writerjenn

L.K. Madigan won the William C. Morris award for her debut YA novel, Flash Burnout. She followed that up with The Mermaid's Mirror. Coached by an imaginary version of Tim Gunn, she continued to write, but cancer cut short her life in 2011. She had a way of mixing humor with darker, heavier material that was wonderful to read.

Her voice lives on in many ways, and it's an honor to give you a sneak peek at her YA novel, Project: Boy Next Door, which will be released next week:



Being the son of a mega-famous mogul isn't all it's cracked up to be, which is why super-smart but socially awkward teen Melvin Pepper wants to try something new: anonymity. To attend a regular high school, get a normal job, meet real people. A break from the pressure and facade that come with crazy wealth and a world-renowned last name.

But Mel quickly realizes that being Mike, his alter ego, isn't as easy as he'd assumed. He gradually makes friends at work and school and becomes involved in the radio club, plus navigates the rocky waters of first crushes and first kisses. However, he discovers someone out there is on to his secret and is threatening to expose it.

And that's not all. One of Mel's new work friends is hiding a dark secret of her own, and Mel feels helpless to make things better for her. He struggles with juggling two very different identities, balancing jealous old friends and nosy new ones. Yup, Mel's in way over his head...and the only chance he has to make everything right is to be true to himself.

The book is currently on Goodreads, and the sales links should be available next week.

In 1957-1958, newly married to the writer Ted Hughes and newly graduated from Cambridge University, Sylvia Plath took a teaching job at Smith College. Hughes taught at another school. Plath's diary from that year is full of despair and frustration that teaching sapped her of time and energy; it's full of her yearning to be a full-time writer. If only she could just focus on her writing! She itched to get back to it. As Plath counted down to the end of the school year, she and Hughes planned to devote the following year to their writing. They had great plans for how productive they were going to be.

School ended in May, but Plath struggled at her writing desk that summer. On July 12, 1958, she recorded this in her journal: "... my life stood weighed & found wanting because it had no ready-made novel plot, because I couldn't simply sit down at the typewriter & by sheer genius & will power begin a novel dense & fascinating today & finish next month. Where, how, with what & for what to begin? No incident in my life seemed ready to stand up for even a 20 page story. I sat paralyzed ... I couldn't happily be anything but a writer & I couldn't be a writer: I couldn't even set down one sentence: I was paralyzed with fear, with deadly hysteria."

Plath roused herself by going into the next room to have a talk with her writer husband, who, one suspects, may have known whereof she spoke. She concluded the day by acknowledging how unrealistically high her expectations of herself were. She vowed to keep going, plugging away regularly, and to stop expecting she could write an instant novel.

What struck me about this entry is how familiar it all is. It's clear that Plath felt horribly alone at that moment. But not only do I recognize the thoughts and feelings she's describing, but thanks to the writer blogs of today, as well as the works of May Sarton and Anne Lamott and countless others, I realize how veeerrry common they are. Strangely normal. It's sort of comforting to see that the writers who came before us struggled in the same ways we do. It's always been hard work; writers have always doubted themselves.

And at that point in her life, even though Plath felt rather blocked, and washed up, and distant from her earlier publishing successes ... her best work was still ahead of her.


On another topic: Before signing off today, I want to encourage people to contribute however they can to this amazing book fair. Even if it's just one book. This school library has a book-to-student ratio of 5:1, well below the ALA recommendation of 11:1, and well below the ratio I have in my own house. I've contributed to this book fair every year, because I can't stand the thought of kids who want to read not having enough books. I hope you will be inspired to do the same. It does take a few minutes to click through the book list and fill out the ordering info, but it's so much fun to shop for book lovers!


(Plath quotes in this entry from The Journals of Sylvia Plath, 1950-1962, ed. by Karen V. Kukil)

The theme at YA Outside the Lines this month was change, growth, and turning points. My post is about committing to a dream, putting it first, turning "maybe someday" into "now." A sample: "Becoming a novelist was a step that I wanted to take, but in many ways was scared to take. I kept putting other things on the front burner: Education for my day job. Volunteer work. Travel. Romance and marriage. But in 2003, I looked at my life and decided it was time to give writing a turn on the front burner...."

First I offer you a quote that perfectly captures the experience of spring around here now:
"... first tulip cracked its green bud sheath & opened red silk and purple-black stamens to sun--"
(from The Journals of Sylvia Plath, 1950-1962, ed. by Karen V. Kukil)

And now I encourage you to check out Laurel Garver guest posting at The Alliterative Allomorph about ways to mark and remember the events of your life, a sort of memoir-as-you-go. As Laurel says, "Our life experiences provide some of the most potent material—material that will fade like smoke from a snuffed candle if you wait too long to write it."

Sometimes writing is about producing drafts and semi-drafts and revising and abandoning and starting over and producing more. To an outward observer, the lack of finished work may suggest a lull, or even an abandonment of writing. But inside a smooth-walled hive, bees are swarming and storing up honey.

My latest guest in my blog series on the topic of fear has provided a fear-themed excerpt from his newest book, a travel memoir. In this scene, he enters a bullring in Nicaragua. As one does. (And by "one," I mean, "apparently my guest author, but definitely not me.")


Bullfighting in Nicaragua, from One Year Lived
by Adam Shepherd


“Screw it,” I said. “Give me the sombra.”

