This is a writer's brain. . . it's exhausting.

I want to write a book. Like actually complete a book. I doubt I can, but I want to try.

*writes book that takes years. quickly discounts accomplishment*

I just want to get an agent. If I could only get an agent . . .

*after years of rejection gets agent*

I just want to sell this manuscript.

*after years of revision and rejection sells manuscript*

I just want decent critical reviews and a handful of readers.

*gets those. quickly discounts same.*

I just want more readers and to sell another book.

*does so. quickly discounts same. lather, rinse, repeat. Often multiple times.*

I just want a starred review.

(*fuck off. still waiting*)

I just want to win an award.

*gets a few. quickly discounts same.*

I just want to win a "real" award. The kind that comes with a sticker on the book.

(*again, fuck off. Who asked you? And see what I mean about discounting same. . . ?*)

I just want to write a book that matters.

*What does that even mean? And anyway, hard to tell. But let's just, for argument's sake, say that a handful of readers' notes could make one believe that maybe possibly they have done so. quickly discounts same.*

I just want to write the kind of book that's unique, that's different, that's never been done, that takes someone's breath away. . .

* . . . *

(I just needed to write that out so I could actually plow forward and write what I'm working on now. . . )

- gae

Things I've done. Things I want to do...

me, a few days ago or so...

I turned fifty in July.

Fif-tee.

I keep saying (and typing) the word, because i don't really believe it. Otherwise, I'd probably be less quick to admit it.

Fifty.

I think 50, and I think: that is simply UNFATHOMABLE.

Then the line from Princess Bride pops in my head:

"You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."

So, here I am. Fifty. Well, actually, more than three months in.

I've done a lot in the past ten years I never thought in a million years I might do. Actually succeed at. I didn't even imagine a few...

Like,

• Swam a 10K plus (7+ miles) in the open water (probably clocking close to 200 miles of open water swimming each season for the past several years);

• Swam in waters as cold as 37 degrees;

• Secured three agents, two book deals, and have written eight manuscripts;

• Got two manuscripts published -- The Pull of Gravity and The Summer of Letting Go -- by two of the most prestigious (or at least literary) publishing houses in history: Algonquin and fsg; and

• Was well-reviewed in the Sunday New York Times Book Review (say, what?)

• 
  
  

Still, there are many days I feel like an utter slacker. Like I'm wasting time and I'm going to have a thousand regrets... Like the clock is ticking and there's so much I want to do. . . 

Like,

• get another (effing) YA ms published (for Pete's sake);

• Publish my second piece of unpublished women's fiction, THE SWIMMING SEASON, if I can't get a traditional publisher to take it by year's end, with a hybrid or curated press... big brave move I'm not sure I'm ready for...

• write a picture book;

• write a play;

• do more yoga;

• read more;

• teach creative writing;  

  

  Finishing the 10K+ with Annmarie this past summer!

• swim from Long Island to Connecticut (oh, come on, Annmarie, you know you want to); 
• 
  
• and

• contribute more charitably/be involved/try to make a difference in our world.

Some days, I'm full of productivity. Other's I'm a total slug. I do a lot of starting and stopping, too much starting and stopping these days. The writing, especially, is hard. So much easier to veg out in front of The Voice, or facebook when the going gets tough, and the words aren't flowing, and the water is freaking cold.

But I'm fifty. And I have a whole lot I still want to do.

-gae

Falling, Failing and Chutes & Ladders Redux (with essential footnotes that should be read contemporaneously with the piece)

Me, trying to accept the fall...

One of the most interesting things about being a parent is trying to take your own advice. Or at least the advice of others you dispense to your own kids freely. Like this awesome advice from Kelly Corrigan about failing that I've been dispensing to my college son for weeks:

Great advice from Kelly Corrigan, from this terrific speech,
that I've been dispensing to my kids freely.

I mean, I love that.

I love that so, so much.

A few weeks ago, I handed in my next young adult manuscript -- one called THE MEMORY OF THINGS, which I think may be my favorite ever  -- to my amazing, smart, wonderful, cherished editor at Algonquin Young Readers, who unceremoniously fn1 turned it down.

If you don't know the stinging-sharp, kick-in-the-gut pain of rejection, made ten-fold worse by being rejected by someone you know and love, whose approval you deeply seek and desire, then you might as well not bother to keep reading.

