My cat is sitting on my head. 
I do not know why she thinks my head is an ottoman, but there is no rhyme or reason when it comes to cats. They own you, and if you are smart, you will play along, make no sudden moves, and give them the kibble when they demand it. 

It has been raining here for, I swear, four years. Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration. But it feels like four years. I have grown mold on my brain and that is why I have been unable to write a blog. I would look outside, see the rain, sigh, and invite the cat to sit on my head in hopes that she would warm it up. (This is not a proven scientific technique, but I am a pioneer.) 

Today, there is glorious sun. It hurts the eyes, this strange glowing orb in the sky of which we have heard tell in legend. And so I must go outside and play. Thankfully, other people have come to do my work for me. 5AwesomeYAFans fiveawesomeyafans.ning.com/ provided me with some video of Tiger Beat doing "Superstitious" at BEA. There is also video from Melissa C. Walker www.melissacwalker.com/blog/ and the lovely Rachel Cohn www.rachelcohn.com of some Tiger Beatness back in March at the NYC Teen Author Festival. It's, um, interesting to see yourself on video. *runs screaming*

Much as I love Books of Wonder (much respect to our beloved NYC children's indie), next time we gig, I think we have to be somewhere where the mic will allow me to move more than three inches in any direction. I was terrified of pulling everything out and bringing down amps in a crash of "Oops, sorry. You know those head injuries often aren't as bad as they look." 

So, in place of my blogging, please enjoy (hopefully enjoy?) the stylings of the all-YA author-comprised Tiger Beat: Daniel Ehrenheft www.danielehrenhaft.com/(bitchin' guitar), Barnabas Miller "I need a website ASAP" (thunderous drums), Natalie Standiford www.nataliestandiford.com/(oh-so-cool bass...she's the one hiding behind the pole in the vids), and yours truly on vocals. I can now cross that singing-in-public fear off my list of things I won't do. So there, Lauren Myracle lauren-myracle.livejournal.com/37608.html. 

When I get back from ALA next week, will do an ask the author blog. And I can answer one question already: No, I have no new information on the movie of AGATB, which seems to be stalled at present. Perhaps we should just film our own version in my backyard.

The Tiger Beat vids:

"Down on Me"/Janis Joplin (which Melissa thought was "Down on Knee," which makes me giggle and think of all the song lyrics I have heard differently over the years) 3/19/09
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rKmGgQkIpaE

"Superstitious"/Stevie Wonder At BEA 5/29/09 (Thanks, 5AwesomeYAfans!)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AvUCYYjK80w

"Dear Prudence"/Beatles 3/19/09 (Thanks, Rachel)
Cutest little girl. Like, to die for.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7y8bEuzWDPY

"I Want Candy"/Bow Wow Wow version 3/19/09 (Thanks, Chrissy!)
Just scroll past Dear Prudence to the second half. But from this angle, you get to see Dan's smokin' guitar solo with violin bow.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uzB_1f5v_Lg

Today was a super exciting day for me. I was interviewed by the lovely Mandi from Entertainment Weekly for their Must issue for Going Bovine. Gotta say, it made my week. Possibly even my summer. :-) 

While I'm waiting for my pizza to arrive (Oh, delightful tomato sauce-and-cheese dappled orb!), I just wanted to let you NYC peeps know that I will be part of a great reading at Books of Wonder tomorrow night with all the super-coolio authors mentioned below. It's for a horror anthology called Vacations from Hell. I had a lot of fun writing this story and am thinking about possibly writing more about these characters. Would love to hear what you think about that. Read it and drop me a line.

Yesterday, I had to make 20 eclairs as part of the boy's French homework. Today, I have to figure out how to sew a monster costume out of an old pillowcase and whatever else I can think up like some unholy middle school version of Project Runway. Did I mention I almost failed Home Ec? Argh! 

Here's the info for the reading. And I think it's almost time for another "Ask the author" blog. Hmmm.....


Vacations From Hell
 
Please join us on Tuesday, June 9th, from 6 to 8pm, for a very special event as we present ALL five fantastic fantasy authors who have come together to create an exciting new book, Vacations From Hell. On hand will be NY Times bestselling author LIBBA BRAY (A Great and Terrible Beauty); NY Timesbestselling author CASSANDRA CLARE (The Mortal Instruments series); author CLAUDIA GRAY(Evernight); author MAUREEN JOHNSON (Devilish) and author SARAH MLYNOWSKI (Magic in Manhattanseries). All of the authors will present their stories from the new book beginning at 6pm, answer questions from the audience, and then sign copies of all their wonderful books. Ages 12 and up. 6-8pm.

 Many of you, along with authors E. Lockhart, Maureen Johnson, and Ellen Kushner, sent this screamingly funny video to me. "It started off as Hogwarts now it's Lord of the Flies." Total love.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lj-x9ygQEGA&eurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww%2Efacebook%2Ecom%2Fhome%2Ephp&feature=player_embedded

This is so brilliant. Wish I'd thought of it. Don't you want to go make your own literal videos, now?
After you finish viewing it, please go visit my Torso Twin and fellow Bonnie Tyler warbler, Shannon Hale, oinks.squeetus.com and tell her you love her. *sigh* I miss her. 

*NEW YORK CITY PEEPS*

If you are in the vicinity of Park Slope, Brooklyn, this Saturday, come out to see me at the Barnes & Noble on 7th Avenue between 5th & 6th Streets. I will be taking questions, giving ridiculous answers, possibly singing the above song for the last time, and signing books. 

Libba
Park Slope B&N
267 7th Avenue (@6th Street)
4:00 pm

Hope to see you there. Also, don't forget about the Fantasy Road Trip video contest: www.fantasyroadtripcontest.com 

It is still raining in NYC. Apparently, we are living in an alternate NYC, which is really Seattle, but without the gorgeous views and the good coffee. The coffee has been sucking lately. What up, NYC? Is it the water? Does it give us great bagels but brown-water-with-a-bitter-dirt-aftertaste kind of coffee? If you live in Brooklyn and you have found a jim-dandy cup of coffee (starting to sound a little "Twin Peaks" here...), by all means, let me know. 

Must finish my short story today or die trying. I've been saying this for a week. And then I get in there under the car hood and go, hmmmm....did I really put this blue wire near the red? That doesn't seem right. But where does it go? Or do I need a new wire? And I KNOW that transmission is in wrong. (Funny to use car parts as an analogy when you don't even own a car. But that's how I roll. Don't judge me.) 

Alright. Must get boy to school and continue in my search for non-dirt-tasting cup of coffee. 
Don't forget about Saturday!

 

 

 

 

Hey, wanna hear about something really awesome? Okay, here it is: I managed to import this logo into my document all by myself! I know! I am, like, in love with myself right now. Oh. You want to know about the actual contest. Yeah. Okay. I guess that’s pretty cool, too. I mean, not as cool as my moment of technical proficiency, but, you know. Whatever. Be like that.

 

Random House is sponsoring a super-coolio video-making contest for summer. (You know, summer. That stretch between school years in which you down Slurpees till your brain has a perma-freeze headache, and you watch every old Hammer Horror movie ever made while lying on the couch ignoring the people who snipe that you should be “outside, doing something”? Or maybe I’m just describing my ideal summer.)

 

Here’s the dealio: You make a video that answers the question: If you could do on a fantasy road trip with a character (or characters) from your favorite series, where would you go? What would you do along the way? Would there be Cheese Nips? (I, personally, cannot travel without a box of Cheese Nips. It's a security blanket. I read about the Donner Party is all I'm saying here.) The video must:  A) mention Florida somehow. See I just did it there. Florida. How hard can that be? B) make a reference to audiobooks. Watch this: Hey, everybody! I’m making a reference to audiobooks! Audiobooks rock out loud—literally! See? So easy.  And C) include a clip of dialogue from the audio you’ve chosen. Okay. I don’t actually know how to do that. It took me ten minutes to import the Fantasy Road Trip logo. Also, I can't seem to un-bold this section.  But you are all geniuses and you will figure it out.

 

I know from personal experience that many of you are insanely creative and very talented with a video camera. (Barbie version of The Gemma Doyle trilogy much?) And you can use anything—animation, songs, sock puppets (really, they say you can use sock puppets).  I would suggest staying away from juggling fire unless you’re really skilled and/or highly insured. And getting your cats to swing dance is harder than you might imagine. But other than that, I say go for it.

 

People, in addition to YouTube fame (or infamy), you can win an 8GB iPod touch AND a collection of audiobooks signed by the authors. The authors in this case being the incredible Tamora Pierce, the just-as-incredible Rick Riordan, and the rather dodgy Libba Bray. (Two out of three ain’t bad, peeps. Also, I can’t help but notice, looking at the side-by-side author photos of La Pierce and me, how much we resemble one another. Same mischievous smirk and everything. And considering that she is descended from “a long, proud line of hillbillies” and my mom is from Appalachia, I am now determined to find out if we are related. Because how cool would it be to claim relation to the fabulous Miz Tamora Pierce? I don’t see a resemblance between Rick Riordan and me. Maybe it’s the beard. However, we are both from Texas. So maybe. Maybe if I grow a beard. Now I have a summer project. Huzzah!)

