Thought youse might be interested in a new interview with me and Ekaterina Sedia (who wrote the truly marvelous Secret History of Moscow) that just went up at Fantasy Magazine. The interview was conducted by the insightful Tempest Bradford and was all about what it’s like to be a foreignor in the US of A something me and Ekaterina know a lot about. It’s one of the most enjoyable interviews I’ve done. Any time I’m not asked to describe my books, I’m happy.
Thanks to everyone for all the photos. You are all the bestest and most wondrous people EVER! As Jeff Fenech would say, “I love youse all!”
It was kind of weird to see how many photos there are of me and Scott I never knew existed. Eerie even . . .
I would like to take this opportunity to publicly apologise to my sister, Niki Bern, as well as my good friend, Cat Sparks. I’m sorry I’m always so recalcitrant about having my photo taken. You were both right that some day I would be happy you both insist on documenting everything.
That said, I now no longer need to have my photo taken ever again. Hallelujah! I shall keep intact what tiny bit of my soul is left.
Because some of you have expressed curiosity here is one photo for every year Scott and me have been together. Enjoy! We certainly have.
2001: Our wedding day. Upstate New York. (Photo by Phyllis Bobb.)
2002: On the Woomera Prohibited zone in South Australia to see a total eclipse. (Photo by Sean Williams.)
2003: Goofing around with Adrian Hobbs in Newtown back home in Sydney. (Photo by Olivia Rousset.)
2004: At the SFWA drinks night. (Thanks Liza Trombi and Locus for sending the photo.)
2005: With Andrew Woffinden and Lauren McLaughlin in London. (Photo by Niki Bern.)
2006: At the Lake Hills Library in Bellevue, Washington. (Photo by Shelly Clift. Thanks!)
2007: On our way to the National Book Awards.
Jill Lepore has an excellently entertaining piece in The New Yorker about Benjamin Franklin’s whimsy. Being Australian, I’m not a Benjamin Franklin expert. For instance I didn’t know that he’s the originator of many aphorisms, such as “Early to Bed, and early to rise, makes a Man healthy, wealthy and wise”. An aphorism that really pissed off Mark Twain: “The sorrow that that maxim has cost me through my parents’ experimenting on me with it, tongue cannot tell.” As someone who is also troubled by mornings and in love with staying up late, I sympathise.
My fave of Franklin’s sayings is “He that lives upon Hope, dies farting.” Of which Lepore notes, “Scholars have suggested that the last one was a printer’s error, and should have read ‘fasting,’ but, I ask you, who was the printer?” Answer: Benjamin Franklin.
Tee hee. Farting . . . I think I have become a Benjamin Franklin fan.
Speaking of fabulous people, my sister, Niki Bern, has her new show reel up, which consists of scenes from well-known movies for which she has wrought most excellent digital effects. I’m so proud! Be warned though that it is a Very Big File. Go, Niki!
I will confess that I was nervous about going to High Voltage ConFusion. There were several reasons for this:
I need not have had any concerns at all. I was right that most of the people there didn’t know us or our work (unless they were a teen librarian or had teen children—there were precious few actual teens in attendance). But it turned out to be a really good thing. No pressure and no expectations. It was really relaxing. One of the most relaxing weekends I’ve had in ages.
Mostly because of Anne Murphy, our liaison. I had no idea that guests of honour get someone to take care of them. It was fabulous. Anne made sure we were fed and happy. She is the best liaison of all time. Thank you, Anne! Why can’t she take care of us all the time? We’re lost without you, Anne!
There was much fun. The Opening Ceremonies were hilarious. A picture of which below. Scalzi interviewing us was very silly and totally enjoyable. Though I was bummed he didn’t bring up unicorns or quokkas.
We got to design our own panels. Thank you so much con organisers for indulging us! And thus were able to vent about stuff that’s been bugging us for ages. Why is there so little sport in fantasy and sf? Why did our audience turn on us during that panel back in Boston in 2004? Do they really just love wheat?
Thus the wheat panel which was FABULOUS therapy for me and Scott, though audience members expecting us to follow the panel description might have been disappointed. Sorry about that! But thank you for not turning on us. You were the best audience ever. Actually, all the panel audiences were smart and engaged and awesome. Me and Scott were dead chuffed that as the weekend went on more and more folks were showing up to hear us gasbag and pontificate. Yay!
The sport panel was also wonderful. Though we had way too much to say and not enough time to say it in. I especially loved that the audience was almost entirely women. Hah! There was also a sports writer, Dave Hogg, in the audience (he really should have been on the panel) who turned out—along with his partner—to be a huge Detroit Shock fan. Go, WNBA! We had an excellently geeky women’s hoops gossip.
I’ll admit that my last few cons had left me with panel fatigue. But now I love them all over again. I wish I’d gotten to see some of the panels I wasn’t on. I heard that all of Kevin Dunn’s (the science guest of honour) were brilliant. He explained soap and and all sorts of other Caveman Chemistry. I can’t wait to read his book.
You’ll be shocked to hear, however, that the best fun was not had during the panels, but at the parties and in the bar, and just generally hanging out. The ConFusion organisers and regulars are the best people on the planet. Seriously I got into so many great conversations and arguments and teasing contests. I can’t wait to go back!2
May I share with you the three best words in the world?
Roaming Pirate Party
Thanks again, Hugh, for the photo.
I haz met the Roaming Pirate Party. They haz rum3 and pirate hats and jollity by the galleon load. Best pirates ever! I shall treasure my pirate hat and t-shirt for ever!
We got to catch up with old friends like Karen Meisner, John & Krissy Scalzi, and Doselle Young. Why don’t they all live MUCH closer to me? I miss you all already. Waahh!! Not to mention making stacks of new friends. You know who you are! Yanni! Brian! Aaron! And SO MANY OTHERS! You all made it the best weekend ever.
