Death and The Author: a play in three acts

ACT I

MJ is sitting at the table, typing away on her little Apple PowerBook. There are notes and papers all over the table. She constantly runs her hands through her hair in despair.

MJ: This can’t be due in a few days. It can’t be.

There is a knock at the door.

MJ: The food! Finally!

DEATH shows up at door, poorly disguised as delivery guy from local British Thai take out place, “It’s a Thai!”

MJ: Great. I’m starving. How much do I owe you?

Death: YOU OWE THAT WHICH IS MOST PRECIOUS TO YOU.

(MJ shakes head, thinking that this is some British way of talking. Holds up ten pound note.)

MJ: Is this enough?

Death: MONEY HAS NO MEANING TO ME.

MJ: You want a credit card? Oh. Follow me, then.

(MJ takes the food and brings it into the apartment. Death follows silently.)

MJ: Is this soup vegetarian? I hate to be one of those annoying people who asks about the broth, but if it’s chicken . . .

Death: THAT DOES NOT MATTER.

MJ: Sorry. It really does. If it’s chicken, I can’t eat it.

Death: YOU WILL NOT BE EATING IT.

(Death takes off It’s a Thai! cap and shakes scythe.)

Death: I AM DEATH.

MJ: Really?

Death: YES. REALLY.

MJ: Where did you get this food from?

Death: FROM A RESTAURANT.

MJ: Why?

Death: IT WAS PART OF THE DISGUISE.

MJ: Can I still eat it?

Death: NO. WE MUST GO NOW. I HAVE COME FOR YOU.

MJ: Sorry. No can do.

Death: YOU HAVE NO CHOICE. YOUR TIME HAS COME.

MJ: Look, I’d like to help you out, but I can’t. I have a book to finish.

Death: THAT DOES NOT MATTER.

MJ: Ho ho! That’s where you’re wrong. See, if I don’t get this in, my editor is going to kill me.

Death: NO. I HAVE COME TO KILL YOU.

MJ: My editor sent you?

Death: NO ONE SENDS ME. I COME WHEN I MUST.

MJ: Seriously. I just need a few more hours to finish off this chapter.

Death: BUT . . .

(MJ guides Death over to the living room of the London Office, where there are piles of video games.)

MJ: Look. Just a few hours. You can play these. Come on. Just give me a little more time.

(Death pokes a bony finger at the Xbox 360.)

Death: YOU HAVE A LOT OF GAMES HERE.

MJ: I know. And, you’ll notice, seven different game systems. The people who own this place like video games.

Death: DO YOU HAVE A GAME IN WHICH MANY PEOPLE DIE?

MJ: Probably. (MJ paws through the games.) What do you want? Shooting? Driving? Axe-wielding? I don’t really like these violent games.

Death: IT DOES NOT HAVE TO BE VIOLENT. DEATH IS OFTEN SILENT.

MJ: How about Katamari Damacy?

Death: WHAT IS THAT?

MJ: You roll things up into a ball. You collect things. It’s fun.

Death: I COLLECT SOULS.

MJ: Exactly. It’s perfect for you.

(Death sits down on the sofa uneasily.)

Death: I WILL GIVE IT A TRY. BUT THEN WE MUST GO.


ACT II

Four hours later, DEATH is still playing the video game. MJ is slumped over her computer, her head banging against the keys. She gets up and goes over to DEATH.

MJ: Okay. Come on.

(Death is too consumed by the game to answer.)

MJ: Seriously. Get up. I’m doomed. Let’s go. You win. Time to go.

Death: NO. NOT YET. I HAVE NEVER PLAYED THESE VIDEO GAMES BEFORE. THEY ARE VERY SATISIFYING.

MJ: That’s nice. But don’t you have some reaping to do?

Death: AND THEY IMPROVE YOUR HAND-EYE COORDINATION.

MJ: What is wrong with you? You don't even have eyes.

Death: I HAVE FOUND A CHANNEL TO RELEASE FRUSTRATIONS I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW I HAD.

MJ: You’re Death. You kill people every day for real.

Death: I DON’T GET POINTS FOR IT. IT IS VERY UNREWARDING. AND THERE IS NO MUSIC. I WISH I HAD MUSIC.

MJ: Look, you have to kill me now, okay? Because I am never going to be finished this book on time. And it’s your job. Why don’t you do your job?

Death: WHY DON’T YOU DO YOURS?

