Love Blind's release & Why I'm Grateful for Jolene

Hooray! Hooray! Hooray! The day for LOVE BLIND's release is finally here. The journey of this book has been a long one, and if you'd like to read more about it, you can do that here. Suffice it to say, we first wrote this book in a series of back and forth emails and a Word doc in 2011 before I'd ever met my collaboration partner Jolene Perry in real life. 

A few things you need to know about the book: 

1. This is probably the "lightest" book I've ever written. (Though fair warning, everything is relative and I'm me so don't think it's all kittens and unicorns. SLJ said, "it hits hard, exploring issues such as depression, homosexuality, and loss of virginity." But truthfully, it's quite a bit lighter than my other books. Oh Christa. )

2. I wrote Kyle's part, Jolene wrote Hailey's part. We wrote a lot on top of each other's parts. It was messy and fun and Jolene is the easiest collaboration partner a person could ask for.

3. This is the closest to a "happily ever after" that I've ever gotten. It was not really meant to be a love story when we started off. If you ever meet me in real life, I'll tell you how much this book changed from start to finish. (Fair warning again: "love story" is a relative term for me and I doubt anyone will be doing any swooning. I'm not really the swoon kind of writer. Poor Jolene. She writes a lot of swoony guys, and this time I made it next to impossible for her. Heh.)

And now I will make a list of my absolute favorite things about Jolene and why I'm so lucky to have her in my life:

1. Every time I call her she's in the midst of doing some project for someone else. I have never known anyone who is so willing to step in and lend a hand to whatever endeavor. 

I have no idea what Jo is doing here but this is not unusual behavior.

 2. Jolene is one of probably 4 liberals in her town in Alaska. She's married to a dude who prosecutes sex crimes and they are a real-deal love story. Also, while I'm wandering around Chicago walking my dog and taking my kids to the library, Jo and her husband are doing things like snow machining. Or whatever. ALASKA!

This is Jo & her husband. They live in this place with woods!

3. Jolene writes love stories, but more importantly Jolene writes about girls who make bad choices and who have a million reasons why they should probably give up and then they figure out a way to keep going. This is her central project as a writer and if you know anything about Jolene's relationship with her daughter, you know that lifting that girl up and making her believe that anything/everything is possible is Jo's central project in life.

I mean, for real, aren't they the cutest?

4. Jolene is one of the most chatty and warm people I have ever met. We have made our way to SCBWI in LA for several years because it's the halfway point between Alaska and Chicago and Jo manages to draw in everyone. She is hilarious and infectious and incredibly creative and easy to talk to. And probably the most important of all, she is up for whatever nonsense I am dropping at her feet.

With Jolene at the Bean when she decided to drop her life and finally come meet me here. 

So here's the book description:

Shy high schooler Kyle Jamieson and Hailey Bosler, a musician with degenerative blindness, team up to tackle a bucket list of greatest fears in this compelling novel that explores what it means to take risks.

It starts with a list of fears. Stupid things really. Things that Hailey shouldn t worry about, wouldn t worry about if she didn t wake up every morning with the world a little more blurry. Unable to see her two moms clearly. Unable to read the music for her guitar. One step closer to losing the things she cares about the most. 

For a while, the only thing that keeps Hailey moving forward is the feeling she gets when she crosses something off the list. Then she meets Kyle. He mumbles when he talks at all and listens to music to drown out his thoughts. He's loaded down with fears, too. So Hailey talks him into making his own list. 

Together, they stumble into an odd friendship, helping each other tackle one after another of their biggest fears. But fate and timing can change everything. And sometimes facing your worst fear makes you realize you had nothing to lose after all.

And here's where you can buy it: IndieBound, Barnes and Noble, Amazon

On Rock Bottoms...

Today marks the publication of my third YA novel, OTHER BROKEN THINGS. There's a lot of me in this book, a lot of honesty and hurt and acceptance and trying to figure out how to fix yourself. Release day is usually my reminder day, the day I remember that I'm doing the greatest job in the world because I get to be creative and make art. An auspicious and happy time for most authors.

