STONES!

Listen, let's just be honest with each other: I'm not going to write a sum-up entry about SCBWI-NY. Frankly, I'm like almost a week late with it, and by blogging standards it's now old news. Besides, the number of excellent recaps by bloggers who were actually paying attention and attended all their seminars is astounding, so adding to the noise would be silly.

Now then, the AE posted a nice entry over at the Carolrhoda blog about little old me, specifically, but generally about verisimilitude* in fiction for and about teens. You might want to read it. There's a picture of me wearing a hat!

Nicely, the AE's entry follows closely after Maggie Stiefvater's recent entry about teen voice, and they come to similar conclusions on similar topics. You might want to read that, too.

I should be WYAODing, and I am starting right now, quite late. Harry and I ran to the vet this morning, however, for an emergency visit. He is fine, it appears, but might have to pass a little stone before too long. Poor thing.

Have a good weekend.

*Also the name of a great tune by Teenage Fanclub

Field Trip Mystery review

I know, I know. I still owe an SCBWI-NY wrap-up post. Right now, a little quickie to drop this review, appearing in the February SLJ:

BREZENOFF, Steve. The Painting That Wasn’t There. ISBN 978-1-4342-1608-3. LC 2009002572.

––––. The Zoo with the Empty Cage. ISBN 978-1-4342-1610-6. LC 2009002574.

ea vol: illus. by C. B. Canga. 88p. (Field Trip Mysteries Series). glossary. CIP. Stone Arch. 2009. PLB $23.99.

Gr 2-5–In The Painting That Wasn’t There, a class visits a temporary art exhibit. The students have learned about illegal copies of masterpieces, so when a celebrated painting is determined to be a forgery, James Shoo and his friends set out to solve the crime. In The Zoo with the Empty Cage, EGG (Edward G. Garrison) is a down-to-earth boy whose science club has an outing to a zoo. The endangered animal that the kids are most looking forward to seeing suddenly disappears. The book becomes a real page-turner as the students look for suspects that even include their teacher. The occasional colorful, full-page illustrations in these engaging mysteries are inviting. These books are appropriate for reluctant readers as well as those just beginning chapter books. Concluding pages offer springboards for teachers to encourage their students to write mysteries as well as to learn investigation techniques. Good purchases for libraries that need mysteries with contemporary settings.–Elaine Charnow, Deasy/Landing Elementary Schools, Glen Cove, NY

Late dinner, alone

I’m at Patsy’s right now, and it’s after 11. If that don’t beat all.

I miss this city. That’s never been something I’d hide. But I miss this city so bad. Thirty minutes ago I put a friend in a cab to hit the LES. I was this close to joining her, but I really can’t do the post-11 partying anymore, and I had the sense to withdraw for the night. So rather than head down to—let’s face it—my favorite Manhattan neighborhood to continue the schmoozing and boozing, I walked north, up 3rd Avenue, back toward the apartment that was so graciously handed over to me for two nights this weekend. On the way, somewhere within the first couple of blocks, I’m sure, I decided that at the first decent-looking pizza joint, I’d stop in and grab a quick slice—“not too hot!”—to eat as I walked. But I didn’t pass anyplace serving slices and open, other than Ray-Bari, and come on; I ain’t buying a slice from any Ray-Bari. So I had given up hope, and was all set to cross over to the west side of 3rd Avenue as I approached 60th Street, when the neon sign of Patsy’s hit me, just in the corner of my eye, and I went inside. How could I resist?

Of course, one of the few true VPN joints in the Midwest, possibly in the whole US, is one of my favorite pizza places in Saint Paul. I’m sure I’ve mentioned them before, and if not, I sure should have. But still; there’s something about a pie from Patsy’s—and, let’s face it, after a couple of highballs (we each must remember J. D. Salinger in our own way), and a long night of meeting not only ENIV and uber-successful Tenner Suzanne Young, but a number of other SCBWI members in various stages of publication and pre-publication—that to me at this moment felt well deserved.

The conference will continue tomorrow. Frankly, I don’t give a damn. I plan to show up in my brown Jack Purcells and a comfortable pair of khakis, knowing full well that this trip to NY has paid off beautifully already.

Did I mention I miss it? Dear Brooklyn, I’m sorry I’m not going to get out there this trip. In May, we’ll hook up in a big way.

Anyway, I'll have more to say on the conference when I get home. I miss my wife and son so much. I'm sure everyone I've met has been thrilled to look at the lo-res photos on my phone.

*This post written at Patsy's, but uploaded in the morning from the main conference room at the Hyatt, Grand Central Terminal.

Salinger

I recently mentioned this: Exile in Goyville has been up for a little over a year now. In that year-plus, I've written briefly about two influences of mine at the time of their deaths. First was John Updike, then John Hughes. Neither of them has influenced me as much JD Salinger. Salinger's writing not only influenced my writing--my voice and choice of protagonist, for example, and the way I occasionally lean heavily on sarcasm and on the word "goddamn"--but also my real voice, my actual voice that I use to, ya know, talk.

I don't have anything rich to add to everything else people are writing all over the goddamn place right now. I'll just link to the AE's post on the subject, and over to the New Yorker, where you can find links to 12 of the 13 stories Salinger published in that phony magazine.

Now, won't you join me in sitting cross-legged under a table, waiting for the news to drop like an A-bomb that the film rights to Catcher have been optioned?

Big, cold week

It's super cold out again. We had a mini-March of sort for the last seven days or so, but as of yesterday, and certainly as of today if my cold toes are to be trusted, January is back, 110%. Let's all put our heads down against the wind and get through it.

That is, as soon as I get back from New York. I'll grant you, New York isn't much of a respite from winter blues, but it's a little one, if your winter blues are Minnesotan -- especially if while in New York you get to go to the SCBWI Annual Conference! Which of course I do. I'm extra excited (and nervous) this year because I get to meet my inimitable agent, ENIV, and hopefully a handful of Tenners, of which I've met exactly none, at least in person. Online we are not counting for these purposes. Or porpoises. I have a cold and feel very foggy in the head, but I'm sure I mean "purposes" or "porpoises."

