Are We Having Fun Yet?

Local 188 in Portland, Maine
Nice tapas; great parking

I met my sorta-former agent yesterday late afternoon in Portland for a glass of wine. It was cold, by late fall standards (30s) but balmy when you consider that Maine winter is knocking and pretty soon we’ll consider a day in the 30s a heat wave and complain that the January Thaw is ruining all the good snow. This is the time of year when I don’t remember to wear my hat and gloves, when I dress for How-Does-This-Look? instead of Will-This-Be-Warm-Enough? Which means I’m usually underdressed and chilled the entire month of November. Until I wise up and whip out the wool.

But I digress. It was also verging on sunset and only 4:00, which we both complained about, bitterly, this seasonal loss of light in our latitude, but we’d agreed to meet at Local 188, a sprawling bar/restaurant with decent tapas and a big, free parking lot out back. Portland has become a Foodie Mecca of the northeast and finding parking on a Saturday is a challenge. As it turns out we were too early for tapas, but early enough to snag two great parking spots and a prime window seat at the long, meandering bar and catch up over a nice Rioja (me) and Sauvignon Blanc (her).

I met Edite 13 years ago thought a mutual friend, the author/artist Charlotte Agell. I had just finished writing my first novel, a coming-of-age young adult book set in an imaginary town called Mescataqua (a bastardization of Piscataqua: think the arching green bridge over the Piscataqua River when you cross into southern Maine) and Charlotte (a trusted critique partner as well as a dear friend) had declared it Agent Ready. Edite was her agent and repped children’s books, so Charlotte connected us and Edite said she’d be willing to take a look at my pages.

Which, if you’ve journeyed down this road, you know is a big deal. Just getting someone in this Biz to read your stuff is miraculous.

At that point I was a complete newbie to professional fiction writing. I’d been conjuring stories for years, and had plenty of boxes packed with awful prose, evidence of my dedication to “craft,” but I had scarcely stuck a toe in the cold, cold waters of Querying Agents and seeking representation. My limited experience as an unpublished  author with a spanking new novel had taught me that agents were often too busy to get back to you or were … mean. The only time I’ve ever cried since I’ve embarked on this career was when I got one uniquely unkind rejection letter from a Big Deal Famous Kid Lit Agent (we’ll just call her “R”) who basically told me my early chapters were crap and even though she hadn’t met me I probably was, too. 

Note: A couple years after receiving that rejection I caught up with R at a launch party in Philadelphia which Random House threw for a bunch of its debut authors, of whom I was one. And my “debut” was the very book R had declared “crap.” When we were introduced she shook my hand and narrowed her eyes curiously, asking, “Where have we met?” My name clearly rang a bell. 

It was one of those Two Roads Diverged moments. I had a choice.

You know … the publishing world is small. And Karma’s a bitch. And I have/had a lot to be grateful for. It was a fine night for me: you don’t often launch a new book, especially not at a swank party thrown by a major publishing house. So I smiled warmly at R and assured her we had never met. Which was true, in a way. And to this day I hug that memory close, and remind myself that criticism is often subjective and the most important thing is to work hard and write the best story you can, knowing some people will cry real tears of joy when they read it and others will scoff and throw a single, average-sinking Goodreads star at it. Qué sera.

But I digress, again. Back to Edite.

As opposed to R, Edite loved the book. She read it over one weekend, immediately emailed that she wanted to represent me, and assured me that after a few revisionary tweaks (more later on her idea of “tweaks”) it’d be ready to go out on submission. Meaning: she’d send it to editors who might publish it.

Part of me was overjoyed. Another part of me was wary. I was like … wait, what? You want me? Just like that? Wasn’t this supposed to be hard, and take months of anguish and negotiating?

It occurred to me I knew very little about publishing (or writing, for that matter) and I might be rushing into an important relationship when caution was advised. I barely knew Edite, and besides Charlotte had no clue whom else she represented: she had no website. I realized I needed to know more before wedding my work (not to mention my career, my dreams, etc.) to someone unvetted. Edite lives in southern Maine (another question mark, because weren’t all the BIG literary agents based in New York??) and agreed to meet me for lunch in Portland.

We met at Walter’s (back when it was deliciously fun and located on Exchange Street, before new owners moved it and made it “toney” and ultimately closed it) and over generous glasses of wine (another first for me; I never drink in the middle of the day) I casually asked, “So, how’d you get started as an agent?”

