It's Time to Dance!

Yesterday, I went to my first rehearsal for a new dance project! My super-talented friend Becky Radway is putting on a show in October, and I'm thrilled to be a part of it. I went to college with Becky, and have performed with her in NYC several times. For every show, she creates work that is new and different from her previous pieces, without losing sight of her signature movement style. I really enjoy working with her and am really excited to see what this show will become. More updates as we get further into the rehearsal process! Regardless of whose choreography I'm dancing, I love being in rehearsal. Even though I work hard in class to improve my technique and expand my artistry, it's the rehearsal setting (and then, later, performance) where all of that gets put into practice. A lot of the choreographers I work with—Becky included—get input and inspiration from their dancers. Yesterday, Becky gave us a series of prompts and asked us to come up with a movement phrase that traveled across the floor, based on whatever those prompts brought up in our minds and bodies. As we go on to refine those movement phrases—and believe me, like any first draft, the phrase I made yesterday needs refinement!—Becky will shape what each of us created into a cohesive part of the overall piece.

I love working like this, being given an idea or a challenge and coming up with movement that meets the criteria while showing my voice and my style. It appeals to my writer/problem-solving side. It reminds me of doing writing prompts as a way to jump-start a fiction-writing session. Sometimes you come up with something truly fabulous on the first try. Those are the best days. But other times, all you can glean from the whole mess you made up are a few small, choice movements (or sentences, as the case may be). As I write this post, I'm still going over the movement phrase I made up, thinking about what moments I like and want to keep and what probably needs to be discarded. I can't wait to get back in the studio and make it even better.

In other dance news, my summer favorite So You Think You Can Dance starts tonight! I unabashedly love this show. Plus, I've been lucky enough to interview and write about the winners of the past two seasons for Dance Spirit magazine. (Read about Season 8 winner Melanie Moore HERE and Season 9 winners Eliana Girard and Chehon Wespi-Tschopp HERE and HERE!) I can't wait to see what this season brings, and what future dance stars we'll meet for the first time.

I'll end this dance-centric post with a video from another awesome dance show, Bunheads. Per the title of this post: It's Time to Dance!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i0xHmu-jRks

~Kathryn :)

Friday Reads: "Starstruck" by Rachel Shukert

This is an interesting Friday Reads, because this book totally took me by surprise. I hadn't heard anything about it before the day I bought it. I probably wouldn't have picked it up in a bookstore on my own, based on the cover. (Not that it's a bad cover... it just doesn't quite sell the book for me. More on that later.) But I went to a YA panel at Books of Wonder a few weeks ago, primarily because my friend Lauren Morrill (author of the fabulous Meant to Be!) was on it, and Rachel Shukert was one of the other authors. Her first YA novel, Starstruck, sounded like fun, so I bought it that day—along with several others from the panel I hadn't read.

I'm so glad I bought Starstruck! It was a fun, glamorous, gossipy, pulpy, romantic romp through the Golden Age of Hollywood, and I would recommend it to anyone who likes movie history, or historical fiction in general, or stories about teen girls in unusual and challenging situations, or just fun, interesting, well-written books.

Starstruck is about Margaret Frobisher, a movie-obsessed teen from Pasadena who dreams of being onscreen herself. And then she's discovered at Schwab's Pharmacy by a studio executive looking to replace a missing movie star. Margaret has her name changed to Margo Sterling and is transformed from a lovely society girl into a true Hollywood ingenue, complete with new clothes, a platinum dye job, and, before long, a studio-manufactured romance with a young song-and-dance star (who's hiding a secret...). The only fly in the ointment of this perfect new life? She's actually falling for the studio's leading man, Dane Forrest, who was kind to her on her first day on set (and who is hiding secrets of his own...).

The book also follows two other up-and-coming stars: Amanda Farraday, an Oklahoma girl who made her way to Hollywood to escape a horrible home life and is a redheaded knockout (I pictured a Jessica Rabbit type) (and she also has secrets she can't let anyone find out), and Gabby Preston, a former vaudeville performer who's currently doing cheesy musicals but wants to be a leading lady—and date Margo's studio-mandated fella (and who, um, secretly will take drastic steps to get what she wants). 

If it sounds like a tangled web—it is! But Shukert handles it all beautifully. In Hollywood in 1938, no one is who they seem. Stars come from all over and have new names and identities created for them by the studio. Everyone has something in their history they don't want the studio finding out, or that the studio is forcing them to keep secret for the sake of their career, or that they're keeping from the person they're starting to care about because it would jeopardize the fledgling relationship. Margo (especially when she's still Margaret) basically stands in for all movie fans: she believes everything she reads in Picture Palace and is shocked and dismayed as the curtain is pulled back and she learns the gritty details about how Hollywood really works. Of course, by the time she knows the truth, she's too far in to escape...

Shukert has packed Starstruck with characters that feel straight out of an old movie themselves, as well as references to actual stars and studios of the era, and it all comes together to create a rich, fascinating, and really fun read. Several questions/mysteries are left unsolved at the end, so I'm assuming this is the first in a series—and I'll be picking up the next one whenever it comes out! If you like old Hollywood, from the glamor to the seedy underbelly, check this one out. 

~Kathryn 

(Oh, and the cover? It's not that I dislike it, but to me it looks too contemporary. She looks like Taylor Swift sort of done up like a pin-up girl. They couldn't have found a girl who looked more period-appropriate, without sacrificing the marketing aspect of getting today's teens to want to read it?) 

Back to the Beginning

So, I've started working on a new book idea! I have my characters sketched out and I have my rough outline/synopsis. I'm working on finding the voice and the style that make this story unique. I've been playing with this new book on and off between making edits to my agented book, THE CREATION OF HALLELUJAH CALHOUN. Now, I'm officially trying to crank out a first draft. And I have to admit, I forgot how hard first-drafting is. It's not just the nuts and bolts of figuring out the plot and the characters. It's not just getting words down on the page (or screen, in my case). It's emotionally hard, transitioning from making upper-level nitpicky edits to HALLELUJAH, which I am so proud of and feel so good about, to being back in the uncertainty of a first draft. Can I possibly create something that I love as much as HALLELUJAH? Is it okay that it's different—different voice, different themes? And can I do this new topic justice? Did I only have one good book in me, after all?

After talking to some writer friends, I've confirmed that yes, pretty much everyone feels like this when starting something brand new. This mix of excitement over a shiny new idea and anxiety about not being able to pull it off. So I've been telling myself, over and over, that the only way out is through. I won't know if this new book is any good until I write a cruddy first draft and dig into revisions. I can't revise a blank page.

So, starting this week, I'm going to aim to spend at least an hour each workday adding to the word count. Pushing through the story. Figuring out who these characters truly are and how they interact with one another the best way I know how: by spending time with them. (For the record, I wish I could give myself a minimum word count to meet each day, but my freelance schedule doesn't always allow that; it's easier to schedule in an allotment of time and write however much comes out in that time...)

What's this new book about? My main character is a ballet student with the wrong body type. When she doesn't get a part she wanted in her studio's summer production—in fact, she gets what is, in her eyes, the worst role in the show—it sends her into an emotional tailspin. She's only ever wanted to be a ballet dancer, and her curvy body is standing in her way. (Well, her body and her overbearing mom...) When she ends up having to dance with a clumsy football player who signed up for ballet class because his coach said it might improve his scholarship potential, it's like adding insult to injury. But what if the two of them are actually perfect partners?

And that's all I'm going to say about that until the book is written! So much writing and tinkering to do...

Anyone else have the first-draft blues? Want to commiserate? :)

~Kathryn

Friday Reads: "Skinny" by Donna Cooner

I've had this book on my to-read list for a while now, and I finally picked it up this week. I'm so glad I did! It touched me on a few different levels, and I couldn't wait to write about it for the blog. Skinny, by Donna Cooner, is about Ever Davies, a 300-pound 15-year-old who hates being trapped inside her body. She's haunted by a vicious inner voice that she's named Skinny. Skinny has something nasty to say about just about every moment in Ever's daily life. She calls her every variation on "fat" you can think of. Tells her she'll never be popular or happy or loved. If there's a moment of good in Ever's day, Skinny is quick to skewer it. She says all of the negative things Ever is sure her classmates and family are thinking about her, every awful thing Ever believes about herself.

