Three great things and a free ARC.

It's almost one now, so the morning is officially over, and it couldn't end soon enough. It sucked. The upshot is that I need a new right-side mirror for my car and I might have a stomach bug.

My wife has a photography blog. Its theme, as the name says, is "one great thing" from the day. It's an exercise, if you like, that forces her to focus on the positive. So this afternoon, I'm taking a cue from her. Here are some things I saw today that I enjoyed:

• A man of about 70 with a proud Elvis Presley hairstyle. Bonus because he was in a work shirt with a name patch: Steve.
• A woman, probably 50 or so years old and heavyset, wearing a gleaming white cloak and a leather satchel around her mid-section, hanging from shoulder to hip such that the pockets sat on her belly and chest. A Celtic-looking medallion hung from her neck.
• "Walk with Prehistoric Beasts" is on Netflix Watch Instantly. I like the bear dogs.

I suppose that'll do for now. In other news, Brooklyn, Burning is now at 100+ adds on Goodreads, so the ARC contest has begun. To enter, comment here, on the Brooklyn, Burning Facebook page, or on Twitter (be sure to @ me: sbrezenoff) with three words that sum up why you love your hometown/city/neighborhood. For example, in Brooklyn, Burning, Kid sums up Brooklyn like this: "blocks and bridges and bottles." Three words! One winner will receive an ARC of Brooklyn, Burning. Second place gets a copy of |-1|.

EDIT: The contest ends at midnight on MONDAY, May 16.

(Y)IPPY!

I'm kind of excited! So excited, in fact, that I'm actually posting on my blog.



The Absolute Value of -1 has been awarded the gold medal IPPY award for juvenile/young adult fiction in a tie with Holly Schindler's A Blue So Dark!

An early review.

The first blog review of Brooklyn, Burning is in, and it comes from fellow Minnesota writer Kelly Barnhill, author of The Mostly True Story of Jack (which I called the most naturally magical book I've read since The Dark Is Rising).

Here's a nice bit:

This is a beautiful book--big-hearted, and tough; clear-eyed and brave. The prose reads insistent as a song, breaking the heart again and again and again.

Read the whole thing at Kelly's blog, or at YA-5.

Revelation.

Boy, I just don't blog anymore at all, do I?

Today I have to share a few links. Should be fun.

First and foremost, please pop over to Jen's blog for the big Brooklyn, Burning cover reveal, including the three blurbs I teased about a few weeks ago (see if you can guess which blurber is which in that teaser post), and a sneak-peek at the first chapter.

Then, if you're a blogger/reviewer, head over to NetGalley's Brooklyn, Burning page to request a digital ARC.

You can also check out the official Brooklyn, Burning page at my author website, which is for some reason a distinct entity from this blog.

Finally, if you're so inclined, roll on down to Brooklyn, Burning's Facebook page and click the like button. It'll make you feel good.

Good reads.

I don't make friends easily. Never have. I'm the sort of person who has a good friend here, and a good friend there, and they mean the world to me. But most people, I just don't have the will or drive or what have you to befriend closely. I've never understood the sort who seem to make friends everywhere, and have endless plans for brunch.

I think I'm the same way with books and authors. I'm perhaps too often too quick to give up on a book after 50 pages. Or less. I've been known to put a book aside with only 40 or 50 pages left, even. My point isn't that I have magically high standards and everyone else is a chump. It's simply that I'm wired to love very little, and love that little quite a lot.

So when I do finish a book, chances are very good that I'll talk it up a lot and swoon over the author for the rest of my natural life.

This is all a preamble to the blurb announcements I am dying to make, because they come from three people whose books I finished, adored, and will swoon over. Each of the writers in question means something very different to me, when it comes to young adult literature. It can be said, for example, that one is in my opinion a master of language. This author's work with prose itself is exceptional and should be emulated, or at least honored. Another of these authors, to me, is a genius of emotion and voice. A reader aches for that author's characters and gets lost in their heads. The third is a master of writing for young people, and has nearly two decades of brilliant work to prove it.

