Léna's Lit Life

Uninspired by the Groundhog, but Inspired by . . .

2012-02-02T15:15:00.001-05:00

Imbolc, Brighid, St Brigit's Day, Groundhog's Day - whatever story you want to tell, February 2nd marks the day of mid-winter. It is a day to remind ourselves that spring is around the corner.

Although we really don't need much reminding this year, do we?

Okay. Now I am going somewhere with this post, but I have to stop mid-stream.

I am uninspired. That just has to be expected some of the time, but we write through it, even if it is not our "best" work. What is it - 1% inspiration, 99% perspiration?

I had all of these plans to write an inspired blog post linking Brighid and the groundhog, but I only have fifteen minutes to write, I have a little headache from driving into the city for a meeting and tomorrow will be too late. (Groundhog's Day will have come and gone . . .)

My kids are about to come home from school and then I go off to run a Writopia workshop AND I'm thinking about other things that really do inspire and sustain me:

1) 65% of my Writopia students who submitted were recognized in the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards with either gold or silver keys. (The other 35% should have been recognized too, by my reckoning, but I have no control over these things.)

2) My next book pic for our In beTWEEN book club will be Vanished by Sheela Chari, and I have just heard from the author that she will come to our book group in March! So thrilled.

3) My last blog post (Sex and Drugs and Rock n' Roll) will be published in an Anthology by Roaring Brook Press.

4) We are going to open two more Writopia sites in Stamford and Tarrytown

5) Oh goodness, the list goes on, but the bus is almost here!

How are YOU????? What inspires you????? I want to know!

Sex And Drugs and Rock N' Roll

2012-01-31T23:54:00.004-05:00

What was it about the black tee shirt displayed high on the wall behind the cash register at my favorite record store that had me so smitten? There were other tee shirts to choose from, but I just had to fall in-love with the one that had the words Sex And Drugs and Rock n’ roll emblazoned in white across the front. I thought that whoever wore that tee shirt must have been the epitome of cool.

It hinted at things I knew nothing about.

It was 1981 and the summer I turned thirteen, right before 8th grade: I was brimming with unbridled excitement and energy because I was finally allowed to begin to walk around on my own, exploring the mile distance between where I lived in Chelsea, down to the West Village where I went to elementary school.

This was the summer of Raiders of the Lost Ark, the Royal Wedding (Charles and Diana) and when MTV made it’s debut, changing the face of popular culture for good. And I wanted to be the epitome of cool.

It was also the summer my father and I argued about words. Yes, words.

Sex, drugs and rock n’ roll.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

We had to have strong words between ourselves before he learned how to deliver a message and I learned how to accept it.

My father was an Episcopalian priest, and I was growing up in a seminary, a school for priests. (No wonder I was desperate and misguided in my search for “coolth”!)

From the age of ten, I spent all of my allowance and babysitting money on records and music magazines, which would provide lyrics for some popular songs. My money went to Blondie, David Bowie, Elvis Costello and the Clash. But I listened to the radio too, so I wasn’t all that discerning. I was hungry for the power of the beats and the music. And of course, the lyrics would float right over my head.

The first argument with my Dad that summer was over the lyrics he found in a magazine to the song Urgent, by Foreigner. His irrational rant just made him sound like a punitive old fart.

I think these were the offending words:

Got fire, in your veins, burnin' hot, but you don't feel the pain
Your desire, is insane, you can't stop, until you do it again
But sometimes I wonder as I look in your eyes
That maybe you're thinking of some other guy
But I know, yes I know, how to treat you right
That's why you call me in the middle of the night
You say it's urgent, so urgent, so-oh-oh urgent...
Just you wait and see, how urgent, my love can be, it's urgent...

“What junk are you poisoning your mind with!” He railed at me and at the magazine. “Do you know what this song is about?”

I didn’t like the song that much, but I said: “They’re only words, Dad.”

“They’re only words?” My dad’s voice echoed around the room in his rage. I had finally done it. I had driven him crazy.

“It’s about mindless sex and objectifying both men and women!”

Huh? Why was I trying to defend this song? He grounded me from record and magazine buying so that I could think about his perspective. “Words. Matter,” he said to me very slowly, once he had calmed himself down.

I felt completely distressed and disrespected. What a jerk, I remember thinking.

Legend has it that I cried in my room for a week, trying to think up better words to Urgent, or at least trying to think about another interpretation for the lyrics. Every time I read the lyrics, they made less and less sense. My family valued imagination, and there was definitely nothing of value in these lyrics. He was right in that regard, but I didn’t want to admit it.

A few weeks later, there was a new wave/rock concert at the seminary. One of the priest’s older children had a band called The Clonetones. It was a bright day and an oddity - a rock concert had never happened on seminary property. The female singer was the coolest person I had ever seen. She was wearing a white wedding dress and had long bleached blonde hair å la Brigitte Bardot. Cat eye make-up. I wanted to be her. One of the guys in the band was wearing a Sex and Drugs and Rock n’ roll tee-shirt.

I wished that I could walk around in a white wedding dress, combat boots, bleached hair and heavy eye make-up.

But if I couldn’t go all out, I could settle for trying to dye my hair and buying that Sex, Drugs and Rock n’ roll tee shirt I coveted, couldn’t I?

I remember taking the long walk down to the Village with my sister and some friends on a beautiful, sunny day to the record store. The black tee shirt with white writing was still there and taunting me.

“Why don’t you just put yourself out of your misery and buy it?” A friend said to me. Yeah - why didn’t I? I wanted it. I knew that my dad would freak out, but it was babysitting money - it was MY money! Fueled with excitement and self-righteousness, I made my purchase, and I wore it on top of my other clothes.

That was the one and only time I ever wore that tee shirt.

I arrived home to a very calm father who had obviously had time to think about his own message.

“Hey, look at my new tee shirt!” I announced to my parents who were sitting in the living room, listening to Bach. “Isn’t it cool?” (My tack was to be up front about it.)

“No, it’s not cool,” was the response, said in a calm, almost soothing way. “Sex, drugs, and rock n’roll. What do you think you are advertising?”

I had no answer except: “I used my own money.”

“Oh dear. Then, since you used your own money, I will buy it off you.”

“But, but, but . . .” I couldn’t get any words out.

My Dad stood up. “How much was it?” He reached into his pocket.

“Ten dollars.” I was sullen, having lost the battle before it even began.

He took out a ten dollar bill. I pulled off the tee shirt.

“Words matter, Léna. What we say about ourselves matter. The words we use to represent ourselves matter.”

I handed him the tee shirt and stomped upstairs. In my embarrassment and anger, I didn’t understand what he was saying. They’re just words. What about the thing kids say to each other: sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me?

I knew better. I knew that words had the power to hurt, to cut deeply. I also knew that words had the power to heal. I was falling in-love with language and with storytelling myself. Did I want to tell the world that at thirteen, I was available for sex, drugs and rock n’ roll? Was that my story?

A few years later he gave the shirt back to me when I didn’t think it was cool anymore, and obviously, I never wore it then either. Instead, as a talisman of my philisophical growth and homage to my father's lesson, I cut up the tee shirt and Sex and Drugs and Rock n' roll became part of the collage I had pinned to my wall.

The Power of Story

2012-01-31T08:55:00.001-05:00

I woke up yesterday morning to a friend, Lois, posting a question on my author page. She asked me to write a line or two about the power of stories, particularly family stories. A line or two? This is worthy of a book! I will humbly attempt to answer her question, although many authors far above my scope of philisophic imagination have written about this, including my favorites: Joseph Campbell, Rollo May, James Hillman, and my grandmother, Madeleine L'Engle.

Lois writes:

Lena, I'm teaching a course called the Power of Story to my college frosh; the first unit is about family stories. Could you share a sentence or a few about the power/influence/necessity/effect of story (either crafting it or receiving it) in the life of an individual or of a culture, and/or what happens in its absence? Thanks!

Everyone loves a story, but not everyone believes that they have a story to tell.

You do. Believe it.

"Tell me a story about when I was a baby."

"Tell me the story about the time you and Da met."

"Tell me a story about princesses and dragons."

My children bombard me with these requests and I happily oblige, for I know that it is through story that they will understand their lives.

Story is the lens through which we see the world: is it a good one - where love and hope reign supreme, or a bad one - where evil lurking behind every corner, no-one and nothing is to be trusted. For most of us, it's somewhere in the middle.

Story helps us craft our own world view, which is passed through our culture and our families. When we tell stories, we are asking people to bear witness to our experience. Nobody can deny the healing power of being heard. Stories also make us feel like we are part of a tribe and that we matter. Without our stories, we have no road map.

I am a writer. I process the world through story and essay. I am drawn to dark material, yet I work hard to find the silver linings of hope.

And yet - we don't have to be "writers" to do this. We devour books, movies, television shows, newspapers, family lore. We rely on "story" to tell us who we are.

But what if the stories we tell ourselves lead us on a destructive path? The power of story is not only positive.

When I was a therapist, I worked with my clients on "reframing" their experiences, because the stories that they were telling themselves weren't serving them anymore. They needed, as I myself have at times needed, to rewrite the script. They needed to take control of their own narrative.

Healer, heal thyself: I used to think that my stories were boring - worst of all that my own personal story didn't deserve to be counted. The stories I was telling about myself were dangerous. I was telling myself the story that I was unlovable. That I had nothing to offer, that I had no personal power. That I couldn't cope. I was reactive, rather than proactive. The glass was half empty, even though I pretended that it was half full.

Rewriting my story has changed me. The facts remain the same, but the way I view them aren't, because I today I take responsibility for myself and for my actions.

In the end, stories are all we have.

Author Page: Do You "Like" Me? and Other Marketing Insanities

2012-01-26T11:36:00.001-05:00

It's been a couple of weeks of in and out illness. A real doozy. Have you been there? Five of us smashed in a house, infecting and reinfecting each other, no matter how many times we wash our hands. In fact, right now I'm home with two sick boys watching reruns of MONK and PSYCH.

What does this have to do with the insanity of marketing? Well, I'll tell ya.

Saturday night I went to bed early with my feverish daughter, and was toolin' around Facebook when I decided to throw caution to the wind and create a more official "author" Facebook page. I already have a page for Edges, created over a year ago in the lead up to publication, watching way too closely for my mental health at the rate it's "likes" were ticking upward. I naively hoped that my book would take the world by storm - instead it's been a slow build.

Just the way our careers should be. Yet publication, and the need to be "liked" has been a challenge to my maturity. It makes me uncomfortable because I feel both needy and tacky. Dirty.

Although Facebook and other social media has been a good time and an incredible tool for creating community, I have often felt like a fifteen-year-old all over again - who doesn't experience a flush of excitement when a comment or a post garners fun or thoughtful interaction? And then the opposite - it's even easier on Facebook to compare our insides to other people's outsides and judge ourselves based on who "likes" us. Sometimes I just want to delete my accounts just so I can focus on my writing.

Yet I am an author, and need to use the tools at my disposal. I have to treat myself like a business, and the fact is that I wrote EDGES years ago. I have written two (as yet to be published) novels since then. I run an after-school creative writing program, I live and breathe writing. I need to have another page where I can post things that are not necessarily related to Edges. And Facebook makes it so darn easy!

My author page. I had 40 "likes" in the first half hour, 80 "likes" in the next half hour. All friends full of love and support. Phew!

The goal? To increase business, to reach more potential readers of my blog and my book(s).

So. The next few sentences are not going to be pretty - they're going to highlight an insecurity that I need to keep in check: I have to admit that I've been obsessively checking my page for new "likes". 145, 146, 147 . . . I have to seriously get over it. After all, I've been blogging regularly for two years now (oh! I missed my anniversary?!) and I "only" have 158 followers, yet I still write.

How many "likes" do I need? Will it ever be "enough"?

It's foolish to focus on that.

Writing is the way I process the world, and if I stop because I'm uncomfortable, because I'm not popular "enough" then I will be denying myself the key to my personal freedom.

Marketing is a tool to use and not be used by, but I like that my imperfections remind me of my vulnerability and my need for humility. It keeps me authentic. Don't you agree?

And yes, go "like" my page! And follow my blog! ;-)

Writing Behind Bars: Teens and Their Incarcerated Moms

2012-01-22T17:09:00.003-05:00

The bureaucrats have asked me to remove this post: this is the best that I can do right now. I will still be volunteering, I am just not allowed to process my experience in the way that I want to, even though there was nothing negative in the post.

Bureaucrats are the same everywhere - covering their arses. (Now this is probably more derogatory than anything I say in the original post, which is about personal freedom, and only serves to make the prison look GOOD.)

Behind Bars

2012-01-19T22:02:00.001-05:00

I don’t bring much with me when I walk into prison for the first time. Just my phone and my car keys.

“Do you have a cell phone?” The officer asks me. She has warm skin the color of ebony and lips painted the brightest of pinks. When I show it to her, she just wags her finger and smiles.

I back away. “I’ll go put it in the car.” I am sheepish: of course I can’t have a cell phone in a maximum security correctional facility.

When I come back, she points me through another door, where I step outside and into another building. Inside this room is a metal detector, and beside it a table with bins for personal belongings.

“My name is Léna Roy, and I’m here to get a TB test for Volunteer Services?” I make it a question: I want to be polite.

The officer, another woman with an Trinidadian accent takes my ID, looks through her paperwork and gets on the phone. I will need an escort once I am in the prison. She stamps my right hand - it leaves no mark. I take off my coat, shoes and everything in my pockets - the two throat lozenges I had brought with me are confiscated - evidently they could be a disguise for drugs. Anything is possible.

Another volunteer comes in and goes through the same process. I introduce myself to her and my smile broadens when she says that she is a “Cuddler”, meaning that she comes one morning a week for a few hours to cuddle the inmates’ babies while their mothers engage in the programs offered at the prison - both work and educational.

I will be volunteering at the Children’s Center too, I tell my companion. “I’ll be leading a creative writing workshop once a month when the teenage kids are visiting their moms.”

This kindly lady doesn’t raise an eyebrow, even though I do. My plan is to get these mom’s and kids writing stories together - will it work?

I go through a cubicle where I show my ID again and pass my hand under an ultra violet light where I can now see the mark on my skin. Another gate. Once it closes, I am allowed to press a button for another gate to open. Three more gates after that, I am back out in the fresh air and walk up to the administration building, where I have to show my ID again and wait for an escort.

Now I am in the prison. It has taken more than half an hour. My escort, a large man in his late 50’s arrives to take me to the medical office in another building. He seems comfortable in his own skin, and I can tell that he likes his job.

850 prisoners, 670 staff, 300 volunteers. The prisoners all wear an olive green uniform; not the bright orange I am expecting.

Most of the women here are mothers, and somehow they have ended up in a maximum security prison. They themselves are responsible for that, yet many can be rehabilitated, can change, can become part of a healthy community.

(There was a beautiful article in the New York Times magazine last weekend about Judy Clark, who has served 30 years of a 75 year sentence so far. A harsh sentence, mainly because of her defiant theatrics in the courtroom and her unwillingness to accept responsibility for her behavior at that time. Judy Clark, who over time has changed.)

I am in the medical room. I can’t help but think of the first job I had as a Drama Therapist in 1995 on a locked psychiatric ward in a hospital in the Bronx, and another TB test. I was scared. The bureaucracy was daunting. Yet, because of my belief in the resiliency of the human spirit, my work wasn’t a waste of time. My job was to guide my patients to tell a story, through art, drama, writing. To inspire the self-healing process.

So many of us need to change the story that we tell ourselves, especially if it is a negative message that keeps repeating itself. Our creativity gets us looking at things from a new perspective.

Many of these women need to change the story they tell about themselves - or if they can’t, then at least their children can have that chance.

I come out of my trance as my skin gets injected with the serum to test for tuberculosis.

There but for the Grace of God go I . . .

Gratitude floods through me as I am allowed to leave the final silver mesh wire gate. I feel my breath deepen, and my muscles relax.

Escape.

I will be back on this weekend, armed with enthusiasm, compassion and Grace.

MLK and My Sobriety: For Realz?

2012-01-16T22:25:00.001-05:00

Yes Virginia, for realz.

Last Friday my status on Facebook just said: eighteen years. Those who know me personally and read this blog knew what that means: I celebrated eighteen years of continuous sobriety. I celebrated by going out to dinner with some of the women who have been on this journey with me. I don't white-knuckle it and go it alone - I need that kind of community, just as I need other kinds of community too.

We all need community, we need each other. We all have our demons and our issues; we all want to both understand and be understood. We all have our humanity in common, no matter our race, gender, sexuality or religion.

Who better to thank for this reminder than Dr. Martin Luther King?

As I take a moment to celebrate him, I am put in mind of a particular Martin Luther King Day, fourteen years ago. I was working on a dual diagnosis unit in San Francisco. In many of the psychotherapy groups I was leading that day, we discussed Dr. King's famous I Have a Dream speech.

I will never forget one gentleman in particular, who spoke about the impact Dr, King had had on his life and his future sobriety. This man was in his mid-30's, African-American, astoundingly intelligent, but his brain had been hit with severe depression and alcoholism. He wanted to stay sober because of Dr. King's words. He yearned for faith because of Dr. King's legacy.

He quoted Dr. King: "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."

His eyes glistening with tears, he went on to say: "Alcoholism and mental illness is another form of oppression." His voice was a slow, deep baritone. He had been taking his medication, wasn't drinking and was starting to feel better. Heads nodded, and all faces turned toward him. (Which in itself was a miracle - one of my therapeutic goals with several "clients" was eye contact in a group setting.)

He stopped, looking to me for assurance. I smiled, encouraging him. He was able to connect Dr. King's messages of non-violence, faith and dreams of equality to his own hopes for sobriety. He was able to strike a chord with his fellow group members talking about MLK's message in a way that I, as a young white girl wasn't able to.

He struck a chord with me too, and now MLK is indelibly a part of my sobriety.

Abstinence isn't for everybody, but it is for me, because I recognize that I have the dis-ease of alcoholism. It is a dis-ease of body, mind and spirit. It almost killed me.

It doesn't mean that I'm a lower form of human, that I can't handle my liquor, that one drink is too much for me because I don't know when to stop - and nor does it mean I'm a higher form of human, that I have transcended the need for spirits. (I haven't - I need an ever-evolving relationship with a Higher Power - I just don't pretend that I can heal myself or my stress with alcohol anymore.)

It means I get to be human, I get to live. And I get to share myself with you.

Thank you Dr. King: your reach is wider than you ever knew.

In BeTWEEN Book Clubs and Open Mic Events

2012-01-12T09:34:00.000-05:00

Oh yes, I am playing with words on this rainy morning, before I get ready to train into the city with Judy Blundell for a meta lunch with writers Rebecca Stead, Deborah Heiligman, Carolyn Mackler, Rachel Vail, Elizabeth Winthrop and Jeanne Betancourt. At Henry's - my grandmother's favorite restaurant.

(What happens at lunch, stays at lunch!)

And I am inbetween book clubs and Open Mics - last Sunday we hosted an Open Mic for my Writopia kids in Larchmont and packed The Voracious Reader to the gills, and last night we had our InBeTWEEN Book Club at the Bedford Hills Free Library, where we discussed this month's pic, A Mango Shaped Space by Wendy Mass.