After a humiliating incident with a broken chair at a school assembly, Ever has had enough of being overweight. She decides to have gastric bypass surgery near the end of the school year, so she'll have the whole summer to lose weight. With her best friend Rat (real name: Ted, though no one calls him that) by her side, she makes it through the painful and traumatic recovery. She relearns how to eat. She forces herself to exercise. And the pounds drop off.

The only problem? Skinny doesn't go away.

As you can probably guess, Skinny is about how changing your appearance is fine—especially if you're benefiting your health, like Ever is—but it doesn't solve all of your problems. Ever has to learn to change on the inside, as well. Even 100 pounds lighter, Ever hears Skinny tell her how ugly she is. How she'll never look good enough. She's a talented singer, but has to conquer her terror of being in front of people (will they make fun of her?) in order to audition for the school production of Cinderella. She's had a crush on Jackson, a childhood-friend-turned-jock, for years, but is sure he'll never give her the time of day. (Never mind that her actual Prince Charming might be someone who's been there for her all along...) It's a straightforward message, but Cooner delivers it effectively by showing Ever's continued insecurities even as, on the surface, she has less and less to be insecure about.

As I said up top, I related to this book on multiple levels. For starters, a few people close to me have had gastric bypass surgery, and what Ever goes through dovetails with things that I've heard about the process, from the physical side effects to the emotional. It was interesting to see the experience through a vulnerable teen girl's eyes.

For myself, meanwhile, I related to that voice in Ever's head that tells her she's not good enough. As a teen, I trained pretty seriously at a ballet studio in my hometown, and even before puberty hit, it was pretty clear I wasn't going to be a ballerina. No matter how much I loved dance, and how much I worked to improve, I just didn't have the right shape. After several years of hearing that I needed to shed a few pounds, and losing roles due to costumes not fitting, and always seeing myself as the largest, curviest girl in a studio full of waifs, I had a Skinny of my own. She wasn't as vocal or as nasty as Ever's, but she was there, telling me that if I could just be thinner, everything would be a lot better. She didn't stay in the dance studio, either. I didn't date for a long time because I wasn't confident that the guys I liked would find me attractive, and a lot of that stemmed from how I felt about my body.

One of the things I loved about Skinny was Cooner's point (and Ever's realization, late in the book) that so many people have that voice in their head that tells them they're not good enough. For Ever, it's about her weight. For her step-sister Briella, it's about not being smart. One of the popular girls in the book turns out to have stage fright. I love the empathy that comes from Ever's realization that she isn't the only one out there who's struggling. I love the transformation, inside even more than out, that comes from facing and conquering Skinny. I love that readers of the book can see themselves in it, and can think about overcoming their own negative inner voices.

Plus, the book has a lot of really clever parallels to Cinderella, from Ever's step-sisters to an actual Fall Ball at school. :)

Skinny is a fast read, and if you like teen transformation stories, I can't recommend it enough!

~Kathryn

Life Lessons From My Yoga Mat — Part 3

Bet you thought I forgot about this mini-series! I did not. Books and writing stuff just took precedence for a few weeks. But I still very much want to write about the concept of BEING PRESENT, so here I am. Present. On the blog.  If you're new-ish to my blog, you can check out Part 1 (PATIENCE) and Part 2 (STILLNESS) before reading on. Or live in the moment and forge ahead!

I've had a lot of excitement over the past few weeks. Signing with a literary agent and starting to see this publishing dream get closer and closer to being a reality results, I've found, in being really excited. And eager to see what's next. And then anxious about what may or may not happen. And nervous about starting to write something new. And then excited again. Over and over. I've been trying to remind myself to enjoy the moment while it's here, and to channel my nerves about the future into working hard now. The only thing that will keep me moving forward is to...move forward, in the now. But sometimes it's hard to be present, when there are so many questions and possibilities and dreams about what's ahead.

In yoga class, one of your goals is to be present. As one of my teachers reminds us every class, yoga isn't the time to be thinking over your plans for the day, making a mental list of everything you have to do, or worrying about something that happened at home or at work. Focusing on the movement of your body through space is its own kind of meditation. You breathe, and you move mindfully, and you clear your mind of the clutter, if only for an hour. Some days, this is easier than others, but when it works, it works.

But being in the moment and leaving everything else at the door isn't the only way to be present in yoga. Beyond that, you have to be present and attuned to where your body is TODAY. Not where it was last week. Not where you hope it will be in six months. Where you are now, in each pose. You have to be aware of your present abilities and circumstances, to avoid injury and maximize the benefits of the practice. In my case, I'm fairly flexible, thanks to my years as a dancer, but there are still days when my muscles are tight. Pushing to where I was a week ago in the same pose could be painful and dangerous. On the opposite end of the spectrum, injuries can also arise if I try to force my body into a position it isn't ready to do. (That's where patience comes in, as well!) Being present is about paying attention to your needs in the moment and respecting them.

How does all of this translate off the yoga mat?

As I mentioned up top, there's the idea of enjoying life as it comes, rather than fretting about what's next. But also, there's the fact that in our technology-glutted society, we always have multiple things vying for our attention. For instance, if I'm bouncing between email and Twitter and Facebook, am I getting my best writing done? The majority of the time, probably not. Maybe, by trying to focus my attention on the activity I'm doing, in the moment, I'll improve the quality of my work and the experience I'm having. Maybe I'll feel and be more productive by giving one thing at a time my best attention, instead of giving multiple things a fragment of my focus.

Beyond that, it's been vital for me to remind myself to think about how I'm feeling in the now — not how I was yesterday, or how I wish I was today. On those days when writing is like pulling teeth, for instance, instead of beating myself up about not being where I was or should be, I can be patient and present. I can work with what I am bringing to the table today, and enjoy the process more without yesterday or tomorrow looming over my shoulder.

This is hard. It's hard in yoga, it's hard in dance, and it's hard in writing. But it's so worth it.

Patience, stillness, and presence. Fellow yogis, did I miss any benefits that you get from yoga? (Aside from the physical perks, of course!)

~Kathryn

Friday Reads: Reread Edition: "Speak" by Laurie Halse Anderson

My first reread of the year! And, I'm pleased to say, this book held up so beautifully to rereading. I first read Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson in grad school, in David Levithan's Teen Literature seminar. At that time (waaaaaay back in fall 2008) I was still fairly new to teen lit, and while I loved most of what we read for that class, this book in particular blew me away. I picked it up this week after my agent mentioned that several elements in my own manuscript reminded her of a twist on Speak. And so, not only did I get the chance to reread a classic in the teen lit canon, I spent the past two days looking at my manuscript through a new lens. I call that a win-win!

Speak is the story of Melinda, a high school freshman who suffered a traumatic experience over the summer. You don't know exactly what happened to her at the start of the book, aside from the fact that all of her friends have dumped her and she spent the weeks before school started holed up at home, hiding from the world. Melinda has a wonderful sarcastic voice from page one, but at the same time, you can feel the fear and pain behind every word. As she describes the various cliques assembling in the auditorium on the first day of school, she immediately notes that she is "Outcast" — "a wounded zebra in a National Geographic special." The teachers and the other students are predators, ready to take her out without a moment's notice. High school as depicted in this book is survival of the fittest, and Melinda is definitely not at her fittest. She shrinks more and more as the year goes on.

It turns out (though you guess fairly early on) that Melinda was raped at a party. She's now an outcast because she never told anyone about the rape, and thus is blamed for calling the cops and getting several kids arrested. Now, she's carrying around the burden of what happened to her, on top of being that girl who busted the party. Her only friend is a new student, Heather from Ohio, who doesn't realize at first that being friends with Melinda — the quiet, weird girl no one likes — is social suicide. Predictably and heartbreakingly, Heather drops Melinda partway through the book, finding more acceptable (and outgoing and ambitious) friends.

