Remember when you told all those lies about me on Twitter? Well, THIS is like THAT, but with John Green. You have TWO HOURS to vote! That’s until 4pm NYC time! To the winner, a SCARLETT FEVER!
1. mighty_mouse720 @realjohngreen believes it's not butter.
2. erinv@realjohngreen will knock three times on the ceiling if he wants you, twice on the pipes if the answer is no.
3. Loisunpublished @realjohngreen has never really looked for Alaska
4. mighty_mouse720 @realjohngreen dropped an infant into a well, trying to teach it how to swim.
5. Helena2011 @realjohngreen gets a pedicure every tuesday. His toenails say 'i <3 Maureen!'
6. Loisunpublished @realjohngreen invented the Slap-Chop.
7. erinv @realjohngreen is currently writing a book on the fine art of 'manscaping'"
8. K_elli @realjohngreen's main form of transportation is a bike with a flowered banana seat and sparkly pink tassels
9. mighty_mouse720 By day John Green is an author/vlogger, but by night he is the Emerald Arachnid, saving populations in a giant spider suit.
10. lonesome_pine There is no @realjohngreen. Only Zuul.
11. chipmunk2011 @realjohngreen is selling maureen johnson collectibles on ebay. they have her real hair
12. Sergium @realjohngreen is actually just Maureen Johnson before she puts her makeup on.
13. lcrosbie @realjohngreen once tested new medical product called Viagrogaine...now puff levels can never go down.
14. ImaginaryGel http://twitpic.com/eddxy - @maureenjohnson John Green and @coollike got into a fight over who would play Keith. John lost.
15. deanocarroll John Green installed Death Panels on his roof and now all his electricity comes from old people and puppies dying
16. nickmcrae @realjohngreen John Green wears Drakkar Noir.
UPDATE: It was quite a battle, but the winner was NUMBER 15.
I’m sitting here listening my holiday iMix. At the moment, that means I am listening to Bing Crosby’s “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas.” You may be wondering why, since it is October 1st. Even by the most extreme standards, this is a little too early for holiday music.
I would argue that, actually. If you have been reading this for a while, you will know that I love HOLIDAY CHEER in the same way that I love ABBA. I am a holiday freak! I come from a family of holiday freaks! (OK. My mom.) Also, Bing Crosby! It’s always time for Bing.
But there is a specific reason. I am listening to holiday music because LET IT SNOW COMES OUT TOMORROW.
Some of you might not know what that is, so let me explain.
About a year ago, John Green, Lauren Myracle and I thought it would be a very good idea to work together on a three-author book—three separate stories that took place in the same town during the same storm, over Christmas. So we did.
John, Lauren, and I. Not in that order. I’ll let you figure out who’s who.
So here’s a little about Let It Snow . . .
Story one: THE JUBILEE EXPRESS, by me
I feel that the important thing to tell you about this story is that it is kind of based on something very real in my life, namely, MY MOTHER’S ALL CONSUMING OBSESSION WITH HER DICKENS CHRISTMAS VILLAGE.
For years, I have been looking at this village. Things happen in my brain, especially late at night when I am full of nog and cheer. And at some point I started speculating on what kind of trouble an addiction to tiny holiday houses might land you in. What if it got you arrested? On Christmas Eve?
Which is where my story starts. Jubilee Dougal’s parents are arrested in a riot while attempting to get the newest piece in the Flobie Santa Village. Now the daughter of convicts, Jubilee is forced on to a train against her will to spend the holidays with her grandparents, thus missing her one-year anniversary with her boyfriend . . . Perfect Noah, President of Everything, and his family’s annual Smörgåsbord. (With pickled fish. Which turns out to be better than it sounds and more important that you’d ever think pickled fish could be. Also, this is a Swedish Christmas tradition, one that I am sure the members of Abba enjoy.)
Unfortunately for Jubilee, the train is heading right into a monster storm, one that will bring the entire East Coast to a standstill. It’s this storm that lands her hundreds of miles away from home and her destination at a roadside Waffle House, with fourteen cheerleaders and a beautiful but sad guy named Jeb. It is there that she also meets Stuart, a recent dumpee and Target employee with a paralyzing fear of Starbucks. He will take her on a follow-the-yellow-hazard-light-lit-road journey through ice and sexual politics, smack into fake cheer, bizarre family relations, and madness.
This is not going to end well.
It’s here that we run into . . .
Story two: A CHEERTASTIC CHRISTMAS MIRACLE, by John Green
Tobin, JP, and the Duke are sitting around watching Bond movies. Tobin’s parents have been trapped in the snowstorm at Boston airport, and Tobin and his friends have free reign to celebrate the holiday eve in any way they see fit. Hence, Bond.
But everything changes when they get a call from Keun, their friend who works the counter at the Waffle House. Santa has arrived early, having delivered fourteen cheerleaders to his humble place of work—a Waffle House on the side of the road, on Christmas Eve.
There are two other employees at the Waffle House, and they will be calling THEIR friends, and there is only room for ONE CARLOAD OF GUYS in this high, holy temple, where cheerleaders do splits on the counters. So Tobin, JP, and the Duke must brave the biggest storm of the century in a death race to the Waffle House to be THE FIRST GUYS THERE.
Oh, except the Duke is a girl. This is just the first of the night’s complexities, which grow more serious and surreal as they venture further into the storm. (Something to watch for: one of the best chase sequences I have ever read. Seriously. I read this first on a train, in a snowstorm, in January (fitting) . . . and I did something you should not do on a train . . . BURST INTO UNCONTROLABLE HIGH-PITCHED LAUGHTER THAT MADE EVERYONE MOVE AWAY FROM ME.)
As we go into the weary dawn of the 26th of December, our tale is FAR from over. Because the storm has wrecked some damage and people are missing. So we enter . . .
Story three: THE PATRON SAINT OF PIGS, by Lauren Myracle
Addie has screwed up. Seriously. She had it all . . . an incredible boyfriend in the person of Jeb, normal hair, good friends . . . and then she went and messed it all up.
First, a major misunderstanding resulted in her kind of cheating on Jeb, and losing him. He’s out there somewhere in the storm, not calling her. Which explains why she has dyed her hair pink. Kind of.
Addie is NOT WELL.
When her friends Tegan and Dorrie come to pick up the pieces, Addie tries to salvage her wreck of a life by picking up Tegan’s new pet teacup pig from the pet store the next morning. The pet store is across from Starbucks, where she works. (This Starbucks has seen heartache before.)
What’s a teacup pig?
It’s one of THESE!
PIG!
Yes, that’s a pig. And you can raise it as a pet. Tegan has been waiting for her teacup pig for a VERY LONG TIME. And how hard can it be? Just going across the street to get a small pig?
Very hard, if you’re completely heartsick, and your head is pink, and your nemesis works in the store, and you’re behaving kind of strangely in general. It could all be fixed by ONE PHONE CALL from Jeb, letting Addie know that everything is okay and she is forgiven . . . but the storm has turned the world upside down. The town is full of cheerleaders and other strangers . . .