But if you do, then follow along with me, here.

This has been my writing life. Most writers' writing life. This constant rejection, coupled with self-doubt, that only gets compounded by more rejection. fn2

I wrote about the path-- my path -- of trying to get my books published maybe best here, in one of my most popular blog posts ever called My Writing Life: Chutes & Ladders. So, when my current editor turned down my current manuscript, I had to remind myself of this: that my prior editor had turned down the manuscript that my current editor loved and nurtured and bought. This is the subjective nature of writing, of making, or trying to make, art.

And, so. Now I set out to find that new editor, the perfect-fit one who will help spin this new, worthy manuscript into gold. . .

The write-up for THE MEMORY OF THINGS in my agent's October newsletter

To do that, I slide down more chutes. I climb more ladders. I find new edges to bounce back from.

I'm ready and excited to bounce back.

Within hours of my agent's newsletter going out, we had five requests to read the manuscript. In fact, THE MEMORY OF THINGS had the honor of garnering, within ten minutes, the first request.

I'll take this as a good sign.

And, while we're waiting, I'll rake leaves. One foot up on the next rung.

And, now, for your reading pleasure: some Beta Reader feedback fn3  on THE MEMORY OF THINGS... (you may click on the photos to enlarge them.)

High School Librarian . . . 

Teen reader I enlisted through an English teacher in Indiana. . . 

President and co-founder of Books are Magic. . .

Elementary Reading Teacher and avid reader. . .

- gae

p.s. I also have a piece of women's fiction called THE SWIMMING SEASON out on submission. Love me from this post and want to get more of me? Ask my agent about that one. And about my other dark & edgy YA called JACK KEROUAC IS DEAD TO ME. Go on. Go on. fn4.

Essential footnotes:

fn 1. I mean, perhaps there was a ceremony and I just wasn't privy to it, what do I know? Perhaps she made a voodoo doll of me at my laptop, placed it in the center of the manuscript, and burnt the whole thing down. Perhaps there was cake involved, which would have been lovely too.

fn 2. Of course, the bruised and battered ego is buoyed, thank goodness, by manuscripts selling and books coming out in between, that garner awards and good reviews, and bring letters from teen -- and other -- readers who love them. We call this keeping us out of the ditch. Okay, fine. I just made that up and called it that. 

fn3. Yes, yes, we writers learn quickly that we are supposed to take our BETA readers feedback with a grain of salt... well, so far, my BETA readers have ultimately been correct. So, salt and all, I'm sticking by them. Especially my teen beta reader's feedback. ;) 

fn 4. In fact, what are you waiting for? Here's his phone number. 212 627 9100   You're welcome. 

Year-End Round Up, plus Sorry I've Been MIA

Kissing goodbye another year.

I know, I know, I've been MIA from this blog.

The loudest complainer? My mother.

Okay, fine. The only complainer. But still. Nice to know someone is reading.

Something happened to me around September of this year: I ran out of words. Okay, fine. Not exactly ran out, but they weren't coming, here, there anywhere, and I wasn't about to force them.

Sure, I've written some, and done writing-related stuff (first and second pass pages for THE SUMMER OF LETTING GO were in there, I think, and I'm muddling through a new manuscript, still). But the words felt stuck. They still do.

I blame the confluence of a few things for taking my words away, both physically and emotionally:

1. My oldest son leaving for college;

2. my younger son having escalating heart issues which have gratefully been resolved (thank you Dr. Levchuch, Dr. Hoch and St. Francis Heart Hospital);

3. my editor rejecting not one but two manuscripts (I'm not gonna lie, sometimes the No's do get hard) and,

4. first and foremost, this:

This is Charlie. He's a jackapoo. And a handful.

We got that for my younger son at eight weeks. See #1 and #2 above.

At any rate, I've felt totally bereft of both time and words, or at least good, descriptive, evocative words that are worth sharing, and I figured no one here would really miss me.

That's my dad, sister and mom with me a few nights
ago. My cheeks are pink from martini. Oh well.

Alas, my mother does, and to tell you the truth, that's enough for me.

The words still don't feel "here," but I'm going to force them, and in doing so, this is going to end up feeling like one of those rambling Christmas chain letters (sorry, people who send them, you know who you are. . .)