Later in the month there will be another Open Mic (at the Mt. Kisco Library), and there will be the first meeting of our new book club that my friend Erika insisted we start. (Since we both, you know, like to read and stuff.) We will be reading and discussing Swamplandia (Karen Russell) with four other people. (If you want to read it too, we can start a discussion on here!)

And in February, I have been invited to one of Wetchester's longest running book clubs, comprised of TEACHERS to discuss Edges.

Our InbeTWEEN Book Club members, ranging in age from 11 to 13, (okay, I'm almost 44, but I can pretend, can't I?) all thoroughly enjoyed the book.

From Booklist: For 13-year-old Mia Winchell, the world has always been filled with a wonderful, if sometimes dizzying, sensory onslaught--numbers, letters, words, and sounds all cause her to see a distinct array of colors. She keeps her unusual condition a secret until eighth grade, but then her color visions make math and Spanish impossibly confusing, and she must go to her parents and a doctor for help. However, this is more than a docu-novel. Mass beautifully integrates information about synesthesia with Mia's coming-of-age story, which includes her break with her best friend and her grief over her grandfather's death. The episode where Mia fabricates an illness to try out acupuncture for the color visions it produces is marvelously done, showing Mia's eagerness for new experiences even as it describes a synesthete's vision.

We were all fascinated by synesthesia, and most of us wouldn't mind having that special condition ourselves! I couldn't help but see a correlation to addiction, especially in the acupuncture scene where she goes because she heard that it can enhance her experience of colors. For an adult reading this, we see Mia go on a hallucinogenic trip. The boy she meets on-line, another synesthete, hints that alcohol and kissing can enhance the colors as well.

If I were Mia, I would probably be doing anything to enhance my colors, but that's me. It would have been a very slippery slope indeed.

Striving for Excellence

2012-01-05T11:44:00.003-05:00

As a writing teacher and mentor, part of my job is helping kids get ready to submit their work for - you got it - public scrutiny, either in the form of a reading, publishing in a literary journal or for an award.

I have to practice what I preach as well - having goals inspires us to write at our highest level, and more importantly, to complete projects.

It is both rewarding and inspiring to help them strive toward excellence.

Tomorrow is the deadline for my Westchester Writopia kids in grades 7 through 12 to submit to the prestigious Scholastic Art and Writing Awards. I have nine students submitting work, and all are worthy, in my humble opinion, of some kind of recognition. (In the last three years, Writopians have won the most awards out of any group of kids.)

Yet it doesn't always happen, does it? We don't always get rewarded or recognized for our efforts. Last year I had two students submitting, both in the same age group and category. Both are excellent writers: yet only one of them was awarded a gold key.

(I think there might be a chance that I was more disappointed than she was.)

I want my students to feel empowered by their writing and their voice in the world. And they do! They are.

So I'm anxious, excited, proud: if some of them don't win, so be it. All of us suffer some slings and arrows for our art, and we keep on trucking, keep refining, keep practicing. And we learn that any art form is subjective. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder - yet we have to be in it to win it, and to feel strongly about our right to be in the game. (Or at least fake it!) You all know very well that this is something I myself struggle with. (Why wasn't Writopia around when I was a kid?)

This month, Writopia Lab in Westchester will be hosting two Open Mic events, to celebrate the students who have finished pieces this past fall. The first one will be at our beloved bookstore in Larchmont, The Voracious Reader this Sunday, January 8th from 2PM - 3:30PM. The second one will be on January 20th at the Mt. Kisco Library, from 5PM - 6:30PM.

If you live in the Westchester area, please come and support these wonderful emerging writers and let them know that they are all winners. (And if you know of a child who loves to write, this is an Open Mic, so they are welcome to come and participate in these events.)

Have a Writing New Year!

2011-12-31T12:08:00.000-05:00

Before 2011 goes to sleep (forever), does it need to do anything else? Has there been anything left undone? Is there anything I need to do quickly, before 2012 begins? (Besides clean the bathrooms, one last time . . .)

It is the end of the winter solstice period, of the darkest nights of the year where we set our hearts, homes and lives ablaze with light to keep our spirits high. And we have one more celebration for the coming of light and the New Year.

2011 was our first full year living in Northern Westchester, and has most certainly been life on life's terms, yet we absolutely have no regrets and are thrilled with our choice in moving here.

We splurged on a Disney family vacation last February. We saw two big storms and experienced lengthy power outages. My kids turned 11, 9 and 6 and have pushed the boundaries beyond what they thought was possible in academics, swimming, football, music, reading. My husband revealed himself as a chef, I revealed myself as a competent driver. Writopia turned into an almost-sustainable business, with the addition of Larchmont this summer, and I have been working steadily since then.

I have written much, whilst I have had multiple frustrations with the publishing industry, leading me to wonder why I even bother. But I somehow always come back around to bothering: I write because it's worth doing. I believe in the power of words and that everybody has the right to write, to develop their voice and sense of self.

I have continued to blog in an effort to share my authenticity and not my "platform" - I do not want to be a persona - writing is thinking, and I have explored my thoughts here with you. I will continue to do so.

2012 will bring more resolve, more work, more writing. I will celebrate the 50th anniversary of A Wrinkle in Time and I'll get another book submission-ready. My kids will turn 12, 10 and 7. I'll take the 12 year old with me to Mobile, Alabama in early March where I will speak and lead workshops on the craft of writing. My husband will renovate all of the bathrooms *and my website* and my godson James will be born. (In the next three weeks!)

Tonight we have another family coming over to celebrate with us: dinner, games, and a children's candle ceremony. We will honor the lights in ourselves and each other, honor the past and the future, so that we can stay in the present.

(Okay, was that shmaltzy enough for you?)

Happy New Year! xoxox

The Willing Suspension of Disbelief

2011-12-24T16:39:00.001-05:00

This time of year is rich in layers of story and cultural myths no matter what we believe.

As both readers and writers, we are practiced at the willing suspension of disbelief. We have to have some kind of faith in order to write, to create inner and outer worlds. We also have to have faith in order to read fiction, don't we?

I believe in the power of redemption, Santa Claus and babies. I believe in giving gifts to the spirit in all of us, just as the Wise Men brought gifts to Jesus, and the Norse God Wotan dropped gifts from the sky.

I believe that we have the chance to be reborn again, and again, and again. That believing is keeping our eyes alive, and being open to the concept of seeing what we believe.

Because I don't only want to believe what I see - that is too limiting. What if I am cranky, as can sometimes be the case with all of us? Then I will only be able to see the glass as half empty.

Believing takes a certain amount of work, of risk.

My friend Amanda, a writer friend in Chicago, sent me one of my grandmother's Christmas poems yesterday. The remembering made me smile, and I thought I would share with you here:

The Risk of Birth
by Madeleine L'Engle

This is no time for a child to be born,
With the earth betrayed by war and hate
And a comet slashing the sky to warn
That time runs out and the sun burns late.

That was no time for a child to be born,
In a land in the crushing grip of Rome;
Honour and truth were trampled by scorn --
Yet here did the Saviour make his home.

When is the time for love to be born?
The inn is full on the planet earth,
And by a comet the sky is torn --
Yet Love still takes the risk of birth.

That says it all, doesn't it? Love.

Right now I am smelling the turkey my husband is cooking for our Christmas Eve feast. I am looking forward to going to church tonight, and then afterward, giving the kids their Christmas pajamas, (the husband and I get some too) and getting ready for bed, only to stay up late to have cookies, hot chocolate and watch It's A Wonderful Life. (Yes, we leave some for Santa!)

Then it's time for visions of sugar plums to dance in our heads, and the willing suspension of disbelief.

Merry Christmas, to my friends who celebrate, and to my other friends, thank you so much for being in my life and helping me to broaden my world view.

In love,

Léna

Happy Solstice

2011-12-21T19:03:00.000-05:00

I love this time of year unabashedly. I love all of the different religious symbols of light, I love how we are challenged at every turn by the commercialism of the season to break out of our own cynicism and be better. To love one another. To embrace our light and our dark. To breathe in love, and breathe out love, to give, yes, but also to be open to the power of receiving, of connecting.

I offer you three great posts by other writers who inspired me today:

The first is by my new buddy in Westchester, Dan Zevin, a master of the personal essay and author of several collections - whose latest, Dan in a Minivan is forthcoming in May. He wrote about How (He) Learned to Love Latkes.

The second, is by an author I don't how, a Reverend Emily C. Heath on Keeping the Christ in Christmas. "It's not the 'Holiday Tree' out in a public park that makes me think Christ has been forgotten. It's the ability we Christians have this time of year to confess our faith in one breath, and then be breathtakingly small-minded or just plain mean in the next."

The last is by my friend Keith Jennings, who has a fantastic blog exploring the spirituality of creativity. His latest post is about inspiration.

Oh! It's 7PM, time to go to my solstice gathering where we revel in the coming of the Light. And you all are lights in my life too!

xoxo

Madeleine L'Engle is a Doll!

2011-12-19T08:38:00.000-05:00

A friend of my bro's found this pic on Flavorwire and I couldn't RESIST sharing it on Léna's Lit Life.

It's our Gran, Madeleine L'Engle, all "dolled" up and with a copy of the original cover of A Wrinkle in Time no less! I love the details - the bright colors and chunky jewelry, the highly arched eyebrows. She wore her hair cropped short since the late 1970's.

She would whoop with laughter if she saw this! Especially that the pants are pulled up way too high, but she would love that they have multi-toned stripes and the sweater - is that angora? She would hint wildly that she wanted "something cyclamen pink" for Christmas.

Speaking of which, my Gran was so much fun to go shopping for. She absolutely adored gifts, and always opened them with the eyes of a child. She collected unicorns, giraffes and angels.

I think that our big gift to her this year in keeping her memory alive is with the big celebration of the 50th anniversary of A Wrinkle in Time this February: there will be freshly minted books with the retro original cover, but with a colorful twist. I believe the book comes out again in January.

I miss you, Gran. You are still shining lights to all the dark corners for me and many others.

xoxox Léna

Practicing Principles Before Personalities in Publishing

2011-12-17T21:56:00.000-05:00

I don't want to be the Grinch . . . but I'm mad at the publishing biz. I wish that I could take my ball and go home. Have a tantrum, scream "No fair!" and slam the door to my room.

What happened? You may ask, and the answer is a resounding: nothing. Okay, maybe I'm just hormonal, but still. What do I have to do to get someone to email me back? (I emailed the publisher a while ago simply asking for the contact info of the person who could help me BUY MY OWN BOOKS and . . . nothing. I want to sell them when I go to Alabama in March. Don't they want that too? Or do they make more money if there is a middle man? Still, the least they could do is answer my question. I'm okay if it's no, really!))

So . . . the way out of this funk for me is writing, and to remember to practice principles before personalities. Nowhere is this more apropos in the world of publishing where it's really not personal that the business doesn't care about ME or my book, or YOU and your book. It cares about the bottom line, and so it should.

My principles, in case anyone was wondering, are: honesty, hope, faith, courage, integrity, willingness, humility, brotherly love, self-discipline, perseverance, awareness, and service.

This is where I practice the art of being human, and if I slip into Grinchy-mode for an hour or two, I can forgive myself and move on. It's progress, not perfection.

And . . . I know that I'm a day late in announcements, but hopefully, the post-person will get these goodies to you by Friday, in time for Christmas if that is your celebration-of-choice. The winners are . . . Melissa B and Kelly Andrews! Shoot me your email guys or DM me on Twitter so that I can get your addresses, and you will get a care package!

xoxox

PS Thanks for reading - I feel better for the writing!

InbeTWEEN Pages: Dead End in Norvelt

2011-12-15T10:01:00.001-05:00

I was thrilled to be asked to lead a middle school book club at the Bedford Hills Free Library and even more thrilled when my own 6th grader, Cooper, agreed to join. We had our second meeting last night, where we discussed our first book pic, Dead End in Norvelt by my new author crush, Jack Gantos.

Thank you Francine, owner of the much beloved Voracious Reader in Larchmont for the recommendation! This book is an excellent example of storytelling, with rich characters who jump off the page. Gantos takes us on a fascinating ride that helps his readers understand the importance of learning from our past. How does he do this? Through our protagonist, Jack (Jack Gantos himself) and our unlikely heroine, Miss Volker.

Melding the entirely true and the wildly fictional, Dead End in Norvelt is a novel about an incredible two months for a kid named Jack Gantos, whose plans for vacation excitement are shot down when he is "grounded for life" by his feuding parents, and whose nose spews bad blood at every little shock he gets. But plenty of excitement (and shocks) are coming Jack's way once his mom loans him out to help a fiesty old neighbor with a most unusual chore—typewriting obituaries filled with stories about the people who founded his utopian town. As one obituary leads to another, Jack is launced on a strange adventure involving molten wax, Eleanor Roosevelt, twisted promises, a homemade airplane, Girl Scout cookies, a man on a trike, a dancing plague, voices from the past, Hells Angels . . . and possibly murder. Endlessly surprising, this sly, sharp-edged narrative is the author at his very best, making readers laugh out loud at the most unexpected things in a dead-funny depiction of growing up in a slightly off-kilter place where the past is present, the present is confusing, and the future is completely up in the air.

Dead End in Norvelt was not only a huge hit with me, but it was a home run for the tweens. They loved the interweaving of history through this book that's set in rural Pennsylvania in the summer of 1962. The writing was so textured, that I had to stop myself from underlining passages as I was reading a library book! (Jack Gantos, if you are reading this, I am buying my own copy for you to sign for me, because meeting you someday is now on my bucket list!)

We all wanted to know what was fact and what was fiction in this book. Did Jack Gantos the author really have an anxiety disorder that manifested itself through nosebleeds? And did he really have an old lady cauterize his nose on her kitchen table?

We also named ourselves so that we are a real entity in our community. Seventh grader and Writopian, Sammy, came up with InbeTWEEN Pages and that moniker was unanimously agreed upon by the 6th - 8th graders in our "club". We will be meeting the second Wednesday of every month, so if you are a tween or love a tween who also loves to read and live in Northern Westchester, our current read for January is A Mango Shaped Space by Wendy Maas.

Hope to see YOU inbetween some pages!

PS Today is the last day to enter the contest to win a signed copy of Edges - in book or audio form. Multiple chances to win! Enter here . . .

Monday Lights Up

2011-12-12T11:13:00.001-05:00

I'm getting the hairy eyeball from "Monday" after a weekend of mayhem and joy in Western Massachusetts. (Baby shower for my friend Amanda who has named me godmother of her second child, James.)

All I want to do is lounge about and eat chocolate. Do you ever feel that way? And then I feel guilty when I'm not "productive" . . .

I don't want to discipline myself, yet I need to. Us creative folk crave structure deep down inside, even when we profess an affinity for loosey-goosey-ness. I need to be organized, to know what I'm doing.

And this is a wild time of year, isn't it? We're getting ready to embrace the darkness with all of the light we can muster.

My mind however, can't settle down and I know that I can't trust myself alone with the computer today. I have to be out in the world, collecting lights. Or in between the pages of someone else's words, or catching up with a friend.

There are other ways to light up my day than expecting myself to have a certain word count. Sometimes, you have to just let things marinate.

(Or maybe I'll just clean my daughter's room . . .)

My Dad's Christmas Poem: White Christmas?

2011-12-10T09:37:00.002-05:00

My dad, The Very Reverend Alan W. Jones, Dean Emeritus of Grace Cathedral in San Francisco, sent me his latest poem yesterday, and I asked his permission to share it. I have been trying to get him to blog for a while now - he is a master storyteller and the author of eleven theological books - indeed, he has much to both teach and share with us! So I will leave you with this while I am on my way to Northhampton, Mass, where I have the honor of participating in a baby shower and being godmother to baby James who is due in January. There ain't nothin' like a baby at this time of year!*

White Christmas?

“Those who do not have power over the story that dominates their lives, power to retell it, to rethink it, deconstruct it, joke about it, and change it as times change, truly are powerless.” Salmon Rushdie.

Irving Berlin remembered the sight of an Irish family’s Christmas tree when he was a child on the Lower East Side. He later said it seemed to him to tower to heaven. In fact, it was a tiny, miserable little tree, but for the immigrant the holiday represented the magic and wonder of a New World.

Dreaming of a White Christmas?

Why not? Irving Berlin did, based, by the way,

on no experience.

So, here’s your chance to escape the mess of belief and disbelief.

Grab whatever story

you’ve been telling yourself about yourself

and fling it into the season’s whirlwind!

What comes flying back may surprise you.

It may make you cry. It may make you ache with laughter.

Wandering into the story didn’t bother Irving.

Why should it you?

Besides, he had the knack of remembering

something that never happened.

It wasn’t a matter of belief

but an openness to be changed by stories.

Can’t we give this baby-in-the-manger stuff a chance to deconstruct whatever nonsense

we’ve been telling ourselves about the world?

Jesus, Izzy, Emma, Fred, and Sue? What in a name?

The baby’s the one that matters.

Don’t knock nostalgia.

Irving’s “White Christmas” did something to those who heard it in 1941.

The story of the mother and her baby

might do the same for us.

There are plenty of Pearl Harbors to go round (Who bombed the financial markets?

Who made the golden parachutes?

Yours and mine lost in the mail?)

One of our poets* said this sentimental song crooned

by Crosby, “caught us where we love peace.”

Not a bad place to get caught, a good way to start dumping the story that’s trapped us

with the angst of clutching and fussing over what?

You name it.

Bethlehem, like the Lower East Side,

offers us a new world.

Just like the ones we used to know! Hardly!

Izzy didn’t know squat – this Jewish kid from Russia.

His dismal story didn’t stop him from telling it anew -- discovering a New World.

So, start deconstructing!

See yourself in the mystery.

It’s your story too.

And given the mess we’re in,

isn’t it time to grow into a new one –

into the one where God slips in among us –

the divine New Deal?

Merry and bright!

Alan Jones, dean emeritus of Grace Cathedral, San Francisco

*Don't forget, multiple chances to win a copy of my book or an audio of Edges!

EDGES: The One Year Anniversary

2011-12-06T09:46:00.000-05:00

My first novel came out exactly a year ago. A sweet book with two teen protagonists, it explores addiction and spirituality on the streets of New York City and the red canyons of the desert Southwest.

A year ago, paranormal romance was trending, so Edges didn't come out with the BANG! I had hoped for. Still, I was/am incredibly fortunate to have been published in this exciting technological era where all of the rules are changing. I am ecstatic that I finally gave myself permission, albeit slowly, to write, and that I have become the person I was meant to be: a writer and a teacher.

I believe that everybody has the right to write - if they want to. Everybody has a story to tell, and we don't all have to be Shakespeare.

The most important factors to becoming a writer are passion, practice, discipline and a little bit of luck. In terms of luck, is it "lucky" to be the eldest granddaughter of Madeleine L'Engle? Of course it is! But it is also a double edged sword. It might make people listen for five seconds, but it also sets up unrealistic expectations. (And that's not the reason I was published.) I have to sink or swim on my own, I have to have my own authentic voice.

