Book Clubbin’: Shatter Me by Tahereh Mafi

The original cover

The new Cover

Cover Me:  The cover is one of those cases where two different pictures tell the story.  I saw the original cover, which is a good thing.  The new one goes along with the trends of having a pretty girl in a beautiful dress sell you  the product.  While I don’t understand the original one so much, it’s eery colors and distinct look attracted me  more.

The Concept:  Juliette’s touch can kill.  And it has.  Which left her to rot in an isolated jail cell for the last 294 days.  Juliette finally gets a roommate only to find out he’s been put there by the dictator’s son as a science project.  The new regime wants to use her power to be an effective weapon in their plans.

The Peeps:  In the beginning, I loved Juliette’s crazy.  The writing sucks you in with the “on the brink” feel to the girl who has been starved of affection her entire life.  She’s a great example of going back and forth with wanting to get close, but too scared to do it.  Her hunky roommate Adam is a charmer.  He’s protective and kind.  They knew each other from their younger days when he was the only person who made her feel human.  He’s a good guy and you like him.

The person I loved the most was Warner, the villain.  He’s terrific, fascinating, and constant contradictions.  He’s obsessed with Juliette, but also dominating.  He wants her to love him, but makes her do deplorable things with her ability.  He loves what she can do, but exploits it to his own advantage.  I can’t gush over him enough.  My favorite part of the book is when Juliette attacks Warner and all of his soldiers surround to fire on her.  He declares he will personally kill the soldier who hurts her.  Love him!  Seriously, Ms. Mafi, hats off to you on your villain.

The Ending (spoiler alert!):  The spoiler in this ending is there really isn’t an ending.  It’s more like an intermission.  Oh, the frustration of a trilogy.  I’ve mentioned before how this trend in YA is killing me slowly.  I’ve had a few series where I stopped at number one or until the price goes down.  Juliette and Adam get away and Warner’s hot on their tails.  There is an interesting twist when Warner discovers he can touch Juliette and so her body is no longer safe from him.  Don’t worry, she shoots him and gets away.  But that really does amp up the drama.

I guess the real spoiler is the fact there is a hidden colony of gifted people like Juliette.  This is a good teaser into trying to get me to book 2.  I have to admit, I could’ve left it here to move on to the other books I want to read, but my BFF teased me with little deets from the next book.  (She is a much faster reader than me.)

What I Cooked Up:  When I thought about this book, I wasn’t sure really where to start.  I explained to Hubs about Juliette and he suggested I make something inedible.  Uh, it doesn’t really work that way Hubs.  Then I wanted something to show the fragility of Juliette’s mind in the beginning.  I loved that part so much.  So after a lot of brainstorming with BFF, creme brule seemed the obvious choice.  The thin caramelized shell seemed perfect to describe Juliette.  It only takes a spoon’s soft touch to shatter through the layer to release the goodness inside.

Seeing the Other Side

It’s no secret my goal is to find the right agent.  There is also no hiding the fact I’m an impatient person.  Working on the same goal for over four years can get tiring/frustrating/hopeless/desperate/overwhelming/discouraging.  There are often days I wonder if it’s ever going to happen.  Dori’s re-energizing slogan “just keep swimming” plays on repeat in my head.  The volume has to be cranked up pretty high to get over the “you’ll never do it” white noise on a constant stream through my subconscious.  Fortunately during my insecurity party, my 8-5 job reminded me why there have to be no’s to one day have a yes.

My day job is not usually something I talk about on the interwebs.  I make this exception because last week I experienced what it felt like to sit on the other side of the query letter.  Not literally, of course.  My assignment was to hire eight new employees for my company.  This put me in the position to decide on the right people with the right skills.  A similar situation to agents when a query shows up in their slush.

Finding the right eight people starts with hundreds of applications.  The first passed over are the ones with unrelated experience.  They may have work experience, but not in the field we’re looking for.  This reminds me of the writers who don’t query the right agent or follow the query guidelines.  They are the easy no.  Next applicants out of the running are the ones who can’t pass the testing.  They represent authors whose writing in the first pages isn’t there yet.  This group gets a form rejection from an agent or, in my situation, no interview.

The interview round brings the forty who show potential out of those couple hundred applicants.  These represent the few writers who get a full or partial request.  There’s so much hope on both sides.  I entered each interview hoping to find the right match for my department.  I didn’t have any predetermined ideas to say no.  I certainly wasn’t trying to flex my ego muscles with being a gatekeeper.  My company needs great employees to be successful and that’s what I wanted to find.

