogger: JonArno Lawson

I am pleased to announce that I will be sharing brief posts by other children’s and young adult authors for the next month (or more, depending on how many obliging authors I can hunt down). I will launch this new segment today with children’s poet JonArno Lawson, who spoke at the Children’s Literature Symposium at Simmons this past summer. His most recent book is The Voweller’s Bestiary.

Do you have any writing rituals?

I usually write in a little notebook that I keep in my pocket at all times. Often I think best when I’m walking around. But later I sit down at my desk with my notebooks and try to sort out the good from the bad, and fill things out, or shorten them,, but it’s more of an editing process by then. . .

I prefer working in the early morning. I like a cup of tea, or coffee. I find music interferes if I’m really trying to work out an idea, but it helps if I’m just refining things a little. I like Chopin’s nocturnes, and Bach’s cello suites, and I rarely stray from these. They don’t vary much in mood – there’s nothing worse than short pop songs for desk work.

Name a book or author who inspired you to write.

Doris Lessing has influenced me more than any other writer. No one’s been as brave, or generous, or as wide-ranging in her ideas. bpNichol, the Canadian poet – also brave, generous, and curious.

Thank you, JonArno, for participating! For more information about JonArno’s books, please visit his website.

Stuff I wrote as a kid

I was a poet, or at least I tried to be. Oddly, my poetry liked to tell a story, and my fiction liked to describe things in exhaustive detail. It took me a long time to work this out. It’s amazing how blind we writers can be to our own idiosyncrasies.

I swear that I didn’t use big words just to sound snooty or impress my teachers – I genuinely liked the sound of words like “incarnadine”, “amaranthine”, “verisimilitude” (I was made fun of pretty badly for using that last one in a poem…a rhyming poem about vampires, no less).

One story I wrote that my father really enjoyed was about a man named Cornelius who dreams every night that his feet are not attached to his body. At first the feet are just sitting beside his bed: two bare feet, severed at the ankle, toes pointed toward the shaft of moonlight on the floor. The next night the feet start walking around the house without benefit of him, padding softly from room to room. This maddened Cornelius. Finally, one night he dreams that the feet are attached to him but they have a mind of their own, flinging him from one end of the room to another in a crazed dance. Well, there is only one thing for it: Cornelius lifts the ax in the moonlight, aiming for his own jittering ankles. The only problem is that this time, Cornelius is awake.

This was a part of my Poe phase.

My quote on mediabistro blog

I was quoted on the mediabistro/galleycat blog along with some other authors talking about finding time to write when you have a day job: http://www.mediabistro.com/galleycat/authors/day_job_survival_tips_124996.asp

Aces! In other news, I’m reading and reading. I’ve been thinking a lot about “comfort books”. Like comfort food, but for your brain and much less fattening. They are a wonderful distraction when, for example, you can’t work on your own book because it’s stuck in publishing limbo and thinking about it makes you a little bit crazy.

So what is a writer to do? Right now I’m reviewing/rereading the end of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and I’ve got a whole list of other fantasy books to follow. If you have any suggestions of books that are the reading equivalent of tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich, please comment.

Boston

Walking through Boston the other night I was reminded of the beauty of this city that I commute into and out of every day with sadly nary a venture from campus (unless my office mates convince me that I require a burrito). It was a rare, too-rare treat to enjoy the way the sun tilted against the glassy tall buildings and gothic churches. I passed by students clustered at the fountain, the hair on one girl’s head running from black to pink to blue and purple (it made me nostalgic for Emerson; both her hair and the fountain itself). Passed others: a boy in a yarmulke tying stilts to his feet, a girl wearing a satin corset over her blouse. Men, swaying in the late sun, poured mysterious liquid from a brown-bagged bottle onto the square: a benediction.

And how do I fit into this ever-moving tableau? Me: on the train, on the bus. So lost in Ray Bradbury (“What sort of noise does a balloon make, adrift?…it makes a sound like the stars turning over in your sleep.”) that I miss my stop, look up at my surroundings completely disoriented, my head too full of words. And always: the notebook tucked in my bag, beneath one book, maybe two. Always the pen waits through the long commute, the long day, ever hopeful.

Ever, ever hopeful. Aren’t we all?