But when I think about this book and all that went into it, I can't help but think about rock bottoms (which is maybe not the most happy thing for a release day, but stick with me, we'll get there).

In doing research on alcoholics, "rock bottoms" came up a bunch of times. The questions were different but all circled around the same thing: what made you decide you were done drinking? when did you realize the only way out was up? what happened that you were finally able to see how sick you were?

As I told Nat's story in OTHER BROKEN THINGS, I thought about how in a certain way, we all have rock bottoms. Sometimes they're extreme and sometimes they're a series of steps spiraling down until you realize that everything is dark and hard and you can't see anymore and you can't remember where you're going or what you're doing and why you were even doing it in the first place.

When I examine my own life, I think about the blanket of regrets that I could wrap around myself. At one point or another, I have been a crap parent, a crap daughter, a crap wife, a crap employee, a crap sister, a crap student, a crap friend. I am what someone wittier than I would call "the okayest human alive."

At times I have wanted the people who love me the most to go away because they were also the people who saw me at my worst. I've often thought that it isn't the people who won't forgive you that are so hard to deal with, it is the ones who will, because they are the ones who have witnessed you at your absolute suckiest and isn't that a reminder we could all do without. (Though I know Carrie, Asher, and Jolene would tell me that those people also have seen you at your absolute best.)

Regret can become its own rock bottom, in the same way that resentment can—they are both diseases that are incurable if you hold on to them, and undoubtedly only toxic to the person feeling them, not the objects of their regret/resentment. And yet these emotions are hard to shake.

And so I think about this past year and how in a way it has felt like a rock bottom: I have failed professionally more than I have succeeded, I have dropped balls in my personal relationships, I have stumbled a lot as a parent, more than I thought I could. But here is the thing. All these failures, they weren't really a rock bottom (even though they felt like it at the time). Because they didn't compromise the things I value the most: compassion, integrity, forgiveness, honesty, grace.

My Natalie in OBT has given up the things she cares about the most: a true rock bottom for her. But even then, she finds a way out. Something I realized is possible for us all. Even if we do lose our way, even if we are truly at the bottom and have had our values compromised, everything keeps moving. Possible still exists. Above all, I have learned that tomorrow will be different than today, even if it's just the tiniest bit. There is a way out. It is hard and it is up, but as Glennon says, "We can do difficult things." Particularly if we know that we aren't doing those things alone.

Why yes, my stepsister did put my face on a Wonder Woman magnet.

So here's the cover and the blurb and buy links and all the sell-y stuff that I must do because it's my release day.

Natalie’s not an alcoholic. She doesn’t have a problem. Everybody parties, everybody does stupid things, like getting in their car when they can barely see. Still, with six months of court-ordered AA meetings required, her days of vodka-filled water bottles are over.

Unfortunately, her old friends want the party girl or nothing. Even her up-for-anything ex seems more interested in rehashing the past than actually helping Nat.

But then a recovering alcoholic named Joe inserts himself into Nat’s life, and things start looking up. Joe is funny, he’s smart, and he calls her out in a way no one ever has.

He’s also older. A lot older.

Nat’s connection to Joe is overwhelming, but so are her attempts to fit back into her old world, all while battling the constant urge to crack a bottle and blur that one thing she’s been desperate to forget.

Now, in order to make a different kind of life, Nat must pull together her broken parts and learn to fight for herself.

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Indie Bound

(And because I work at Anderson's Bookshop, you can call over there and get a signed copy shipped to you!)

Thank you always for all your love and support!

The Incarcerated Teen Book Drive...

So a few weeks ago, I went into Cook County Juvenile Detention Center to talk to some of the girls who would be participating in our forthcoming survivor testimonial writing workshop. I happened to bring a few copies of my books because I wanted them to see what came out of the workshop when I participated in it.