I've been crazy lucky when it comes to blurbs, which is why I'm chomping at the bit to reveal the three that will adorn BROOKLYN, BURNING. But I have been instructed to wait. For now, though, I want to do something, so I've decided to launch a Goodreads ARC giveaway--as soon as BROOKLYN, BURNING has 100 adds. As I publish this post, it has 14.

Go forth and add!

Summing Up

I'm terrible at the so-called elevator pitch. I know it sounds grandiose and obnoxious, but the idea of summing up a novel--something I lived and breathed for months and months, even years and years, such that the characters were like real people I knew, and often spotted in public--just doesn't come naturally for me. The point is, if you ask me what BROOKLYN, BURNING is about, I will talk in circles, say too much about certain aspects, not enough about others, and eventually have to take a break so you can go add change to your parking meter.

So it's quite a nice surprise that the Library of Congress has written what I consider an excellent summary of BROOKLYN, BURNING, and here it is:

Sixteen-year-old Kid, who lives on the streets of Brooklyn, loves Felix, a guitarist and junkie who disappears, leaving Kid the prime suspect in an arson investigation, but a year later Scout arrives, giving Kid a second chance to be in a band and find true love.

Thanks, federal librarians!

Bravery.

According to a widely accepted authority on the subject, fear is a major hurdle for writers. I tend to agree. I have frequently described some of my favorite writers as brave, so it stands to reason we must have something to fear when we sit down to write, however irrational it might seem when we're not at the keyboard. (I think most writers worth their fingertips have experienced moments of varying lengths during which that fear is gone completely. For myself, I know these times to be when I've written my fastest, best, and most honest work.)

What am I talking about exactly? What do writers have to fear when they're writing? I think many writers might not see these things as fears, really. They might see them as difficulties, constraints, grammatical hangups. Who the heck knows. But maybe the best way to explain what I mean by fear is a list. A list like this one:

Things I fear when I write

• Slipping into "genre" fiction, and then having no idea what to do once I'm there
  
• Using "look" too much, not to mention "shrug," "glance," and "smile"
• Too much dialogue and not enough narration, so I seem lazy and my readers are confused
• Too much narration and not enough dialogue, so I seem self-indulgent and my readers are bored
• Placing my protagonist in a situation with which I am not intimately familiar
• Placing my protagonist in a situation that will be hard to navigate
• Creating a scene that doesn't launch the story forward, losing readers to boredom
• Creating a scene that is so plot-focused that I end up with under-developed characters and barely attended settings

I could probably go on and on, but here's the funny part: All of those fears appear from the moment I start to write. We're talking first-draft stuff, here--stuff no one, and I mean no one, will read. Yet I am reticent to even put the words into a document because . . . well, because of fear. How irrational is that! Very irrational is how.

Let me give you an example of fearful writing. Brooklyn, Burning, my second novel, centers on an actual event that took place in Greenpoint in May of 2006. A warehouse burned for days, and investigators immediately suspected arson. If I was going to have my protagonist involved somehow, the police would have to get involved. Two fears: a real event about which I knew very little (the fire and arson itself), and a character about to get into a situation that might be hard to navigate, for the character and for myself (a run-in with the police that wasn't going to end with a warning, let's say).

I'd already written quite a bit in my Greenpoint story, but I hadn't committed to the central place the fire would play. It took me weeks to accept that this was the story I wanted and needed to write. It took me weeks and months more to actually do the work of writing it. At first it was slogging through mud in heavy boots, until I said, "Aw, screw it," and wrote a scene with detectives in it. Guess what: Dick Wolf didn't come smashing into my dining room, shouting, "You have no idea what you're doing!"

No matter what fears a new scene, paragraph, sentence, or even word might present, I save myself from nothing by backing away from it. If I barrel through and find a difficult spot--a spot I hadn't expected or had expected thoroughly and had known would give me trouble--that's fine. I'll barrel through that too. And if upon re-reading I decide, yeah, that scene needs more stage direction, I can put it in. I can rewrite the scene.

