I had intended to name the winner of yesterday’s free copy of SEE YOU AT HARRY’S, by Jo Knowles. I will do that tomorrow. I have something to talk about today.

Yesterday was a research day for me. I spent a few hours exploring the far-reaching effects of the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 on the shaping of America. Then I came home to see news reports that in North Carolina, Amendment One had passed. 

And for a moment, I wondered in which time period I was living.

In researching DIVINERS, again and again, I have come up against America’s uncomfortable relationship with its national identity, a fractious, “Fight Club”esque twinned self of progress and regression that has produced some truly terrible laws. The Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 prohibited Chinese immigrants from becoming naturalized U.S. citizens and only allowed in certain classes of immigrants. As Republican Senator George Frisbie Hoar of Massachusetts said of the Act, it was “nothing less than the legalization of racial discrimination.”[1]

But it didn’t stop there. In 1888, the Scott Act  prohibited Chinese laborers already in the U.S. who traveled abroad—say to China to see family—from returning. Ten years later, in 1892, the Geary Act extended the law and added new restrictions: All Chinese immigrants had to carry identification papers and proof of residence or face punishment or deportation. (For more on the Chinese Exclusion Act, please see Erika Lee's At America's Gates. Thanks, Lisa Gold.) 

Moving on, we have the Immigration Act of 1917 which barred “homosexuals, idiots, feeble-minded persons, criminals, epileptics," all persons "physically or mentally defective” “anarchists” and any immigrants from the “Asiatic Barred Zone."

Four years later, we get the 1921 Emergency Quota Act (“Jim, quick—we’ve got to keep out those foreigners, STAT! Set your Legalized Racism Gun to stun!”) which capped immigration quotas at 3%. But that wasn’t enough because somehow, those Jews and Italians kept getting in. Which brings us to the motherlode of racist/xenophobic legislation: the Immigration Act of 1924 and the Racial Integrity Act of 1924. (No, I am not making that up.)

The Immigration Act of 1924 basically established limits on immigration through quotas based on the immigrant’s country of origin. (i.e., “Frightfully sorry, old boy, but we’ve already got our Italian and our Russian. We can’t take any more.”) In a nutshell: White America was afraid the new wave of non-Northern European immigration would threaten their “whiteness.” They wanted to set a quota, but how to do that if the latest census showed a huge increase in immigrants from Southern and Eastern Europe? Simple: You go back and use the census of 1890 to set your quotas—you know, a time when you had more Northern Europeans representin’.

It was bigotry, plain and simple. Bigotry that was made law and shaped the course of our nation. Bigotry that was accepted as rule until it was repealed in 1965.

The Racial Integrity Act of 1924, a Virginia state law, grew out of the Eugenics Movement (Racism! Now in pseudo-science form!), which was all about making America "genetically superior" (read: white), a “super race”, if you will. (A guy named Adolf Hitler was a huge fan of our eugenics movement.) The Racial Integrity Act of 1924 allowed for forced sterilization of American citizens considered not up to snuff, like epileptics, for one, and inmates, for another. (For reals. This happened. Look at Buck v. Bell and shudder. Then cry.) It also upheld the “one-drop rule”, which stated that anyone with “one drop” of African (or Native American or Asian) blood was defined as belonging solely to that race. Essentially, you were either all white or you weren’t at all white. This tore apart families and destroyed people’s identities. It also criminalized interracial marriage in the state of Virginia. (It was already banned but not a felony charge.)

Okay. Thanks for riding along through the quick history lesson. Now, let's jump ahead to 1963 and Loving v. Virginia.

Mildred Jeter, an African-American woman, and Richard Loving, a white man, traveled to Washington, D.C., to marry since they couldn’t do that in their home state of Virginia where it was illegal. When they returned to Virginia years later, the police raided their home, caught them together, and charged them with a felony under the state's Racial Integrity Act of 1924. They challenged the decades-old racist law as a violation of their rights as citizens guaranteed by the Fourteenth Amendment of the United States Constitution:

“All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside. No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.”[2]

The Lovings took their case all the way to the Supreme Court, and in 1967, they won.[3]

What does all of this have to do with yesterday’s vote, you may ask?

History is a beast with many tentacles, and it's good to keep your eye on them. History proves that sometimes laws are bad, that they can be enacted by scared, ignorant, and/or hateful people for terrible, racist, bigoted reasons. This seems to be a pattern in our history--to take away and take away, an erosion of the rights of a group of marginalized people which then becomes an erosion of the very soul of our nation. 

In 2012, nearly a century after the Racial Integrity Act and 130 years after the Chinese Exclusion Act, we are still talking about denying American citizens--AMERICAN CITIZENS!--full rights under the law. 

Recently, I read a quote from activist and self-professed "gender outlaw" Kate Bornstein aimed at helping LGBTQ youth who were considering suicide (one of those many tentacles snaking out from laws which tell you you are not worthy, not equal, that you are shameful.) She said, "You can do whatever it takes to make your life more worth living...just don't be mean."

And this law isn’t simply bad or wrong or bigoted or, frankly, illegal. It’s just plain mean. Because same-sex marriage is ALREADY banned in North Carolina. But this law goes further. Here's the official language of the amendment: "A Constitutional amendment to provide that marriage between one man and one woman is the only domestic legal union that shall be valid or recognized in this State."

So how does this continue to happen? Well, very often—well, actually about 99% of the time—God and the Bible are offered as rationale. This, to me, is a bit like using unicorn lore as a basis for legislation. Your religious beliefs are your own, but do not use them to take away the rights of others. God is not our President. He is not a Congressman from North Carolina. 

"You don't rewrite the nature of God's design based on the demands of a group of adults,” argued Tami Fitzgerald, head of the pro-amendment group Vote FOR Marriage NC.

Demands? Demands. You mean a "demand" for equality? The “demand” not to be treated like pariahs by the state? The “demand” to be allowed to love the person you love and to forge a legally recognized union with that person, to build a life, possibly raise children with that person while enjoying the same rights and privileges afforded heterosexual American citizens? Yes, these do seem like the sorts of “demands” adults would ask for. And other adults, it seems to me, would recognize the fairness of these “demands.”

I’m not sure if I believe in God or not, but as a minister’s daughter, I have been exposed to the Bible here and there. And if the Bible is to be invoked, then let me invoke First Corinthians, 1-13. If you’ve ever been to a wedding, odds are good you’ve heard this one:

"But now remains faith, hope, love, these three;
but the greatest of these is love.”

It would seem to me that this carries “God’s design” and that it is North Carolina’s 

legislators (and, sadly, 61% of its voters) who would like to “rewrite” that design.

Ironically, yesterday as I was researching hate legislation masquerading as “protective measures,” I was spending time with my good friends Delia Sherman and Ellen Kushner, who married in Massachusetts as soon as it was legal. They bantered and playfully bickered as married couples are wont to do. Theirs is a true marriage and it made me happy to be in their presence just as it saddens me to think that there are people who would work against their happiness. And to what end? To what purpose? In a world in which senseless, horrible acts take place every day, a world in which children go hungry, families can be blown up in market places, and a teenager can be shot and killed over a bag of Skittles—why, why, why would you legislate against love?

But why not listen to the words of Mildred Jeter Loving herself, who had this to say about same-sex marriage: “

I like to think that you cannot stop love. That it will burn through hate given time and the perseverance of those who will fight for justice, of those whose love—righteous, hopeful, “the greatest of these”—will not be denied by the bigoted, wrong-headed ideas of the fearful and ignorant whose same fears and ignorance can be manipulated by those who stand to gain from such manipulation.

This morning, I made a contribution to the Human Rights Campaign. It can’t erase yesterday’s terribly disappointing vote, but it’s a step toward fairness. It’s an act of faith and hope on the path toward equality and love for all.