Anyway, with blame (and thanks) to my mom, here's a year-end round up since last I posted:

My older son is doing well up at college. He's a talented musician and, most importantly to me, he's coming out of his shell -- this boy who wouldn't play his music for anyone in the comfort of his own home, let alone get up on stage, is actually playing open mic nights and singing in his quaint little college town.

a favorite shot of Son One.

Here's the thing, though: I don't know how he already got to be a college kid. I know, I know, this is a refrain from mothers everywhere, and until it happens to you, there is simply no way to explain how it feels. How your home both feels remarkably empty, and yet, somehow, almost cruelly, the air and space fill in. We adjust, I guess. But there's a price. Tiny holes in our heart, that never exactly repair. The years we have our children at home are way too fleeting. But then, so are, just, all the years.

Speaking of holes in one's heart, Son Two, as I mentioned, had some heart issues. To be specific, he had a super ventricular tachycardia (SVT) that required an ablation to fix it.

He's amazingly all better now, but scariest few days of my life. Let those be the worst of them. From your lips to blah, blah, blah. . .

Son Two with the dog, the week he came home with us.
Does a picture speak a thousand words? I dunno.

The crazy thing is, my next book -- THE SUMMER OF LETTING GO -- that comes out in March, has a boy with a heart issue in it. Son Two did NOT have a known heart issue when I wrote it. Second time I've written a manuscript where something has come true soon after. Life imitating art or coincidence? Don't know, but I'm not giving my teen characters any more health issues. I'll leave those to someone else.

As for the rest of us? My husband, David, sang a lot this year. He and his friend/guitarist David, performed their first paid gigs as David & David. These were some of the very best nights I had this year:

This right here is the number one thing that keeps me
drawn to him. The guy can sing. Note to marrieds:
pursue the things that bring you joy. Don't stop striving.

And me?

With my friend Annmarie, and the few stragglers of the West Neck Pod we've dubbed the Polar Pod, we swam in the open water through mid-November when the plummeting air and water temps and my son's medical stuff derailed us long enough to lose acclimation. With water temps down in the low thirties, fear we are totally done for the season.

Last year, the coldest I swam was around 37 degrees, this year did 35 degrees, so at least there was that.

Now, I'm back in the pool for the winter, anxiously waiting for spring.

As for writing stuff, as mentioned, am mid-way through a YA manuscript. Trudging is the best word I can find for that.

THE PULL OF GRAVITY movie continues to be both Pie-In-the Sky and in motion. A few things have made the pie seem more reachable, the fork extended, if you will. A week ago, I had lunch in the city with the director. If anyone can make this happen, he will. Crossing my fingers for the New Year.

And, THE SUMMER OF LETTING GO is out in advance copy and getting some really amazing early reader reviews.

It comes out in March. If you're local to Long Island, I'll be doing a launch party and reading here, at Book Revue in Huntington on the evening of March 25th. It's hard to compete with the likes of Cameron Diaz and Snookie (both appearing at Book Revue soon), so, if you're around, I'd love for you to come.

** forgot to add that the audio rights to SUMMER sold to Highbridge Audio, and it will be released in that format in March, too. So excited!

And that's it, Mom. There you have it. What I've been up to since I posted last.

What's that you say? Tell you something you don't already know?

Meh. Make up something new and interesting yourself. Feel free to come post it here. As between the two of us, you are the far better storyteller. My books would be lost without you.

But truly, thanks for reading, and thanks for wanting to read more.

To anyone else who is reading -- to all of you: have a very happy, peaceful, healthy New Year.

I leave you with this link which is, IMHO, this week's imperative reading.

http://www.esquire.com/blogs/news/we-broke-the-internet?src=soc_fcbks

The world is a'changing. Some good, some bad. Never stop using your voice.

See you all in 2014.

- gae

Is it Spring Yet? (and a ballsy writer's story)

Me, wind-whipped

I was in Florida last week with my family.

It was a nice reprieve, if we only got
a whopping two days of sun out of five.

And even on the sunny days, the wind was whipping.

I mean, 30 mile per hour winds.


Still, I lay at the pool,
grateful to soak in the sun and relax.

self portrait in bathingsuit

I swear, if I could, I would do little but swim and lie in the sun. . .