I can do whatever the hell I want, is the upshot, because it's my goddamn story anyway.

Advice.

Got back from New York City on Monday. I'd been out there ostensibly for the national SCBWI conference. I was also there because I love New York, as I may have mentioned now and then. This post is a wrap-up of sorts. It's also a summary of advice.

A week or so before heading east, I got this gem from local author and friend Kurtis Scaletta. He recommended I work on my brand, and--in direct opposition, I think it was, to the adorable and pure John Green--focus on becoming YA's "bad boy." I believe Kurtis felt I was already halfway there, what with my tendency to wear knit hats indoors and occasionally create characters who smoke and curse. With this advice in mind, I went to this year's SCBWI conference without registering.

WITHOUT REGISTERING.

Don't freak out. I didn't crash or anything. I didn't attend seminars. Okay, so I watched Sara Zarr's keynote on Sunday morning. Send me a pro-rated bill. Jeez.

But the weekend, and other advice. That was my next point. Friday night I had drinks--several drinks, I suppose--with ENIV and his assistant. I saw some old friends and new. Here's a photo. But my next gem of advice didn't present itself till the next day.

I was sitting in the lobby of the conference hotel, working on a WIP if you can believe that (have I mentioned how productive I've not been lately?), when I spied a certain amazing lady and blurber coming at me. I nearly tripped on my headphones and destroyed my laptop trying to get quickly to my feet. It was time for my second valuable advice: Stop reading the reviews. Sure, I'd heard it before, but probably never to my face, and from three respectabiggles* at once. As soon as our little meeting was over, I applied the advice:


It was Ms. Zarr who, this time from the front of a crowded room the next morning, gave the most filling advice of all: there is no endgame. She wasn't talking about Beckett, either. That was exactly what I needed to hear, and it's what I couldn't have put my finger on before her talk. If you asked me last week why I read reviews, and why I follow awards, and why I so look forward to getting cover concept emails and foreign rights sales and ARCs and finals et cetera, I would not have been able to give an honest and accurate answer. But Zarr hit it: I am always looking for that endgame, that event that will make me feel satisfied, even happy. But here's the irony: the only part of writing that has ever made me feel fully and truly satisfied is the work itself! Why didn't I know that?

One other well of advice came from two unlikely places this weekend: my mother and Stephen King. They're not friends, but my mom happened to get her hands on a copy of On Writing, and she held it for me, and I read it. Wait. I devoured it. I am a wildly slow reader generally, and I've never read any fiction by King outside of The Stand my junior year of high school, but I couldn't stop. Much of it wasn't new to me, but what was (or what I hadn't ever given much thought to before) felt like a revelation. No small part of that was similar to what Zarr told us: the happiness comes from the work, not from the reward. That's why I got into this to begin with! That's why, when I was fifteen, I wrote stories about dwarfs and wizards. It's why when I was seventeen I wrote abstract short fiction about nothing. It's why when I was twenty-one I wrote a short story called "Looking Down on Havoc," and it's why I eventually turned that story into The Absolute Value of -1.

I write because I love to write. The sooner I come back around to that, the better.

*A shout-out to my favorite Marsh-wiggle.

Respect.

This post is ridiculous. It might make some readers mad, either because it mentions someone they adore, or because they'll see it for it really is: a waste of time. But I was thinking today how much I just don't like David Byrne or any of his projects. Sure, there's the occasional Talking Heads song I've enjoyed, but even their radio hits (or is it hit? "Psycho Killer"? Are there others?) I find at best boring, and at worst positively grating. So why do I respect and even admire Byrne*?

Byrne's bands are not alone. There's Sonic Youth, for example. I enjoyed that one song from the early nineties, the one with Kathleen Hanna in the video, and to be entirely honest, I might have enjoyed it simply because Kathleen Hanna was in the video. Beyond that, though, I can't think of many successful bands I find more irritating. However, I consider every member of that band to be something of a musical, well, genius maybe.

