What I Learned in 2014

Per usual, I'm hesitant to give any kind of writing advice or truths about publishing because I think all of our journeys are different, and frankly, as I sit here in the same pajama pants I wore most of yesterday, I'm hardly a shining example of "how to get it right". That being said, I'm two books in now and I did discover a few noteworthy things this year that hopefully will help some of you.

1. It turns out everyone is a writer. Seriously. Everyone. I'm at my block party or the grocery store or the kids' winter fest and people tell me about the book they've published or the one they're going to write or this big idea they have. And the way my brain processes this is usually in three steps. First: YES! AWESOME! Everyone should be a writer because it's awesome and I want all the people to come to this party. Second: For the love of cheese, I hope you're not in this for the money because that way will only lead to frustration. Third: Oh God, please don't ask me to help you because I don't have the first clue what I'm doing. 

2. It turns out everyone is working their ass off. So you know how you wish someone would email you back? Or that they'd provide you with this stuff you no doubt deserve? Or that they'd send you that one thing they said they'd get to you by last week? Well, the reason that's not happening is they're working their asses off. I'm quite lucky that I get to see publishing from both sides of the desk because patience is hardly my strong suit, so when I say people are working their asses off, I'm not lying. Writers, editors, agents, publicists. Every damn day is a fire drill of some kind. If you're not being attended to, it's probably because you're a smaller fire behind a giant blaze. (Note: this doesn't mean you should allow yourself to be treated badly and ignored for 6 months, but I trust you know the difference here.)

3. It turns out that people in the publishing community are really for you. You will be absolutely astounded at the number of people in the publishing community who want you to kick ass and sell a million books and have all your dreams come true. And they are generally a hundred kinds of awesome about trying to make that happen. They don't owe you shit but they do it anyway because they're good people. So be gracious and thankful and buy their books and love them back. And if they can't always help you sell all your books because they've got shit of their own to deal with, continue to love them and buy their books and be gracious because that's what friends do. 

4. It turns out that writing is hard sometimes. I failed NaNo this year. I wrote 100k that will never see the light of day. I started and stopped about six books. It wasn't the easiest year in writing. That happens. I kept writing anyway because I love it enough to know that it'll come back to me. I also kept writing because of all the great encouraging things people said to me. I seriously love the writing community. (See #3).    

5. It turns out you don't have to do or be all the things. I talked about this over at PubHub, but really it is worth repeating: do not spend time doing a bunch of things you don't love to sell your books. Yes, you're going to have to do some promo. And sadly that promo cannot just be a Lenny Kravitz Pinterest board (though I highly recommend everyone have one of those as a happy place on the Internet). But promo that you sort of hate doing comes across as promo that you sort of hate doing. So I think it's worth figuring out what promo you like and focusing on that. And if you hate all promo, then you can at least be funny about it. My "Teen Vogue lists BLEED LIKE ME as a great YA book to read over the holidays because there's nothing that says Merry Christmas like self-mutilation and co-dependent relationships" FB post got way more likes and comments than my "Hooray my book is on sale" release day post. Of course, my friends may just like my twisted sense of humor, so there's that.

6. It turns out readers are awesome. By far my favorite part about this year is the number of readers who reached out to me to tell me that my dark and gritty books were the best things they read this year. THIS NEVER GETS OLD. Teen readers in particular are effusive and awesome and basically everything I ever wanted out of this writing gig. I don't have the first clue how they found me, but I love, love, love that they have. 

So that's what I got. In preparing for this blog, I also re-read last year's post which I think is still totally valid, particularly the part about having other things in your life. I don't have another book coming out until January of 2016, which means that 2015 will be a year of learning and stumbling and falling and trying all sorts of different things and I cannot wait. As ever, my life is so full and rich because of all the love and support from this community. Thank you, friends!

Happy New Year!

What It's Like To Be Left Behind

I lost my friend Michael two years ago this week. Of course, I wasn't the only one. We all lost someone when Michael died. Even those of you who didn't know him. The world grows a little dimmer whenever anyone decides to take their own life. It all seems a little more hopeless. And those of us left behind ache for more time with them.

Whip-smart and thoughtful and funny and sarcastic as hell, Michael figures so prominently in many of my best memories about college. When I returned to Grinnell earlier this year, there wasn't a place I could go on campus where I didn't recall a story about this amazing man. And I know I am one person of many. My college friends talk about him to me often. Not stories of college shenanigans, but stories of deep emotional connection. Of Michael being kind and compassionate and thoughtful and so understanding.