In that small crammed room, I realized how true it is when agents feel bad about “this isn’t for me” in a rejection.  Applicants and writers have hopeful and high expectations.  On some you can smell the desperation.  They want it so bad, but you know it’s not going to happen.  The love isn’t there.  Sure, I want good things for them.  I wished I could hire everyone.  The reality is the position I’m hiring for isn’t the one that’s going to bring them happiness.  And it’s soooo subjective.  Just like a novel.  When agents say they have to love it, I understand it now.  I love my company too much not bring in the best people.  I want the applicants to give me the right feels.  For me to have as much excitement in their potential as they have for what the position could bring.  Anything even slightly less isn’t doing anyone a favor.

While it can be heart-breaking to sit on the rejected side, as it is for those applicants who want to support their families, the person doing the rejection has pangs of sadness too.  It’s hard being the person who crushes someone else’s dream.  How can agents or interviewers do it?  We do it for them.  For the person who trusted us by sharing their book or their personal interview stories.  We’re saving them the struggle and heartache that will inevitably happen when things don’t work out, ie the book doesn’t sell or the employee is fired.  We say no because we care.

A terrific lesson for my impatient mind.  An even better lesson for my gnawing doubt.  Rejection may come because I’m not ready yet.  Refining skills and working towards my 10,000 hours keeps me swimming even when it’s up stream.  I also know there will be the day when I connect with the right agent at the right time and we both know it’s meant to be.

Butterflies and Creativity

This butterfly is similar to the creative process.  A beautiful butterfly can soar the greatest heights without a care in the world.  It does it with the same ease as creative people imagining something new.  A natural process while others struggle with creativity like it’s something unnatural.  For creative ones, when it’s going well, nothing can stop you.  Your wings hit the right wind current and you fly for miles without a struggle.

Then there are those days when creativity eludes the creative person.  On those difficult days, you flap and flap and flap.  Barely making any headway from one flower to the next.  Creative resistance may pick up and you’re blown off course every time you try a new direction.  You can end up miles from where you wanted to go.

Then there are days like these.  Days where you look normal on the outside when really your guts are splattered over someone’s front bumper.  These are the days your mind asks you a hundred times if creativity is enough. Most pass by and think you’ve only taken a rest while one other stops and takes a picture because they know how it feels.  Nature can be a cruel bitch.

Debunked Dufraine

While watching The Shawshank Redemption for the millionth time (thanks to Hubs), I realized I’m no Andy Dufraine.  He took fanaticism to a whole new level with his writing campaign.  I have not had the same dedication compared to the man who wanted a library.  True, Andy had nothing better to do those many hours except for carving a hole to freedom and avoiding his rapists.  I’m only trying to get a band to my small town.  There might be something to be said for my stakes not being so high.  However, it does make me wonder if I have his same passion.

The most recent update on my campaign was after I returned from my TATE road trip, I wrote an email to their booking manager.  Only one email, you say?  Yes.  It was a well thought out email asking what are the qualifications for a place to host The Airborne Toxic Event.  No response.  His silence led to the decision to take it back to the band with a set of cookies to entice them my way.  Andy didn’t do that, did he?

There’s a fine line between a loyal fan and a crazed creeper.  Cookies walked this line very wearily.  How do you say “I made these cookies for you?” without coming off like Annie Wilkes?

Oh no, the straps are all huge in Europe right now.  The strapped to the bed just broke in Belgium. (Yes, that a Singles reference in 2013.)  Now let me get you those cookies.

I took an informal poll about how to do it.  I decided a tweet was the safest way.  I sent 140 characters asking where I could send a perishable gift inspired by the band.  No response.  I only sent it once because I’m very wary about being blocked, notified of restraining order, etc.   With hundreds of tweets a day, maybe mine was lost in the shuffle.  Or maybe it wasn’t.

Instead of being “that girl” by clogging up their tweet stream, I will put them here.  There’s already so much crazy in these pages and linked to Google, what’s a few cookies?  These were created after the band’s pics before they changed to  custom ones for each member.

I think I’m going to keep this up.  Maybe one day a cookie will actually reach my target the band.  And maybe they will even enjoy them.  It may not have the diligence of Andy Dufraine <”Oh Andy” in Morgan Freeman’s voice> but that doesn’t matter.  In the end, I may not have the governor granting me a library to shut me up, but I may bring some creative cookies to other fans who enjoy things like this.

A Second Chance

When we last left the great hair affair, BFF and I were loading up the car in Portland and headed to Seattle.  Deflated and frustrated from the events from the first night, I was determined not to repeat my mistakes.  I thought about where things went wrong.  Some things aren’t in my control like weather and opportunity.  In fact, the only thing I could control were my own actions.

The realization brought a freedom.  Why did I sacrifice my concert enjoyment for a hair memory which wouldn’t tell the right story anyways?  In my fantasy of this good hair picture, Mikel and I first make eye contact during Half of Something Else and use it as a callback when we meet after the show.  We laugh it up about what a great rock show the band put on.  The photo is only a glimpse into our deep-souled connection about everything we have in common and how we plan to maintain our long distance friendship.  This couldn’t start with the admission I hung out in the back of the room trying to protect my hair.  That’s not who I am.  I had to be in the mix.