Many of you know that I have had to table my second book, a companion to Edges called The Land of the Lost and Found due to "lackluster" sales of Edges. (And people, anything short of a best seller is lackluster these days.) I am happy with the sales of Edges, happy that it is being read.

The strategy is for me to move onto another publishing house with something new and fresh, and then publish The Land of the Lost and Found, timing it with the paperback release of Edges. Makes sense, right?

So I have India Flips, a tween novel. It is about flipping out, flipping for, as well as literally flipping. (In November, for Nanowrimo, I started from scratch, but took the basic premise from another novel-in-a-drawer and completely changed the characters - from ages to personalities.)

I will celebrate my anniversary by going to the gym, and by throwing myself into revisions. And I think it's a good excuse for another contest, don't you? Since it's the season of giving and all.

I have one book (signed of course!) and an audio to give away. And bookmarks! (Everyone who enters will get a bookmark.) You will have multiple chances to have your name in the lottery.

1) Leave a comment . . .
2) Follow this blog
3) "Like" the Edges page on Facebook
4) Follow me on Twitter (even though I am not the greatest tweeter)
5) Give this blog and/or Edges a shout out by re-posting on FB or re-tweeting. Hey, why not both!

I will announce the winner on Thursday, December 15th, so that it will get to you in time for Christmas.

Thank you for reading!

xoxo your friend, Léna

Oui, Oui Christmas Concert

2011-12-05T15:18:00.000-05:00

Happy Monday everyone. Today's post is about how I found myself involved in a Christmas Concert with CHARIS, "the finest vocal group in Westchester" . . .

We say yes for many different reasons (besides not being able to say no.) My biggest reason for saying yes is to help my community (friends) and to stretch myself as a person.

However, saying "yes" can be uncomfortable, and sometimes I wonder what I have gotten myself into.

"We are desperate for a narrator for our Christmas concert," Amy said to a group of mutual friends a couple of weeks ago. This was the first time I had heard Amy talk about singing, let alone that she was part of a choral group. And I don't want anybody to be desperate. I mean, I know how to read aloud, don't I? Isn't that what a narrator does?

"Maybe I can do it," I offered, and immediately Amy jumped on my words. It snowballed, and I got way out of my comfort zone.

I had no idea that the choral group Amy is involved with, Charis, would be comprised of over thirty singers, tenors, sopranos, altos and baritones and artistically directed by Art Sjogren. I had no idea they would be so professional. I don't know what I expected - a rinky-dink choir? I didn't think, I just said, "yes I can." I've read in church many, many times. (Of course, I haven't done it in years, but isn't it nice that my impulse was to engage instead of to cower?)

I was to play the part of "narrator" during a choral piece called Annonciation by Frenchman Daniel-Lesur's. There were no long monologues, I just had to know when to be able to come in on the music. Oh, just that. Challenge #1. Gulp. Now that I have never done before.

I managed to go to one rehearsal immediately following a workshop and was stunned by the singers. I had actually been thinking of auditioning until I heard them. You want me to sing Mack the Knife? I'm your gal. But these folks aren't amateurs. I didn't want to embarrass them.

Then there were the performances this weekend.

Saturday was a FULL day, and I squeezed this concert in between events. I didn't have time to think about it, let alone be nervous, but then, during one of the parts of my narration, I started struggling with a cough.

And then I coughed once during a soprano's solo and . . . don't worry, I made myself stop. Have you ever tried to stop a coughing fit? (You end up crying instead, which I guess is apropos for the Annunciation.)

But still, I did not feel great about my performance. Coughing is not cool. (I kept thinking that it had been hubris to say "yes".)

I ran out to make the Christmas Tree lighting in Bedford Hills, where my son Finn was singing in the chorus. (He was delicious.)

Sunday I didn't have to rush around or be anywhere else, so I could just focus on the concert. My mom drove down from Connecticut, and my 6 year old daughter Scarlett came too. I had time to be nervous, but also was able to arm myself with throat lozenges and water.

No coughing, my voice was loud, measured and clear. I rocked it. The singers were just phenomenal.

So. Moral of this story? Get out of your comfort zone. Just do it. And if you live near Westchester, do yourself a favor and come to one of Charis' concerts. (It's not just church-y stuff. :0)

And now I have to focus that moral on exercising more regularly. NaNoWriMo coupled with not having time to work out has wreaked havoc on my back. Just do it. Heh, heh, heh.

Advent Prayer for the newborn Snyder Twins

2011-12-02T10:34:00.003-05:00

Yes, I love stories, and the story of Christmas and the other layered tales from even older religions fill me with glee and appreciation for life. I love this period of advent, of waiting, the visitation of Gabriel to Mary - her shock and awe of saying "yes" to life.

It is an opportunity to think about where our hearts could open more. To pray.

The day after Thanksgiving I learned that my closest friend's husband's brother from another mother - his wife - died after giving birth to twins. She hemorrhaged after complications with a C-section. (This is not a picture of the actual Snyder twins.)

There are no words. Except: to send love, prayers and donations to the father, named Jay, and his beautiful twins Reverie and Jackson. To learn more about their story and to make a donation, please visit the website my friend created: The Snyder Twins: Help raise Jackson and Reverie Snyder.

The other thing that these stories - both tragic and miraculous - can teach us, is to appreciate our own lives more - to live it to the fullest and let our hearts open rather than constrict at the news of another tragedy, or another curve ball that life has thrown our way. To not take things personally - the universe doesn't hold grievances. It is a time to shine light on things during the darkest time of the year. Pagans and Christians alike light trees and candles, while my Jewish friends celebrate Hanukkah, an eight day festival of lights.

Michal, the mother of the Snyder twins, was a Buddhist. I think many religions would subscribe to the belief that Michal's spirit is indeed inside both of her children, and with her husband Jay.

Advent is the period of anticipation for a baby, the baby in all of us who is new and hopeful, loves and needs love. The baby represents our innocence, vulnerability, and our future.

As long as we say yes to the things that will help us grow as human beings there is hope. We don't have to be Christian in order to appreciate the gravitas of Mary's choice, her decision to love.

This season represents all babies, all children. Especially Jackson and Reverie. Please help.

Life Beyond #NaNoWriMo

2011-11-30T12:53:00.000-05:00

Thank you Nanowrimo, for helping me put my nose to the grindstone. You and my cohorts made me push through my story, and I have just reached my personal goal of 40k, with 222 words to spare.

So no, I won't get a NaNoWriMo "Winner" badge, but I've written more in a month than I ever have before, and I have a live story with a character arc and a beginning, middle and end. I am fully satisfied with my experience in Nanowrimo-land.

I made sure to set a realistic goal for myself when I realized that I wouldn't be able to write at all during Thanksgiving week. I appreciated the momentum I had already built, and I didn't want to give up.

Writing a first draft is agony, but what gets me through it are those moments when I am surprised by my story. It makes me want to keep writing. But writing is a discipline, yes? And discipline isn't always fun. The fun part for me is in revision, because that's where craft comes in; I don't have to rely so heavily on the muse - it is something that I can control. (And agonize over as well of course, if something isn't "working.")

What's next? Setting up all of the advent calendars around the house tonight when the kids are asleep so they can be "surprised" in the morning on December 1st. Going back to the gym, preparing for Christmas with decorations, tree lighting ceremonies and music. Catching up on my favorite TV shows, being more available to family and friends.

This month has been intense, people.

I'm ready to let my WRITING sit and marinate for a little while so I can gorge myself on READING. I don't know about you, but I haven't had any time to read this month and my TBR list is about three miles high.

Next year you'll see me doing Nanowrimo again: I'll never have that Thanksgiving week to write, but maybe I can plan a little better and make it to 45k.

*Wink, wink, wink*

What about you?

Happy 93rd Birthday Madeleine L'Engle, my Gran

2011-11-29T10:20:00.001-05:00

Dearest Gran,

You were born on this day in 1918. You would be 93. Thank you for your legacy of love, laughter and eating the impossible for breakfast. Thank you for continuing to write, against all odds, and for being such a powerful mentor to those who were moved by your work and your process.

Thank you for showing me the way, just by being you.

We are celebrating your birthday with the launch of your brand new website, where we hope both new and old fans will get to visit and celebrate you too. Countless of people will be celebrating the 50th anniversary of A Wrinkle in Time in February: you are remembered, you are loved.

You have been a beacon of hope and an inspiration to many - not just writers, but all kinds of artists, scientists, mathematicians. Many of us spend much of our youth folding ourselves up into pretzels, trying to please others and to conform to our ideas of what our family, friends, society want us to be. We are afraid of not being loved. You have helped us come into our own.

“On Camazotz we are all happy because we are all alike. Differences create problems. You know that, don’t you, dear sister?”

“No,” Meg said.

“Oh, yes, you do. You’ve seen at home how true it is. You know that’s the reason you’re not happy at school. Because you’re different.”

“I’m different, and I’m happy.” Calvin said.

“But you pretend that you aren’t different.”

“I’m different, and I like being different.” Calvin’s voice was unnaturally loud.

“Maybe I don’t like being different,” Meg said, “but I don’t want to be like everybody else either.”

Thank you for inspiring me to be my own writer, and not try to channel somebody I can't be. And to mentor other young writers, to show them that "originality" is finding their own authentic voice. To pay it forward.

“Who have our fighters been?” Calvin asked.

“Oh, you must know them, dear,” Mrs Whatsit said.

Mrs. Who’s spectacles Shone out at them triumphantly, “And the light shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not.”

“Jesus!” Charles Wallace said. “Why of course, Jesus!”

“Of course!” Mrs Whatsit said. “Go on, Charles, love. There were others. All your great artists. They’ve been lights for us to see by.”

“Leonardo da Vinci?” Calvin suggested tentatively. “And Michelangelo?”

“And Shakespeare,” Charles Wallace called out, “And Bach! And Pasteur, and Madame Curie, and Einstein!”

Now Calvin’s voice rang out with confidence. “And Schweitzer, and Ghandi, and Buddha and Beethoven, and Rembrandt and St.Francis!”

Thank you for teaching us that we can be fighters too by embracing our authenticity, our creativity, our gifts; that we can fight darkness just as well as anybody else; that we can be the heroes and heroines of our own lives.

xoxoxo I miss you, and I love you more-than-tongue-can-tell.

Always.

Gratitude

2011-11-24T12:46:00.001-05:00

Happy Thanksgiving friends!

My cup runneth over - I am blessed with so many wonderful people in my life, family and friends - work that I love.

This time twenty years ago I never thought that I would feel this way, let alone be comfortable in my own skin. I sat around a circle in my Eric Morris-inspired acting class in San Francisco lost, alone, afraid, but most importantly, numb. Our acting teacher Robert wanted us to get in touch with what we were grateful for. I was ashamed that I couldn't think of a single thing. I was uncomfortably numb, so to speak, and for the next two years, I continued to vacillate between this awful numbness and search for comfort.

Feelings aren't always comfortable, are they? But growing up necessitates us learning how to manage those feelings, and it's hard. We're not perfect.

Make no mistake about it - gratitude is grace but it can also be a choice in the actions we take.

I am most grateful for cultivating gratitude, and for not believing that a state of numbness - comfortable or not - is acceptable. I am grateful to be able to experience the rich bounty of feelings that come my way, and the lessons that I learn from them.

I am grateful to be alive - and that twenty years ago I didn't give up.

What are you grateful for this year?

Saying Yes . . .

2011-11-15T23:22:00.000-05:00

. . . is so easy - it slips off the tongue, it's my default answer. Everyone knows that I'm a softie, and that saying "no" doesn't come naturally.

But I realized in my mid 20's that saying "yes" to everything without discernment isn't really an affirmation of life - it is more like a slow death.

I'm a recovering *buzz word* people-pleaser. And we've all learned that never leaves anybody happy in the long run.

It's a slow and LONG recovery folks.

As I grow up I'm able to experiment more with the boundaries of "no" and the fluidity of "yes".
Where am I going with this? I set out to write a post about saying "yes" to be part of a Performer's Showcase for the Westchester Library Association, and before I even mention it, I'm off on a tangent.

But I said "yes" without knowing what it was performing? Do they really want to hear me sing? and then I promptly forgot about it until I got a reminder email from the organizer, who said: if you have any brochures, make sure you have at least 75. Brochures? I don't have brochures, but I've always wanted them, so this was the impetus to get 'em. (Say yes!)

My husband made his priority creating me a gorgeous brochure over the weekend to take to the event today, with a description and some reviews of EDGES and a number of workshops that I do. It's an a la carte brochure - almost like a spa!

I felt so good about this that I wasn't nervous about "performing" - I had a piece of paper to fall back on. (Which is another blog post in and of itself. WHY DO WE NEED A PIECE OF PAPER TO FALL BACK ON?)

It turned out to be very casual, and there were actual "performers" there - a science program - fashion designers - actors! There was one other writer hawking her wares too, and she happens to be a neighbor from Katonah whom I've never met: Deborah Batterman who has published a short story collection entitled: Shoes, Hair, Nails. I am looking forward to getting to know her!

Deborah, the other "performers" and I sat at separate tables so that librarians could come and talk to us about our programs. Mine? Red Rocks and Brownstones (Edges talk), Mining Your Life For Your Fiction, Truth, Fiction and Unicorns, The Modern Diarist, A Wrinkle in (an hour's) Time.

Of course, librarians, if any of you are reading this, I can tailor any workshop to your needs!

And I have to say, all in all, it did feel GREAT to have a brochure to fall back on. :-)

P.S. I said "yes" to NaNoWriMo, and miraculously, I am up to 30k. Yippee!!!!

These Boots Were Made For Walkin' #NaNoWriMo 25k

2011-11-10T20:27:00.000-05:00

I gave my brain a NaNoWriMo break today.

Why, you ask. Lord God, why?

Well. I hit the halfway mark with 25, 000 words last night.

I often forget that the carrot works better than the stick and don't celebrate my own accomplishments, but I think that 25k warrants some kind of reward. Don't you?

So. I had to drive into the city for some meetings, and during a free half hour, I bought the new pair of boots I had been too cheap to get myself. (And no, they weren't on sale.)

I need to celebrate, because it will be a miracle if I make it to 50k by the end of the month with the holidays coming up. (And then I won't have anything to celebrate.) With the craft projects and cooking and extended family. It would seem impossible.

Then again, I thought that 25k in ten days would be impossible.

Don't we always see our dreams as impossible at first? I dreamed of being published and yes, got my heart busted up in the process, but that doesn't take away from the fact that my dream came true, and that I am a writer. I would be a writer even if I was never published. "You're a writer if you write," was the mantra that my grandmother instilled in me.

So I will dangle more carrots. For every 5k, I will indulge myself. A pedicure. Lunch with a friend. (Any other ideas?) Boots!

These boots are made for walkin'
And that's just what they'll do -
One of these days these boots are gonna
Walk all over . . . you*

*The negative voices in my head that tell me I can't do anything**
** Oh, now she has voices in her head, does she? ***
*** Don't all writers?

What are your carrots?

Week #2, Bring in the Dancing Ninjas, #NaNoWriMo

2011-11-08T11:04:00.001-05:00

I was off to a roaring start. As of last night, I clocked in almost 20k words over the first week, excluding the weekend.

I went to work, but I did not go to the gym, cook or clean. My words were having a major dance party.

But today I am drawing blanks. Oh, I make myself write, but not as fast or as furious.

I am full of excuses, and I am starting to stress about how much busier November is going to get. How can I possibly write another 30k?

I couldn't stay and write in bed because the tree guys were back at 8:30AM with their cherry pickers to clean up the mess from last week. (We had a freak snow storm resulting in loss of power for a few days and lots of poor, damaged trees.) (Yes, the noise and the expense makes me want to cry.) (And yes, I know that all of these parantheticals aren't correct.) (So what?)

I voted in our local elections, and then came here, to Starbucks. But I happened to be privy to a loud conversation about office politics from two brassy real estate agents. Sigh. However, I can't blame them, because now they're gone and I've resorted to . . . blogging. Which is still writing, btw, but it doesn't count for #NaNoWriMo.

Thank goodness for the pep talks that #NaNoWriMo gives you, like this one from last week from Erin Morgenstern.

I hear that the slump is more than common for writers, and that I need not despair. I need to keep carving out this space for writing, and give myself permission to dance with ninjas.

Back to Scrivener - farewell my lovelies!

Disturbia in Suburbia

2011-11-04T16:25:00.000-04:00

A level 3 Sex Offender has moved to my street in Bedford/ Katonah.

And as you all know, I have three children of my own.

What does this have to do with a literary life? It doesn't, but if I throw in Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov and label Humbert Humbert as a level 2 sex offender, then you have some kind of reference. But I'm not blogging about Nabokov, or exploring the sexualization of young girls.

I am writing because I have been feeling helpless since I heard the news two days ago. What can I do? I can't make it/ him go away. But I can write.

This level 3 sex offender, David Ohnmacht was convicted only 8 years ago of various acts of sexual abuse (i.e. rape and sodomy) against four young girls on four separate occasions. He held numerous jobs interacting with children including a DJ for children's parties, driving an ice cream truck, and camp counselor.

Why aren't there any "Child Safety Zone" laws in Westchester County, when there are in so many other counties across the country? How could the State have placed him on a street in a neighborhood largely comprised of families with multiple children? According to those laws, he wouldn't be allowed within 1000 feet of a school bus stop. But he is. He is much closer than that.

And yet I am torn. I want to believe in rehabilitation, in second chances, that people can grow and change. I was a psychotherapist for years. I have volunteered and done workshops in prisons - indeed, I am going through the extensive paperwork to volunteer at the Bedford Women's Correctional Facility. People's pain doesn't scare me.

But when it comes to a repeat offender kidnapping and raping children, my heart not only weeps, but ends up losing the muscles of tolerance that I have built up over the years. There are going to be many pains that I can't shield my children from. But I hope to God that rape isn't one of them.

The fact is, that this is a messy and complicated world, filled with both beauty and ugliness. I have to be on the look-out for both - to appreciate the random acts of beauty and kindness that the world offers, and at the same time, deal with disappointment, ugliness, fear. Protect myself and my children by giving them life skills that will help them navigate the pit falls inherent in a life lived to the fullest.

This is more than an issue of public safety. One of my wonderful neighbors wrote to our local congressman and I am suggesting that we all do the same. There is power in numbers and in words, in writing.

Will you join me?

NaNoWriMo Rocks!

2011-11-03T10:44:00.000-04:00

Hello sweet people,

9252 words in 48 hours. My words are soaring because I am not censoring myself - I am not an "author", I am a writer, and for this month I can write whatever I want, because people, I've been stuck. ("Write fantasy" one person says. "Don't write fantasy - you'll invite unfavorable comparison to your grandmother!" another says. "Give up on the one about Reality TV - Libba already did it.")

Too many voices!

This month NaNoWriMo gives me permission to write what comes out of my heart. Yes, there's Reality TV. Yes there's Rock Band and a charismatic, philandering priest, and yes, there is a boy. Or two! I have scratched one novel, but some of it is reworking it's way into this one. I can't help it - it's not out of my system yet!