If life were a teen movie, Jo Knowles would be the kind, smart, somewhat shy girl in the back row who offers the new kid half of her sandwich at lunch, then stands up to the bullies who try to take his hat. (She’d get that hat back without ever throwing a punch.) Then later, she’d bust out a poem in English class that had everybody going, “Whoa.”

In her career, Jo has faced down book banners and fought for intellectual freedom. She’s also been writing beautiful, quietly powerful books, which are testaments to humanity in all its flawed, impossible, hopeful glory. In case you can’t tell, I’m a big fan of hers, and not just because she makes a mean chocolate chip scone. 

Jo’s new book, SEE YOU AT HARRY’S, comes out today.




In a starred review, Kirkus Reviews called it, “pitch-perfect…Prescient writing, fully developed characters and completely, tragically believable situations elevate this sad, gripping tale to a must-read level.” Word, Kirkus Reviews, word. You can also enter to win a free copy of SEE YOU AT HARRY’S simply by leaving a comment in the comments section. Winners will be selected by random number generator. Think of it like the claw game in Toy Story.

I sat down with Jo to talk about her new novel, her writing process, censorship, and compulsive hair touching. These were her answers.

(*Note: Sorry for the formatting issues. It has taken me 1 1/2 hours to try to format this %*&* thing. LiveJournal sucks. Also, I am the least tech savvy person on the planet. Please do not leave me irritated comments about the crappy formatting. Those comments will NOT be chosen by the Loving Claw of Possible Book Winning. You have been warned.*)  

LB: This book should come with a warning about the tear-shedding quotient. I mean, seriously—I went through a lot of tissues, Jo. There was a small snot-rag mountain by my bed. Why do you like to make us sad? Why? And what do you think your punishment should be for this?

JK: I do not like to make you sad! I promise!!!

You know, I set out to write a humorous novel about growing up in the restaurant business, per request by your husband/my agent. I really did. I thought, This is going to be a tribute to my brother. I’m going to incorporate a bunch of funny stories from our childhood, and then I’m going to reinvent the past and give us a happy ending. Well I guess you know that didn’t happen. While I had no trouble moving the story away from our literal truth, I couldn’t steer it away from our emotional one: loss. That is not the book I wanted to write. But it turned out to be the one I had to.  It was the most painful thing I’ve ever written, and also the most cathartic.

As for punishment: Make me buy stock in Kleenex?

LB: I really love the familial relationships in the book. There’s snark and in-fighting as well as a surprising amount of love and support, and all of it feels unique to this family yet universal. Did you draw from your own sibling relationships in any way?

JK: Oh yes. There was a lot of snark and infighting in our household. But there was also so much love. It took me a very long time to realize just how much love there was. I was the youngest of three. My brother was 5 years older than me, my sister 3. My sister and brother fought like maniacs. And my sister and I had our moments too--I still have a scar from our worst battle. But we also loved each other just as fiercely. We stood up for each other. I think we had that sense that it was OK for us to throw insults at each other, but damned if anyone else did.

LB: You are a very compassionate author. (Not surprising as you’re one of the most compassionate people I know. Lucky me. J) I once heard George Saunders, my personal writing deity, defending heart in novels. (I think he was answering a jab about being sentimental.) In our post-modern-with-a-side-of-ironic-foam world, do you think there is a place for books that proudly wear their hearts on their sleeves? How do you find the heart of your novels? And what, for you, makes a story stay with you?

JK: First, thank you. <3 Second, I love your way with words. “Post-modern-ironic-foam world!” *dies* Ummmm YES! There is a place for books with hearts up and down their sleeves, spines, jacket flaps. We NEED books with heart. We need more compassion in the world. My God. When a book like the Hunger Games can feel a little too possible, you just know it’s time to get back to Charlotte’s Web and find some Humble. To remember what friendship is. And love. To remember what it’s like to cheer for Fern and that helpless runt Wilbur. The more books we read, the more compassionate we become. The more thoughtful. The more introspective. The more, well, aware of each other and each others’ feelings. 

I think since I am a fairly open person who does where her heart on her sleeve, the heart in my books just tends to be there. It’s not something I’m conscious of trying to expose. I have a feeling that makes no sense. So… I’m not sure how to answer?

Books that stay with me are ones that feel real. That I believe in. Books that don’t try to be beautiful or pretty, but whose beauty and humanity comes through in the honesty of the telling. Marcus Zusak is a master at this.

LB: The emotionally tone-deaf dad embarrasses his children mightily in HARRY’S. The scene in which they have to make the TV commercial is cringe-worthy. What embarrasses you? What embarrassing family or teen stories do you have? C’mon, Jo. Open up. Humiliate yourself. It’s only the Internet.

JK: My list of embarrassing moments is kind of endless. When I was in high school, some of my friends even had a phrase for times when they did something embarrassing that reflected back on me because I was apparently the queen of it all. So, for example, if they spilled chocolate pudding down their shirt, or tripped in front of a cute senior, they would say, “Oops, I just did a Jo.” I’m not lying. Here are a few examples of how this came to be: My dad once ran over my foot with his car. In gym, I was trying to pull off one of those ridiculous mesh things that shows which team you’re on and by mistake I pulled my shirt off too, revealing that I still wore an undershirt and not a bra. It even had a little bow at the chest. During a basketball game, the elastic on my underwear broke and my undies were slipping off under my shorts. Jeez Lib. Must I go on? Thanks for bringing up all of these suppressed moments of horror. *waves to Internet*

LB: You’re not only a writer but you’ve also been a teacher. You’ve taught teens, adults, and you’ve taught at a women’s prison. What do you find rewarding about teaching? How does it inform your writing? Any advice for those of us in the trenches?

JK: This is going to come out sounding a little chest-puffy, but I love being able to give students the freedom to simply write. Here’s an example: I can give a writing prompt to a group of students and say, “You have 7 minutes. Go!” And they all just start writing! And then when they share their work, I’m just blown away! Everyone comes up with completely different pieces. There is a room full of stories that didn’t exist 7 minutes earlier. Talk about rewarding. Even more rewarding is when someone is so inspired by what they wrote from a prompt I gave that they create a whole novel or picture book out of it. That’s just the best. And it reminds me to try these techniques, too. I tend to forget that it’s important to have FUN with writing and not just focus on whatever novel I’m struggling with. Writing exercises can remind us jaded writers that writing is actually enjoyable! Sometimes, I think we forget that.

My advice: When someone gives you a writing prompt, don’t poo-poo it. Try it!

LB: What do you find to be the most challenging aspect of being a writer? The most rewarding?

JK: I sweat the stuff I can’t really control, even though I know there’s nothing I can do about it. Like reviews and publisher support or publicity stuff. I think there’s so much easy-access to book chatter, authors can get bogged down in career comparisons and stuff they really shouldn’t be worrying about. The most rewarding aspect has to be hearing from readers, especially reluctant ones. The first time a teen told me my book was the first novel she’d ever finished I cried. As a reluctant reader myself, knowing that I helped a person reach that kind of milestone feels pretty darn great. The other one that always gets me is when a teen tells me he or she feels less alone after reading one of my books. That’s really what it’s all about. Connecting.

LB: I know you’ve taken up the guitar recently. I’m not going to ask you to bust your best Angus Young moves—though I’m sure you could work that school boy outfit just fine. But I do want to ask you what would be playing on the jukebox at Harry’s Restaurant? Did you have a playlist for the book? 

JK: What? You aren’t going to let me play my rendition of “Only Love Can Break Your Heart”? *cries* Oh wait. That’s Neil Young. Never mind.

