Here’s what I did get out of this job: 1. a new appreciation for the English language and wonderment that I could catch punctuation and grammatical errors even though I literally had no idea what I was reading; 2. a little bit of money.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Take this Job
Here’s what I did get out of this job: 1. a new appreciation for the English language and wonderment that I could catch punctuation and grammatical errors even though I literally had no idea what I was reading; 2. a little bit of money.
Monday, January 23, 2012
The First Annual Jody-intz Awards
Today the American Library Association announced this year’s award-winning books for children and young adults. The ALA held a very exciting ceremony for writers and librarians, and I followed along with them on Twitter and watched the podcast of the event while occasionally drifting into pleasant daydreams where I get that call in the morning (someday in the future when I actually have a published book) from the ALA committee. You may have heard of these awards: the Caldecott Medal, for the most distinguished picture book; the Newbery for the best children’s book (which is typically defined as a book written for readers aged 8 to 12); and the Printz, for the best novel written for young adults. Because I write for young adults and love to read books written for young adults, the Printz is the award I’m most interested in.
While I was waiting for the winner to be announced (and/or falling into lala, coveted-medal-on-my-book-cover, fantasy land) I started making a list of the awards I’d give if anyone at the ALA ever asked me for my opinion.
So here it is, without further ado, the first annual Jody-intz Awards (and at the end, I’ll tell you which book actually won the Printz.):
- Best Page-Turner. This award goes to the book I read in one long sitting/walking from room to room with it because I could not bear to put it down for one second and then stayed up half the night to finish it. Drum Roll. Ashes by Ilsa Bick, the addictive and heart-stopping tale of an allegedly dying girl who goes on a camping trip when an electromagnetic pulse pulses the world, kills most of humanity, and turns the remainder into flesh-eating zombies. This book is also a runner up for the Biggest Cliff-hanger/Oh Crud, Now I Have to Wait for the Sequel Award. Also receives an honorable mention for Book That Most Inspires You To Hoard Canned Goods. Warning: Clear out your schedule before turning to the first page.
- Coolest Premise. The Future of Us by Jay Asher and Carolyn Mackler. Two teens living in the olden days of 1995 log online and discover their Facebook pages fifteen years in the future. What else is there to say about that? A very cool idea that I wish I’d thought of. (P.S. The book lives up to the hype too.)
- Most Original Voice. I read a ton of YA books so it’s surprising when I come across a voice I’ve never heard before. The winner in this category is Brooklyn, Burning by Steve Brezenoff. The main character is a kid called Kid who tells the story of a warehouse fire in Brooklyn and the growing relationship with a kid named Scout. Oh, and by the way, the reader never learns the genders of either Kid or Scout.
- Best Teen Love Story—A three-way tie between Lola and the Boy Next Door by Stephanie Perkins, Wanderlove by Kirsten Hubbard, and If I Stay by Gayle Forman. If you love love stories and either hated Twilight and crave an alternative or loved Twilight and crave an alternative, read any of these. Or all of these. Sigh.
- Best World I’d Love to Fall Into. Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater. This book could be a runner up in the Best Love Story category too, now that I think about it. The setting is a remote island where every year killer horses rise up out of the sea and the townspeople risk their lives to race them. This is one of those old-fashioned books that takes its time, developing the cast of complicated and quirky characters and building the intricate plot. When I knew I was coming to the end, I read slower so I could stay in the fully realized, luscious world just a little bit longer.
- I guess I should follow up this award with one for World I Wouldn’t Want to Fall Into. And this honor easily goes to Ashfall, by Mike Mullin. Yeah, let’s just say it’s a bleak landscape after the super volcano hidden under Yellowstone erupts and destroys most of the country. (Runner up in the page turners and canned good categories too.)
- New Writer to Watch. This is a tie between Jennifer Castle, author of the beautifully written novel The Beginning of After, about a girl coping in the year after her parents die (note: it is NOT as dark as it sounds), and Emily M. Danforth, author of The Miseducation of Cameron Post, about a girl coping with her realization that she is a lesbian (note: it is not as dark as it sounds). Because both writers know how to tell a really good story and I can't wait to see what books they write next.
- Awesome Series. There are so many to pick from in this category because, if you’ve spent any time perusing the YA section in your local bookstore (which I hope you do), series are very big these days. The award goes to Ally Condie’s Matched series, a thought-provoking, dystopian story of a girl growing up in what seems to be a perfect world. The sequel, Crossed, accomplishes what all writers of successful series dream of: it ups the ante while at the same time carrying through everything loyal readers of the first book loved.