MJ: Oh, no you didn’t.

Death: GO AWAY.

MJ: No. No, I’m not going to go away. I’m going to hit myself over the head with this game controller until I die.

(Wields Playstation controller in a threatening manner and stands in front of the TV.)

Death: I DON’T CARE. SMACK YOURSELF ON THE HEAD ALL YOU WANT. YOU WON’T DIE UNLESS I SAY SO. NOW MOVE. YOU ARE BLOCKING THE TV.

MJ: What kind of Death are you?

Death: THE KIND WHO WANTS A BONUS ROUND. WHICH IS WHAT I’M GIVING YOU. GO FINISH YOUR BOOK.

MJ: Fine! You want to play like that? I challenge you to a game! If I win, you have to kill me.

(Death considers this.)

Death: YOU’RE ON.

ACT III

There is a montage scene of MJ and Death battling it out over a video game. For some reason, they have been joined on the sofa by some guy named Mookie, who keeps yelling the phrase “Over and out!” whenever something exciting happens.

Death wins the game and throws the controller down in triumph.

Mookie: Over and out!

Death: VICTORY IS MINE.

MJ: Fine. So what now? I lost.

Mookie: Over. And. Out.

MJ: And where did you come from?

Mookie: Where’s there’s a montage, there’s a Mookie. Over and out!

Death: YOU SEEM TO KNOW A LOT ABOUT VIDEO GAMES.

Mookie: Mookie is the master! The master blaster! Over and out!

Death: I SEE.

(Death looks at Mookie curiously.)

Death: YOU INTEREST ME, MOOKIE.

MJ: Don’t you dare! This is my death! If you don’t kill me, I have no excuse!

(Death steps closer to Mookie.)

Mookie: Over and out?

MJ: Get away from Mookie! Run, Mookie! Run!

(Mookie tries to run, but Death grabs him by the collar.)

Death: HE IS COMING WITH ME. HE HAS INFORMATION I NEED. NOW GET BACK TO WORK.

(Death and Mookie vanish into a puff of smoke.)

MJ: No! Nooooooo!

Curtain.

HOW TO WRITE A BOOK

Because I am coming very close to a deadline for Girl At Sea, I wanted to give you a glimpse into the process of writing a book. After all, that’s what most people want to know. How do you write a book?

This is not a guide to the long, thoughtful process of plotting, sketching, researching, and experimenting that most people think of when they think about writing books. The part where people imagine we writers sit under trees in floppy hats, turning a line over and over, while someone lurks in the background playing a lute. Or some of you imagine that we are sitting in a coffee shop wearing a floppy hat, be-bopping to Starbucks jazz and letting our little fingers fly!

No, no. That’s not what this guide is about.

This is about those last weeks and days when you really, seriously must finish the book. Really. They aren’t kidding.

“But don’t writers just turn in the book when they are done?” you ask. “Surely, it must be so!”

No, dear readers! No! See, here’s the thing: most writers are never done. Many of us would spend all of eternity tinkering with our books, if physics would allow us the opportunity. This is why publishers make us sign contracts that say, “You will give us a book on such-and-such a date or we will send the zombies after you.”

It’s only fair. The publisher has to have time to get paper, print the book, put the cover on it, get it to the people who buy books for stores. There’s a lot to do. Which means the authors can’t sit around noodling forever. Because we would.

(The obvious exception to this rule is J.K. Rowling, who can turn in Harry Potter VII in any form she desires, whenever she wants. If she wants to scribble scenes on tiny bits of paper, then toss them into the ocean one by one, the publisher will send a trawler and some people with nets to scoop them up, one by one. And they’ll like it.)

The rest of us have deadlines. And this is how they often happen.




The Writer: looking good and feeling fine.

The Writer has been working on his book for quite a while now. He really likes chapters one, eight, ten, and fourteen. Chapter two isn’t right. For that matter, neither are chapters three through seven, nine, eleven, and thirteen. For reasons he doesn’t quite understand, there is no chapter twelve. But there’s time, right?

The Writer looks at the calendar. The book is due in a week. This brings about The Realization.



It’s best to be sitting down when The Realization comes.

No. This isn’t good at all. It’s impossible. Didn’t you hear that part about chapter two? And the fact that there is no chapter twelve? No. No, no, no. Clearly, it’s time to send a note to The Editor to beg for more time.



The Editor always has something wise to say.