Maybe I'll be able to let go after writing it all out. Maybe I'll be able to move forward with a new project, or maybe THIS will be my new project, and I'll get to have fun revising from December through May. I'll get to stop and think. But for now - just write!

What about you? (If you want to add me as a NaNo buddy, I'm LénaRoy.)

PS Oh my! Look at the time! I am driving into the city for a writer's lunch at my Gran's favorite restaurant, Henry's. This will be my first time driving in! My God du Jour for driving is Gladys - she is the Goddess of traffic and parking. Be with me Gladys!

Lessons from Madeleine L'Engle: Writing as Wish Fulfillment

2011-10-28T14:12:00.000-04:00

We have the compulsion to write for an abundance of reasons. We write to understand our relationship to shadow, and we also write with a yearning toward the light - at least I do.

Perhaps my greatest teacher for this phenomenon was witnessing the way my grandmother Madeleine L'Engle lived, and what was manifested in her writing. My Gran was devout, yet she was also known to raise her fist at God. The tenet of love conquering all that is so ingrained in her writing is wish fulfillment - it is the writing herself that brought her to her faith. In Wrinkle, she was Meg, struggling with all of the Divine questions.

As an only, lonely child, she always wanted a large family, so she wrote about large families, and intertwined her characters throughout her books so she never had to say goodbye. (This is one of my favorite pictures of my Gran - when she was Madeleine Camp. 14 years old, and already writing up a storm!)

And she created a large family - not only in her fiction and her biological family, but in extending her generosity to her readers. They too, became like family.

And who doesn't want love to conquer all, for the "goodness" in the world and in ourselves to outweigh the "badness". We don't all have to believe in the same gods to be on the same page about that one.

I wish that she could have read Edges. I know she would have appreciated me writing about god du jour. I know she would have applauded that my ending wasn't neat and tidy, that it was true to life.

We write to express our hopes and dreams. We write to find our faith. We write to know ourselves.

At least I do. What about you?

Can Writing Save Your Life?

2011-10-26T13:03:00.003-04:00

Why do we write? Why are stories so important? As a student of C.S. Lewis says in the movie Shadowlands: we read to know we're not alone. So is it the same for writing?

I think so. That's why I believe that everyone has a story to tell. And that we write and tell stories to understand who we are, in both darkness and light.

Sometimes we tell the wrong stories about ourselves, and we need to shift our perspective and change them. We can get stuck on the story that we are unlovable and will always be alone, or we how about the story that we are a victim of circumstances and other people - know that one? Those stories don't serve us, and we need to find stories that do.

As a child, I wrote to explore and manage my darker feelings, and I am so grateful that I was encouraged to have that as an outlet. I don't know what I would have done without it. My journals were a receptacle for my negative emotions: depression, jealousy, self-hate, rage. Of course, I experienced the lighter side of life as well, but I didn't need to write about that. In college I wrote avant-garde labyrynthine short stories - explorations of psychological trauma. After college, in my "acting" days, I wrote my own pieces to perform.

Sobriety at the age of 25 brought me to a new kind of hopeful writing. Writing was the only way that I knew how to "pray", to ask for help. Writing was my own version of getting on my knees. (I grew up in the church and had to change my perspective about what humility really meant.)

At that time I was also in graduate school, earning my Masters Degree in Drama Therapy. For my thesis I wrote a performance art piece entitled: Pandora's Hot Box - Lost in a Spiritual Supermarket. (Yes, inspired by The Clash.) Writing was therapy then, and continues to be so.

Even though the publishing business can bring up all of my neuroses, it is the process of writing on a daily basis that keeps saving my life.

Writing Edges was partly a way for me to come back to an understanding and gratitude for my own sobriety. It would be a lie to say that it wasn't part of my personal journey - yet it is fiction. And so it is true.

And the fiction I'm writing now is letting me explore, through my main character, the feeling of being in someone else's shadow and finding yourself despite that.

What about you? Where are you in your writing? Does the process help keep you sane as well?

Warmly,

Léna xoxo

Character Anyone?

2011-10-21T15:59:00.001-04:00

I've been thinking all week about the dynamic difference between fiction that is character driven, vs fiction that is plot driven. To state it ever so simply: in the former, the character drives the plot and in the latter, the plot drives the character.

My writing gears toward the character-driven variety, and today I am stuck: I have reached the climax of a story, and there are so many different ways my main character could react to the situation she's found herself embroiled in. Only what is organic to her?

When I'm stuck like this, I know that I have to go deeper into character, I can't force the plot. I have to go back to asking questions about her motivations. What does she want most?

And then I also have to look at why I'm stuck in my writing. Where else am I stuck in my life? Is the story of my own life moving forward?

When my students say: I don't know what to write, we will brainstorm, and then I tell them to write through it, to try something, anything. To take the risk and see what happens. To experience being free. That there are no mistakes.

We usually tell others what we really need to hear ourselves, don't we?

So I will take my own advice and dive back in.

A Make-Over

2011-10-20T15:40:00.000-04:00

I'm doing what any self-respecting gal in relationship trouble will do and getting a make-over. Your relationship is in trouble? No, not my relationship with my significant other, but my relationship with my publisher. Our problem is not one about my writing, but about marketing. I need more of a platform, more readers, more followers! No biggie.

I'm giving my blog a make-over. What do you think? I'd love to attract more readers and invite more interaction, but only if it's organic and authentic, only if I truly connect with more people. So I'm asking you, dear ones, what would you like to see me blog about more regularly?

I blog a lot yes, but the topics are always varied. Should I commit to regular columns? I just had an inspirational chat with my friend Keith in Atlanta, Georgia, who has got me thinking about all of this stuff. Madeleine Mondays? Therapeutic Thursdays? Writer Wednesdays? Freaky Fridays? What Would Oprah Do Tuesdays?

I've changed the template on blogger cosmetically, but I am seriously thinking about amalgamating my very unsexy website, www.lenaroybooks.com with this blog on wordpress. I so wish that I could hire someone to do this for me! (This is why my current website is so unappealing - I am a DIY kind of gal. Oh yeah, and a financially strapped kind of gal.)

Feedback is wanted and encouraged!

Patricia Polacco Visits My Kids' Elementary School!

2011-10-19T15:53:00.000-04:00

Talk about inspirational. Talk about riveting. Talk about someone who loves kids and is passionate about using art as service. Talk about beloved author and illustrator, Patricia Polacco.

We were honored to be able to have her come to our school yesterday, where my daughter attends first grade and my son attends fourth grade. She spent the morning in the library, where classes visited her, and then she had lunch with the teachers, and with parents like me who had helped with the funding to get her to stop in Bedford Hills during her tour of the Northeast. How many people get to say that they have had lunch with Patricia Polacco? (I have to say she was so gracious and such a good storyteller that she made me all misty-eyed about my grandmother!)

Her next stop was the auditorium where she sat in a rocking chair, and all of the fourth and fifth grade classes sat on the floor, chins on their hands.

Did you know that Ms. Polacco couldn't read until she was 14? That's right, she was learning disabled. And the bullying that she suffered from nearly crippled her emotionally.

But she persevered in life, and she didn't start her career as an author/illustrator until she was 41 - she has written all of her 80 books in the past 26 years! She based her hour long talk around two of her books, The Meteor, and The Keeping Quilt, and she managed to cover all the basics of how to be a good human being! Ms. Palacco does as all writer's do, and likes mixing up fact with fiction in her books. ("Just because it didn't happen, doesn't mean it isn't true.")

She brought tangible evidence too - this picture is of her holding up the actual Keeping Quilt, made by her great grandmother out of old clothes from Russia so that everybody could remember where they came from.

Ms. Palacco brought out a piece of the meteor that had landed in her grandmother's backyard that people wished upon. She held her audience in the palm of her hand as she told everyone that they would get a chance to wish on it too, as long as they didn't wish for three things: 1) money (by itself it shrivels your heart) 2) to change other people (kindness is the only thing that can change people, everybody knows that!) 3) things (gadgets and toys and gizmos only make you want more).

She was sensational. Another author to aspire to!

So What if Publishing is a Harsh Mistress?

2011-10-18T11:13:00.000-04:00

First of all I want to thank everyone who bought my book. There are almost 1300 of you, and I am eternally grateful. But alas, my publishing house doesn't like those numbers.

I've become friends with many of you, chronicling my journey through this literary life, and I wanted you to know: yesterday I found out that FSG is not picking up The Land of the Lost and Found, not because it's not good enough, but because they are not satisfied with the numbers of Edges, no matter how much they love it. "It doesn't make sense to publish a companion novel."

Their negative view of the numbers also puts Edges in danger of never making it to paperback which is a shame because then it would be more affordable and reach a wider audience. (I don't know about ebook or audio sales, but I certainly appreciate it if you bought it that way too!)

As an author, I am far from being alone - 90% of us don't sell out our first book and have a hard time publishing a second, third, fourth.

But I will not give up: I will have courage in the face of discouragement, I will practice steadfast detachment and keep on writing the stories that want ME to write them. I will listen to my intuition and approach my entire life with creative fervor. And I will pass this passion on to the future generation of writers.

Yes, publishing is a harsh mistress, but it is first and foremost a business, therefore, rejection is not about us, or about our books, but about people making wild guesses and backing authors with a built-in audience. (Like Snooki!) I know so many of you are beginning your own journey, querying agents and the like. Keep going! Persevere. The world needs your stories.

And I want YOU to know that you guys are amazing - I am so grateful for your support and your belief in me and my writing.

Here's the pitch: if you haven't bought Edges yet, please consider doing so. And read it. And if you are feeling extra supportive, please go to Goodreads and Amazon and Shelfari and give Edges a lovely rating and maybe even a review.

Authors need readers. I need you. Maybe together, we can get this book off the ground.

xoxoxox Léna

Why I Heart Gae and YA

2011-10-16T15:57:00.000-04:00

Last night I dreamed that I got 10k and a contract for a new book. While that part isn't a reality yet, I still woke up this morning glad to be a writer, and in particular, a Teen Writer.

Here I am with 6 other YA authors and the women who rule Dolphin Bookshop in Port Washington, NY.

We had just done a 3.5 hour event called Falling Apart and Picking Up the Pieces which was the brain child of Gae Polisner (third from the left). Her debut novel, The Pull of Gravity came out in May and she has been tireless in promoting not only herself, but other authors as well. This is what we in the YA scene come to understand and appreciate very quickly; that we're all in the same boat and it's much more fun to paddle together than by ourselves.

Gae pulled together Christopher Grant (far left) with Teenie, Michael Northrup (back middle) with Trapped, Nova Ren Suma (third from right) with Imaginary Girls, Arlaina Tibensky (second from right) with And Then Things Fall Apart, and Matt Blackstone with A Scary Scene in a Scary Movie.

She had us all "prepare" by choosing 90 second excerpts from our books based on certain themes. Nine of them! We would read some, and then "mingle" with the audience. And what an audience we had!

All because of the muscle that Gae and the women at Dolphin had put into the event.

Gae started working on this event last July when she approached the women at Dolphin about a group reading and signing. These wonderful women started hatching a plan to get a couple of us into the local high schools to promote each other and the event, in order to ensure an audience. (You know that there's no guarantee of people showing up to these things, don't you?)

On Friday morning, before the reading in the early evening, Gae and I met at a Starbucks for breakfast before heading over to Schreiber HS to talk and teach. Hearts pounding with nerves and anticipation, we entered the halls of the high school and were led to the library where we were to meet with Honors students. How many could there be? I had been thinking forty, but then we were told one hundred, and it ended up being more like one hundred and fifty. Gae introduced us, and then we worked well together, talking about how we came to be writers, how we came to write our books, and reading short excerpts. The questions from the students were phenomenal. We had such a great time! Gae is an amazing public speaker, even though she swears up and down it doesn't come naturally. She's a wonderful person to share a stage with.

Then Gae and I were separated ("I'll miss you!") and went into different classrooms, where I talked mostly about different approaches to writing and where there were so many questions I didn't have time to give them my back-up writing exercise.

We were exhausted and happy, ready to move on to meeting up with our other friends at Dolphin Bookshop.

Thank you Gae for a wonderful day, for your vivacity and generosity. And tirelessness!

Can you see why I heart Gae and YA?

Steadfast Detachment with Writing?

2011-10-13T09:20:00.000-04:00

I am trying to practice what yogis call abhyasa vairagya in my writing life. (Abhyasa means practice, and vairagya means non-attachment in the Yoga Sutras.)

My mind has been flitting all over the place lately, distractable and irritable whenever I try to sit down and focus on my current WIP. At least I am sitting down, I tell myself. At least I am engaging in the practice. But I have monkey mind.

Is it that I am still waiting to hear about the book that's out on submission, The Land of The Lost and Found? Last I heard was that my editor loved it enough to pitch it to the sales team and several other colleagues at MacMillan and FSG. But in this crazy, fear-based market, there is no guarantee.

(My second book is actually my current WIP - it was rejected by FSG after they took half a year to think about it, and I put it in a drawer instead of sending it to other houses. I don't know whether that was the right decision or not, but now I am completely rewriting it into a different book.)

There is never any guarantee of anything. This is why I must keep practicing letting go of the results, while at the same time engaging in my discipline and finding beauty in my own process.

I love this pose - it makes me feel strong and balanced, and it shows intention to both reach for the sky and stay grounded.

And in the meantime, I am all jazzed up about my day tomorrow with Gae Polisner - I am driving to Port Washington, Long Island, where we will be speaking to students and leading workshops at Schreiber High School. Later, Gae has created an event at Dolphin Bookstore where we will meet up with five other authors - Matt Blackstone, Arlaina Tibensky, Christopher Grant, Michael Northrup and Nova Ren Suma. It won't be your mother's author appearance, that's for sure! So if you are in the nabe, come see us! We'll be there with our proverbial bells (and Gae's real one) from 5:30 until 9PM!!!

PS Wish me luck with the driving! (I'll have to practice more of the abhyasa . . .)

Anyone and Everyone Can Vote!

2011-10-11T12:42:00.001-04:00

I just found out about the Young Adult Library Services Association's (YALSA) Reader's Choice Awards.

EDGES is eligible, and anyone can vote!

In this day and age, it takes a village to raise a book.

I am inspired to ask you all to take the time and put in a vote for Edges because when I tweeted about it, my friend Keith Jennings in Georgia immediately clicked on the site and nominated my book. (Keith writes beautifully about the creative process and the need for community - he is certainly my soul brother on that front!)

The more nominations means a larger community of readers . . .

. . . and a larger community of readers means . . . awesomeness!

Here is the link

Realistic Fiction is the category

If you are not affiliated with a school or a library, just say that you are a fan of teen lit and name your local library as your go-to place.

Edges was published December 7, 2010 by FSG so it is eligible.

The ISBN is 0374350523

Courage! have a great rest of your day everyone!

Authors, Readers and Future Writers Come Together at Little Joe's

2011-10-10T21:57:00.000-04:00

I can't go to sleep without writing about today's Literary event at Little Joe's in Katonah!

But truth is that right now I am not legitly "lit" - tonight is one of those brain dead night's after a jam-packed three day weekend of girl fiesta sleepovers, trips to the city, french-toast making and (groan) shopping for clothes with 9 and 11 year old boys (who don't care that their clothes don't fit them anymore).

Still. I am so excited that Jen Cook, Katonah's beloved entrepreneur and owner of Noka Joe's has taken a leap of faith by filling the void left behind by Borders in Mt. Kisco (which, legend has it, ousted a wonderful independent bookstore ten years ago) by opening up an indie above her sweet shop - a delightfully cozy and welcoming children's specialty bookstore. We've come full-circle in Northern Westchester and karma might just be readjusting itself.

Doesn't that just scream "hope and beauty" to you, when the publishing industry is a hot mess with e-book sales and the combustion of Borders?

The indie bookstore is back, people.

Jen opened the doors of Little Joe's last Thursday and has been celebrating with events all week. Today it was my turn to help in the hooplah, and I played my role of Madeleine L'Engle's granddaughter, armed with a copy of A Wrinkle in Time and hung out upstairs, reading excerpts, reminiscing, answering Madeleine L'Engle related questions and yes, anything to do with reading and writing.

It was a blast - the audience (made up of old and new friends, my Writopia students) was very appreciative and interactive, which always makes EVERYTHING more fun and interesting. It's always a two-way street, isn't it? We don't live in isolation. A bookstore provides a community space where ideas can flourish and be shared, an author and a reader have a relationship in that they co-create the experience of the book together (nobody reads the same book in the same way), and make something bigger than the sum of their parts.

Am I babbling now? Good night, my lovely friends!

Harmonic Convergence at Flights of Fantasy

2011-10-03T10:58:00.000-04:00

It's wonderful when marketing, family and sociability are able to harmonically converge for author events and appearances. It happens when I double up with one or more authors and when I bring one (or more) of my children.

This weekend I went to Albany, for a reading and signing event at Flights of Fantasy Books and Games on Sunday afternoon with urban fantasy author from Boston, Margaret Ronald. (We had been slated to come in late August, but Hurricane Irene had thwarted our plans. )

Do you remember as a kid, how special it was going to a hotel, and having a parent (or two) all to yourself? I brought my 9 year old son, Finn (as in Huckleberry, not Finbar) and we were both giddy. We drove to Albany late Saturday afternoon and checked into the Holiday Inn on Wolf Road, and bounced on the beds.

Dinner was at The Red Lobster, since Finn's favorite food hails from the sea, and he was willing to wait over an hour to get a table. (We played Scrabble on my I-Phone, so it was still adventurous.) We brought leftovers and key lime pie back to the hotel, and Finn was incredulous when I said that he could have dessert in bed while we stayed up extra late watching cartoons. Yay!

I won't bore you with the rest of our particulars, but suffice it to say, we had a blast. We went to the bookstore at noon where we met up with the owner, Maria, and Margaret. Maria was a wonderful host and took us out for Thai food for lunch. She has a fascinating story herself as she comes from the corporate world . . . in the Phippipines! And now she is like a den mother to all of these fantasy, science fiction and gaming enthusiasts. Margaret is delightful too - she lives in Boston, and went to Williams College in Massachusetts. Her "day" job is as an assistant to a professor at Harvard, and her husband is an organist. I can't wait to read her books!

The bookstore is aaaah-mazing - it's a place you really could spend a full day in, there are so many nooks and crannies, as well as lots of gaming tables! Margaret read from one of her steam punk short stories, (so funny!) and I read two short passages from Edges, and then we answered questions about craft.

I am grateful that my friend Hope, another writer and fabulous blogger, was able to come with her family, and that I met some cool folks who otherwise would not have been exposed to my book. Thank you to Maria and Eleanor for reading Edges and for inviting me to your home-away-from-home and for believing in the power of reading!

***** for LIE, by Caroline Bock

2011-09-29T13:10:00.000-04:00

I met Caroline Bock, debut author of LIE last Friday night at a reading she did with the divine Tara Altebrando (promoting her awesome new book, Dreamland Social Club that takes place on Coney Island) at The Voracious Reader.

