Have You Inkpopped?

Yesterday at Write Chic, I blogged about my love of competition. It's a love that's vast, wide, and many other adjectives implying that I kind of like to, well, throw down. Be it a game of Scrabble or a writing contest, nothing gets me working harder than a chance to succeed in public. It's a bit ridiculous, but my family is the same way, so let's go ahead and blame genetics here.

It's no wonder that my little competitive soul totally perked up when rumors began to circle about a Harper Collins writing contest for YA writers. After all, just a few years ago, my decision to seriously pursue a writing career was kick-started by another HarperTeen contest. This new venture, called Inkpop, is essentially a teenlit form of HC's wildly popular adult writing site, Authonomy.

Unlike the Avon and HarperTeen Fanlit competitions of 2006, this is a site geared toward connecting aspiring authors with their audience. Users upload their work, whether it's chapters of a novel or snippets of poetry, then the community gives feedback. It could be just like any other critique site, but there's a twist. At the end of each month, an editorial team from HarperTeen will read through the top 5 entries, giving responses to the authors.

That Inkpop is still in private beta testing is obvious - the community is small and is growing by only a few more users each day. Personally, I just received my invite today and am still exploring the site. So far, it does seem to reach one of its goals: creating an active dialogue between YA writers and readers. There are forums, active commenters and readers (dubbed "trendspotters"), and quite a few talented participants.

I don't know how much I plan on participating, but it may be interesting to post a few chapters of my Golden Heart entries and see what happens. What I do know, however, is that Harper Collins has once more proved that they're on the cutting edge of the publishing industry when it comes to reader outreach. Sure, they may find a few great writers out of this, but even more readers will find great HarperTeen books and possibly even form some brand loyalty. In this changing age of publishing, such initiatives speak of true competition and daring.

Is anyone else planning on joining Inkpop, when it officially opens? Or do you just plain love to see a publishing house with a 21st century plan, as much as I do?

Bloggers & Puppies & Thieves, Oh My!

It has been brought to my attention that I haven't blogged since February. This is what happens when I tell myself I have to do something (like blog every day). I'm so rebellious that apparently I can't even follow my own directions! Perhaps this is another reason why I write Young Adult?

Anyway, I've been meaning to blog again, honestly. After all, so much has happened in the last few months:

• The fabulous Tessa Dare's first novel, Goddess of the Hunt, came out to rave reviews - of course! Hooray Tessa! Is anyone else going mad with anticipation for August 25th and her second release?
• The group blog I haunt (formerly First Edition) was rechristened as www.WriteChic.com - with an elegant new look to go with the name. (Today on the blog: Kelly is reviewing One Week As Lovers by Victoria Dahl, which I'm currently reading and loving.)
• Stephanie and I traveled to Washington D.C. for our second RWA Nationals. It was my first time in the Capital and I can't think of a better way to spend it than meeting up with all of our great writer buddies, talking books, and networking the heck out of the conference. We also managed to hit the Smithsonian American Art Museum, where I enjoyed a whole room of paintings by my favorite artist, Thomas Wilmer Dewing. It was the perfect first D.C. trip!

But here's the obvious question: If all of this didn't make me sit up and blog, what has?

Well, friends, I'm getting a DOG.

Not a big deal for most people, but I'm a cat person. In fact, I come from a long, long, circle-the-Earth-a-few-times looong line of cat people. We had a dog or two growing up, but one too many nights of howling and they mysteriously disappeared to nice friends who had farms or neighbors who were a little more understanding of animals who don't just purr and nap. Of course, being rebellious little me, I fancied that I'd have a whole kennel of dogs when I grew up. Yet when I decided to get a pet after undergrad, the puppies may have been tempting, but logic won out and I adopted a kitten, Toulouse the Wondercat.

In that last two years, I've thought more about dogs - even going so far as to research breeds and rescue organizations - but could never rationalize it. Then, this past week, my house was robbed. Someone sliced open the screen to my bathroom window, punched a hole in the glass, and climbed in.