Hell, we even got to see a movie: Cloverfield and it were good. Very good indeed.
If anyone needs a guest of honour me and Scott are so up for it!
I have returned home to oceanic amounts of work. It is crazed!
But I must tell you briefly about the Juvenilia panel at High Voltage ConFusion before it all fades from my memory.
Short version: Best. Panel. Ever.
Longer version: It were me, Scott and Merrie Haskell. I cheated and read cute stuff from when I was 7 or 8. And some pretentious 10 year old stuff. They were brave and read teenage monstrosities so bad that we wept on account of laughing so hard. WEPT!
John Scalzi moderated and he was so appalled by the pretentious badness of Scott’s writing that he couldn’t look at Scott directly. It was AWESOME.
The best lines were:
Merrie Haskell: “Keeper of
EarthGaia,” the Light One said arrogantly, “I honor you with my manhood.”Scott Westerfeld: Recognition of the House of Eleven took no long time, and the lady midst the compliment was none other than wench Mary, a liaress whom I had met before in the rank combats of her style, and who had left more than one of the Clan Demonus with garrote between chin and breathless breast.
Oh no, I starts to laugh all over again . . .
Heh hem. In addition to being really really really funny. Sharing our crappy writing from when we were beginning writers has the salutary effect of making it clear to those what aspire to be published writers but aren’t there yet that we published folk didn’t step fully formed from Zeus’s head. There was lots and lots and lots of bad words and phrases and sentences and stories and novels written before we were good enough to be read by anyone other than our doting parents.
Every con should have a juvenilia panel. I’ve been on two. The other one was in Brisbane in 2006 with Kim Wilkins and Sean Williams. It was just as fabulous and funny as the ConFusion one. Better in a way because the audience was much bigger thus more people got to laugh at our stumbling first writing steps.
The reason for which are posted most indiscreetly on Scott’s blog.
I’d just like to share with you my favourite photo so far:
Kevin Dunn (science guest of honour) plus me and me old man at High Voltage Confusion in Detroit.
Why pirate hats you ask? If I told you I’d have to kill you.
And, yes, if you have any other photos of us we’d love to see ’em.
Thank you so much everyone for all the photos you’ve pointed us to. We REALLY appreciate it!
Congratulations to all the Printz honorees and winner. What a fabulous line up! Can’t wait to read ’em all!
I’m especially pleased to see Geraldine McCaughrean and Elizabeth Knox on that list. They’re two of the best writers in the world right now. Regardless of genre.
I’m a little disappointed by some of the whingeing I’ve seen from people who are upset that they’ve never heard of any of the Printz honorees. Isn’t that one of the points of literary awards? To draw our attention to books that might otherwise be overlooked? Every award jury is devoted to finding the best books they can that are eligible for their particular award. Eligibility is not determined by copies sold or size of publicity campaign. That’s a good thing!
One of the reasons there’s sometimes little overlap between the Printz and the National Book Award is that they have a different pool of eligible books. The National Book Award is restricted to books by US citizens. The Printz is restricted to books published in the US, thus this year there was an English winner (McCaughrean), a New Zealander (Knox), and an Australian (Judith Clarke). None of whose books were eligible for the National Book Award.
I like awards that surprise me. I’m thrilled that it looks like all the YA Awards this year are going to have different lists. It points to how rich and diverse our field is. The number of outstanding YA books being published goes up and up every year.
Here’s one thing that both the Printz and the National Book Award had in common this year—they both honored a book that is out-and-out, no-denying-it genre. Kathleen Duey’s Skin Hunger and A. M. Jenkins’s Repossessed and you can make a strong argument for Dreamhunter and Dreamquake as well. That makes this obsessive genre reader very happy indeed.
Thanks so much for all the responses to the grandmother question. Fascinating! Plus I might use some of your responses in my next book, which has surprised me by being set entirely in the US of A with no Australian characters. Gulp.
I just read the first few chapters to Scott and he reckons my only misstep was the word “posh”, which I had my teenage protag use to describe a super-expensive private school. Which left me wondering what word you’d use instead. What’s the USian equivalent of “posh”?
I’ve had “classy” suggested but it doesn’t work for me because “posh” also has connotations of being a bit stuck up, and hard to get into, not merely expensive. Something can be “classy” but not expensive; a person can be “classy” without being “rich”. Scott says “fancy schmancy” or “hoity toity” but those sound to me like they come from the stone ages.
I suspect I’ll be asking more such questions over the coming months.
To be honest, when I first heard him say it I thought he was making it up. He has more than once tried to convince me something was USian or Texan that was merely Scottian. He likes to trick the dumb foreignor. But then I heard his nieces calling his mother “mee-maw”, so unless he briefed them ahead of time and they’re amazingly good actors, I’m ready to believe some Texans really call their grandmothers “mee-maw”.
Scott’s convinced that calling your grandmother “nana” is an Eastern European thing, but I know plenty of other Aussies with no Eastern European background who call their grandmothers “nana”.
So I’m driven to do some empirical research: Where are you from and what do (did) you call your grandmother? For extra credit: what do/did you call your grandfather? I called mine “papa”; Scott called his “grampa”.
On New Year’s Eve, thanks to regular reader, Marrije, I was surrounded by palm trees. Okay, just the one palm tree. A palm tree that required a certain amount of assemblage:
before it was fully grown:
How can it be cold when there’s a palm tree in the house?
Thanks, Marrije!
I cannot tell you how bizarre and funny I find this:
The picture does not capture how insanely long the queue was. As I walked past I was wondering what rare and amazing thing they were lining up for. Concert tickets? The best chocolate in the world? Gold statues of quokkas?
