Sadie by CourtneySummers, which is fresh on the shelves this month, is wonderfully innovative. The narrative alternates between Sadie’s dark, emotionally wrenching first-person account and a somewhat ironic podcast script “narrated” by a DJ who has been charged with uncovering her story. I’m guessing this is inspired by NPR’s brilliant podcast, “Serial,” which slowly unravels one true story over a series of episodes.
Sunday, September 16, 2018
I’m playing “revision tag” with my editor right now, which means it’s her turn to read/react to the latest draft of my current manuscript. While she’s “It,” I take a complete break from the work-in-progress and INHALE other books. And wow, I read some good ones this week!
They are very different but what I love about each is the narrative device employed by the author. As writers we have to choose WHO tells the story ... but in each of these books, there are multiple WHOs telling a version of the story. The result is a three-dimensional kaleidoscope of narration: we see events from the north-south-east-west-inside-and-out. If you’re trying to figure out how to tell your story, take a look at these for some inspiration/innovation!
Homegoing by YaaGyasi is a debut (!) which begins in the late 1700s on Africa’s “Gold Coast” (Ghana) and tracks the divergent fates of two half sisters who never meet and whose stories play out on two different continents through multiple generations. Effia is married off to a British naval officer who deals in the slave trade; Esi is captured, sold into slavery and shipped as “cargo” to America. Eight generations later, we see how history, culture and ultimately, choice, bring these broken strands from the same mother back to the same place.
Each chapter reads like a short story, told from the POV of a next-gen narrator. A family tree in the beginning of Homegoing is an essential reference … there are a lot of characters … but the result is both expansive and personal. Gyasi brings individuals and their wrenching stories to life amidst the backdrop of sweeping events. She writes “small” in order to breathe life into the “big.” This is not a historical novel, but rather a family epic played out through history.
Salt to the Sea by Ruta Sepetys on the other hand, is a historical novel. Based on the tragedy of the Wilhelm Gustloff, a ship filled with refugees, sunk by a Soviet sub in the Baltic Sea in 1945, the story is brought to life via FOUR narrators: an East Prussian teenager, a Lithuanian nurse, a Latvian girl and a young German sailor.
I’ve attempted two alternating narrators before, but never four! Sepetys pulls it off brilliantly, due, I think, to keeping each chapter very short. She never bogs down and instead captures a particular incident and unique, personal reaction from a character in every chapter.
I remember years ago visiting the Famine Museum in Strokestown, Ireland, and our guide pointing out how their goal was to move beyond the conventional history-telling of the “big house,” the rich and powerful, and tell the stories of the ordinary people: the stories from the potato ridges one can still see in the fields. When Sepetys was researching Salt to the Sea, she visited a museum where they displayed notes-in-bottles which had been hastily written and tossed into the freezing ocean by passengers from the Wilhem Gustloff. Her goal with this novel was to bring their stories and voices to life, and she achieves this, resurrecting the individual stories which become lost in the great sweep of big, historical events.
Basically: Sadie is missing. Her younger sister has been brutally murdered, her killer never found, and months later Sadie has disappeared as well. Like the reader, the DJ becomes increasingly drawn into the “What really happened?” and tries desperately to catch up with the missing Sadie before she becomes yet Another Dead Girl.
The tension Summers creates by juxtaposing Sadie’s real-time narrative with the fits-and-false-starts investigation by the DJ is terrific. I found myself turning pages quickly and gasping in dismay at points: she totally hooked me. This device also breathes life into secondary characters, as the DJ interviews the various people who know or encountered Sadie along her journey. It’s a truly inventive way to tell a story.
Okay, I’ve probably got another week before I have to dive back into MY latest story, so next in the queue: Samantha Mabry! I’ve got A Fierce and Subtle Poison and All the Wind in the World on my night table right now. Also fresh out this month: Nova Ren Suma's A Room Away From the Wolves. And in October, Kelly Jensen's (Don't) Call Me Crazy.
So many books, so little time ...
Wednesday, April 11, 2018
If our books are our babies, then I’m definitely feeling like the mother in a house full of adolescents this week: pulled in multiple directions, plenty of drama to contend with, and struggling to stay on task.
The youngest child, WRECKED, got some nice news yesterday: it’s going to be the Common Read this fall at South Dakota State University. Go Jackrabbits!
My publisher, Algonquin Young Readers (who never ceases promoting the books on their list, THANK YOU!!) shared that with me, which is terrific to hear, especially since April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month. Later this month I’ll be presenting at Maine’s Reading Roundup conference with author Megan Frazer Blakemore, Mt. Desert Island High School librarian Davonne Pappas, and Speak About It Executive Director Shane Diamond. We’ll talk about using young adult lit to facilitate conversations about consent, healthy relationships and sexual assault.
For some reason (or perhaps it’s no mystery; our president is keeping refugee and immigrant issues front-and-center) it’s been a busy spring for OUT OF NOWHERE.