Luckily, I was in California visiting family and the thieves didn't get anything more than my DirectTV box (that I needed to replace anyway). Not going to lie though, I've been a little shaken since finding out. Suddenly all those romances about jewel thieves and highwaymen don't seem so charming. What's makes it all worse is that this will be the first semester that I don't have a roommate. It will be just my cat and me. Toulouse may be fierce when it comes to lizards, but girlfriend doesn't exactly terrorize intruders. Unless someone can be purred to death, of course.

A thief: not scared by terrifying guard cat.

I hate being scared of my own house. So in go the security system and outside motion detectors, but a barking companion will set my mind even more at ease. Plus, that whole never lived without a roommate concept? Yeah, also scary. I may be super independent and a writer to boot, but who likes being lonely? Enter a dog. Or rather, my dog. I'd really like a West Highland White Terrier and have applications in at the Texas area Westie rescues, but I'm also going to look at our local humane shelters to see if I click with any other little friend.

A Westie: white, fluffy, will bark at Cary Elwes & other intruders.

But, of course, I've never had a dog of my own! This is scarier than starting a new manuscript or going to Australia. Cats are easy - you pet them, you feed them, they love you. Dogs are a bit more complicated. All the walking and the training and the potential drooling! My bookshelf is filling with dog guides and The Dog Whisperer is set to record on my Tivo. Luckily, I have Stephanie and our other good friend, Sarah, as my on-call puppy experts - whom I'll no doubt harass and annoy with all my ridiculous questions. And, also, I have this blog. In the coming months, I'm sure there will be puppy stories galore (though hopefully none involving my Stewart Weitzmans), as well as all the updates from the writing world.

So, tell me friends, which are you - a cat person or a dog person? Let's hear all about your little furry ones. Any horror stories about shoe-chewing that I should know ahead of time, or adorable moments (pictures!) you want to share?

Do You Prefer "Fashion Victim" Or "Ensembly Challenged"?

Newsflash: According to sources (ie: the interweb), a sequel to the 1995 movie Clueless in is in the works. Alicia Silverstone is set to star and filming begins in April.

Now, I know what you're thinking: What sort of vapid twit is going to go see a remake of a 90's highschool chick flick?

This sort of vapid twit. The one right here.

You know that question you're always asked during group icebreaker games - what five things would you take with you to a desert island? My five things:

1. Bottled Water
2. The Collected Works of Jane Austen
3. A Solar-Powered Generator to power...
4. A VCR on which to watch...
5. The Movie Clueless

I love old movies; I adore indie movies; I could watch musicals all day long, but there is not a single film I love more than Clueless. Maybe it was the impressionable age I saw it at - sixth grade - or perhaps it's the unparalleled quotability of the movie ("Searching for a boy in high school is as useless as searching for meaning in a Pauly Shore movie!"), but for the last decade it has been my go-to comfort flick. When it's on t.v., friends I haven't seen in months call me to let me know. When it's time for Halloween, I know I can always dress up as Cher Horowitz (witness this incriminating photo from junior year of college-->). When a girl shows up to gym class wearing flannel, I know exactly what cutting remark to say.

I am thrilled and had to share the news. Maybe in the sequel we find out if Cher really saved herself for Luke Perry! So, what movie would you have a sequel made for, friends? Any characters you're dying to see get one more shot at the big screen?

The Art of Humiliation

[x-posted from First Edition]

I love writing Young Adult books. I could cite the great freedom YA writers have, or our booming market, or even just my adoration of all things snarky. However, my love actually stems from the fact that, despite being over a half-decade out of high school, I still feel like a sixteen-year old half the time. I stress about school, clothes, guys, and whether it's gross that Dan and Serena from Gossip Girl share a sibling.

Only one thing is truly different from my 16 year-old self and I: I'm a writer now. So, when I'm having trouble handling an overload of schoolwork, I have the perfect outlet for my frustration - why not kill off a character in my book? Or when some twit named Kristin seduces my best friend's boy friend? Any guesses what the evil villainess who comes to a bloody and tragic end in my next book will be named?

Which brings me to today's topic- embarrassment. One of the key ingredients in most Young Adult stories is some degree of humiliation. After all, every teenager walking around in American high schools has something they dread happening or a secret that they fear being exposed. The best way to endear your characters to the reader is for them to go through such things - forgetting a huge project that was due, falling off a bike in front of his dream girl, or just finding out that the boy she likes actually likes other boys. I loved high school, but it's not hard to argue that it's one of the most embarrassing periods in life.