They signed up for the workshop, but more than anything, they were excited about the books. "We get to keep these? For real?" Their advisor told me they don't really get new books often, and sometimes they have to re-read the same ones. So I said, "Do you want me to put a call out to my author friends on Twitter and see if any of them might have a few paperbacks to donate?" Immediately she said, "Yes. That would be amazing."

Well, I put that tweet out and it got retweeted (the last I checked it was maybe 242 times?) and holy cow did the awesome YA community respond! Agents and editors and publishers and authors and bloggers and bookstores and readers and publicists. It was extraordinary.

And here is how it all played out...

I had to have a convo w/ my mail carrier (Thanks, Reggie, for giving me my own bin!)

This was delivered to my house on the 3rd day after my tweet

My kids were really into this project

The dog was less excited

And today I dropped off the first batch which they were thrilled about!
Batch #2 will be delivered in 2 weeks.

So I just wanted to say a HUGE thank you to everyone who sent me books. I will do this book drive again next year. It means so much to me and to all the staff and teens at Cook County. You are all EXTRAORDINARY and make me believe in the goodness of the world.

A million thank you's to my donating friends!!! 

"I suggest that you remove the suggestion box..."

Tomorrow will mark the two-month mark until the release of OTHER BROKEN THINGS. When I was writing that book a few years ago, I whispered to my friend Asher, "This is the one that holds a lot of my heart. This is the one. What if I can't create anything like this again?" He laughed and said, "So what if you can't?" Which is very Asher. This book was my special one, I thought. It was special because it was both easy and very hard to write. It was personal and difficult stuff of mine on page, but it was true to me, which made it feel important. 

I have now received four trade reviews for this book. For those who are not writers, these are the "professionals" weighing in on your books. My trade reviews have been good...and terrible. 

Here's the good (start with the positive, as my dad always tells me):

"Other Broken Things.

Advanced Review – Uncorrected Proof

Desir, C. (Author)
Jan 2016. 256 p. Simon & Schuster/Simon Pulse, hardcover, $17.99. (9781481437394).
In Desir’s latest, Natalie’s a fresh-out-of-rehab high-school senior beginning the 12-step program. Brash, unrepentant, and far from kind to herself, Nat strikes up an unlikely friendship—and possibly something more—with 38-year-old Joe, from her local AA group. Her journey toward recovery brims with bumps and potholes: old friends who haven’t dropped their drinking habits, parents who fail to offer the support system she needs, and the truth about what happened that fateful night that she doesn’t want to face. Though Nat’s relationship with her father could have used a bit more development, there is much to recommend here. The frank, sometimes profanity-laced prose suits the subject matter and will engage reluctant readers. Nat’s penchant for self-destructive behaviors, including her pursuit of Joe, only augments a reader’s sympathy and curiosity for what motivates her. In Nat—a female counterpart to Sutter Keeley of Tim Tharp’s The Spectacular Now (2008)—Desir crafts a portrait of a teenage alcoholic that is honest and unsparing."—BOOKLIST

"Gr 9 Up—Seventeen-year-old Natalie's story starts with "I'd cut a bitch for a cigarette," hooking readers immediately. In this gritty and honest tale, Nat's struggle with sobriety starts with court-ordered AA meetings and community service after a DUI incident. She is a fighter, literally. Her parents' demand that she quit boxing leads to her drinking. Nat fills the holes in her life with booze and sex. Without an addiction, she feels lost. Enter Joe, the sexy, 30-something would-be sponsor Nat bums cigarettes off of during meetings. Though Joe tries to shut down Nat's outrageous flirting, the sexual tension is palpable, foretelling the inevitable train wreck. Desir writes the relationship as an ill-fated May/December romance between two addicts. If Nat and Joe do not have alcohol, they will find something else to quench their needs. In this case, they find each other, until that implodes. While this situation lends itself to controversy, it also invites conversation. Other plot threads—losing friends and reuniting with others, relapses, and Natalie's parents' rocky marriage—round out the recovering addict's experience. Facing her demons, Nat evolves from a rightfully angry teen to a wiser, emotionally stronger young woman able to stand on her own without a man or alcohol, and readers will cheer for her success. Not for the faint of heart (Joe's rock bottom story involves a dead hooker), Natalie's story is told without judgement and with an uncanny understanding of the 12-step program. This is sure to appeal to fans of Nic Sheff's Tweak (S. & S., 2008), Koren Zailckas's Smashed (Viking, 2005), and the-like. VERDICT This title deserves a place on high school shelves."—School Library Journal

