Ya lit invades Hollywood...ish!

As much as I despise when Hollywood throws around the phrase "the next Twilight!" with it's giddy-greedy green teeth showing because all YA lit that's worthy of film adaptation has to involve vampires and werewolves and para overloaded normal plot points, (Sorry, that's my Team Contemporary --thanks for the term Gayle Forman --ranty side venting. She's a little on edge as of late.) I did a fan-girl dance when I read the Find Me A Twilight! article in Entertainment Weekly's May 24 issue (article excerpt on left). But EW has inadvertently proven my point that all big screen worthy YA is not broody vampires and hunky werewolves...well, some broody werewolves are in attendance with Maggie Stiefvater's Shiver trilogy, but Sam (said broody werewolf) isn't exactly waging epic battles for Grace's mortal life. And I think that's more to my point. An epic battle is not necessary to capture that Twilight-esque theatric magic.

The novel with the best chance at proving that, in my opinion, is Lauren Oliver 's Delirium series, which has not a one broody creature of the night. Instead an oppressive society where love has been declared a curable disease threatens the characters.

When I first heard about this series (from Ms. Oliver herself!) last year, she pitched it as a "dystopian Romeo & Juliet." I pretty much set aside the $17.99 to pre-order the hardcover right then. It's epic emotionally. Lena, the main character, doesn't need a visit from the Volturi to create tension and havoc in her life, she has a date to be "cured" of Amor Deliria Nervosa aka her freewill! I'd face off with Demetri over that life sentence any day.

My second runner up for proving my point is Ally Condie's Matched. Among the new crop of other soon-to-be-adapted YAs that support the paranormal stigma is Kami Garcia & Margaret Stohl's Beautiful Creatures, Cassandra Clare's Mortal Instruments series and Veronica Roth's Divergent.

Despite my rant, I do enjoy the occasional paranormal YA. Anyone who's read this blog, or basically met me, knows I'm a TWI-hard for life--or eternity as soon as Edward agrees to change me. But as someone who writes contemporary YA, I can't help feeling misrepresented in pop culture. It's encouraging to see novels like Before I Fall , Oliver's debut novel which is neither paranormal or dystopian *gasp*, earning some prime Entertainment Weekly real estate. What do you guys think? Is YA seen as a vamp/wolf/zombie fluff fest in the eyes of Hollywood? 

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Jordan Catalano is baaack!

Something miraculous has occurred and I feel I would be doing the entire TV viewership an injustice if I did not share. The miraculous event I speak of is the reemergence of  My So-called Life in syndication! (Airing Mondays at 11pm on Sundance channel.)

Go ahead Generation X-ers and Y-ers, screaming is merited here because this means two essentially amazing things. 1) We get to relive our Jordan Catalano teenage dreams through the never aging Jared Leto. I'll give you a sec to let the picture below stir up some of those memories...

OK, and 2) A whole new generation of girls will be exposed to the fabulous insanity of Angela's identity shifting dye job (hello red!) and friends like Rayanne and Rickie and, er, Brian Krakow and the oh so angst filled relationship with the blissfully monosyllabic Jordan.

The cast was of the time and just plain real in an era before "reality" TV sunk that word into the crapper. But the thing that keeps this show on my Best Ever On TV list is the honesty of creator Winnie Holzman's  (and many others) writing. The anti-quipy-without-trying dialogue is a lesson to anyone who is writing anything. Period. I proclaim (until proven otherwise--go ahead, try me!) the modern YA genre was born in the pages of her pilot script. I say this because the story is still relevant, the characters are still relatible, albeit questionable in the wardrobe department. 17 years later--2 years elder the series main character Angela Chase--the mere mention of this show when I inevitably bring it up at someone mentioning starting a band (possibly named Frozen Embryos?) still gets a hand over the heart, "Omigod I looove that show!" response.

The premature cancellation of this gem is one of the lingering pop cultural travesties of our time. How can a show that is called "the most extraordinary show of the new TV season" by Entertainment Weekly be canceled after only 19 episodes and The Bachelor is on it's 15th season?! I am beyond grateful to Sundance channel for rectifying a tiny piece of this wrong.

P.S. I'm buying this shirt.

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More Rockin' and Droppin'

In honor of YALSA’s Support Teen Lit Day the crew at ReaderGirlz.com has created a share-the-wealth campaign aptly named Rock the Drop. The idea is to share a book with a stranger in the most random, altruistic way possible--leaving it in a public place. A surprise book-o-gram would brighten anyone's day, especially if said book-o-gram was say an ARC of the fabulous debut author Amy Plum’s  DIE FOR ME . (Not my drop of the day, but kinda wish it was. Check out her Facebook page for the pic.)

Make sure to take a picture of your drop, and, if you're like me, hide behind a bush/tree/lamppost/dog until your lucky drop recipient comes along. They usually give this shady scan of the area before cautiously picking up the book and glancing at the back cover. Then they either slyly slip it under their arm or bolt. (Seriously. I saw no in between.) It's pretty entertaining, but also kind of a sad reflection on our culture. Hmm...serious thoughts... 

For more details, visit ReaderGirlz.com.

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Rock & Read

In case you missed the slew of Facebook posts/Tweets I rattled off this week, Gayle Forman's sequel to 2009's If I Stay called Where She Went came out on Tuesday and I went into full on Tortured-Smexy Rocker Obsession mode. The sequel switches POVs so we get (Stay's main character, Mia's then BF) Adam's side of the story that began three years earlier (in book time) when she was in a comma debating whether to die or stay.