 

Anyhoo, here is the link to said fabulous road trip contest. Enter at will. Enter at won’t. Enter through a door that is not locked or you’re going to be very frustrated. But do not break and enter as that is a crime punishable by law. www.fantasyroadtripcontest.com

 

After I finish my very late short story, I’ll post a recap of the weekend’s BEA (Book Expo America) goings-on, including, hopefully, some Tiger Beat stuff. But that’s later. Now is the time to enter this contest.

 

And for everyone who chimed in on my last post, thank you for being part of the dialogue and for being respectful toward one another, whatever your feelings. You’re welcome to continue that conversation on that post if you wish.

 

 Yesterday, California upheld Proposition 8. If you’re not familiar with Prop 8, you can read about it here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Proposition_8 In a nutshell, Prop 8 denies marriage rights to same-sex couples.

This is an issue near and dear to my heart as I was raised by a gay father. My dad came of age in the 1940’s in the Deep South. Being gay was more than just not okay then; it was downright dangerous. When my father was involved with a man while stationed in Korea and it was discovered, he was given a dishonorable discharge from the Army, which in effect nullified his service to the country and haunted him the rest of his days. He was unable to buy a house using the G.I. bill and unable to explain to anyone why he couldn’t do so because it would expose his secret. Despite having a family, friends, accomplishments, my father also lived his whole life with a sense of self-loathing, of self-doubt that was painful to bear witness to. Understand—he had his faults. But one of his greatest strengths was his warmth, his fierce love. And it was a shame that he could not extend this love to himself, conditioned as he was over the years by a society that continually told him he was less than. In fact, it told him his very self was intolerable. Dangerous. He should keep himself hidden. And he did. To us, to his gay circle, he was out. To the rest of the world, including the church body that employed him (he was a journalist for the Presbyterian Synod and an ordained minister), he was decidedly not. Imagine for a moment spending your days carefully editing yourself, unable to be who you are for fear that you will be shunned—or worse. When my father came out to our family, I was fourteen, and it was explained to me that we had to keep it a secret because my father would lose his job and might be attacked physically. The message conveyed was one of fear and shame which trickled down to all of us.

 From that moment on, I, too, felt that I had two lives. In one, I lived in a small, religious and conservative Texas town and went to high school and listened to people spout hate that felt like a prop, like something that had been placed in their hands and so they waved it around because they didn’t know if it was okay to put it down somewhere. In the other life, I sometimes spent weekends in Dallas with my father and his lover, John. I took in the shops of Oak Lawn, Dallas’s gay district, went to see the Turtle Creek Chorale men’s chorus perform, was introduced to the work of Charles Busch, attended small chip-and-dip parties attended by “aunts” and “uncles” (We Are Family) where I got tips on my running technique from the lesbians and talked theatre with gay men. (Sorry if that hits your stereotyping button, but I’m just reporting here.) I met some wonderful people, all of whom lived in the closet of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” in the larger world. (If you want to take a master class in denial, by all means, grow up in the south.) It was an invaluable experience for me to have my eyes opened at such a formative time, to spend my adolescence seeing that being gay should not be a stigma and was, in fact, simply a way of life. It was normal. It was a part of my life as much as running track or doing plays or going to youth group or eating pizza on a Friday night. It gave me a profound appreciation for the struggles of people who are somehow pushed to the margins of society and must fight to have and hold their place within it.  It fostered in me a sense of speaking out against injustice, of speaking your truth, even though I personally find conflict scary and uncomfortable. Because not to speak, to live in silence and fear and in the soul-shattering shadows of the secret self, is intolerable. We must always be brought into the light. And hate kills—sometimes literally as in the case of Matthew Shephard or the slow federal reaction to the AIDS crisis in the 1980s, but more often it kills the spirit over time, carving away hope and the right to be in teaspoonfuls of self-abnegation, despair, and worthlessness.

 “There is nothing wrong with you.”

I thought about this back in December when I sat in a small movie theater near Lincoln Center watching Gus Van Sant’s “Milk,” the biopic of gay activist Harvey Milk. I was a teenager when that story unfolded. I remember Anita Bryant’s smug crusade against LGBT citizens. I remember the sense of triumph when California’s other anti-gay initiative, Proposition 6, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Briggs_Initiative was defeated. On that cold day in December, thirteen years to the day after my father’s death from AIDS, I sat in the theatre feeling a little numb, wondering how we could have gone so far backward, from hope to hate, in thirty years. But the moment that really got me was the one in which Milk receives a phone call from a gay teen. The boy is clearly at the end of his rope; his parents are going to send him away to an institution to “cure” his homosexuality. He is desperate and desolate and suicidal. And Harvey Milk says to him, “Listen to me—there is nothing wrong with you. You are not sick, and you are not wrong, and God does not hate you.” It is a galvanizing moment, the heart of the film. And I wept.

There is nothing wrong with you. There is nothing wrong with you. There is nothing wrong with you.

Yes, that statement resonates with anyone who has ever felt lost, out of the mainstream, a step ahead or beat behind. Keep that feeling—it is the root of compassion, of empathy.  It is what joins us to others and reminds us that we are all fragile and searching and in need of one another. But now let’s move on to the specific: There is nothing wrong with being gay. There is nothing wrong with the way you love. Jesus, we should count ourselves lucky that we ever find love at all. Love is hard going and it takes guts and work and self-reflection and constant negotiation, not only with our partners but with ourselves, with our preconceived notions of what’s-what and the ever-ass-kicking reality of what-is. Love is not for the faint of heart—and it’s the best thing we’ve got going. I won’t even go into the ways marriage forces you to grow up. Why would we want to deprive other human beings of this basic right, of this chance to grow? (Or, if you’re into Schadenfreude, the right to feel like you want to scream over the dishes in the sink?) Why do we think it is okay to deny other human beings, other tax-paying citizens of this country, people who teach or doctor or minister to the sick and weary or serve in the armed forces or, hell, hula dance for all I know, the same rights and privileges that are afforded heterosexuals?  What crazy act of hubris allows one segment of the population to determine who can love equally under the law?

I know some people argue that marriage is an institution of the church, and, as such, can be defined by the principles of the church. But ours is supposedly a government with a separation of church and state, and marriage is an institution of the state. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be filling out paperwork when you got married. You wouldn’t change your tax status. (And last time I checked, the LGBT community was not tax exempt.) And marriage, as opposed to same-sex civil unions, http://lesbianlife.about.com/cs/wedding/a/unionvmarriage.htm confers certain legal protections that must be recognized across all borders. Ask Annie Leibovitz about that one. http://www.salon.com/mwt/broadsheet/feature/2009/03/05/leibovitz/Legality is all. And having clearly defined legal rights is different from having a haphazard largesse of the state as it sees fit when it sees fit. I believe we have determined that separate but equal is the former but not the latter.

Often I hear opponents of gay marriage talk about how it is an assault on the family, and I’m often left thinking, well, how do we define family? Is there only one definition? My theory—and I recognize it may not be everyone’s raison d’etre—is that we exist to evolve. That life is a series of experiences designed to rearrange our atoms and challenge what we have accepted as true, which may, in fact, not be true at all. I’ve long argued that our concepts of family, themselves based on archaic economic models, need to catch up to the realities of the 21^st-century. Today’s families may be gay or straight, child-free or Cheaper By the Dozen, extended family or the extended family made of the network of friends. (I could get into the ways in which we might need to accommodate this with better child care and a reorganization of the work sector, but that’s not this post.) Family is not so much under attack as it is under change because life has changed and we find ways to make it all work. Once upon a time, people said that interracial marriage and women’s rights were also an attack upon the family.

I’m not vilifying the people holding on to these beliefs with their fingernails. They are scared. And fear breeds mistrust and intolerance. Often, when people feel that the times are uncertain and they are uncertain of their place in that shaky world, when they feel powerless over the economy or random violence or gender roles or their children, their spouses, etc.—what I call the Talking Heads moment: “And you may say to yourself, Where is that beautiful house? And you may say to yourself, My God, what have I done?”—they feel genuinely threatened in the way that a child who feels threatened will dig in his/her heels and refuse to cede ground because it feels, in that moment, like ceding the self. It is their fear of themselves, really, of their tenuous grasp on an unpredictable world, that is writ large in such legislation. “Well,” they might argue. “At least I can control this.” They need an enemy to fight. A dragon to slay so that the world will be put right again.  A sacrifice to offer the gods that they might be spared. The argument is without merit--there is no control except autonomy. The world has always been unpredictable. It will go on being unpredictable until the day the sun says, “Bitch, please, I am so done.” (Did I mention I was raised by a gay dad? J)

When confronted with such anti-gay beliefs, I try to take a deep breath and ask what it is the holders of those beliefs find so threatening about civil rights, equal rights for equal human beings. I talk about my dad, about the men and women I have known who have faced terrible consequences simply for being who they are and loving those they love, because I do believe that the personal is political, and I do believe those stories matter. I was there; I know they do. We may or may not come to common ground. But I will continue to fight for civil rights and to oppose what I see as hate-based legislation like Proposition 8, because I think it is too important not to. If there is anything I learned growing up in the warmth of my father’s love and the shadow of his fear, it is that staying silent is not an option.  It’s one of the reasons I write gay characters—not because I’m trying to make a statement (though I suppose it does make a statement and I am looking forward to the day when it does not), but because my life is made up of all stripes of people, many of whom happen to be LGBT. I write what I know and part of what I know is this. 