BFF and I started our 250 miles of travel early.  This time I needed to get to the show with plenty of time to spare.  I needed to line up early to ensure a place near the stage.  Lucky for me, I was invited to an awesome TATE fan forum a few weeks prior to the show.  (I call them “the Super Secret Fan Club” when I speak to friends.)  They gave me the inside scoop to show up early, head to the bar, and buy drinks.  This scored you an early entry card.  Drinking?  Getting in early?  You didn’t have to tell me twice.

After taking us on a terrible detour because maybe I started that drinking a little earlier than the show, we made it to the right venue.  (Hey, there are two Showboxes in Seattle.  What’s up with that?)  We ran in straight for the bathroom.  I did however catch a glimpse of a familiar face from the Super Secret Fan Club.  In Portland, I was a chicken.  I hid in my bright pink shirt because I was too scared/worried/embarrassed/stupid to introduce myself.  Seattle brought a new resolve and new confidence.  When we returned to the bar, I marched right up to “G-man Superfan” and introduced myself.  This is what we call a turning point.  From that moment on, I had the time I knew I was meant to have.  G-man introduced me to others from the Super Secret Fan Club and it was a blast yucking it up with all the Airborne junkies.  I may have scared G-man a bit with my drinking loudness.  I definitely have more to say about the group, but I think that’s another blog.  From the front windows we caught sight of Drummer Daren.  G-man Superfan didn’t miss a beat.  He said ”Let’s go get a picture” and we did.  (I didn’t post his to save his secret identity.)

BFF and I making a Darren sandwich.

Once we got into the concert side of the place, BFF and I headed right to the front.  (Note: G-man Superfan left our asses because he was in the pre-admission crowd.  Did I mention he is a superfan?)  When we picked our place we were lucky enough to squish up against some of the gals from the Super Secret Fan Club we met earliery.  They were more than cool about the lack of personal space.  One even offered to switch places with her friend to make sure I could see the stage better.  How nice is that?  The show was more than I expected by being the closest experience I’ve ever had at a TATE show.  I jumped.  I danced.  I sang.  All like no one was watching.  Hair be damned.  I lived the fucking rock show.

After all was done, and when the crowd crushed against the stage to get a piece of Mikel, I went the other way.  (Of course after shaking his hand.)  I think there was a part of me who gave up on the photo.  I didn’t need it anymore.  I had Noah’s pic, Darren’s drumstick, and a badass view of the whole thing.  The memory would suffice.

BFF and I hung towards the back and sucked down some glasses of water the bartender was nice enough to spare.  I’m pretty sure she worried we were on death’s door.  The crowd began to thin and Mikel still stood in the middle still posing for photos and signing autographs.  BFF said I should do it.  Get my photo with my jacked up hair.  I think she grimaced when she looked at it.

I did get the photo.  I took my piece to thank him for the show.  He smiled and charmed like he always does.  I floated away like most do after his interaction (he’s a very talented communicator).  The night was how it should’ve been.  It looked like this:

No, security did not recognize me from the last time.

Hair destroyed.  Photo taken.  Resolution failed.  While I didn’t get the results I expected from this resolution, I got a lot more than intended.  Many lessons were learned in the experience and I’ve come out the other side with a more memorable gift than what a photo could’ve captured.

Book Clubbin’: Losing It by Cora Carmack

Cover Me:  You can tell from the cover this is going to be a steamy story.  If you weren’t sure by the picture, you can read the book jacket telling you it’s about the main character losing her virginity.  With that topic, somebody better be gettin’ some.

The reason I picked up the book was because it’s one of the first examples I’ve heard of “New Adult.”  These are books with main characters in the college age area.  It’s not Young Adult and it hasn’t graduated to Adult yet either.  It’s a hot topic in the writing world if you get your info from Twitter and blogs, like I do.  The ironic part was as I convinced my girlfriend to buy the book (as I do when Barnes and Noble sends out their deal of the day), the pitch line about “this will appeal to fans of 50 Shades” had her out.  So let me clarify for you.  The main comparison to 50 Shades is the fact it’s steamy.  It reads like a romantic comedy.

The Concept:  Bliss is a senior in college and is still a virgin.  She wants to do the deed to get it over with so she goes looking for a one night stand.  She ends up meeting a handsome stranger, they hit it off, she takes him home, they get close, and then she backs out.  She leaves him in her apartment and hides in the bushes until he leaves.  The next morning when she arrives at the first day of the semester, she runs into him again as he’s being introduced as her new theater teacher.