I’m going to sound like an old fogey but there would be a lot of Grateful Dead, UB40, and Bob Marley. When I was in high school I worked at this little health food restaurant called “For Every Season and this is the music that was always playing in the background, so these are the songs that came to me as I was imagining Fern’s family and what their background music would be. In truth, I listen to Vermont Public Radio all day. I work at home alone and it makes me feel less lonely to hear people talking in the background. Please don’t judge.

LB: Let’s talk about book banning. I think we’re both in agreement that it’s a bad idea. You’ve been banned a few times and had to face down those who think Farenheit 451 is a how-to manual rather than a cautionary tale. What do you say to those who want to ban books, especially books for young readers? What do you think we can do to fight back?

JK: Oh gosh. Book banning. It’s so crazy! WHY, people? WHY????  PLEASE STOP IT. I think a lot of people are terrified. They want to protect their kids and they unwisely think that keeping their kids from reading books that expose them to the real world will help do that. Actually, I think it does the opposite. As I always say, books shed light on the darkness, they don’t perpetuate it. Censorship does that. The more we write books that reflect reality, the more conversations we start, the more light we shed, the more we make that reality better. If anything, so-called “dark books” are preventative. When one kids says, “I feel less alone now,” and maybe even gets the courage to finally tell someone what’s going on in his or her life, and asks for help, we’ve done the right thing. That’s how we fight back.

LB: You also have written a fair number of LGBTQ characters. In SEE YOU AT HARRY’S, Holden, Fern’s 14-year-old brother, is gay and faces bullying. Can you tell us about the importance of writing LGBTQ characters? What are some of your favorite LGBTQ-friendly books?

JK: Well, my brother was gay, and so was one of my best friends growing up. I really wish they’d had books with gay characters in them when we were kids. I think they would have felt less alone, too. Less “different.” I like to depict gay kids being kids. Getting by just like everyone else. But I also have to be realistic. It’s not easy being gay. And that sucks. There are a lot of gay kids in the world and a lot of them feel pretty scared and isolated. One way for them to feel a little less so is in a book.  My favorite LGBTQ books are by David Levithan. I love his honesty, and hope.

LB: I am not going to give any spoilers, but something truly terrible and unexpected takes place in the book and shatters the family, making a sharp line between “before” and “after.” There is a great deal of shame and guilt along with the guilt. I was reminded a little bit of Anne Tyler’s Saint Maybe, which also deals with issues of guilt, blame, rebuilding, and, ultimately, redemption. I think many of us, especially in our teen years, have experienced overwhelming shame/guilt at times, and it can cripple. Have you ever experienced something that divided your world into a before and after, something that crippled you emotionally, if that’s not too simplistic? How did you cope?

JK: There have been two big moments in my life where I felt these things. The first was when I was in high school and a classmate committed suicide. I felt, and still feel, tremendous guilt about his death. Why didn’t we know he was hurting? What stupid thing might I have said in those dark teen years that might have confirmed his own dark thoughts? I don’t know. I will never know. It still eats me up.

The second is when my brother died. We didn’t really know how truly sick he was. He was living in Chicago at the time and when he went into the hospital, we thought he had pneumonia, and would get well. But he had AIDS. And he didn’t. When his doctor called to tell us we should get out there, my mom and I got on the first available plane, but we were too late. He died while we were in flight. I will never forgive myself for not pushing harder to find out just how ill he really was. There are so many “what if’s” with death. So many should haves and could haves and if only’s. I still haven’t learned to cope effectively. But I cling to our final conversations on the phone. The “You know I love you, right?” sort of things we said to each other. That’s all I have.

LB: Was there a book or books that defined you as a teenager? A book that saved you or made you feel less alone? Which characters spoke to you?

JK: Robert Cormier’s THE CHOCOLATE WAR, for sure. And John Knowles’s A SEPARATE PEACE. And of course J.D. Salinger’s CATCHER IN THE RYE. I cringe that those are all by men. But those were the ones that got me. They were so much about facing the ugly, the gritty truth, you know? About what people are capable of, and finding a way to say no to it all. Each of the main characters in those books were so utterly misunderstood, and that’s how I felt a lot of the time, too. But when I read those books, I felt less so for the first time.

LB: Have you ever wanted to touch my hair? Be honest.

JK: Yes. Yes I have. *reaches*

LB: The lovely and delightful Nova Ren Suma wanted me to ask you which of your books was the easiest to write? Which was the hardest? (She also wanted to know if you know just how awesome and amazing you are.)

JK: Oh, Nova Ren Suma! When will we meet? YOU are amazing.

As far as easy and hard, none have been easy. But certainly SEE YOU AT HARRY’S was the most emotional. I re-opened a lot of wounds with this one. But I also found myself remembering a lot of great times with my family, too. Writing this book turned out to be a truly necessary step in understanding and learning to live with my own grief.

LB: Fern feels unnoticed and lost in the shuffle. She doesn’t have superpowers. She’s not particularly snarky or beautiful or crazy talented. She’s a very decent, searching person. Her bravery is of the hard-won, quiet sort. You do such a nice job of giving voice to characters who ride along just under the radar quietly trying to make sense of themselves and the world. What is it about these extraordinarily ordinary characters that draws you to them? Were you such a child/teen? And what would you want to say to teens who might feel the same way?

JK: This is one of the nicest things anyone has said about my work. Thank you! Fern has a lot of the qualities I had as a kid: Quiet. Trying to be good. Feeling invisible. Noticing too much about my world for my own good and getting a little depressed by it. I think I was never as “good” as Fern but I wanted to be. I wanted to be the hero who stood up for her brother. Who didn’t put up with unkind people. I was far less brave. I guess she’s my ideal me.

I would say to teens who feel the same: You have the ability to make your world less dark. It’s actually not so hard. Start by being a good friend to someone who needs it and go from there. It doesn’t take much to spread some light. Make kindness your superpower.

LB: One of the things I marvel at in your writing is how spare it is—it’s so restrained, yet so much is said in the unsaid. It’s quite beautiful. Reading PEARL and SEE YOU AT HARRY’S reminds me of an Andrew Wyeth exhibit I saw once; there is a cumulative power in those spare images, the clean lines. That you’re both New Englanders seems interesting to me. Do you think that’s a New England thing? A Jo Knowles thing? How do you approach writing? Do you do a lot of revision/editing to skim the fat?

JK: That is a really interesting question. You know, the word “spare” has been used a lot in reviews of my work and I’ve always thought it was a nice way of saying “simple.” But we’ve talked about this, and you, Robin and Holly have all assured me that’s not what it means. I’m grateful for  that! Honestly I just write what I see and feel as I imagine each scene playing out. My style isn’t intentional. It’s just me.

LB: Where and when are you at your happiest?

JK: 1. Reading to my son as we sit on the deck at our house on a perfect summer day.

2. Spending an evening with my family, making dinner together and then snuggling in to watch a movie. I know it sounds boring, but I love those together times.

3. Searching for sea glass with my extended family during our vacations in Maine, laughing and basking in the sea air.

4. Writing across the room from you, dear Libba. J

LB: What is your #1 pet peeve?

JK: Hypocrisy.

LB: Is there a book you’re dying to write? A medium you’d love to try?

JK: I’ve been toying with a project for many years (had the initial idea 8 years ago), and I’ve finally started to work on it a bit. There are ten points of view, so it’s very challenging. But I’m having a lot of fun.

LB: You are willing to take on tough issues, and you do it with nuance, respect, and refreshing honesty. JUMPING OFF SWINGS deals with teen pregnancy and with female sexuality. LESSONS FROM A DEAD GIRL explores the murky boundaries of power and dominance within friendships, the slippery slope into abuse. PEARL deals with sexual identity, family secrets, and the lasting impact of self-loathing. HARRY’S also explores sexual identity as well as familial negligence and forgiveness.