So I’m frustrated about Proposition 8 today, but I am committed to overturning it and to seeing that my gay brothers and sisters enjoy the same rights in this country that I do. As a sign in Washington D.C. said, “No civil rights movement has ever failed. Some are just ongoing.” http://twitpic.com/613z3 (Thanks @alexanderchee, twitter.)

If you choose to discuss or debate this issue here, which you are always welcome to do, I would ask that you be respectful toward one another (as I find you usually are), with an eye on true dialogue, not diatribe. And if I may ask one favor, I ask that today, you might challenge yourselves to think beyond your pre-established borders, to question what you might have accepted without inquiry, to open your eyes fully and try not to blink. 

They never pick up the tab. Ever.
Seriously nasty table manners.  
Bad pet sitters: "Thanks for looking after my cat. Ummm...where IS my cat?" 
Will occasionally try to eat you during sporting events.
Epic cheaters at Scrabble. For the record, "Bagnackxzll" is not a word. No, you cannot cite the Zombie Dictionary.
Never change clothes. Not big on hygiene. 
Constantly requesting "Monster Mash" from local radio station.
Forget that body parts cannot go in the blue recycling bins.
Uncomfortable in-joke giggling during "Dawn of the Dead." 
12-step zombies sanctimonious around brain-eaters.
Tweets are non-sensical. Get offended if you don't reply or RT. 
Easily distracted by small prey during heart-to-hearts.
Can't dance for shit.

Just a reminder: 
TONIGHT! THURSDAY, MAY 14TH 7:00 PM
reading/signing/Q&A
BOOK COURT
163 Court Street
Brooklyn, NY
(718) 875-3677
 

 Hey Peeps,

Just want to let you know that I have two events this week at two really wonderful indie bookstores in Connecticut and Brooklyn. Here are the deets: 

TUESDAY, MAY 12TH, 7:00 PM (aka Tonight!) 
RJ JULIA'S BOOKSELLERS
768 Boston Post Road
Madison, CT
(203) 245-3959

THURSDAY, MAY 14TH 7:00 PM
BOOK COURT
163 Court Street
Brooklyn, NY
(718) 875-3677

I just noticed that my publicist wrote on my agenda: "Q&A, Reading, and Singing." Don't know if I will warble a tune or not (It's about time to retire "Total Eclipse of the Heart" and I have yet to find a suitably cheesy '80's song to take its place--suggestions?) but I will definitely be signing, so come on down. I'd love to chat/snack/do the Time Warp with you. 

And speaking of singing, mark your calendars for Friday night, May 29th, because TIGER BEAT will be playing one more gig at Books of Wonder (18 W. 18th Street, New York Freakin' City). We've added new songs (B-52s! Prince! Zeppelin!) and we may wear ridiculous sunglasses. It could happen. Not sure yet on the time--it's either 6:00 pm or 7:00 pm. Will post when I get it. The opening act is the fantabulous duo of Rachel Cohn and David Levithan doing a dramatic interp from their monster hit, NICK & NORAH'S INFINITE PLAYLIST. You do NOT want to miss that. 

That's all the news that's fit to print. Off to shower before heading up to CT. (Because I'm an author who cares about hygiene.)

Hope to see you this week. :-) 

 

 I’ve been asked why I make an iPod playlist for everything I write. And the answer is that for me, music is often a great help in getting into a story. It helps me to get beyond the shackles of my conscious self and submerge into my unconscious where the good stuff hides, often with cookie crumbs on its mouth. It’s really a sense/memory exercise. A way to access emotion and to use that emotion to drive to new places within the story.

It’s an interesting exercise to try: think of a song from some specific time in your life and use it to get back to that place, then see where it takes you from there.

For instance, if I hear “Blowin’ in the Wind,” I can see my five-year-old self in the back of the Woodlawn Presbyterian Church’s fellowship hall on some Sunday night. The film projector, the old kind you have to thread through reels, clacks along throwing light and shadow on a projection screen, creating images on a blank canvas like God: barefoot children in villages blighted by poverty and disease. Children who, I am told, have no food and so I had better eat what’s on my plate and be grateful for it. It’s bold of my father to play Dylan. Miss Julia, the matriarch of the church bristles, I’m sure, as she does at anything that hints that the times they are a-changin’. Already, some teenagers wear jeans to church and the women no longer come in gloves. There is a new Bible with modern language and a bright green cover. They sit in the pews beside the King James versions like a before and after moment in a movie where the shy spinster emerges from the beauty parlor as a mod goddess.

My tooth is loose. It’s my first, and I find it compulsively addictive to push my tongue against it, swinging it back and forth like the screen door my mother is always after me to let alone. Like that door, I can’t leave my tooth be. I complain. My father is exasperated. He is a handsome man with deep-set blue eyes and a full mouth thinned into a tight smile at the moment. If my mother were there, she would see to me. She’d lean close and whisper that I needed to “stop acting ugly” and behave. But she’s not here. She’s having gall bladder surgery, and my father, who fears the judgment of others where his children’s behavior is concerned for reasons I will not understand until much, much later, is as unhinged as my tooth. He is trying to lead the Minute for Mission meeting, which is a mouthful, all those M’s tumbling toward salvation in a rush.

Winnie Haffner is one of many adopted grandmothers I have in this church. She favors cat’s-eye glasses and bright floral dresses that are like Rousseau paintings come to life on her body. We have a secret game—we give each other small love bites on our arms in greeting. It seems strange to me now from this distance—oral sadism as hello. But at five, it is magical—improper, impulsive thuggery sanctioned with a wink and an agreement that it is our bonding ritual. Mrs. Haffner (my parents would never allow me to call her anything less formal) towers over me on the back row. “Elizabeth,” she says, using my full name. “Come with me.” She takes me by the wrist into the bathroom where just last week, Donna Hoffman taught me to play Bloody Mary by saying that forbidden name into the mirror three times until I am afraid to pee alone in that place, certain Mary will reach out from the glass and drag me in to wherever it is rebellious girls go. “I’m going to pull your tooth. It won’t hurt. Now hold still,” Mrs. Haffner says firmly.

I am too afraid to say no to her. The dread is overwhelming. And then, the tooth is in her hand. The blood loss is minimal. She wraps it gently in a square of toilet paper and tucks it into the pocket of my shorts. “Put that under your pillow for the tooth fairy tonight.” And just like that, fear is transformed into expectation and delight. I will have my quarter tonight. I am no longer a baby, like Victor across the street who hasn’t lost any teeth yet. The ladies of the church gather to admire the space where my tooth used to be. My father gives me a dime for the Coke machine in the kitchen. The bottle thunders down the shoot like a promise.

I might tell you that “Galveston” makes me think of my mother’s presence in the kitchen, doing whatever it is that mothers do when you are four and uninterested in and impatient with the tasks that take her away from you. She listens to a white Westinghouse radio that sits on the kitchen counter beside the breadbox. She likes this song, which we heard Glen Campbell sing on “The Smothers Brothers,” a show my parents watch religiously, laughing uproariously at political comedy that is years beyond me. I just like the sound of their laughter while they watch, the way they are together in that moment. I like the way they look in the darkening kitchen, the TV’s small light illuminating their smiles, the sound of the cicadas on the other side of the sliding glass door. Sometimes, my mother plays songs like these on the piano, teaching me to sing harmony. It is and will remain my favorite thing we do together, especially when I am a teenager and it is one of the only times we seem ever to be in harmony.

There is music in the house always. Bach. Handel. Scott Joplin. The Kingston Trio. Pete Seeger and Woody Guthrie. The Beatles, whom I love because they sing about such silly things like walruses and yellow submarines and ladies named Lucy who sparkle in the sky with diamonds. Next door, my neighbors watch “Hee-Haw” and listen to the twangy sounds of Hank Williams. It mixes with the bright, horn-drenched rhythms of Tejano music, which plays at nearly every party on my street, while the teenage girls who babysit my brother and me favor Three Dog Night and The Who. Sometimes, while riding in the big blue Chevrolet on the way to the grocery store, my mother lets me choose the radio station. I have my favorites: “Spinning Wheel.” “Both Sides Now.” “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down.” Some nights, my father sings Tom Lehrer songs to my brother and me in his sweet Irish tenor. Our favorite is “Riggity Tiggity Tin” about a girl who murders her family in interesting ways. We giggle and demand more until we feel that he sings with proper bloodthirsty gusto.