But while all of these plot details are important, what really sells the book is Melinda's voice. There's hardly any dialogue, but her internal monologue is smart, sarcastic, and funny, even while barely concealing her growing hysteria and depression. She stops speaking almost entirely over the course of the book. The key to her ability to even get out of bed is denial: she won't admit to herself what happened, much less tell anyone else. But with her rapist, a senior, at school with her, even going out of his way to interact with her, it gets harder and harder to ignore the truth. So, part of the story is having to come to terms with the reality of the situation and figure out if it's possible to move on.

Speak is also about Melinda finding her voice and saying, out loud, that something terrible has happened. It's a slow, arduous journey. At first, she speaks by not speaking — will anyone realize how much is truly wrong? When that fails, she speaks through art, to the one teacher in the book who reaches out. Unfortunately, while he sees that she's in pain, what she has created is too abstract to tell the whole story. Toward the end of the book, she even tries writing what happened, as a way of warning her former best friend away from the same guy. Her efforts are thrown back in her face. The only way out is to use her voice. To say no to her rapist. To speak the truth about what happened to her. To tell people who can help her find her way out of the dark place she's been in. When that moment comes (and you feel pretty confident/hopeful it will; this isn't a huge spoiler), it's incredibly powerful.

Can you tell I loved this book? Never mind that reading it this week, as spring is finally (finally!) coming to NYC, felt really appropriate. Melinda's art project for the year centers around trees, and this is what I have right outside my window:

Last week, I watched those little buds form. This week, the green started to spread. By next week, I'm hoping for actual leaves and blossoms. That, plus a truly excellent book, should end this post on a high note. :)

~Kathryn

Tuesday Friday Reads: "Wonder" by R.J. Palacio

Last week, when we were all glued to our TVs and computers waiting for more details on the bombings at the Boston marathon and the ensuing citywide manhunt, I took a break from the news coverage to read Wonder by R. J. Palacio. And I'm so glad I did. I knew what the book was about beforehand, to an extent, but I didn't realize just how hopeful and uplifting it would be. So now here I am, recommending it to all of you.

Wonder is about a fifth-grader, Auggie (short for August), who's different from his peers in a big way: he has a major cranio-facial deformity, and has had 27 reconstructive surgeries to his face since birth. The book chronicles his first year in a real school, with other kids. Auggie is a charming and intelligent narrator, but the beauty of the book is that it doesn't just show events from his point of view. We also hear from two of Auggie's new friends from school, Summer and Jack; Auggie's older sister, Via, who's in her first year of high school; Via's new boyfriend, Justin; and Miranda, a lifelong friend of Via's who is suddenly distant. Because the narrators come from different places and are different ages, we get a much more complete picture of Auggie's life and the ripples it causes than we would if the story were told entirely through his eyes.

Those ripples, by the way, are what the book is about. Auggie's appearance and health issues don't just affect him; they affect the people around him in various ways. His family revolves around him, a fact his sister Via finds harder to accept when she has social problems of her own in high school. Meanwhile, the few kids who are nice to Auggie from his first day of school soon discover that befriending the kid with the weird, scary face means being shunned by the popular crowd. Summer is told by a group of girls that she needs to drop Auggie if she wants to be popular, while Jack almost loses Auggie's friendship in his misplaced efforts to impress one of the popular boys. Everyone in the book has choices to make, from Auggie's courageous decision to go to school to how other people choose to respond to him.

Wonder has spawned the "Choose Kind" movement, after a precept shared by Auggie's English teacher, Mr. Browne:

When given the choice between being right or being kind, choose kind.

I can think of few more important lessons for any kid (and, let's face it, many grown-ups) to learn. Wonder has its scary and sad moments, including a harrowing confrontation with a group of seventh-grade bullies, but ultimately it's a joyful celebration of kids and teens choosing to stick up for one another. Yes, sometimes remembering and deciding to be kind is a struggle. Yes, it's likely (in fact, it's almost certain) that Auggie's difficulties aren't over just because he's won over the kids at his school. But if readers take from Wonder the idea that it's not bad to make friends with people who are different from you, and that how someone looks doesn't reflect how they are on the inside, it feels like there's hope for the world to keep becoming a better place. 

Last week, I needed to read this book. I needed to feel that faith that today's kids will become tomorrow's kind, thoughtful, intelligent adults. Here's hoping.

~Kathryn

Tuesday Friday Reads: "Eleanor & Park" by Rainbow Rowell

I wrote up the book review below a few days ago, before yesterday's horrifying incidents in Boston. I decided to keep it as is, despite how somber today feels, because there isn't much we need more when things like this happen than reminders of the love we can find in the world. From the people who raced into action when the bombs went off to one teen bringing light and life to another teen's world for the first time in a long time, love is out there, and it's beautiful. So, here's my review of Eleanor & Park.

*   *   *

There are some books you race through because you can't wait to see how they end. There are other books that, as much as you want to see what happens next, you savor them slowly. You pace yourself, because you want to live with those characters as long as possible. Rainbow Rowell's Eleanor & Park fell into that latter category for me. I didn't want it to end.

This is a gorgeously written book. It's a first-love story set in the 1980s about two teens who don't fit in and who find comfort and solace in each other. Eleanor is a big girl with unruly red hair and the wrong clothes. She just moved back to town after a year away, and stands out—for all the wrong reasons—from the moment she steps onto the school bus. She's got it rough at home, with a mean drunk of a stepfather who keeps her entire family walking on eggshells. She doesn't trust anyone. Park, meanwhile, is one of only a few Asian kids at school, a comic book nerd who loves music and takes taekwondo. He's not popular, but isn't picked on, either. Everything changes for both of them when Eleanor sits down next to Park on the school bus, and they strike up a tentative friendship that quickly grows into something more.

But that synopsis doesn't do justice to the beauty and simplicity and specificity of their relationship. This isn't a love story that could happen to any pair of teens—even any pair of misfit teens. This is Eleanor and Park's particular romance, 100% theirs and no one else's. And the way Rowell describes their attraction to each other is just so perfect, so singular. For instance, when Park and Eleanor are having their first private phone call, after only having talked on the bus and briefly at school, Eleanor is trying to describe why she likes Park. After fumbling for words out loud, she realizes:

She hadn't even said anything nice about him. She hadn't told him that he was prettier than any girl, and that his skin was like sunshine with a suntan. And that's exactly why she hadn't said it. Because all her feelings for him—hot and beautiful in her heart—turned to gobbledygook in her mouth.

Two pages later, she figures it out:

It's because you're kind.... And because you get all my jokes.... And you're smarter than I am.... And you look like a protagonist.... You look like the person who wins in the end. You're so pretty, and so good. You have magic eyes...and you make me feel like a cannibal.

Eleanor is completely genuine and completely herself. I haven't read anyone in YA literature who sounds and thinks like her, and those are just two examples from the text. I could quote line after line of description and dialogue, each adding more depth and soul to Eleanor. The same goes for Park.

The other thing that struck me about this book (okay, there are SO MANY things I loved, but this post will be epic if I don't narrow it down!) is how much significance is given to the early moments of their relationship. I haven't read a book in ages, if at all, in which holding hands is so monumental. And yet, as I read the scene in which Park holds Eleanor's hand for the first time, I could remember and feel exactly what they were feeling: the electricity between them, the slowing down of the rest of the world, the tingling of Eleanor's palm when Park lets go. From Park's perspective:

Holding Eleanor's hand was like holding a butterfly. Or a heartbeat. Like holding something complete, and completely alive.

For Eleanor, the moment of touch is like being disintegrated:

Like something had gone wrong beaming her onto the Starship Enterprise. If you've ever wondered what that feels like, it's a lot like melting—but more violent. Even in a million different pieces, Eleanor could still feel Park holding her hand. Could still feel his thumb exploring her palm. She sat completely still because she didn't have any other option. She tried to remember what kind of animals paralyzed their prey before they ate them.... Maybe Park had paralyzed her with his ninja magic, his Vulcan handhold, and now he was going to eat her. That would be awesome.

The fact that holding hands is such an intense and nerve-wracking and incredible experience shows just how into each other Eleanor and Park are. Kissing, when it happens, is that much more amazing—but being together, talking, sitting side by side, and holding hands are just as important. And the fact that Park is there for Eleanor when her life feels like it's falling apart is bigger than any kiss. Their story is intimate and epic all at once, and Rowell juggles those extremes expertly.