Speaking of which: I recently ran into a few of the “real life” people who helped me create OUT OF NOWHERE. Shobow Saban is now married and working in Lewiston with Maine Immigrant and Refugee Services (he has a beautiful daughter!) and Coach Mike McGraw (coming off a SECOND championship this past fall) is already looking ahead to the 2018 season.
|Shobow Saban and his daughter, Saaliha|
|Lucky me! Photographed with Mike McGraw|
It’s been interesting to see this story evolve beyond the confines of my novel. When I visit schools, I show the kids where OUT OF NOWHERE leaves off, and where the “actual” story has progressed … and where Christian Schneider has picked it up. An actor/writer living in Los Angeles, he’s adapted the book for the screen, but with some significant changes. Most importantly: he’s compressed the timeline, so that his story ends with the team winning their state championship, a much, MUCH more satisfying conclusion. He’s also eliminated/conflated a few characters (Uncle Paul = gone) enhanced other characters (way more Samira) and added whole scenes I never envisioned.
I love what he’s done with it. Wouldn’t it be cool if it became a movie?
Meanwhile, my oldest “child,” Brett McCarthy: Work in Progress, continues to receive nice reviews from students and teachers, but my FAVORITE child (yes: I have a favorite) Jersey Tomatoes are the Best is, according to booksellers, hard to obtain. Say what?? How can this be?
I’m hoping this particular bookseller was wrong, because I love that book. I tend to write about sports, and this was my tennis book. Inspired by my tour of the Everett Tennis Academy in Boca Raton, not to mention my 45+ years of smacking tennis balls around. Love that book. Loved writing it. #FavoriteBookChild
Meanwhile: I’ve got one in the oven. On deadline to Algonquin (June 1st) and I’m slightly panicked because first drafts are so much harder for me than revisions. I actually love revising. First drafts for me are like squeezing toothpaste from a spent tube: one slow word at a time. Revision, on the other hand, is like a spa day.
However, the good news about the current work-in-progress is that it’s filled with plenty of wonderful Spanish food, all inspired by my mother. And without giving away more than that, I’ll leave you with this: Mom’s roast pork, rice and beans.
|Nobody does it better than mom.|
Wednesday, February 14, 2018
We were only three hours into Lent when The Daughter killed Little Pinkie.
The opening scene: 3:00 A.M., Ash Wednesday. The Husband and I are in deep sleep. Sorry to mix the seasonal metaphors, but “visions of sugarplums” were definitely dancing in our heads.
Then, the phone rings.
The phone ringing in the dead of night is never heartwarming. At the least: it’s annoying and ruins your night’s sleep. At the worst: someone is dead. Or in distress. Deep distress. Because no one (!) would call you at that hour unless there was a big problem.
As the parent of adult children who live in cities far away from us, the Dead of Night Phone Call is particularly dreadful. Several times now it’s been The Son, who lives in Los Angeles, where for very good reason the car insurance rates for young men in their twenties are the highest in the nation. (I cannot tell you how anxious it makes me to think of him driving on the L.A. freeways. I try not to think about it, which helps. Denial is not just a river in Egypt.) Thankfully, those calls from The Son, while they all involved car trouble/accidents did not involve death or injury.
They involved money. Inconvenience.
Last night, however, The Daughter called. It was the wee hours of Wednesday, she had work the next day, and she was home in her apartment. The first thing I thought was, “Fire?”
But no: it was a clumsy accident. She’d gotten up from bed and knocked over a glass of water on her nightstand. It spilled everywhere … including onto her laptop. Her brand new Mac, which she’d purchased in pink. Affectionately dubbed Little Pinkie.
Initially, Little Pinkie appeared unharmed, and fired right up when she opened it. But after drying off everything else (I won’t detail how far the deluge extended) she noticed the screen had gone black. And eventually Little Pinkie failed to charge.
Query: why a call to mom and dad in Maine at this point? But after googling on her iPhone What to do when you spill water on your laptop? and not coming up with much besides burying it in a Tupperware filled with dry rice she resorted to us. And after crashing over each other to find the phone in the dark, and taking a few calming breaths once we realized no one had died, we also suggested rice. Which was not helpful. Apparently no one in that apartment really cooks (she and her roommates excel at takeout) and there was no arroz to be found, something I find fairly incredible but that’s another story …
We talked through strategies for resuscitating Little Pinkie, finally settling on going back to sleep (!) and hoping a visit to the Genius Bar at the Boylston Street Apple store the next day would help. But when we hung up I could tell The Daughter still felt terrible. Purchasing this computer required no small chunk of change from her just-out-of-college budget, and she panicked, wondering how she would complete her grad school applications and meet various other professional requirements without it.
Several hours later: dawn. I stumble from bed, make coffee. Heavenly coffee. I pull out my schedule for the day, which includes 1. Working on my latest novel; 2. Collecting and delivering the evening meal for the local homeless shelter; 3. Walking the dog; 4. Hearing back from The Daughter re. Little Pinkie; 5. Buying some of my husband’s favorite candy from Wilbur’s Chocolates and sharing a fun Valentine’s Day dinner with him; 6. Getting ashes.