LIE explores a hate crime and racism - really tough subjects - and I was intrigued.

Caroline is a dynamic personality - she had us riveted with her reading. First she explained that she had been devastated and outraged when a Hispanic immigrant had been murdered by a gang of affluent white high school teens near her home on Long Island. How could this happen in this day and age and in her neighborhood? Thus the story was born.

The novel's first page has this quote from The New York Times: "The attacks were such an established pastime that the youths, who have pleaded not guilty, had a casual and derogatory term for it, "beaner hopping."

LIE is told through intertwining narratives, both adult and teen. We never hear from the force behind the "beaner hopping", Jimmy, but we learn about him through the three main characters: Skylar - his girlfriend, Sean - his best friend, and Lisa Marie - Skylar's best friend.

The book starts with Skylar, lying about what she knows about the attack. Everybody knows, nobody's talking is the mantra throughout the book. The character that made my skin crawl the most was Lisa Marie, who is so invested in protecting Jimmy that it is more important than seeing how torn up Skylar and Sean are about not telling the truth. She and the absent Jimmy, control their narratives throughout the book. Caroline expertly shows us how devastating this is, without being preachy.

This would be a great book to discuss with high school students and book groups of all ages, about the effects of bullying, a charismatic leader who compels others to do the wrong thing by making it seem right, (Hitler anyone?) the importance of cultural sensitivity and out and out racism.

When I moved to the exurbs from New York City, I wanted to make sure that my kids would go to a school that reflected the world, and we have that in the Bedford Hills School district. Reading Caroline's book strengthened my own point of view in the importance of tolerance and some new immigration laws that don't make it so impossible for immigrants to become part of the ever dwindling middle class. A lot needs to happen in this country in that arena.

We are all from somewhere else. The family tree on my mother's side goes way way back, with ancestors coming from France and Sicily, and my dad is British.

What is your ancestry?

Children's Book Day Surprise

2011-09-26T13:32:00.000-04:00

Image via Wikipedia

It was a wonderful day for a book event at Washington Irving's Sunnyside. The weather channel had threatened rain all weekend, but it turned out to be a beautiful Indian Summer day with plentiful sunshine gracing the rolling hills overlooking the Hudson River.

Sunnyside, the mansion where Washington Irving lived, is in Irvington (surprise!) next to Tarrytown. My family and I arrived early, and I was whisked off to see where I would be sitting - alongside Judy Blundell (who recommended me for this event) and Peter Lerangis of 39 Clue fame. That's right - Edges was in fantastic company, as Judy also writes under the name Jude Watson (Watson being her married name) with Judy's lexicon of work and all of the 39 Clues books.

I had a few minutes, so I walked around, saw other wonderful authors talking to young readers and their parents. (This event was mostly for a younger audience: I think that Judy and I were the only ones representing the YA scene!)

Imagine my surprise when a man genially walks up to me and asks if I am Léna Roy. Why yes, yes I am. (There was a HUGE picture of me that went along with the cover article of the Westchester Journal Weekender.)

"Did you go to Kent boarding School?"

My eyes popped. "Yes!"

"I'm Chris Dee, I'm married to Barbara Dee, and I was your 9th grade English teacher."

Holy cow! I'm getting goosebumps just writing this. What a small world! Barbara Dee and I had only recently become Facebook and Twitter friends and have been trying to set up a coffee date. It turns out that Barbara also taught at Kent when I was there - but was never my teacher.

Kent boarding school. The WRONG place for me. It was a disaster. I was incredibly miserable and can't believe that I lasted even two years there. But that's another story.

Mr. Dee though, was a pretty cool teacher. In fact, the only cool teacher.

Barbara and I gave each other a big hug, promising a long coffee date in the next week or two, and then it was time to sit at my table from 2PM - 4:30PM. Some of my Writopia students came, and it was lovely talking with people about books and the process of writing, and how important building community is.

This was such a wonderful event, supporting Westchester authors and the people who love them. I did not however, get to talk to everybody I wanted to, but it was tough to be pro-active when there were just so many people I wanted to meet. And yes, I was too chicken to approach Gail Carson-Levine. Next time, I promise!

And the Winners Are . . .

2011-09-24T21:58:00.000-04:00

. . . you're all winners! For sure, but I can still only give away three books. However, to everybody who entered, I will send snazzy bookmarks if you comment below with your email attached. And even if you didn't enter, your comment and email will earn you a bookmark. So there!

Wow. It was so nice of you all to enter, and to help me not feel so foolish for hosting a contest at all. This self-promotion stuff just KILLS me sometime. I am so eager to connect with people, but I want authentic connection. Don't you?

I went to a random number machine and the numbers I got were: 1, 9 and 27. So if I've done my math correctly, then that's Webstrider and the two Anonymous' (Anonymi?)

Sweet dreams peoples. xoxox

The Weekender

2011-09-23T09:48:00.000-04:00

Oh yes it's Friday, and that means it's the last day to enter my contest to win one of three signed copies of Edges that I rescued from the Borders in Mt. Kisco. The odds of winning one are pretty awesome. Click on the link above to enter!

It also means the weekend, which is chock full of awesome activities:

Tonight after my workshop at The Voracious Reader, friend and author Tara Altebrando will be joining Caroline Block to read and talk about their new books, Dreamland Social Club and LIE. I hope you can come!

Saturday after my daughter's soccer and a Writopia workshop, Katonal Live is having a block party downtown with four bands. Maybe I'll see you there!

And then on Sunday, after my son's football game, we will all be going to Washington Irving's Sunnyside in Tarrytown for the annual Children's Book Day. There will be over sixty authors, including me! I also had the honor of being interviewed last week by Karen Croke of the LoHud Journal - a Westchester newspaper. The article is on the front page of today's Weekend section. You can read the article online here if you are so inclined.

I will be announcing the winners of the books tomorrow - maybe you're one of them! And maybe I'll see you at one of these events this weekend. At any rate, have a great time whatever you are doing!

Hugs to all. And a kiss. oooox

Open Mics, Football, and a Cold Sore, Oh My

2011-09-19T10:53:00.001-04:00

Is it okay if I curl up in bed with latest issue of Oprah until I have to leave for writing workshops in Larchmont in a few hours? I am supposed to be writing - my agent has glamored me into thinking I should try my hand at middle grade fantasy and I told him that I would roll up my sleeves (after sending him two synopses on Friday) but my brain is in a fog.

I LOVE the fall, but with the changes in temperatures and schedules-run-amok my body starts to shut down. Does anybody else experience this intensity? Every fall I am guaranteed to get a big ugly cold sore that blows up my lower lip. FUN.

I woke up with one on Saturday morning, but I had to take my girl to soccer, run a workshop, and then later host a fabulous Writopia Open Mic event at the Mt. Kisco Library. We had five kids read, and then inaugurate our Writopia wall of fame. The husband made a wall that we can move around, with photoshopped wallpaper on it of empty books that need titles. Our Writopians then get to choose a book spine to write the titles of their stories with their names as the author. (At Writopia Lab in NYC, all walls are covered in this fabulous wallpaper.) A favorite part of these events for me is to have all of the young writers come up and be part of a Q & A panel. This is where you get to see how esteemable their creativity is for them, how identifying themselves as writers boosts their confidence and gives them a voice.

Sunday morning we all had to get up early to the football field in Leonard Park to watch Cooper's very first football game - the Mt. Kisco Maroons vs. the Putnam Valley Tigers. By this point my lip had really blown up and I was starting to feel sick, so as surreal as football is for me anyway, it started to take on a science-fiction-y feel. It was amazing to watch him, even though I don't understand the game, and funny to have him quiz me afterwards. We had to race home to get our Larchmont Writopia wall in order to make The Open Mic event at The Voracious Reader!

Don't worry - afterward I drove straight to the walk-in clinic, was able to see an RN and get some meds so I am on the mend. (And the husband made chicken soup from scratch!)

And by the way - if you have managed to get through reading this post, and you haven't read Edges yet, or you have but would love to give to a friend, I have three copies to give away and am hosting a contest. Go ahead and enter!

Now is it okay to turn off my computer for a while? xoxox

Borders Busts, Books Party with a Give-Away

2011-09-15T09:53:00.000-04:00

. . . Well . . . not exactly. But Edges and my readers will be having a party because I have books to give away - yes, you heard me GIVE AWAY. Shipping will also be at my expense.

I went into my local Borders and bought up the last three copies of Edges. They had been kind enough to buy a truck load of my books as I had been hosting Open Mic events, and "helping serve the community". (They're very community minded, these Mt. Kisco Borders folks. We will sorely miss them.)

What can I do to win a book? I bet you are asking. I like free stuff. Who doesn't? Well. There are many ways to increase your odds, folks, as your name can be entered into the lottery multiple times.

1. Follow this blog
2. "Like" Edges on Facebook
3. Follow me on Twitter
4. Retweet this post

Extra Credit:

5. Answer this question: what is your favorite way to unwind?

What? My name can be entered up to five times? You read that right.

So what are you waiting for?????? Use the comment section to tell me how many times you should be entered, and don't forget your email! I will pick the winners on the day that Borders closes it's doors for good: Friday, September 23rd

Drinking Diaries

2011-09-14T08:26:00.000-04:00

I have fallen off of the blogging wagon as of late: the end of the summer and beginning of school and new Writopia workshops has kept me very busy, so I'd love it if you hopped over to the Drinking Diaries blog where they have just posted an interview with yours truly.

You know that I have kept quiet about my own alcoholism, until the death of Amy Winehouse, when I had to say something. It was the serendipity of meeting Leah Epstein while I was struggling with writing that piece that encouraged me to publish it, and then to do an interview over at her blog with Caren Gerszberg.

I didn't want to muddy the waters and publicize my own struggles with addiction alongside the publication of Edges - that cheapens it. But the truth is that this disease wreaks havoc on so many people's lives, sometimes ending in death, and if I can help one person by speaking out, then it is worth it.

As for Edges, while much is true in the story, it is still a work of fiction!

The Comedy of Errors, Madeleine L'Engle, and my mom

2011-09-06T16:38:00.000-04:00

Image via Wikipedia

I to the world am like a drop of water
That in the ocean seeks another drop,
Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,
Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself.

So sayeth Antipholus of Syracuse, upon searching for his lost twin brother in Ephesus.

Last week the husband and I took our three kids, ages 6, 9, and 11, to see their first unabridged version of a Shakespeare comedy across the river on the grounds of Boscobel at Hudson Valley Shakespeare.

My Gran would approve wholeheartedly. I think that I was seven when I had my first brush with Shakespeare at a theater with her, my sister and my mom in Stratford . . . Connecticut. Shakespeare, Madeleine L'Engle and my mother are inextricably linked for me, fostering my love of theater and of words, language.

("Let's read Twelfth Night," Gran would say to my pre-pubescent self, with an impish wink, and my sister and I would climb into her four poster bed while we played the straight men (and women) to her fools. I will never forget her portrayal of Sir Anthony Aguecheek!)

We were all a bit giddy, having been without power for over 72 hours and then having it restored that afternoon. The night before, I had read the Mary and Charles Lamb abridges story from the late 1800's by candlelight, happy that the boys' stomach's were aching from laughing so much. Scarlett furrowed her brow a lot, but at six, that's to be expected.

We took a picnic, and arranged to meet friends overlooking the Hudson River before theater under a tent. Afterward, we found our seats underneath the tent and waited, holding our breath . . .

. . . we weren't disappointed. We were enchanted, captivated. Ephesus, the setting for the tale, was depicted as a freak show carnival. The brothers Antipholus were the straight men, whilst the roles of the other brothers, Dromio, were played by women in humpty dumpty suits, and the sisters Adriana and Luciana were respectively a bearded lady and a mermaid. There was even singing in iambic pentameter, and the Duke was played by a scallywag in a leopard print suit who delivered his lines like Elvis.

I to the world am like a drop of water . . . isn't there a profound universality in those words? Seeing this live performance was like a coming home again, a remembrance of something I loved that I can experience again with new eyes and a new heart.

In my teens I did a Shakespeare summer program at the A.C.T. in San Francisco and then later at The Royal Academy in London. (I was in a gender bender production of Troilis and Cressida playing Troilus to an Australian soap star's Cressida, but that, as Kipling said, is another story.)

I am thrilled that the kids are old enough now to share this with them. I haven't seen a Shakespeare play since having them, but I know now that I will see many more. It sparked their interest so much that they couldn't stop talking about it. In fact, the next night we visited my mom, who held them captive synopsizing many other of the plays for the kids, and Scarlett didn't want to miss a word.

"Don't talk about Shakespeare until I come back!" She yelled whenever she ran to the bathroom.

A new generation of fans has been born. Special thanks to Hudson Valley Shakespeare, Madeleine L'Engle, and last but not least to my beautiful mother, Josephine Jones, a true Shakespeare connoisseur, patron of the arts and supporter of all the important stuff!

Irene, Black Out and Community

2011-08-31T16:11:00.000-04:00

Human beings don't like the feeling of dependency - it makes us cranky, so it's no wonder that many of us in my little corner of the woods have been cross-eyed for the past few days.

Irene - the hurricane-that-wasn't - came and went late last Saturday night and into Sunday morning, forcing many cancelled weekend plans (including for me a trip to Albany for a reading/signing at Flights of Fantasy) AND on top of that, it seemed to have taken our power with her as well.

It was only a Tropical Storm and not the big monster hurricane the media used to raise their viewership, but it was enough to take down neighborhoods in Northern Westchester for over 72 hours, through picture perfect sunny days, and pitch black dark nights.

Power: electricity, hot water, wi-fi. Small things. But we all realized that we were entirely too dependent on these items for our well being. Nobody wants to feel too dependent on anybody else - we lose our sense of self, and end up resentful.

We were lucky - our basement didn't flood, and no trees fell on our house. We only have a pile of branches in our backyard to get rid of.

We got through it by being together, and being in community. A friend of mine was one of the few who had power, and generously opened her home the past two nights to several families - and we all brought over whatever food we had in our fridges or freezers that we would have had to throw away. Talk about turning lemons into lemonade: we feasted, we talked, commiserated, and got to know each other better. We were all in it together.

And now that our power is back on, look at me, I'm back on my computer, hooked up to the internet. Yes, however tempting it may be to "go off the grid", I still get sustenance from having an on-line community as well.

I just wish that I could be a little more interdependent with electricity, but I have to face facts: my refrigerator really doesn't need me, nor do my lights.

Thinking Chocolate & Decision Fatigue

2011-08-24T22:42:00.002-04:00

Here lies Thinking Chocolate, so dubbed by this week's group of young Writopians, who after an hour or so of character hijinks and plot shenanigans, need to resuscitate their writing mojo with a snack.

Fortunately, The Voracious Reader doubles as a tea shoppe and is happy to oblige their whimsies. It takes energy and brain power to create and brainstorm these fantasy stories.

Last Sunday, there was a fascinating article in The New York Times Magazine entitled: Do You Suffer From Decision Fatigue? discussing studies on how we get mentally exhausted from all of decisions and choices we are faced with. By the end of the day we are worn down and more apt to have poor impulse control and less will power. (As writers, we are constantly making decisions when we are creating new worlds.)

Now it has been proven that a little bit of glucose will replenish your mental capacities, and help you make better decisions.

Thinking chocolate: not too small to make you want more, and not too big to make you sick. Just the perfect amount to stimulate the brain.

Here they are, modeling with the chocolate: Sam, Claudia, Meagan, Johnnie and Peter. After a dose of thinking chocolate, they are able to dive back into their tales with gusto.

We are only together three hours each morning, and when 1PM rolls the kids can't believe how fast the time has flown. "Can't we write all day?"

With thinking chocolate, anything is possible.

Last Friday Night: An Homage or Warning about Binge Drinking?

2011-08-21T17:48:00.000-04:00

The tears in my eyes surprised me when the song Last Friday Night came on the radio the other day as my son was flipping through stations. Pop and strong emotion usually don't hold hands, do they? Katy Perry is fun, but I never thought she would make me cry. But this time I actually listened to the lyrics.

This song been criticized as an homage to binge drinking, but that's not what I heard. I heard a FANTASTIC explanation of teenage addiction wrapped up in bubble gum pop. You do all of these stupid, embarrassing things: "stranger in bed", "smell like a mini bar", "kicked out of the bar", "broke the law", yet can't wait to do them again. Pictures of last night, Ended up online, I'm screwed, Oh well, It's a black top blur, But I'm pretty sure it ruled. Ah, the irony of thinking that being a mess is the bee's knees.

As I write this, I have watched the video, searched for reactions to it, and found one on The Drinking Diaries that sees it as a problem. Now I get it - partying eighth graders. The video is a send up of early '80's videos (yes, my era) but Ms. Perry is playing the role of a geeky thirteen year old who uses alcohol to make herself popular. (Hey that's what I thought I was doing too!)

Thirteen. Raging hormones and insecurity. I remember it like yesterday, and that's when I started drinking. However, I am listening to the lyrics from my perspective as 43 year old woman who has been sober for all of her adult life. I've been there and it's not a joke. I'm not looking at it from the perspective of a thirteen year old who doesn't have any point of reference.

For me, the tears were for gratitude to not be in that place:

There's a stranger in my bed,
There's a pounding my head
Glitter all over the room
Pink flamingos in the pool
I smell like a minibar
DJ's passed out in the yard
Barbie's on the barbeque

There's a hickie or a bruise
Pictures of last night
Ended up online
I'm screwed
Oh well
It's a black top blur
But I'm pretty sure it ruled

Last Friday night
Yeah we danced on tabletops
And we took too many shots
Think we kissed but I forgot

Last Friday night
Yeah we maxed our credit cards
And got kicked out of the bar
So we hit the boulevard

Last Friday night
We went streaking in the park
Skinny dipping in the dark
Then had a menage a trois
Last Friday night
Yeah I think we broke the law
Always say we're gonna stop-op
Whoa-oh-oah

This Friday night
Do it all again
This Friday night
Do it all again

Do it all again, and again and again. It's AWFUL. Trust me. And back then I didn't have the extra atrocity of pictures ending up on-line, like teens today do.

So what do you think? Do you think the song is an homage or a warning? Katy Perry is married to a recovering alcoholic herself, so I doubt that she is saying that blacking out is cool. Puking isn't cool, waking up with a stranger isn't cool - nor is breaking the law or getting kicked out of a bar. TRUST ME. I've been there.

Writing with Tweens

2011-08-19T10:58:00.002-04:00

The summer has been a hiatus from my own writing, but that doesn't mean I haven't been playing with words, plot and character development all along. Since the end of June I have had the privilege of instructing kids, tweens and teens all day long in the art of fiction writing, and Writopia in Westchester has quadrupled with the addition of our Larchmont location, hosted generously by Francine Lucidon at The Voracious Reader.

This has been a week of amazing 12-13 year olds, who type faster than I can think. We have some beautiful edgy realistic fiction, science fiction, fantasy and fairytales - even a mystery is being constructed. On Wednesday we were interviewed by Brian Donnelly of The Daily Larchmont, and he wrote an article called: Bookstore Lab Molds Young Readers into Writers that came out yesterday.