It’s a great concept.  I love it.  It has that “oh no she din’t” feel with the twist about his being her teacher.  There are also other side plots woven in to stir things up a bit more, but I was hooked on the main line.

The Peeps:  Bliss is awkward, but hot.  When she goes out to find someone to lose it to, she snags a couple opportunities right off the bat.  She also has her male best friend in love with her too.  I find this interesting for a person who still has her virginity.  With this many opportunities for boyfriends I’m surprised she hasn’t met someone before who she had a strong enough relationship with.  I think more of my issue with this is why do these beautiful characters have to be awkward and klutzy?  Don’t get me wrong, I write these stumbling characters too because I’m an uncoordinated mess at times.  (I did break the two bones in my ankle from falling off a curb a few years back.)  Why can’t the pretty people have horrific breath?  Or a jacked up nose?  I think because awkward is cute.  Even though I have not found that to be the case for me.

The hot teacher is Garrick and he has an english accent.  He’s into Bliss like she’s the last drop of water on a deserted island.  They go back and forth with “I want you” and “we shouldn’t do this” throughout the book.  He’s pretty much a perfect Prince Charming wrapped up in a terrific body.  Doesn’t remind me anything of my college theater teacher Mr. Berman who was 5’2″, balding, and ran around like a five-year old hopped up on sugar.

The Ending (spoiler alert!):  They do it.  It takes the length of the book with many twists and turns, but they finally get to the climax.  <wink, wink>  It really is a picture perfect happy ending.  It had to be or there were going to be some frustrated readers out there.  The steamy factor stayed high in the book.  I felt my heart race a few times and tore through the book at record speed.  I enjoyed the light-hearted feel in their fun romance.  The Epilogue lost me.  It was too pretty of a package at that point.  Maybe some people need a super happy ending (and I’m not talking about a handy.)

What I Cooked Up:  Okay, I went for the obvious.  I know it’s the easy way out.  I couldn’t think of anything else.  I decided the scone was a nice idea with homage to Garrett’s accent.  For Losing It I have a cherry and chocolate scone.  It’s light.  Sweet.  And the perfect treat for the morning after.

The Writer’s Voice

Remember my New Year’s Resolution to do something daring?  Well, this is me jumping in with both feet.  I’ve entered a contest, The Writer’s Voice.  The prize is working with a fantastic mentor and getting feedback to help polish up my work.  Where is the bravery you ask?  I have to post my query and first 250 words.  For the world to see.  For you to see.  The thought brings panic.  Stupid fear.  I will now repeat my mantra: Creativity takes bravery. — Henry Matisse

Query:

For sixteen year-old Katherine Chapman, spotting the micro-expressions of darting eyes, facial tics, and rigid extremities when people lie comes as easy as finishing off a super-sized order of fries.  For fear of being labeled a circus freak or ruining friendships, she tucks that fact safely away in her journal.

Hiding her ability isn’t a problem until Kat’s house is robbed and her journal is stolen.  Pages of embarrassing moments and social suicides are nothing compared to what she’s written about the lies from her family and friends.  When an entry detailing Kat’s awkward first kiss at fifteen wallpapers the school, she survives mortification with her best friends linked on either arm.  They are blissfully unaware their pages detailing the worst nights they lied about are coming up.

Instead of waiting for more to be exposed, Kat takes on what the police chalked up to random break-ins.  She’s determined to protect her friends even if it means questioning everyone she thought she trusted.  The closer Kat gets to finding out who deceives her, the more revealing the pages become.  If she doesn’t find the journal soon, no one’s lies will be safe.  Including her own.

TRUTH BE TOLD is a 62,000-word contemporary young adult novel.

First 250:

Nothing said friendship like a well-intentioned lie told straight to the face.  Every time my best friend Shelby did it, her large upper teeth cut into her full lower lip and the corner of her right eye twitched.  Her lies balanced between infuriating innocence and exhausting disappointment.

When I was twelve, a psychiatrist told me I had to write down the lies and how they made me feel to get them out of my system.  She went into horrific detail about how if I kept my anger bottled up one day I would explode in a volcanic rage and probably kill everyone around me.  Or the frustration would slowly poison any relationship until there was nothing left except a withered corpse.  She didn’t have much bedside manner treating someone panicked about being a freak.  Thankfully, my parents ditched the shrink.   They also bought me a journal.

“Talk to him, Kat.  I think he likes you,” Shelby said.

“Chris doesn’t mind being stuck with me. That’s far from liking,” I said.

“He just needs to get to know you better.”

Shelby’s brace-covered smile glimmered in the light cast from the ten-foot tall bonfire.  Her deliberate blink waited for my expected rebuttal.  If I explained Chris showed no more interest in me than the Top 40 charts, she’d counter with I was the coolest person she knew, which really wasn’t saying much for either of us.