Alas, I am back, and have a shitload of writing stuff on my plate:

"Frankie Sky" is finally on it's way to copy edits which puts me in the throes of doing all the behind-the-scenes stuff -- getting permissions, fretting over my author photo ;\ , and mulling over new titles, because my editor has concerns about "Frankie Sky."

Next will come cover ideas and the dreaded, dreaded jacket copy. How can that be so hard?

In the meantime, remember my women's fiction? Well maybe not since it's yet to be published. :\

But it's never far from my mind.

So, I did something ballsy the other day and it paid off, if only in the quietest "validation" sense of the word.

What happened is this: Looking for something else, I inadvertently pulled up an old email rejection letter from an editor who had read Swim Back to Me in 2009 (when I was with my first agent), and it filled me with the kind of longing that only that manuscript (and its history) can fill me with:

I know that one doesn't look like a rejection and it isn't. It was this one that had followed:

Well, especially if you are a writer reading, you can see how it was hard to let go of this one after feedback like this? And, I will tell you that I had at least three other close-but-no-cigar encounters with major publishers like this one. . .

So, anyway, back to my balls. Turns out I had this editor's email and I reached out as politely as I could, starting with the fact that I had no idea if she'd remember me or the ms, but that, if she did, I had done a subsequent rewrite with my next agent that had left the manuscript just the tiniest bit less (in their words) bleak.

I figured that was the end. She would write me off as a crazy stalker-writer-girl and change her email address as fast as she could. But instead, she wrote back to me within the 1/2 hour, told me she remembered me and Swim and asked if we could to talk.

I've seldom been as blown away -- or felt more validated -- in my ten-plus years as an aspiring writer.

Anyway, we had a great conversation and if nothing else comes of it, that was enough.

What she told me was that she had -- and still does -- love the book as is, but that she could not ever sell it this way. . . but that, if I wanted to try to tackle a few of the other editors' concerns in a rewrite, she would look at it again.

So, that's what I'm doing. I'm attempting a rewrite, which, as always, is way harder than I thought.

But whatever happens, that? That was a good writing moment.

In other (and final) book news, The Pull of Gravity is now out EVERYWHERE in paperback and I would surely love you to go out and grab a copy from Barnes & Noble or your local indie bookstore. It's also got a spiffy new trailer that was made by a 15-year-old kid named Jude Bourke.

He's the son of a friend and his dad, Karl, did the amazing original drawings. If you like it, leave him a note, and please, please, please pass it on.

Anyway, that's it for now.

Come on, Spring!

xox gae

Paperback Party, complete with essential footnotes. . .

me, begging pleady eyes.

This is me, close up, in your face.

Are you sick of me yet?

(please say no, please say no, please say no...)

It's okay, sometimes I'm sick of me too.

Still, it's a dog eat dog world out there, and sometimes writers just have to promote themselves.*fn1

So, once again, here I go.

If you prefer not to read any further blatant self author book promotion, here's a lovely place to sit, instead,

looking out over my father's gardens. Feel free to stay here and relax:

Nice, right?

(Are you still here?)

If you are still reading, guess what?

Square Fish did a fabulous job with the new cover!

My paperback is out! Well, the official release date is February 5, but the ship date is 1/17 which means boxes and boxes of the The Pull of Gravity in paperback are now circulating all over the country. *fn2

Meaning this: It would make me really happy if:

a) you buy one for yourself;

b) you buy one for a beloved tween or teen;

c) you already read it and loved it and now told two friends to a) buy one for themselves or b) buy one for a beloved tween or teen they know.

also, it doesn't hurt *fn3 if you put up a review on Amazon.

But what would make me happiest -- at least if you are local -- is d) if you come and join me to celebrate the paperback release on 2/10 at the wonderful Huntington Public Library (it's a Friends of the Library fundraiser). If you want to read more about the launch party, you may do so HERE or HERE (you must register to come!).

If you don't come, be warned. You will be missing:

a) monkeys *fn4;

b) jugglers *fn5;

c) flame-throwers *fn6;

d) delicious cupcakes *fn7; and

e) a live, bravura performance by an internationally-acclaimed musician! *fn8.

Plus, clearly, I will be doing the entire reading standing in a pool. *fn9

So, see, in the end, this isn't really about me and my blatant self promotion.