I could keep typing up quotes, because this is that kind of book. I want to flip pages and relive the best moments and share them all with you. But instead of me doing that, I'll just say: Read Eleanor & Park. It's lovely and sweet and shy and scared and giddy and, in the end, both heartbreaking and hopeful.

I loved it.

~Kathryn

Postponing Friday Reads Because... I Have An Agent!!

I have an agent!! I am so excited to be able to share this news with all of you. I have been working hard toward this goal, and I can't believe it has actually happened. I'm so happy to be signing with the amazing Alyssa Eisner Henkin of Trident Media Group. She's enthusiastic, passionate, and full of ideas about where my book can go, and I can't wait to see what we can make happen together.

(By the way, if you follow me for the book reviews, don't fret—you'll get thoughts on my latest read on Tuesday. :))

So how did this whole thing happen? I finished up revisions on my second book, The Creation of Hallelujah Calhoun, in early March. The book was in its third draft. It had been read and critiqued by several amazing beta readers. After all that work, it felt ready. Not that I wasn't nervous to start sending it out; I'd done the querying thing once before, with a book that got lots of initial positive feedback and, ultimately, lots of encouraging rejections. Looking back on various agents' comments on that book now, I completely agree with the issues they noted, but that doesn't mean it was easy to hear!  So with Hallelujah, I was excited and anxious, all at once.

I decided to enter my pitch (that's a 200-word teaser of the book, for those of you not in the biz ;)) into a pitch contest sponsored by the incredible folks at WriteOnCon. I tinkered and tinkered and tinkered with those 200 words, with feedback from the amazingly helpful people in the WriteOnCon forums, until I was sure that it, too, was ready. And then I pressed "submit," and my pitch was out there in the world.

Fast-forward a week or so, and I was shocked and thrilled to be chosen as the winning pitch in my "bracket," judged by—you guessed it—Alyssa Eisner Henkin. My prize? A full manuscript read. I sent Hallelujah off to Alyssa, fingers crossed, and tried not to think too much about the whole thing. I queried a few other agents. I got lots of freelance work done. I danced and took some yoga classes.

And then, just over a week later, Alyssa emailed me. Long story short, she ADORED the book (her capital letters, not mine) and wanted to know if I was interested in discussing representation. Was I interested?! I hyperventilated a bit, and then wrote a very enthusiastic-albeit-professional email back. We scheduled a phone call. I hyperventilated some more. I called my husband and my parents and my sister. I Googled "questions to ask a literary agent before signing." And then Alyssa and I spoke for almost an hour, and it was awesome.

Fast-forward another week, after I'd heard from the one other agent who had my full manuscript. I'd talked out my decision ad nauseam with anyone who would listen (sorry, friends and family) and I was ready to say yes to Alyssa. I called her and accepted her offer of representation, and she seemed genuinely thrilled, and I hyperventilated all over again.

I feel incredibly lucky that my manuscript landed—through apparent luck of the draw (thanks, WriteOnCon!!)—in the hands of someone who would get it and want to go to bat for it. I can't wait to see what happens next in this process. And I feel confident that I have found an advocate and a champion for my book. Getting an agent is only one of many steps along the path toward a book deal, but it's a big step. So I'm celebrating.

Whew! Long post.

Thanks to everyone, writers and non-writers alike, who encouraged me and kept pushing me forward. I couldn't have done it without you. Here's to what's next! Meanwhile, imagine me looking like this:

~Kathryn

Tuesday Friday Reads: "Delirium," "Pandemonium," and "Requiem" by Lauren Oliver

The theme of today's "Tuesday Friday Reads" is LOVE. This is partially because of the books I read over the past week, and partially because I just finished watching "The Lizzie Bennet Diaries" on YouTube, and am still feeling the love. (If you haven't watched this vlog version of Pride and Prejudice set in the modern-day Internet era, and you like smart and swoony romance, you can catch up on the whole series now! Start HERE. You're welcome.) As promised in last week's post, I just finished Lauren Oliver's Delirium trilogy: Delirium, Pandemonium, and Requiem. I'd read the first two before, but wanted to refresh my memory in anticipation of the third one, which just came out. I really enjoyed this series! What's it about? Delirium is set in a future United States in which the government mandates a procedure that "cures" love—which is classified as a disease, amor deliria nervosa. Everyone has the procedure around their 18th birthday, and that keeps the adult world orderly, civilized, and disease-free. People who contract the disease—who fall in love—are rushed to an early, risky cure, or are shunned, or are thrown in prison to rot. Love means danger and pain and fear.

This is a world Lena, the series' protagonist, knows, understands, and trusts—until she meets a boy who grew up outside her city's walls, who was never cured, who is part of a resistance movement against the cure and the government enforcing it. With Alex, Lena discovers that a life lived without love isn't much of a life at all. As she falls for him, she has to decide whether she wants to be cured and stick with the life she knows or succumb to the deliria and head out into the unknown.

I'm going to try not to spoil the plot too much, in case you haven't read any of the books, but you can probably guess this bit: Lena chooses love. There are two more books, after all. But she discovers that life outside the government's control isn't exactly a dream. The uncured "Invalids" living in the Wilds struggle for every meal. They face diseases without medicine, face bitter cold without effective heat. They're on the run from the government's bombs and from soldiers sent to wipe them out. They're free to love, to feel, but they have to fight for it. Pandemonium and Requiem show that fight, both out in the Wilds and from inside the cities, first in New York and then back in Portland, Maine, where Lena grew up.

One of the most effective things about this trilogy, for me, is the way it depicts love. Lena grows up believing that love isn't just wrong, it's a disease. People in her world don't even show affection, for fear that it could be the germ that turns into full-blown deliria. Lena's mom was cured, but her cure didn't work, and she eventually died (or did she?) from the disease—which means that Lena's only memories of affection are tainted. So, when she starts to feel something for Alex, it happens slowly, and not without a healthy dose of fear. That makes her choice to be with him and leave her life all the more incredible; she isn't just choosing love in a world that doesn't value love, she's choosing to give herself over to a disease that she believes will kill her, because she can't imagine an existence without love.

Of course, over the course of the three books, Lena discovers the painful side of love: losing it can feel far worse than not having it at all. She questions her decision to remain uncured—wouldn't it be better to be spared the horrible pain of, for example, watching the person you love die? (Or maybe he didn't die...) She meets another boy, Julian, and she is for him what Alex was for her: a first love, cautious and scared and then wholehearted. Her relationship with Julian is something different than her relationship with Alex: sadder and wiser. She learns that you can need people for different reasons, that not all love is the same, and that loving someone for the here and now doesn't take away the love you bear for the memory of someone else. She learns that love can pull you through the hardest, darkest, most painful times. She learns that you can be better for loving someone, no matter how that story plays out. 

Again, I don't want to spoil the love story any more than that, because Oliver makes really interesting choices that go beyond the usual YA love triangle plot. Even at the end of Requiem, when in most YA love triangles one of the players would have either been killed or have clearly moved on to a consolation romance, Lena still has a difficult choice to make. That felt very real.

Since my goal is to not spoil the plots of all three books, I'll just highlight one other thing that I really loved about this trilogy and this world. Throughout the story, Oliver inserts references to well-known works of literature and religion that have been twisted by this deliria-free government to suit a new purpose. Romeo and Juliet is no longer a tragic love story; it's a cautionary tale about how two teens get sick, go insane, and ruin their families' lives. In the Biblical story of Solomon, when Solomon is arbitrating a debate between two women who both say a baby is theirs, he cuts the baby in half as punishment for their attachment to it. (In the original, he proposes cutting the baby in half; the woman who gives up her claim to keep that from happening is the actual mother. It's a story of sacrifice for love.) Those are the two most prominent examples, but there are more. Including those references grounds the series in a world that clearly used to be ours, but is now very different. The stories a culture's leaders tell are so powerful, and at the end of Requiem, you have to wonder what new stories will be told, as this new culture transforms.