That’s when I learned Edite first worked as an editor at publishing houses in London and New York. She left editing because she was frustrated that she kept finding unusual talent that her bosses weren’t willing to publish. When I asked her what she meant, she gave me two examples from her first editing job in London.

“Well, this one author sent in a very creative chapter book about an abused orphan who befriends some bugs that take him on a long journey through a magical peach. My boss thought it was too strange, so we passed on it and another publishing house bought it.”

“Um … that sounds like James and the Giant Peach?”

“Yes!” Edite said, stabbing with a fork at her salad.  “And you see how successful that book was! Another time, I had a picture book I wanted us to obtain. A wonderful fantasy in which a little boy runs away to a magical world filled with scary monsters who befriend him … but again, my boss thought it was too dark.”

“Uh … are you talking about Where the Wild Things Are?” I asked, fully expecting her to say no, of course not. But Edite nodded.

“I hated saying no to that book. But … it wasn’t long before that one sold. And you see what happened there!”

The rest of lunch was spent chit-chatting about our families, what we were reading, that sort of thing. Before we departed, however, Edite handed me an 8-by-11-by-three-inch box. It was my manuscript, which she’d marked up, noting places where I should revise.

“It’s good,” she said, “but still too long. Cut it by a third, especially the talky parts, and see the small things I’ve noted. Then we can send it out.”

My thoughts swirled, either from the Chardonnay or the prospect of finding 20,000 words to excise (I had done the quick math in my mind.) 

“Talky?” was all I could muster. (It’s a Edite-ism I’ve come to know over the years, and also to treasure; eliminating “talky” bits has improved my fiction immeasurably, although not my blogging, heh) 

She explained what “talky” meant (not dialogue, but places where the narrator belabors the point with too much internal observation, one of my favorite writing flaws) then we departed on the sidewalk outside Walters, hugs and air kisses, until next time ….

I telephoned Charlotte the moment I got home.

“She thinks she discovered Roald Dahl and Maurice Sendak in the UK,” I said, plunging right in. “She’s either a genius or delusional.”

“Wow, I didn’t know that about Roald Dahl and Maurice Sendak,” Charlotte enthused.

“Charlotte!” I exclaimed. She clearly wasn’t feeling my terrified dismay. 

“I think she might be a genius,” my friend said thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t worry.”

Twenty-thousand cut words and several revision passes later, Edite sent my Book Baby out into the world … and it sold within three and a half weeks to Knopf Books for Young Readers, an imprint of Random House.

Genius. And I don’t mean my writing. There are a lot good books out there which don’t find publishers. I’m talking about the skill and intuition involved in agenting, which marries the right story to the right editor. Edite knew just how to work that magic. I recall meeting with my editor for that first book, Nancy Hinkel, and expressing my gratitude that she had pulled my manuscript from her pile and taken the time to read it. She seemed surprised.

“Well, Edite sent it to me. We always read Edite’s clients.”   

Thirteen years and five books later (my next novel, and the last I’ll work on with Edite, is set to launch in a couple months) I sit with my now friend and agent at the long bar at Local 188 and marvel at this strange, wonderful career. Edite is (mostly) retired now and has, with great care and already great success, handed her clients into the extremely capable hands of Victoria Wells Arms, my new agent. Although Victoria will now do most of the heavy lifting with our books, Edite is available to review drafts and offer advice.

Which I can’t help tapping into during this visit.

I’m three chapters into a new book — two written, one planned. As with all my early chapters I’m in love, deeply in love, with these new words and new imaginary friends. And as with all my starts I’m probably going to have to cut most of it. As Edite reminds me, now.

I tell her I’m playing around with the time frame in these first chapters. I begin with the Big Event (an accident) then scroll back to the day before (important world building) and in Chapter Three return to present tense and my character walking up in the hospital. I’ve spent the past weeks tinkering over and over with the scroll-back-world-building and putting off the difficult-to-write hospital scene. Edite listens carefully, then cuts right to the heart of the problem.

“Yes, well, good starting with the accident. But then go right to the hospital. Young readers don’t want to wait.” I feel my heart sink.

“Yes, but I was hoping to really give readers some background, tell them a little more about these characters, so that they fully appreciate ….” I begin.