The Editor, used to these shenanigans, nicely tells The Writer to knock it off. The Writer has had weeks to finish chapter twelve. And The Editor just knows The Writer can do it. “Good luck, Writer!” he says. “Fare thee well! I’ll see that book in a week!”

The Writer inevitably falls into a period of serious denial. There is simply no way that this book is due. There’s all the time in the world! The Writer will start engaging in totally irrelevant activities, like knitting scarves, visiting local sights, and updating his blog and putting in lots of pictures. It’s like he’s drunk. Drunk on denial.



In the denial phase, frivolity rules.

Before long, the buzz wears off, and The Writer will return to his desk.

“All right,” The Writer says to himself. “I can do this. I’ll just sit down here and . . .”

And then blank. Nothing. Just a few hours before, characters were chatting away in The Writer’s head. Now, there is only the sound of crickets and the occasional wind chime. The Writer has fallen into a Deadline Coma.



The Writer may suddenly find that he doesn’t have as many ideas as he did before.

The Writer then reads over the material and finds that it is all wrong. Every word of it. Who wrote this gibberish? Clearly, someone has been sneaking in at night and swapping out his fine work with this monkey typing. Maybe someone is drugging him every night. This is a piece of insanity!



Who has been sneaking around, tampering with The Writer’s work? Or mind?

Clearly, at this point, there is only one thing to do: run. Get up and run. But deadlines always follow. All deadlines are homing deadlines.



Run, Writer, run!

Naturally, there is no outrunning the deadline. The Writer is cornered and desperate. The deadline forces him back to his desk, where he slumps and complains for a day or two. By about day three, The Writer will probably decide that his work is so bad and the situation so hopeless that he should probably go to the roof and throw himself off. Usually, he catches himself just in time.



The fire department in New York City is frequently called out to rescue writers dangling from ledges. This is the NYC equivalent of the cat stuck up in the tree.

Seeing his folly, The Writer sits back down to work with a newfound respect for life. Miraculously, he often finds his brain to be suddenly flooded with ideas. The days before the deadline are spent in a kind of frenzy. Then, on the appointed day, the book is sent. The Writer celebrates with friends, who are glad that he has finished spazing, running, moping, and clinging to the edges of tall buildings.



The Writer is suddenly a lot more fun to be around, but his friends know this isn’t the last time these things will happen.

Dangerous visits, and two towns called Slaughter

Greetings from England! Or, as I like to call it, Fancyworld.

It’s been hot and sunny here, which isn’t exactly the kind of weather England is known for. I keep stepping outside and thinking, “This isn’t right. This just isn’t right.”

I was crushed to just miss the “Ham-stravaganza”—a party held in New York to celebrate the Pirates! books by Gideon Defoe. I am a serious fan of the Pirate Captain.

But that’s okay. I will recover.

Mostly what I do here is sit at a big table in the London Office and work, as Deadline is approaching once again. So in case you think I am spending my days scarfing down strawberries and champagne while punting on the river—think again!

I did go out in London the other night to see two of the people who were part of the Critical Support Network in the writing of 13 Little Blue Envelopes. I won’t say their names (thought they are mentioned in the book, in the acknowledgments), but will simply call them Trevor and Grace Dangerous.

Trevor and Grace are amazing people—both actors. So every once in a while I turn on the TV here and see one of them in a commercial. Grace was just in one that was showing all the time, and every single time I saw it I would start to scream. This obviously thrilled the other inhabitants of the L.O., who were then dragged over to the television so that I could show them—for the twentieth time—Grace’s facial reaction when an animated cow dropped through the roof of her car. (It was a commercial for some kind of cheese thing. I never quite understood what it was. But for Grace’s sake I endorse it.)

Trevor, Grace and I went to a pub in the City. The City is a small section in the middle of London that was the old, original London. It’s where you can find things like the Tower of London and St. Paul’s Cathedral. Here’s a little view of the Cathedral . . .



A little-known London landmark


We were violently attacked by flies once we got there, so escaped to one of my favorite London destinations . . .

WAGAMAMA.

I have been haunting Wagamama for a good long time now. It was very hip and hard to get into when I first went. Now there’s one every six feet or so, like Starbucks, so it’s a nice, convenient place to get my veg on. (On that note, though, I find that London is a lot more up to speed with the vegetarian dining options, and has been for a long time. Not that you asked.)