I could go on and on about what makes these books so great, but suffice it to say, I highly recommend this series! From start to finish, it's an engrossing, powerful read. The third book broadens the world and raises the stakes without becoming so big that it's overwhelming and dwarfs the characters' private journeys (an issue I had with trilogy-enders Mockingjay and Reached). The cast of characters is wide-ranging and diverse, the villains are satisfyingly evil, and the love stories are, well...lovely. Read it! 

Coming up on Friday...more book-talk! Yay!

~Kathryn

Life Lessons From My Yoga Mat - Part 2 (aka: The Best Laid Plans...)

What's this, you ask? It's Friday! That's when she blogs about books! The world is topsy-turvy and upside-down! So here's the deal. I'd actually planned out exactly what books to write about this week, and then... I didn't finish them. It's been quite a busy week here in Brooklyn, and I just didn't get the reading done that I usually do, or that I'd planned to do. That means that on TUESDAY, when I would have posted this post, you will instead get today's Friday Reads. (Here's a teaser: I reread Lauren Oliver's Delirium and Pandemonium and am about to start the trilogy's closer, Requiem—so you'll get thoughts on the whole batch!) "Tuesday Friday Reads" has a nice ring to it, right?

*   *   *

This past Tuesday, I posted about how steady yoga practice was helping me work on being patient. (Check that out here.) And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that patience wasn't the only benefit. I also wanted to talk about the idea of taking time to be still.

I live in NYC. It's a fast-paced, busy city. I'm a freelance writer and editor, which means I'm juggling several different jobs at any given time. I'm a dancer. I love movement. But all of those things together can mean that I spend my days running around in (metaphorical) circles, frantically trying to keep up with everything on the to-do list. I'm moving, moving, moving, while everyone else in this city is doing the same, swirling around me. Honestly, I thrive on being busy. I often do my best work when I have deadlines and goals and am balancing several different projects. But even being constantly busy with good things can have its downsides.

I'm not always good at being still. There are times when I've had a busy week, and I get to the end of it and it's hard just to sit on the couch and watch a movie—I feel like I should be doing something. So I clean the kitchen. (Which probably needed cleaning, but you see the point.) Or I'll lie awake in bed, mind churning, unable to stop thinking about everything that has to be done. Even when I've accomplished my goals, and I'm home with my wonderful husband, in my comfy clothes, it's hard to turn off the "go go go" mentality and just be still.

Yoga helps.

At the studio where I take class, the instructor often talks for a few minutes before we begin, while we sit, cross-legged, on our mats. Sometimes he talks for more than a few minutes, and it becomes hard to sit still. My body is itching to move. But beyond the physical, it's often a challenge to focus on what he's saying and not use the sitting-still time as an opportunity to let my mind recap my day—what I've done so far, what's ahead on the list. On a good day, I can be still and focused and listen. But it's a challenge.

Sometimes we do a guided meditation or a breath exercise, and it's the same scenario: It's hard to sit still when my body wants to move. It's hard to focus my mind on the task at hand, when there's so much else to think about. Even in savasana at the end of class, when my body is tired from the work we just did and is happy to rest, my mind sometimes doesn't cooperate. I have to think, actively, about not thinking too much. But I've found that when I can really clear out the things that are competing for my attention and just be still, I feel better after class. I've had an actual break from my ever-growing to-do list. I can get back to writing or working with a fresh mind.

How does this manifest off the mat? I've been trying to give myself permission, when the to-do list is done, to actually relax. To sit on the couch and finish that awesome book I'm reading. To watch TV for hours and hours on a Saturday. To not feel guilty or anxious about things that I could be doing, but that honestly can wait. The dishes aren't going anywhere; that email can be sent tomorrow. Everything will get done, and it will get done better and faster if I let myself take real breaks and enjoy the stillness and quiet and calm.

Next up in my yoga blog mini-series: being present. Stay tuned!

~Kathryn

Life Lessons From My Yoga Mat (Part 1)

I've been really busy with work and writing lately, and it's in these busy times that I most appreciate having outlets to take a break from my stress. Outlets like sitting and reading a really good book. Taking a killer dance class and rocking out in the studio. And, the one activity that combines the need to move with the need for quiet and peace: yoga class. My current yoga studio is within walking distance of my apartment, something I'd always wanted (ah, to be able to go to class, come home and shower, and then continue on with my day!). The teachers are thoughtful and encouraging, and the atmosphere is intimate—you can actually get to know the people who usually attend the same classes as you do. On a good week, I'm there at least twice. And I love it.

The point of this post? I've been thinking a lot lately about how regular yoga at a warm, friendly studio has been a huge benefit to my life overall, from my writing career to my dancing to my general well-being. So, without further ado, over the next few (non-book-related) posts I want to share the biggest lessons I've learned (and am still, constantly, always learning) from yoga practice.

Number One: Patience

If you've been reading my blog since January, you know that patience is my theme for 2013. (Read more on that here.) You'd think that writing and revising and pitching a novel would be the most obvious evidence in my life of the need for patience, but for me, yoga has been a constant, hit-over-the-head reminder that progress often only comes with months and months (and months) of hard work and patience.

Case in point: in that post on patience from January, I mentioned that in 2012, one of my New Year's resolutions was to be able to do an unassisted handstand by the end of the year. At the time, I thought that was a more-than-attainable goal. I am only now getting close to accomplishing it. What happened? In early 2012, I took a painful fall practicing handstands at home. Falling didn't just hurt; it also messed with my head. Without the confidence to kick up properly, no way was I going to get up. Then I had a foot injury—on my handstand kick-off and landing foot. Once that healed, I'd lost the coordination. I could hold a handstand, but I couldn't get up on my own. I was incredibly frustrated about it for a while. But I kept trying, kept pushing, and in tiny increments, I got better. Stronger. More consistent. I'm almost there. And I wouldn't have made it if I hadn't eventually let go of my frustration and my arbitrary year-end goal as unproductive and just kept practicing. 

Arm balances still test my patience. I'm close to getting into Crow Pose consistently, after what seems like such a long time, but I'm nowhere near being able to do Side Crow or anything more complicated. But my experience with handstand, and with Crow, reminds me that while they might take patience, and they might take months and months and months, those harder poses are not impossible. They're not out of reach long-term, just because I can't do them now.

So it goes with writing. (And with just about everything else worth doing...) I have to be patient with myself and with my progress, no matter how incremental it seems at the time. I have to trust that with work, improvement will come. Every yoga class, when I do something I couldn't do a year ago, or when I struggle with something new and challenging, I think about being patient. And I hope that even as I grow stronger and can do more advanced poses, that mindfulness never goes away.

Next week: some thoughts on the benefits of being still.

Happy Downward Dogs to everyone!

~Kathryn

Friday Reads: Maureen Johnson's "The Name of the Star" and "The Madness Underneath" (With a Side of "Let's Pretend This Never Happened")

Longest blog post title ever? Possibly. The thing is, I had intended to only write about The Name of the Star and The Madness Underneath. But then something unexpected happened: I didn't like The Madness Underneath nearly as much as I had expected to. To be clear, I didn't dislike it. But I didn't love it enough to gush about it for paragraphs and paragraphs.

Let me back up.

The Madness Underneath is the second in Maureen Johnson's YA ghost mystery series "Shades of London." The first, The Name of the Star, is about a modern-day Jack the Ripper who turns out to be a ghost, and an American boarding school student in London named Rory who, due to a near-death incident, can suddenly see ghosts. This book was SO. GOOD. Even upon reread, I found it suspenseful and thrilling and creepy. Rory is a great character, sassy and sarcastic and Southern, a fish-out-of-water not just in London, but also in her new ghost-seeing and ghost-hunting capacity. The twist at the end—which I won't spoil except to say that Rory suddenly becomes MUCH more important in the ghost-fighting realm than she was previously—was perfect. Just enough of a tease to the next book, without feeling like an unsatisfying cliffhanger.

So at the beginning of The Madness Underneath, everything's set up for a great sequel. Rory is recovering and reeling from the fallout of the Ripper case. The book opens with a new, similarly creepy ghost-murder. You know (from the jacket copy and from having read books before) that even though Rory starts the book in Bristol with her parents, she'll soon be back in the thick of things in London, where the action happens. But then...