Want it? Get it NOW and it ships TOMORROW. It will be available EVERYWHERE YOU BUY BOOKS. I’d recommend an independent bookstore, but you can also get it at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Borders (which apparently thinks that John wrote it by himself), Target, or THE LIBRARY!
I’d give away copies today, except they are all at home in New York. But if you are in England, I will READ IT TO YOU from the copy I have on my computer if you can FIND ME!
I’ve just gotten off another plane, this time from Grand Rapids, Michigan, where I was visiting the Michigan libraries Spring Institute, along with John Green and Hank Green. The whole event was excellent, top to bottom, and it was great to see John and Hank. At the last minute, we threw together an informal gathering at a local library—just a little drop-in between a panel and a dinner. It was done on less than two days notice, so as we drove over in the car, we said, “Maybe ten people will come. That would be nice.”
What we didn’t expect were A HUNDRED SCREAMING, AMAZING PEOPLE armed with gifts and video cameras. We were completely unprepared for this. I didn’t even bring a Suite Scarlett to read from, so I asked if anyone happened to have one . . . only to see Scarletts shooting up in the air all over the place. John read from Paper Towns, and someone even provided Hank with a guitar so that he could do some songs. I was so happy, I did this dance.
We were so overwhelmed by the whole event that we could barely speak for the rest of the night, and sat at dinner alternating between stunned silence and insane laughter.
Michigan may now be my new favorite place in the world. Thank you to everyone who made it happen!
The only bad part of today was when I was at the airport, waiting to get on the tiny, tiny plane. I was really tired, because I had been up late talking with the librarians and John and Hank, and because the guy in the room next to mine was doing some kind of interpretive dance at five in the morning. So I was not at my best and brightest when I arrived at the Grand Rapids airport and was fumbling around, staring blearily at the self-check-in screen. The designers of the screen had gone to some lengths to make their instructions as vague and conflicting as possible, while issuing increasingly random demands.
The four check-in computers were in the middle in the check in area, with three of us poking away at the screens, saying things like, “They want what?” “Passport goes where?” “I can’t fit my head in that slot.” “All the signers of the Declaration of Independence? In alphabetical order?”
I usually appreciate this kind of attention to detail, but I was sort of not in the mood for it at the time. I gave up and decided to talk to a person. There was one passenger at the check in desk itself, and another one way, way, way back, lounging against the barrier. I was pretty sure I had heard him say he was just waiting for someone, and he didn’t look like he was doing anything else. I mean, he was really far back.
So I took a spot between him and the desk and zoned out for a good five minutes, until he tapped my arm and said, “The line starts back here.” With a growl.
And then, this other guy who had just walked up said in a low and knowing voice, “She’s got selective hearing.”
Now, here is something you need to know about me: I DO NOT CUT IN LINE. If I even THINK I have possibly, maybe, in some way almost cut in line, I pretty much have to act like Dobby in Harry Potter and start beating my head against the wall in self-punishment. So that was Level of Horror One.
Me.
Level of Horror Two was the obvious contempt in the man’s voice. To be fair to me, he had picked a strange spot to start his line, nor was he acting like a guy in a line. He was practically doing this:
I think if you start a line, you have an obligation for it to be at least in VISUAL DISTANCE of the place you want to go. If you arbitrarily decide to pick a strange, hidden, distant spot half under a potted plant, I think you should expect some confusion.
Level of Horror Three was the REALLY nasty and self-righteous Second Guy who thought I hadn't just made an understandable error, but had actively plotted to cut the one-person line in a dead airport by feigning deafness.
Normally, these kinds of things do not bother me. I live in New York, so you more or less have to shoot me in the kneecap for me to take any serious offense. But this morning, I was stung. If it had just been the first guy, I would have thought nothing of it. It was the pile-on effect, this idea that I had SCHEMED MY WAY AHEAD OF THE NON-EXISTENT LINE. As if my goal in life was to beat the system at the Grand Rapids airport and get to security first.
The insults hit me on so many levels.
You know how some things just get to you? Even when you know that in the long run, they simply do not matter and you shouldn't care? And that caring actually makes you kind of crazy? But you don't care about that either? Because you have gone a little crazy?
I was astonished by how rattled this got me. Maybe it was the afterschock of all the joy I had just experienced. I immediately gave the first man his “spot,” simply saying, “It wasn’t selective hearing. I genuinely didn’t know. I am sorry.” Then I went and stood behind him, in the ridiculously far away place.
He just stared at me. When it was his turn, he went up and started berating the man behind the ticket desk because it was raining in New York and the plane might be late and someone was going to have to do something about it.
My ire was really reserved for Second Guy—the guy who felt he had to jump into to this already strange confrontation and confirm my evildoing. I confined myself to giving him what I would like to think were very guilt-inducing looks, but I probably just appeared insane and crosseyed.
Of course, you should never give in to people like that, and I know this, but it didn't stop me from spending the rest of the time I was in the airport watching out for him and obsessively trying to think up comebacks.
“Oh,” I wish I had said. “Is this a$%&*le convention in Grand Rapids this year? Are you an attendee or featured speaker?”
No, I thought to myself. That’s what he would want. That would make me seem like that kind of person who did those kinds of things. A much better plan would have been to go up to him and say, “It’s not selective hearing. I’m just 80% deaf in my left ear. Thanks for noticing.”
I could have pulled that story off really well, because my good friend Nurse Trixie is really 80% deaf in one ear. (A fact I discovered when we sat next to each other in 3rd period study hall one time, and I sat on her bad side and thought she was selectively ignoring me for an entire semester, when in fact she could not hear a word I was whispering.) Nurse Trixie has told me all of the medical factors behind her deafness, and I could have USED HER STORY to give Second Guy a wicked case of moral whiplash and WON!
In the end, I just got on the plane and took a nap . . . but I am still wishing I did something more . . . like steal the tragic story of my friend's deafness and use it against a largely imaginary enemy.
You will think from this story that I am perhaps not in the best of moods. So untrue. I burst with happiness, and I am now going to prove it.
TODAY’S INFLUENCE: GOLDFRAPP’S “HAPPINESS”
It’s hard to be influenced by something that came AFTER the book was written. Also, I normally do not approve of giving any direct visual images of characters. I don’t like to point to pictures and say, “so and so looks just like this!” I have a real problem with this because a). the characters live in my head with the brain monkeys and no photos can be taken in there and b). I think you should draw your own mental pictures.
However . . .
I love Goldfrapp, and her new song “Happiness” is in my songlist for Suite Scarlett 2. I wanted to see what the video for Happiness looked like, since I listen to it about 30 times a day.
I was amazed to find that it features quite an accurate representation of Scarlett and Spencer, as they exist in my mind. (A grown Scarlett, appearing in many disguises, but the Spencer is pretty much dead on.) And it’s not just what they look like . . . it’s the whole video, the activities. This is just the kind of part I could see him getting cast in (his dancing skills play a major part in the next book). And the sly little side roles . . . that’s very Scarlett. It’s a strange feeling, like someone has been rummaging around in my head. I watched the video and said, "HOW DID THEY KNOW?"
It's uncanny enough that I feel I have to show it to you.