A few years later, in a different house, my brother and I spend a rainy afternoon in his room. The room is red-white-and-blue with blue shag carpet, and if I stay in there too long, I get a headache. He plays with his little green Army men while I read the collected adventures of Buck Rogers, marveling at the futuristic ray guns and 1930’s fashion. We listen to Kasey Kasem’s American Top 40, counting down to number one, hoping it’s one of our favorites, booing when it's something clearly not worthy of its spot on the charts. Today, the #1 song is one we love: Cheech & Chong’s “Earache My Eye.” The song is funny, and we only halfway get the veiled drug references, but we enjoy the shared experience of loving a song our parents hate. It will prove to be a bonding experience for years to come. My entire relationship with my brother seems to be set to music:

*The two of us listening to Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd in bedrooms covered in rock posters.

*The outrage when our mother makes my brother take down his illustrated poster for Jethro Tull’s “Too Old to Rock N Roll, Too Young to Die” because she deems it, with its naked groupie, “obscene.”

*The concerts we see together: Bad Company, Rockpile, Cheap Trick, Journey, Bowie, Guns N Roses. Small bands who become bigger. Promising bands that go nowhere. Venues where he mixes sound or hauls equipment for other acts or plays his guitar like his idols Jimmy Page, Stevie Ray Vaughn, Jeff Beck.

*Sitting in his car with its bitchin’ sound system, the hour late, my brother explaining to me how this new technology, the compact disc, works. In truth, we’re high—eyes shining, skins tight, lips stretched into unnatural smiles—and when I lean my head back against the soft leather and look out the windshield at the night, I imagine the sound waves oscillating there, the stars surfing on their backs in smaller and smaller beats until the sky is a storm of sound that will drag me under and spit me out, baptized.

*Sprinkling my father’s ashes in the mountains of Colorado—in the car after, the stereo blares Led Zeppelin’s “Thank You,” Robert Plant filling the space we cannot seem to close. 

When my father was dying, wasting down to bones in a small bed in the only nursing home that would take a man with his disease, he liked to listen to Judy Collins, “Amazing Grace.”
“When I listen to this, I know it’s all going to be okay,” he’d murmur, more to the room than to me. Unable to think of anything to say, I would look out the window at the enormous tree near the parking lot. Over three months, I’d watched its leaves shift from green to golds and reds and then to a stark nude, a touch of snow inching up the bark from the ground. He'd ask me to play that song again and again, and he would close his eyes and give a small smile. If this is what music can do, if it can ease the passage into death, it is more powerful than both morphine and denial. 

This past Sunday, I rehearsed with Tiger Beat on the top floor of my house. The rain beat softly against the window. Through the glass, I could see the row houses snaking up the street higgledy-piggledy, the satellite dishes and electrical wires forming crosses against the sky.  Our neighbor’s tree was suddenly green, the newness of the leaves shockingly bright against the gray clouds, and I could not remember when it had happened that it had turned spring. We played songs that mattered to us—Prince, Led Zeppelin, The B-52s. Songs that form the ongoing soundtrack of our lives, songs we wanted to share, because music, like story, is a way of being in the moment, of saying, “Be here now. Here is good.”

That night, I lay on my bed, slipped my headphones over my ears, and listened to Richie Havens’ urgent, soulful voice reminding me that,  “The mocking bird sings each different song/Each song has wings—they won’t stay long…” The notes soared and quieted, full of promise and regret, the light from the stars of memory long since dead but never forgotten. Like us, the song lives while it can; it bursts forth, flares, and fades. It reminds us: You are here. Here is good. 

“And close your eyes, child, and listen to what I’ll tell you
Follow in the darkest night the sounds that may impel you
And the song that I am singing may disturb or serve to quell you
If all the sounds you hear ain’t what they seem,
Then don’t mind me ‘cos I ain’t nothin’ but a dream…
And you can follow…”

So. Play your song. Tell your story. Find your truth.

 

Pssst! Hey. Hey you. Yes, you! 

What are you doing tomorrow night? Washing your hair? Seeing if you can teach your cat French? Bedazzling your medical mask so you can avoid the swine flu in style?

Well, forget all that. Because tomorrow night, do you know where I'll be? On the Internets at There.com doing a live chat thingy-thing. And I want you--YES, YOU!--to join me. 

Lock up your grandmothers! Secure your domain names! And set your phasers to stun, because tomorrow night, April 28th, from 7:00 to 8:30 pm EST, I will be chatting LIVE, LIVE, 100% LIVE at There.com to celebrate the paperback release of THE SWEET FAR THING. Bow-chick-a-wow-wow! It is so exciting that I have made the font bolder and larger to connote my excitement. My typing cannot be contained by regular 12-point font, so don't ask me to try. 

Do not accept imitation Libba when you can have the genuine reproduction article at a fraction of the cost (like FREE) on There.com for nearly two hours of rollicking, no-holds-barred Libba-ration! This item not sold in stores, people, and it's all coming at you LIVE on your computer tomorrow night in the tantalizingly named CosmoGirl Village of There.com. (Shuffleboard on the Lido Deck! Disco fever in the Lizard Lounge! It's avatar-rrific! Someone should stop me. Really.) 

There.com is billed as "The online virtual world that is your everyday hangout." People--they have a slogan! And you could make yourself an avatar with two heads if you want! Okay, I'm making that up. I have no idea what kind of avatar you can make. They have given me a fabulous avatar complete with corset and the kind of hair that would make My Little Pony pea-green with envy. Actually, I think you can give yourself a pretty kick-butt Victorian avatar. Oooh, I wonder if they'll let you come as Jack the Ripper with a Tiny Tim ventriloquist's doll that says, "God bless us everyone...except for you, because you are going to die!"? (This is why no one lets me make a virtual world. It would be full of very disturbing things. And sequins. Lots and lots of sequins.) 

For those of you who know how completely technologically inept I am, it might be fun to tune in and watch me continually run my avatar into a wall and listen as I say, "I can't get away from the wall...now I'm running in place...my arm is stuck...how much health do I have? Nope. Still stuck on the wall...yeah, tried that--still stuck..."  And then I'll probably sound like Darren McGavin in "A Christmas Story" during that part when he's downstairs trying to fix the furnace. 

I actually have no freaking idea how this works. I am giddy with the possibility of epic virtual world fail. Or-or-or...it could be the single greatest experience of my life.* 

So show up. Tune in. Turn on. Geek out. Fun will be had. Or I will die trying. 


*Author has just downed two handfuls of malted milk balls followed by chocolate milk chaser. She is more juiced up than a roomful of toddlers after an Elmo marathon. Please disregard strange fonts and even stranger behavior. 

 I was rating about an 11 on the grumpy meter this morning.
So the hubby, knowing that I am an absolute root-for-the-underdog sap of the first order, sent me this link.
Total goosepimples and a bit o' the old misty eyes as well. 
I love this woman. 

Eff off, haters. Dream your dreams, peeps. Go show 'em. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lp0IWv8QZY

 ***First, before I forget, calling all Pennsylvania peeps***

I’ll be speaking at the Carnegie Public Library this Thursday, April 16^th, at 7:00 pm. I’ll also be answering questions, signing anything you want signed (um, within reason…), and hopefully reading a sneak peek from GOING BOVINE. Here’s the link:

http://www.carnegielibrary.org/teens/library/BehindtheBook.html

Come on down if you can.

 
I hope everyone had a nice Passover/Easter/Carnage of the Chocolate Bunny Heads holiday. For some reason I cannot fathom, we decided to celebrate by renting the movie “Independence Day.” I had forgotten what an utter piece of crap it is. I have this thing with bad movies where it is like the pain of labor and I forget. Really, there is not a stereotype or cliché missed. I ended up watching with my mouth open. And it’s long. I had slipped toward coma toward the end and had to be revived with a gentle kick from the husband’s foot. 
“You’re missing vital plot info,” he joked.
“Well, it’s not exactly Pinter, is it?” I answered.

 And then I became obsessed with the idea of reinventing “Independence Day” as a Harold Pinter play. (Because I should never be left alone with my mind for too long.)

INDEPENDENCE DAY
Retold by Harold Pinter

ACT I
INT./DECREPIT BOARDING HOUSE/MORNING
(Vivica Fox enters the kitchen where Will Smith is beating an alien. She begins making coffee with great cheer.)

VF: What are you doing?

(pause)
WS: Punching the alien.

VF: Mmm. Is it fun?
(pause)

VF: I was the belle of the ball.

(long pause)

WS: I’ll just…he’s not up yet.

Vivica: Two men are coming by later. They have a spaceship that could destroy us all.

(long, uncomfortable pause.)

WS: Mmmm.

(He goes back to punching the alien. Vivica makes the coffee.)