And these acts are not only in the avant-garde, to be sure. There's--let's see--Operation Ivy. Widely hailed, and so. Freaking. Grating. Just the same, I love them in principle. I'd probably even wear a T-shirt with that dancing fedora guy on it. I keep mentioning them in my current WIP. Why?!

There are other bands that are widely hailed, and that I can't stand, and that's the end of the story, such as U2. Loads of serious music heads like and respect those guys. I don't, and I'm okay with it. So why are Op Ivy, Sonic Youth, and David Byrne a different story? Is it simply that I know how critically important those acts are, and so I (subconsciously, I suppose) have decided I respect them? Or is it something more?

I think, and certainly hope, it's something more. I think I have a deep respect for artists that step out from the crowd and lead the way a little bit: even if I don't love the results, the very act of sticking the nose out is worth a load of respect, more than I'd reserve for some artists whose music I actually enjoy but who, when you get right down to it, haven't done anything particularly new or interesting.

So the question is, does this apply to other art, as well? And apropos of my field, does it apply specifically to fiction?

The questions I posed here are rhetorical. I don't have answers. You probably don't either. But hell, I'd be happy to consider any answers that come along.

*This is just to say that I have lately begun to respect Byrne for his pursuits outside of music per se, and that's not what I'm talking about here.

Resolutions for '11

Okay, these are a little late, but I finally came up with a list of resolutions I think I can keep.

1. Eat at Punch at least once a week, but no more than three times a week.
2. Get back into a good WoW regimen. Six toons won't hit 85 by themselves.
3. Spend at least four hours every week staring at my WIPs' notes.
4. Find time to eat more chicken fingers.
5. Enjoy Taco Bell as often as the law allows.
6. Whenever there is some free time, sit at the computer and refresh Twitter, Facebook, and Goodreads.
7. Remember that an Amazon ranking is more important than a cholesterol level.
8. Watch more Deep Space Nine, and maybe get started on Voyager, too.
9. Lose one sock per dryer load.
10. Sometimes, at four in the morning, lie awake. Stare at the cracked ceiling. Explore the darkest depths of the soul.
11. Continue putting off that trip to the dentist.

"Just like starting over."

Happy New Year.

We brought it in with dinner at Punch and a Twilight Zone marathon, as traditions dictates. (This is a fairly recent tradition, not my childhood tradition.)

The closest I came to setting some resolutions last New Year's was this post, and I got them both done, though not by the deadline I implied, I don't think. Anyway, the point is that YA MS the Third is now Brooklyn, Burning, and coming out next fall. YA MS the Second has been synopsized, and a draft completed, but . . . well, it wasn't what I wanted it to be. You might have seen this the other day:


Yeah, so. I'm resolving to not think about that for a little while. Still, I feel good about the decision. I've only written about 2000 new words on that project, but I like them, and I like the changes to the main character and her voice thus far.

Now, let's get to the important business: Let's call our new year Twenty Eleven, not Two Thousand Eleven, okay? Discuss.

THIS JUST IN: Congrats to local author Swati Avasthi and to fellow Tenner Tara Kelly on their CYBILS YA final list appearances!

List mania.

The Absolute Value of -1 appears on a couple of lists this morning.

Kelly at Stacked lists her favorites of 2010. A taste: "Brezenoff's book is the perfect tale of the average kid navigating the tricky terrain, the painful events, and the completely normal aspects of being a teenager in high school."

And Jamie at Bookmarked Reviews includes |-1| on her favorite debuts of the year. "...I think it's probably the most under-appreciated debut of the year." Thanks!

A guest post from Mindi Scott

Today we've got a guest post from fellow Tenner Mindi Scott. This is in fact the FINAL Tenner guest post, because--as you may have noticed--the Tenner year is just about over now. The last Tenner release was last week, I think. I can hardly believe it's gone.

But I digress. I have a tendency to do that. Back to Mindi.