Even if you haven’t read the book . . . the video is worth watching. It’s an excellent homage to a movie called “Small Town Girl.” It will make you happy.
Do you see what I mean? Aren’t you happy now? (What I REALLY should have done was just hopped around those guys in the airport, because that would have been the best response of all. IF ONLY I HAD THOUGHT OF IT.)
In my absence, stuff has been coming in through the windows. (And by “stuff,” I mean pieces of information, and by “windows,” I mean the internet and other places where information is found. Sorry. I should have been clearer.)
I don’t mean to imply that you should spend all your time reading about me, but in case you are really bored and looking for stuff to do, there’s this interview with Publishers Weekly, and this piece I wrote for the wonderful John Scalzi, who would never have cast aspersions about me at the airport. In fact, I wish John Scalzi had been with me, because I bet he would have had a good comeback.
And now . . . the best part of every post . . . the giving away of things!
First, the very kind Namlhots (who would know where to start a ticket line) decided to give his sleep mask away to Cassandra mortmain, because she sounded so disappointed that she didn’t get one. So, e-mail me your address Cassie!
Today’s RANDOM BOOK WINNER IS . . . breanna. Breanna, please send along your information!
And today’s giveway is . . . FIVE SLEEP MASKS. They’ll go to five random comments who ask a question, or tell me what I should have said to that guy, or really anything else. Basically, just say you want one, and you will be entered!
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some jumping around to do.
I have been looking through your comments today, and I have noticed something distressing. LOOK!
distraught beth said... *Sigh* Yet another loss. I like all the prizes and contest you have, MJ but it gets quite self-deprecating when you keep losing because you're just not quite clever and/or insane enough.
And this:
jk said... oh, see i thought that we were supposed ot be finding like the real meaning of it. but i guess this makes more sense cause i goes with teh book and everything. but ahh this is so sad I called him, i talked to teh guy with the tape dispencer, seriously. i google the post office i called it i talked ot the guy. he told me what it meant!
I was understandably dismayed. This had DECREASED YOUR CHEER! Drastic measures were needed! I dropped what I was doing and went right to cheer control and set everything on MAXIMUM CHEER. I made calls, I poked elves.
And I am pleased to tell you two things!
One, the Holiday Signing Workshop Elves, in response to the poking, produced one more box of Suite Scarlett cards. I will keep sending these until the supply dries up! There aren’t many, but there are some! And they can be yours! Act now! Supplies are limited!
Two . . . and then even better news . . .
I managed to obtain two more advance copies Suite Scarlett. This was a bit tricky, as they are rare creatures. The giveaway starts RIGHT NOW, because the time for giving is upon us! And this contest requires NO CLEVERNESS.
This is how you enter to win COPY NUMBER TWO of Suite Scarlett:
1. Leave a comment. That’s it. I don’t care what it is about! It can be about Cheer, or it can be about why you want to read Suite Scarlett, or it can be about how to get rid of J.K. Rowling. Whatever. No research, no cleverness, no wit required! It doesn’t matter where you live—I ship EVERYWHERE!
2. Okay, you do have to put a name on the comment somewhere, even in the comment itself. I can’t enter “anonymous” into the contest. But that’s not that hard.
3. If you want, send your friends or family along to comment, and if they win, take the book from them! Feel free to stack the odds in your favor!
4. If you want to leave a comment but aren’t interested in being entered to win the book, just say so!
I will pick the winner completely at random the day after Christmas, December 26th, around 3pm.
The next Scarlett could be yours!
Speaking of . . .
anonymous said... im sorry MJ, but i am unmistakably out of Christmas cheer. quesiton: i am having a brain fart and cant remember if you told us when Suite Scarlett is coming out. so, uh, when is it coming out in 2008? 2009 even?
The answer to the question is: MAY 2008. Just a little over four months from now. Basically, when the first little flowers pop their fool heads out of the ground, Scarlett will appear.
From the comments I’ve seen, many of you are suffering deficiencies of CHEER for many reasons. Again, I can’t just sit by and let this happen. So I thought that—since I am now ensconced in the Swiss Family Johnson treehouse, and the SFJT is pretty much the most Cheer-encrusted place I know—I would take you on a little photo tour. The Cheer will seep out of the computer and infect you!
It would be impossible for me to show you all of the holiday decorations around Chez Johnson, because there are simply too many. Quite literally, there is a decoration in every room. This is like one of those White House tours, where you only get to see a tiny, tiny portion of the full workings.
To begin, this is my lawyer, C. Catso Fangola, wearing his Santa hat. Even though he is a member of the Bar Association, C. Catso always takes time out for Cheer.
C. Catso, seen here right after having some delicious wet food.
I have talked little in the past about my mother’s extensive Dickens Village. In fact, I got at least one request for photos of the Village. Ask, and ye shall receive!
I must tell you that the Dickens Christmas Village* is sadly incomplete. There was a furniture change in the room where it is normally set up, so its custom-made table can no longer be used. It is a third of its normal size. It used to be two streets deep with a cathedral and a lake. Most of the houses are packed away in the attic right now, crying quiet little ceramic house tears. If that doesn’t break your heart, then you are made of stone.
Here is an overall shot of the tiny Village:
The Village has two outposts (again, it used to have more). Here is the one that hangs on the wall in a wreath that my mother made for this very purpose. (My mother is really good at making wreaths, and we have a LOT of them. It was for this wreath that we pepper-sprayed ourselves in the infamous squirrel incident.)
The Little Village on the Wall.
The other really important things to note about this photo are the two framed pictures to the left and right of the wreath. Those are needlepoints my mother has made of some of her favorite Dickens Village houses. The small grey lump on the sofa is C. Casto, reading a legal brief as he reclines against a snowman pillow. And that throw on the sofa is an official Dickens Village throw listing the names of popular houses and the years that they were made.
These are what I call the Kreepy Karolers. I dislike the Kreepy Karolers, but my mother insists they bring Cheer. She also says they are highly collectible, which to my mind means that people will collect anything.
This is just one group of Kreepy Karolers. There are others.
Now, let’s move on to the tree, which is really sort of a Cheer antenna. I used my parents’ camera to take some of these next photos, and accidentally downloaded 848 pictures from their trip to Egypt. So since I have them, here is a photo of my mother on a camel. It's kind of like one of those live Nativity scenes!
Watch out. They spit.
In case you didn’t think I was telling the truth before . . . here are the boxes of tinsel my mother had ready and waiting on my arrival. There are TWELVE of them. That is for ONE TREE.
On the twelfth day of Christmas my mother gave to me, twelve boxes of tinsel, eleven Kreepy Karolers, ten Village houses, nine rabid squirrels . . .
Not enough Cheer yet? Let’s keep going! Let’s go to the front room. Here are some of our nutcrackers.
We have others . . . obviously. I mean, this is hardly enough.
I used to get so excited when the nutcrackers came out. I used to use them to make my own version of this board game called “I Vant to Bite Your Finger.” A more CHEERFUL version, where there was no board, and occasionally, I would bite you with a nutcracker. And by you, I mean me, because I am an only child, and these are the kinds of things only children do. We make friends with boxes and old bits of string, we make games with nutcrackers, and we like it!