 

Act II
INT./WHITE HOUSE INTERROGATION ROOM
(Two men in suits, Goldberg and McCann, who may or may not be aliens or members of a secret government organization, enter and proceed to interrogate Jeff Goldblum, whom they refer to as Stanley throughout.)

G: We’ve been looking for you, Stanley.

Mc: I remember you from The Big Chill, Stanley.

JG: My name’s not Stanley.

G: Why did you make this movie, Stanley?

Mc: Terrible idea, Stanley. You were in The Big Chill.

G: Silverado. Buckaroo Banzai.

Mc: Annie Hall. A walk-on. You had promise.

G: Why are you wasting everybody’s time with the same nebbishy characterization?

Mc: Why are you doing that thing where you talk rapidly and wiggle your index finger to signify that you are smarter than everyone else and having a breakthrough thought?

G: You’ve done that before. In lots of movies.

Mc: Why didn’t you make “The Fly II”? We got Eric Stoltz instead, you tit. You bum. You whore.

G: Why do you play the same part in every movie, Stanley?

JG: I forget the other ones.

G: Why do aliens have binary code?

Mc: They’re vastly superior yet they have no firewall.

G: Why don’t they have Macs?

Mc: It’s already two hours in, you tit. You could upload the virus and save us more vaguely jingoistic speeches from Bill Pullman. Why haven’t you done that, Stanley?

G: Do you recognize Hollywood cliché?

JG: What?

G: Do you recognize cliché? Stereotype? Tired, worn-out, caca tropes?

JG: It’s late.

G: Late, late, too late for three-dimensional characterization, eh? Why must the president be an ineffective former fighter pilot?

Mc: Why do we need a single mom-stripper-with-a-heart-of-gold?

G: Is the First Lady going to die because she valued career over family?

Mc: Will the homosexual Jewish producer call his mother?

G: His accountant?

Mc: Will the homespun-maxim-spouting old man turn to God in the final reel?

Mc: Judd Hirsch was in “Taxi.” Now he’s playing a Jewish stereotype. Did you tell him to do that, Stanley?

G: Why did you do this? Why did you betray us with this movie, Stanley?

JG: I like movies.

Mc: Did you read the script, you lanky laze-about?

JG: I was married to Geena Davis.

G: Why didn’t you do a play?

Mc: Write a book?

Mc: Play the piano? You’re a musician, aren’t you?

JG: I was married to Geena Davis!

Mc: You were wonderful in The Tall Guy with Rowan Atkinson. What happened with you and Rowan Atkinson?

JG: What do you mean?

Mc: What happened to your subtlety? My God, you killed Rowan Atkinson, didn’t you?

G: Why did you kill Rowan Atkinson?

Mc: Are you French?

G: Did you like doing smart British comedy? Snogging Emma Thompson? Did you?

Mc: Did you? Answer me!

(Jeff Goldblum stands suddenly.)

G: SIT DOWN!

Mc: He’s up.

G: You stink of sin.

(Vivica Fox enters drinking heavily.)

VF: He’ll be down soon. Who wants to play Blind Man’s Bluff with a stripper?

 

Act III
Will Smith takes Jeff Goldblum, whom he refers to repeatedly as his wife, to visit the aliens in their mothership. The aliens inexplicably speak in northern English accents. In the end, Will Smith decides to stay behind with the aliens while Jeff Goldblum returns to earth.

JG: You could come back. (pause) Whenever you want.

(Silence follows. Jeff leaves. Will sits in the alien command module while cradling the alien commander in a sort of Michael Bay-ish pieta. Fade on final shot of the abyss of space and silence.)

 

Next up: Brecht’s “Showgirls.” Fosse’s “High School Musical.” And of course, August Strindberg’s “Dirty Dancing.” 

I am epic fail at Twitter.

I have spent the past hour of my non-existent free time attempting to set up a profile on Twitter. I have tried to upload a picture three times. It gave me this helpful message: 

Twitter is over capacity.

This is the best message ever. It is my new catch phrase. Now, whenever I am drowning in stuffs, I want my forehead to show a retro-cool print of a bird while intoning pleasantly, "Libba is over capacity. Please try Libba again later."

I must confess: I find modern technology baffling and overwhelming on a good day. On a bad day, like today, I find it slightly hostile--the smiling hotel concierge who knows you booked through hotels.com and gives you the room by the freight elevator while sweetly insisting it's all he has.
 
It's not so much the technology itself that intimidates me. Okay, it's that, too. It's that I must learn to navigate it and live my life on a variety of Internet stages that includes Livejournal, Facebook, and now (because all my friends are doing it, Mom) Twitter. As you have no doubt noticed, I don't even blog all that often. This is because, quite frankly, I don't always have something to say. Sometimes I am doing any number of painfully boring thingy-things such as grocery shopping, ferrying of my child to and from school, imagining that I have undiagnosed Hanta virus and will lose my flesh by morning, ignoring telemarketers, throwing out junk mail, wondering whether to order Thai or Indian for dinner because I forgot to get actual food for dinner making,  and, of course, writing, which, unlike the movies, where writers wear a lot of very cute clothes/have affairs/battle Satan's spawn in a cabin in the woods, mostly involves sitting at my computer all day and occasionally asking the cats if they think any of my plot points are unclear. This is not terribly Twitter-worthy in my estimation. Perhaps you feel differently. 

Reluctantly, I joined Facebook. This allowed old high school and college friends to find me and remind me that I once wore outfits that were the equivalent of an '80's drive-by. (Headbands and stripes. Can we all just agree that's a bad idea? I won't even get into the Laura Ingalls Wilder floral prairie dress and permed mullet.) I am happy to see them but do not wish to relive my twenties, which involved a lot of angst in leggings.

Now I am being coaxed into the world of Twitter. Yesterday, I had lunch with writing gang. They all Twitter. They Twitter like pros. They are the Beckhams of info-bites. It's like I am like the last girl in junior high to find out that all the cool kids go to the mall after school--DUH! Of course, I have read the Twitters/blogs/Twi-bloggery-bloggity-thingies of my various friends and they are actually vastly entertaining. But I dunno.They told me I should Twitter and they would help me with it, and somehow, I had a vague recollection of the time I went to a spa with a friend and she told me I simply had to get a Brazilian. 

I can't decide how I feel about this. It's like doing something and then...commenting on doing something. Like you are your own personal Greek chorus. In 140 characters. I am not being a total smart ass here. I am honestly thinking, If I ate a piece of pie or did a load of jeans or had a heart-to-heart with my cats, would I then want to rush to my computer and update everyone: "I am eating pie!" "Jeans in wash. Taking odds on whether they make it 2 dryer l8tr." "No one understands me but the cats." "Update: Cats object: claim I am batsh*t crazy and they don't get me either." 

It all makes me want to breathe into a paper bag. 

So I sent an email to Robin Wasserman who is often my voice of reason, because I like my voice of reason to be somebody who stares at me as if I am the stupidest person on earth and says, "You're kidding me?"
*sigh* I need her.
I sent her an email saying, "Can you please tell me how to set up my bio and website info and such on Twitter because I see no links to do so." And then I added some brand-new phrases crafted together out of words that had my spellcheck going nuts and probably made a whole crew of Teamsters blush somewhere in the world and even had Joe Pesci going, "Whoa! That is impressive." And Robin emailed back, "I love it when you curse, you little minx." And then she told me how to do it so I'm going to go do that thing now, God help me, and in the meantime, here is the Twitter version of my first book. Enjoy.

A GREAT AND TERRIBLE TWITTER

Mom dead. Leaving India for London. Always wanted 2 go but now am 2 sad 2 w00t. :-(
Girls @ Spence mostly douches. FW=psycho bitch. PC iz total follower. Roomie iz humorless cutter. Fun.
Weird cloaked guy following me. Annoying but hot. 
Visions won't stop. Sooo embarrassing.
Dead girl gave me old diary. Should wait 4 pb or read now? J/K ;-)
OMG! I haz powers! Off 2 realms. BFN.
Life in realms GR8. IRL, not so much. French=pain in my ass. *sadness*  
New art teacher Miss Moore ROCKS. Off 2 caves. TTYS. 
Got deets abt fire @ Spence from NW & Bridget. SRT and MD were part of Order! OMG. 
Punked Cecily and others. ROTFLMAO! Magic is kewl.
Hot guy iz still hot. See pic @ his blog: Hot Men of the Rakshana. http://tinyurl.com
JSYK, finally got rid of Bumble this w/e. Fab. 
Turns out Mom was in Order. WTF? 
Tweetup in caves epic fail. FW tried to kill K. Have 2 take peeps 2 realms now. *sigh* 
Do NOT trust Huntress. M8jr  beyotch. 
Update: Pip 8 berries. :-(
Update update: Funeral was bummer until K showed up. Totally crushing. *squee* TTYL, BBs!