I like dolphins.

Yesterday morning, I finally decided to send a finished draft of YA MS the Third to ENIV. I know it's not perfect, so yesterday's decision was about letting it not be perfect, after lying awake night and night and anguishing over every paragraph and plot decision for the past several months. I think it's good. I think it still could use some work, but let's remember that agents and editors (if this book ends up seeing any) are very helpful people when it comes to creating a book. Now, I will look forward to hearing from ENIV and his thoughts on what I've written.

Is it okay to say I know a lot of it is really good?

Now, back to life. Everyone here is sick with a cold; Sam probably picked it up at the Rosedale Mall play area late last week, and has been good enough to share it with myself and my wife since then, by all manner of coughing and sneezing on our faces.

Resolutions, but not the kind you expect

You'll notice I haven't posted any resolutions this January. I suppose I could--like finishing both my YA WIPs; like cutting my cholesterol and getting back on my bike this spring--but I don't feel like it. So let's just say it's those three things and move on.

Here's a rare Sam update: We got him this little blue chair, still a little big for his modest frame. Still, he uses it well. He pushes it all over the house, then uses it to climb up to places he ought not, like toy chest tops and kitchen counters and dining room tables. So that's fun.

Beth has taken to bakin'. There is fresh bread all the time. It's fantastic.

Today was red-carpet day in children's books, as most of you probably know, and I have a lot of reading to do, for sure. You may recall a mention of one winner here at the Exile some time ago. I loved it then and am happy with the choice, for sure.

But awards day is something else to me too. It's a day I get particularly fired up to do the hard work it takes to write a really good book. Last year, I had just submitted a complete MS to the AE for the first time, and was taking a little break before shooting off to SCBWI in NYC. This year, I haven't submitted anything to anyone in far too long, and I have a week and a half and a couple of write days and nights before SCBWI in NYC. So I plan to take advantage of the ALA-inspired fire in my gut. With that in mind, I'm making not New Year's resolutions, as I mentioned above, but instead, ALA Awards Resolutions:

1. YA MS the Third: this thing has been sitting about twenty feet from the goal line for months, no exaggeration. Plenty of excuses, but no exaggeration. There are a few scenes I know I need to write, but that will also mean lots of revisions to existent scenes that I love and don't want to revisit. That idiocy ends now. The work will get done on Wednesday and Saturday.

2. YA MS the Second: this needs a synopsis. This time last year, I thought I was about to finish it. I had written about 40k in about a month, and was loving every minute of it. Then plot holes and wrong turns reared their ugly heads (as did another book by a brilliant writer also about a girl and her werewolf man), so I put it on the back burner and have only tweaked it slightly over the last year. That idiocy ends now. I will synopsize this beast by the middle of February.

And that's it. Beyond February 15 (happy seventh birthday, Harry!), I'm not making any promises. Sure, there's that middle grade series that I want to rewrite YA, and there's the story of a couple of background characters in |-1| I want to revisit, but I'll probably make a nice set of post-BEA resolutions.

Oh, and I promise to blog more. Natch.

SAHD blues

This has never been a blog about being a stay-at-home dad. There are plenty of such blogs out there, many worth a read. Still, I recently was made aware of this song from A Prairie Home Companion, and feel compelled to share the lyrics. They're really spot-on as to how it feels out there some days.

I bundle up Moira and Kate
And take them to ballet which is great
And I sit and read a book in the hall
And mothers do not talk to me at all.

They sit down at their end and I at mine
And they glance my way from time to time
And those little glances really hurt:
I can see that they are thinking: per-vert.

Read the whole thing and listen to the song here.

THE SECRET YEAR, and a chance to win

I've been away too, too long. But I'm back with a bang, because today is your second chance to enter the big Tenners giveaway, launched weeks ago with this post. As a reminder, the prize to one lucky winner is an ARC of THE ABSOLUTE VALUE OF -1 signed by myself, Dia Reeves, Heidi R. Kling, Jennifer Hubbard, and Phoebe Kitanidis, and hopefully others. Also, because Dia Reeves is hell of cool, we've added a final copy of her debut BLEEDING VIOLET, signed by Dia, to the booty! And who knows--maybe the prize will continue to grow.

Meanwhile, back to our scheduled programming. Following is a guest post written by the amazing and talented Jennifer Hubbard, author of THE SECRET YEAR, which I got to read an ARC of and can comfortably say it's great: beautiful writing, and truly does evoke this Outsiders meets Romeo & Juliet thing we keep hearing. It's out now; here's a link to buy it! And here's Jenn:

The topic of “fish out of water” is interesting because there are so many characters in The Secret Year who use labels on themselves and each other, who say that certain people only “belong” in one part of town. And yet, individual characters keep breaking out of those boxes as people do in real life. The fish keep flying out of the water.

In The Secret Year, the dividing line is based on socioeconomic classes, but in other places it could play out along racial, ethnic, or religious differences. The main characters—Colt and Julia—actually use their respective labels to enhance their own secret relationship. Defying expectations, stomping all over the boundary that is supposed to divide them, excites them. They even play up that dividing line, joking about it, needling each other over it, exaggerating its importance. And yet it affects them more deeply in ways they don’t understand and don’t fully acknowledge. Several times, they find the ground slipping from beneath them when they’re suddenly confronted with what they believe about themselves and each other. Colt has to face a lot of his own self-deceptions: about his emotional involvement with Julia, about how secrecy affects relationships, and about the ways he is and isn’t a fish out of water.

Thanks, Jenn!

To enter to win (see above for the prize description), please comment here and for extra entries let me know that you've linked this contest, or Twittered it, or bought a local billboard along the freeway, or whatever. (If you did that last one, you get a hundred million entries, wow.) If you comment here and at the first post, that's two entries, remember. So comment here too!