Speaking of being an only child . . . look! Christmas stockings! Can you guess which one is mine? Can you?
If you look VERY CAREFULLY you may be able to figure out which one belongs to me!
But Cheer is not limited to the inside of the house. Oh no! Nor is it even limited to OUR house!
I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this or not, but our next door neighbor—who has lived next to us as long as there has been a me—paved over a lot of his yard about ten years ago and installed 150 cement angels and a ten foot high cross. He constantly rearranges these things. It looks like he has taken down the ten foot high cross (which he used to shine a blue spotlight on—it would cast a huge, cross-shaped shadow that stretched all the way out to the creek that runs behind our houses). There is a smaller one now.
Here is a little peek at what we can see from the window:
There used to be an angel that hung from a bungee cord out of a tree. That was my favorite. But the tree has been taken down to make way for more angels. If it had been there, I could have sung:
Angels we have heard on high Bungee jumping out of trees And the cross lights up the sky I am al-ler-gic to bees
Fa la la la la la La la la la la La la la la
STRICTLY FOR THE NERDFIGHTERS:
If you have come here via Brotherhood2.0 and are waiting for today’s scavenger hunt clue . . . here it is! I have just returned from hiding it. American History Nerdfighters . . . this one is for you.
After I hid the clue, I turned and took this picture—if you can get to where I was standing, you will get today’s clue!
* This Village plays a huge role in my story in “Let in Snow,” the three-story collection I am writing with John Green and Lauren Myracle. If you read it, feel free to come back and look at these pictures to get a visual!
Hello, everyone! I have been so caught up in writing, signing holiday cards, and CHEER that I have fallen a bit behind again, but am coming back with a vengeance.
For today, I have made this video, which answers just a few of your many excellent questions. This is part of John and Hank Green’s Project for Awesome—a Youtube-wide invasion to raise money for charity.
The charity I reference here is Citymeals on Wheels. I hope you will pay them a visit!
I will be posting a proper entry within a day. And get your guesses in to win some books!
Also, if you would still like a signed card from me and one of the Suite Scarlett characters . . . there is still time! Barely! The Holiday Signing Workshop is operating at full capacity right now, and will be closing down on Wednesday, or whenever the elves run out of cards! So get your requests in to cheer@maureenjohnsonbooks.com right away!
Hello, friends! I’m back in New York, having said goodbye to Oscar, cat friend, screaming old lady, J.K. Rowling, and all of my companions in the UK, and am back in the heaving steam bath that I like to call home.
By now, many of you will have seen this video, which was created for my friend John Green’s birthday. There are a lot of things to explain about that video. Like the clothes. (I wasn’t super-clear on the wardrobe issue.) Or how it even came about. (Sitting around with Scott and Justine, an e-mail, some drinks, a small buffet at Libba’s house, moving furniture, me injuring my knee, and what will almost certainly be a lifelong aversion to Mamma Mia. It’s a whole saga. Another blog, perhaps? Do you guys want the story? Respond in the comments if you do.)
I’m glad to see that many of you could relate to my feelings on revision. Even Meg Cabot chimed in! That gives me hope, because in my mind, Meg can do anything. Even fly.
The storyboard I had created on the London Office wall, the one that looked so neat and lovely there, was carefully removed and transplanted to the New York Office wall. It is not as neat here, as the wall space allotted to it is a bit on the smaller side. But now I have to pack it up again, just as soon as I got it up!
Yes—it’s Dragontrain time! Right around this time tomorrow, Scott Westerfeld, Justine Larbalestier, Holly Black, Cassie Clare, and I will all be on a full-service sleeper train, barreling down south to Atlanta.
As you may (or may not) remember, this whole thing started when we were all sitting around in Scott and Justine’s apartment at the wee small hours of the morning. (See, basically all my harebrained schemes start in that exact position.) They were talking about how much fun conventions are, and then someone said that we should all do one together, and then someone else said wouldn’t it be fun if we all took a train down instead of a plane? We all agreed that that sounded classy and civilized, unlike planes which are generally horrible and oppressive.
And then I said, “If you actually set this up, I will go in a Princess Leia/Wonder Woman outfit” because I doubted that it would happen.
Which brings us up to now.
I never welsh on a bet, friends. I have just picked up my Wonder Woman boots. I have to say, they are pretty spectacular. I have a sneaking suspicion that the company that made them specializes in stripper wear, but I have no particular problem with this. They have done a top-notch job on these boots. Hera herself would admire them!
(I will not say whether or not I am already wearing my new Wonder Woman boots. That is totally irrelevant. Let us move on.)
We are also about to test the theory that traveling 18 hours on a train is actually better than traveling 1 ½ hours on a plane.
Maybe I should clarify something, as some of you are visiting from outside the United States . . . trains are not really one of our strong points here. We do have trains. We even have a few very nice trains. But we generally don’t use trains very much in terms of longer trips, largely because it seems insane. This is a big country. It takes a long time to travel around it. I’m coming to grips with the fact that we have chosen a method of travel that will literally take 12 times as long as an airplane.
So why have we done this? What made it sound like such a good idea, round about 2 AM all those months ago? Here are the reasons, as I remember them.
1. Trains are generally fun
I really like trains, personally. I especially like trains in the UK, which seem about a million times nicer than our trains—and by “our trains,” I mean our smaller commuter lines, which generally look like castoff pieces of the trans-Siberia line, circa 1977. I have had some excellent rides on trains in the UK, like my fantastic ride from London to Scotland when I went to live in the castle for a month to write 13 Little Blue Envelopes.
(I am invariably thinking this thought, sitting there in my nice little seat, looking at the passing sheep, thinking how wonderful England is . . . and someone will throw up in the vestibule. But even this doesn’t seem that bad—and granted it is always on the midnight train back from central London. Somehow, it’s not as bad when English people barf in public. I think it may be because, unlike here (where it seems more likely that you have Rage Virus and are about to turn into a zombie), that’s just the English way of saying “We have been drinking tonight!” It’s almost kind of friendly, like you’re being invited to join the experience!)
2. Trains seem glamorous
I mean, come on! A group of writers going on tour together by taking a long, cross-country (well, it’s not cross-country, it’s just, well, south-bound, but it’s still pretty far) trip together. And there’s a dining car and a porter, and we can write, and Cassie and I are sharing a little room and we can tell each other ghost stories!
View of my expectations.
3. Unlimited luggage!
We are already planning on loading down this train something fierce. I really need to step up and start packing like I mean business. None of this “weighing your bag” or having to shove everything you are taking with you to your seat into one small piece of luggage the size of a microbe. I am bringing all my stuff. I may even bring some of your stuff. I am living the dream of travel tip number #2—because I can, can, can!
4. Excellent company
This does not come with the train. This just happens to be excellent company!
5. A chance to see the country
I wonder how many Wal-Marts I will see from the train window?
6. A chance to work without distraction
No wi-fi on the train! Nothing but me, some good writer friends, and the track rolling in front of us.
Pretty good reasons, right?