These tweens will finish their short stories or the first part of their novellas today, and I look forward to working with them more during the school year.

And my new wordy addiction? Move over Scrabble, Lexulous, it's time for Whirly Word! (It's on my I-phone - I am armed and dangerous!)

Dressing Up

2011-08-15T09:39:00.001-04:00

Have you ever met someone, or gone somewhere, and felt that you had been missing him, her, it and that you are meant to be together? I felt that way about Italy when I was 15, then my BFF in college, moving on to my husband and Moab. And - I almost can't believe I'm saying this - but I feel the same way about The Renaissance Faire.

I only need to go once a year for one day, but I feel that it MUST be an annual event, it must be a ROY tradition.

I can't believe I missed out on the Renaissance Faire for most of my life, but better late than never. Saturday was only our second expedition to the festivities in Tuxedo Park, New York. It started 35 years ago, and I would have LOVED it as a child, a teen, a young adult, just as I love it now.

Last year I was in so in awe that I determined that it would only be better dressing up, so I lay down the big bucks and bought some Renaissance attire: a gold skirt, a long billowy periwinkle shirt, and a simple gold-ish bodice to go with it. See? Nothing too royal or peasant-ish or wenchy - a citizen's clothes.

Later, at home, I felt a little silly, and the clothes were thrown in a bag to be resuscitated this summer.

Now I am glad. I imagine myself to be a rare breed of female merchant - in the silk trade of course.
My husband had the pleasure of sealing me into my bodice - so tightly that I could barely breathe. (You can't wear a bra with these things - the bodice acts as support.) We joked about me sporting a rated R look, but my kids would have been MORTIFIED, so we stuck to PG, knowing that we would see all sorts of versions and ratings at the fair.

It's the one place I've been too where 75% of the people were dressed up too. If people dressed up and played along at other places too, it would make our experience that more the richer. (Harry Potter World should have the Robes of Requirement. Each person who enters should have to wear school robes - that is part of the price of admission.)

But we do it already, don't we? We mold ourselves to the different environments we are in. We wouldn't wear our pajamas to a meeting at a corporate office, or a swimsuit to a PTA meeting, or sweat pants to the opera.

We want to play along to get along, which definitely has it's pros and cons. Conformity can lead to lack of personal identity. If we are just being like everybody else, who are we? Where are we?

But things like the Renaissance Faire bring out an aspect of communal fantasy that is just spectacular. Those of us dressing up are in the act of choosing to say "yes" to that part of our souls. I am celebrating a part of myself by entering the fantasy, by suspending my disbelief.

And this is also what we do when we read and write, yes?

Writers are Observers

2011-08-10T13:36:00.001-04:00

How can we enrich our stories through observation? Writers of all ages have a keen interest and curiosity in the human condition. Learning to observe and be present in different environments is a muscle that needs building and takes practice. I have to work on it all the time - I've always been a daydreamer with a strong imagination, but it is constantly learning how to be present that has taken my writing to another level.

Many of you know that I complement my passion for writing with teaching kids, tweens and teens, and that I have been building Writopia Lab, a NYC based award-winning program out in Westchester. (We run week long 3 hour writing intensives during the summers and holiday breaks, and weekly 1.5 hour sessions during the school year.)

This morning I took my young 9 and 10 year old Writopians on a field trip (with parental permission of course) around our lovely town of Katonah for an hour this morning. Notebooks and pencils in hand, we started on a patch of grass near the Katonah United Methodist Church where we are holding workshops. We warmed up by making up a story together about an old man in a wheelchair and his undying love for lizards.

As we sat in the grass, enjoying the gentle breezes and warm sunlight dappling through trees I asked the kids to jot down words and phrases that they associated with the environment, with being outside. Next I spoke a little about character building through observation of atmosphere. "How would your main character feel in this moment?" We have to know absolutely everything about our characters, even if a little detail about whether or not they like the smell of fresh cut grass never makes it in the story.

Wednesday's are the beginning of the middle of our camp-like workshops, and the perfect opportunity to discuss character. These Writopians have found their story and the beginnings of a narrative arc. Their plots have been sketched out, but now is the time to see how their main character will drive the plot forward.

We imagined the ways in which our characters would walk and look at the world. Are they loose? Are they tense? Are they happy? Sad? Bewildered? They giggled as we walked and I explained how scrunching our shoulders or loosening our knees can make a difference in how people feel and behave.

We walked around town with the notion of observing our own thoughts, and then maybe exploring what our main characters might be thinking. We went into four different stores, enjoying the bewildered and amused looks we got from store owners when I asked if these young writers could practice their observation skills. It was fascinating.

Our first stop was Noka Joe's, a wonderful treat and novelty store. The kids took notes, and I made suggestions for how their observations could be incorporated into their stories. Next was the Katonah Barber Shop - the barbers really didn't know what to do with us, but they didn't say no. (It is beautifully air conditioned and smells lovely, and each of the four barbers have their names on plaques by their stations.) Next was another grooming place, but for dogs. It is a two-week old store called: Must Love Dogs, owned by Jessica Rina, and she let us come in and watch her blow dry a labra-poodle. The kids loved it. Our last stop was Kellogg's department store, where we all grooved on it's old-timey feel.

We came back to the church and opened our computers, but before we went back to our stories, I asked them to string some of the words they had written down into a piece of prose or poem. (No, it doesn't have to rhyme!) The kids spent ten - fifteen minutes choosing some of their words and composing atmospheric pieces. Heaven!

They were able to go back to their fiction with increased vigor and sense of fun and discovery. That's what writing is all about, isn't it?

Love is a Ford Galaxie 500

2011-08-08T09:45:00.005-04:00

This was my first car - a 1964 Ford Galaxie 500 that I bought in the summer of 1996 and owned for about a month. It was as impractical as it was impulsive, being too high maintenance for a gal like me, a gal who had never driven or owned a car, yet it totally screamed "Léna!" It's FOR SALE sign taunting me the first couple of weeks I lived in Moab, it's price of $1500 too hard to resist. It was in mint condition inside and out: gleaming red on the outside with red seats and red and black fixtures on the inside. Dang she turned my head.

It was a veritable love machine, and I christened her Venus. The first night she was mine, I took her up to the Sand Flats with my future husband and we lay back on her hood and watched the shooting stars so prevalent in the August sky. Magic.

But it was the car that was so big I couldn't park, the car I backed into my colleague Martha's office, the car that broke down along the Colorado River, the car where I got pulled over by local police because I had run a red light. I was giving a ride to a teen from the youth hostel. "Are you holding?" I asked him in a panic. He nodded. I had just gotten a job at the local mental health center, starting up a teen outpatient program. The headline flashed through my mind: NEW TEEN THERAPIST A DOPE. I was relieved as I got my first traffic ticket. (Well, my second. But more on that later.)

"Thank you officer!" I said, a little too happily. "It won't happen again!"

I wouldn't be giving any more rides: it was all a risky business.

I enjoyed being in a car, I just didn't enjoy driving one. Perhaps I had learned too late in life - perhaps I would never enjoy it.

My driving history isn't long. I didn't get my license until 1995 when I was 27 years old, and that was just as a rite-of-passage, an adult ritual that I needed to undertake. I wasn't very confident, or very good, as my friends who had been driving since their teens quickly learned.

"Come on, you can do it!" They would cheer. I went to Puerto Rico with a friend who after five minutes told me for the love of God to pull over and let her take over.

"See?" I smiled.

Then the first time I went to Moab with my BFF, same thing happened.

Both friends were shocked when I announced that I wanted to move there.

"Bu-bu-but you can't drive!" They splurted. "Um, no offense."

A month later, I was testing it out by flying to Salt Lake City by myself and renting a car. I arrived late at night and it took me an hour to find the airport hotel because I drove in the wrong direction. The next morning I steeled myself for the four hour drive to Moab. I had never driven on a highway before, and I did pretty well for the first couple of hours. Then: SMACK! The car got sideswiped, and I didn't know to pull over to the side of the road - I just kept driving. Then I noticed that I had no side-view mirror: I should pull over, but where? Where do people pull over if they have an accident? I could have died! (I almost had died getting hit by a car when I was nine years old. I was in a coma for two weeks - broken femurs, ribs, cracked jaw and skull.)

I soon found out, because I heard a siren, and a cop car showed me how to pull over . . . by nudging me over. The driver's side of the car was completely dent in and damaged. An inch more - oh, dear, it could have been much worse. They asked me if I had been drinking and I started giggling. Of course I wasn't drinking. But I sure as $%#@ was freaked out. Traumatized. Playing dumb, which - hey - I really was in this instance - didn't work. I got a ticket, but I couldn't melt down, I had to keep driving.

But I got to the dizzying mountains of red clay, where my driving hijinks became legend, and then back to NYC only to return again, even though - maybe especially because - I would have to drive. I knew that there was a part of me that needed to grow up out there.

I needed a car so I bought Venus, thinking she was my next right thing. I bought her from an elderly man whose wife wanted him to quit his "hobby". Fortunately, when it became evident that Venus and I ultimately weren't a good match after all, the elderly man was eager enough to buy it back from me, and I was able to buy a used Ford Taurus which got me around on the open highways quite nicely. I was comfortable behind the wheel as long as there were no cars too close to me, as long as nobody was telling me to speed up or pull over if I was too slow.

However, when my husband-to-be and I left Moab for San Francisco and then back to New York City, I stopped driving completely, and I trapped myself in the belief that I was too anxious and incompetent a driver to bother learning. We are what we think: we become our self-fulfilling prophecies.

But y'all know the happy ending, right? We moved to the 'burbs last summer and I can't believe how much I love driving now. I am not holding onto the old belief of stupidity and incompetency: I have proved myself capable of handling a large, powerful vehicle.I am driving on highways and merging with traffic, and enjoying the artistry in driving. And I am constantly grateful that I never drank and drove. I fear that if I had, there is no way I would be here now.

And fifteen years later, I LOVE that my bad twenty-eight year old self had the chutzpah to call an awesome 1964 Ford Galaxie 500 her first car. No regrets, people.

Next up: putting my face in the water whilst swimming.

I Am Who I Am

2011-08-05T11:13:00.001-04:00

Summer is supposed to be typically slow and lazy, right? Sleeping late, reading lots of books, time by the pool, maybe even napping in a hammock.

What planet am I living on? Maybe that's great for a weekend, but a whole summer? Not with three kids!

If you read my blog then you know that I happen to be busier than ever, running and developing Writopia in Westchester. My time is being divided between running groups in both Katonah and Larchmont, with beaucoup time spent on the computer emailing parents. We just came out with our fall schedule! So I haven't had much time to blog, let alone write my own stories. But I'm not complaining! I love teaching - I consider this as part of my life's work, and I feel incredibly blessed. Working with kids is so inspiring, and I am being constantly reminded to put my money where my mouth is. I am living with both integrity and creativity.

And honesty, transparency. I am who I am.

I didn't blog this week because any extra time I had was spent thinking about the interview questions for the Drinking Diaries. They are pretty intense! What do I want to say? I have to write the truth of my experience. My one pause is being googled by one of my ten-year-old students. (Or the parent of a ten-year old for that matter.) As a YA author, I want to believe that my honesty will help and not hinder my audience. My interview is scheduled to come out on Wednesday, September 14th, so I suppose I have time to chicken out.

But then again, I am who I am.

I Have Something to Say about Amy Winehouse

2011-07-29T23:53:00.001-04:00

Every author, like it or not, needs to develop a platform, an audience. I am no different, and have begun a long-term relationship with social media. For the past year and a half I have been grappling with how much of myself I should/want to reveal: I dance around the issue of addiction that is at the heart of Edges. The death of Amy Winehouse has me thinking again about why my soul continued nagging at me to keep at it, to tell a part of Luke's story, of Ava's story.

I don't know anything about Amy Winehouse other than that she was prodigiously talented both at her music and at being a train wreck. She was 27, she never got help. Did she want it?

It won't be new to anybody that I've had a wild past, and have friends and family members die from their addiction - my uncle died from cirrhosis of the liver.

So, it's not going to be a far stretch to tell you that I have even more of a personal connection to alcoholism and recovery.

I was 25 years old and in the MA program for Drama Therapy at NYU when I realized that I wasn't going to be able to help anybody unless I took a hard look at myself. I looked good on paper, but I was spiritually bankrupt inside. I didn't want to/ didn't know how/ couldn't grow up. And I had a habit of picking friends and boyfriends who had bigger problems than I did, so I could always point to them as examples of how well I was doing. Ha!

I call myself an alcoholic because I need to remind myself of what happens when I drink, although I have been clean and sober for almost eighteen years. Recognizing my demon has enabled me to become more than I ever thought possible: a wife, a mom, a writer, a teacher, a friend.

I've always had a complicated but deeply personal relationship with God, with sobriety, and even with the concept of "help"- and I know I'm not alone in that.

In Edges, Ava finds herself in an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. She is surprised by the turns her life takes and also by the fact that it does not immediately make her life better. I portrayed the beginnings of sobriety as realistically as I could. Recovery and the way people talk about it can be very polarizing. A. A. both helps millions of people, and of course it doesn't help just as many. The statistics for getting and staying sober are very grim, but that doesn't mean twelve-step programs don't "work". That doesn't make it less valuable to the people who are able to regain control over their lives.

Amy Winehouse died of substance addiction, but her parents are saying that it wasn't the addiction but the withdrawl that killed her.

Please. That is so irresponsible. (Even if it was withdrawl, it is still because of addiction.)

Still others are saying she had it coming - she had to pay for her outrageous behavior. FAIL. Really people?

It is hard to seek help, especially when there are people who are out there who are so much worse than we are. (Just look at Charlie Sheen, or Amy for that matter.) Especially when our own denial would seem to be saving our lives because it is too hard to look at our shameful behavior. And especially when alcoholism and addiction are still stigmatized.

Writing had been one of my ways out, of healing, of discovering and exploring who I am and what it means to be human.

In this instance, I started writing this post not sure about whether I would publish it or not. Then hours later, I ran into Leah Epstein at The Voracious Reader. She is a YA/MG writer and curator of The Drinking Diaries. We "know" each other from Twitter, but had never met in person. Leah bought a copy of Edges and then an hour later emailed me interview questions for The Drinking Diaries, all related to drinking.

If you are reading this, then I have published this post, and I am free to say I haven't had a drink or a drug since I was twenty-five years old, and that now my favorite drinks are coffee and/or seltzer with lime.

What Keeps Me Going

2011-07-26T16:55:00.000-04:00

Do we need to talk about Borders closing? Ever since I graduated from writer to "author" (with the sale of Edges to FSG. I was always a writer, even if I didn't recognize it. You are a writer if you write. Period) and the economy crashed in 2008, the publishing industry has been a crazy mass of confusion. Or maybe it always has been, but nobody can predict what will sell anymore. My sweet contemporary came out seven months ago when paranormal romance was all the rage, and it still is, as far as I can tell. I am still waiting to hear if FSG wants to take a chance on my next contemporary YA, The Land of the Lost and Found - but the news about Borders has me spooked. (Not that the big chains have shown any interest in keeping Edges stocked, except for my lovely, local Borders in Mt. Kisco.)

Almost 11000 staff out of work - e-books, Amazon sales on the rise. Will independent bookstores be able to come to the rescue?

I am so grateful that I have other things to focus on to keep my obsession with the publishing industry at bay. I have my family. I have tons of work in Westchester this summer with our burgeoning Writopia program in two locations. I had LeakyCon - swimming with Libba Bray, paneling with John Green and his genuine charm, gallivanting around Harry Potter World with David Levithan and Daniel Lang, and a smashing workshop.

In fact, I received a lovely email from a LeakyCon participant that will keep me going whenever I get freaked out about the publishing industry. Ian, thank you for your email! This post is dedicated to you, and TY also for letting me share it on my blog:

My name is Ian Herring, I am 15 years old from Texas. I attended Leakycon 2011. I really enjoyed your class on fiction writing. I had been forming an idea in my head for a long time (I'm a want-to-be writer), and your tips made it complete. I am happily into the 5th chapter and I am having a blast! I just want to thank you so much for making my dreams of writing a reality! I truly cannot express enough how thankful I am!

Sincerely,

A happy writer,

Ian Herring

Bloggy Game - Tag, You're It!

2011-07-23T20:35:00.000-04:00

I've been tagged in my first blogging game. (Can you believe after 18 months of blogging that it's my first?) Blogger Demery Bader-Saye in Austin Texas has both challenged and enticed me to play, and to tag 8 other bloggers.

So . . . here I go - lightening fast answers on a Saturday night!

What do you think of when you the hear the word tag?

Um . . . social networking? Really. "Tag, you're it!" has become more of a community thing for me as an adult than when I was a kid. I was terrible at running and catching others as a wee one, and I always seemed to be "it" - which wasn't much fun. ( And TAG heuer - isn't that a watch?)

Do you think you're hot?

I don't just think it, I know it. We're in the middle of a heat wave in the Northeast and I am drenched.

Upload a picture or wallpaper that you're using at the moment.

See above.

When was the last time you ate chicken?

tonight at a stellar neighborhood barbecue, but of course I was shwetty.

The song(s) you listened to recently.

My son is playing Give it Away Now by the Red Hot Chili Peppers on his electric guitar RIGHT NOW. (I am in his room, listening to him practice and blogging. After I put my daughter to bed, he, his brother and I will continue our MONK marathon. Our love for Tony Shaloub carries on.) He also accompanied his sister singing The White Stripes We Are Gonna Be Friends on the guitar at the barbecue earlier.

What were you thinking as you were doing this?

How much I love prompts, and also how full my life is, and how lucky I am that there are so many things that I WANT to do, even if I get overwhelmed at times.

Do you have nicknames? What are they?

Léna is my nickname. My legal name is Madeleine

Tag 8 blogger friends... (okay, I have to tag 9, because I have a hard time with rules.)

1: Carrie Cox
2: Sarah Darer Littman
3: Arlaina Tibensky
4: Kristi Tuck Austin
5: Cherie
6: Anne Riley
7:Jen Violi
8: Gae Polisner
9: Amanda Cleary-Eastep

Who's listed as No. 1?
Carrie Cox was one of the first people to start commenting on my blog 18 months ago, and I am incredibly grateful for her friendship and support. She lives in Mobile, Alabama and is president of the Mobile Author's Guild. She has three children and LOVES to read and write YA. (She has also spearheaded the movement to get me out to Mobile next March. I can't wait to hug you in person Carrie!)

Say something about No. 5
I met Cherie on Twitter! We have been having a good time getting to know each other - twitterifically! She is also a writer and a mom. (Hmmm . . . I sense a theme here!)

How did you get to know No. 3?
I met Arlaina through a mutual friend - Arlaina is the creative director of Pen Parentis, a non-profit supporting parents-cum-authors, hosting monthly salons. Arlaina is a wicked cool and funny mamacita, whose first novel comes out THIS Tuesday 7/26, and is called And Then Things Fall Apart.

How about No. 4.