What drives you to write about these difficult issues? (Full disclosure: If somebody asked me that question, I would want to drive my head through a window. Please don’t drive your head through a window, though, Jo. It’s such a nice head. And smart.)

JK: *pulls glass shards out of head* Be right back. I need a band-aid…

…Hi! I don’t know how to answer this, to tell the truth. I don’t really set out to write about an issue, necessarily. I just get these story ideas in my head and start writing. Well, back up. That’s not totally true. I think I get a character with a problem in my head and can’t get her/him back out. I think a lot about the character’s plight, and how he or she got into the situation, and how he or she will get out. I tend to explore what could have made a person do something, or say something, or be a certain way. The more questions I have, the more curious I get. For me, writing is the process of learning more about a character and helping him or her find a way through. 

LB: If you weren’t a writer, what would you be?

JK: Lost.

LB: What’s next for you?

JK: I’ve written a companion novel to JUMPING OFF SWINGS, which is in the “final” stages of revision. It’s currently called LIVING WITH JACKIE CHAN, but I don’t know if it’ll keep that title. It follows the character of Josh his senior year, when he goes to live with his uncle. Of all the characters in JUMPING OFF SWINGS, readers most often ask what happened to Josh. I decided I wanted to know, too.

It has been really great talking with you, Libba! Thanks for the thoughtful questions and for making me think about all this stuff. It’s been fun! Can I touch your hair now? 

Yes. Yes, you can, Jo. *waits for Jo's magical touch*

Don't forget to leave your comments below for your chance to win a free copy of SEE YOU AT HARRY'S! 

Writing stories set in the past can be exciting and educational for a writer. (So many facts to spout at parties! Bore your friends and complete strangers! Have the fondue station to yourself!)

"Hey, did I tell you about that story about the effects of the Immigration Act of 1924 on...wait, where are you going?
There's melted cheese here!" 

Sometimes, though, it can be frustrating and slow-going.

For instance, on Monday, I was working on a scene in DIVINERS TWO, ELECTRIC BUGALOO*, in which someone drives a car down the street. Seems simple enough, right? That’s what I thought, too. I opened my paragraph with a mention of the sound of the wheels on the rain-slicked streets. Hmm, I thought. So it’s raining in this scene. Are they listening to the rain or to the radio—oh wait. There was no car radio in 1926, was there?** And if it’s raining, they’ll need to clear the rain away from the glass…did 1920’s cars have windshield wipers?

My fingers twitched over the keys. Just go on with the story and fix that point later, I scolded myself. (I scold myself often. I am a Scoldilocks.) But I found that I couldn’t go on. I really needed to sink in and feel, see, hear, and smell that scene. And to do that, I needed to know everything about this car from the 1920s on this rainy night in New York City.

Off to Google I went. Here’s what I found: Cars did have windshield wipers. In the early 1920s, they were manual. Yes, you’d have to flick the little switch back and forth to clear away the wet. (This does not seem like much fun to me, and I am already thinking about hair and humidity issues.) By the latter 1920s, windshield wipers were largely vacuum operated: http://www.secondchancegarage.com/public/history-windshield-wipers.cfm

So this tells me how hard I want the rain to fall: If it’s too hard, the driver probably has to pull over. If it’s just sort of spitting or misty, it’s perfect weather for my scene without the distraction of "Let me interrupt the creepy to just mess...with...this...darn...wiper...Hold on, Evil, having some visibility issues here..." Details, details.

Anyway, I spent a good twenty minutes on this one small moment for two sentences in what will probably be a 600-page novel. Do the math. This is why I don't get out much.

But while research can certainly pin you down or force you to come up with creative ways around a sticky point—“Those high-falutin’ windshield wipers were invented by a crazy automotive wizard and that's why they're so super-fast!”—Most times, research can set you free. 

When I was researching REBEL ANGELS, the second book in the Gemma Doyle Trilogy, I knew I wanted to have scenes set at Bethlem Royal Hospital, a.k.a. Bedlam. I corresponded with Colin Gale, the archivist there, who directed me to some wonderful resources. It was while reading these interesting case histories that I came across something truly extraordinary: Bethlem Royal Hospital hosted periodic dances open to the public. You read that right—they opened the doors of the asylum to the public for a dance. It was believed that such social activities were important for the well-being of the patients. (By the late 19^th-century, treatment of the mentally ill at BRH was much kinder than it was in the horrific days of the 18^th-century when it earned its nickname.) This single discovery, which I never in a million years would’ve imagined, opened up all sorts of possibilities for interaction. I was able to have the patient, a young woman named Nell, deliver vital information to the girls in a rather theatrical way in a public forum. Plus, it was a criminal amount of fun to write.

But back to DIVINERS, Book the Second, and that itchy little fact about the windshield wipers. Why so much attention to detail for a throwaway moment? Well, maybe because I’m a geek. (True) Maybe because God is in the details, as they say. (Also true.) Maybe it’s a form of procrastination, um, kind of like writing a blog about research instead of writing the actual book. (Why, that’s CRAZY TALK!) Maybe because I’ve made mistakes before and it bothers the hell out of me when I do. (Sadly, true. And thank you to the kind folks who have taken the time to school me when I’ve been wrong about something.) When that happens, I feel like I’ve messed with the reader’s trust. I’ve punched a hole in the world I’m trying to construct—it’s a loose brick that can send part of a wall tumbling. But also, I really want to know for myself, because it helps me become a part of that world if I know the limits and the possibilities.

And for the record, I’m really grateful for automatic windshield wipers and car radio.

*Do not worry. This is not going to be the actual title of the second DIVINERS book. But it is what David Levithan calls it to make me giggle.

**Did they have car radios, though? This was the second question brought up by this one sentence I was trying to write. Once again, I went on the hunt and found this: http://www.radiomuseum.org/forum/first_car_radios_history_and_development_of_early_car_radios.html  This would seem to suggest that they did or that they could have been around, but the iffy-ness around the dates means that I will have to do more research if I want to state conclusively that these two characters are listening to the radio in the car in early 1927.  You always want more than one source. 

I started this blog about a month ago and then abandoned it like a toddler being shown something shiny. (In my defense, the something shiny was the copyedited manuscript followed by the first-pass pages of THE DIVINERS, so, you know, it wasn’t so much distracted by THE SHI-I-I-NEEEE as it was distracted by the cold kiss of the revolver at my head.) Anyhoo, said blog was about playlists.

As many long-time readers know, I write a playlist for everything I write. Well, not grocery lists. Then again, I don’t make grocery lists. Even in food procuring, I go on a wing and prayer. This would explain why I come home with fancy mustard and eco-friendly dishwasher pellets and forget things like milk and bread. But I digress and it’s only paragraph two.

I make playlists because, like a sense-memory exercise, they really help me get to a certain place in the writing. But lately, I’ve been thinking about the various kinds of playlists I like to make: Happy songs playlist. Slightly melancholy with a twist of lime playlist. Beyond melancholy through sad and right into morose self-pity with delusions of grand opera playlist. (Come on. We’ve all been there…) Road trip playlist. Workout playlist. Good make-out songs playlist. Bad make-out songs playlist. (Although, it should be noted that I once made out while watching “Dawn of the Dead” so I may not be a good authority on that one. Or else the undead really turn me on.) You get the picture.

Today’s blog is about the very necessary Happy Song Playlist. See, when the winter doldrums are upon me, I get into complete hibernation mode. My conversations run along these lines:

Husband: Why don’t we go see a movie?
Me: (snuggled under blanket on couch) Can’t. Movie is out of house.
Husband: Yeah, but the theater is only 8 blocks away.
Me: Our house cannot walk those 8 blocks.
Husband: Ho-kaaaay…
Me: (heavy sigh)
Husband: What’s wrong now?
Me: (slightly sad whine) I really want some hot chocolate.
Husband: So go make some. Kitchen’s right there.
Me: (heavier sigh) I know. But I’m here and the kitchen’s all the way over… (with great effort, rolls head to assess the twelve feet from chair to the kitchen) …there.