It was Trevor and Grace’s house that formed the basis of Richard’s house in the story. Since I was just there, I took a picture. In case you have ever wondered, this is what it looks like:



An exciting view.

I had an exciting ride back on the train that night. I was sitting next to the drunkest man in the entire world. He tried to start a fight with almost everyone that passed him, and came very close to succeeding.

That’s it, really. Although I am leaving in a few hours to go to a wedding in the Cotswolds, which will include a full production of Romeo and Juliet, and an all-night party in a field. (There are two towns in the Cotswolds called Upper and Lower Slaughter. I am disappointed to note that I am not going to either of these.)

I will undoubtedly have a report of these festivities on my return. In the meantime, here is a teaser research photo from Girl At Sea.



What's a Yacht Chandler? I have no idea. I could look it up, but it's more fun just to giggle.

UPDATE: Oscar Gingersnort has just read this, and informs me, "A chandler is someone who makes ropes! Everyone knows that!"

Readers, I ask you. Was it just me? Oscar knows all kinds of random crap, so that he knows what a chandler is isn't exactly a shock. But to call it "common knowledge," I'm not so sure. He admits, "It might be more common knowledge in England."

It's okay. He didn't know who Paul Revere was until I told him. And I'll bet he can't even remember.

Get your ticket for the "High School is hell" tour!

Happy just-after-4th-of-July, readers! Here’s a look at our celebration of revolution here in New York.




I called Oscar Gingersnort in England to tell him not to try taxing me without representing me. He sidestepped this and said, “That rat on the rat hammock on your blog the other day . . . that was no rat. That was a ferret.”

I had already noticed this. But I didn’t want to make Oscar feel bad, what with us throwing off the shackles of his oppression and whatnot.

“A ferret?” I said innocently. “I’ll drop RatMart a line. Just another reason I should be running the place.”

“You’re going to mention this on your blog, aren’t you?”

“Of course not,” I answered quickly. “Let’s move on.”

I had to move on, because I’m off to the London Desk again, so there’s been a flurry of activity here. There’s packing and turning over the New York desk to its guard and caretaker. And, last but not least, preparing for the release of Devilish. Jane Jarvis is coming!

It’s still early days, but there’s lots of excitement. Some early reviews have come in. Check this one out from Kirkus, absolutely fresh, as of today:

“Johnson writes with flair, intelligence, and humor. Her characters are well-realized as she builds suspense as deftly as Stephen King. Great entertainment and hard to put down.”

The mind reels. They like Jane! You'll like her too.

I’ll be posting more sneak previews and news about Devilish as the release date grows closer. I’m scheduling some signings in the meantime for what I’m calling the “High School is Hell” tour.

I’ve gotten notes from a few of you asking me if I’ll be coming to your town. If you asked this—or if this is the kind of thing you might ask—here’s how you can help make that happen. Bookstores usually ask authors to come. You can influence your local bookstore by going in and asking them to put in a request for me with my publisher. (Or they can also e-mail me.)

Here’s a sample dialogue to guide you:

Bookseller: Hi. How can I help you?

You: I demand that you bring Maureen Johnson here at once! At once!

Bookseller: That woman from the musical Rent?

You: (slamming fist on counter, knocking over a cardboard display of Da Vinci Code “So Dark (the con of man)” chocolate bars) No you foolish person! That is a character! Maureen Johnson is my YA author of choice. And as a loyal customer, I beseech you to send for her now!

(The Bookseller straightens the chocolate bars.)

Bookseller: I heard that they’ve hidden the real Mona Lisa in the wrapper of one of these, and that Dan Brown personally licked the seal of the winning bar. They’re good, too. They taste like real Louvre.

You: That’s insane. You made all of that up.

Bookseller: I’m very bored. What did you want again? A copy of Rent?

You: No! You’re not listening to me! I am requesting Maureen Johnson, author of 13 Little Blue Envelopes, The Key to the Golden Firebird, The Bermudez Triangle, and the forthcoming Devilish.

Bookseller: Devilish is a kind of chocolate. Well, devil’s food is, anyway. I like devil’s food cake. They used to sell it at the coffee bar, but they replaced it with these stupid green tea frosted scones. They have a definite aftertaste of cat food. I don’t trust them, even if they are supposed to increase your Zen.

You: Are you going to put in my request or not?

Bookseller: (taps on computer keyboard) Fine. What was it again?

You: MAUREEN. JOHNSON.