Kristi rocks. Like Carrie, I also met her through her comments on my blog, and started hopping over to hers which she shares with three other awesome writer/ artists. Then she asked me to come to Richmond, Virginia when Edges came out, and I said yes! I took the train and stayed with Kristi and her awesome hubby Adam - we drank loads of lattes, she held my hand at the ABC affiliate where I appeared on the morning show, we saw a silly movie before hitting Fountain Bookstore where I did a workshop, reading and signing. Kristi is now a life-long friend! (I miss you darling!)

Leave a message for No. 6.

Anne, I am so glad to have "met" you! Thank you so much for introducing yourself to me and getting this friendship ball rolling. I am so excited to sit down for a long talk when I come to Alabama next March!

Leave a lovey dovey message for No. 2.

Sarah, what can I say? You complete me . . . my go-go-girl. I can't wait to get my hands on Wanna Go Private, which comes out in two weeks on August 2nd!

Do No. 7 and No. 8 have any similarities?

Jen and Gae have both debuted on the YA scene in May, and they are funny, pithy generous souls and their waters run deep. Please check out their fantastic fiction: Putting Make-Up on Dead People by Jen Violi (reviewed on this blog!) and The Pull of Gravity, by Gae Polisner.

And I have to give honorable mention to Amanda, a wonderful writer in the Chicago area who has just started running writing workshops for teens!

Now my kids are giving me the stink eye, because MONK has just started and I need to pay attention!

Tag to you, bloggy friends!!

Mojo Lesson from Sexy Sax Man

2011-07-21T17:12:00.000-04:00

Is it hot enough for you? My brain is fried, but I'm having a great time getting my sillies out with Writopia kids. Yes, of course they are working hard to finish and polish their original pieces, but that doesn't preclude FUN. We have two plot-driven stories going where anyone can take a break from their own work and add a paragraph to the craziness.

And today these 9th grade boys introduced me to the Sexy Sax Man, Sergio Flores, who has cameos in our action-packed comic sci-fi stories.

Sexy Sax Man, you have given me an Aha! moment. I have been lamenting my own writing mojo these days because I've been so busy teaching (and yes, gallivanting with Potter-heads in Florida) but you've shown me that you take your mojo wherever you are, as indeed my grandmother did. (My grandmother trained herself to write anywhere - even at the airport!) While it is undeniably true that I need more training and more practice, (I-just-need-a-five-hour-block-of-time where I can get back into my story!) my mojo hasn't left me, it's just been channeled somewhere of equal value: Teaching!

Leaky Con & Harry Potter Rock!

2011-07-15T12:52:00.000-04:00

Image via Wikipedia

I'm sitting in a screening room, waiting watch the Wizard Rockumentary. There are so many sub-cultures involved with Harry Potter that I didn't know existed - including the John Green phenomenon. (He really IS all that, folks.)

The past couple of days are a blur. Wednesday was the official Lit Day, and the reason that I am here at all. Everything was pushed an hour later because of big computer registration snafus, so we all shmoozed with each other in the Admiralty suite at The Royal Pacific. (Stephanie Perkins is the coolest vintage dresser, and so sweet.) My first panel was star studded - I sat between John Green and Stephanie Perkins, then there was Cheryl Klein and Libba Bray. O.M.G. But I actually was able to speak intelligently rather than stammer, so it was all good. AND I don't know where I got this chutzpa, but I leaned over to John and told him I'd love it if he would read my book. Oh no she didn't. Yes, I freakin' did, and he was lovely. (David Levithan couriered over a copy t him yesterday.)

I was shocked when people kept filing into my writing workshop, Mining Your Life for Your Fiction. There were over 80 people, and we didn't have enough paper and pens! I paced the floor for the first half as I was giving out writing exercises and asking questions for people to think about as they wrote, then I was able to sit for the second half as we talked about writing process and truth in fiction. It has been so gratifying to have people come up to me the past couple of days and tell me how much they enjoyed it. Wow!

We had a break for lunch before Char and I were to give our Madeleine L'Engle presentation, and unfortunately, the snafus had compounded due to pushing everything back an hour: when we got to our conference room, the staff had made a mistake and were pulling it apart and telling people that there wasn't any programming. Fortunately, some people were still waiting outside and we were able to "present", but it was a little heart-breaking. But it's not a refection on Madeleine L'Engle, right? People still love her, right? RIGHT!

LeakyCon had given everyone these "yearbooks", so I sat at my own table for an hour in the afternoon signing yearbooks and giving out bookmarks.

Finally, there was a reception from 6PM - 7PM, and then we got to go back to our hotel room to rest briefly before going to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter at Universal Studios. (LeakyCon had rented it out until 1AM!) We met up with Julie Straus-Gabel, David Levithan and his awesome friend Daniel Lang to go meet up with everybody else including John Green and Maureen Johnson, but we ended up owning the park with David and Daniel, heading straight for the best ride ever: Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey. (Magda and I went on 3X!) Even though it was just LeakyCon participants, it was still super-packed, so we had to make CHOICES. (Get your butterbeer frozen, folks!) We had so much fun with David and Daniel - they are both so authentic and down-to-earth: the real deal.

We all took the boat back to The Portofino @1AM and stayed in bed until 10AM, then we met David and Daniel poolside until the shade completely disappeared and it got too hot to exist outside.

Later, we had to say goodbye to David and Daniel who were flying back to the city, and met up with a bunch of the Lit Day crew to go see a 6PM viewing of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2 in 3D at an IMAX theatre. Un-believable. (John Green has to run because he is constantly mobbed.) It was such an amazing experiece to see the movie with HP's loyalist fans - there was some serious whooping, laughing, and sobbing going on. These people have grown up with the books and movies and now they're over - it's a bittersweet ending of childhood.

And yes, the movie rocked!

This blog post is getting too long - so TTFN!

Waking Up for Lit Day: LeakyCon2011

2011-07-13T07:41:00.000-04:00

Nerves. Jitters.

I'm jumping out of my skin, really.

I am at the Portofino Hotel at Universal Studio with my sister Charlotte and my niece Magda. In one hour we are meeting other author folks and going over to the LeakyCon headquarters at the Royal Pacific Hotel.

We are in Harry Potter world, folks.

I haven't been thinking too much about this, because I've been so busy, but now . . . evidently over 750 people will be at Lit Day, 3000 for the entire Leaky Con.

We flew in on Jet Blue and then met Julie Strauss-Gabel (my neighbor, yes, but also superstar editor - she publishes John Green, Gayle Foreman, and Stephanie Perkins, to name a few) for pizza and were pleased to see some of the other author's and publishers file in.

I started freaking out that maybe more than five people would show up for my writer's workshop. Maureen Johnson said that I would have anywhere between twenty and two hundresd: I was thinking five. I must needs adapt!

Libba Bray challenged me to change into my bathing suit to meet her at the pool, and I am so glad that I did! Because I sure wasn't going to do myself any good pacing around the hotel room!

Now I must shower and dress and drink more coffee: get ready for the panel I will be on at 9AM, the workshop I will lead at 11AM, and the presentation on Madeleine L'Engle I will co-lead with my sister, (follow her on twitter @charlottejv) at noon.

More pics, more news coming soon. Scout's honor!

Wrinkles in Time with 38 Young Actors

2011-07-11T16:18:00.000-04:00

Image via Wikipedia

I love my life! I get to do so many fun things with so many people. This morning my cup was bubbling over with excitement and nervousness as I made my way to The Little Village Playhouse in Pleasantville to adapt my workshop methods and teach a "Master Class" on A Wrinkle in Time.

LVP runs a theater camp, and I jumped at the opportunity to develop my Wrinkle workshop even further.

There were 38 kids! The most I have ever workshopped with is a class of 24. They were all incredible. Half of the class had read the book already, so we were able to look at character and motivation deeply, hooking the other half of the class. I changed and added some things on the spot: as a teacher you have to be flexible and adaptable! This workshop explores individuality and community through the lens of Wrinkle, of which there is no shortage of material.

We rounded out group acting exercises with individual writing exercises, read from the text, brainstormed together, ending with the kids writing poems. They were eager to share them, and they were all WONDERFUL writers as well as actors. I'd love to publish some of them on the new Madeleine L'Engle website. She would have been thrilled to see these kids' interpretations.

I'm looking forward to more good times at LVP!

Next up: tomorrow, my sister Charlotte and my 10 year old niece meet up at LaGuardia Airport to fly to Orlando, Florida for LeakyCon 2011! Stay tuned . . .

'Twas a B'Noodles Teen Author Event

2011-07-07T15:50:00.000-04:00

Cooper and I went into the city last night for July's Teen Author Reading at the Jefferson Branch of the New York Public Library downtown. I wore my GoGo's concert tee in honor of Sarah Darer Littman, who was one of the readers, giving us a teaser of her new book, Wanna Go Private. She wore hers too, and we reminisced over our great evening at Irving Plaza. (Cooper insisted on taking this picture.)

I had been looking forward to this event for a couple of months, as I know several of the authors, a couple of whom are newbies to the scene. And there were NINE of them!

We got there in time to hob nob with a couple of Cooper's fave authors: Barry Lyga and Michael Northrop.

We sat right in the front to show our love and support.

First up was the beautiful Gae Polisner, whose wonderful book The Pull of Gravity made it's way onto the scene a couple of months ago in May. Gae is an extroverted and generous soul who has some of the funniest status updates on Facebook and de-stresses by having a rigorous swim practice. (Hmmm. Are we on the Dating Game?) Next was Alissa Grosso, reading from her debut novel, Popular. She was awesome too!

Next up with her fabulosity was Sarah, and she sent chills down everybody's spine reading a beautifully nuanced scene from Wanna Go Private. She read the scene where the young teen goes to meet the internet predator for the first time, and ends up getting in a car with him.

Tara McCarthy Altebrando wowed us reading from her starred review Dreamland Social Club, and a very pregnant Melissa Walker whet our appetites for her upcoming Small Town Sinners. Nova Ren Suma read from her wildly popular Imaginary Girls.

Now for the three amazing men who interestingly enough, were all clustered together. First up was debut author Matt Blackstone, whose book, Scary Scene in a Scary Movie came out Tuesday. I can't wait to read it - the title of this post, B'noodles, is coined by a character in his book. Meaning: Uniquely awesome, and that's what this book is. It is about a young teen with OCD who needs to learn how to play it cool. Matt read beautifully and had us all cracking up.

Blake Nelson read from his book Recovery Road, and he also had us in stitches, reading the dialogue from two teen girls in drug rehab. I have been wanting to read this book for some time - as you know the theme is close to my heart!

And last but not least was the handsome and eloquent Christopher Grant reading from his debut novel, Teenie. Chris also knew how to tickle our funny bones!

It was a wonderful evening and I was so happy to share it with my son and some friends. We had so much to talk about when we went to dinner and on the train home.

Thank you so much, you wonderful authors, for writing these books and sharing yourselves with us!

Who Controls Your Narrative?

2011-07-05T22:47:00.003-04:00

Image by umjanedoan via Flickr

Whose story, or voice, do you believe more than your own?

Writers, Actors, Lawyers, Priests, Psychologists, (and more!) all have an innate curiosity in human nature, and an appreciation of a narrative arc, of story. Telling stories has always provided meaning and hope in a sometimes bleak world, in a world where more often than not, things are not going to stay contained in a perfectly presented package.

Life is messy and confusing.

My middle grade students love creating universes in which they have the ultimate control. Do writer's then, need to always control the narrative?

Many family members of famous writers have been hurt by a version of their own reality jumping out on them in a page of fiction or memoir. I am almost hyper-sensitive to this, having Madeleine L'Engle as my grandmother. And I know that even though I ask my kids' and my friends' permission before writing anything about them, I am bound at some point to get somebody else's story wrong.

We must tread lightly, we writers of fiction, of memoir, of truth in story. A writer's truth isn't the only reality, and perhaps that is why I am so interested in both reading and writing things that come from multiple perspectives.

Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley blew my mind as a young teen, and made me look at "story" in a totally new way. I began to grasp the concept that who is telling the story is just as important as the story itself. King Arthur and Morgan LeFay aren't the only one's who see the world through completely different lenses.

So. Instead of thinking in terms of who controls the narrative, I invite all of us to find our own voices, our own personal narratives, by embracing an almost Darwinian adaptability.

And no, I don't mean being uber-competitive, or giving up because you'll never be John Green.

I mean the opposite: in order for our species to survive, we must persevere in the face of distraction and rejection.

I can't write today because . . . it's too noisy, I don't have time - between the kids, teaching and the soul-sucking vortex of social networking . . . and I bet you have your own obstacles, but I challenge you to adapt your distractions into your writing, to use the pain of rejection to fuel your narrative in a positive way by not breaking your spirit, to use your imagination to look at the story of your life and the lives of others in new ways. (This will develop compassion and forgiveness, I promise!)

Teaching also reminds me that honing our writing skills deepens our connection to humanity. In a workshop last week, we were "distracted" by a Music Together class. What did we do? We used the distraction, we played a writing game which incorporated the music class. So, rather than be annoyed, we were liberated by this expansive attitude. We adapted to our environment.

Words from my Higher Self: Don't tighten your grip on your narrative. Wear it like a loose garment, let it breathe. Trust that your voice is unique, even if your story isn't. And don't forget to let others share their own voices in your story with you.

Leaky Con is Coming!!!!

2011-06-29T22:47:00.000-04:00

Image via Wikipedia

It's almost July, folks. I have been so busy with the end-of-school and with starting Writopia workshops at The Voracious Reader in Larchmont that I have lost track of time . . . but holy Smokes, Batman! Leaky Con is coming in less than two weeks! My sister Charlotte and I are leaving for Orlando the evening of Tuesday July 12th and returning late on Friday, July 15th. Squee! Charlotte managed to track down the schedule tonight:

Proud Harry Potter geek, Léna Roy, will be participating in Lit Day on July 13th, pinching herself to be on a panel at 9AM called How Books Saved My Sanity, with superstars Cheryl Klein, Libba Bray, John Green, and Stephanie Perkins, moderated by the fabulous Maureen Johnson.

Yes, these arms are black and blue!

Then at 11AM I'll be doing a mini version of my writing workshop called Mining Your Life for Your Fiction, and finally, at 12:30, my sister Charlotte and I will be talking about our grandmother, Madeleine L'Engle, and her life, work, and legacy. (This presentation is the main reason Leaky Con is flying us into Orlando!)

This long weekend will be spent in Madeleine L'Engle land. Teaser: What didn't make it into the final copy of Wrinkle?

And the Winners Are . . .

2011-06-27T22:44:00.000-04:00

Image by susie.c via Flickr

Yes, I'm going to announce the WINNERS of my little "contest". But first: I've taken a few minutes to meditate of the concept of "winning" and all I can come up with is an image of Charlie Sheen spouting his hard-earned philosophy: "I'm bi-winning. I win here, I win there."

And the whole question of "winning" sounds ludicrous to me. If you win, do I lose? If I'm a winner, are you a loser? It's ridonkulous.

"Art is art, and everything else is everything else." (Ad Reinhardt)

But thank you all for playing: "you gotta be in it, to win it." (Vince Lombardi?)

(And I'm just happy to be in the game at all.)

Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. You didn't win this time. Of course, you never entered the contest, but that's beside the point.

I'm a bit loopy after a busy (but good!) day, weekend, month (life?) of constant movement and I need to pick the winners for my little "contest".

Audio Books go to: WC Cannon and Ash.

Hard signed copy goes to: Cheryl Dale

Now I must hunt y'all down!

Night, night. Sweet dreams

Moving on and Up: Fifth Grade & Beyond

2011-06-23T15:44:00.000-04:00

There are lots of reasons to celebrate today, despite the rain and pervasive mugginess.

We moved to Katonah from NYC exactly one year ago today, and I finally feel like we are really HERE. Transitions are always awkward and growing pains are par for the course, but we all are very happy that we took the plunge, took the risk to try something new, to change. Writopia in Westchester is finally taking off with a robust summer program that starts next week, the rollercoaster expectations of myself as a debut author have diminished, and the kids are looking back on their first school year in the 'burbs with happiness and gratitude.

We celebrate the beginning of summer and the end of school, the end of elementary school for fifth graders.

My own fifth grader, Cooper, had his MOVING UP ceremony from Bedford Hills Elementary School this morning. I was surprised by how verklimpt I got: eyes stinging, nose burning, thinking about him and all of the transitions and strides he's made throughout the years. The kids marched into the auditorium to the tune of Pomp and Circumstance, sang songs, won awards, got diplomas: and what killed the parents was the slide show of the kids throughout the years that some folks put together, along with a soundtrack that had even the most stoic of us blinking rapidly. Even though this had been Cooper's first and only year at the school, it was amazing to see pictures of his friends as they had grown up through kindergarten: in my mind's eye I also saw Cooper in his various stages in NYC. These wonderful young men and women will all go on to Middle School next year at Fox Lane, and I am amazed by how well their teachers and the school have prepared them for this transition.

Afterward, Cooper wanted to hang out with the husband and me instead of staying at school, so we let him sit in the front seat (I sat in the back!) and drove to our local coffee shop for his favorite treat, a blueberry scone, and his very first decaf mocha. (He is always stealing sips from mine!)

Tonight his grandmother is coming to take us all out for a graduation dinner at Café of Love, where he wants to celebrate not only his moving on and up from elementary school, but our year of moving on and up from the city to Westchester.

At the end of the day, moving on is less of an awkward transition and more of a celebration - appreciating the past and embracing the future.

Speaking of future . . . have you entered my contest yet? Chance to win one of two audio books of Edges and a signed hard copy! Check it out!

(How was that for an awkward transition to try and wrap this post up!)

Peace out, folks.

The Flying Squirrel, and Other Birthday Lessons

2011-06-20T22:08:00.000-04:00

I'm not going to do it. I am on a field trip with the fifth grade, and the experience is for them after all. Oh look, there's my son, Cooper, (pictured here) bravely being the first kid to try his hand at the Flying Squirrel. He is in a tight harness, attached to a rope, while his entire fifth grade class holds onto the other end of the rope. The instructions? He runs forward, while his class runs backward.

He is up in the air, flying whooping.

"You should try it mom," he says under his breath once he's regained his cool.

I don't know, I think to myself. I weigh twice as much as these kids.

I cheer on the kids who are scared, and watch their faces flush with triumph when they're on land. Obviously, there is some trust involved, and some willingness to relinquish control. Need that, much?

I had done the trapeze "experience" before, and I felt like I didn't need to do it again. It had been scratched off my bucket list.

But it is my birthday, and I am a writer after all - every experience has it's usefulness in the creative process. I'll regret not doing it. Even if I throw up.

And then the elementary school's principal, Mr. Gold, is flying through the air like Peter Pan and I finally get the gumption to shimmy myself into a harness and put my money where my freakin' mouth is: to be honest, open and willing.

I am the last but not least in the air after a running jump, and trusting these amazing almost-middle-schoolers with my life, and I feel like Spiderman, not at all embarrassed when I land on my tuchus and NOT on my feet like everybody else. (Well, maybe just a little!)

"You looked funny," a fifth grade girl says to me, engaging me with her smile. I have no doubt about that! AND Cooper wants me to sit with him on the log at lunchtime.

This is the BEST!