Which is also why it's so fun to write about now. All that turmoil and angst, the stories that are hard to think about without blushing, are all fodder for future books. Even my parents - those wonderful, quirky people who brought me into this world, then insisted I wear fish dresses in Elementary School - get face time in various scenes. After all, is there anything more potentially embarrassing than releasing ones parents on your social world? Even now, there are moments when I'm right back in high school, watching my dad insist my boyfriend turn his hat around before he walks into our house.

So, I figured today it's time for a little bit of of Truth or Dare, Originals. Only, you don't get a Dare option, since streaking through Bobby Horton's yard is a little hard to prove over the Internet. Instead we're going to dish about our most embarrassing moments! They can be old ones from your eighth grade dance, or new ones from your book signing last week. Mine's a fresh one, involving -of course - Mr. and Mrs. Danielson of Austin, Tx - aka: my wonderful parents (whom I love, but make for great stories!):

Over Christmas Break, my mom and dad came home from a walk, chilly and beaming at me like they'd just seen Anderson Cooper going door-to-door with a toy poodle. I'd seen this look before. This is the look they get whenever my mom bumps into old classmates of mine and updates them on "what Mary's doing" or my dad meets a cute boy at a golf course and starts hearing wedding bells- this is the dreaded parental gleam. My mom's runs toward the "Nanny-nanny-boo-boo isn't my daughter fantastic?" side, while my dad is just worried I will end up living alone with sixteen alphabetically named cat companions.

This time, their gleams converged. The poor victim - let's call him Aloysius Jenkins - was a guy I'd had a few AP classes with in high school. You know the type...he was nice, funny, ever so slightly rebellious, and good looking in that "I've traveled all over the world and this beard stubble is my only souvenir" sort of way, but - aside from a few Facebook messages since high school and the odd run-in at an Eddie Izzard show- just an acquaintance. Unfortunately, I may have had a short-lived thing for this guy back in the days of AP Bio fruit fly experiments. Even more unfortunate? My parents know this fact.

I know. Teenagers, take heed and those with teenagers avert your eyes...Rule Number One for Growing Up Sane: Unless you are going to homecoming or exchanging promise rings with a guy, never inform your parents of his existence. You may forget about ol'Aloysius, but - trust me - your parents won't. Even six years later.

So, this fateful day my parents were having their daily walk and who should have the unfortunate honor of walking to his car just when they were passing his house? That poor schmuck, Aloysius. In our quasi-suburban neighborhood, it's common courtesy to greet those you come across on the street. A smile or a quick hello and you're done. Unless the Danielsons are passing your house.

In swoops my father, his hearty "Hi there! Didn't you go to Westwood? We're Mary Danielson's parents!" echoing off the perfectly manicured shrubs. As if the mere mention of my name is enough to send mere mortals into spasms of joy, as if I am some great celebrity dog-trainer or a young Presidential hopeful, not a first year Ph.D. student with an unfortunate book addiction. And, here, friends is the rough transcription of that event:

Aloysius: Oh, um, yeah. Well, I'm Aloysius Jenkins. How is Mary?
Dad: She's fine, still in school. So, tell us about yourself, Al. Any good prospects?
Aloysius: (Backing up ever so slowly) Er, just applying to grad school. I'll probably be in school forever, if I don't find out what I want to do. So, Mary's still finishing up undergrad then?
Mom: (Gasping in horror, the gleam fully entering her eye) No, you silly young twit. She's starting her Ph.D. She's going to save blind children, cure cancer, and rid the world of mosquitoes and tapered pants by the time she's thirty!
Aloysius: Oh. Right. Wasn't she doing some book thing?
Mom: (Completely ignoring the fact that Into The Woods being in the hands of agents doesn't mean I'm J.K. Rowling or even signed yet) Why, yes! Yes, she is. In fact, right this very moment her rewrite of the next Great American Robin Hood Novel is in the hands of her agent. She'll probably be the next J.K. Rowling you know, but younger.
Aloysius: Oh, neat. Robin Hood, did you say?
Dad: Yeah, whatever. So, any signs of madness in your family? History of heart disease? Cancer? Abnormal abundance of Siamese twins?
Aloysius: Oh, look at the time! I've got an - uh - underwater basket weaving class to get to. Nice to meet you folks.
Mom: Bye now! If you need any help writing something brilliant or being smarter than all the other little children, let Mary know.
Dad: (Watching Aloysius flee to his car) So, you didn't have a conjoined twin then?