“No, you have to get right into it. Don’t wait,” she says. I feel this little prickle of irritation. Of dread. Of regret, for even mentioning this new project. But it’s a feeling I recognize. That feeling that comes before I murder all the darlings I spent so much time lovingly creating, watching weeks of work vanish in a single keystroke … but also knowing my wise and experienced agent sees the forest for the trees when I can’t. And hands me the hatchet and tells me it’s okay to chip away at the story.

I won’t lie to you: it ain’t fun. It’s awful, actually. It’s hard letting go, especially letting go of hard-earned sentences. But here’s what I’ve learned, and absolutely trust: Edite is pretty much always right. 

And it strikes me as even though I’m only three chapters into it, I already need to cut a third.

Girls Gone Wild

I don't usually post reviews here but this one is special. Debut novel from a fellow Middlebury alum, and ... she's my son's age! I love screaming from the rooftops about new talent, so watch out, World, here comes a writer to watch!

Wilder Girls spent two weeks on the New York Times Bestseller list.

A mere five pages into Wilder Girls, the debut young adult novel by Nike “Rory” Power, a fight breaks out among the three main characters. Who also happen to be best friends. 

Bodies are hurled to the floor. Knees shoved into faces. Noses cracked. Hair yanked. It only ends when one girl, victorious, sprawled on a staircase, holds the contested prize aloft: an orange.

There’s a reason why this groundbreaking book has been described as a feminist Lord of the Flies.

Set on an all-girls island boarding school off the coast of Maine where a mysterious illness -  the Tox - has forced a quarantine and killed off most of the teachers and half the students in grisly, body-morphing fashion (hands turn to silver claws, second spines sprout), Wilder Girls ostensibly follows three friends as they try to discover what’s made everyone sick, navigate a strange new world in which nature itself has turned savage, and, ultimately, save themselves.

But while this is teen-narrated, speculative fiction at its fast-page-turning best, there’s a lot more going on here than just mind-bending plot. Power trains her formidable writing skills on small moments so that they loom large and wonderfully suggestive. Two girls’ quiet visit to water’s edge becomes a rumination on lost innocence and sexual awakening. A student’s first Tox outbreak seems an apt metaphor for puberty. One narrator’s revelation that she lies because “I like to see what I can do,” reads like a novelist’s confession: the compulsion to create is complicated.

Power also lures us in so we feel right along with her characters, a hallmark of the young adult genre. Adolescents lead with their hearts and read in order to get on board an emotional roller coaster, so when halfway through I found myself growling under my breath and wishing the students would whip out their carving knives and take out every lying, controlling, traitorous adult in charge, I realized: she had me right where she wanted me. This is weaponized storytelling. Book-as-cleaver. Take that.

Ultimately, Wilder Girls explores the complexity of female friendships and dramatizes the journey girls must endure if they are to control their own destinies. Given the current reality, where a warming planet threatens life as we know it and leaders charged with protecting us demonstrate questionable competence and honesty? This may be the perfect coming-of-age story for our time.

Summer Reads

I’ve been posting about my summer reads on Instagram but that doesn’t do these fab books justice. So … here’s what I’ve read so far, what I’m enjoying now, and what’s on deck. Check it out and let me know what YOU’RE reading, I’m always looking for recommendations.

You’re probably thinking, “Way to keep it light, Maria,” when you see this scary black cover, and okay fine, this one is anything but light. But it’s sooooo gooooood! Say Nothing: A True Story of Murder and Memory in Northern Ireland by Patrick Radden Keefe is a must-read if you like history, especially Irish history. 

Focusing on the 1972 murder and disappearance of a young Belfast mother, Jean McConville, Say Nothing examines the conflict in Northern Ireland by using the mystery surrounding her death as a starting point. It’s history, but reads like detective fiction. Many of the players in this drama I recall from reading news accounts at the time, but Keefe brings them to life so that they pretty much leap off the page. You won’t want to miss this one.

Moving on to an actual detective story … Almost Midnight by Paul Doiron is a Maine-must-read for summer. It’s the 10th in his Mike Bowditch-crime-solving-Maine-game-warden series, I’ve read them all and this might be one of my favorites. Paul is a native Mainer, a registered Maine guide, the former editor of Down East Magazine and a damn good writer. He tells a great tale and writes about the Maine woods so, so well. His descriptions are spot-on and beautiful and his fast-paced, wonderfully plotted books a lot of fun. His characters are NOT the stuff of “The Way Life Should Be” promotional brochures, so pick this series up if you want a peek at a grittier side of Vacationland.