Here's the terrible (and there is really no sugar-coating "terrible" here):

"OTHER BROKEN THINGS By C. Desir

(Simon Pulse; ISBN 978-1-4814-3739-4; 1/12/16; Spring 2016 catalog)

Seventeen-year-old Natalie is a rich kid in the throes of addiction, fresh off a DUI conviction and court-ordered rehab. She flings herself headfirst into an obsession with Joe, a man more than twice her age whom she meets in AA, and dabbles in her former life, trading sex to her ex for vodka. What she really wants is to return to the boxing ring, a hobby forbidden by her father, who's more concerned with his own reputation than with reality. Unfortunately, Natalie's attention is so narrowly focused on her attraction to Joe and getting high when she gets stressed out that little ink is spent exploring her passion for the "sweet science"or its role as an outlet for her turmoil. Desir (Bleed Like Me) compresses Natalie's story into a book-long AA meeting, pushing forward rapidly while glossing over scenes that might have provided more depth to her characters. Even the revelation of a secret that Natalie has been holding doesn't land with the intended impact."—Publisher's Weekly

"OTHER BROKEN THINGS 

Author: C. Desir

Despite a drunken driving charge, a stint in rehab, and an unshakeable thirst for vodka-induced oblivion, 17-year-old Natalie is not an alcoholic. The label doesn't fit, not for Natalie and certainly not for her father, who is hellbent on keeping up appearances in their wealthy Chicago suburb. Yet when Natalie returns from a court-ordered trip to rehab, her old life doesn't quite seem to fit right either. While ticking off Alcoholics Anonymous meetings on her court card, Natalie develops a relationship with a much older recovering alcoholic, a white guy. (Natalie specifies the racial makeup of the AA group but never directly reveals her own.) Joe breaks through Natalie's tough-girl facade and forces her to face the truth. Natalie's growing feelings for Joe muddy the waters. Distancing herself from destructive, party-girl friendships and resisting the temptation to drink when the going gets rough are difficult. Owning up to her mistakes and assuming responsibility for creating a healthy, new life is even harder. Readers will likely find Natalie's snarky, profanity-laced narration appealing and will easily relate to her struggle to navigate treacherous teen waters rife with unhealthy relationships, temptations, and self-doubt. Unfortunately, the May-December romance between Natalie and Joe is both predictable and clichéd, and it distracts from topics that would have been far more interesting to explore, such as Natalie's passion for boxing. A teen-issue book with loads of potential that only achieves mediocrity. (Fiction. 14-18)"—Kirkus

And here's a picture of Lenny Kravitz making some eggs so we can all have a palette cleanser.

So we're not supposed to point out our terrible reviews or talk about them because...well, because I guess maybe people think that they'll go away? As if I could shake off a professional saying this book I put all my heart into "only achieves mediocrity." As if other people aren't seeing that in trade reviews and wincing a little, feeling sorry for me, and secretly grateful it didn't happen to them. 

Most people who know me by now know that I tend to live out loud. The reason I do this is not only to demystify the absurd notion that writers (or frankly human beings) are perfect and always only make good life choices and have great things happen to them, but also because not saying out loud the things that hurt, or the things that I'm carrying around, is a death sentence for me. If I don't bleed hurt or process things out loud or talk about the things that aren't easy (whether with my people or in public spaces), then they become locked inside of me in little drawers of toxicity and the results are incredibly unhealthy. 