Well, in a nutshell, my problem with The Madness Underneath was that it was all "middle." Johnson set up an interesting new ghost story...and didn't get very deep into it. She set up new character dynamics...and didn't get far in exploring them. Most of the ACTION in this book happens in the last few chapters, from the proper introduction of the series' new villain (whose motivations I am still a little blurry on) to the end of one romance and start of another. There's a kidnapping and a car accident and a heartbreaking hospitalization, and Rory gets put to the test...and then it's the end of the book. I understand needing to set up events for Book Three, but in this case, I felt like Book Two just didn't have enough meat. It didn't have an arc of its own. We didn't spend enough time with the villain or the ghosts who give the book its title. It felt like setup, setup, setup, setup, cliffhanger.

So, while I will certainly read Book Three, hoping for a return to the brilliance of The Name of the Star, I have to confess that The Madness Underneath, by itself, didn't wow me. Too much "middle." I closed the book feeling vaguely disgruntled. (Not cliffhanger-shocked, or sad, or even properly upset—just "meh.") And that was a bummer.

So I picked up Jenny Lawson's humorous memoir Let's Pretend This Never Happened, hoping for an antidote to the "meh." I'm about halfway through as of this writing, and so far it's living up to the hype. Lawson's online alter ego is The Bloggess. I'm not an avid reader of her blog, but I stop by from time to time. Some things she's written have made me laugh to the point of tears. And while I haven't cry-laughed reading her book yet, I've definitely laugh-laughed. Snorted a few times.

Oddly enough, certain moments in the chapters about her childhood remind me of A Girl Named Zippy (some thoughts on that book here). There's that sense, as a child, that your childhood is normal because you don't know anything else—and then the realization, years later, that not everyone grew up with the kind of craziness you endured. For Lawson, it's having a dad who's a taxidermist, whose idea of a great joke to play on your daughters is to gut a roadkill squirrel and use it as a hand puppet. It's drinking possibly poisoned well water because that's what you've got, and having turkeys (that your dad insists on calling quail) follow you to school. I don't want to spoil any more of the stories, because they're better when they unfold in her own rambling words, but it's funny stuff.

I've just reached the point where she meets her future husband, so I'm eager to see where the book goes in her adult life! I know from reading her blog that Lawson struggles with depression and anxiety, and yet writes about those issues with humor and sarcasm. I'm expecting laughter through pain, a profane and inappropriate and offbeat sense of humor, and some genuinely great stories.

What's everyone else reading this week? Any recommendations?

~Kathryn

Summer Dreaming

It's been a pretty dreary month here in New York, weather-wise. It feels like we've had more gray, snowy, sleety days in the past few weeks than we did the rest of the entire winter combined. I enjoy snow...in the winter, where it belongs. But by mid-March, the Southern girl in me is begging for flowers and sunshine. I want to trade my jeans and sweaters for dresses and tights and t-shirts. I want to put away my snow boots and break out the ballet flats. I want to look through our apartment window to see our tree in bloom. So, to combat the winter-in-March blues, I've been dreaming about summertime. I mentioned in my "I Heart NYC" posts (check 'em out here and here) that my husband and I love to explore everything this city has to offer. Yesterday, we started thinking about what we might want to see and do this summer. Among the ideas we tossed around: the Queens Botanical Garden (we've been to the gardens in Brooklyn, The Bronx, and Staten Island—why not see 'em all?); Coney Island (my husband has never been! Maybe I'll even get him on the Cyclone...); and the Museum of the City of New York (NYC history, anyone?).

We're also starting to fill our calendar with our usual summertime faves. We bought a FastPass to the Big Apple BBQ, an annual celebration of all things barbecue (and sides) in Madison Square Park. I'm keeping an eye on the performance dates for this summer's outdoor concerts, from the New York Philharmonic and the Metropolitan Opera to more contemporary acts. I'm pretty confident that thinking about all of these things—and imagining the sun on my shoulders—will get me through these last few chilly weeks!

Whatever we end up doing, I can't wait to document the fun here!

What are your favorite NYC summertime activities? Any can't-miss things Justin and I should check out? Are you as tired of winter as I am?

~Kathryn

Friday Reads: "The Chaperone" by Laura Moriarty

I've been spending a lot of book time lately with angsty teens. (See here, here, and here for some of those reviews!) And yes, most of those characters had very good reasons for being angry or upset or afraid, and I loved all of their books—but all the same, I needed a little break. I needed to spend some book time with an adult. So, I picked up Laura Moriarty's The Chaperone, which my mom gave me for Christmas. I liked it...although I didn't love it in a "I must tell everyone I've ever met to read this book" kind of way. So why write about it here? To my amusement, it tied in really well with everything else I've been reading lately. The book is set mostly in New York City in the 1920s, like Libba Bray's The Diviners (which I read three weeks ago), and...it has an angsty teen at its heart. The main difference is that the protagonist and narrator isn't the teen, but the girl's appointed chaperone, a woman in her mid-30s charged with keeping the angsty teen on the straight and narrow.

The quick synopsis: It's 1922. Cora Carlisle of Wichita, Kansas, agrees to chaperone a young Louise Brooks (who will go on to become one of the biggest stars of silent film) in New York City while 15-year-old Louise attends a dance intensive with Ruth St. Denis and Ted Shawn (legends of modern dance, a small detail that was so cool to me, as a dancer!). Cora has her own motives for going to New York: she spent her first few years in a Catholic orphan's home in Manhattan, before being sent West on a train and placed with adoptive parents. She wants to learn more about her biological parents and her formative years—but Louise turns out to be almost more trouble than the trip is worth. She's sarcastic, critical, and headstrong. She flirts with men twice her age, and older. She escapes one night and comes back drunk on illegal gin. In short, Cora more than has her hands full.

What's funny is that in a Young Adult book, Louise would be the feisty heroine, living life to the fullest (and making often-terrible decisions) while her stodgy, corseted chaperone struggles to keep up. Because her story is told from the grown-up's point of view, however, Louise is mainly annoying. And yet, Cora was just as frustrating a character in many ways. She is rather uptight and stodgy. She gets incredibly self-righteous and lecturing about Louise's "virtue." She's overly hesitant and fearful in scenes where you want her to just "man up" and do something. Even as I was learning more about Cora's past, her adoptive parents, her friendly-but-cool marriage, and her feelings of disconnect, of not having a true home—despite all that, for most of the book, I was rooting for her but not necessarily loving spending time with her.

It's only after that pivotal summer with Louise that Cora gets interesting. I don't want to spoil anything major, but she meets someone who changes her life. She learns something about Louise that changes her perception of her young ward. She goes home a stronger, more tolerant person who cares deeply about making the world a better place for young women, despite sometimes-unpopular opinions about how to accomplish that. And she watches Louise's Hollywood rise and fall, from a distance, with new perspective.

In short, this book surprised me. I liked it, and if you like historical fiction, you might like it, too. There were a few twists that I did not expect and that worked really well to push the story along. And in the end, Cora's growth as a character was extremely satisfying, even if much of the time you spend with her feels like waiting for her to come into her potential. If I had a star rating on this blog, I'd give it 3/5.

Up next... I'm rereading Maureen Johnson's The Name of the Star so that I can immediately move on to the brand-new sequel, The Madness Underneath. So stay tuned for those reviews!

~Kathryn

NYC Teen Author Festival: Change of Scenery, Change of Self

When I was thinking about what to blog about this week, my husband said, "Write about 'Game of Thrones'!" We spent the weekend marathoning seasons one and two in anticipation of season three starting on March 31, and suffice it to say, we're both pretty excited. That said...this post is not about "Game of Thrones." But I keep meaning to read more of the books, so maybe there's a Friday Reads coming up... This week is the NYC Teen Author Festival—a week of readings, panels, and signings from hundreds of authors who write for teens. It's one of my favorite events of the year, and I always try to go to at least a few of the panels. (See the full roster of events HERE!)