And so it goes. When winter comes, all I want to do is wear my bear suit. (For the record, I do not actually own a bear suit. But man, I wish I did. Then I could be like Susie the Bear from THE HOTEL NEW HAMPSHIRE, which is one of my Top Five favorite books of all time. Talented sewing people, if you can make me a bear suit, I would WEAR IT AND VIDEO MYSELF DANCING IN IT! I would probably never stop wearing it. It would be my fashion lovey. And my family would disown me, but that is because they don’t understand my hirsute hibernation needs. This is a strange, strange digression. I’m leaving this paragraph now. Okay…turning the knob aaaannd shutting the door.)

This is why I need a Happy Song playlist. Something to get the energy flowing. Something to make a person say, “Hello! There is a bear suit in my future! And now, we dance.”

And now, without further weird, weird ado, here is one of my Happy Songs Playlists:

Solsbury Hill/Peter Gabriel. The first time I went to the south of England (“Thomas Hardy country!” as I was told again…and again…) I imagined that this song had been written about a beautiful green hill I found there. I conjured images of Camelot and the Lady of the Lake…and then this very stoned dude in a black velvet dress came over and showed me his Excalibur and asked if I wanted to play Sword in the Stone. I declined. Now this song always makes me giggle. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I-9NEFalsjE&feature=related

Linus & Lucy/Vince Guaraldi Trio. It’s not just that it reminds me of being five, which, as I recall, was a pretty good year, with plenty of cookies and juice. It’s that from the jazzy opening piano riff, I am up dancing, arms at my sides just like the Peanuts gang who clearly would’ve been at home in “Riverdance.” http://www.metacafe.com/watch/2863789/linus_and_lucy/

Goody Two Shoes/Adam Ant. I will not speak too much of my nearly incapacitating crush on Adam Ant in the ‘80s except to say
that boys wearing frock coats, eyeliner and naughty sneers had an automatic in with me. (I kept expecting to date a 19^th-century highwayman.) That I also wanted to dress like that says something about the fluidity of gender lines—and the appeal of puffy shirts. http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x2ofd_adam-ant-goody-two-shoes_music

"Fancy a little eyeliner, darling?" 

It’s Oh So Quiet/Bjork. Most Bjork songs feel like Artaud for the ears. (For the record, I love Bjork. And Artaud.) But this is pure 1950’s Technicolor musical and lordy, that woman can sing. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TEC4nZ-yga8&feature=related

Let’s Go Crazy/Prince. “Dearly beloved…we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life…” Oh, Prince. You are proof that good things come in small packages. Most Prince makes me, um, “Delirous”-ly happy, but this one in particular puts the groove in my groove-shaker. As the Purple One says, “U better live now/Before the grim reaper come knocking on your door!” Word, Prince. Word.

"Baby, baby, baby, what's it gonna be..." 

Gay Bar/The Electric Six. Maureen Johnson turned me on to this Detroit band, naturally. We were sitting in a café when she turned to me with one of those MJ inscrutable expressions which could indicate either “Let’s share a cookie” or “How do you feel about an outing that could result in possible incarceration?” Instead, she showed me this video. And now, it’s on my happy list. 

   "It's all Maureen Johnson's fault."    

It’s All Too Much/The Beatles. This is the song I want played at my funeral, not to get all morbid or anything. I would also like people to wear bear suits and dance. Thank you. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ghRODy2B5Zo

Everyday Sunshine/Fishbone. This song, to me, is what I wish church had been like. Then I might’ve actually wanted to go. “I wish everyday the sun would shine…” I also love the infectious joy of this video, so I hope the link proves linky. (I just took five minutes to watch it and now I’m grinning like a fool and chair dancing, which is getting me some interesting looks here in the café. Just wait until they see my bear suit.) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QV5Nkah8nP8

"You, too, could be having this much fun if you will abandon gravity."

She’s So Modern/The Boomtown Rats. “She’s so twentieth century. She’s so 1970s!” Duuuude, I listened to this song so much my freshman year of college that I wore the grooves out on it. (Yes, it was vinyl.) I mostly remember my roomie, Christina, and I dancing around the dorm room to this in our underwear. No doubt, Michael Bay could turn that into a movie scene in which we’d have sex with robots…and then be engulfed in a fireball from a spectacular explosion. 

"Tiger, do not eat Bob Geldof, or there will be no Live Aid!"

Beat Surrender/The Jam. Oh, the skinny tie era makes me so, so happy. “Come on, boy! Come on, girl! Succumb to the beat surrender!” I mean, how often to you hear the word “Succumb” in a pop song? I would’ve killed to have seen The Jam back in the day, but I can still groove to Peter Weller’s soulful growl in the privacy of my living room. 

"What do you blokes think of the name The Style Council?" 


Ain’t No Thang/Katzenjammer. This is the ultimate all-chick, Norwegian pop/folk band kiss-off song.  (You HAD been searching for that, right?) Because nothing says, “I burned your stuff, asshole, and now I’m walking away and I really don’t care what happens to you” quite like a rockin’ balalaika solo. I defy you not to fist pump through this. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-AIdYoMpINQ

Mistress Mabel/The Fratellis. I heard the Fratellis perform this live on some show late at night, maybe it was Jools Holland. I don’t remember. But every time I hear it, I have to sing along. Even if I’m at the gynecologist’s office. Which can be awkward.

"But this IS my Casual Friday outfit."

Cool, from “West Side Story”/Bernstein & Sondheim. Not gonna lie—when I was fifteen and in the absolute hey-day of thinking every day was a possible musical revolving around…me, I would put on my bronze Danskin leotard and multi-colored leg warmers, affix my headband like the girl on the cover of “A Chorus Line” and totally Jerome Robbins it out in my bedroom to this song. That I was not much of a dancer did not deter me. The sharp edges of my bed, however, eventually did. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xkdP02HKQGc

What Makes You Happy/Liz Phair. This is the only song I for which I had a burning desire to direct the music video. It was a weird idea that involved Edward Hopper and The Venus de Milo. I suppose this is why they don’t allow me to make music videos. But I love this, and so I suppose, Liz, that what makes me happy is your song. It’s nice when it works out that way. 

"Behold the awesome." 

Cruel to Be Kind/Nick Lowe. I saw Nick Lowe with Rockpile in concert back when I was but an impressionable teen. I had a crush on him. (Really, I’m hard-pressed to think of anyone I DIDN’T have a crush on.) This song reminds me of hanging with my BFF Eleanor, the two of us singing at the tops of our lungs and trying to outdo each other with ridiculous antics including running into walls for laughs. Man, we were some weird, weird teens. 

Dance to the Music/Sly & the Family Stone. This one does double duty: The extended Dance to the Music Medley (about 12 minutes long) is #1 on my workout playlist. I live for the moment when they cut out and break it down with the acapella “Boom-boom-boom boom-boom-boom…” Sly Stone was also born in my hometown of Denton, Texas, and, as everyone knows from “Rocky Horror”, Denton is the Home of Happiness. ‘Nuff said.

"All of the squares, go home!"

Take Your Mama/The Scissor Sisters. “Gonna take your mama out tonight/Yeah, we’ll show her what it’s all about/Get her jacked up on some cheap champagne/We’ll let the good times all roll out…” Well, that works. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IPoFXmzaOqk&feature=related

Ray of Light/Madonna. Yes, it’s a Madonna song. Sue me. I love this song. And it’s easier to dance to than Patti Smith. (Don’t start—I adore Patti Smith. Revere her, even. But she’s not on my happy songs playlist.) 