So yeah, I got some super shitty reviews. Good ones too, but honestly, I'm me and I'm not thinking about the good ones, I'm thinking about the horrible ones. Which brings me to the way that the universe works (or maybe God, for those who are believers), because I have long held the belief that the world lines up in the way it needs to for us to keep moving forward.

And thus these terrible reviews of mine happen to be coming on the heels of me reading Elizabeth Gilbert's BIG MAGIC which is a book I can't recommend enough for every human being doing anything creative in their life. Here's Gilbert talking about 'being on top':

"I mean, if you cannot repeat a once-in-a-lifetime miracle—if you can never again reach the top—then why bother creating at all? (...) But such thinking assumes there is a "top"—and that reaching that top (and staying there) is the only motive one has to create. Such thinking assumes that the mysteries of inspiration operate on the same scale that we do—on a limited human scale of success and failure, of winning and losing, of comparison and competition... Such thinking assumes that you must be constantly victorious—not only against your peers, but also against an earlier version of your own poor self. Most dangerously of all, such thinking assumes that if you cannot win, then you must not continue to play."

These words, which are really about Gilbert's Eat Pray Love success, ended up being the perfect ones for my own failures. Because they reminded me of why I play in the first place, of what I'm trying to do with my writing, of who I'm trying to reach, of what living a creative life means. And the truth is, that it doesn't mean reading reviews. Good ones or bad ones. These get in the way of my creative life. Even the good ones because they do not steer me in a direction toward growing as a writer.

I have learned more about writing in the past 11 months from my agent than I have in the past 11 years. And this is a little bit of a love note to Barry Goldblatt who has figured out that if I'm not passionate about what I'm writing, I'm not living a good creative life. So he gets on the phone with me and says, "Are you passionate about this? Do you care about this?" and when I say, "I don't know," he says, "Then why should anyone else care?" And those are the words that are hard to hear but make me grow. Because that is really how I find my way into living my best creative life. 

How do we continue to play when a professional implies we're on the B-squad or worse, we don't belong on the field at all? We take it outside of the human realm of failure and success and bring it into a universal realm. Reviews cannot and should not make or break us. Giving them power to do so compromises who we are as creative people. As Gilbert says, "What does any of that have to do with the quiet glory of merely making things, and then sharing those things with an open heart and no expectations?"

Thanks for reading this long post. I remain your "well-meaning but deeply flawed" friend.

Love Blind Cover Reveal

Hi friends! Do you remember that time I told you about writing an almost love story with Jolene Perry? Well, hey, it's coming out in May of 2016 and we have a cover and we've done copy edits and things are plugging along! So here's the cover and the blurb and basically you all need to be a little excited because I wrote an ALMOST love story and that's a really big deal for me since I want to ruin everything regularly with my writing.

So here goes:

Super cute, right? I thought so too!

And here's the blurb:

It starts with a list of fears. Stupid things really. Things that Hailey shouldn’t worry about, wouldn’t worry about if she didn’t wake up every morning with the world a little more blurry. Unable to see her two moms clearly. Unable to read the music for her guitar. One step closer to losing the things she cares about the most.

For a while, the only thing that keeps Hailey moving forward is the feeling she gets when she crosses something off the list.

 Then she meets Kyle. He mumbles—when he talks at all—and listens to music to drown out his thoughts. He’s loaded down with fears, too. So Hailey talks him into making his own list.

 Together, they stumble into an odd friendship, helping each other tackle one after another of their biggest fears. But fate and timing can change everything. And sometimes facing your worst fear makes you realize you had nothing to lose after all. 

Publishing, man, what are you gonna do?

I've had several conversations with authors of late that have gone along these lines:

Me: How are things going?
Author: Eh, not so great.
Me: I'm sorry to hear that. Can I do something?
Author: Probably not. Publishing, man, what are you gonna do?