 

 It's going down starting today. Hope you can make some or all of it. I have put asterisks next to the things I am a part of. 
xo
Libba

NYC TEEN AUTHOR FESTIVAL SCHEDULE

***Juvenalia Smackdown
Monday, 3/16, 4-6pm, Tompkins Square Park branch of the NYPL, 331 E. 10th Street

Join Holly Black, Alaya Johnson, Justine Larbalestier, David Levithan, Diana Peterfruend, Cassandra Clare, and Scott Westerfeld as they read some of their (ahem) less accomplished work from their middle school and high school years. Hosted by Libba Bray.


***I Have Seen the Future…and It Sounds Like This
Wednesday, 3/18, 6 pm, Mulberry Street Branch of the NYPL 10 Jersey Street

Teen authors are notoriously stingy about reading from their works-in-progress. But for Guest of Honor Joe Monti, authorsLibba Bray, Rachel Cohn, Eireann Corrigan, Justine Larbalestier, and Scott Westerfeld are willing to share a little bit from their future books. Hosted by David Levithan. I will be reading from GOING BOVINE--come on down!


The Five-Borough Read
Thursday, 3/19

BROOKLYN: Central Library, Dweck Center, 10 Grand Army Plaza, Brooklyn
10-11am
Gayle Forman
Jenny Han
Leslie Margolis
Abby Sher
Matthue Roth
Robin Wasserman

BRONX: Bronx Library Center, 310 E. Kingsbridge Road, Bronx
4-5pm
Coe Booth
Madeleine George
Paul Griffin
Brian Sloan
Melissa Walker


MANHATTAN: Countee Cullen Branch, 104 W 136th St
4-5pm
Matt de la Pena
Daphne Grab
Mary Hogan
Barry Lyga
Carolyn McCormick

MANHATTAN: Jefferson Market Branch, 425 Avenue of the Americas
4-5pm
David Levithan
Bennett Madison
Laura McLaughlin
Billy Merrell
Marie Rutkoski

MANHATTAN: Webster Branch, 1465 York Avenue
4-5pm
Lisa Ann Sandell
Courtney Sheinmel
Rachel Vail
Cecily Von Ziegesar
Martin Wilson


QUEENS: Far Rockaway Branch, 2002 Cornaga Ave, Queens
4-5pm
Tara Altabrando
Laura Dower
Heather Duffy-Stone
Aimee Friedman
Eliot Schrefer
Siobhan Vivian
Rita Williams-Garcia


STATEN ISLAND: St. George Library Center, 5 Central Avenue
4-5pm
Kate Brian
Judy Goldschmidt
Michael Northrop
Micol Ostow
Lynn Weingarten


***Rock Out with TIGER BEAT!
Thursday, 3/19, 6pm at Books of Wonder

By day, Libba Bray, Daniel Ehrenhaft, Barney Miller, and Natalie Standiford are upstanding authors. But by night, they turn into … TIGER BEAT, the first ever YA author rock band. Tonight is their debut public performance … and it’s sure to go down in legend. (Oh...lordy. I am not wearing spandex and that's all I have to say.) 

With opening act The Infinite Playlists (Rachel Cohn and David Levithan reading a litany of musical references, but mercifully not singing).


I Love You, New York: Teen Lit in the City
Friday, 3/20, 6pm, NYPL, 42nd Street, Court Room

Join authors Coe Booth, Paul Griffin, Maureen Johnson, David Levithan, Cecily von Ziegesar, and Rita Williams-Garcia in a spirited reading and discussion about teen novels set in New York City – from the glamour of the gossip girls to the grit of the Bronx projects, from the everyday battles of the high school halls to the extraordinary events of 9/11. 


Stuff for the Teen Age Ceremony
Saturday, 3/21, 1pm, NYPL, 42nd Street, Celeste Bartos Forum

This new list only has the best of the best, and includes books, music, movies, and video games. Featuring a keynote by Walter Dean Myers



Teen Authors Celebrate Teen Readers
Sunday, 3/22, NYPL, 42nd Street, Trustees Room, 1pm

Over a dozen authors salute teen readers and teen advisory board members from around the city, including Blake Nelson, reading from his upcoming novel Destroy All Cars.


The Biggest Teen Author Signing EVER
Sunday, 3/22, Books of Wonder, 4pm

Join over 40 authors for a signing extravaganza as they take over Books of Wonder, sign books, and converse with fans new and old. An incredible event that is sure to go down in book-signing history.

Authors include:
Nora Baskin
Jessica Blank
Judy Blundell
Coe Booth
Elise Broach
Susanne Colasanti
Sarah Darer-Littman
Matt de la Pena
Heather Duffy-Stone
Gayle Forman
Aimee Friedman
Madeleine George
Maureen Johnson
Kristen Kemp
Justine Larbalestier
David Levithan
E. Lockhart
Barry Lyga
Carolyn Mackler
Sarah MacLean
Megan McCafferty
Laura McLaughlin
Neesha Meminger
Billy Merrell
Blake Nelson
Micol Ostow
Matthue Roth
Marie Rutkoski
Lisa Ann Sandell
Courtney Sheinmel
Abby Sher
Brian Sloan
Rachel Vail
David Van Etten 
Ned Vizzini
Adrienne Maria Vrettos
Cecily von Ziegesar
Melissa Walker
Robin Wasserman
Scott Westerfeld
Suzanne Weyn
Maryrose Wood
Lizabeth Zindel

 Today is my birthday. I’ve now had 45 of these. So I thought I’d reflect on the ones I can remember.

21
My friends throw me a surprise party—my first ever. But I am flying back from spring break in Dallas, and my father, who has a time management problem, gets me to the plane ten minutes too late. By the time I show up four hours later, no one is there. That’s because they are all drunk and hiding behind my shower curtain. Thank heavens I didn’t need to pee.

9
There is a picture of me on my back porch in Corpus Christi. I am chubby, with glasses and stringy hair and I am wearing some kind of misguided hippie tunic in white seersucker with strawberry appliqués on the collar. I am flanked by the twins—Laura and Lisa. Laura is my bestie at the time and Lisa barely tolerates my existence. By I have a Cher single, so there.  We have just eaten pizza and chocolate cake. In the middle of the night, I will come down with a stomach virus and refuse to eat pizza for two years. No such fatwa is issued for the cake.

17
I believe I am kidnapped by my BFF Eleanor and my guy BFF Richard. Or maybe that happened on Richard’s bday. Whatever it is, it’s fun. 

23
My college boyfriend breaks up with me.
I would have gone with a gift certificate myself.

30
I’m working at Penguin in NYC. A group of us trundles down to Cowgirl Hall of Fame as I need to be among my tribe for such a momentous birthday. I’m wearing a hideous black-and-white-checkered blazer with shoulder pads. It is a very fun time, except for the third margarita. Never order that third margarita. This is my free advice to you.

15
It is my first birthday since my father moved out of the house. My mother cooks my favorite, spaghetti. There are cupcakes, presents, photos. We smile and pretend nothing is different. 

25
I vaguely remember that it starts on Sixth Street in Austin, TX. There is a big, Gossip Girl-worthy fight amongst all the girls. And I spend the early hours taking a friend to the ER for food poisoning. Fun!

16
I get my driver’s license. Freedom is the grin on your face as you drive by yourself, radio blaring, for the very first time.

5
Mom makes me a carousel cake with animal crackers for the rides and straws for the poles. Thanks, Mom. I have the exact same haircut then that I have right now. Not sure what to think about that.

 40
A rockin’ good time. We throw a bash at our apartment, and my friends roast me with glee. (Really, I’m delicious with glee. Much better than horseradish.)

 12
I get my first period. Yeah. Happy f**king birthday to you, too.

 35
I have a new baby. I am very, very tired. My husband asks me what I want for a present, and I say, “Sleep.”

10
My parents give me a choice of having a party or going to the symphony. I choose the symphony. Man, I'm weird. 

29
Barry and I share slices from Two Boots Pizza and save our pennies. In another month, we will fly to Italy to get married. Birthday Schmirthday.

 39
I turn 39 in the air over the Atlantic, and when I touch down at Heathrow, the official stamps my passport and wishes me a happy birthday in a yummy accent. I am here to do research for a book I’m writing called A GREAT AND TERRIBLE BEAUTY, which takes place in England. At the British Library, I have to apply for a card/membership. “You can be a professional or a student,” the man helpfully tells me. “I trust you are a student?” Birthday wish granted. J

 22
Road trip. New Orleans. My pal, Annie. Dancing in the street with an umbrella and a jazz band.

 24
Road trip. New Orleans. My friends Laurie and Mary and a game of darts with various Scotsmen who hate Margaret Thatcher.

 13
I have a costume party with only four people. That's not a party. That's a bizarre art exhibition. 

 27
Barry takes me out to lunch. I am wearing a black wrap dress held together by the capricious physics of a snap. It is a dress I wear when I want to feel super foxy. We are ready to leave. As I make my way back from the restroom and through the restaurant, the eyes of everyone are upon me, and I think, “That’s right. I make 27 look goooood, people!” Cue wind machine and thumping bass line in my head. At the door, Barry stands, transfixed, his mouth hanging open. I am a golden god. And when I get close enough, he whispers urgently, “Your dress is wide open!”