"Libba, you will look back on pictures of yourself in your Desperately Seeking Susan phase and be afraid. Burn them, Libba. Burn them, now." 

What’s New Pussycat?/Tom Jones. When I listen to this, I like to imagine I’m a 1960’s-era Ann Margret with serious, serious hair frugging it out next to The Man himself. It also involves a white-lace jumpsuit and a swing. I don’t know why. I don’t question the images the brain hamsters send. They’re artists, dammit! And they want, nay, NEED, me to be Ann Margret for this song. Thank you, brain hamsters. Thank you. (For the record, I also saw Ann Margret in concert. She was fabulous. My Ann Margret love runs deep.) 

"Sexxy Beast!"

"Rawr!"

What a Wonderful World/Louis Armstrong. Kind of self-explanatory, n’est-ce pas? Take out us, Mr. Armstrong. “And I say to myself…what a wonderful world.” http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1ysp1_louis-armstrong-what-a-wonderful-wo_music

"Life is beautiful. But wear sunscreen."

In a weird moment of kismet, just as I was finishing this, Prince's "Let's Go Crazy" starting playing in the cafe where I'm (avoiding) writing. The power of positive thinking, perhaps?

So...what about you? Which songs would be on your happy song playlist?

On Tuesday, April 10th, Robin Wasserman's most excellent THE BOOK OF BLOOD AND SHADOW comes out. It's a riveting novel of centuries-old secrets, murder, friendship and danger that globe-hops from the ivy-covered halls of American academia to the streets of Paris and Prague. http://www.robinwasserman.com/bloodshadow.html

I had the good fortune to interview Robin this weekend, and by that I mean, I forced her to answer these questions by bribing her with baked goods. She likes baked goods. AND...one lucky winner, chosen at random, has won a free copy of THE BOOK OF BLOOD AND SHADOW. (No peeking!) So, without further ado--take it away, Robin!

Today, the ALA Youth Media Awards were announced, which is always an exciting day in our field—like the Oscars for books. This year was no exception, with many surprises announced and, as always, my perilous TBR pile grows ever more tippity with titles. “Tippity with Titles”—alliteration fans, I am here for you.*

What was so cool was seeing book titles trending on Twitter! Yes, book titles and author names trended on Twitter! Attention: We haz control of your Internetz! Mwahahaha! Also, I can’t believe it’s January. And not even new January but a week-away-from-the-end January. Yow. When did that happen?**

I’ve been living in the Writing Cave for so long I’ve forgotten how to do anything but work. So it was such a treat to spend five days at Vermont College of Fine Arts (VCFA) earlier this month as their writer-in-residence. It was a life-changing experience for me in many ways. As excited as I was to be there, I was also very nervous. Whenever someone wants me to talk about writing, I feel a profound lack of authority on the subject. Usually, I avoid the topic by shoving food into my mouth then making “I’m sorry, as you can see, it would be rude for me to speak” hand signals. This gives me the air of a very polite psychotic. But truly, all I know about writing could probably be summed up in these profound thoughts:

1. Sit down to write.
2. Write.
3. Have snacks on hand.
4. Build a community for support.
5. Read.

That’s it—the sum total of my advice, unless you want to get into specifics about snacks. (Morning: bagel & coffee. Afternoon: brownies & water. It is important to hydrate. And to brownie-ate.***) So I felt more than a little trepidation about standing at a lectern. At any moment, I expected someone to rush into the auditorium and shout, “J’accuse!”**** This is the Fraud Syndrome. Perhaps you have experienced this?

I wasn’t always a great or willing student. Unfortunately, a great deal of my education was wasted. This is not due to my teachers and professors who were mostly excellent. No, the fault is squarely mine. I was a doodler of pages, a looker-out-of-classroom windows, a constant daydreamer, teller-of-jokes-in-class, and, sometimes, a pig-headed arguer of wrong notions from which I refused to be separated even when confronted by evidence. Sometimes I would even argue a point I didn’t believe in just for the sake of argument. I think some of this stemmed from insecurity over feeling that I wasn’t nearly as smart as everyone else in the room. (Of course, arguing for the sake of arguing rather proves that notion.) I had a pick-and-choose game plan that involved skipping out on lectures that “bored” or intimidated me (most science and math) and sometimes not giving my all out of a fear of failure. Of course, failure and boredom and intimidation are all part of the learning process, but you couldn’t tell me that.

As a consequence of my misbegotten youth, I’ve spent a loooot of time learning how to become educated—yes, learning how to learn. I had to acquire the willingness to be taught. The willingness to say, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Could you please explain that to me?” A willingness to look like the dumbest person in the room. I had to develop an openness to other points of view, to the idea that that my ideas might not be as right as I thought they were and that letting them go isn’t being “weak”; it’s being smart. I began to add the words “explore” “examine” “question” “wonder” “consider” to my educational vocabulary. Oh yeah, and “listen.”

I never went to grad school, though I would’ve liked to very much. But by the time I started getting my act together, I needed to have a job and support myself and so my learning took on the patchwork quilt approach. So I decided that while at VCFA, I wanted to be open to everything. I wanted to go as a student, too, and attend everything that I possibly could while there. I did, and it was extraordinary.

There were wonderful lectures by Matt de la Pena, Betsy Partridge, Susan Fletcher, and Mark Karlins. Leda Schubert & Bonnie Christensen led a great research workshop, which included a guest appearance by the extraordinary Katherine Paterson*****. I also had the pleasure of hearing a few wonderful grad student lectures on topics ranging from the omniscient narrator to writing outside your culture, race or gender. Coe Booth and I stretched out in my dorm room and munched some snacks and talked about where we were feeling stuck with our books. And there was time, too, to hang out and get to know many wonderful, smart, engaged and engaging people.

I came away from these experiences with new insights, with a new way of seeing my writing. Honestly, my synapses were firing like the Macy’s Fourth of July fireworks display. It was like all of the hamsters in my brain who usually lie around on the carpet with empty pizza boxes while watching infomercials on ShamHamsterBalls suddenly went from “ ‘sup? When’s din-din?” to “Holy Edification, Batman! We are receiving pellets of wisdom from the mothership! To the wheels! Fly! FLY!”******

After Susan’s lecture, I went back to my room and cut several passages from the third draft of DIVINERS. They were sentences that I could now see were lazy or not as strong as they could be. My verbs needed some jazzing. (Another educational moment: I remember reading Jane Yolen’s THE SWORD OF THE RIGHTFUL KING in which every single one of her verbs socked me right between the eyes—nothing passive about them—and I thought, wow, I really need to up my verb game.) Matt’s talk about patience and taking your time was fantastic, and I looked back at places where I had been in a hurry and had not drawn out the action in a satisfying way. Thanks, Matt. Again and again, there were moments like this. And in round-table (well, oval-table, really) discussions with students over food that was…well-plated…it was brought home to me the amount of thinking and rethinking that goes into writing a book.

Being a student was wonderful. I guess that’s the thing I’m trying to say here: We’re always learning. There is never a moment where you say, “Well, I’ve got this writing thing down.” I left VCFA with even more questions about DIVINERS. And so, new books were procured. I put in a call to my amazing research goddess, Lisa Gold, and asked for some leads on my rather specific questions. The stalwart Tricia Ready and I will head back to the MTA Transit Museum this week for another round in the archives. I will keep digging—into the research, into the work, into the lives of the characters; I will keep thinking, keep the channels open for something I might learn that will change how I see. And so it goes, to quote the late, great Kurt Vonnegut. But I also left Vermont with a sense of gratitude—for the chance to be a storyteller, for the company of people who love books, for the educational opportunity. I’ll be honest with you: I also left feeling a little scared about the work ahead of me. But scared is good. Scared is the enemy of complacent. I always want to be a better writer than I am. I want to find the best way to serve the story I’m trying to tell. I have a lot to think about.