Last night, I went to the first panel of the festival: "I'll Take You There: A Change of Scenery, A Change of Self." The panel featured five authors whose recent novels sent the main characters outside of their comfort zones—to Paris (Gayle Forman's Just One Day), on a road trip to California (Kristen-Paige Madonia's Fingerprints of You), on a family vacation to the Outer Banks (Bennett Madison's September Girls), on a family sailboat trip (Melissa Walker's Unbreak My Heart), and to Hollywood and small-town Maine (Jennifer E. Smith's This is What Happy Looks Like). The goal of the panel was to look at how a journey into the unknown (or a known place that becomes new and unknown, once you're there) can foster change within a character and help him or her grow.

I haven't read any of the books that were discussed last night (two aren't even out yet), but I was really interested in this event because, well, the novel I've just finished revising deals with these very themes. In my book, three teens get lost in the Smoky Mountains while on a youth group hiking trip. For my main character, the experience of being apart from almost everyone she knows and fighting to survive helps her find strength she'd lost in "real life." So, I was eager to hear about how other authors dealt with this journey narrative.

I was interested in the relationship between the physical journey and the emotional arc. Some authors had an end point they needed their character to reach, and filled in the vague middle over revision after revision. Maybe they knew where the characters were going, or who they would be at the end of the book, but had to figure out how to physically and emotionally get them there. Other authors (at least one) had a very set itinerary, and built the novel around that itinerary, finding the emotional beats along the way. In several cases, touchstones from home became more powerful the further away from home the characters got; other characters seemed to be liberated by the distance. In each case, it seemed like the authors worked to write characters who, at the beginning of the book, had ROOM TO GROW—even if that made them a little unlikeable or frustrating. Again, I'll have to read these books (they're now on my oh-so-long to-read list...) to see more specific similarities and themes, but overall it was refreshing to hear published authors talk about the issues I've been grappling with in my own work for the past 8-10 months.

The authors stressed that you don't have to send your characters to Paris or Hogwarts or the moon to take them out of their comfort zone—sometimes seeing somewhere you've been before in a new way or moving to a new town or new school can be enough. That's part of why I think this journey narrative is incredibly widespread in teen fiction. The characters are already struggling to shape themselves into the people they want to be (or rebelling against what they're expected to be). They may be different people in different settings, trying out different personas. They may welcome the opportunity to be seen as not who they "normally" are: a good student becomes a risk-taker for a night, or someone everyone believes to be a screw-up has a chance to save the day. Going to a different physical place just enhances the possibility of becoming someone new, learning new things, meeting new people.

All in all—an inspiring, though-provoking evening! I'm hoping to get to at least one other NYC Teen Author Festival event this week. Maybe I'll see you there. :)

And hopefully it won't keep doing this:

Thanks for stopping by and reading!

~Kathryn

Friday Reads: Courtney Summers

This past week, I read three books by the same author: Courtney Summers. She writes raw and real YA contemporary (with one notable exception) in which the characters aren't always likable—in fact, sometimes they're downright unpleasant—and yet you still care tremendously about what happens to them. Not an easy task! But jumping back a little, I first experienced Summers' talent back in January, when a friend recommended the author's debut, Cracked up to Be. She said elements of my own work-in-progress reminded her of this book, so I immediately ordered a copy to check it out. I really enjoyed it. The main character, Parker Fadley, has basically self-destructed. She was cheerleading captain, a great student, an all-around popular girl (despite not always being that nice—something Summers examines in more than one book), and now she's in a downward spiral, drinking too much, on suicide watch. Why? As the back cover copy says, "Something horrible has happened, and it just might be her fault."

Parker is not a nice person. She's angry and spiteful and sarcastic and downright MEAN. But Summers also gives you glimpses into the hurt, scared girl beneath the tough outer persona. For me, those glimpses were the main reason I couldn't put the book down. Something had gone terribly wrong in this girl's life, and not only did I want to find out what it was, I also wanted, and needed, to see her find some relief.

That's a theme that runs through all of Summers' books, as it turns out. I read Some Girls Are, Fall for Anything, and This Is Not a Test over a period of about four days total last weekend and at the start of this week, and while I definitely enjoyed some of them more than others, I came out of that reading spree really admiring Summers' work.

My favorite of those three was Fall for Anything. It's about a girl, Eddie, whose father has just committed suicide. No one saw it coming, and Eddie can't stop looking for a reason why. Her relationships are suffering, too. Her mom is almost catatonic with grief, and her best friend, Milo, feels sidelined as Eddie gets more and more obsessed with solving the mystery of her dad's suicide. When Eddie meets Culler Evans, a former photography student of her father's, they join forces to look for clues based on her father's final photos. But not all questions have answers, and not everything is what it seems...

Eddie's grief and desperation were so real. Each action she took felt like the natural next step for someone who's been sucker-punched by life, who feels adrift and unsupported even while not accepting support from people who care. Even when I started to get that "something's not right" feeling in my gut, I was 100% with the character in her need to believe that she could figure things out. I couldn't put this one down.

I similarly couldn't put down Some Girls Are and This Is Not a Test, even if I didn't enjoy the reading experience quite as much. With Some Girls Are, the reason was sheer brutality. The book was "Mean Girls" on steroids. Regina is best friends with the meanest, most popular girl in school—until she gets caught doing something she shouldn't be doing (and didn't really do) and is unceremoniously booted from the clique. Now unpopular, she is forced to face the fact that as Anna's best friend, she basically alienated everyone else in the school. She spread terrible rumors about people. Got them in trouble. Made people hurt the way she is now hurting. And now that she's on the receiving end of Anna's malice, no one wants to come to her aid.

This book was...well, I already said brutal. Regina takes an emotional battering (and at one point, is actually beat up by her former "friends"). She hits back, too. As desperate and unhappy as she is, she's not a nice person. Just because she knows she's not nice, doesn't mean she knows how to suddenly make it better. She's in survival mode. Attack mode. This is an angry book. From calculating, powerful Anna to her vengeful new sidekick Kara to Regina's raw, nothing-left-to-lose lashing out, these are not characters you want to mess with. I raced through this book, and I felt a little bruised, afterward.

Ditto This Is Not a Test, which is brutal in an entirely different way. The story takes place during a zombie outbreak. This is not a spoiler; it happens in the first chapter and the rest of the book is the characters attempting to survive. However, it was a surprise to me when I got to that page, because I had no idea the book was going to be about zombies. (Yay for not looking at what a book is about before picking it up!) Long story short, I don't do well with zombies. Ghosts, vampires, werewolves, other scary things...okay. Zombies freak me out. I don't know exactly why.

That said, this is only half a zombie book. Most of the story takes place with a group of teens hiding in their old high school. They're barricaded in, scared out of their minds, and so it becomes about the interpersonal relationships and power struggles between them, even as the world ends outside. That's what helped me get through this book—because I wanted to find out what happened to the main character, Sloane, even as I wasn't sure I really wanted to read more about zombies. The kicker is: Sloane was going to kill herself the morning the zombies appeared. Now she is fighting to live, but not sure she wants to.

Each of Summers' books has protagonists dealing with major issues, from death to depression to bullying and beyond. And, none of the books ends with the characters having figured everything out and resolved their issues. Maybe they've figured out what direction to go in, but they've barely started down that road by the final pages. I think that's part of what makes Summers' stories so raw and real. There are no neat tie-ups, no happy conclusions. You get a little bit of hope, but the pain's far from gone.

In short, I'd highly recommend Courtney Summers' work. Just...maybe don't read these books all at once, like I did. If you do, be prepared to need some light, happy reading after. :)

~Kathryn

Intimate and Distant: Liss Fain Dance's "The Water is Clear and Still"

I love seeing dance up close. So close you can see and hear each breath. So close you see individual beads of sweat. I love to see muscles twitching and engaging. From a distance—from a seat in a large auditorium, watching dancers on a traditional proscenium stage—I know the dancers are breathing and sweating and that their muscles are twitching. But there's something different about being so close you can almost experience each of those things alongside the dancers. This past Thursday, I attended a performance by Liss Fain Dance, a San Francisco–based company visiting Brooklyn for two showings of its hour-long piece "The Water is Clear and Still." The show was held in DUMBO's powerHouse Arena, a bookstore, gallery, and performance space. I didn't know anything about the company going in, but I was intrigued by the unusual setting, and by the fact that the audience was encouraged to wander between the piece's sculpture installations, around the perimeter of the dance space, to see the dancers from different angles and vantage points.