We will see how it all pans out . . .
Another view of my expectations.
In any case, I have promised videos, and they will be here. But they will not feature Mamma Mia. Anyway, I have to go practice my Wonder Woman spinning in these new boots . . . .
I mean revise. And pack.
(Oh, and I guess I should tell you when I am actually speaking. I will post my conference schedule here later! Watch this space!)
I've quite lierally just hopped off the train here in NYC after the ALA conference in Washington DC. While I was there, I got to meet lots and lots of fabulous NINJA LIBRARIANS, saw other authors, and even saw some old friends!
I’ve made a little video of the Printz Awards ceremony, which is pretty much focused on John Green. I wish I could show you all of the other great speeches that I heard. And I hate speeches, so these were really good for me to be saying that.
While I was at ALA, several people asked me about Free Monkey. His World Tour webpage is here. He maintains this himself, with the help of his new friends from the tour. But here are two pictures from his most recent stop in my hometown, Philadelphia, PA.
FREE MONKEY enjoys some fine Philadelphia cuisine . . . a cheese steak from Geno's.
Everyone in Philadelphia dresses like this.
It was exciting to talk to so many librarians about the Battle of Bartlesville. More thoughts on this, and my future moves, later, when I put up a longer post.
What a weekend! Signings! Book Expo America! Parties! So much to tell you about!
Right now, I am in Pennsylvania, at Chez Johnson. I drove down here last night, very late, in the middle of a huge thunderstorm. There is nothing like driving through New York in a blinding rain to give you a sense of Perspective and Your Own Mortality.
I was just looking for some lunch. My parents are extremely clean people, but the one thing they never do is clean out the refrigerator, so I take it upon myself to be the date-checking fairy when I am here. Now that I have completed my duty, I see there is very little left to eat. I found what I thought was blue cheese, and was excited by the prospect of a big salad, but discovered when I pulled it out of the back of the fridge that is was in fact suet for birds. And there is no lettuce. So that idea is pretty much dead.
The reason I am here is because I am signing books! Before I go any further, let me give the dates where you can see me this week:
And a heads up on next week, which will be in Atlanta, Georgia.
Okay, let’s rewind to before the storm and the blue cheese/suet. Let’s go all the way back to Friday. I had done a reading at Borders on Columbus Circle the night before—the first official Girl At Sea reading. On Friday morning, I was at the Children’s Books Breakfast at Book Expo America, which is a massive publishing event. Daphne Unfeasible came by to get me in an Unfeasiblemobile at 7 in the morning, and we were very grunt-grunt but content as we rode to town. When we arrived at 7:45, BEA still felt very fresh and new and just about awake.
The breakfast was fantastic. Well, the speakers were. My friend Libba Bray was the MC, and she did an amazing job. She didn’t seem at all freaked out by the thousand or so people in front of her. The speakers were Jacqueline Wilson (megafamous in the UK), Daniel Pinkwater, and Mo Willems. I happen to be a little obsessed with the Pigeon that Mo is so famous for. In fact, when I spoke after him at the Brooklyn Book Festival, I stole the pigeon from the drawing pad that he left behind.
So, naturally, I wanted the pigeon that he drew at the breakfast. I wanted it very badly. In fact, I kind of wanted to throw myself at him and get him to draw a pigeon on my arm so that I could get it tattooed in, but ultimately chickened out, even though Daphne was trying to get me to go talk to him.
But it turned out that MC Libba HAD THE PIGEON, and when she saw how much I coveted it, she gave it to me.
I now own TWO original pigeons!
I am officially on my way to a collection.
Swoon.
The breakfast was an amazing gathering of friends and fabulous writers I was meeting for the first time. Along with Libba, I saw: Holly Black, Cassie Clare, E. Lockhart, Sarah Beth Durst, Ally Carter.
As Daphne, Sarah, and I made our way out to the main part of the expo, my phone kept ringing—Scott Westerfeld had sprung to life, still suffering greatly from jetlag, and John Green came sproinging along, fresh from a call to a mortgage broker or something like that. He looked slightly puffy.
Thus, I got to walk around in what I kept referring to as my “fame sandwich.” You can get pretty much anywhere in Book Expo America if you are walking between John Green and Scott Westerfeld. People sometimes squeal when they see them. I am used to them by now, and so do not squeal. Mo Willems, though . . .
As the 30,000 people filtered into BEA, the day sort of got less and less antically fun, mostly because it took on the air of a bazaar in the middle of the desert, or the stateroom scene from A Night at the Opera. And the air conditioning began to fail. Daphne and I escaped late in the afternoon, so that I could get to my reading on time. Sadly, we could not find any cabs, and it was 92 degrees out, and we were each carrying about fifty pounds of books. So we wandered around the far west side sadly.
Saturday brought one of the highlights of the summer. I was at the Spiderwick movie party. I can tell a good part of this story in pictures.
The party was at a big studio, which was draped and fogged up to look magical and mysterious. The room was decorated with props from the movie—Victorian sofas and desks and scientific instruments—projected spiderwebs, and movie stills. They were serving drinks called Spidertinis, which were deep green and sort of smelled like the stuff I was using last week to get the paint off my paint brushes. They tasted much like how they smelled, but they were highly effective, and explain a lot of the faces I can be seen making in the pictures below.
Scott was there, and so was Justine, who was finally alive enough to come out of the house. I was standing with Scott by a back wall, when suddenly some people came and told us to move, immediately. An actor was giving a speech, and was having us all recite a magical incantation, and then all of the sudden, the wall we had just been up against started making a noise.
I looked at Scott, and he looked at me. Our looks were puzzled, yet knowing, if you can imagine such a thing. Then, all of the sudden, there was A LOT OF AIR AND SMOKE AND AHHHHHH THE NOISE THE PAINFUL NOISE MY EAR IS BLEEDING AHHHHHHHH!
And the entire wall came away, and there was a whole other room behind it, full of things that were made to look oversized, so that we would seem small, like fairies.
“My ear,” I said to Scott. But he could not hear me, because he was holding his ear.
But the room was fantastic. There was a bar that looked like a cracker box and tables that were boxes of matches. The buffet had a giant cheeseburger, about the size of a beach ball. When you turned the corner, there was a screening room, with fabulous benches that you will see for yourself.
Holly got up and made a speech, but for most of the night, I think she was away wth Important People getting her photo taken. I do not think she was drinking spidertinis. We all went out for food later, and she didn't have the spidertini stare. She just looked glamourous.
Here are some poorly taken and even more poorly edited photos of the event.
SPIDERWALL! The picture does not do the room justice.
Movie stills. Nothing like a picture of pictures to really bring the event alive. (They were so cool, though.)
Scott Westerfeld, now deaf, tries to steal this oversized muffin from the magic room.
Scott and Cassie Clare. No spidertinis.
The screening room seats were made to look like huge candy boxes. And that’s me, lounging. Sadly, there was no candy in there. Spidertini count: ???
The star of the evening, Holly Black, looking relaxed.