This past year has been a tough one, writing-wise. Fracturing both elbows back in March put me waaay behind on the writing and even the reading. (Holding a book when you can’t really move your arms without pain—not conducive to a nice reading experience.) At times, I thought I would lose my mind both from the dizzying pace and from my inability to make the various puzzles of the book intersect and work as they should. I am not a linear writer, nor am I particularly good at organization, including outlining. I tend to write madly, stop suddenly with a “Wha????” look on my face, and, in a last-ditch act of desperation borne of utter confusion, try to outline or organize the various threads/character arcs of the book. Usually, I get to about number 14 on my bullet pointed “(p)outline” before I am seized by a new idea at which point I abandon the outline and start writing until, maybe one hundred or one hundred-fifty pages in, I’m forced to reorganize. Lather, rinse, repeat. Amazingly, it all works out in the end. Or, as my friend Bill would say, “The worst thing that can happen is that they take us out into a field and shoot us.”******* Bill plays piano and sings in a lot of NYC bars. His sense of what’s a problem and what is not is finely honed.

And so I am back at it, still searching, still thinking, still learning, still writing. Fortunately, I have friends and brownies both at the ready. And when I’ve put this baby to rest—or the production team wrestles it from my grasping hands—and before I dive into the research on DIVINERS #2, I look forward to reading from that stack of award winners. I’m sure I will learn something there.

*Tippity Titles does sound like a children’s book heroine. Or a porn star.

**It happened right after December, Libba. Keep up.

***Brownie-ate should absolutely be a word. “Dude, it’s four o’clock. Time to Brownie-ate for sure.”

****I really don’t know why the villains of my nervous daydreams are always French.

*****Seriously, this woman is amazing. If you ever have a chance to hear her speak, go at once. Or, like, whenever they open the lecture hall.

******The hamsters in my brain don’t get out much.

*******This is good perspective. As opposed to, “OMG, THIS IS SO TERRIBLE THAT AN ANGRY MOB WILL CHASE ME INTO THE FOREST WHERE I WILL BE FORCED TO LIVE THE REST OF MY DAYS SURROUNDED BY DISGRUNTLED FOREST ANIMALS WHO WILL GRUMBLE ABOUT MY ADVERBS!” That is lacking in perspective. And possibly sanity. 

As I race the clock toward my September 1st deadline for THE DIVINERS, I thought I would procrastinate by answering some of your most frequently asked questions. Sort of. Well, not really. The question I am asked the most is, “Will you get me water/food/a napkin/fill in blank since you’re up?” But that’s beside the point. Unless you, too, live in my house and I just haven’t noticed you yet.

You ask; I answer. Sort of.

Q: What was your inspiration for writing the Gemma Doyle Trilogy?

A: I wanted to save the whales. I feel that if my writing can save even one large sea creature, then by golly, let me at that laptop.

Q: You’re kind of weird, aren’t you?

A: Yes. It’s only going to get weirder from here. You are warned.

Q: Seriously, what was your inspiration?

A: It wasn’t the whales? They’ll be so disappointed. (Such fragile egos for such large mammals.) I wanted to write a gothic creepfest of a Victorian story with a heroine who could kick butt and take names all in a crinoline and corset—sort of “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” meets Henry James and Charlotte Brontë. Whales don’t wear corsets by the way. Just in case that comes up on a test.

Q: Where do your ideas come from?

A: From Ideaworld! It’s the big mega-idea mart on the edge of town. I take my cart and roll down the aisles picking up plot, metaphor, simile, character, theme, whatever I need. Sadly, they are almost always out of stock on everything except the Enormo-Box of 100% Suck, which I already have plenty of. So then I am forced to pull ideas from everywhere—my iPod, books/newspapers/magazines/cereal boxes, going for walks, taking note of various quirks of human behavior, the cats, everyday human interaction, everyday alien interaction. Then I dust off the old imagination and work my bum off to try to make it into palatable story bits.

Q: Will you make your books into movies?

A: No. Not personally. I have some nice video of my cats, though. Or I did before I accidentally erased it. But somebody might perhaps make movies of the books someday. In the meantime, they seem to really enjoy being books. They’re kind of self-actualized that way, really. That therapy really paid off.

Q: If they make movies of your books, can you make sure they don’t screw it up?

A: If it will make you happy, I will promise to suck the marrow from the bones of anyone who adds a hot-oil girl fight in slow-mo.

Q: Can I be in the movie?

A: You can do whatever you like. Personally, I have cast myself as Dr. Who many, many times, but they keep using these British actor types. It mystifies me. For the record, I have less-than-zero control over ANY ASPECT of movie-making, including having a studio option the books. In fact, I can’t even locate Hollywood on a map. It’s out west somewhere, they tell me, in a land of palm trees, small dogs, and unnaturally white teeth.

Q: Are the characters in the your books based on anybody you know?

A: I will never divulge that information! Never! Actually, that’s not true. You could offer me a cupcake and I’d tell you anything you wanted to know. The characters are not based on anyone I know, per se, though it's reasonable to assume that since I do not live in a cone of silence beneath the earth--well, not all of the time--and I have family, friends, acquaintances, and periodic conversations with everyone from my mail carrier to Jan, who keeps me in Slurpees at the local 7-11, some of the characteristics of my fellow humans might work their way into various characters I write. But I find that once I start writing, the characters become people who are entirely different from what I had originally imagined. You know, kind of like in life.

Q: If you were stuck on a deserted island like in BEAUTY QUEENS, what three things would you bring with you?

A: Hmmm. That question assumes planning. If I'm tipped off ahead of time that I'm going to crash on a deserted island, I'm probably not taking that particular flight, if you know what I mean. But hypothetically, it's:

1. Water. (Dehydration is no fun.)

2. Toilet paper. (Is that leaf poisonous? You know, the one you just wiped with?)

3. Someone who can get me off that freaking island. Because I am not equipped for survival outside of New York City.

Q: Why did you do what you did at the end of The Sweet Far Thing? You know what I’m talking about.

A: Because I am made from the cloth of evil and sewn with the thread of unrelenting heartbreak.

Q: I know you say that we should imagine what happens next to the characters after the end of The Sweet Far Thing, but come on, what really happens to them?

A: That thing that you’re imagining.

Q: Are you going to write a fourth Gemma book?

A: No, but Scott Westerfeld is. It’s going to be called The Extra Special Great and Terrible Beauty.

Q: Can you stop being so annoying and answer the question?

A: I have no plans to write a fourth Gemma book right now, but never say never. It could happen. The thing is, I don’t want to write a Gemma book just to write a Gemma book, you know? It would need to be a story I’m dying to tell, as happened with the trilogy. I will concede that there is one idea that intrigues me and someday, I may just start writing and see where it goes. I’ll keep you posted. Will you let go of my arm now? Uncle!

Q: What do you like most about writing?

A: The panic. I like to know that my fight-or-flight response is primed and ready for the eventual zombie apocalypse.

Q: What do you like least about writing?

A: The zombies never show up.

Q: How do I get you to come to my school?

A: Offer me free food.

I don’t get to do a lot of school visits because of family and writing commitments, but I really enjoy it when I’m able to do so. So, if you want to start a campaign to get me to come to your school/library/bookstore/sock hop, you can have your teacher/librarian/bookstore rep/sock hop DJ contact my outrageously efficient and just plain awesome assistant, Tricia Ready, @tready@bgliterary.com. She also accepts small gifts in the form of fudge or I Love Lucy memorabilia.