Because today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent. The kickoff to the season of repentance and getting one’s spiritual house in order, the six-week lead up to Easter, which is the culmination of All Things Christian. At some point today I’ll go to church where a priest or other minion will smear greasy black ashes on my forehead and intone, “Remember man/woman that you are dust and unto dust you shall return.”
I’ve always found Ash Wednesday to be grim. Yes: we know we’re all going to die and rot some day. What of it? Should we walk around with our heads down waiting for the meteor to strike, or a truck to ram us on the highway? I’ve always found the practice of ashes to contain a veiled threat: Behave. Judgment is around the corner.
For some reason, as I was pouring coffee this morning and contemplating the day ahead, a different thought occurred. It was somewhat Mary Oliver-inspired, more What do you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? and less hellfire-and-brimstone.
To contemplate my life in ashes is to put everything in perspective. It’s not a death sentence: it’s a gift. Because every moment I’ve got on this side of the game is an opportunity. To write another book. To eat chocolate with my husband. To speak with my daughter on the phone, albeit at 3:00 A.M. To have a car that works and the wherewithal to bring hot food to people who need it.
Ash Wednesday is not a threat of impending doom. It’s a reminder that life is precious. And while we can’t control much of what happens to us, we can control how we respond to it, and choose how we want to live. With fear, dread and panic … or joy and optimism?
Onward! My agent, Edite Kroll, likes to conclude our conversations and emails with the invocation, “Onward!” I love that. It promises good work and progress ahead. With that in mind, I called The Daughter. She was already at work; she’d gotten an early start so she can clock off early and get to the Apple store.
“You know, a computer can be replaced,” I told her. “You’ve saved your important documents. You aren’t hurt. You have a job and a good place to live. This is an inconvenience. A blip.”
“I know,” she agreed. “I love you. Sorry I woke you guys up.”
Before we ended our call I inquired after the computer. It still refuses to respond to the “on” button.
It appears, at this point, that The Pink is no more. We’ll see what the geniuses say. We'll figure it out. Meanwhile: onward!
Friday, February 2, 2018
The other day I posted this picture on Facebook:
|What's in your stack?|
It’s my current reading/just finished/next in the queue stack, and it elicited an exciting round of comments and book suggestions. (Yes: I’m one of those dorks who find a reading suggestion “exciting.”)
I have a strong love/hate relationship with Facebook and social media in general but if I can use it to promote books and authors and learn about great reads then, I’m in. So, at my sister’s suggestion, I’m going to post a monthly What’s In The Stack update to see what you all are reading and share what I’ve enjoyed. You’ll find it here on the blog, and also on my Facebook and Instagram pages.
My latest love is the young adult novel “Disappeared,” by Francisco Stork. It’s set in Juarez, Mexico, and is the story of two young people (a brother, Emiliano, and sister, Sara) trying to navigate the deadly violence of that city. It’s about choices, values, survival, friendship, and love. Yes, all the biggies. But in Francisco’s capable hands, all is possible.
Okay, so now please imagine I’m standing on top of a high building yelling: “READ THIS BOOK! GIVE IT TO YOUR TEENAGERS!!”
Fiction begins with character. Great fiction is routed in the empathy an author has for a character, and conveys, dramatically, on the page. In all his novels (and if you haven’t read them, I encourage you to visit the website link provided above and at the very least read “Marcelo in the Real World” because it’s all of the wonderful) Francisco inhabits the beating hearts of his characters, and as a result Emiliano and Sara’s wrenching choices come alive for us.
I won’t spoil this book by saying too much except to add: we cannot engage in our nation’s current debate about immigration/the Wall/deportations without fully understanding all the complexities which would prompt families to risk their lives crossing a desert in order to come to the U.S. “Disappeared” gives us a snapshot of very real people negotiating a very dangerous world, and it’s a timely, important book that could spark great conversations among teens.
Okay, meanwhile, it’s been cold and snowy here in Maine which I love because 1. It’s much more fun to snap on the cross country skis and head out to the trails with the dog instead of trudging along salt-and-silt-strewn roads for her daily walk, and 2. I’m on deadline for a new novel and these days are THE BEST for staying indoors and writing. Think: woodstove. Coffee. The silence of snow.
|View from my office window 2/2/18|
And speaking of writing: Algonquin Young Readers has contracted with me for a new novel! I’m guessing it’ll be out in 2019 … ? I’m thrilled/so happy/incredibly blessed to 1. Have a wonderful agent, Edite Kroll, who connected me with Algonquin and 2. be working once again with the Algonquin crew, esp. editor Kristina Lypen. That’s all I’ll say for now because this WIP doesn’t even have a final title yet …
|When I'm not traveling for book talks, this is my schedule from now until June 1st.|
FINALLY, speaking of snow: next week I’ll probably be grousing about it, because I’m hitting the road and heading to magical Mt. Desert Island for a book talk in Bar Harbor and school visit at MDI High, all thanks to the fabulous Island Readers and Writers. If you’re in the area, please stop by!