I am 43 years old today, and life is too serious to be taken seriously.

PS Don't forget to enter my contest to win one of two audio books of Edges or a signed hard copy by yours truly - sign up by Monday, June 27th at 6PM!

Father's Day: What would The Doctor Say?

2011-06-19T09:25:00.000-04:00

Happy Sunday and Father's Day everyone! I hope you all have glorious plans. The husband let me take a pic of him from his goatee down to show off his Father's Day present:

Yes, those of us in the older Roy clan, from age 9 and up, are die-hard Dr. Who fans.

Today promises to be lovely: outside time, yoga, the town pool, and celebrating the third birthday of a delightful little girl with close friends.

We are in summer mode, with only one week left of school.

There is always so much to write about! There is a tremendous opportunity here for someone to write a post about whether or not Dr. Who would make it as a dad - would somebody write that?

But I need family time today, so I will hark back to Friday, and post a couple of links.

I guest posted an audition story on A Year of Auditions, a blog started by debut author Stasia Ward Kehoe in anticipation of her upcoming YA novel Audition, out in October. I was an intense thirteen year old, choosing Nina's final monologue from Anton Chekhov's The Seagull as my audition piece for The High School of Performing Arts. Here is a teaser of my post:

Why did you say you kissed the ground I walked on? You should have killed me instead. I’m so tired! I want to rest, I just want to rest. I’m the seagull … No, that’s not it. I’m an actress. That’s it.

This was the beginning of my monologue, the one I used for my auditions for acting camp and the High School of Performing Arts (now LaGuardia) back in 1981. I was thirteen.

What possessed me to pick one of the most challenging monologues, from The Seagull by Anton Chekhov to do over and over again? This epic romance of a tragedy appealed to me on so many levels: it is a play for actors and writers, and Chekhov shows us the different artistic archetypes through his characters without telling his audience what to think.

I blame my grandparents for my love of the classics and the theatre. They met in the early 1940’s during a Broadway production of Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard after all. My grandfather, Hugh Franklin, an actor from Oklahoma, was playing the role of Trofimov, and my grandmother, Madeleine L’Engle, was an understudy and Eva LeGallienne’s secretary.

And tomorrow is my birthday! So don't forget to enter the contest to win either one of two audio books or a signed hardback copy of Edges! Contest ends next Monday, June 27th at 6PM.

Hope everyone has a wonderful day!

Contest: Two Audio Books and A Signed Hard Copy For Grabs

2011-06-14T07:59:00.001-04:00

We hit the six month mark on Edges last week and I didn't even realize it. Something must have been niggling at my brain because in my blog yesterday I announced a contest to win one of two audio books or a signed hard copy to my loyal readers. I was also riddled with insecurity.

But dang. We need to celebrate and for that I need to expand the contest! Six months peeps. No longer am I a debut author. I am a little more seasoned and rough around the edges (ha)!

Sure that means some insecurity sometimes, but I promised you authenticity, didn't I?

So. Contest rules. There are no rules! If you follow my blog and my Facebook page, I will enter your name 3x. If you don't, no worries, play anyway - your name will be entered! I've hosted contests before where I've asked people to tell me about themselves, or answer a prompt, but I won't do that this time. It will be EASY-PEASY.

Just tell me in the comments where you will be vacationing this summer. That's it!

(Me? It will be a STAY-Cation with my family, but I AM going to Orlando next month for Leaky Con 2011!)

The contest ends on the first day of summer vacation for us out in the Northeast and the first day of camp: Monday, June 27th at 6PM.

And to bloggers out there - if you want to host a give-away on your site, let me know, and I'll see what I can do.

Peace out!

Waiting, Clapping, and a Contest

2011-06-13T13:04:00.001-04:00

Image by Kaptain Kobold via Flickr

I'm sitting at my desk, waiting for emails.

At least I'm not waiting for inspiration to strike. My new-ish WIP has been put aside for the past couple of weeks as I pull together a schedule for Writopia Lab's summer program in Westchester. I am very excited: there is some buzz, and I want to be able to keep up the momentum by emailing responses back right away, answering inquiries, walking parents' through the registration process.

I also might as well come out and admit it: I'm waiting for my agent and/or editor to get back to me about The Land of the Lost and Found, although that will likely be a phone call, and not an email.

It's been at least a month since my agent hit SEND on the document.

It will probably be another month or two, before I hear anything. I'm sure "they" (the publishers) want to see how Edges is doing. (Which is another thing I get asked all of the time.) And the answer is: I don't know. Well, to be honest, my fear and my suspicion is that it has DIED.

So peeps, if you haven't yet already, please become a fan on Facebook, and if you are able, pretty please give Edges a boost on Goodreads and Amazon with some good ole' stars.

Clap if you believe. It worked for Tinkerbell, didn't it?

In fact, I'm going to have another contest. I have two audio-books to give away. Rate Edges on Goodreads and on Amazon. I will enter your name twice if you take the time to do both! (Let me know in the comments section by Friday, June 24th). I have also announced a contest for a signed book on the Edges' Facebook page as well.

And look, in the time it took to write this, I got another email from Vistaprint, asking if I need more business cards. (First 100 free!)

See y'all on the flip side.

Exclamation Points are Sexy!!!

2011-06-10T09:53:00.001-04:00

Image via Wikipedia

Am I writing a defense, or a confession? I have been accused by many of abusing the exclamation point. Like curse words, they should be used sparingly.

I agree: they have almost entirely been eradicated from my fiction. But emails? Blogs? Really?

There seems to be a concensus amongst friends, family and colleagues that I'm a little too excitable when it comes to the exclamation point. The husband points out that I go out of my way to use it: it is on the far left of the keyboard, along with the shift button, and as a poor typist who has her own way of doing things, I have to stop and use both hands. SHIFT with my left and !!!!!!!! with my right.

Ah, that felt so good. I'm an enthusiastic person, and I believe the exclamation point expresses enthusiasm. Yet as I go over some past emails, I see that I have an exclamation point after each sentence.

It does look un peu ridiculous. (After all, I teach grammar - albeit in a fun, experiential way - to youngsters.) The allure of the exclamation point is all about the moment, so I need to stop and think before I act. Which, come to think of it, is what Anthony Weiner should have done. Come on dude! Sit on those poor impulses and go get some therapy, cop to it and then say: it's none of your beeswax. But I digress.

I am undergoing some rehabilitation, much as I had to do with the exclamation point's sassy partner, the apostrophe.

Wish me luck!!!!!!! :-)

Writers are Shiny

2011-06-08T17:01:00.001-04:00

It's wonderful when all aspects of one's life harmonize and sing. As both a writer and a teacher of writing, I feel this joy and vulnerability when my Writopia students' shine and are recognized.

On Friday, June 3rd, I took two of my students along with their chaperones, to showcase a few minutes of their prose at Writopia's city-wide Spring Reading.

Here are two pictures of my Writopia students: both are finishing the fifth grade at Katonah Elementary School. Above is Caleigh Boyer-Holt with yours truly, and here is Beatrix Roberts.

The event was held in the Courtyard Gallery - a gorgeous open space downtown at the The World Financial Center, where Scholastic's Art and Writing Awards is having an art show through the end of June, in honor and recognition of the 2011 winners. You can see behind us some of the excellent work, from teens all over the country. Every year since 1923, Scholastic has hosted a contest for teens in seventh grade through twelfth. (Past winners include Andy Warhol, Sylvia Plath, Truman Capote, Richard Avedon, Robert Redford and Joyce Carol Oates.)

Since Writopia kids won more regional keys and national medals in the Scholastic Writing Awards than any other group of kids in the entire nation, our National Director, Rebecca Wallace-Segall was invited to host a reading in this space.

Beatrix Roberts, otherwise known as "Bea", was brave enough to kick off the event by volunteering to read first. She has been working on a dystopian novella - based on an image of a girl alone in the woods - and has delighted in watching it take shape and finding the tension in both controlling the narrative and letting the process guide her. She was so poised, her voice strong and beautiful: she brought a tear to my eye.

Caleigh was equally magnificent. I started working with her last fall, and we had an immediate connection, not only because of the writing and the spectacles, but because of growing up in the church: her mother is the rector of the Universalist Methodist Church in Katonah. (I grew up in an Episcopal Seminary in NYC where my father worked as a priest.) Caleigh's understanding of emotions is incredibly nuanced and developed for an eleven year old. I often have to remind myself of how old she is when reading her work! She has been finding her voice through weaving together stories of anthropomorphic wolves in Alaska, who not only battle the "toe-walkers", but themselves.

Both girls will be published in our on-line literary journal this summer, The Parenthetical, and have fallen in-love with the concept of layering and revision, wanting to nurture their burgeoning talent as writers.

And tonight, I will be missing the Fireman's Parade in Katonah, an experience I hear from everybody as Norman Rockwellian. Why would I miss such an event? Because of one of my students, that's why!

I have the honor of going to Horace Greeley High School in Chappaqua for the debut of Writopian Lindsay Gittelman's play, SNAP. Lindsay is in the tenth grade, and she has written many stories with me since last summer, including SNAP. She joined a playwrighting class at school this spring, and turned this short story into a play. Part of the class is to use fellow students to play the characters, and direct it herself. I am so excited and proud.

It is a joy to watch others' flush with excitement when they receive acknowledgement for their hard work and effort. We all don't have to be superstars, but we do need to be heard, to know that our voices matter.

Caleigh, Bea and Lindsay, you all are superstars to me. And you are so shiny!

Making the Darkness Visible

2011-06-05T23:33:00.002-04:00

Fear mongering is rearing it's ugly head again.When I opened up my computer this morning there was an outcry on both Facebook and Twitter from YA authors and YA readers in response to an article written by Meghan Cox Gurdon posted in the Wall Street Journal on June 4th entitled Darkness Too Visible deploring the "dark" content of much of YA Literature.

Sigh . . . but when such eloquent responses popped up on the blogosphere, including a trend on Twitter called #YAsaves, it brought tears to my eyes. I found a post from last year's blog in April entitled Why Kids Like Dark and I thought that would be enough of my two cents, but I am still thinking about it late on a Sunday evening.

We are only as sick as our secrets. We need to make that darkness visible so that we can better understand it. And we write and we read to better understand the world, to give our own feelings a voice. It is freakin' hard to be human, let alone a teenager. There is joy and sadness, darkness and light, and all of us have to jump over some mine fields in the vibrant emotional landscapes we've been given. Everyone has problems, everyone feels pain. It is a matter of degree, rather than kind.

One of my psychology professors in grad school at NYU told me that the definition of mental health is the ability to tolerate ambiguity, to not see life in terms of black and white. The WSJ article suggests to me that the author doesn't have a handle on ambiguity.

Hopefully as healthy adults, we all learn to manage the ambiguity of disparate feelings, and are able to express them in healthy ways. But our brains aren't fully developed until we are 25. Think about that. TWENTYFIVE!

We need books to help us make the darkness visible.

Everybody knows intellectually that if anger, jealousy, anxiety and sadness are stuffed down, they fester, turning into depression which can manifest itself in any number of ways. That we need to give voice to our feelings.

We need art, literature, plays, movies, music to challenge us and to help us see things in a new way, to see other points of view. What a wonderful world we live in where there is something for everybody!

But I know that it's scary to be a parent. We don't want darkness to be out there at all, do we? We want our kids to have joy and hope. And they will, they'll have it all. You'll be there to help them navigate and think for themselves, have opinions.

Books can't take that away, I promise. And I'll say it again: we are only as sick as our secrets, and we need books to make darkness visible.

Someone tweeted this morning: Madeleine L'Engle saved my life. #YAsaves. I have read hundreds of letters to my grandmother with that sentiment. YA Saves indeed!

Still Thirteen and all a-Go-Go

2011-06-03T13:14:00.000-04:00

Image via Wikipedia

The summer of 1981, the summer I turned 13. There was acting camp, there were boy crushes, man crushes, girl crushes, Raiders of the Lost Ark, the Royal Wedding (as in Charles and Diana).

There were lots of firsts, such as getting my period and getting creeped out by a flasher after walking home from seeing RotLA for the first time.

Oh, Harrison Ford!

I dreamed of being Adelaide in Guys and Dolls and my main desire beyond all else was to get into the Highschool of the Performing Arts. There was a girl with long strawberry blonde hair whose life I wanted: she was beautiful, an amazing actress and dating the best actor in THE WORLD, but she was 16 so I never spoke to her.

Rabid journal writing.

Dieting, and the beginning of a tortured relationship with my body. I had a woman's body, but not the emotional maturity to go with it.

Y'all know I'm a preacher's daughter, growing up in an Episcopal Seminary in New York City. There was a seminarian named Jesus, (I know!) a man in his early 20's who kept asking me out, wouldn't believe I was only thirteen. It freaked me out, and I didn't know whether I should like it or not.

There was The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Blondie, Elvis Costello, David Bowie, The Clash and the beginnings of a minor obsession with Marilyn Monroe.

What does it mean to be female in this world? What should women be? What should I be?

Thank Goodness there was Beauty and the Beat and the Go-Gos. An all-girl band thrusting us into the world of the New Wave. Listening to them I felt empowered as a female, that I could do anything, be anything. They started out punk, evolving into this power pop sound that rocked my world.

So tonight, thirty years after the release of Beauty and the Beat, fellow YA author Sarah Darer Littman and I are meeting at Irving Plaza to get our Go-Go on. Our coming together for this is an uber-modern tale: we both happened to be on Twitter at the same time that Sarah read about the venue a couple of months ago. She dared me to go with her, and I double-dared her to get the tickets. And now, the rest will be history . . .

I turn 43 on June 20th, and I still know how to have fun. The way I have fun is different, as I am one of those high-on-life kind of gals without the intense angst, the self-consciousness, the body dysmorphia.

Okay, it's not ALL gone, I am human after all . . . but I much prefer being older, and being able to access every age I've ever been with a clean mind and body! (The wildness of my youth was fun in some ways, tragic in others.)

I wish that you all could come with us!

Tanti Baci,

GRRRRRRRL power!!!!!

Anticipation, LeakyCon 2011, and the MET

2011-05-31T14:22:00.000-04:00

Image via Wikipedia

I am full of anticipation for many things on this gorgeous last day of May, but I am not lost in wanting or waiting. I am smelling the flowers and watching the sunlight dapple through trees. I am signing more and more kids up for writing intensives this summer for Writopia Westchester.

As ever, I am excited to meet new people and further develop my relationships!

And . . . drumroll . . . my sister and I are officially on the roster for Lit Day at Leakycon 2011 in Orlando, Florida on July 13th! (Primal whoops, screams and happy dances goin' on over here!) Check it out!!!!! I will be on panels, lead a writing workshop, AND sis and I will do a presentation about our grandmother's (Madeleine L'Engle's) contribution to literature.

Yeeee haaaaa!!!!! AND we'll be gettin' our Harry Potter freak on!

Another less obvious anticipation: I am leaving in about ten minutes to train into the city to meet my former boss from Four Corners Community Mental Health Center in Moab, Utah. He will be waiting for me on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art at 3:45! He is retired now, and I haven't seen him in about fourteen years, but I think I might cry, I am so excited!

Oh gosh - gotta run - will write more tomorrow, for sure!

When You've Written the Book that Wants to be Written . . .

2011-05-27T11:42:00.000-04:00

“You have to write the book that wants to be written. And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children.” Madeleine L'Engle

I have been filled with envy whenever I look at Facebook or Twitter lately, at how well and boisterous all of my writer "friends" are doing. Great reviews! Lots of gigs! Selling out books!

And I am very happy for them, but it has been distracting me from my work in that my definition of "success" becomes less about the fact that I'm doing exactly what I want to be doing, and more about what others think and how everything appears on the outside.

I promised to blog about the vicissitudes of the writing life, so here goes. Yes, as I rewrite novel #2, I think I'm ready to talk about it's rejection last spring, even while I'm waiting for an answer on novel #3. (My agent LOVES it, and it was submitted three weeks ago to my editor at FSG.)

Editor Lady said that she didn't think novel #2 was a good "follow-up". Fortunately I was almost done with a first draft of #3 when I got the call, so although I cried in my coffee, I didn't stop writing.

Instead of sending it out to other publishing houses, I wanted to sit on it, to see if I agreed with her, and it turns out I do. I love the story, but I need to tell it differently. I've learned something about writing: stories and characters need marinating, need time to grow. I was in too much of a hurry to have another book out there so that I could make a living, otherwise how could I justify taking the time to write when I have three kids who want to eat and not go barefoot in the winter?

You can't hurry art. And you can't make everybody like it, either. I am intensely proud of Edges, even if it's not what would be called a "best-seller". (I would have made my Gran proud, by writing the book that wanted to be written.) In my very first review I was skewered by Kirkus, as "no L'Engle." Duh. But there it was - my worst fear realized, before anybody had even read the book.

Other writers told me that a bad review from Kirkus is a "badge of honor", but that didn't make it hurt any less. Still others told me not to read ANY reviews - that it's not my business how others read one's work, positive or negative. And there have been some LOVELY reviews. In fact, most of them have been AMAZING!

Silver lining? I am still writing and walking through my fears. This, more than anything, makes one a writer. The fact that I'm not going to quit because of a rejection or one bad review. It's making me stronger. I can hold and hug an actual book in my hands. Something I made.

And the rewrite of book #2 is going to be much better. I'm not giving up on the story, because it wants to be written. But I've thrown out at least two hundred pages. I had two POV's and now there's only one and it's in the first person present tense instead of third person past tense. You know. (I mention it every once in a while.)

So wish me luck, my brethren, as I wait on #3, a companion to Edges, and breathe new life into #2, tentatively titled In Your Face, where "reality" TV and reality don't exactly jive.

And I need to remember that I'm doing exactly what I want to be doing, being a writer, a mom, and a teacher.

Have a great weekend!

Léna's Lit Life

Uninspired by the Groundhog, but Inspired by . . .

Sex And Drugs and Rock N' Roll

The Power of Story

Everyone loves a story, but not everyone believes that they have a story to tell.

You do. Believe it.

"Tell me a story about when I was a baby."

"Tell me the story about the time you and Da met."

"Tell me a story about princesses and dragons."

My children bombard me with these requests and I happily oblige, for I know that it is through story that they will understand their lives.

Story is the lens through which we see the world: is it a good one - where love and hope reign supreme, or a bad one - where evil lurking behind every corner, no-one and nothing is to be trusted. For most of us, it's somewhere in the middle.

I am a writer. I process the world through story and essay. I am drawn to dark material, yet I work hard to find the silver linings of hope.

And yet - we don't have to be "writers" to do this. We devour books, movies, television shows, newspapers, family lore. We rely on "story" to tell us who we are.

But what if the stories we tell ourselves lead us on a destructive path? The power of story is not only positive.

When I was a therapist, I worked with my clients on "reframing" their experiences, because the stories that they were telling themselves weren't serving them anymore. They needed, as I myself have at times needed, to rewrite the script. They needed to take control of their own narrative.

Rewriting my story has changed me. The facts remain the same, but the way I view them aren't, because I today I take responsibility for myself and for my actions.

In the end, stories are all we have.

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