Mindi's debut, FREEFALL, from Simon Pulse (where I totally used to work, thankyouverymuch), is an achievement of the highest magnitude. Seth McCoy is a well realized, superbly voice, and completely believable protagonist. His story is difficult and deep, and Mindi handles the dark and light equally well. It's a fantastic debut, and it's been out since early October, so you should have read it by now.

And now, here's Mindi's guest blog on the usual guest blog theme: fish out of water.

People are always asking authors whether the characters in their books are inspired by people they know in real life. For Freefall, my answer to that question is "no," especially in regards to Seth McCoy, my narrator. He's probably the most truly fictional character I've ever created.

There are a few things that I have in common with him, though. One of those is that the first time I stepped foot at a country club, I felt like a fish out of water. Everything was so elegant and everyone there who wasn't me seemed so oblivious. Like, it was just an ordinary day at an ordinary place, la la la, who cares!

In my book, there is a scene where Seth visits a country club for the first time. The narrative is very much filtered through his point of view and in his voice, of course, but the out-of-placeness he experiences is similar to mine . . . which is cool, because it makes me feel less alone and stuff. ;-)

Thanks, Mindi! Here are some links and such for more info on Freefall and Mindi.

**********

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Freefall-Mindi-Scott/dp/1442402784/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1283449255&sr=8-1

Links about Mindi:

http://mindiscott.com/
http://twitter.com/mindi_scott
http://www.youtube.com/user/authormindiscott
http://www.thecontemps.com/

And the trailer for FREEFALL:

Upcoming events

I've got some exciting events happening in the next few weeks.

Tuesday, November 23. 6:30 EST: I'll be the guest on A Book and a Chat, the latest in a long string of male writers of young adult books for Male YA Author Month. Take a look at the guest list for the month. Not too shabby! Unfortunately, you've already missed a lot of it*. But fortunately, you ain't yet missed me, baby! Call in. No, seriously. You. Call in.

Saturday, December 4. 2:00 CST: I'll be joining Pete Hautman (author of Godless, Sweetblood, and, most currently, Blank Confession, among much else) at the Loft Second Story Reading Series, hosted by the inimitable Swati Avasthi and Heather Bouwman. I plan to read a bit from The Absolute Value of -1, and a bit from next year's Brooklyn, Burning.

Saturday, December 11. 1:00 CST: Magers & Quinn, where we held the |-1| launch party and reading, has invited me to sign some books for an hour or so. Also signing during that slot will be Alison McGhee.

I hope to see or hear from some of you at one or all of those fabulous, mind-blowing events of death! I mean, just events. Not of death. Never mind the death part.

*Actually, they're all archived, I think, so you can totally still hear them.

Some would say it was never gone.

I've been busy lately with deadlines for work-for-hire projects, and for the first round of revisions to BROOKLYN, BURNING, but I thought it would be nice to take a little break and visit the blog once this week. So here I am!

First of all, this song has been on repeat in my ears most of the day. I never was much into Buckner, but this song closes the Merge Records sampler I got when I bought the latest Superchunk CD, and I'm obsessed. Perhaps you'll enjoy it.




Second! As you may have noticed, a couple of posts ago I started using the add-on IntenseDebate. I'm loving it, and if the surge in comments is any indication, y'all are too. This pleases me, but now I feel a pressure to always post on issues that are likely to inspire comments. I'll certainly post about music again, though maybe not with the focus of that Greatest LPs post, and I hope to write another post that compares NY and MN linguistic intricacies.

Until then, please enjoy this review by Emily. I like it especially because she was a teen on Long Island, just like I was, and just like Lily, Noah, and Simon are.

Minnesotan as a Second Language

I'm pretty into language, and I'm obviously into New York, and I live in Minnesota, and . . .

Well, for a million reasons -- not the least of which is that it actually come close to fitting in with the alleged theme of this blog -- I have decided to compile a list of differences between everyday interactions, here in Minnesota, and back in the tri-state area. (That means New York City and its suburbs in New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut.) For our first installment, we will visit the most popular coffee shops in each area: Caribou and Starbucks.