Nope. They was in line for ugg boots. Ugg boots! Who in their right mind would queue up to buy Ugg boots?
I shake my head in disbelief.
My deadline is still not met. Many obstacles keep piling up to keep me from it. I will not list them all since they are boring as well as annoying but one of them involves my webmistress duties.
Until the deadline is vanquished there will be only sketchy posting here. I will also continue to not answer email, the phone, courier pigeons, or smoke signals. Sorry! Though if you do hear from me and I haven’t achieved deadline vanquishment you should yell at me to get back to work.
I will try to put up an occasional poll so you don’t all die of boredom. Feel free to complain about them in the comments. Yes, I am referring to you, Mr Eric Luper. Which reminds me to mention that I can see when someone votes from multiple machines. Nice try, Eric. Your jerboas still lost despite half their votes coming from you!
The latest poll may reflect this Aussie girl’s state of mind on finding herself far from home not long after a momentous election in weather colder than anything she ever experienced at home in Sydney. I would sell my left knee to have a meal at Spice I Am right now . . .
Regarding the previous post some people wanted to know whether not having an oven is de rigeur in New York City. I have seen flats here that have no kitchen at all and yet I still believe most flats in New York City come equipped with ovens. However, some of those do not work. One such is the oven in this flat. The oven does not work, nor does the grill, but three of the burners on the cook top function. (Mostly.) I suspect this may be typical of New York City flats . . .
For those who are annoyed that my “How To Rewrite” post still hasn’t gone up. A quick tip: when thinking about structure some writers find Shakespeare’s five acts the way to go. Or you could try the standard Hollywood three-act model. Or you could just wing it.
For those annoyed that I haven’t written about manga lately. I endorse The Drifting Classroom.
So that I can better get to know what you, the reader, thinks, I have added a poll thingie to the sidebar.1
The first poll is about winter because I need to know if the total darkness before 5PM and constant cold and the only decent fruit & veg being apples and pumpkin is bumming out anyone other than me.2 Tell me I am not alone!
That it’s December and I’m still stuck in the Northern hemisphere fills my soul with despair.
Here have some more quokkas:
More sunshine & quokkas. Look what the peoples wear! Lucky, lucky bastards.
Okay, that didn’t make it warmer or lighter or less depressing here . . .
Update: I have just learned that creating a new poll instantly replaces the old one. I’d planned to leave the winter poll up for awhile but I done killed it. Thus there is a new poll, which I will not tinker with until next Sunday. This is my punishment for futzing about with the blog3 when I should be nosegrinding towards my deadline. I am bad.
Update 2: I don’t even know how I broke the poll this time. I am turning the internets off and stapling myself to the grindstone.
Update 3: Stupid poll software. I kick it.
Not!
While we were in Chicago for the Great Lakes Booksellers Association conference in October, me, John Scalzi and Scott Westerfeld recorded a podcast in which he purportedly interviews us about our books. Zombies do come up—cause really when writers get together what else are they gonna talk about?
Apparently this is part 1 of the convo. Will keep you posted when the rest of it goes up.
P.S. Scalzi’s pronunciation of my surname is prefectly accurate. I was just teasing him.
I dies.
I think I’m going to have to learn Fahrenheit cause 31 sounds lovely to me while -1 makes me want to cry.
I have not been outside today. Partly due to the dread evil deadlines and partly because it’s -1 out there! Bits of me could freeze and fall off!
How am I going to make it to the end of January?
Aaargghh!!!
In Australia voting is compulsory. Everyone is expected to do it. Basically that’s because everything back home is geared towards making voting as easy as possible. Over here in the US of A it often seems to me like everything is organised to make voting as difficult as possible. What’s up with that?
In Australia if you don’t vote you pay a fine. Some people routinely pay the fine. Others who don’t want to vote register their dissatisfaction by filling out their ballot wrong or donkey voting. Often by scrawling a message across the ballot. Usually their message is a bit on the rude side. That’s fine. They’ve done their democratic duty. They showed up. The percentage of people who donkey vote is pretty small.
Some people object that many people are too stupid or ill-informed to vote.
Sure, I respond. But who’s going to make that determination? I kind of think what you just said is stupid and ill-informed. Should you be banned from voting? I think liking certain books by certain unnamed writers is stupid and ill-informed. Should they be banned as well?
Others say that voting should only be for the people who care passionately about the issues. When voting isn’t compulsory then only those who really care vote.
The problem with that is many of the people who really care are kind of crazy. Fanatics even. Who wants to live in a country where it’s mainly the fanatics voting?
Non-compulsory voting also leads to campaigns to stop the people you think will vote against you from voting. See: Florida and Ohio. It also leads to doing everything you can to get people you might be able to persuade to vote for you to the polls. Sometimes this is done in less than honest ways.
So you USians can give us limited terms and we’ll give you compulsory voting. You might also want a spot of preferential voting1 and weekend voting. Or at least have a national holiday. Also you could probably lose the Diebold voting machines. Other than that you’re good.
There’s a lot I don’t like about the US political system, but there’s one thing they have absoluately right: No head of state should be in power for more than eight years.
I think John Howard has demonstrated this truth as did Robert Menzies before him and Margaret Thatcher and Tony Blair in the UK.
I agree with George Washington that any one person staying in power for too long starts to stink of monarchy.1 It leads to corruption and to the one person believing that they are more important than party or country. This is not a good thing.
I would love Australia to adopt four-year terms and also a provision that says no one can be elected to the office of Prime Minister for more than two terms.2
So today is a big ole USian holiday where at some point you’re all supposed to give thanks for all the stuff that’s making you thankful. It’s called—wait for it—Thanksgiving. We have no equivalent in Australia. Though we do have, Australia Day, where we commemorate the successful invasion of Australia by white people. As you can imagine the indigenous population consider it to be a day of mourning.1 The USian Thanksgiving has an equally complicated history.