Q: Can I be in the movie?

A: Why not? Let’s all be in the movie! I want my corset bedazzled with the words, “Sir not appearing in this movie.” (Extra points if you know that reference.)

Q: Did you really let Maureen Johnson touch your fake eye?

A: Yes, I did. I was hoping some of her greatness would rub off on me. Also, I enjoyed watching her shudder. Such a delicate little fox, my Maureen.

Q: Will you answer X, Y, Z for my homework assignment and can you do it in Spanish because it’s also for Spanish class and can you get it done by 2:00 today because it’s due tomorrow?

A: It was nearly impossible to get me to do my own homework when I was in school so I can’t see starting over now with someone else’s. We all need guiding principles in our lives. That’s mine and I’m sticking to it. Hopefully, between the links, bio, silly questions, et al, there’s enough here to help with any assignment you might have. And if you have one burning question not answered here, like, “Where do you get your laser eye serviced?” you can always message me on Facebook (Libba Bray…so don’t leave a message for Gayle Forman and expect me to respond) or @libbabray on Twitter or you can leave a note here on this blog. Please do NOT leave a message in that wretched Live Journal inbox thingy that is the spawn of Satan and which I never, EVER check. Hopefully, you will leave this message on a day when I am not buried under the Deadline That Ate My Brain. (Just a helpful hint: It’s always good to give me a long lead time and several polite prompts.) Of course, you can always try this: “Dear Teacher X, I am sorry that I did not do the required assignment. Yesterday afternoon, I began to grow a twin from my pancreas, and this required a rather sudden trip to the mall for clothes with an emerging twin pouch. Thank you for your understanding. Sincerely, Name. Plus Twin.” The good thing is, you can get your new twin to serve detention for you.

Q: What is your writing process?

A: Drink coffee. Eat bagel. Open laptop. Google useless factoids and pictures of cute animals playing drums. Whine vigorously. Plunge in with absolutely no plan whatsoever. Write while singing a little song, “Who’s gonna kick some writing butt today? I am! I am!” Stop to pet cat. Read over words just written. Feel hopeless and panicky. Avoid calls from editor. Vow to organize thoughts in outline. Feel taunted by outline, which tells me I dress funny. Remember I am not good at linear thought. Abandon outline. Turn outline into origami one-winged swan-bear-teapot…thing. Plunge in again. Stare at bookshelves containing works from good writers. Weep silently in envy. Start over. Manage to barf up words without stopping. Note time. Grumble. Quit for the day. Reward self with cookie. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Q: Can I send you my work to read?

A: Sadly, the constraints of my less-than-glamorous life make it impossible for me to do so. In addition to writing, blogging, mothering, wife-ing, doing laundry, slaying the dust bunnies, foraging, and trying to develop superpowers in my underground lab, I also try to shower regularly and make up obnoxious songs about my friends so that I can torture them at parties. This leaves very little time for other endeavors. But please do keep writing.

Q: What’s the best advice you can give an aspiring writer?

A: Read everything. A lot.

Q: Okay. I’ve written a book. How can I get it published?

A: Huzzah! That is awesome. The first thing you should do is put it in a drawer for a month, then come back to it and read it again. It should make you cringe in parts. If it doesn’t, leave it in the drawer for another month. When you read it with both love and disdain, you’re ready to revise. Work on your revision. THEN you can send it out.

Many publishing houses have contests for first-time authors. You can go to websites for various publishing houses and see if they have contests or guidelines for submission. (conveniently listed below--sorry, I am too lazy to make the linky-links in LJ. Too many steps...) You should also get yourself an agent. Agents are the Alfred to your Batman. Sometimes they are the Batman to your Alfred. You need one is what I am saying. How do you find an agent? Look them up in The Writer’s Market for Agents. This is a huge, doorstop of a book that you would not want to drop on anybody’s head—or not the heads of people you like—and it lists every agency and agent, what they like, don’t like, whether they will turn you into a newt for typos, etc. You can find it at your local bookseller. You can also do a Google search for agents. I Googled “YA Literary Agents” and got, like, a gazillion links. Do you know how many zeroes are in a gazillion? Neither do I. A lot, though.

It’s really, really, REALLY important to pay attention to the agent/publishing house’s edicts about submissions. You don’t ever want to give someone a reason to chunk your stuff in the rubbish bin just because you failed to keep your synopsis to one page or you sent the whole manuscript when they clearly state they will only accept the first three chapters. Similarly, if an agent says he/she is only interested in dark, edgy novels and you send him/her your light-as-a-three-egg white-omelet novel about a girl who sings at a nursing home and suddenly becomes an overnight sensation and falls in love with the boy next door and they save puppies and plant daisies in everybody’s yards so the world will be filled with bright, bright color, you’re shooting yourself in the foot. (Actually, if you write that book, there might be a line of people wanting to do the shooting for you.) Read what they say and FOLLOW IT TO THE LETTER. Good luck!

Candlewick

HarperCollins

Hyperion/Disney

Little Brown

Penguin

Random House

Scholastic

Simon & Schuster

Soho Press

I hope I've managed to list them all. If not, I apologize, publishers. 

Q: Speaking of agents, what's it like to be married to your agent, Barry Goldblatt?

A: I haven't been married to any other literary agents for comparison's sake, but I think he's pretty cool. Of course, it does get annoying when I ask him to take out the trash and he says, "That'll be fifteen percent." 

Q: Do you ever doubt yourself when you’re writing?

A: At least once every fifteen minutes. That’s what chocolate is for.

Q: How do you keep going when you’re stuck?

A: It’s awful, isn’t it? And the answer is…you keep going. I mean, nobody answers the question, “How do you keep swimming when you’re tired but you haven’t reached the other side?” with “Oh, just stop swimming.” That would be a bad answer. The truth is, you just write, even if you hate everything you write. Even if you suddenly go off on a tangent about llamas who long to put on a high school musical. Even if it makes you cringe with every word. Even if you're bored or filled with seething hate for your WIP. Just keep going. Eventually, you will reach the other side. And I’d really like to read that book about the llamas. So few llama musical novels these days.

Q: Can you please please PLEASE write a fourth Gemma book?

A: I was actually thinking of just skipping ahead and writing a sixth Gemma novel. Do you think that would be confusing?

Q: Will we see more from Mr. Fantastic Fiction?

A: Oh-ho! As surely as the rain falls from the sky in the way in which rain falls, which is to say in a heavy, borscht-thick stream the minute you realize you have locked yourself out of your car and you are wearing that new simul-pleather jacket you special ordered from SeriousWritersWearJackets.com and all you can say is “Balls!”

Q: What about the Evil Author Overlord and Mr. Bubbles Kitty?

A: Zere is always time for evil. Ven you don’t make time for evil, it still makes time for you. Isn’t zat right, Mr. Bubbles Kitty? Mwaor.

Q: Who do you hope they cast in the movie?

A: Who do I hope they will cast in the movie…of the books that have not been optioned for movies as of yet? Trained, singing meerkats who are making the leap from a teen meerkat TV show. Because above all, I admire a teen meerkat with ambition.

Q: Can I be in your movie? I’m better than trained meerkats.

A: Now you’ve done it. You’ve pissed off the meerkats. Sleep with one eye open, my friend.

Q: What’s next?

A: I was thinking about making a sandwich. Oh, you meant writing-wise. Got it. I am working on THE DIVINERS, a four-book, supernatural historical series set in 1920’s New York City. It’s taking me back to my love of horror and sprawling, historical dramas. By that I mean that when I realized my historical story was becoming a sprawling mess, I felt a sense of true horror. Oy. The first book comes out Fall 2012.

Q: Why do people put up with you?

A: I honestly have no idea.