In Minnesota, the Caribou cashier will greet you, and actually smile and listen to your reply to "How are you doing today?"

In New York, the Starbucks cashier might make eye contact when she asks what you want: "Can I help you?" If she says "How are you?" it just means "What do you want?", and if you reply and ask how she is doing, you will get a vacant stare in response.

In Minnesota, the cashier will then ask you if "you need anything else today?" She might tell you how nice/cold/rainy/hot out it is, and that the football game will be on later, and perhaps you plan to watch?

In New York, the cashier will, while writing on your cup, say, "That it?"

In Minnesota, after you pay, the cashier will ask if "you need a receipt at all?" ("At all?" What does that mean, anyway? Am I supposed to say, "I need it just a tiny bit"?) She will suggest you have a great rest of the day, and perhaps stay cool/dry/warm/inside/outside.

In New York, the cashier will put the receipt in your hand with your change in such a way that the change will fall from your hand and roll off the counter. She will say "sorry" and turn to the next customer while you try to get the coins that are rolling around the store.

In Minnesota, after you take your change, no one will make a move to order until you've put everything in its proper wallet or pocket or zippered bag compartment and moved completely out of the way. While they wait, they will smile and look at you. It will make you nervous.

In New York, the moment you have your change (or are scrambling for it all over the shop), the next person will start right in, often before being asked, leaning across and in front of you if necessary: "Yeah, lemme get a double nonfat latte in two cups . . ." It will make you nervous.

The Greatest LPs of All-Time . . . kind of.

We're not talking about the, say, My Aim Is True, which was the starting gun on a long and inspired career. We're not talking about the Nevermind, which was a perfectly-timed, but hugely derivative, LP that defined a generation. We're not talking about a You're Living All Over Me or a Diary, which appealed, despite their greatness, to a small group of particularly discerning fans--and still do. We're not even talking an Exile on Main St. or a Led Zeppelin IV, which stand out as a distinct highpoint in a long career of vast influence on popular music overall.

The Life Pursuit -- Belle & Sebastian
London Calling -- The Clash
The Soft Bulletin -- Flaming Lips
OK Computer -- Radiohead
Pet Sounds -- The Beach Boys

Something about these LPs--and I have no doubt there are many others, too--connects them. They are the best work the bands have done (obviously that is debatable, but I have a suspicion that if I checked sales numbers, they're at least the best-sellers*), and they seemed to come from nowhere. Example: The Flaming Lips were, despite renown on the college radio scene, essentially a psychedelic punk band known as much for their strangeness and inability to cross over as for their sound. Their biggest hit before 1999 was "She Don't Use Jelly." In fact, it remains their only hit in the States. But in 1999, they released The Soft Bulletin. Many longtime fans (including myself) were surprised (and, yeah, disappointed) by the drastic change in their sound. We eventually came around--or most of us did. But more importantly, the Lips were suddenly critics' darlings. They were all over the Mtv. The Soft Bulletin was called the third best album of 1990s by Pitchfork, and the best album of 1999 by NME.

Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots followed for the Lips. In my opinion, it is an uninspired follow-up to The Soft Bulletin. It's a good record, sure, but I'd rather listen to--I don't know--Clouds Taste Metallic or Hit to Death in the Future Head. It doesn't hold up to repeated listenings, and no one was talking about it as a groundbreaking, career-changing release.

Radiohead's OK Computer. Where the hell did that come from? Seriously, did anyone expect that after the tepid Pablo Honey, "Creep"'s success notwithstanding? The Bends was a stronger record, I suppose, but Radiohead was--to me--another mopey group of Brits, one of whom (lead singer Thom Yorke) looked an awful lot like Martin Short doing a mopey Brit. Then one morning in 1997, getting ready for work with Mtv on, I caught a new video but missed the opening credit. I didn't move from the couch till it ended. It was "Paranoid Android." (Not an embeddable clip, but worth clicking over if you haven't seen this video.)