And only enter if you're 13 or older and in Canada or the US, please. Also, I should probably mention there's some naughty words in THE ABSOLUTE VALUE OF -1, so if that kind of thing is likely to upset you, please don't enter. Thanks!

"Mm, cookies."*

2010 is almost here! I imagine posts like this one will become more common, which is to say posts specifically about |-1| will become more common, since we're entering at least the year -- decade**?! -- in which my debut, well, debuts!

Which leads me to this: a first-ever teaser -- or "cookie," I've recently heard these called -- of The Absolute Value of -1.

(This was twittered to no small degree yesterday, but I know not everyone (A) follows anyone relevant on Twitter, or (B) doesn't habitually click links in tweets.)

Anyway, compliments of the AE on the Carolrhoda blog, here's the results of the latest addition of text to a particular spread in |-1|.

Coming soon, more chances to enter to win an ARC of |-1| signed by myself, Dia Reeves, Jenn Hubbard, Heidi R. Kling, and more, plus a final signed copy of Dia Reeves' Bleeding Violet, and who knows what all else once we get going! Stay tuned!

*I know someone reading this will get the reference I've very subtly made in the title of this post. Who will it be? I have some guesses, but I will keep them to myself.

**This is open to interpretation, since many people subscribe to the idea that larger units of years begin on the year ending in "1," rather than that beginning with "0." I am not among those people, however, since, while there was no year 0, there was also not a year 1, or 2, or et cetera, for a very long time, so relax, you Alex Trebek-types.

WYAOM! (The M stands for "month.")

The second half of December is totally WYAOD half-month! It began yesterday, sort of, since it was Wednesday, which means SIL babysitting and a half WYAOD. It was particularly special because I think it was the first Wednesday in some time on which I had no reading to do for the Loft workshop (it's over until late January), no homework for an education class (I'm also taking the spring semester off, so that won't change for a while), and no SAB job to help Eric Stevens with (he always needs my help, the bum).

But on Saturday it really kick into high gear! Beth and all the SILs will be at our house baking Christmas cookies for the whole afternoon, and in the morning Beth will be out with Sam buying ingredients for said cookies. That means WYAOD for me!

But it just gets better from there. After Christmas, Beth has a number of days off from work, and I hope and plan to use a couple or few of them as WYAODs as well. At this rate, my current WIP, aka YA MS 3, which is at the moment a hot mess, will be feeling a lot better before the first of the new year.

Oh, also: new crit group forming! We had our first meeting last night. All kinds of fun.

What I learned from last night's dream:

When traveling to the underground kingdom of the Frost King, to face him and finally end his reign of terror in an epic battle to the death, accompanied by three silver doves, a family of warbears, and your guide (a glowing giant worm), be sure you have enough cash for everyone's subway fare, because the line at the ATM is murder during rush hour.

Anti-advice

Just a quick note today. Fellow Tenner and author of Inconvenient (coming from Flux in 2010) Margie Gelbwasser is hosting the 8 Nights of Hanukkah Writing Tips over at her blog. My guest post went up last night, and I'm calling it my anti-advice. Anyway, pop over there, and please comment!

Top Ten Tunes

Local excellent radio station the Current is holding a vote. From all the songs that debuted on the station in 2009, listeners are being asked to select ten as their favorites of the year. From the votes, the Current will be taking the top 89 as their top songs of the 2009.

Typically I don't do any year-end top-ten lists, but since this one is already made, thanks to the Current, I figured I'd list my picks. So here they are, in no particular order:

Art Brut | DC Comics and Chocolate Milkshake
(Art Brut vs. Satan)

Gossip | Heavy Cross
(Music For Men)

The Avett Brothers | I and Love and You
(I and Love and You)

Animal Collective | My Girls
(Merriweather Post Pavilion)

The Noisettes | Never Forget You
(Wild Young Hearts)

Cornershop | The Roll Off Characteristics (Of History In The Making)
(Judy Sucks a Lemon for Breakfast)

Neko Case | This Tornado Loves You
(Middle Cyclone)

M. Ward | To Save Me
(Hold Time)

Thao with The Get Down Stay Down | When We Swam
(Know Better Learn Faster)

Grizzly Bear | While You Wait for the Others
(Veckatimest)

So what are your top tunes of 2009? And yeah, if you're wondering, the Ting Tings album We Started Nothing came out in 2008, or it would obviously dominate my list.

Another prize; piece in PW

Two quick notes.

1. Dia Reeves has offered to add to the Tenner-signed ARC giveaway. She'll be donating a final copy of Bleeding Violet, signed of course, to go to the winner of the contest announced earlier this week! So head over there, read all about it, and enter in the comments. (This contest will be going on for a while, so don't panic, and enter plenty of times in future posts!)

2. If you don't follow my Twitter (or even if you do), you might have missed this excellent PW article about the cover of |-1| and the Teens Know Best. Now that the spelling of my last name has been corrected, I'm blogging it too. Enjoy!

FTM review from Booklist

From today's BOOKLIST:

The Painting That Wasn't There.
Brezenoff, Steve (Author) , Canga, C. B. (Illustrator)
Jan 2010. 88 p. Stone Arch, library edition, $17.99. (9781434216083).

This title in the Field Trip Mysteries series marries the always high-interest topic of an art heist with a breezy, straightforward story just right for reluctant readers. The book opens with an illustrated dossier belonging to sixth-grader James “Gum” Shoo (“Interests: Gum chewing, field trips, and showing everyone what a crook Anton Gutman is”) and three pals. The story then proceeds to tell how he got his flatfoot moniker. In art class, the kids learn about a famous painting and are delighted to find out that they’re going on a field trip to see it in person. At the museum, one of James’ henchfriends notices that the painting on the wall’s a forgery, and the four sleuths set out to uncover the perp. It’s a quickly paced and quickly resolved caper, but what’s lacking in characterization and plot is made up for in style: Canga’s illustrations add a touch of middle-school noir to the overall handsome presentation. The can-do spirit extends to the back matter, prompting kids to solve a mystery themselves or write up a new one.
— Ian Chipman

And don't forget to read Dia Reeves' guest post and enter to win an ARC of The Absolute Value of -1, signed by myself, Dia, Jennifer Hubbard, Heidi Kling, and more Tenners!