And now I'll tell you a secret, because I work on both sides of the desk in this industry, this conversation is happening with a lot of people in publishing: editors, agents, publishers, publicists, etc. It's not super hard to figure out one of the primary reasons people feel a bit of uncertainty in the state of publishing has to do with the exponential growth in number of books being published and our inability to mirror that exponential growth in terms of readers.

The tottering TBR pile is no lie. I know readers/bloggers who read 5-7 books a week and still can't keep up. On the one hand, I'm all, "yay! books for every kind of reader!" and on the other hand, I'm all, "wow, how can you possibly find YOUR readers when there are so many other books out there for them to pick up instead of yours?"

When I first started editing romance, my prolific authors released 3-4 books a year. Now, for them to make the equivalent income, they have to release 9-12. And it's a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy that their sales are decreasing because lots of other romance authors are releasing 9-12 books a year and so it's harder to break through and sell as much. And I have no judgment on this one way or another because people have to eat and pay their bills and the reality is that we're a little stuck with this system until something collapses or a bunch of people decide they're not doing that anymore. Systems of dysfunction continue to work until someone or several someones buck the system. It's the way it goes.

But here's what I do want to dissect and call shenanigans on—I've heard multiple authors say to me, "If I don't release X number of books a year, then I'm worried I'll disappear." STAHP with this. If you write remarkable books, people will not forget you. People don't forget remarkable books or authors they love. If you churn out multiple books that you and your readers all feel meh about, yeah, I can see how you might disappear. But if you bring your best self to the table, you will be invited back no matter how long it's been since the last time you sat down.

But Christa, you say, what about my grocery bill and rent? Yes. Good point. You're trying to make a living doing this. So are a lot of people. I think being a starving artist blows. But I also think that we need to acknowledge the reality of the state of publishing. There are several people who work in publishing who have 2-3 jobs. It sucks. No doubt about it. It's totally unfair. But saying it's unfair doesn't really change anything. My roller derby rink closed down and so now I don't get to dress up and be badass and I've gained 10 pounds. It's unfair, but it's life. Stomping your feet and being pissy about it doesn't change the facts.

Well, you say, then what the hell am I supposed to do? GOOD QUESTION. And here's what I ask everyone who is in this industry and feels a little adrift with their failures or with things overpromised and underdelivered or with their lack of critical praise: what is your goal post? How do you define success? How do you want to make your mark?

Then step back and see if that's achievable for you. I mean making the NYT list is a lot different than making a living as a writer which is a lot different than being critically acclaimed which is a lot different than creating work that seeks to change/challenge the injustices of the world. So what is it you really want? And what can YOU do to get there? Don't list a bunch of stuff that is out of your control, consider what is in your control and start there. Also, you may want ALL the things I've stated above, but you need to prioritize for yourself because very, very few people get to eat all the desserts at once and even if they do, a lot of them end up a little miserable because every dessert after that makes them think of that one time they got to eat all the desserts.

The other day, a friend said, "The NYT list is pretty achievable if you do a 99-cent sale and a BookBub and some FB ads and a bunch of blogger promo." And there was a part of me that thought, "Well, yes, maybe, but what if you wrote a rape book with a half-black male protagonist that starts with a graphic blowjob scene and you're giving 50% of your proceeds to a writing workshop for rape survivors and you don't really want to drop your price or spend money on a BookBub ad because how will that help rape survivors?" Do you see what I mean about figuring out where your goal post is?

I also think we spend a hella lot of time beating ourselves up about things that other people seem to be achieving/getting that we're not. And I really get it—we all want to be adored and we all want to be perfect. But the social worker in me would say that this is all bass-ackwards. You need to go at this from a strengths-based perspective. What is the best thing that you're bringing to the table? Do more of that. Inevitably it'll get you to a place you belong or can find contentment with. I mean, really, who knew that Carrie Mesrobian and I could actually find a sponsor to support our podcast where we talk about sex and books? Believe me, I was a little blindsided by it too. But our podcast is something I love and I think maybe that's why it worked out. (Although, it could just be our midwestern accents).