And here is a sequence of photos showing me wooing a very jetlagged Justine. More tomorrow . . . promise! I have very exciting news to tell! Enough gleeful bragging and Spidertini blackmail photos. We will never speak of this again. For now, I have to get something to eat and get on my way out to West Chester. I wonder if bird suet makes a good sandwich . . .
Tonight, friends, I was out celebrating the release of Girl At Sea. This is something I usually don’t do. Not Girl At Sea, specifically, but book releases in general.
Book releases are strangely ninja-like. The books just appear. No one wakes you in the middle of the night to let you know that they’re stacking them at Barnes and Noble. They just show up, sometimes over the course of a few days. So, it can be kind of easy to slide over the whole thing. Sure, I like to blog, and send out Free Monkey, and give away books, and talk to you guys! But me, personally? I tend to just go about my business.
Besides, the last time I really tried to do anything on the release day was when my first book, The Key to the Golden Firebird, came out. And that something basically consisted of:
1. almost getting arrested in the HarperCollins building 2. falling into Sixth Avenue because the heels I was wearing destroyed my feet (see below for details) 3. sitting on Daphne Unfeasible’s couch all night because my feet hurt so much, and eventually putting on her comically inflated flip-flops and stumbling to the corner to buy ice cream
I told John and Sarah Green that I generally don’t do anything big for myself when my books come out. They said, “No way, mj. You must do something!” So we met tonight and had drinks at the famous Algonquin Hotel, home of the Algonquin Round Table. I have an unabashed fascination with the Algonquin’s literary history. Anywhere that Robert Benchley and Dorothy Parker had drinks . . . it’s good enough for me.
Then John and Sarah took me to a breathtaking fancy dinner, where I got to watch John Green try to pick out wine, which was kind of like watching a cat pick out a television. (To be fair, the wine list was easily seventy-five pages long, and all we had really figured out was that we wanted white, and that we didn’t want it to cost $3500, which was what several of the bottles were going for.) We were somewhat baffled by the total fancitude of the menu, as it did seem to be going out of its way to be confusing. In the end, I had plain old spaghetti, because the waiter recommended it so warmly that he almost wept. And you know what? It was some of the best spaghetti I ever had—with a smoky, spicy sauce—rivaled only by the spaghetti I had in Sorrento when researching Girl At Sea. (I work hard for you guys.)
In any case, it was a fantastic evening.
Many of you working on book reports write in and ask me what I like. I like so many things, I find this hard to answer. But I can tell you what I don’t like, because those things are less numerous, and I dislike them in enough detail that I can go on and on about them. And what else are blogs for, if not to go on and on and on?
Plus, these things are very relevant today.
I’ve included some things I do like as a counterpoint, just to keep things balanced.
NO ME GUSTA: READING AT READINGS
I don’t like reading passages from my books aloud, in front of groups. Which is a massive problem right now, as I face down what is pretty much a month of doing nothing but.
I don’t suffer from stagefright. It’s not that. I’ll happily sit in front of a large audience as long as you make me and do pretty much whatever you want, as long as it doesn’t involve me reading from one of my books. I think this is because the monologue in my head goes something like this, whenever I am forced to read:
Okay, Johnson, what was the point of that last sentence? You could have skipped it. In fact, you should have tied that sentence to this next paragraph, which cuts way too early. Just skip. Skip! Skip to the . . .
Oh, now you’ve skipped and it makes no sense.
Wait . . . wait . . . Oh God. It’s a typo. This book is ENTIRELY MADE OF TYPOS! I’VE WRITTEN THE FIRST ALL-TYPO NOVEL!
It’s not said in a terribly self-critical, everything-I-do-is-bad voice. It’s more of a crisp editorial voice that wants to go home and start rewriting. Which I can’t do, because the book is out, and I am reading it in front of people. And the process of revision (blog entry coming soon) is not a pretty one that you would want to watch, anyway.
No amount of cheering makes this better. I am 100% NO ME GUSTA on this. Which is why, if you’ve ever seen me read, you may have watched:
- me rambling about whatever comes to mind - me trying to start a Q&A immediately after my name is announced, even if the audience has no questions because they don’t know who I am - me doing imitations of John Green, even if the audience does not know who he is - me doing an improvised dance (everyone speaks dance) - me asking questions of the (now slightly alarmed) audience - me reading from books that I did not write - me quietly trying to escape the room via an alarmed exit
ME GUSTA: MEETING READERS
However much I don’t want to read my own book to you, I love coming out and seeing you and doing all of the above things. In fact, if you guys have any ideas for things I can do instead of reading aloud, PLEASE PUT THEM IN THE COMMENTS!
NO ME GUSTA: SHOE SHOPPING
You know how girls are supposed to love shoes and shoe shopping and how we’ll do anything for shoes? Not this girl. This girl thinks shoe shopping should be outlawed by the Geneva Convention. Shoe shopping is something I do under extreme duress.
The why behind this one is anatomical.
I made out fairly well, in the generally healthy, normally formed body department. I am one of those people who can be heard bragging, after a glass of wine or two or when sitting in front of an audience expecting me to read from my book, that I have better than perfect vision. No one ever cares, but I go on about it anyway.
But it all falls apart with the feet.
I have horrible feet. Seriously horrible feet that should be cut off at the ankle and stored in carefully sealed jars, which should be locked away and guarded at all times in case they reanimate and become evil zombie feet. (I have, in fact, long been working on a musical based on this premise with my friend J. Krimble. It’s called FOOTZAPOPIN!)
They are flat. Not just a little flat. Very, very flat. So flat that I have caused at least one doctor to let out a low whistle and say, “Wow, those are profoundly flat feet.”
My feet are flatter than these.
The result is that I can never seem to find shoes that don’t feel like tiny bear traps clamped to my feet. This rarely stops me from buying heels, but the pain I suffer can go on for days.
The truth is, I’d just rather go barefoot. Or have my feet cut off, jarred, and have a hoverboard attached right to my legs. But since no one will do this, and since I have to go out of doors, and since hoverboards don’t exist, I have to shoe shop.
Everyone I know loves to shoe shop. Daphne Unfeasible swoons at the idea. I wish shoes would just show up in my closet, placed there by elves. I get so bored, looking for shoes. I can see that many of them are pretty, and I like pretty things as much as the next person, but mostly, they just all look the same. Especially summer flat sandals, which I definitely can’t wear, because the flatness of it all would become so overwhelming that I might actually start evolving on the spot into some new kind of flat human.
I needed shoes to go and do the readings. You can see the problem here.
ME GUSTA: I CAN HAS CHEEZEBURGER
After I come hobbling in, I like to put my feet up and do a little internet research at my favorite site, I CAN HAS CHEEZEBURGER. I could look at this site for hours, because it has pictures like this:
Foot pain, forgotten!
I am already waiting for your brilliant comments about how to deal with this reading situation. You guys are my only hope. And if you want to bring be shoes, or if you are cobblers . . .
And you’re still coming out, right? I mean, I may make puppets or something. Trust me, you’ll like it!
I don’t know what’s going on there, friends. No one is talking. I have a feeling that all of a sudden I’m going to hear some news, and then we’ll be right off to the races again. I sleep with one eye open, never fear. If you want to hear me talk about it--or if you just want to hear what I sound like on the phone--you can listen to this podcast. Or you can read this article on the banning by Little Willow.