Dia Reeves, and the big giveaway!

Well, look at that! It's December first!

This mostly means pain and suffering to me, of course: short lengths of daylight, lots of cold, shoveling to do, ages till the thaw. But it also means it's time to start the Tenners tour of the Exile!

So, without further ado, here's the first guest post, from the wonderful, funny, and talented Dia Reeves, author of Bleeding Violet, which you can pre-order from this page! Remember: the topic is "fish out of water," keeping in the spirit of the Exile. (Stay tuned after the post for some more info about the signed ARC giveaway!)

I can't really think of any fish-out-of-water stories, Steve. I'm always at home wherever I go. You know, as long as people aren't looking at me. The only things I can think of that might even be remotely fishy is, sometimes at parties people insist that I get up and dance because of that old chestnut about how all black people are great dancers. Heh. Well, usually after about ten seconds of watching me strut my stuff, I get asked to sit back down.

Or like this other time when I went trick-or-treating in college and I was so old that no one would give me the good candy--just candy corn and those nasty brown things that taste like root beer. And, like, a toothbrush I think.

And this other time, my mom and I went to the movies to watch one of the sequels to Children of the Corn (can't remember which one) and we laughed the whole way through it, especially at the parts that were making other people scream. Only three movies scare me--The Exorcist, The Return of the Living Dead, and Evil Dead. Everything else is stupid.

So that's all I got. I think my way of being different is largely internal and would require a weird-girl brain scanner or something like that to pick me out of a crowd. Otherwise I just blend in.

Thanks, Dia.

Now, as promised, more info on the giveaway. The contest* will officially begin right now, with this post. To enter, simply comment below. If you Twitter or blog link to this post, I'll give you an extra entry, just make sure to let me know. And on future Tenner posts, there will be more opportunities to enter. As a reminder, the prize is an ARC of The Absolute Value of -1, signed by every Tenner featured on the Exile (so far, that means me and Dia, but many more will follow). I'll also add other fun gifties down the road, so stay tuned.

*US and Canada residents only (sorry, Roo). Please do not enter if you are under 13.

Back at home, lots to do.

I am not going to apologize for being away so long. I might choose to apologize to people who are waiting for email replies from me. We'll play it by ear.

We're recently back from a weeklong stay in New York, specifically on Long Island. We hardly got into the five boros at all, frankly, outside of trips fro and to the airport. Still, it was loads of fun: there's the food (of course, always the priority in my mind--Eddie's, bagels, Chinese, Green Cactus, and of course Thanksgiving dinner), the family and friends, and Sam playing with his cousin, also around one year old, from out in California. It's a shame cousins so close in age will spend so much of their youth so far apart. Still, though, fun.

The flight back with the very tired and restless and loud Sam? Not so fun.

There's some book news about to break as well (personal appearances, a trailer, final cover . . . boring stuff like that), but for now it's under my hat. I will announce right now that, beginning with an exciting guest post in the next few days, I'll be holding a contest here at the Exile. The winner will receive an ARC of The Absolute Value of -1, signed not only by moi, but also but several Tenners. If all goes according to plan, the signers will be the same Tenners whose guest posts I'll be hosting. Details to follow this week!

Finn Reeder: Flu Fighter

My new laptop is due to arrive today. It might show up at any minute.

Meanwhile, Eric Stevens' latest and greatest project for SAB is now live as a free pdf download! It's only available free until the first of the year.

Click the cover below to get it. And I hope you enjoy it. I think it's pretty funny.

TKBs III

Ahoy!

Last night was our last pre-final-cover meeting with the wonderful TKBs. It was a blast, naturally, and there were even more questions and comments for me, which was nice. See, there was more time at the end before the members had to scatter because we only looked at four comps on the old overhead. Anywho, the questions and comments were mostly very flattering and I probably went red once or twice.

The point is I think most of the members who read |-1| (at least those who spoke up) liked it.

Oh! And the covers. Well, I was pretty hot on one of 'em, and pretty cold on one of them, and downright unmoved by another, but one of them in particular has me more excited than a crawfish at a clambake. Unfortunately, the AE warns me that it's nowhere near in the bag yet, what with all the necessary approvals down the road from Sales and departments like Sales. So I can't say anything specific about it. You'll all have to be patient with me. But it won't be long, mind you, as we need finals pretty right quick for the catalog.

In other news, check out this review of one of SAB's FTM titles. A classic?! Oh, go on.

In a perfect world, the picture I attached to this post would have been the cover. Alas, this will suffice.

"I drink with DAMN, I'M DEAD!"

This has been a tough week, and it ain't over yet.

For a lot of you, it's probably pretty much over. Friday afternoon, everything winding down. Go home, have a nice cup of tea or a glass of wine or a bottle of beer, enjoy your weekend. For me, it won't really end until I finish my homework for class tomorrow morning, get through class tomorrow morning, and then wait for Eric Stevens to finish his assignment, too, due Monday.

But those little items aren't stressing me out like they normally would on a Friday afternoon. Nope. Compared to the last five days, those are a cake walk, because on Sunday night (shortly after posting my last entry, actually), I spilled an entire cup of tea -- piping hot and with milk and sugar -- into the keyboard of my laptop.

I didn't sleep well that night, wondering if the innards would dry, if the hard drive would survive, if all the writing I'd done in the last two years would be lost!

Well, not two years. I mean, I have backed up now and then. But plenty of work that I really, really loved, including the latest complete draft of YA MS the Third . . .

Beth did some quick research, and I removed the hard drive and whatever else I could safely unbolt from the underside, then opened the laptop and laid it on a towel, per some instructions on the web. Then, I proceeded to not sleep at all.