In terms of visual interest, "The Water is Clear and Still" didn't disappoint. Because I was standing on the same level as the dancers, rather than sitting and watching them from afar, the piece felt incredibly intimate. Yes, the six dancers and one actor who made up the cast occupied a defined performance space, but I could travel with them around the room. I chose who and what I wanted to see in any given moment. And my perspective in viewing the choreography was constantly shifting. I had dancers moving in my immediate foreground, close enough to touch. Through their stretching limbs and suspended shapes, I could see other dancers moving; audience members on the other side of the room experienced the opposite. In one dizzying and effective moment, the lighting design on the floor began to move—and because I was standing there, too, I suddenly felt like part of the piece. Not once during the evening did I find myself without something arresting to see.

"The Water is Clear and Still" was inspired by a short story collection by Jamaica Kincaid, At the Bottom of the River. Throughout the piece, an actress circled the space, reciting fragments from Kincaid's stories. She was as much a part of the sound score as the music, and I have to confess that there were times when I heard her voice as nothing more than that: sound, rather than words. Because the movement was abstract and didn't directly relate to what was being spoken, it was hard to focus on both. Aside from a section set to Kincaid's "Girl," in which the actress interacted with and manipulated the dancers directly, I heard individual images rather than a clear through-line. Was this frustrating? A little, and probably mostly because I'm a writer. I would have loved to have seen even more connection between the text and the choreography.

Director/choreographer Liss Fain is lucky to have a group of incredibly talented performers at her disposal. Each dancer's technical ability and strong focus worked well not only for the challenging contemporary choreography Fain created, but also for the overall dreamlike aesthetic of the piece. While I wouldn't say I came away from the evening with a clear sense of what differentiates Fain's movement from other technique-driven contemporary dance companies out there, certain movement motifs in this piece did stick with me. Dancers pounding their breasts in unison. Pulling their arms apart, as if drawing back a bow. Promenading slowly in back attitude, wrists circling. The performers were powerful, present movers. Shannon Kurashige in particular kept catching my eye with her precision and control. She danced with complete confidence and wasn't afraid to let go and move with abandon.

Would I recommend this company's work? Definitely! The dancers are skilled and deserve an audience, and the conceptual design of this show made for a fascinating viewing experience. I'm interested to see what else Fain might have up her sleeve. If the company returns to New York—or if you're based on the west coast—consider checking them out. (Go here for more information on Liss Fain Dance.)

~Kathryn

Friday Reads: "Lovely, Dark and Deep" by Amy McNamara

Y'all. This book. THIS BOOK. I finished it on Wednesday night, in bed, late. Had to stay up until I read the last page. Haven't yet been able to pick up a new book. I'm still living with these characters, still recovering from and savoring the journey this book took me on. It was intense and emotional and beautiful. So sad. And so uplifting. And so raw and real.

I want my writing to do to a reader what this book did to me.

Lovely, Dark and Deep is about a girl's slow and painful recovery after a tragedy. Wren has moved from her busy life with her mom in Manhattan to a cold, isolated existence with her dad in the Maine woods. She's pulled away from the friends she had before, pushed away the people who say that she should be moving beyond her grief by now, months after the night that changed her life forever. She spent three months after the car accident that killed her boyfriend not speaking at all, and she still retreats into a deep, comforting silence whenever the world gets too hard, too intrusive, too real.

The book follows Wren through this painful first winter after the accident, as she wavers between wanting to hide forever and being slowly pulled out of her shell of grief by new friends and people who care about her. When she meets Cal, a guy who's facing a struggle of his own, they start to find solace in each other—but she has to decide whether opening up again is worth the possibility of pain that relationships bring.

The language in this book was so evocative and beautiful. Amy McNamara is a poet, and it shows in her prose. Every word counts. The writing in Lovely, Dark and Deep perfectly portrays Wren's emotional state. When she's far away, retreating, being silent, you feel that muffled grief in every sentence. When her pain pierces the surface, you feel that, too. I'm not exaggerating when I say I read most of this book with a tightness in my chest, almost like I was experiencing Wren's emotions along with her. It's part of the reason why I couldn't put it down—I needed the emotional relief I hoped was coming for Wren.

I also have to mention the setting. I saw, so vividly, the world Wren lived in, especially the woods where she runs—woods that are, in the words of Robert Frost that she only partially remembers, "lovely, dark and deep." Snow blankets those woods like grief blankets Wren. The ground is often rocky and treacherous. Icy snow cuts at Wren's ankles. I'm working on a book in which setting is hugely important, as well, and I read McNamara's book almost like a master-class in physical description and emotional resonance.

Have I gushed enough yet? Do you need to hear more about Cal, the kind, stubborn (and cute) love interest dealing with a loss that's the same as and also different from Wren's? Should I mention that for all the sadness in this book, it's also filled with hope?

Needless to say: Read Lovely, Dark and Deep. I know I'll be thinking about it for a long time to come.

~Kathryn

Venturing Outside the Comfort Zone

So, I'm leading a writing workshop tonight at Postmark Cafe in Park Slope. And I'm excited! I'm also a little nervous. But mostly excited! The workshop is part of an ongoing series of events my church has been hosting. I was enlisted in January by the event coordinator to lead "something to do with writing," topic/structure of my choice. When she asked me, I was flattered and interested. Then, after I said yes, the nerves set in. This will be my first real workshop — the first I'm leading on my own. I was a TA in grad school, and ended up lead-teaching half a semester of undergrad Shakespeare when the professor had some health issues, but it's been two and a half years since that last teaching experience. I'm feeling a little rusty.

Another element that makes this both really interesting and a little nerve-wracking is that the workshop isn't entirely about writing. I'm expecting a mix of writers and non-writers. My primary goal won't be to improve the participants' writing. (Though obviously, that would be a nice side-effect!) Instead, I'm using a writing exercise to launch reflection and group discussion. I'm hoping that everyone will jump into the free-writing portion, with my guidance, and then will be willing to share what they wrote and talk about what everyone else wrote. I'm hoping, in short, not to hear crickets chirp when I'm done with the introduction and explanation portion of the evening.

So what is my workshop about? I'm going to use Joe Brainerd's I Remember as a jumping-off point for people to write their own "I remember..." stories. It's not an uncommon workshop idea. I had variations on this assignment in two different workshops in grad school, and both times, the results were really interesting and useful to me as a writer. However, because tonight's workshop has the church connection, we'll specifically look at memories related to spirituality/church/faith. I want to find commonalities and discussion points among people's memories about the turning points in their spiritual journeys, whatever those might be. Questions, concerns, and realizations. Ups, downs, and in-betweens. Certainties and doubts.

I have my lesson plan. I've made handouts. (What writing workshop is complete without handouts?) I've got my notes on what I want to be sure to say, and I've got an idea for what I'll write during the free-writing time, so I don't draw a blank when I'm trying to inspire everyone else to write. I have a handful of extra pens and a stack of notebook paper. I think I'm ready!

I have no idea how many people to expect. It's a one-time thing, and it's a Tuesday, and people have lives. I have my fingers crossed for enough people that I won't feel like I'm talking to tumbleweeds, but not so many that it doesn't feel personal. I don't know quite what that number is; I guess I'll find out. And I hope they're talkative, but not so talkative that they don't write. And I hope I'm ready to think on my feet, because I know from past teaching experiences that I'll have to!

Regardless of how it goes, I'm eager to share something that I'm passionate about — writing — in a new context. I'm grateful for the opportunity to try something new and to step outside my comfort zone, both in terms of leading a workshop, period, and in terms of the writing portion of the workshop being a means to an end, rather than the end itself. And who knows — maybe it will go so well that people will want to do it again! Fingers crossed...

Any advice from the peanut gallery for tonight?

~Kathryn :)