 45
Barry takes me out to lunch. I wear jeans.  I am older and wiser.
Or maybe just less stupid about wrap dresses. :-) 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It is snowing.
It is snowing and I have already gone up to the park with the boy for massive sledding excursion. Hurtling downhill screaming, then rolling downhill laughing, then stopping, moving arms and legs back and forth to make angels. 
It is snowing and I have dragged said boy on said sled through piles of fresh powder across the baseball fields and past the band shell watching as the wind pulls small white dust into little tornadoes that I tell myself are made of some ancient magic crafted by a sorcerer who lives in these lands.
It is snowing and we have warmed our insides with hot cocoa thickened with whipped cream.
It is snowing and there was a valiant snowball fight in the tiny front yard that is usually just a slab of city-fied cement but today is a wonderland.
It is snowing and there was ice down my back and on my face and speckled across my glasses till I couldn't tell where the snow ended and I began. 
It is snowing and I am home now, with a kitty purring beside me, demanding affection and the guaranteed warmth of that spot just under my computer beside my leg. 
It is snowing and there is the kitty and the warmth and a book to read.
It is snowing and it is good.

 Okay, so the fabulous Ms. Lauren Myracle tagged me for this meme. Here’s how it works:

My Life in Itunes

RULES:

1. Put your iTunes, Windows Media Player, etc. on shuffle.

2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.

3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS.

4. Tag 15 friends

5. Everyone tagged has to do the same thing. (Except only if you want to, adds I.)

6. Have Fun!

 

So I did it and…oh my. That’s all I can say. Oh. My.

 

IF SOMEONE SAYS 'ARE YOU OKAY' YOU SAY?

April Fool by Pete Townshend and Ronnie Lane

I could absolutely see answering that question with this.

 

HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE YOURSELF

I Will Take You There (Alternate Mix) by Harry Nilsson.

I think where I will take you is the outer edge of sanity, but that’s not one of the questions.

 

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?

Take It Off by the Donnas.

I’m not even gonna go there.

 

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?

Theme from “Shaft” by Isaac Hayes

I often feel this way, ‘cause I’m a bad motha—

“Shut your mouth!”

“What? I’m just talking ‘bout Shaft.”

 

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?

The Ladies Who Lunch by Elaine Stritch and the original cast of “Company”

So…my life’s purpose is vodka and bitterness? Sounds about right.

 

WHAT'S YOUR MOTTO?

Suspect Device by Stiff Little Fingers

Of course. What other paranoid motto would I have?

 

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?

Brave New World by Michael Penn

I don’t think I even know this song.

 

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?

Give Blood by Pete Townshend again.

That explains the years of therapy.

 

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?

Surfin’ Bird by the Ramones

Always good to think about the Ramones. Or surfing. Or birds.

 

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?

Alone Together by Rufus Wainwright.

Somewhere in Boston, she is cackling.

 

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?

Add It Up by the Violent Femmes

Ain’t that the truth…

 

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?

The Transfiguration by Sufjan Stevens

Hmmm….

 

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?

Life During Wartime by the Talking Heads

It’s going to be a very art-house funky funeral. Wear your big white suits.

 

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?

We Both Go Down Together by the Decembrists

Oh. My. God. Just…don’t.

 

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST FEAR?

Love in Plaster by the Hives

Who wouldn’t fear that?

 

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?

I Got the Blues by the Rolling Stones
I thought it was that I was an alien, but whatever.

 

WHAT DO YOU WANT RIGHT NOW?

Lemon Meringue by Fishbone.

Actually, that sounds tasty.

 

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?

Ain’t That a Shame by Cheap Trick.

I swear, it’s not me, my friends! It’s the iPod!

 

WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?

Lake of Fire by Nirvana

 

 

You know you want to do this. <grin>

Just wanted to remind everyone in the CT area that tomorrow night (Wednesday 2/25), I'll be at the Westport, CT library with Maureen Johnson Robin Wasserman, and Cassandra Clare.

Here's the info:
February 25, 7:30pm: Westport Public Library, 20 Jesup Road, Westport, CT. With Libba Bray, Cassie Clare, and Robin Wasserman.

And...there's more! March 16th through March 22nd will be the first ever NYC teen author festival! It's going to be fantabulous. You will want to come. We might even have foam fingers. Whoo-hoo! There are so many cool things happening, and you will want to be there for all of it if you can.

NYC TEEN AUTHOR FESTIVAL SCHEDULE

Juvenalia Smackdown
Monday, 3/16, 4-6pm, Tompkins Square Park branch of the NYPL, 331 E. 10th Street

Join Holly Black, Alaya Johnson, Justine Larbalestier, David Levithan, Diana Peterfruend, Cassandra Clare, and Scott Westerfeld as they read some of their (ahem) less accomplished work from their middle school and high school years. Hosted by Libba Bray.


I Have Seen the Future…and It Sounds Like This
Wednesday, 3/18, Mulberry Street Branch of the NYPL (address)

Teen authors are notoriously stingy about reading from their works-in-progress. But for Guest of Honor Joe Monti, authors Libba Bray, Rachel Cohn, Eireann Corrigan, Justine Larbalestier, and Scott Westerfeld are willing to share a little bit from their future books. Hosted by David Levithan. I will be reading from GOING BOVINE--come on down!


The Five-Borough Read
Thursday, 3/19

BROOKLYN: Central Library, Dweck Center, 10 Grand Army Plaza, Brooklyn
10-11am
Gayle Forman
Jenny Han
Leslie Margolis
Abby Sher
Matthue Roth
Robin Wasserman

BRONX: Bronx Library Center, 310 E. Kingsbridge Road, Bronx
4-5pm
Coe Booth
Madeleine George
Paul Griffin
Brian Sloan
Melissa Walker


MANHATTAN: Countee Cullen Branch, 104 W 136th St
4-5pm
Matt de la Pena
Daphne Grab
Mary Hogan
Barry Lyga
Carolyn McCormick

MANHATTAN: Jefferson Market Branch, 425 Avenue of the Americas
4-5pm
David Levithan
Bennett Madison
Laura McLaughlin
Billy Merrell
Marie Rutkoski

MANHATTAN: Webster Branch, 1465 York Avenue
4-5pm
Lisa Ann Sandell
Courtney Sheinmel
Rachel Vail
Cecily Von Ziegesar
Martin Wilson


QUEENS: Far Rockaway Branch, 2002 Cornaga Ave, Queens
4-5pm
Tara Altabrando
Laura Dower
Heather Duffy-Stone
Aimee Friedman
Eliot Schrefer
Siobhan Vivian
Rita Williams-Garcia


STATEN ISLAND: St. George Library Center, 5 Central Avenue
4-5pm
Kate Brian
Judy Goldschmidt
Michael Northrop
Micol Ostow
Lynn Weingarten


Rock Out with TIGER BEAT!
Thursday, 3/19, 6pm at Books of Wonder

By day, Libba Bray, Daniel Ehrenhaft, Barney Miller, and Natalie Standiford are upstanding authors. But by night, they turn into … TIGER BEAT, the first ever YA author rock band. Tonight is their debut public performance … and it’s sure to go down in legend. (Oh...lordy. I am not wearing spandex and that's all I have to say.) 

With opening act The Infinite Playlists (Rachel Cohn and David Levithan reading a litany of musical references, but mercifully not singing).


I Love You, New York: Teen Lit in the City
Friday, 3/20, 6pm, NYPL, 42nd Street, Court Room

Join authors Coe Booth, Paul Griffin, Maureen Johnson, David Levithan, Cecily von Ziegesar, and Rita Williams-Garcia in a spirited reading and discussion about teen novels set in New York City – from the glamour of the gossip girls to the grit of the Bronx projects, from the everyday battles of the high school halls to the extraordinary events of 9/11.


Stuff for the Teen Age Ceremony
Saturday, 3/21, 1pm, NYPL, 42nd Street, Celeste Bartos Forum

This new list only has the best of the best, and includes books, music, movies, and video games. Featuring a keynote by Walter Dean Myers



Teen Authors Celebrate Teen Readers
Sunday, 3/22, NYPL, 42nd Street, Trustees Room, 1pm

Over a dozen authors salute teen readers and teen advisory board members from around the city, including Blake Nelson, reading from his upcoming novel Destroy All Cars.


The Biggest Teen Author Signing EVER
Sunday, 3/22, Books of Wonder, 4pm

Join over 40 authors for a signing extravaganza as they take over Books of Wonder, sign books, and converse with fans new and old. An incredible event that is sure to go down in book-signing history.