At 3:30 in the morning, I got up, thinking maybe the thing was dry now, and got it put together and plugged in and pressed the power button. The Dell start-up screen appeared! The little loading bar got longer and longer! It's working, it's working!

Then nothing. A flash of light and blackness. Total. System. Failure.

I blacked out.

The next thing I remember is waking up under the dining room table with a pot on my head.

Not really. But at 7:59 that morning, Sam and I were at the local computer repair shop. They laughed at me, then pantsed me, then laughed again. Then they said, "We'll call you to tell you it's beyond hope in three days."

Or it would have been, if the hard drive hadn't been spared by some miracle. The thing was bone dry. The folks at the repair shop removed the hard drive, encased it in adamantium (I assume), and turned it into an external drive. All my files -- WIPs, invoices, photos and videos of Sam, completed work -- are safe.

Of course, the motherboard on the old laptop is shot. The thing is beyond repair. So I've gone ahead and bought a new laptop. The amazing thing is that it's a better, faster laptop than my old one, and cost me like 300 bucks less. So that's nice.

And hey, tax write-off!

Anniversaween Weekend

This morning, for the third time, Beth and I enjoyed the amazing brunch at St. Paul Hotel's main floor restaurant, the St. Paul Grill, no relationship to the St. Pauli Girl.

This is a tradition of ours. You see, we were wed at the St. Paul Hotel three years ago, as I noted recently herein. But specifically, our wedding was a Sunday brunch affair. Hence, the tradition!

It's also one of the best, most decadent brunches we've ever had, anywhere, period.

Today I had the country breakfast, of which I will spare you the details because you'll be so jealous you'll probably devour your own arm. The point is I couldn't breathe afterward and the whole family slept for like three hours this afternoon.

The other feature of our anniversary weekend this year was, of course, Halloween. It's probably my second favorite holiday, behind Thanksgiving, and sometimes I prefer it outright. This year, I did up the porch something fierce, with sound effects and special lighting and a scarecrow -- the whole nine. Also, to spare us the hassle of dealing with a barking and snippy Jack Russell, I handed the candy out through a huge poster of a skull -- the mouth of which I cut a slit into -- that was covering one of the big windows onto the porch. It was hell of creepy.

Anyway, our anniversary weekend is now over. So, one last time: happy anniversary, sweetie.

This post is also a test of my attempt to feed all entries in my Livejournal. Let's see if it works.
[ETA: Okay, it totally didn't work. But I also totally know why. Next time, it will work.]

image from http://undead-art.deviantart.com/art/Together-Forever-zombie-love-54566305

Three years!

Happy anniversary!

To who? To me and Beth, natch. Today is our third anniversary, in fact, and in celebration, Beth went off to work and I stayed home with Sam!

Wait, no.

Last night, while I was at my awesome Loft class (which, by the way, was a riot last night; everyone seemed drunk, in a good way), Beth made a batch of maple glazed cookies with coarse sea salt. They are amazing. I have eaten at least 8 since then, and do keep in mind that it's not even noon here and that I was asleep for about 8 hours between when the cookies were given to me and now. The point is, though, that I recently Twittered that I was having bona fide maple lust. It is sated -- for now.

In other, less interesting news, YA MS the Third is done. Again. I think. I am in the middle of a read-through right now, and then I'll pass it off to Beth, as she is my favorite first reader. It's very short. Like, too short for most editors to look at seriously, I think. The AE is okay with the length, so that's reassuring, certainly. But he's a maverick!

In truth, I probably wrote lazily and could have include more action here or there.

My next task, after Eric Stevens finishes his latest assignment, is to fix and finish the trailer for |-1|. Not that there's any hurry.

Did you guys know Josh Berk is eating a burger a day for a hundred days, to celebrate the release of his debut, The Dark Days of Hamburger Halpin, on the 100th day? How jealous are you? Or more to the point, how jealous am I?!

I wish I'd named my book The Absolute Value of Negative Pizza.

One post, two Sams

We're skipping ECFE this morning, I'm sorry to report. Sam's fighting a cold that has his nose running like a faucet, so rather than spread the cold to twenty other toddlers, we thought it best to stay home. I'll do some laundry. We'll have a blast.

Anyway, drop over to the Stone Arch Books blog today. They've posted a guest post I did about my favorite character from the Field Trip Mysteries. (Between you and me, she was also named for after my son.)

TKBs II

The cover meeting with the TKBs was excellent. I'm not surprised. Seeing the rough concepts on the big screen was pretty fun; some of them are very cool, and the whole process has me pretty excited. I won't say any more about the cover ideas themselves. Of course, once the cover's final, the Exile will probably be the first place it gets posted publicly.

Here are some highlights of the meeting:

• A cover mock-up designed and illustrated, with flap copy (a review from the Times!) and everything, by one of the TKBs. At the end of the meeting she handed it to me and said, "Happy birthday." Slightly late--or early--but I love it and will cherish it. I'd post here but since I didn't ask her if that would be okay, I won't.
• One of the senior TKBs: "I cried at the end. I curled up in a ball in the corner and cried." I took that as a compliment.
• After cover discussion, several TKBs decided to hurl a few questions at me, and they weren't softballs, either. That was hell of fun. I want a whole session of that right there.
• Adela, TKB advisor/leader, is planning to head to Pino's! As a native of New York (sure, Flushing and a Mets fan, but we must forgive our friends and neighbors), she undoubtedly misses our world-famous thin, floppy, foldable pizza, and has taken my review to heart! My apologies to her for not immediately realizing just what Pino's is. Not good with names, I suppose.
• I got a TKB T-shirt! It's black! (That means it's straight into priority rotation for this shirt, of course. Black T-shirts are always win.)

Overall, like I said, excellent. Those TKBs who read the book seemed to take something away from it, and generally I'd say they thought it was pretty good. So I'm happy.

Two more things!

I had to pop in one more time today for two reasons.