OK Computer was a daring and brilliant record. Radiohead found fans they never had before, in the public and the press. It made nearly every best-of-the-year list, in the US and the UK, and won a Grammy. (I kind of get a kick out of how much Robert Christgau of the Village Voice didn't like it. Scroll down to Dud of the Month.) But the point: this was a daring, sparse, experimental, unfamiliar album. No one outside of the band's inner circle could have predicted this musical shift. But there it is, and it's brilliant, and everything since for Radiohead doesn't come close. Sure, the Kid A lovers exist (I'm not among them), and they continue to sell LPs and fill halls, but they never again saw a career-exploding popular and critical success like OK Computer.

I am not a Clash fan. I am a huge fan, though, of London Calling. In 1979, these guys recorded an album that explored ska, reggae, punk, rockabilly, and good old rock 'n' roll. It turned out to be the breakthrough they'd been looking for in the US, and went on to appear on not just the best-of-the-year lists by many rags, and not just best-of-the-decade (often making best of the '70s and best of the '80s list, despite being release in 1979), but best of all-time lists. Rolling Stone called it the eighth best record ever. They never had the same success again. They never pleased the critics or the public in the same way. Of course, hardcore Clash fans exist in great numbers, and they swallow up the discography like delicious foodstuff. But for most music fans, I think, London Calling is as deep into that discography as we need to get.

I won't go into detail on The Life Pursuit, except to say that B&S fans who have been around since Tigermilk will tell you that simply everyone who never much cared for B&S adored The Life Pursuit. Well, they've put out their follow-up, and it's . . . good. But I'm not listening to it repeatedly.

Or Pet Sounds. You want a WTF moment? I can only imagine what happened when a bunch of Jan and Dean fans slipped this slab of wax on their Victrolas, maybe expecting to hear the ilk of "Surfin' USA" or "California Girls." This is the album Paul McCartney played for John Lennon--over and over and over--and that was after they'd already done Rubber Soul. Come on!

And Pet Sounds is a great place to stop, because it highlights well the problem with such records: what followed for Brian Wilson--the LP's mastermind--was a "lost" LP called Smile. It was simply never good enough, and it didn't see the light of day until 2004, nearly 40 years after Pet Sounds was released. And that's the only truth about all these LPs I can figure: every artist I've mentioned simply never did it again. They struck absolute greatness--created some of the best and best appreciated music of all time--and then slipped toward mediocrity once again.

Why? Is it the grasping for greatness, having touched it once, that makes it impossible to hold (like soap in the shower, if you will)? That's the best explanation I can give. Of course, what might be more valuable is an answer to this: How did they hit greatness to begin with? The bands above didn't give any indication that they'd someday create such start-to-finish masterpieces, albums I would, at a moment of weakness, even call flawless. But they did.

I guess if we had an answer to that, we'd all have framed platinum records hanging in our living rooms.

*I checked, and Yoshimi is gold, while Soft Bulletin is not. My best guess is that Yoshimi was released to a public suddenly familiar with the Flaming Lips. Also, "Do You Realize?" was frequently used in commercials.

Titles

Here's the thing: By the time I get halfway through a first draft, my work has a name. It fits the story, as I see it, from the point where I start to actually see the story.

(The Tom Petty music in this coffee shop is too loud and makes it difficult for me to enjoy the Smiths and Noisettes and Belle and Sebastian and Avett Brothers in my headphones. The complicated musical collision is unpleasant and I keep making all the typos and losing track of sentences before I finish them.)

Where was I? Oh yeah. Titles. When I wrote |-1|, it was called Splinters. In my head, and to my wife, I still sometimes call it Splinters. It was only very recently that I renamed the folders in my PC, from Splinters to Absolute Value.

I've got a WIP right now--about a girl addicted to a popular MMORPG, losing her grip on reality--that I call A Terrible Mistake. The aspect of the plot that produced that title is now gone, but I think I'll always call it A Terrible Mistake in my mind.