I have blogged before about the guilt I feel for not staying connected with him beyond Facebook messages and social media. The shame at not knowing how much he was hurting. The worry that this is how people slip away from us. That we see a status update from them and think that means they're okay. These feelings haven't gone away in the past two years.

I don't like walking around in a world where Michael doesn't exist. I feel like that about so many people who I've lost. I told a friend the other day that sometimes I feel surrounded by ghosts. Memories of people who I want to call back to me. At the end of his life, Maurice Sendak said, "I have nothing now but praise for my life. I'm not unhappy. I cry a lot because I miss people. They die and I can't stop them. They leave me and I love them more." That is how I feel about my ghosts. I want more time with them. I want them not to have left me. It's a tremendously selfish thing to say, but I'm saying it anyway. I want them back.

I wanted to write this post because I have so many people who are struggling in their life right now. So many people who are hurting for one reason or another. Who feel hopeless or isolated or filled with sorrow. And I want you all to know what it feels like to me on the other side. That I wish I could build all of you nests and take care of you and make things better. I wish I was more. I wish I could keep you all here forever with me. Remind you that you are loved and the world is better with you in it.

BLEED LIKE ME: Brooks & Gannon Black Friday Scene

I thought it might be fun to do a sexy little BLEED LIKE ME teaser scene for Black Friday to thank all my readers for being so awesome. I hope you like it.

“Gannon. Gannon. Wake up.”

I creaked open an eye and peered at Brooks, his long, thin, shirtless frame crouched on the edge of his futon. I still couldn’t believe we were here together. “What time is it?”

“A little after ten.”

“Why are you waking me up? I don’t have anywhere else to be.” I nestled down in his scratchy blanket and watched him roll a cigarette.

“Where do your parents think you are?”

I arched my back and sat up, holding out my hand for one of the cigarettes he was rolling. “I left at midnight last night, they think I’m braving the crowds at some super store to get all my Christmas shopping done.”

Brooks offered a half-smile. “That’s right. Black Friday. Are they gonna say something when you don’t show up with anything?”

I smiled back. “Well, I’m showing up with about seven hundred hickeys, do you think that counts?”

He lit his cigarette and tossed me the lighter, sliding closer to where I sat. “I only put them in places no one but me would see.” He waggled his eyebrows.

I peeked down the front of his T-shirt, the one I’d shrugged on last night before slipping into the futon next to him. My chest was practically covered in bites and bruises.

I inhaled the strong smoke from the Indian Spirit cigarette and rested my head on his shoulder, feeling the tense muscles in my neck ease. He put his arm around my hip and tucked my body even closer to his.

“What should we do today?” I asked after a few minutes of silence, punctuated by exhales of smoke.

“Movie?” He leaned forward and dropped his cigarette in the tin can on the floor beside him.

I shook my head. “It’s gonna be packed and I don’t want to see anyone from school.”

“So I guess the mall is out too?”

“God, yes. Who do I even have to get gifts for? I give my parents a gift certificate to Red Lobster or the Olive Garden every year, and I already bought Ali a set of belly button rings, and God knows I’m not getting my brothers anything.”

Brooks slipped his hand beneath my borrowed T-shirt and stroked the bones of my hip. “Maybe you should get your brothers handcuffs?”

I snorted a laugh. “They’d just figure out a way to use them on me.”

“Well, that sounds promising.”

I laughed and shoved him. “Don’t be gross.”

He plucked my cigarette from my fingers and put it out, then pressed me back on the bed, straddling my hips. “You like when I’m gross.”

I rolled my eyes. “No I don’t.”

He leaned over me and kissed my neck, my collarbone, the spot beneath my ear that made goose bumps rise on my skin. “You do,” he whispered.

“No. I just like you.”

He lifted his head and grinned. “Well, that’s good news, because I like you too.”

Then he kissed me, long and hard, sucking and biting and wrapping himself around me until I didn’t know where I ended and he began.

Finally, when he pulled away, both of us flushed and breathless, he traced the hoops on my ear and said, “I’m glad you came over last night.”

I drew my fingers over the scabbing tattoo on his chest, the bloody heart with my name in piercing straight pins coming out of it. “I’m glad I did too. Now, can we go back to sleep?”

“Nope,” he said, putting his hand over mine. “Black Friday. We don’t stop till we drop.”

I sighed and laced my fingers with his. “Okay. But we’re probably going to need to get food.”

He winked at me. “And more condoms.”