1. I am answering the Six Questions over at Minnesota Reads today. Check it out!

2. The Exile is one year old today! It was on October 13 of 2008, the first Monday after I attended the Minnesota SCBWI conference, that I posted for the first time. (The blog had been sitting unused for some time.) It was unabashedly an attempt at creating some kind of internet existence for myself, non-anonymously. I think it's going pretty well. But as the ultimate goal at the time was simply to sell a book, I'd say it's going very well, tyvm.

Full stack

Here's the thing about pancakes:

If you're hungry, and someone announces they're going to make pancakes, you're like, "Awesome. I love pancakes. I can eat TEN. Make at least TEN for me." Or if you're on your way to breakfast on a late Saturday morning, you're all, "Man, I am getting a FULL stack of PANcakes, because I love pancakes and I can eat like TEN right now."

Then the stack shows up. You dig right in, after application of ample butter and syrup, of course. Five, even ten bites in, you're still trucking. It's so good. Every bite is delectable (I mean, unless they're totally crappy pancakes--I'm looking at you, Neighborhood Cafe). With each bite, you're certain you could eat pancakes for the rest of your life, nonstop, and never get sick of pancakes.

A switch suddenly flips in your gut. It says stop. Stop eating those pancakes. But your head is still in its pre-pancake mode. It replies, "No, no! We said ten pancakes. We will eat ten pancakes!" Your mind continues forcing your arm to move that damn fork back and forth, back and forth, your gut shouting, or anyway mumbling as best as a rock-laden gut can: "Stop! For the love of all that is holy, STOP."

Finally the gut wins out. It's not like the head says, "You know, you're right." It's more like the blood supply to your brain is far too slow at this point for your mind to do any strenuous work, like fork manipulation. Your arm is probably numb.

The pile of pancakes on your plate is embarrassingly large. You wonder if the server will ask if anything was wrong with the meal, or, god forbid, if you want to bring the rest home. You stare at the mutilated full stack. The butter and syrup have cooled and coagulate in pockets here, and there. The cakes themselves are stone cold. Even if you were fresh to the table you wouldn't want them anymore. As you feel now, you could wretch at the sight of them. You poke at the plate, then let your fork drop, even letting the fork's handle fall into the cold syrup, knowing full well that will make it completely useless.

The point is we went to Highland Grill last night for dinner and I got pancakes.

Tonight, the AE and I and some other folks from Carolrhoda are meeting with the TKBs for the second time. Very excited and nervous. Updates tomorrow.

Updates and BBW

Clearly, my five posts weekly resolution has been smashed. Then it was stomped on, put out with the recycling, and run over with a steamroller.

Oh well.

Tonight, the first 20-odd pages of YA MS the Third are on the chopping block in my Loft workshop. Early reactions are positive, but I manage to retain fear. It's my nature. I'm strong like that: in the face of positivity, I maintain a lack of composure.

I think I mentioned a trailer for YA Novel the First. Perhaps that was on Twitter. Regardless, I've decided, I regret to say, to redo much of it. The more I fiddled with it, the more of the book I felt I was "giving away," such as it is, and not adding much to the trailer itself, visually or oomph-wise. It eventually became really ineffective. So I'm backing up about three of hours of work, rethinking some of the sketches and the narration script. With a live-in babysitter set to arrive tomorrow afternoon, hopefully I can get it done by the middle of next week.

Not that there's any hurry, of course.

As I just noted briefly, by the way, Beth's mother-in-law will be arriving tomorrow afternoon. She'll be with us until Tuesday. I'd warn you that I might not update much during her visit, but since I've been about the slackingest blogger in Minnesota anyway, why bother.

I can hardly believe I haven't said a thing about Banned Books this week. Everyone did, except me. Of course, as you likely guessed, I am opposed to the banning of books. That said, I expect someone will challenge |-1|, and that bothers me not at all. It seems to me that much of the art teens have loved since "teens" became a demographic has been heavily challenged, regarded by much of the adult world as somehow dangerous. I don't expect that will ever change. And frankly, if it ever did, I expect art for teens would simply push farther, as it should. The teen age is one defined by its burgeoning individuality and independence from arbitrary adult and societal authority. Absorbing that which is challenged and subversive is a rite of passage, and a crucial one.

The Secret of Roan Pizza

More excellent pizza!

This time it's on the east side of the Metro, and, though Hiawatha Pizza is certainly closer to home as the crow flies (or the bike rides), getting down there in the car is a huge pain thanks to the clusterfrak that is Lake Street. So, we present Pino's of Woodbury. I won't get into a whole review spiel here, since an excellent review is already up at S4xton. (Photo is from S4xton.) It's spot-on. I think Hiawatha is a little closer to perfect NYC-style slices. It's also a little cheaper and the slices are bigger. However, since Hiawatha does very little business, the product is often a little sitting-aroundy. I also have no confidence that Hiawatha will still be in business a year from now, whereas Pino's seems in good shape.

I'm out for some write time at the moment. Been stepping back and forth between my two most important WIPs (YA MSS the Second and the Third, that is). I'm 99% certain that the first 25 pages of YA MS the Third will be my first submission for crit at the Loft. Thing is, I feel like I'm just teetering on the edge of eureka with both projects. Like, at any moment, the thing that's going to make plots really work and feel organic is just around the corner.

So what am I doing here? Who knows. I'm probably a little afraid to get there.

Beth and I watched The Secret of Roan Inish last night. I still love it. Beth was very against it from the get go. I think the scene in which cousin Tadgh tells Fiona about the family's odd mating history is what got her turning around on the issue. Either that or she just said at the end that she liked it to shut me up and she actually didn't like it. Who knows. Anyway, I very much want to read the book on which it's based, The Secret of the Ron Mor Skerry. Has anyone out there?