This is about YOU, reading a good book, telling your friends about a good book, and having an awesome Sunday afternoon in February with live cupcakes and live music. *fn10

Also, there's a Writer's Workshop and Publishing Q&A beforehand, if that's your cup of tea. *fn11

So, that's it. I love my readers and need my readers and I'm grateful if you spread the word.

Speaking of which, my next book, still unnamed but referred to as Frankie Sky, comes soon from Algonquin Young Readers. They've launched their Fall 2103 line of galleys into the Universe and have gone live on Twitter (@AlgonquinYR) and facebook. If you're either place, you should check them out and follow them. I'm sure there are monkeys and jugglers galore! *fn13

Thanks for reading.

xo gae

footnotes:

*fn1: did you skip over that link? Because seriously, at least if you're a writer, it is one of the funniest things I've ever read. Just in case, I'll give you the link again. Hell is My Own Book Tour.

*fn2: this may be a slight exaggeration.

*fn3: it actually helps -- some Amazon algorithm that does something to do something.

*fn4: lie, no monkeys.

*fn5: lie, no jugglers.

*fn 6: lie, no flame throwers

*fn7: all completely true!

*fn8: I promise "David and David" are talented, plus, we must have some relatives in another country somewhere who will vouch for them...

*fn9: hey, I will if the Huntington Library will let me! :)

*fn10: okay fine, no such thing as live cupcakes, you say? What if I put spirulina *fn12 in them?!

*fn11: my cup of tea lately is Tazo Zen Tea (I mean, come on! Lemongrass and Spearmint?!). I'd be genuinely curious what yours is, if you want to tell me. I'm an excellent listener that way. :)

*fn12: i promise not to put spirulina in them.

*fn13: has no idea if there are monkeys and jugglers. You'll have to buy the books and open the pages to see. . . :)

reflect and renew and a few wishes - hello 2013

kissing goodbye 2012... for better and worse...

I've been on a tear to finish a manuscript which means long days and nights at the computer in between anything else I might be doing.

And I've had a head cold (doesn't that sound old fashioned?) for weeks. A two week + head cold.

And, of course, there was the little matter of the holidays.

Which is my way of saying that my thoughts are disorganized and discombobulated and I feel unready to make my usual resolutions.

Yet, I feel the year end is an important time -- an opportunity to reflect, and a clean slate to renew.

So, I thought I'd at least take a few minutes to reflect on a very few of the highlights of my year (honestly, there have been MANY)

and to renew my determination in a few of the areas I didn't quiet live up to my own hopes and expectations this year (honestly, there have been MANY).

Happy Reflection:

Highlights (these are MY personal highlights, not those of my children - that their highlights are my greatest joy should go without saying):

• selling my next novel to an amazing editor at Algoquin;

• attending my first big book festival as a published author;

look, I even got my own star... :)

• completing a five mile open water swim;

the title page of the script.

• holding a movie script for The Pull of Gravity in my hands --

-- and (yes, it's still totally pie-in-the-sky at this point, so the truth is, I'm not so much "excited" as I am flattered and enjoying the fun of it).




Of course, there were other wonderful highlights too,

a school visit in Pennsylvania, and a few in NYC, as well as a bunch of Skype visits to classrooms around the country giving me a chance to connect directly with my readers;

the day to day humor and joy of connecting with my friends -- both virtual and in person;

and the blessing of living near the water, and extending our open water season to nearly seven months of regular daily swims...

West Neck Beach where I frolic with the Pod

 

to name a few.

But there are places where I've failed miserably and hope to do better this year.

Renewed Commitment:

• More writing, less facebook. Sad, but true. I love my shiny facebook friends, but I need to be more focused and less distracted from my writing. I had hoped to have my "next hopeful" manuscript [working title In Sight of Stars] revised by the end of the summer, and have a new one I started that I was liking in rough draft by year's end. Instead, I am still trying to finalize the former and haven't touched the other. It's nobody's fault but my own.

Not to mention that I hoped to revise Swim Back to Me, and maybe send it out there once again.

Yes, I've done some good writing, and had revisions due to my editor in between, but the lampost and I both know I've procrastinated a great deal, and I'm not getting any younger.

• More yoga. Less almost going to yoga.