My parents came home, verily bursting with news of their exchange...

Mary: You said what? To whom?
Mom: That nice Aloysius Jenkins! You know, the one whose stubble you were always waxing on about in high school.
Dad: (Eyes gleaming, of course) Seems like a nice enough fellow...You know, my dear spinster daughter, he was wearing a scarf. And a coat. I know how you like boys who wear scarves and coats...
Mom: And he seemed smart enough. Not like you, of course dear, but we can't very well expect that, can we?
Mary: Oh God. I need to do damage control, don't I?
Dad: He had that worldly look too. You go for that, I've noticed. Remember your last boy? That Chilean chap...what was his name? Franco? Bernardo? Chuy?
Mary: You mean Gabriel? He was from France!
Dad: Whatever. He was in a band...there's no future dating musicians, daughter. They won't settle down and give me grandchildren.
Mom: And he wasn't going to graduate school.
Dad: Maybe you should give Aloysius a call? Or send him a note on that Book of Faces thing?
Mom: Yeah! You can talk about your book over drinks...
Mary: (Bursts into flames of embarrassment and horror)

Needless to say, Aloysius didn't respond to my quick Facebook extension of the non-crazy olive branch and will probably avoid me at all future class reunions, for fear of being dragged back to my lair and forced to recite the periodic table of elements while tied naked to my bedpost. Which is good, since you can bet I'm going to be using some of this for characters down the road, so it's best if Aloysius stays far far away from all things Danielson, in case he recognizes himself in a book.

So, Originals, it's time to dish! What was your most humiliating memory from high school? Or, you know, last week? And, our dear parenting Originals out there, have you turned the tables on your kids and accidentally embarrassed them? Anyone else file away their own moments of horror for future literary endeavors?

The Skillful And The Awed

Tonight, I'm reading Deanna Raybourn's Silent on the Moor and thinking about mastery. I love it when an author's technique and quality of writing match her ideas. So many times, a book's premise is wonderful, but it falls flat under voiceless writing or clumsy technique. Needless to say, Ms. Raybourn is not having this problem. As with the previous Lady Julia Grey mysteries (or novels or romances, depending on your local bookstore's shelving whims), Silent on the Moor is intriguing, darkly atmospheric, and well...superbly written. It's one of those books you dread putting down, even to reheat your cup of Bombay Breakfast.

And yet I did, because it was becoming too hard not to come gush in that nerdy, way too observant way we aspiring authors often have. Now, Deanna Raybourn does a lot of thing splendidly - creating deeply layered characterization, using setting to manipulate tone, and seamlessly weaving the threads of a well-plotted mystery are just a few examples, but like all great writers, she has one thing she does better than anyone else: suspense. Oye ve, the woman can leave a reader wanting more. A scene is drawing to a close and you're ready; you can finally grab a cup of tea or take that long-delayed shower, but just as you reach to dog ear the page (or click the off switch on your Kindle), she hits you with a final sentence like this:

And I could not have imagined then, that I would be packing my trunk the very next evening, determined never to see him again.

How can one not read on? Now, imagine a book filled with such tension, such a sense of foreboding that even a five minute break from its pages becomes an act akin to climbing Kilimanjaro in four-inch heels. Torturous.

Such skill is exactly what sets Ms. Raybourn apart, what catapults her onto auto-buy lists around the world and makes her one of my personal favorite authors. Many of my other favorite authors have nothing in common, other than this skill. Julia Quinn doesn't write dark, neo-gothic stories like Silent on the Moor, but there is no one better at quirky family interactions. Christopher Moore, meanwhile, is off the charts when it comes to writing the ironic situation or the bitingly outrageous. They are all masters. I feel lucky each time I read their books and the next never seems to be published soon enough to satisfy.

Who are your top authors? What is it about their writing or storytelling that sets them apart from the crowd?