There's this other one--I just sold it, and I got my revision notes from the AE last night--that I've been calling Two Summers around the Fire for, well, like a year, I guess. It takes place during two separate summers, and between them was a fire. But yeah, it sounds more like it's a camping story. (Is there such a thing as a camping story? I've never camped, so don't ask me.) Therefore, I exhibited exactly no surprise when that title had to go.

We brainstormed. Everyone I know brainstormed! Well, like five people I know brainstormed! I don't know a lot of people.

Anyway.

We came up with a few great ideas, several mediocre ideas, and a multitude of crap. (Have you ever seen a multitude of crap?! It's not what the angels had in mind, I can assure you.)

We narrowed it down. We bartered and haggled and compromised and held firm. We added commas. We took them back out. We put them back in. We added "is," and took it out again. We put it back. We capped it. We lowercased it. We took it out again. There was a comma under my desk, so I put that in. A question mark got stuck in my shoe and I had a limp for a week.

I went to the Metro State library and worked with the research librarian for 45 minutes to properly attribute a quote of Jeremy Taylor that he probably never actually said.

I watched this video like six times.

And this one.

And then this one, for no good reason. It's a freaking Four-Chord Song, but I couldn't stop. I'm going to watch it again.

Then, last night, I met with the AE at a coffee shop here in St. Paul, where we both live. While I waited for him to show, I watched this video again. I'll leave out the boring part, or at least save it for a post about revisions, and cut to the title--the final title for what was Two Summers around the Fire--and is now . . .

Brooklyn, Burning

Greenpoint, Brooklyn. Fire. Love. Arson. Sunrise, sunset. It's pretty perfect, really.

We found a witch.

Wow, I have been the worst blogger of all time. I know, people are irritated when blog entries open with sentences like that. People are irritated by a lot of things, like car alarms or cat dander. Such is life.

We're back from our very short vacation! Here is the crazy house we stayed in. We loved it.

It was our first vacation as a family, unless you count trips to family events or obligations, which we don't, and if you go by those rules, which we did, it is even the first vacation for Beth and me as a married couple! Or even as a freaking dating couple! We never went anywhere! The point is, traveling with a toddler is a job of work. But Sam did love the lighthouse and the choo-choo. Here is Sam near the choo-choo.


He claims he liked the big boats as well, but there was only one, and we didn't board, and I don't think he was paying attention when we walked past it*.

Also, regarding Duluth: If you play Dragon Age: Origins and Awakening, and if you haven't yet bought the expansion Witch Hunt, don't. Why? Because (A) it's pretty boring and doesn't really answer any of your questions, and (B) Morrigan is working at the Duluth Grill. She's shorter in person, and isn't wearing that crazy outfit, but you wouldn't either because she's an apostate and has to stay on the DL, so she can't very well go around in that get-up with a staff on her freaking back, can she? If you have no idea what I'm talking about, all the better.

Out of respect for my adopted state, I did not wear my favorite baseball cap all weekend. But when the next series starts on Friday, it's back on my head. Don't give me any crap.

*Photos are by Beth, and from her new blog.

Blogtours, bidding

Did you miss my whole blog tour? I hope so, because now you can read the whole freaking thing right in a row.

But before the big list of links, let's talk about Swati Avasthi's just-beginning blog tour for charity! Here's a banner!



There's loads of great items--from signed books to MS crits--including a personalized |-1| and 100-page crit from me! Go bid right away.

In other news, I think we have a final title for Two Summers, and it ain't Two Summers, folks. It's better, I can say with astute clarity. I feel like using words that aren't entirely appropriate in context today. Anyway, I'll blog about titles and such soon.

Okay, so. My little blog tour. Here it is!

An interview with Noah, one of the |-1| narrators

A review of |-1| at The Hiding Spot

A short interview with me

A review of |-1| at Lauren's Crammed Bookshelf

A guest post at Lost for Words

A review of |-1| at Lost for Words

An interview with me

A review of |-1| at A Good Addiction

Another interview with me

A review of |-1| at The Book Scout