Workshopping, finally

I haven't workshopped my writing since 2001. That was the year I did two classes at the Gotham Writers Workshop in New York. (In fact, while killing a few minutes before one such workshop, I ran into an old music biz/college friend, and yadda yadda yadda, within a month I was working at S&S Children's; thanks, Detroit*.) I found that experience to be at times horrible and useless, but very often invaluable. In fact, it's safe to say that my first instructor at GWW, one Alex Steele, was one of the three most important--how shall I put this?--cattle prods in my writing career. He was a big fan of some of the earliest scenes in |-1|, and without his confidence in the piece, I don't know I ever would have written even the novella it was this time last year.

I digress. The point is, been a long time since I was active in a workshop, but now it's on: I've just begun the Advanced Fiction Workshop at the Loft, and, no offense to Brian Farrey, I'm glad I ended up "stuck" in this class, rather than BF's "Better Writing through Buffy." That class sounded hell of fun, but probably would not have been quite the swift kick YA MS the Third really needs.

Already the workshop has been helpful. In selecting the 6500-word section I want to submit (I volunteered to submit next week, essentially right away), I determined that the wrong 25 pages are right now the first 25 pages, and the 25 pages I chose for the workshop should be the first 25 pages. Already a win. Oh, plus the first story we read was Kelly Link's "Stone Animals," which, swoon.

*My old friend's name is not actually Detroit. Detroit is simply what a particular mispronunciation of her name sort of sounds like, but not really.

MN-SCBWI

First, apologies for downer post on Thursday, particularly to my mother, who apparently cried.

Now then. The Minnesota chapter of SCBWI had its annual conference all day Saturday. Here's how it went down:

I met several people, of whom I remember few names and I thought to give a business card to maybe two of them. Of course I also saw a few people I already knew, such as Tina Lee, local pre-published writer, the AE, and Kurtis Scaletta, fellow Otter.

According to Kurtis, I write "pornography for teens."

Jill Dembowski gave major love to Sara Zarr during her talk on the "Do's" and "Don't's" of publishing. (Kurtis: "I hear she'll blurb anything.")

Mark McVeigh's presentation was highly informative. He's an immensely bright man. Also dapper. Oh, and he said thanks to the AE, Carolrhoda is an imprint he wouldn't hesitate to work with. His words seemed to be intended, in fact, to encourage the conference goers to get excited about another awesome, cutting edge place publishing YA in our hometown (in addition to Flux, of course).

Julie Schumacher, author of Black Box, also presented, on a topic near and dear to my heart: "trauma" lit for teens. I personally think the alleged recent explosion in the subgenre is bunk. Frankly, if we're seeing an explosion in a subgenre of YA, it is in my mind simply because we're seeing such an explosion in YA in general. But who knows. The point is, I was a proofreader on Black Box and it's quite good. Julie Schumacher reminded me of Joey Ramone a little bit, too. You can take that as you will. Anyway, I like her.

Donna Jo Napoli is a delight. She is lively and hilarious and a brilliant writer and critic of prose. One of the highpoints of the conference came after First Pages. As soon-to-be honcho of MN-SCBWI Quinette Cook was wrapping up, Donna Jo called out, "May I say a few things?" Quinette of course called her up, and Donna Jo ran, quite literally, to the mic from the back row. She then offered, rapid fire and from notes, her take on the first pages, with serious and substantial suggestions and criticism. Seriously, I was hell of jealous of the members whose first pages were looked at, because I would love to some real notes from Ms. Napoli (no offense, Otters).

Speaking of Quinette Cook, I hadn't met her before, but I knew her name: it appeared on my missed call Caller ID last week, and is pretty unforgettable. Turns out she was calling me for some last-minute material she might use in one of her intro talks or something, since she'd heard (through the grapevine) that I'd had such a great year thanks in no small part to last year's conference. I was flattered and frankly stunned that someone had sort of heard about me. Hopefully we can work something out so next year I (and other pubbed locals) can be more hands-on in the conference.

Tomorrow morning, Sam begins ECFE. Did I mention the kid took five steps on Friday? Yup. And it's happened a few more times since. I wholly expect he will be up and walking like a pro by the end of this week.

Wednesday night, I begin my first class at the Loft. It's an advanced fiction workshop. Today, I spent a little time with the WIP I'll likely focus on in that class, better known on the Exile as YA MS the Second. I'll tell ya this: the old advice about putting your frustrating WIPs aside, to distance yourself from them, is not to be ignored. When I returned to it this morning, I found slicing whole chunks, scenes, even characters that were taking the story nowhere, to be much easier. I think, with no unforseen problems, I have a chance at finishing this WIP sooner than I thought. Ooh, plus, thanks to Donna Jo Napoli's keynote address, I won't worry as much as I usually do when I find a hole; I'll just keep going. Just finish it. I can fix it later.

Seriously I should have that painted on the wall of my office if I ever get one: Just Finish It. Fix It Later.

And finally, I've spent free minutes here and there over the last few days throwing together a trailer for The Absolute Value of -1. I think, if I can convince Beth to do some narration, that it will be ready to premiere fairly soon.

I hate today.

More than a week since the last post.

It's a shame I decided to come back today. I could have come back yesterday, and then I wouldn't have had to post today. Or I could have just stuck to my lazy guns one more day, and then I'd come back on the twelfth, or even the thirteenth, with a post-MN SCBWI update. (I'm sure I'll post one of those on Sunday or even Saturday night.) But no. Instead, here I am, smack on September 11.

I sort of can't believe it's only been eight years. It feels like that was a different man, who woke up in Astoria, Queens, like it was any other day. He got on the N train at 30th Avenue and rode it right to 57th and 7th (I think . . .), to get to work at Good Housekeeping magazine. He was in his black slacks and white button-down, as always. It was completely normal. Only one thing seemed strange, just before nine that morning. The N train stopped at Queensboro Plaza, still above ground, like it always did. And the doors stood open for a little while, to get back on schedule and wait for the 7 train transfer, I suppose. But as we sat there, a man tapped his friend and said something quietly in Chinese. The two men then leaned over the seated passengers to look out the windows. A few others, curious, turned to see as well. I leaned with the rest and saw smoke and flames coming out of one of the Twin Towers. (Lord knows I didn't know which was One and which was Two.)