But all that aside, I love the idea of a day given over to thankfulness. Here’s what I’m thankful for:2
What silly little things are you all grateful for?
I so wish I was back home right now. I’d get to follow the cricket and the election. It would be warm. The sun wouldn’t be setting just a few hours after it rose. No one would be asking me about my accent. People would know that Errol Flynn is Australian. I’m sick of being a foreignor. Back home I don’t have to explain myself nearly so often. I can’t tell you how tiring it gets.
If I was in Sydney right now I would go for a long walk. I’d hear flying foxes in the trees. I’d smell all the night flowering plants. I’d watch the light sparkling on the harbour. I’d be HOME. And I’d go to Forbes & Burton for breakfast. I miss you, Adrian! I miss all my friends and family back home.
Where do you wish you were right now?
By the way, I’m not at all sure this understanding [about money] goes up to the CEO’s office; how can it, when that CEO can be handed sixty million dollars just for quitting? Someday I must tell you the story of the famous exec who said, “Why not make this character middle-class? Let’s say he makes $300,000 a year—” and the writers all stared at him.
That’s right the folks who are keeping the writers from having a fair cut of the work they create think $300 grand a year for one person is a middle class wage. Words completely fail me. It’s like those people who crap on about the outrageous amount male basketball players earn but don’t say a word about the insane earnings of the people who own and run the teams and leagues. An athlete’s career is short and physically dangerous.2 Execs get to keep on raking it in when they’re old and grey.
You really have to wonder at a world where it’s the executives around the creative folks who make the obscene amounts of money while most of the creatives are grateful to be paid at all.
Now, to be clear I am not referring to the producers or any of the other staff who are currently out of work because of this strike. That’s right, this strike means lots of people, not just writers, are going to be without pay for the duration. And most of those people—unlike the writers—don’t have a strike fund to keep them going. Not that the big bosses up top give a damn about any of them.
I believe I’ve ranted enough.
I’ve been thinking about do-rags of late. Until I came to the US of A I’d never even heard the term before. I’m not even sure what I used to call them anymore.
Anyways what I’ve been thinking is how come when some people put on a do-rag they look like a gangsta, or a pirate, or a gangsta pirate, or just cool? Yes, I’m looking at you, Holly Black! And when other people put them on they look like a peasant or a cleaning lady?
I fall into the latter category, which I’ve decided is fitting as I’m definitely from peasant stock on both sides of the family, and I once worked as a cleaning lady. Twas one of my many jobs while I was an undergraduate. To be honest I liked it heaps better than being a receptionist or a waitress. It paid better too.
I comfort myself by thinking that with my do-rag on I look like a kind of cool cleaning lady, but I suspect I’m deluding myself.
Update: Thanks to Scalzi, I have just learned that Noah and the other builders of the ark all wore do-rags. I’m trying to decide if they look like gangstas, pirates, or cleaning ladies.
I’ve been cooking with pumpkin a lot of late.1 Mostly butternut because I loves it. But also spaghetti cause, well, weird! And I’m starting to experiment with pumpkins I’d never seen before. The US is the land of gourds. But I’m running out of ideas.
Here’s the thing though: I do not have a working oven or grill. All I have is gas burners on top of the stove. I can boil, I can steam, I can fry. I cannot bake or grill.
Thus far I’ve made pumpkin stir fry, pumpkin curry, lots of different pumpkin salads,2 steamed pumpkin with herb3 garlic butter, pumpkin mash, pumpkin soup, and pumpkin fritters. I’ve discovered that pumpkin and maple syrup are a match made in heaven.4
Anyone got any other ideas? But PLEASE no recipes requiring an oven or a grill. Pumpkin pie and scones are not a possibility in this particular New York kitchen.
Thank you!
A friend will be in town next week to meet her agent and some editors who are interested in her writing. She is very nervous and asked me what to expect. I directed her to agent Kristin Nelson’s blog where a while back she gave the lowdown on the shennanigans that take place at agent-editor lunches. It’s shocking stuff!
They eat food and gossip! Who’d’ve thunk it?
I then revealed to my friend that the exact same thing happens at editor-author lunches. Food is et and (rarely) wine is drunk, and the publishing industry, family, friends, mutual acquaintances, as well as Ugly Betty, and books just read are discussed and dissected. Much fun is had.
I found this all very puzzling when I had my first lunch with an editor. I was an unpublished wannabe. A writer friend of mine had arranged for me to meet her editor. She’d described me and my writing in very fulsome terms and the editor had asked to meet me even though she hadn’t read my book yet (very unusual).
I was very very very VERY nervous. I spent days practising pitches, figuring out how best to describe my finished novel, and all the other ones I had on the boil. Come the day though, the subject of my writing never even came up. The editor did not ask a single question about my finished manuscript, about what I was working on, where I saw myself in five years, what kind of speech I planned to give when I accepted the Nobel—nothing like that. Instead we talked about the publishing industry, mutual acquaintances (actually our one mutual acquaintance—the writer friend who set us up), as well as Buffy (it was a while ago), and books just read were discussed and dissected. Much fun was had. Hmmm, I thought, What was this lunch about then? Why did we talk about everything under the sun other than my book?
Years later, when I was published and had an actual writing career, a different editor took me out to lunch. I’d been told this editor was a big fan of my work and very interested in publishing me. (I agreed to have lunch because I was curious and because I’m extremely attracted to free lunches especially at really good restaurants.1) However, over lunch the subject of my writing never came up. I was not lavished with praise or wooed, instead we—you guessed it—gossiped about the publishing industry, mutual acquaintances, and books we loved and hated. It was excellently diverting, but not at all what I’d expected.