In June my publisher, Algonquin Young Readers, hosted a group of us at the ALA (American Library Association) Convention in Washington and I got to meet my fellow #FierceFightingGirls Fall 2019 authors. We all have books featuring strong female protagonists coming out this fall, so we celebrated their spirit at a fun gathering with librarians and other Algonquin authors/staff.

Anyhow, while at ALA, in addition to signing lots of Advance Copies of How to Build a Heart, I picked up a stack of new middle grade and young adult novels. The first one I read was In the Neighborhood of True by Susan Kaplan Carlton. 

Set in 1950s Atlanta, Georgia, this novel is based on an actual hate crime which took place in that city. It’s about a Jewish girl and her family who move to Atlanta following the death of her father … and her struggles to fit into a cadre of wealthy, well-connected young people who don’t socialize with Jews. It’s a fascinating peek at a culture and a time period gone by, with a dash of romance (and plenty of pastel dresses) thrown in to lighten things up. Thing is: beneath the lovely manners and the beautiful clothing lives some ugly truth, which the book does a good job of exploring. 

My favorite-summer-cover is hands down Nicole Melleby’s middle grade novel, Hurricane Season. Honestly, sometimes while reading I’d just close the book and stare at the cover! So gorgeous. And so perfect for the story (hint: if it reminds you of a Van Gogh painting, you’re on to something!) It’s the story of Fig, an 11-year old who lives alone with her father, a gifted musician/composer who struggles with bipolar disorder. Her mother left them right after Fig was born (!) and it’s been up to Fig to keep their lives in order whenever her dad has bad periods.

I’ll confess: this one made me cry. It paints a convincing picture of how a child must feel if the “responsible” adult in her life is mentally ill. My heart was broken for Fig, and I felt her fear and confusion. There are also some LGTBQ elements to this story (Fig has feelings for another girl; her father falls in love with the man next door) but to me the mental health theme of this book was the most resonant. 

Speaking of gorgeous covers: check out Bright Burning Stars by A.K. Small. Pow, right? I can’t stop staring at it. Better yet: the words behind that cover.

Set at a highly competitive ballet school in Paris, this is the story of two best friends, Kate and Marine, who are vying for the same coveted spot in the company’s corps de ballet. When the body of a student is discovered, dead, early in their final year, the girls are forced to confront the question which has been percolating since they began their training: how far would you go to achieve your dream?

As someone who loves ballet but can scarcely touch her own toes, I’m fascinated by this world and in awe of what ballerinas can do with their bodies. My second novel, Jersey Tomatoes are the Best, features a girl attending a competitive ballet school, and one of the things I did while researching was slip on a pair of pointe shoes and try to go on pointe.

Oh. My. God. Such pain. How do they do it? It made me understand why ballet dancer’s feet are practically deformed. 

Author A.K. Small is a dancer herself, so she writes what she knows and does it so well! I’m still reading this one, but please: if you know a teen reader who’s interested in dance, hand them this one.

Finally, “on deck” is As Many Nows as I Can Get, a debut young adult novel from Maine author Shana Youngdahl. Shana teaches writing at U. Maine Farmington and this novel, which launches in August, is getting pretty good reviews. It’s described as “a timely, searing, and unconventional romance,” so … I’m in! 

Stay cool and read on, folks! And let me know what else is out there I don’t want to miss.

Cover Reveal!

Cover design by Connie Gabbert

I paint with a light brush when describing what my characters look like. I try instead, especially through dialogue, to convey who they are. In terms of physical description, I only give readers a few specifics, and leave the rest to their imaginations as the story unfolds.

So I was fairly gobsmacked when my editor shared artist/designer Connie Gabbert's cover depiction of Izzy, who is the main character and narrates How to Build a Heart.

"Oh my god. It's her!" I exclaimed. Out loud, to the empty room, as I stared at my computer screen. Well, maybe Frisbee (The Dog) was there. But probs not. I talk to myself. A lot. I'd like to tell you it's an occupational hazard (Writer Who Spends Too Much Time Alone) but I've been doing it for years.

But I digress.

I. Love. This. Cover. The expression on the girl's face completely conveys what Izzy feels most of the time. That will change as the plot unfolds, but for most of the book ... that's her.

Intrigued? Head over to Bustle for the first chapter! And if you want more, mark it as a To Read on Goodreads!

How to Build a Heart is a Fall 2019 book, with an on sale date of January 2020.