• Less talk, more action. Helping people. Contributing to the larger world.

• More reading, less mindless TV;

                                                                                and, dare I say,

• I've got a few bigger swims to tackle...

Well, I've got a lot more where that came from: disappointments that I want to turn to opportunity and personal improvement, but the bewitching hour of my headcold is getting the best of me.

I can't end 2012 without making a few wishes:

• gun control
• a kinder gentler nation for my kids,
• and that you all have a year without suffering.

Happy New Year to all!

Please don't drink and drive. Pretty please, with a cherry on top. <3 p="p">
xox gae

Honor, Remembrance, and How Time Flies. . .

(me, left on the windowsill, my sister, right)
The day my dad returned from
Viet Nam (Mash Unit Chu Lai, '66 -'67)

Yesterday --

two weeks after Hurricane Sandy raged through here flooding, destroying, changing the landscape of New York/New Jersey/Connecticut forever

(not to mention knocking out our power for 11 cold and difficult days)

-- I spent a "normal" day in the city with my parents, my sister and her girlfriend (who is like a sister to me now).

It was an invigorating, special, throwback day to my childhood/teens/twenties.

Two plays (one really stellar one)and a delicious dinner, all the treat of my parents.



The occasion, my sister's 50th birthday.

The last time she was taller than I am . . .

I can read that over and over again, but still, it remains unfathomable.

My sister is fifty, and soon, I will follow.



. . . and, us, horsing around recently
in my father's gardens. . .

Beyond that, my older son is 17, and next year at this time, he will be long gone to college.

My dad with me at my birthday, last July.

My father, ever strong and youthful, turns 75 this March.

To see him, you would not believe it.

But there it is. 75.

It is Veteran's day, a day that always makes me want to honor, yes, all veterans, but especially my dad. But, for a writer, I am, once again, at a loss for truly meaningful words.

Nothing I write here will ever come close to explaining the strong but gentle, capable, loving, generous man he is.

Nothing.

There is no father who ever loved his daughters more, protected them better, was more loyal and true to his family.

We are so lucky that he returned from a year of hell in a MASH unit in Viet Nam to raise us.

He is anti-war.

He is a Veteran for Peace,

and yet it's hard to imagine him without that year that so much changed and shaped him.

Time flies.

Damn, how it flies.

I honor this man in his uniform,
in his hospital scrubs,
in his jumpsuits,
and leather pants,
in his (leather) speedo bathingsuit who taught me how to dive and swim.

This man who came to every single recital, every competition, every play, every honor and celebration that mattered in my life.

This man who stood over the dining room table admiring, as my sister and I made endless arts and crafts.

This man, who put other people's children through college when they could not.

This man who fixed badly crushed and broken bones with hands gentle enough to heal flowers, with the patience and skill that embodied Premum Non Nocere,

this man who has always known there is No Free Lunch, yet always offers one.

This man that can find my sister and me in a crowd,

in a dark room,

in a snowstorm,

in a hurricane,

in distress.

This man, who always kept us safe and warm,

and still does.

My dad is truly the closest person I've ever met to invincible.

And so he will always remain.


- gae

p.s. thank you to all the Veterans who have so bravely served our country. May there be no more wars. . . and only peace and love.

Sharing from my YA blog: A recap of Teen Book Festival, Rochester

Oh. my. goodness.

Goodness being the operative word.

Just got back from TBF -- my first official author festival ever -- and let me just say it was probably a dumb and crappy way to start things.

Because, seriously, I imagine it can only go downhill from here.

As rumor had it, the dedicated organizers of TBF treat their authors like rock stars, and, let me tell you, in this case, rumor was true!

I'm doing a super-speed recap because I have a thousand other things I need to be doing, for example, finishing my unpacking, dealing with my parental stuff that's piled up, getting my ass to some yoga, and reviewing my contract that just came in from Algonquin!?!

look at my shiny new ISBN number! :D

But, if I don't do this now, real life will seep in, and I want to hold on to the glory long enough to share it with you.

So, without edits, and with apologies to anyone I left out (you were all so nice and amazing!), here goes:

Friday evening, we (my hubby and my older son -- my younger son stayed home due to a heavy load of travel baseball games) arrived to warm greetings in the lobby of the Radisson Riverside Rochester.