I reached for the red cloth—nay snatched for the red cloth. I wanted in. These brave guys, juvenile to grizzly, bolting into the ring, teasing and taunting this wild bull, a balancing act between valor and a gutted belly. I had scouted enough. I snatched my improvised red sombra. I peered up into the crowd of spectators: a gang of teenagers, some whipping their shirts in circles above their heads, a family—mom, dad, daughter—a group of ladies dressed in pink and yellow sundresses, another gang of teenagers. Seven hundred people, at least—eight hundred, more likely. I lowered myself from the support of the bleachers. I sucked in a deep breath. I strode out into the sphere of fervor. And I stood, legs braced and every muscle ready for action. Six feet away, this great hulking beast stood in a similar stance, head low, horns tilted toward my chest. He scraped the earth with one hoof, hugging and snorting like something out of a nightmare.

I can’t properly explain the feeling. I was a trembling wreck. This was scary. To say that I’ve never been struck with so much fear in my life grossly understates the terror of the moment. A thousand things could go wrong, and in that first moment, as I stood six feet from the fuming nostrils of that bull, I was convinced that each one of them would. “Another story to tell,” I reasoned, as if “Yeah, y’know, I can’t process solid foods anymore because I was gutted by a bull in Nicaragua” is a story worth its price. I imagined myself as the next casualty tossed under the bleachers. My heart raced, blood pumped furiously through each vein and vessel in my body. My breathing came ragged and short, but I was somehow able to steady my feet and hands.

A man in a white tank top in the first row to the right shot both of his arms in the air in violent thrusts, screaming.

And then my mind cleared; I focused. I was in the ring with the bull. And that’s all that mattered. Laser focus.

My nerves still tense, muscles coiling painfully in my calves and thighs, readying me for what lay ahead. I steadied myself.

“Closer!” Jhonas yelled, and the gallery standing around him echoed his advice. “Más cerca! Más cerca!”

Closer? I thought. Closer? You sure? Really? Hm. Closer.

But they were right; and I edged closer. The bull’s rolling black eyes met mine, and he let out a deep guttural snort. I thought my heart might shatter my sternum. At last, he charged. His powerful hindquarters propelled him toward me—fifteen hundred pounds of deadly muscle. Every nerve in my body thrummed, quivered.

Silly bull, I thought. Bring it on, compadre. You don’t want none of this.

But he did.



Adam Shepard's newest book, One Year Lived, recounts the year he spent out in the world: seventeen countries, four continents, and one haunting encounter with a savage bull. More information (and a picture of the mullet that Adam grew on the trip) are available at www.OneYearLived.com.

"Let me keep my eye off publication & simply write stories that have to be written."--The Journals of Sylvia Plath, 1950-1962, ed. by Karen V. Kukil

"So when I started planning my own book launch, I knew cheese would be a part of it. ...'People are coming to see you,' said my friend Mary. 'No one will care if you run out of cheese.' But ... I was afraid people would care so I bought a lot of cheese. Too much cheese. ..."--Madelyn Rosenberg
Read the whole entry, including what happened to the cheese, here. A delightful mix of the launch-party anxiety we writers know so well, and a beautiful moment. With cheese.

Every year, I select a topic for a regular series of guest posts. This year's topic is fear, and Laurel Garver is my latest guest writer to tackle the topic. Her post reminds me that art is one way we often find power in situations that might otherwise overwhelm us.


Writing through Fear
by Laurel Garver

Conventional wisdom says fear is something we must combat as writers. It steals our joy, robs us of creativity, yada, yada, yada. Don’t get me wrong, I’m as neurotic as the next person banging away at a keyboard, with hefty baggage aplenty that Dr. Freud would love to unpack.

However, I happen to think that combating fear is counterproductive.

Why? Fear is one of the deepest, most primal urges we have as humans. It is a core motivator, the inverse of most desires, and therefore, key for understanding and creating the stakes of any story.

Fear is something we shouldn’t try to send packing, but rather stalk, study, and seek to deeply understand. If you spend your days chasing it away, you might find yourself at a loss for anything important to say.

Instead, consider the things you fear as grist for the mill, fodder for your hungry imagination. Ask yourself, why does this scare me? what history does it return me to? what possible futures do I believe it will lead to? The best antagonists you will write are born the moment you look under your bed and stare your own personal boogeyman right in the face.

Fear is also a potent source of material for poems. Poetry seeks to distill experience into brief, intense verbal happenings, and nothing is more immediately intense than fear. My strongest work has captured moments when fear is first glimpsed, recognized, understood, or courageously faced, be the feared thing vindictive chickens, air travel, a parent’s mental illness, powerlessness over cycles of poverty, or my own frailties.

Know your fears. Write them. You will always have a story to tell.


Laurel Garver (@LaurelGarver on Twitter) is the author of the novel NEVER GONE, and MUDDY-FINGERED MIDNIGHTS, a new poetry collection about creative life, our capacity to wound and heal, and the unlikely places we find love, beauty, and grace. Learn more about her books at http://laurelgarver.blogspot.com/2012/06/publications.html.

This National Library Week, Jo Knowles waxed eloquent about the places that have always been my refuge:

"... Libraries aren't just about book lending. They are the heart of most communities. They are the one place in any community that you can go all year, rain or shine, rich or penniless. ..."

and Guys Lit Wire is asking for help in building up one library.

We can't always do everything, but often we can do one thing.