Almost there ...

So you've seen the spine ... and a bit of the inside ... and now here's the BACK of the galley. Call me ridiculous, but you know: a lot of work went into putting all that together! And I'm not talking about the novel itself:  a whole bunch of people are working hard to get this Book Baby out into the world.

So to the whole crew at Algonquin Young Readers and Workman Publishing: THANK YOU!!

Cover reveal and first chapter tomorrow, Friday 4/5 online at Bustle!

Inspiration

Hogan's Heroes

Stories come to me from a whole lot of directions, but I think it’s fair to say How to Build a Heart draws most heavily, of all my books, from my personal experience and from family. Not only the one I grew up in, but also the one I chose. Meaning: my husband.

Conrad Gustav Schneider is a Southern boy from North Carolina. He loves Tar Heels basketball, barbecue and biscuits. With a name like his, you’d expect him to be from Mainz or Berlin, but he grew up in Davidson, with a mom who could trace her roots back to Andrew Jackson.

His dad, however, was Fritz from Berlin. Long story about how he met Conrad’s mom, but suffice it to say it wasn’t easy growing up with a German dad and a name like Conrad when one of the most popular television shows at the time was Hogan’s Heroes. (For those who haven’t had the pleasure: this was a sitcom set in a Nazi POW camp, in which the hilarious, clever allied prisoners constantly outwit the bumbling, ridiculous Colonel Klink and Sergeant Schultz. It ran from 1965 to 1971: Conrad’s prime “growing up” years.) 

I won’t detail the bullying he endured, but his perceived outsider status, combined with being part of the first class of North Carolinians to attend integrated, “bused” public school from grades K through 12, has always helped Conrad see the world differently than people for whom identity was clear and simple and inclusion unquestioned. 

The first page of a galley often includes an author letter, where we have a chance to share what inspires a particular book. As I said, I can’t point to just one starting point for any of my novels, but without a doubt the immigrant experience and the challenges of learning a new language and finding your place in a new culture … which were part my family’s story as well as Conrad’s … played a big role in How to Build a Heart.

Most readers will never read the galley, or this letter, so as part of the run-up to the cover reveal on Friday, I’ll share it here:

Shorter is Harder

Page Proofs

Synopses slay me. Honestly? I'd rather write War and Peace than draft a 250-word summary of my latest book.

Choosing the important details and figuring out what to leave on the editing room floor (sorry: that's a metaphor from the pre-digital age, back when we cut tape with a razor blade) is sooooo hard.

So I'm in awe of the publishing pros who have brought my books into the world and SUMMARIZED them brilliantly, in promotional materials and book jackets and ... most recently ... the back-of-the-galley copy.

How to Build a Heart is at that "galley" stage, stepping tentatively out into the world (is it unfortunate that Mary Shelley's Creature from Frankenstein just popped into my head?) with a shiny new cover and a few residual typos. Galleys are basically pre-publication advertising in book form, and while I'm pretty sure THIS cover (coming Friday!!!!!) won't change, in the past I've had galleys with covers that ultimately changed or ... in the case of Jersey Tomatoes ... no cover at all.

I'm incredibly grateful for all the folks at Algonquin Young Readers who are working with me on this latest novel. There have been moments when I've felt they understood my characters better than I did!  Here's what you'll find on the back of the galley for How to Build a Heart:

        All Izzy Crawford wants is to feel like she really belongs somewhere.

Her father, a Marine, died in Iraq six years ago, and Izzy’s moved to a new town nearly every year since, far from the help of her extended family in North Carolina and Puerto Rico. 

When Izzy’s hardworking mom moves their small family to Virginia in Izzy’s junior year, all her dreams start clicking into place. She likes her new school — even if she is careful to keep her scholarship-student status hidden from her well-to-do classmates and her new boyfriend. And best of all: Izzy’s family has been selected by Habitat for Humanity to build and move into a brand-new house. Izzy is this close to the community and permanence she’s been searching for, until all the secret pieces of her life begin to collide.

How to Build a Heart is the story of Izzy’s journey to find her place in the world and her discovery that the choices we make and the people we love ultimately define us and bring us home.

Stuff's Getting Real

Spine for How to Build a Heart

Galleys!!!!

Also known as Advance Reader Copies. Uncorrected Proofs.

Also known as OMG THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING!!!!