They must know how I feel about water because my room had a river view!

We went from there to a meet & greet dinner at the Rochester Library, where I got to meet all sorts of wonderful people I had only read, or been introduced to virtually:

I was especially excited to see my panel sister and fellow Class of 2K11'er, Amy Holder, again, and to meet to-date-only-virtual-writer-pals Shawn Goodman and Paul Griffin (link below).

Funny aside: during an early email exchange, Paul and I had figured out that Paul (who used to live on Long Island) was treated by my father, a pediatric orthopedist, for a broken wrist when he was a freshman in college!

Truth be told, I was a tiny bit star struck by some of the usual suspects: Laurie Halse Anderson, A.S. King and *swoons* Matt de la Pena:

sooner or later, Matt is going to get sick of me spreading rumors
about our love affair... or, more than likely, he's not paying me any attention...

After dinner, we returned to the hotel where we were given keys to the hospitality suite, where, I'm pretty sure I accosted Matt too fast and furiously, and where, having had my magic number of glasses of red wine (um, one half of one), I proceeded to insinuate myself into the presence of such amazing peeps as James Kennedy, Brent Crawford, Jennifer Roy, Terry Trueman, and AS King. *silly bathroom photo to follow if I ever get my hands on it...*

Let me just announce this to the world now. All Matt-jesting aside (and he is too adorable for words), Terry Trueman is my new (yes, yes, come on, we all know I am fickle) one, true author love, for now:

This is the back of Terry's head with a TBF tattoo. He is crazy,
wicked, funny, energetic and has a heart of gold. And check out his
incredible book (I'm in the middle of it) Stuck in Neutral.

Seriously, Terry is some kind of wonderful, and he'll NEVER get rid of me now.

Saturday morning bright and early, the TBF crew had us met by a fleet of classic cars, where Amy Holder and I were whisked to the venue (Nazareth College) olde- Hollywood-glamour-style in the back of a 1960 Buick Eddy:

where we were then greeted first by the sounds, then by the surreal view, of hundreds of screaming throngs:

... then by a red carpet...

and then by our walk of stars.

can you see the happy overwhelm on my face?!

A meet and greet breakfast gave us a chance to get to know our moderator and "handlers" who were all awesome, then we proceeded to the gymnasium for a riotous (especially thanks to James Kennedy's raucous, off-the-cuff, way-too-long and enthusiastic rendition of Oklahoma!) game show-style introduction:

Photo of the audience from the stage thanks to another one of
my tbf faves: Cat Patrick!

If I can ever get my hands on a video clip, I will bring it to you here, I promise. Until then, can I just say show-stoppingly, stupidly HI-larious?!?!

We spent the next two hours in small (well, ours was small...) panel workshops, which went swimmingly, and then were treated to a yummy lunch where I managed to pal around with some of the hot guys,

James Kennedy, Paul Griffin and Brent Crawford, total posers... :)

and then on to the signings.

My signing line was, to say the least, modest *coughs* and humbling... reminding me I still have dues to pay and many goals left to accomplish. Never a bad thing, not that I, um, necessarily needed reminding... ;)

After it all, we were treated to one more dinner, where I had the incredibly lucky honor of being seated with Laurie Halse Anderson who is as nice and generous as she is successful, which is saying a great big lot!

Then, it was one more raucous and memorable late night in the hospitality suite, where I had some more quality, wonder-and-laughs-filled and, yes, still a bit surreal, time with some of my personal favorites from the festival: James Kennedy, AS King, Brent Crawford, Paul Griffin and Jennifer Roy, just to name a few.

The next day, I dragged my patient family around downtown Rochester to try to catch a few of the places Nick and Jaycee go to when they are there (in my book The Pull of Gravity):

This is the Trailways bus station Nick and Jaycee come into
when they arrive in Rochester

... and this is the news station they go into which leads them to
the climax of the story! :D

All in all, it was a crazy-memorable weekend.

Huge props, awe and thank yous go out to Stephanie Squicciarini, the organizer of the Teen Book Festival. She and her team are a warm, energetic and amazing group of people.

If you are a YA author, I highly recommend you try to weasel your way into this festival. BUT DON'T TAKE MY SPOT!!!

It was one of the highlights of my life so far.


- gae