Authors include:
Nora Baskin
Jessica Blank
Judy Blundell
Coe Booth
Elise Broach
Susanne Colasanti
Sarah Darer-Littman
Matt de la Pena
Heather Duffy-Stone
Gayle Forman
Aimee Friedman
Madeleine George
Maureen Johnson
Kristen Kemp
Justine Larbalestier
David Levithan
E. Lockhart
Barry Lyga
Carolyn Mackler
Sarah MacLean
Megan McCafferty
Laura McLaughlin
Neesha Meminger
Billy Merrell
Blake Nelson
Micol Ostow
Matthue Roth
Marie Rutkoski
Lisa Ann Sandell
Courtney Sheinmel
Abby Sher
Brian Sloan
Rachel Vail
David Van Etten
Ned Vizzini
Adrienne Maria Vrettos
Cecily von Ziegesar
Melissa Walker
Robin Wasserman
Scott Westerfeld
Suzanne Weyn
Maryrose Wood
Lizabeth Zindel

I have recovered from my flu fugue state mostly. Ugh. So tired of hacking up a lung.

But at least while I was lying around, I had the joy of going through all of your entries. Huzzah! And I did go through them. Every. Single. Last. One. And, oh my stars and whiskers, you people are just so incredibly creative and talented. Truly, I am awed. This was such a tough decision.

Here’s how I went about it: First, I went through and made notes. Then I cut it down to about forty entries, which felt like being asked to choose between moist chocolate cake and supreme coffee ice cream. Then I had to cut those down. Ack! No! Too hard!

You can see why it took a while. You guys made me laugh, gave me chills, inspired me, took me somewhere else, moved me. Such good stuff. Thanks for your tales of broken cameras, your American Idol spoofs, video battles of the books, commentaries, hilarious fake news shows, corset and Karma art, Rakshana texting comics, songs, sonnets, backyard movie trailers, posters, icons, banners, accessories and clothing, t-shirts, amazing photographs, and all of the hard work, creativity, and joy that went into these. I felt every bit of the love.

Please know that I was absolutely gobsmacked by all of your entries, and I wished I could have chosen about fifty winners—you guys were that good. (I also wished I could put some of you on staff to help me with video, etc. I could use some talent like that.) But ultimately, I could only choose a few winners, and, in fact, I vowed to find creative ways to use names just so I could pick a few extra.

So, without further delay, here are the contest winners, starting with the very deserving honorable mentions.

HONORABLE MENTIONS

UndeathlyHallow for the gorgeous icons. I especially like the “Eternity” “To Each His Own Magic” and the last one.

sfmdraw for her wonderful Ann collage.

reader_meg for the 74 ICONS!!!! Holy cow. I particularly liked the Circe, Tree of All Souls, and Pippa’s Castle ones. Well done.

ellish_writer for a very cool modern photographic take on the books.

Lacrymosa Queen for that stunning photo of The Borderlands. Creepy good.

Vintage Tuscany for the wonderfully evocative (and creepy) video of Mary Dowd’s diary. Love the distressed quality of the film.

Xxglassyxx for the outrageous zombie love book cover featuring my ideal cast. *snicker*

Charfilm for the experimental film. I love the quiet, haunting simplicity and just that flash of color in an otherwise dark scheme. The music was well-chosen, too. Great. Really effective—and bonus points for shooting your own footage.

Tinie1223 for that amazing text illustration. How clever. I loved it.

Aroa nehring for the beautiful Maxfield Parrish-inspired photograph. It really made me think of the Realms.

Kayleeboo for those absolutely stunning collages. (I’m a secret scrapbooking nut so I loved these.)

Iam4evertonks for creating the first Facebook community and running a nice show.

CrabbyGabby for the giggle-inducing video, “Life After the Series.” Who knew you were a redhead? ☺

Rachel, Nicole, Maile, Maggie, and, um, Tyler, for the inspired AGATB parody trailer. Extra points for having an Ann in drag.

Cerulean_apples for the lovely TSFT poster. Love the placement of the text and the way the colors pop.

Xxfaxxie for the poem “The Damaged.” Well done.

Sirenabella for her poem, “Pippa’s Cross.” That last line is a killer.

Charm harm love for the sonnets. Sonnets? You slay me!

Cyanidesunshine for her stunning photo display, “Gemma Goes into the Winterlands.”

Ryus-fire for the super cool icon illustration, “rebel.” I love the feel of this.

Mooneystar for the video “My Grandchildren…” I found this very moving and creative. And I love that we get a glimpse of what might happen to Gemma down the road.

Ganlynde for the crazy hot Kartik bookmark. Oh…my. *fans self*


THE WINNERS

Special award: Eeglfether -- Being a Nice Guy
Thanks so much for making every link…linky. You saved us all. There is definitely an Eagle Feather place happening in this story. But I know you mentioned you had done this on behalf of your fiancé (more good guy points), so if you let me know her name, I’ll be sure to include her. You rock.

6th place -- DeepAzulaEyes t-shirt designs
http://deepazulaeyes.deviantart.com/gallery/

WANT!!!! I can’t decide which is my favorite, “I Survived the Winterlands Boat Tour,” “Homework,” “Spence Motto,” “Gorgon,” Poppy Warriors” or “Attendance.” These are pure genius, and I will be ordering a few. Congrats—you’re the first member of the vampire short story team.

5th place -- frankly_scarlet video: Ann Bradshaw: “My Body Is a Cage”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UDTyoKOZN7c&feature=channel_page
I think I’ve watched this about five times now, and it gives me goose pimples every time. I love the emotional progression of a character who often doesn’t get the attention. Very effective use of existing clips to tell a new story. And it doesn’t hurt that it makes use of one of my favorite bands. ☺ And now, your name will live on (or die early) in fang fiction.


4th place -- lisaspieces Steampunk clothing
http://www.flickr.com/photos/80559557@N00/sets/72157613489419350/

I love steampunk, and I love the reimagining of Gemma and Co. as kick-ass steampunk characters. The costume pieces are great, and I really, really, really want that raygun in my personal collection. Rock on, my friend. You’ve earned yourself a role in my silly vampire story.

3rd place -- shawnalenore Poetry
http://Feore2.deviantart.com/art/Gemma-Remembers-111030009

Wow. I think I need to take a poetry workshop with you. What a way with words. It’s absolutely beautiful, and the imagery shimmers. Thanks so much for sharing your words with us. You, too, will have a role in the bloodsucker story.

2nd place -- Dana_Benedict Songwriting
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0umxtVlay6Q

Have you guys heard this woman sing? Have you listened to her music? Man, I’d give my left earring (hey, it’s my favorite earring!) to sing and write songs like that. I really liked all the songs, but I think my favorite is “Broken.” At any rate, you’re a talented lady, Ms. B. Rock on with your bad self, and we’ll see you getting stake-y with it in the story.

1st place -- 6 Harbours Parody video: “The Gemma Doyle Trilogy in Five Minutes, Barbie Style”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wyafqke09BU&feature=email
Okay. The first time I saw this, I laughed so hard I thought I’d hack up a lung. Then I called my husband in to watch and we giggled and snorted. Then I sent it to some writer friends who all cracked up. You get points for having the cajones to use DOLLS in a video for a documented DOLL-PHOBIC person. (Although, for some reason, I have never been afraid of Barbies. I think it’s the feet. How could dolls with such ridiculously shaped feet come after me? Also, fabulous clothes. Fashion > Fear.) Thanks to your hilariously clever video, I have been walking around with several new catch phrases:
“Yes, I am.” “Oh. (pause) Okay.” “Now let me go be sullen in peace.” “Grrrrrr.” “I know you’re sad but we can’t all be beautiful.”
Enough. Just watch it. Anytime I have a bad day, that is going to be my go-to happy place. Thanks.

Winners, if you’d be so kind as to let me know your names. If you don’t want to leave it here, you can send it to me care of my LJ inbox. Just be sure you tell me what your screen name is, too, so I’ll know who you are.

Thanks again to everyone for making this such a fun experience. More contests to come!

Wow.

I'm making my way through your entries for the vampire short story contest right now and you guys are a seriously talented bunch. This is going to be an extremely tough choice. I have been inspired, moved, excited, and sent into convulsions of laughter by your entries. I'm trying to figure out what I do in the case of entries that have multiple parties involved because I'm trying to spread the love around. I might have to get creative and name clubs or restaurants after people. We'll see. Also, I think we all owe a big thank you to eeglfether for painstakingly going through and making sure that everybody's links were linky. You rock and have earned your own special place in the story just for that act of uber-kindness.

What I'm trying not to spread around at present are my germs. I have managed to come down with a nasty cold on top of bronchitis. Blecchh. I have Rudolph nose. Soooo attractive.

I'll post the winners as soon as I can. American Idol has started up again, and even though I swore I wouldn't watch this year, I ended up getting sucked in once more. One of my early favorites, Emily the tattoo girl, didn't make it past H'wood week. There's some fantastic talent this year, and some incredible drama in the personalities. (Hello, Tatiana.) What can I say? I just can't quit you, American Idol.

Maureen Johnson thought it would be funny to send this to me.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QO2OocOVcJo&NR=1

Sleep with one eye open, Maureen. That's all I've got to say.
Because this is the last sound you hear before your soul is sucked away forever.