My team and I are monitoring the situation.
In the meantime, here is a little update on the weekend.
First, I was at the Nebula Awards. My personal reason for being there was because Devilish was nominated for the Andre Norton Award, a fact which astonished me from the very first moment I heard it. I was on the same list as Scott Westerfeld (for Peeps and Midnighters) and Justine Larbalestier (for Magic or Madness). Not only are Scott and Justine my friends—I’m a huge fan.
I am beyond pleased to tell you that Justine won! I screamed. We cried. I texted them in Australia and my phone kept going off and I thought the woman behind me was going to hit me with her robot (we all got robots and they are AWESOME—Free Monkey has already claimed it as his).
PLEASE READ MAGIC OR MADNESS. I AM BEGGING YOU.
Thank you.
I have also been going through the dozens and dozens of comments from the last few posts, and I wanted to take a moment to respond to just a few of them.
liz said... Fake irish food sucks, too.
Finally! While everybody is yammering on about the “friendship” and the “romance” in Bermudez, Liz has correctly summed up what the book is REALLY about. It is my manifesto against chain restaurants! While Bennigan’s is the specific target, any chain restaurant that pretends to be representative of another country (I’m talking to you, Outback Steakhouse) can be substituted.
anonymous said... Many of you are ridiculing the parents for signing a petition without reading the book. While at the same time, many of you are ridiculing the Bible - - - -have you read it?? The Bible does speak of many horrible acts because it is explaining to us what happens when we turn our backs on God and God's truth. Try reading the book- - -it might change your life!!
I have read the Bible. Cover to cover. On multiple occasions. In multiple editions. I had to sit through religion classes for four years in high school. Half the year was Bible study and church history, and half the year in religious life class, like my senior year marriage class (which was taught by a nun and featured prom lessons). Then I continued reading it in college as part of the Biblical and classical literature component of my major, which did not have marriage or prom classes.
You’ve missed the point, anonymous. The people who have commented here are pointing out the fact that if we start banning books, the Bible is in as much danger as everything else.
(An aside: did I ever tell you the story about the time my friend Betty Vox and I had to run from a nun and how it was all my fault? I don’t think I did. Please indicate if you would like to hear it.)
anonymous said... can free monkey travel overseas- i.e. England?
YES! In fact, Free Monkey will be visiting England in July. Please feel free to submit your proposal to him! He loves traveling in his home country.
anonymous said... Jesus said the world would hate Christians because it hates him (John 15:18-21) People hate Jesus because his very name convicts them of their sin even if they can't fully articulate that.
There are a lot of Christians reading this site who, I am sure, are wondering why you think this is about hating Christianity. It’s not. Nothing could be further from the truth. Realize that many Christians are not on board with hateful condemnations of others. It’s against their religion.
cecil castellucci said... I am going to the 4 day Star Wars Celebration event here in LA in two weeks. I'm sure there will be a store called "SLAVE LEIA OUTFITS 'R US" and I will get you an order form. I'm not even kidding. I've said it before, I'll say it again. "Maureen, I've got your (princess leia) back."
Thank you, Miss Cecil! You guys know Cecil, right? You have read her new book, Beige, haven’t you?
You have, right? Because I can wait.
Let me know if they have forms. I don’t want to end up making my own gold slave bikini, because that will NOT end well.
kiersten said... wait so what are the honkers? the alien guys are the yip-yips, right? so the honkers are...what? and also, is free monkey a guy or a girl? dont know why its important i just was wondering.
I always thought these guys were called the Honkers, but I was wrong. They are Yip-Yips. How did I live before Wikipedia?
Free Monkey is a boy, but mainly, he’s a monkey.
He’s been very impressed with the World Tour submissions so far. Remember, the deadline is May 23rd! In the meantime, I have to get ready for the release . . . and be on the lookout for a secret sister Brotherhood2.0 video later this week. John has put out the call for people to help editing his wikipedia page and Hank’s wikipedia page. Now, that’s worth a few minutes of your time.
It’s been a rough few weeks here in YA land. It seems like everyone has been on crazy deadlines, or getting sick, or otherwise falling to pieces. I think I should bring you all up to speed.
The other day, I had lunch with Justine Larbalestier and Libba Bray. Libba has been working 25 hours a day on the final book in the A Great and Rebel Terrible Angel trilogy and was looking a little green around the gills. The final days of revision are trying at best. Libba is one of those people who gives off an air of total composure—but it did seem like, with only a slight provocation, she might have flipped the table over and challenge the first comer to a knife fight. Or something like that.
We were talking about the fact that our compatriot, J. Green, was in the hospital with a horribly infected eye. (He’s out now.)
I was saying that I felt bad, because J. Green had been complaining about that eye for a while, and I kept saying, “Blah, blah, blah. Your eye is fine, Green.” Of course, it wasn’t.
And then Libba hit me with a surprise.
“I have a glass eye,” she said.
I was impressed, and I said so. I envy anyone who has a removable body part.
“You know what I was going to do?” she asked. “I was going to go to the hospital to see him, and I was going to say, ‘Hey! Bet you can’t do this!’ And I was going to smack the back of my head and . . .”
She mimicked popping out her eye into her palm and shoving it in Justine’s face.
“If you did that,” I said solemnly, “I would give you ONE MILLION DOLLARS.”
Libba was going to pay John a visit.
“You know,” Justine said. “When I first met Libba, I knew she was missing something, but I couldn’t remember what. I thought it was hearing in one of her ears. So I kept screaming at her.”
“I thought she was insane,” Libba said, nodding.
John is recovering, and by recovering, I mean that he is at home playing with his Wii. At least, that is what I assume he is doing. You don’t need two good eyes to play Wii, you only need the will. And he has the will.
Meanwhile, Scott Westerfeld (who sits next to me as I type this), has something like fifteen minutes to finish EXTRAS, the next book in the Uglies/Prettie/Specials series. He keeps staring off into space, as if he sees a hoverboard floating somewhere in the middle distance.
It is best not to provoke Scott, but it still seems like a good moment to interview him. Let’s do that now. This as in-process as you can possibly get.
ME: How’s that revising going?
SCOTT: What revision?
ME: The one you are doing right now, as we sit here.
SCOTT: (twitching a little) I’m not revising, I’m first drafting.
SCOTT starts typing again. I watch.
ME: Are there hoverboards in Extras?
SCOTT: There are hoverboards and there’s a whole new species of hover equipment.
ME: Are you having fun right now?
SCOTT: I’m having less fun that usual.
ME: Is this a bad time to be asking you questions?
SCOTT:(gritting teeth) No. It’s the perfect time.
ME: Oh, good! I watch Scott’s fingers closely as he types. He looks at me.
ME: What are you typing right now?
SCOTT:(reading) “Flakes were falling from the sky, like a light snow.”
ME: That’s an official sneak preview of Extras?
SCOTT nods and scoots his computer over a little.
ME: Did you know that Libba Bray has a glass eye?