Bookseller: Okay. I’m getting hits on four books. 13 Little Blue Envelopes . . .

You: I already told you that. I know her work. I am asking you to . . .

Bookseller: That book pops up at the top of the screen because it has a number in the title.

(You stare.)

Bookseller: It’s back in YA. We have seven copies. Weird. Seven is a lucky number, but thirteen is unlucky. Spooky.

You: Can you please just ask your manager to put in a request with her publisher to have her come to this bookstore? I realize this is no guarantee, but I certainly think this move of mine improves the chances of her coming here to have some snacks, sign some books, and drive out some demons.

Bookseller: Why didn’t you just say so?

(Makes request.)

Aside from the fact that they don’t make So Dark (the con of man) chocolate bars, it will probably happen exactly like that.

I’ll report in next from the London Desk, and I promise to have news that will knock you sideways. For now, I have to get a lot of stuff into my suitcase. I’m supposed to see my friends at Virgin Atlantic in just a few hours. If you've ever read my travel tips you'll know that this is not my strong point.

mj desk exclusives, with zombies

When I wrote my last post, I was so distracted by the rats and zombies floating around my e-mail that I didn’t immediately notice the content. Once I read the notes, I realized I had missed something pretty fundamental.

“Books,” I said to myself. “No one was asking me about rats or zombies. They were asking about books.”

So, it’s time for MJ’S COMPLETE BOOK UPDATE. Read all the way down for EXCLUSIVES! Yes! News!

First and foremost . . . .

Devilish
Release date: September 7th



Devilish is very much on its way. Basically, the minute summer is over and school starts, it will appear in your bookstore all spooky-like, much like the face of a zombie suddenly reflected in your toaster. The time will suddenly be upon you, and you will have to act.

I haven’t said much (if anything) about what Devilish is about. All that is about to change. Read on.

What it’s about:

At St. Teresa’s Preparatory School for Girls in Providence, Rhode Island, rebellious senior class genius Jane Jarvis is worried about her best friend Allison Concord. Ally is lovable, but a little clueless, and badly in need of Jane’s help. She needs to get a freshman “sister” at the school’s annual Big-Little celebration. When Ally blows it (rather literally), Jane knows that they are in for a rough few weeks.

She has no idea just how rough they will be.

Strange things start happening in Providence. Hail storms rip into the city. A strangely polite gourmet in a silver roadster turns up every time Jane turns around. A freshman guy from neighboring St. Sebastian’s starts to stalk her. A lanky, cupcake-loving sophomore transfer steps into their lives to save the day . . .

Then Ally begins to change. She looses the awkwardness that Jane has always known and loved and becomes the model of cool. Before long, Jane winds up facing the threat of expulsion and ruin.

But these are only the beginnings of much bigger problems. Jane’s life is about to get much worse. Ally claims that she sold her soul, and Jane throws herself on the line to get it back. But this battle is big. A crowd of strangers is about to descend on Providence, and they’re not there to go on a campus tour of Brown.

It’s Jane versus the demons, and nothing is what it seems. There will be perfume bottles, dogs, explosions, dancing, death, badly misused textbooks, ex-boyfriends, very long falls, unusual weaponry, and lots of sugary snacks before it’s all over.

Hey, you do what you have to do. Everyone knows high school is hell.

Looking for more? I’ll give sneak peaks as the release date gets closer. Plus, watch this site for signing dates and other Devilish-related events come September and October. This fall, I will be getting my demon on.

Need the very first copy? Order it now at Amazon, B&N, or your local bookstore.


13 Little Blue Envelopes, paperback edition
Release date: September 26th



The same Ginny you know and love, in a lighter, easier to throw edition. (Note: a paperback won’t probably won’t hurt a zombie, but if you aim right and throw hard, you might distract one long enough to make your escape.)

The paperback includes extras! Bonus tracks! Okay, it’s mostly me talking about how the book was written and where it comes from, but it’s handy for book reports.

And now . . . an MJ BOOKS EXCLUSIVE!

The next book is entitled Girl At Sea. I’m still working on it, so it’s all a secret right now. But if you liked 13 Little Blue Envelopes, you’re in good shape.

Release date: to be announced, but it should be Summer, 2007

The cover is still on the drawing board, but you can see it here first as soon as it’s ready.

In the meantime, keep on with the zombie-watch. Like my hero Shaun (of the Dead), we must all be ready to act quickly when they come.



Be like Shaun. Be ready.