We shrugged it off as a curiosity: a fire in one of the Twin Towers. The train went on, under the river. But I emerged from the station into a quiet confusion. It just felt wrong. Good Housekeeping's offices were quiet, as they usually were that early. The Research Department, of which I was a member, was always first to arrive. We'd usually started our second cups of coffee before Editorial showed, generally between 9:30 and ten. That day, few editors showed up at all, I suppose. My boss and I watched one of the twenty-four-hour news channels and saw the second plane hit. I don't recall if we knew by then that this was an attack, and not some insane accident. But when the second plane hit, it certainly became obvious.

I started smoking again, right then. I told my boss I had been quit for a week but I couldn't take this and she said go downstairs, so I did. And the streets were filled with people--with New Yorkers. Cars were stopped . . . just anywhere, like that REM video. It sounds fantastic and sentimental, but it's true. People left their car doors open and stood on their bumpers or roofs to try to catch a glimpse. I think we all expected a fireball to come screaming up 8th Avenue, or at least a huge white smoke monster.

I'd told my boss I'd work for the day, but by the time I'd gotten back upstairs, that was an insane notion. No one would work that day, I imagine. We wished each other good luck and a few of us, my self included, tried to get friends and family on the phone; my cousin worked in one of the Towers, and was only late to work that day because he was casting his vote in the NYC mayoral election.

Getting home was tricky. Most subways were not running, and rumors about more attacks, biological weapons, god knows what else, flowed through crowds. There must have thousands of us roaming midtown, hoping an E might suddenly burst into action to get us across the river. I know a lot of people just walked.

An E did run, eventually, but then shut down at the first Queens station, to which I'd never been. I managed to find a taxi and get in. He was nice. He was scared, too. We kept watching the sky. But his car wasn't moving, not much. We didn't get far together. Once I recognized something, I said I'd get out and walk, and we said good luck to each other and he wouldn't let me pay him.

I don't remember when the towers collapsed entirely. I don't remember much else about that day. But I remember that morning, and I miss the Towers--really, I miss them--every time I take a bridge into the city and see that lopsided skyline, with downtown looking like it's sinking into the harbor.

I'm sorry this is so sentimental and ridiculous. The truth is, only the anniversary of my father's death affects me more than September 11. I hate today.

"Self-destructive"

I have a blog? How 'bout that.

Yup, been gone a week. No good reason for it, frankly.

My last Thursday afternoon for work, with MIL sitting Sam, is today. I'll be working mostly on an SAB title, which is nice. My two most promising WIPs (aka YA MS the Second and YA MS the Third) have been gathering dust, not for lack of time (though I haven't been taking write-nights as religiously as I ought to), but for lack of get-up-and-go. I think writing a quick football title for SAB will help me to feel potent again. Let's hope so, 'cause YA MS the Third is so freakin' promising, and yet I am afraid to approach it.

This has always been a problem for me, and I assume for many writers. I write and write like a house afire, and then, upon reaching some roadblock, stop. YA MS the Second has been wallowing for some time thanks to that issue, and I am afraid YA MS the Third is destined for the same fate. Heck, YA Novel the First wallowed on and off for about twelve years. It took some interest from the AE to really bang it into shape.

This afternoon, I have contractual obligations to attack that SAB title. It's due on Monday, after all. But after this weekend, I'm getting my BIC on, religiously. In fact, here's my vow: YA MS the Third will be agent-ready by Halloween.

Not to put to fine a point on it, but just typing that sentence gave me a small anxiety attack.

About last night . . .

Last night was fantastic. Fantastic!

I didn't think it would affect me like it did, after all these years. To be honest, I wasn't even all that enthusiastic about it. Sure, when I was nineteen, twenty . . . even when I was, I don't know, twenty-five, I'd've lined up for the opportunity for a night like last night. Heck, I might have waited all night in the rain. But now I'm a grown man. I have a wife, and a son, and a burgeoning writing career. We own a home. It's time to be reasonable about these things.

Right?

It became obvious before it even started. Beth and I had just ordered drinks and were just sitting at our mezzanine table when a sudden chill fell over me. My heart skipped a beat and I sat up a little straighter to see a black-clad demure figure move past my shoulder then skirt quickly along the mezzanine. I leaned forward in my chair and said to Beth, "Did you see?" Beth had wondered if that was her. I nodded, then said, resigned, "I think I'm still pretty in love with Suzanne Vega."

From there, my condition just got worse. She opened her set with "Marlena on the Wall," and sure, I love that song, but it was a hit, so of course she opened with it. Next, "Small Blue Thing," and I positively swooned.

There were off moments, from some of the more recent releases that I never connected with quite as well. But there were also stories between songs; there was "Gypsy" and "The Queen and the Soldier," which should probably win the Best Song of All Time Award if the Grammy people ever decide to give it out.

Sorry, Neil Young. I'm going with Suze on this decision. "Cinnamon Girl" can come in second.

Suzanne played encore after encore. Eventually, Beth and I had to leave to get to bed at a reasonable hour, during "The World Before Columbus," and I will find out later today if she continued performing even after that. Just please don't tell me she did "Cracking," because I cannot bear to know that I missed that.

I should also note, in what would typically get its own entry, that the cheeseburger at the Dakota is phenomenal. I'd say it's the best burger I've had in the Cities thus far. Perfectly cooked eight ounces of house-ground angus; a bun with just the right softness, absorbency, and proportions; a thin slice of cheddar that hinted its flavor in every bite; beautifully seasoned meat; a portion of fries that was enough without overwhelming; and the toppings were left off to the side, where I of course decided to leave them. Excellent burger.

All in all, an amazing night at the Dakota (many thanks to the MIL and particularly the FIL for convincing me to go and treating!), and I do very much hope that Suzanne Vega plays there again soon.