- Writer I Wish I Could Be. Another tie. First, Sara Zarr, author of this year’s moving and brilliant How To Save a Life (and for her entire body of work –Story of a Girl and Sweethearts and Once Was Lost—all I can say is I bow down to her talent. Ditto to Lauren Myracle for her moving and brilliant novel (that should have won a National Book Award!) Shine. (Love her other novels too, especially Peace, Love, and Baby Ducks and had the great honor of meeting Lauren at a book signing. Full disclosure: a picture of the two of us is my screen-saver on my cellphone.)
- Novel That Changed the Way I View the World. Where Things Come Back by John Corey Whaley. The story of a boy in a small dying town whose brother goes missing, and a disturbed kid obsessed with the Book of Enoch, and the appearance of the thought to be extinct Lazarus bird. You might just discover the meaning of life in this one.
And maybe that’s what the ALA committee was thinking when they awarded it this year’s Printz Award.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Odd Pairings of Life and Art
When my daughter was born and my world shrunk to an endless loop of nursing sessions and diaper-changings and children’s television, I picked up the book The Feminine Mystique by Betty Friedan, hoping to counteract my brain’s creeping descent into sleep-deprived mush. I remember sitting on the couch, infant daughter squirming in arms/latched onto my breast, while my three-year old son prattled nearby. Book propped against me daughter’s body, I was totally caught up in figuring out what the solution was to the 1950’s pampered/bored/Valium-popping housewife’s “problem that has no name.”
Turns out the solution is a job. Hmm. Who knew?

(I park myself in a beach chair and read about their struggles.)
Friday, January 13, 2012
92 Books and 2 Resolutions
Saturday, January 7, 2012
What I Forgot
Back then that resonated with me because oh my lord the days were long. Crack of dawn you’d hear the little chirpy voices and then it was a seemingly endless go go go of diaper changing and making meals and cleaning up meals and swiping noodle-y-o’s off faces and packing diaper bags and managing car seats and bath times and story times. When you’re in that mode, there is nothing but the present moment. It is simply you and them until they finally collapse in their beds (or, who are we kidding here?—probably they’re in your bed) and you get the weirdly quiet, messy house to yourself for a couple of hours so you can hopefully recharge for the next day.
But all of that—what was once MY LIFE—slid away with the years and the second part of the statement, the years are short, gained new meaning. Because man oh man that’s true too. The little girl who changed her clothes twenty million times a day and who freaked out about standing up with her pre-school class for “graduation” is now a fashionable high schooler with no qualms about performing on stage. The little boy obsessed with modes of transportation and insects and medieval weaponry is about to graduate and (ahem, proud braggy mom alert) attend Yale next fall.
I don’t know how I forgot the other stuff—the sippy cups and the coloring books and the tub toy foam letters, but it all came back last week when I went out of town to help a good friend. Long story, but the gist is I was plopped into a household with young children and it was like I’d time-traveled into my old life. At the same time I was reading a great book that punctuated the whole experience, What Alice Forgot by Liane Moriarty.

So there I was, chasing after pre-schoolers and swiping up drink spills and watching videos (Cars Two. I give it two thumbs up) and combing barbie hair and playing "train" and helping with homework (an hour a day for kindergartners seems excessive to me) and cutting fruit into small, less chokable chunks and answering questions (the big ones: What is your middle name? Why?) and then, later, when the kids were asleep, I’d sneak off into my room and read What Alice Forgot. It took me all week because I could only manage a few chapters before nodding off.
It was a weird experience. I’m back in my present life now where I can go to the bathroom without announcing it to the household and nobody needs to be reminded not to suck on a marker or dump a bottle of lotion on the dog. Older son is off driving around with friends. Daughter is practicing cello in her room. Amazing husband who held down the fort while I was gone is in the kitchen making dinner so I can “get some writing in.”
Time is passing before my eyes. Once there were stickers pasted on the furniture and apple juice stains on the carpet and there were days I didn’t think I could manage another moment. But I did manage it. I just wish there were more moments when I realized that it all would disappear.
There’s a video of my daughter’s pre-school graduation. She was so afraid to go up on stage with her class. I don’t know why. She had practiced all the songs. She had the little graduation cap. But that night she refused to leave my lap. The teacher smiled sympathetically and said something like, "there’s always one kid…" And I remember thinking, yeah, but why does it have to be my kid? The video is excruciating to watch. It’s my little girl terrified and clinging to me and looking younger and more darling than I knew at the time. I can hardly focus on her though because all I see is Me, impatient and rolling my eyes and trying to pry her away. "Just go up there," that me whispers into her ear. "You can do it." The me watching, though, wants to smack my old self. She’s so sweet and cute, I wish I could tell her. Don’t you see it? Let her sit on your lap, you idiot. Hold her close. Don’t let her go away.