So what are those lunches about? Kristin Nelson says they’re about creating a connection, getting to know each other, figuring out if there’s any possibility you could work together. The writing stands or falls on its own. If the editor who took you out to lunch reads your ms. and hates it then that’s that. Doesn’t matter how charmed she was by you over lunch. Or that you both share a passion for mushroom hunting, or American Gothic, or the Angelique books, or all three—if she’s not into your book you remain unpublished.
For me it means those lunches are both less and more intimidating. Less because you’re very unlikely to have to pitch your book—something I’m not that good at. But more because what they’re really doing is seeing if they like you. I don’t know about you, dear readers, but that reminds me of my first day at school, hoping that I wouldn’t say or do the wrong thing and that someone would like me. I had many first days of school and it never got less terrifying.
On the other hand, pretty much every lunch I’ve had with an agent or editor has gone really well: editors and agents are my people. We almost always love the same things: not least of which is books and publishing. We have a tonne to say to each other. I cannot remember a dud lunch2. So that nervous-first-day-of-school feeling usually evaporates within a few minutes and is completely gone by the time you find that one book that’s sold millions that you both hate.
So my advice is relax and enjoy. If you can . . .
Oh, and don’t spill water all over the person taking you out. I’ve done that. Not a good look. At least it wasn’t red wine . . .
There are many Australian writers in town at the moment and there has been much socialising to celebrate.1 I can’t tell you how much fun it is to be in NYC and not be the only Aussie in the room.2 Especially when the other Aussies are fabulous folks like Deb Biancotti, Rob Hood, Margo Lanagan, Garth Nix, Cat Sparks, Trevor Stafford, and Jonathan Strahan. Much fun has been had.3
And much teasing has been teased. Aussies are a much more teasing people than most of my USian friends. It’s been such a relief to have several sessions of full-bore teasification. The Aussies were excellently mean to me. Such bliss.
In the course of this teasefest I realised that I have a friend who is unteasable.
Now I have friends I don’t tease cause I know they’ll get upset. Making people cry is not fun. Many USians fall into this category. But I have a dear friend I have never teased simply because it has never occurred to me to do so. I know she would not cry. She is not an easily offended person. I mentioned her unteasability to her. She says no one has ever teased her, or mocked, or been mean to her. Not at school, not at university, not ever.
Isn’t that bizarre?
I have been trying to figure out why this is so and if I’ve ever met anyone else who was so unteasable.
I can’t think of a single person.
My first theory is that it’s because she’s so unflappable. But I have other unflappable friends I tease and mock. So I’m not sure that’s why. Then I thought maybe it was because she does not tease. But that’s not true she teases her husband all the time.
I am at a loss and must study the problem further.
How about you lot? Are you unteasable? Have you ever known anyone who could not be teased?
To all of those who wrote asking for my insomnia cure: I promise I’ll write about it as soon as I have time. Last week was insane. And next week looks like more of the same with all the Aussie events and deadlines and blah blah blah1. Don’t forget to come see me and Margo Lanagan and Garth Nix and Scott and Jonathan Strahan at Books of Wonder.
Yesterday I did an appearance with Scott out at the Bronx Library Centre. It was fabulous! The ninth graders are part of the Gear Up program and if they’re an example—that program totally works. They were one of the smartest, funniest, and most engaged group I’ve had the good luck to hang out with.
I’ve been trying for some time to figure out a way to write about how incredibly moving some of these events we do with teenagers can be but I just don’t seem to be able to express how I feel about them without coming across all saccharine and cloying. When someone tells you that they feel like they are one of your characters or that before they read your book they’d hated reading . . . well, words really do fail.
Let’s just say yesterday was incredible. I wish I had remembered to let them know that Jay-Tee (the character a few of them identified with so strongly) is from the Bronx! I am such a der brain.
Thanks so much, Jack and Carole, for inviting us.
And thanks, too, for all the fascinating responses about sleep and dreams. You make me want to go back to bed perchance to dream of the best novel or manga idea of all time.
Okay, now back to work!
At 44, Westerfeld isn’t just another pretty face. With his cropped, sandy hair, furrowed brow and somewhat lumpy nose, he’s not “pretty” at all, but he understands the calculus of beauty and fame that wields increasing power in young-adult lives.
His nose is not lumpy! I love that nose! He is too pretty!1
That Ms. Goodnow better not cross my path any time soon. Grrr!
If you skip that one evil and wrong paragraph it’s actually not a bad article. I spose.
We’re two Saturdays away from an all-Aussie (+ one permanent resident) fantasy explosion: the Printz-honour genius Margo Lanagan, editor extraordinaire Jonathan Strahan, bestselling author of the Sabriel and Keys series Garth Nix, not to mention Aussie-by-marriage Scott Westerfeld, oh, yeah, and me!
Has there ever been such a line up?
No, there has not.
Saturday, 27October 27
3-5PM
Books of Wonder
18 West 18th Street
New York, NY
Stick it in your dairy. Tattoo the details on your little brother’s cheek ((Okay, don’t really do that. That would be wrong.). Carn out and see us!
We’ll read (a little), answer all your questions (almost), and teach you how to talk Australian (maybe).
There are two golden rules of the book tour:
That is all.
Now I’m being asked if formal shorts are okay. I love that you’re writing me for fashion advice! Yay! Cause I have the requisite strong opinions, but can you do a little research first? I’ve been over this one before.
Formal shorts are an abomination. They are worse even than footless tights.
You know what isn’t an abomination?
Awesome hand-made T-shirts like this one. I wish Scott had taken a photo of Liset’s face as well because she also had the coolest make up and hair, but he’s been scared off by all those schools that have no-photo policies.1 For the record: We always ask when we take photos and if it’s also okay to post them.