In other words: my next book, How to Build a Heart, toddles out into the world this week. On Friday, April 5th, Bustle will reveal the cover and first chapter. Meanwhile, reviewers/book bloggers/bookstore owners/other bookish folks will receive their paperback Advance Copies from my publisher, Algonquin Young Readers. I’m not a NetGalley subscriber, but probs you’ll find it there as well. 

It’s my fifth book but wow, this never gets old. My editor popped a few copies in the mail to me and I just keep … petting them. I know, it’s weird, but that’s what I do. I stand there, stroking the cover in semi-disbelief.

Speaking of: artist/designer Connie Gabbert created the beautiful cover for How to Build a Heart. You might recognize her work from the terrific cover she did for Erika Sanchez's I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter:

When I visit schools and talk to students about writing and publishing (I mostly like to talk about writing; they mostly like to hear about publishing) they are always amazed that the vast majority of (traditionally published) authors don’t choose the covers for their books. A small army of art, sales and marketing experts pretty much steers that ship. So … it’s huge, absolutely HUGE, when they decide on a cover and … you like it. Or, if you’re lucky, LOVE it.

Which I can honestly say, I do! I am in love with the cover Algonquin has found for How to Build a Heart. I can’t wait to show it to you!

In the meantime, the photo above is a bit of a “spine teaser.” Throughout the week I’ll share other parts of the Galley, including the book description, a brief letter describing my inspiration for this story, a scan of the back and finally … the cover.

Stay tuned …

Plot Follows Character

It’s not my idea. Anne Lamott, in her fabulous book on writing, Bird by Bird, taught me that the first rule of writing fiction is developing your characters.

Once you know who they are and what they want, the rest follows.

I was recently visiting a high school creative writing class in Freeport, Maine, pushing the “Plot Follows Character!” message (I should really emblazon that on a tee shirt … ) and that very night opened Fredrik Backman’s Beartown and WUMP! There it was. And so well done.

Beartown is the story of a down-and-out, rural town where hockey is practically a religion. The local hockey club wields a disproportionate influence on every aspect of life, hockey players are demigods, and because there isn’t much else happening economically the community’s fortunes are linked to one particular team’s success and the potential for attracting a hockey training camp to Beartown.

Fully the first third of the book introduces us to a large assortment of characters, from current teen players to their parents to local business owners to coaches, former players … Backman slowly fills in the various canvases of their personalities, their histories, their desires and fears, step by step, as if each were a paint-by-number. At times it felt like I was peeking into Backman’s writer’s notebook. You know, the place where we work things out? All the words we need to write as we get to know our characters? Of course, it wasn’t as rough as my notebook, which should never be read by anyone except me …

By the time the big game approaches, we can well imagine how each of these characters will react, win or lose, and what the stakes are for each. But of course, that’s not enough. We need higher highs and lower lows. So Backman throws a Molotov cocktail into the mix, and we watch what happens. 

Well, PLOT happens. But it’s a plot that will unfold based on all the careful, intentional character details the author has given us. We know how each character will react and what he/she will do based on who they are, and what they want.

Folks have been urging me to read this book for ages because I wrote Wrecked, which dramatizes the aftermath and various character reactions to an accusation of campus sexual assault. Beartown’s Molotov cocktail is a rape: the daughter of the hockey club’s manager is raped by the club’s star player. Her accusation is made public the eve of the Big Game.

“Explosive” doesn’t go far enough to describe how the town’s citizens react. What’s so, so good, however, is that while we can’t PREDICT what each will do … when they do it, it makes sense. Because they’ve been so well-depicted from the beginning of the book. Our hearts break for them and we turn pages FAST, because we know these characters and we’re invested, we’re bought in, we care. Deeply.

That’s good writing.

As a novelist I’m mindful to read like a writer. Not necessarily with a pencil in hand, but with an eye toward craft, and how another novelist is pulling it off. I’d say Beartown is an outstanding example of Plot Follows Character.

I’m between my own novels right now, having just put copyedits on my latest to bed. I’m waiting for page proofs, which are always fun to read (it looks like a book!) but also SLOW to read because you check for mistakes and typos. I tend to review page proofs with a ruler under each line, and even read the sentences backwards … just to make sure nothing’s out of place. Excruciating, but necessary.

Meanwhile, I’ve been reading Michelle Obama’s Becoming, and just finished Lauren Groff’s collection of short stories, Florida. 

What’s in your stack?