SCOTT: Yes.
ME: If you could have any body part made of glass, what would you get?
SCOTT: A tooth.
ME: I would get a foot.
There you go. That’s an mj exclusive.
I’m glad to see that some of you have been writing in with questions for me and for “Ask An Agent” with Daphne. I have to keep Daphne’s brain on track, because she is getting married and is using her considerable organizational skills making notebooks of dresses, cakes, and flowers, instead of figuring out how to get me a stun gun.
Did I not tell you this?
Yes, Daphne Unfeasible just got engaged. I knew it was coming. Her beau, Rexroth Implausible, told me—and I had to be quiet about it. Which I was. Quiet as the grave. It helped that this was when I had the flu and was asleep for about two days.
Rexroth and I get along very well. Like the other day, when Daphne was showing me their wedding registry, talking me through the coordinated china patterns and throw pillows or whatever.
“Know what you need?” I said. “A trampoline.”
Daphne paid no attention to this, but Rexroth perked up at once. I could tell from the look in his eye that he wanted to know more.
“boingboingboingboingboingboing,” I explained.
He nodded, and I could see that he knew exactly where I was coming from.
“boingboingboingboing,” he replied.
Daphne turned and narrowed her eyes.
“boingboingboing,” we both said.
And you know what? There’s a trampoline on the registry now. See, it’s good to have me around.
Let me help you with your registry. Get better stuff.
So, please keep sending me the requests and questions. I have examined them all. In fact, I pose a task for YOU.
THE UK CHALLENGE:
I will be leaving for the London office over the weekend. (Hopefully not in a snowstorm this time.) I am now accepting UK CHALLENGES. What should I do in the UK? I need to make up for the fact that I was flat on my back the last time I was there, and you guys seem to be full of good ideas. I have all of London at my disposal. And for a few days, I’ll even have Daphne! (Her participation in any hijinx cannot be guaranteed, unless I kidnap her, which I am not above doing.)
UK readers—I look forward to your weighing in!
I will examine all of the suggestions, both those in the comments and on e-mail, on Sunday night—and I will complete one of them.
I am extremely pleased to report that Justine Larbalestier and Scott Westerfeld have finally returned to these shores. Justine, being Australian and not having seen snow until the age of 26, is currently traumatized by the actual cold weather we have here in New York. We met for lunch in our usual spot to celebrate this wondrous occasion. They brought along fellow Australian author Melina Marchetta, who had to leave a bit early to go to the airport. It was an excellent time, even if Justine shivered throughout and looked at my gloves as if she had never seen these magical bodiless hand-creatures before.
The lunch was so excellent, in fact, that we barely even noticed when an entire television film crew rolled up five feet behind us (and eventually around us) and filmed some Food Network segment with Mario Batali and one of the Sex in the City women. (I have never seen an episode of Sex in the City all the way through, but I can at least spot at Sex in the Cityite in the wild. Also, Justine told me who she was.)
The three of us were astonished to find ourselves surrounded by cameras.
After that, we all snuck up on writing partner John Green, who was deep in the terminal throes of finishing the very last sentences of the first draft of his new book. In general, I do not advocate sneaking up on John Green. I have painted him in the past as a man on the edge. But he took it well, greeted everyone with joy, and got himself a sensibly-pointed, Weight Watchers friendly lunch. I pointed this out, and he confirmed it.
“Five points,” he said proudly.
“Wait,” Justine said. “You really are on Weight Watchers? I thought that was a lie that Maureen made up for her blog.”
“Lie?” I said. “Me? I don’t even know the meaning of the word. I am a creature of pure truth. When I blog about this, you will see. Every detail will be recorded with pinpoint accuracy.”
“Okay,” I admitted. “Those two instances were what I like to think of as truth explorations. John is an artist. He is capable of great swings of emotion.”
John nodded away and ate his low calorie lunch with gusto. But Justine was not done.
I glanced over at Scott. He gave me a lightening-fast shake of the head and made a quick slit-throat gesture. Then he put his sunglasses back on.
“Well,” I said quickly. “Of course THAT didn’t happen! But that post was otherwise brimming with facts. I said that you don’t like chocolate and that Scott doesn’t wear jeans. You can’t deny that those things are true.”
“Be that as it may,” she said. “Sometimes, you tell stories.”
Reader, she is right. Sometimes I do. But everything I tell you is based in a deep, essential truthiness. And it was only those three times. Justine was astonished to find that my account of what authors do all day was actually the real deal, right down to the low fat cream cheese in John’s pants . . . in his pants.
And I’m certainly telling you the truth when I say that John Green and I are currently in similar boats. We are both finishing up first drafts. He’s done now, but I am not.
In a past entry, I described the process of finishing up a book in its very final stages, when the deadline is well and truly upon you, and the curtain is coming down. Maybe I should tell you a bit more about the other end, the part that is . . . as one of my most beloved theater instructors would have said . . . very loosey-goosey.
Maybe you imagine that writers sit down and start with the first sentence, and then keep writing away, until they finally type the words THE END. And maybe some do. But that’s not how it goes with me.
I may start with the beginning, but I may start with the middle. I may write a page, and then think of a sentence I want to write somewhere down the line, so I write that sentence, knowing someday I will catch up to it.
It’s like I’m building a house out of Legos—really, really small legos. Like, those single prong ones. But I don’t necessarily start with the ground and build up, carefully creating the base of my Lego house, leaving spots for the windows and the door. I often start with the windows. I hang things in mid-air. I build the roof. I put single Legos in where I think the bedroom will be. Sometimes I begin work on the pool in the back. Sometimes I build an entire LEGO CITY this way.
The result is that absolutely no one can read my drafts until they are complete, because they are literally masses of single paragraphs and sentences connected by the invisible ink that is in my head. And that’s fine by me, because I don’t usually want anyone reading at that stage.
I spend a lot of the first draft thinking about what the second draft will look like, because the two usually have little to do with each other. In draft two, I am Lego Godzilla, stomping all over the place and ripping things out with my squarish Lego claws.
Me.
But what I have right now is still Lego City. I happen to love this particular Lego City, and I have been working on it assiduously. I think this may be the best Lego City yet. But it is too soon for me to talk about it in depth.
But . . . what this has done is get me behind on letting you know about the newest members of my PIRATE DANCE CAMP CREW. I posed a challenge to my crew members to come up with some ways of getting the Girl At Sea message to the world. They didn’t let me down.
I am happy to introduce challenge winner Thea, now First Mate Katfish Kate, who is working on a short jellyfish-themed video about Girl At Sea. This won my heart, because I am terrified of jellyfish, and this fear of mine plays out in the book. I cannot wait to see this.
Also, an entire mini-crew form the second place Pirates Too. They include: Pirate Mandy Too Diefor, Pirate Miley Too Divine, Pirate Faith Too Dangerous, and Pirate Juliette Too Delicious. They are working on a plan so secret that it cannot be revealed here.
To all who entered, the ideas were all excellent. And there is a lot of time between now and the release of Girl At Sea, which means a lot of time left for more scheming.
Until then, I return, in all truthfulness, to work. Really.