What other clothing are you guys loving right now? Share!
I saw a woman at Seattle airport who had gold strands woven into her hair and the whole thing was pulled up into the most amazing do. I wish I’d taken a photograph. She looked like a goddess. And her hair perfectly matched the rest of her outfit which was also black and gold. Hmmm, it prolly sounds a bit dire, but, trust me, she was turning heads in a really good way.
One of the fabulous things about this tour is seeing how popular so many of my friends are.
At a book shop on the outskirts of Chicago I saw this:
I pointed it out to Scott. “Look! Someone here loves Cassie’s book. And they have a tonne of copies!” (There were more in piles above and below this book shelf.)
The bookseller who wrote that shelf talker overheard me:
“You know Cassie Clare?! Oh. My. God. I LOVED that book so much!!! She is a genius! I have loved her ever since I read her Secret Diaries!”
At a school in Walnut Creek, California lots of the kids had painted posters of their favourite books. The room was full of them:
I checked each one, looking for a book by one of my friends, and lo and behold what did I find?
Maureen Johnson’s Thirteen Little Blue Envelopes.
During tonight’s fabulous event at Copperfield books in Petaluma praise was heaped on Holly Black, Libba Bray, Cecil Castellucci, Cassie, Maureen, and Garth Nix. It was joyous to hear. And, yes, I was bad, I boasted about knowing them all!
Book tours are fun!
Last night we went to Anderson’s books in Naperville, Illinois. Much fun was had. Scott explained the origins of the Uglies series and of Extras. The first is all about our society’s beauty obsession; the second deals with the fame thing. There was lots of Q & A. The questions were ridiculously smart and interesting and there didn’t seem to be a single person who hadn’t read at least three or four of Scott’s books so he didn’t have to worry too much about spoilers.
During the hours and hours that he was signing for the smart and very appreciative crowd I got to hang out with some fabulous folk who were readers of my books and/or blog. At least three librarians came up to tell me how much they and their patrons enjoy my books. Yes!
I had a blast gossiping about favourite books, which is, naturally, my favourite topic of conversation ever. I was totally stoked to discover that my raving about the genius of Megan Whalen Turner’s Attolia trilogy had influenced some people to pick the books up and read them. Yay!1 Also I found someone who loved Meredith Anne Pierce as much as I do!2 Double yay!
The photo is of Jez and her friends (whose names I’ve forgotten—sorry!) Thanks so much for all the manga recommendations. You guys are fabulous.
I wish I could remember everyone’s name. The folks I talked to were all so wonderful, but the only people I got a chance to say goodbye to were Jez and her friends. Sorry about that! Was wonderful meeting you all.
Phoenix won the WNBA finals. I am so very happy. I LOVE their style of play. I love Penny Taylor and Cappie Pondexter and Kelly Miller and Diana Taurasi. They are awesomeness personified. They SO deserved to win.
And Detroit totally dogged it. They have not looked that good these playoffs. They barely got past the New York Liberty. Same against Indiana. They did not deserve to win overall. Plus Bill Laimbeer drives me insane. That said Deanna Nolan is probably the most gorgeous shooter I have ever seen. I’d happily watch her play all day long. And Cheryl Ford is crazy strong and brave.
Next year the Liberty are going to knock Detroit out. Oh, yes, we will!
Libba Bray1 is the best friend a girl could have. Look what she done gived me:
I screamed.
Do you notice the choking hazard warning? And that the evil uni***n is call “Destructicorn”?
Happy sigh.
Have any of you seen High School Musical? I think it may be the most conflict-free movie I’ve ever watched. Quite astonishing. I admit I was a tad disappointed by the choreography. The dance sequences were much better in She’s the Man. Also how come there were so few songs? And is that the richest high school in all of the US of A? The size of the gym! and the theatre! and the gorgeous patio! Wow. Also the basketball team had about twelve different uniforms. Way more than the New York Liberty have.
Speaking of the WNBA. The last of the finals is on tomorrow. Let’s go Phoenix!
I really love libraries and Librarians too and I was wondering what do I need to do, besides talk to my librarian, to become one? I am going to be his aide this year but I don’t think that’s enough. Any advice or ideas?
Now I know at least a few librarians read this blog. Can you give Hillary! some guidance? I’m pretty sure she’s from the US of A. You have to get a degree in library studies, right? I know that’s what you need in Australia.
From my casual observation there seems to have been a big growth in the number of specialist teen librarians. Is that right? On the other hand, I keep reading about libraries closing from lack of funding. Are there plenty of jobs out there? What are librarians paid? Is it as low as it is for editors1?
A negative review of Poppy Z. Brite’s Soul Kitchen takes issue with her dialogue:
dialog—atrocious. do you realize that Rickey never once calls G-Man, his life partner, by his name? its always “Hey, dude.” “Yeah, dude?” “Dude!” between them. holy Bill & Ted! is that believable? is this how lovers talk?
A whole bunch of peoples—including Poppy Z. Brite—show up to say, “Yeah, Dude, that is what I call my lover/spouse/life partner/best friend/random acquaintances/vet/dog/neighbour etc.”
It is funny.
Personally, I do not call Scott “Dude”; I call Scott “Scott”. But he calls me “Dude” and a billion other things, but almost never “Justine”. Americans seem to have this weird allergy to calling their spouse/partner/lover by their actual name. It’s all “sweetie” and “sugar” and other weird things I can’t even bring myself to type. I am not much for cutesie names. I prefer “Dude” to “Darling”. But I like being called Justine best of all.
What do you call your main squeeze?
And, by the way, the reviewer of Brite’s book is smoking crack. She couldn’t write a bad sentence if she tried.