So, I've spent all week trying to figure out why I have TSRO (Tormented-Smexy Rocker Obsession) and why there is no cure (of which I would refuse if it existed). I mean, if you break it down, the TSR is an overly sensitive pretty boy that will most likely use up your $30 Bedhead products without asking. He'll pull off the just-got-out-of-bed look that will have you cursing the hour long daily getting ready regiment that is required of a rock girlfriend and wear sunglasses everywhere. (Ok, I have to admit that part is hot.) At some point in his career he will become a smoker/over drinker/pill popper, which would be an unequivocal deal breaker with any normal guy. And there's always that looming question: does he love "the music" more than me?

Even after rattling off TSR's faults, I find myself twisting them into enduring vulnerabilities that only make me love him more. I actually feel bad for the TSRO clean now! So, I plan to infect you with a highly contagious strain of TSR eye candy. And...go!

(Jared Leto from 30 Seconds to Mars should pretty much seal the deal, but I'll keep going.)

(Kings of Leon's Caleb Followill's voice. 'Nuf said.)

(Gavin Rossdale may be the source of my infection back in 1998 when Bush inexplicably played Michigan four times in one tour. Yes, he was shirtless for all four shows.)

(Maroon 5's Adam Levine is pretty much TSRO rolled up in a tat'd piano/guitar playing smokin' package.)

To thank me for the eye candy, you can tell me about your TSROs. Who's your fav fictitiously delish literary (or real) rocker guy? (Oh come, on, you know you're rockin' the infection after those pics!) Mine are Cole St. Clair of NARKOTIKA in Maggie Stiefcater's Linger and, of course, Adam Wilde of Shooting Star in If I Stay/Where She Went. Now hit me with yours.

P.S. I highly recommend reading all mentioned novels!

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Some Loss of Glitter May Occur

This warning label (see picture) on my kick-errific new Converse is pretty much my daily nightmare. I'm standing in the middle of a room with hundreds of expectant eyes staring at me with a blaring white sign draped around my neck: Due to the Unique Characteristics of Material, Some Loss of Glitter May Occur During Wear. You will loose your ability to write quip-y dialogue and glitter no longer!

Nooooo! I need all my glitter to concoct YA fabulousness! Ahhh!!!!

Just let me dry the cold sweat from my brow. Okay, I'm back. I was so happy when I got this glittery  purple pair of shoes from my lovely mom (who still takes me on sporadic shopping trips ☺), but now I feel like they're glaring at me from my closet, implanting irrational tones of self-doubt in my head as I write.
*I have since instated a closet shut rule in the Writertorium.

I know I'm not the only person who suffers from self-doubt, but mine seems to come at the most unexpected times. Like when everything is (seemingly) going to plan, which makes the self-doubt also irrational and baffling. Does anyone else feel unjustly confident up until the moment when justification finally comes along?  Sorry that was a bit Seussical; it must be all the glitter tongue tying me up. Simple version: When does self-doubt wear off your glitter and how do you deal?

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Leaning Tower of Pisa Syndrome

Ok, so I admit staying up until 3:30am last night was probably not the wisest decision since now the back of my head is doing this dull ache thing and I go all Leaning Tower of Pisa every time my eyes close for more than 10 seconds. But I didn't have to go in to Day Job today (AWESOME!), and I really wanted to respond to the "I'm getting ready to send out the manuscript, but" email I got from my agent yesterday.

I needed to do a read through to catch embarrassing typos like "I walked threw the open door" before officially sending off my little bundle of pages to the world. It'd been almost two months since I'd looked at my bundle because I've been keeping myself sane during the publishing waiting game by working on a new novel--which I am totally excited about, finally. Of course, now the process will be waylaid by Leaning Tower of Pisa Syndrome, but that usually only lasts a day...two tops.

I have to say, though, the read through was a little like biting into a candy from one of those unlabeled boxes of chocolates without a chart of flavors. (I'll spare you the rant I have stored up for the lazy confectioners that manufacture said boxes.) I kept getting all these little surprises along the way that I'd forgotten I'd added or changed along the revision road. And even though I knew the ending--which even the lucky few who got to read previous drafts don't know!--it was a little like not reading my own book. I kinda dug that.

Anyone else recently re-read something they'd written or just a fav book and gotten a coconut surprise with the familiar chocolate coating? If not, take a bite. I promise no praline crap moose filling. Really, unlabeled box of chocolates, praline?

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Potato, pot-ah-to...wait, no one says pot-ah-to

The farther I get into the process of (hopefully) publishing my first novel the more I realize how clueless I am about said process, and not in the posh "Whatever" Alicia Silverstone kind of way. Like when I asked my agent--who is fabulous FYI--to let me know when the manuscript is officially out on submittal to which she replied, "Out on submission!" (Exclamation point and everything.) Potato, pot-ah-to, right? Um yeah...except no one says pot-ah-to. My bad.

Moral of the story, I'm a newbie to the publishing world. We're talking hangin' with the lowdies on the grassy knoll new. (Bonus points if you get that Clueless reference.) Which is why I'm incredibly grateful to have such an understanding group of fellow writers/crit partners and friends & family that take my quirky newbie-ness as endearing...at least that's what I assume when they laugh and say, "You're crazy." To which I grin and reply, "Yes, I am and it's fabulous!"

I sure hope there are other people out there that take "crazy" as a compliment, and I hope they comment on this post so we can skip 7th & 8th and see the new Christian Slater movie together. (Sorry, had to sneak in one more Clueless reference for good measure.)

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