Finally, the other day, I read this excellent post in NY Magazine that was a "Should I give up on writing?" Q&A. It tackles everything I've said above in a much more eloquent and succinct way. Mostly because blogging really isn't my strength and I don't do much of it anymore so I feel rambly and uneven.

So...go forth, duckies, and be gentler on yourself. There are lovely and amazing things about every single one of you.

 

For Ashley: On truth and bearing witness

This weekend I was among the faculty at the Midwest Writer's Workshop. It is a very good workshop. Smart and dedicated people. Writers who love writing and want to get better. And the faculty was truly amazing. One of whom was Ashley Ford. I have been a fan of Ashley for quite some time. I appreciate her authenticity and honesty and her willingness to speak about difficult things. And I was very much looking forward to meeting her for the first time.

I think I've mentioned that I'm an awkward hugger who doesn't let go.

But I had a question. One she really only got to half-answer, so don't hold her to this. :) One that I've been thinking about over and over again when it comes to writing personal essays, to telling your truths online and in public forums. How do you tell your truth, be authentic and courageous, and protect yourself at the same time? Protect yourself from people's toxicity or blame or hatred or disbelief.

And Ashley answered beautifully. She explained that telling her truths have opened doors and windows so we're not locked into a house of shame. That readers write her and say, "yes, me too, thank you, I'm so glad I'm not alone." And for Ashley, enough of that happens that it makes everything worth it.

This, I understand. This, I feel so much. Every letter I get feels like a gift. I am humbled by people telling me their stories. I feel deeply grateful to have garnered that level of trust. If the New York Magazine Cosby piece this morning did nothing else, I hope that it opened people's eyes to the solidarity of survivors. To the power of multiple voices coming together and saying, NO MORE. And even as I say this, even as I'm so proud of this chorus, I'm equally devastated that it's taken so many voices for people to finally pause.

Which brings me to my second question. The harder question, in some ways. The question about vicarious trauma and carrying the stories of survivors in our own skin. Because I think to a certain extent we all do that. We all read something that breaks our hearts and we all take a little piece of that on. We slip it into our selves and it hurts for a while, and then it becomes something we know now. And I believe it's important that we know these things. I think the choice to bury our heads in the sand is a poor choice, one that stops change from happening, one that perpetuates pain and suffering. Knowledge has always been my base of power. It is for most of us. But sometimes, reading the stories of 35 women who have been assaulted by one man hurts so incredibly much. And I don't know what to do with that hurt. Where to put it.

So I asked Ashley that too. And she answered beautifully again. She said, "When people tell you their stories, they aren't asking for anything from you therapeutically. They're asking you to bear witness. So you take a moment and you honor their story. And you bear witness to their truth. And that is all they need from you."

Which is all to say, survivors who have shared their stories, privately, publicly, in whatever way you have been able to: thank you. I hear you. I sit in solidarity with you. I am your witness.

Wisdom from my 40th Year

So tomorrow is my birthday and as I reflect back over the year I turned 40, I thought it might be worth dropping some things I learned (because we can always still be learning!).


On Writing:

1. Publishing is difficult and unpredictable and wonderful. It is not fair. You will likely always be looking up, wishing for more. This is good if it fuels the work. It isn't good if it stops you from getting your shit done. We all have one job: keeping people reading. You do that however you do that, but if you find yourself mired in shit that has nothing to do with that one job, it is a good idea to refocus.

Here's how I have convos with myself...
Me: Oh my God, did you see...?
Me Also: Yes, now get back to work.
Me: But...
Me Also: How do you keep people reading?
Me: Writing good books.
Me Also: Right. Carry on with that.

On Time:

2. No one is on time anymore. I think we live in a world of "over-promise and under-deliver" now. I've done this myself, because I don't like saying no and I bite off more than I can chew. I would like to say no more and pretend I'm not Wonder Woman. Everyone should do this. Everyone should also be respectful of other's time. A lot of people are not. It's okay, it happens, but I'm sorry goes really far.