Maureen put together a vid of hers and Scott’s DragonCon footage:
It is fabulous in all ways!
Well, except for one way: Maureen promised me that she would edit me out. She did not. I am unhappy to realise that her promises are WORTH NOTHING.
Other than that everything is good. Watch, enjoy! DragonCon and DragonTrain were teh awesome. When I’m less knackered I’ll tell youse all about it. Especially our dramatic readings from the worst book ever written.
The worst thing about DragonCon—other than the way too many people thing—is that it’s on the exact same weekend as the WNBA conference finals. I missed seeing Phoenix sweep San Antonio (woo hoo! Amy—sorry, Rebecca) and will miss all the Indiana-Detroit games (please Indiana win tonight!)
Seeing all those insanely brilliant costumes is some compensation I suppose. Riding on the train with Holly, Theo, Cassandra, Maureen and Scott ditto. Sitting around in a hotel room with them telling ghost stories also not too foul.
Which reminds me what are your favourite urban legends? Feel free to leave a link in the comments if you don’t feel like telling the whole thing. So far we’ve done the finger nails one, the hook, the headless roommate, the evil clown statue, and the finger licker.
Here’s why I will never join SFWA:
The Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America has used the Digital Millennium Copyright Act to fraudulently remove numerous non-infringing works from Scribd, a site that allows the general public to share text files with one another in much the same way that Flickr allows its users to share pictures.
Included in the takedown were: a junior high teacher’s bibliography of works that will excite children about reading sf, the back-catalog of a magazine called Ray Gun Revival, books by other authors who have never authorized SFWA to act on their behalf, such as Bruce Sterling, and my own [Cory Doctorow’s] Creative Commons-licensed novel, “Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom.”
SFWA’s attitude to copyright has stepped over the line from luddite into barking mad. As a writer I love my fans. Adore them! I wish I had way more of them. Why on Earth would I join an organisation that is hellbent on prosecuting them? I completely agree with Cory Doctorow.
The train trip was fun. Biggest difference between travelling by air in the US of A and travelling by train is that the staff are happy and relaxed and like to talk to you. We heard all sorts of stories about train life (includuing gruesome stuff about what happens when someone throws themself under one).
Although the cabins are kind of on the squalorous side—especially compared to first class sleepers in Europe—it was fun hanging with Holly and Theo and Cassie and Maureen while kudzu covered forests zipped by. We dissected the YA publishing world, described the plots of our next five books, and planned collaborations that will never ever happen but would be amazing if they did. I could live on a train with those guys forever!
Except that would mean not staring at the beluga whales at the Georgia aquarium. We were the first people into that part of the aquarium this morning. It was just me and Scott standing in front of Nico as he pirouetted and somersaulted over and over again in front of us. Staring back at us as intently as we were staring at him. We could see the texture of his skin. Every scar, every pore. I have never been so close to such a large mammal in all my life. I could have stayed there for hours.
Tomorrow DragonCon begins. We’ve already seen our first klingons. I suspect there will be photos. Lots of them.
In not that many hours we—Holly Black, Theo Black, Cassandra Clare, Maureen Johnson and Scott and me—get on the train and head to Atlanta, Georgia for DragonCon. Is it bad that I’m more excited about the train than the con? And I’m vastly excited about the con.
I plan to blog from Atlanta but much depends on the outrageous internet charges of our hotel. I will do what I can.
My schedule of events at DragonCon can be found over on Scott’s blog.
In other news I finished the first round of editorial rewrites on The UFB today. I am knackered but really looking forward to not thinking about that book for at least a week or so. Yay!
Three quarters of the WNBA playoffs have gone exactly how I want them to. Phoenix beat Seattle (two Aussies against one); Indiana beat Connecticut (one Aussie against Satan’s own team); San Antonio beat Sacramento (one Aussie—assistant coach Sandy Brondello + 2 ex-Liberty stars against no Aussies and no ex-Libs).
Now we just have to beat Detroit and my basketball year will be complete. Seriously, I didn’t think we’d make the post-season so for the Liberty to get past the first round would be a second miracle. I love what Shamika Christon, Janel McCarville and Loree Moore have been doing in the post-season. I’m so stoked for the 2008 season. The New York Liberty is going to be insanely good.
This year’s WNBA season and post-season has been the best I’ve ever seen. I cannot believe how amazing the games were tonight. I am in heaven.
Let’s go, Liberty! (And the Opals for gold next year.)
Can you hear that screaming? That’s me yelling myself hoarse with joy because we beat Detroit in Madison Square Garden last night.
BEST. GAME. EVER.
Almost all the punters predicted Detroit would sweep us. Ha ha ha! Instead Detroit played awful. It was like they’d been cursed. And after an awkward messy first half we played great.
Of course mean old Bill Laimbeer didn’t say a word about how well the Liberty played he just went on about his own team’s suckiness. Whose fault is that, Bill?
Now I think we’re a more than even chance to take Detroit on their home court and I’m cranky that me and Scott’re going to be at smelly DragonCon cause it means we will miss our next home playoff game. At least we’ll be back in time for the finals!
And how about Phoenix’s rout of Seattle? They took Lauren Jackson out of proceedings (yes, I am an LJ fan, yes, that made me sad, but also wow—not many teams have managed it this year) and ran and shot at will. Wow, they are an entertaining team. I also enjoyed the triple overtime Connecticut-Indiana game. Bummer that Connecticut won. At least the next two games are in Indiana. Here’s to Indiana beating the annoying Sun.
I love the playoffs.
And how about Janel McCarville being named most improved player? Woo hoo!!! And LJ defensive player of the year for the first time. Happy sigh.
Washington won their game which meant they were one game ahead of us, but we won our game, which meant we’re tied, but we’ve beaten them 3 times this year so we go through to the playoffs!
YAY!!!!!
Let’s go, Liberty!!!
This year I have seen the Liberty lose an astonishing number of games they should have won. They’d have a lead at the end of the first half only to come back out in self-destructo mode. I’ve wanted to strangle Cathrine Kraayeveld (her stats don’t list anywhere near as many turnovers as she’s responsible for: Standing immobile when the ball lands on top of you and not getting it—surely that should count as a turnover?) and Coach Patty Coyle (why did it take her SO LONG to give Janel McCarville, Tiffany Jackson and Jessica Davenport more than a handful of minutes?!)
We have missed Becky Hammon something fierce. One look at how brilliantly the San Antonio Silver Stars have played this year speaks to that. Last year they were one of the worst teams in the league; this year they’re second in the West. I fantasise about what the Liberty would have looked like this year with Hammon, Loree Moore and McCarville playing together. Don’t get me wrong Davenport and Jackson are fab and they’re going to be even better in a year or two, but we no longer have a reliable shooting guard. We no longer have someone who will reliably roll in and save our arses at crunch time as Becky has done a billion times.
I miss her.
The trade to San Antonio was brilliant for her but we were left with a big ole shooting-guard-sized hole. We better get one in next year’s draft. Though I’d settle for a forward/centre/guard like, say, Candace Parker.
But it has been a joy to see Loree Moore step up and become a very Theresa Weatherspoon-like point guard. She and McCarville are our solid core. Here’s hoping they’ll get us through tomorrow’s game and into the playoffs.
I am not one of those fans who has any illusions about the man. Yes, when he died he was a grotesquely overweight junkie. Yes, there are many other performers who were more talented and innovative than he. Yes, Big Mama Thornton’s version of “Hound Dog” is WAY better than Elvis’s. Yes, he’s example no. 1 of how corrupting fame is. But I do think he was more interesting and complicated than he is popularly portrayed. And I love his voice. I hear it and I melt. If he’d been born into an affluent family he would’ve wound up a famous tenor.
In the New York Times this week Peter Guralnick argues that Elvis Presley was not a racist:
Just how committed [Elvis] was to a view that insisted not just on musical accomplishment but fundamental humanity can be deduced from his reaction to the earliest appearance of an ugly rumor that has persisted in one form or another to this day. Elvis Presley, it was said increasingly within the African-American community, had declared, either at a personal appearance in Boston or on Edward R. Murrow’s “Person to Person” television program, “The only thing Negroes can do for me is buy my records and shine my shoes.”
That he had never appeared in Boston or on Murrow’s program did nothing to abate the rumor, and so in June 1957, long after he had stopped talking to the mainstream press, he addressed the issue—and an audience that scarcely figured in his sales demographic—in an interview for the black weekly Jet.
After citing lots of evidence of Elvis’ not being the racist redneck he’s often portrayed as Guralnick moves on to talk about why Presley is often seen that way:
As Chuck D perceptively observes, what does it mean, within this context [of social inequalty], for Elvis to be hailed as “king,” if Elvis’s enthronement obscures the striving, the aspirations and achievements of so many others who provided him with inspiration?
Elvis would have been the first to agree. When a reporter referred to him as the “king of rock ‘n’ roll” at the press conference following his 1969 Las Vegas opening, he rejected the title, as he always did, calling attention to the presence in the room of his friend Fats Domino, “one of my influences from way back.”
But Guralnick doesn’t talk about other reasons Elvis is seen this way. Like the oodles and oodles of paraphernalia that associates Elvis with the confederate flag. And also because, rightly or wrongly, white southerners are frequently viewed by the rest of the US as racists. Elvis was a white southerner therefore . . . Elvis appropriated black music therefore . . .
I have friends who hate Elvis because he was loved by the good ole boy racist sexist dropkicks they went to school with in the South. Elvis is forever tainted by that good ole boy worship.
Everything I’ve read about Elvis convinces me that for his time and place he was less racist than many of his peers. He understood the origins of the music he played which is more than I can say for many white boy rock ‘n’ rollers over the years. Does that mean he wasn’t racist at all? Unlikely given the systemic racial inequality that prevails in this and every other country and infects all our brains. Does it mean he was a nice guy? Who knows? He certainly wasn’t in his later drug-addicted days. Junkies are hard work. And rich junkies who are worshipped by millions of people world wide? Ugh.
I think it matters whether or not he was overtly racist. People who hold him up as a symbol of the white South and a believer in white supremacy should know he wasn’t a white supremacist.
It’s very hard to separate the symbol from the person. Especially when the person was as big a mess as Elvis was.
Excuse me, I’m going to go have a little cry and play “Long Black Limousine” now.
The tomatoes right now are unspeakably good. I went to the Tompkins Square farmers’ market this morning and bought eight different kinds. Yum. They’re so sweet and flavouresome they don’t need dressing. Just salt and pepper and a squeeze of lime and you have the best tomato salad ever.
They also had the first cape goosberries (husk cherries) of the season. Heaven! And the fresh garlic keeps on. I think I’ll do a stir fry tonight of kale, lebanese cukes, garlic and onion. (All bought at the market.)
Even though I’m locked in working my arse off on the UFB and can’t remember the last time I talked to a real human being (other than Scott) I’m still eating well! Sometimes I think cooking is the only thing that keeps me sane.
Okay, why did no one tell me what a flawed masterpiece American Gothic is? Is there any other brilliant tellie of the last twenty years you’re hiding from me? I mean I never even heard of American Gothic before! Why? Twin Peaks is total rubbish in comparison. (Don’t get me started on my Twin Peaks hatred. What an evil tease of a tv show!)
If my next novel features an evil but charming sheriff trying to corrupt their illegitimate child you’ll know why.