On Faith:

3. The loud people do not speak for the rest of us. Most of us are quite fine with how you want to live and how you want to have a relationship with God or if you want to have one. As Momastery's Glennon Boyle Melton says, "Everybody's in, baby." That's the way God works. Anyone who tells you different has their own agenda. Look closely at agendas. Look at them the same way you look to see who's funding research studies. EVERYBODY IS IN when it comes to God.

On Anger:

4. I've been fighting against sexual violence for a long time. I will always work toward making this better for other survivors. But the fight drains me. Arguing on social media or even in real life—it's exhausting to me. However, I realize that talking with rape survivors, honoring their stories, helping how I can, that is what rejuvenates me. Yesterday, my friend Courtney pointed this out and I loved it: "Anger doesn't have the fuel that love does. It can't last as long." That might not be true for other people, but it's true for me.

On Parenting:

5. Show up. Ask questions. Talk to your kids about difficult things. Play, read, yell, apologize. Acknowledge that it isn't always awesome, acknowledge that sometimes it is. Have a life that isn't completely woven into theirs. Be patient when they give you lice.

On Friendship:

6. Ask for help. Offer help. Tell your people you love them. Laugh and cry and find the people who won't judge you for either. Don't put anyone on a pedestal. Don't think they're more amazing than they are. We're all flawed. It's okay. Everybody is still in.

On Courage:

7. Do something you didn't think you could do. Something very specific that is maybe a little crazy. You don't have to do something risky every day—because honestly, we're not extreme sports junkies—but this year, pick a thing. For me it was roller derby. For Julio, it was quitting his job. For Mandie, it was running a half-marathon. For Carrie, it was starting a podcast. One. Thing. That's it.

That's it. Love you, friends!

Christa

Thank you, my dear friends...

I'm writing this blog with tears in my eyes and a heart that is three sizes bigger than it was an hour ago. I got a letter in my inbox tonight. A series of letters, actually. Love letters from friends. I almost couldn't read them, I feel so incredibly unworthy of them at this moment. And yet I did read them. Every last one. And they meant the world to me. They mean the world to me.

I am carrying a lot right now. For different reasons, I am having a rough go of it. Julio sent me to Florida with my parents to "soak up sun and get better." I want that for me too. But it is hard to put down the things we carry, as much as our friends tell us they are there for us.

Tonight, I didn't have to put anything down. It was taken from me, and I remembered that I am not alone. None of us are. Writing is such a strange and lonely business sometimes. But there is no community that is better. There are no people who are greater at sitting beside you and saying, "yes, I understand, I have been there."

The other day I texted a friend and said, "I don't know how to ask for help because I don't know what I need. I would call you, but I have nothing to say." He responded, "Which is kind of everything. I am here. You're enough."

I have lost so many people. I have messed things up and made myself impossible to love, and still, tonight, I got a series of notes in my inbox that said, "you are loved." Last week, I got a text saying "you are enough."

I don't know how to say thank you. I don't know how to tell the people I love how much I love them. I don't know how to give them all that I want to, all that they deserve. I want to be a better friend. I want to be a better wife, a better mom, a better sister, a better daughter.

I have nothing to give in this moment beyond my gratitude, and a promise to try harder to take away the burdens from others as they always have found a way to take away mine. Thank you, my dear, dear friends, the ones in my inbox, and the ones who have stayed in spite of me. I love you all.

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.”

Five Things I Learned By Failing NaNo

Yesterday, I threw in the towel on NaNo. After starting three different books in the course of a month and ultimately giving up on all three of them, I decided there wasn't any chance I could win this year. I hate giving up on things. I hate setting goals and then watching them pass me. I ran a half-marathon,  I published two books, why for the love of cheese couldn't I knock out 50k in a month?

Well, here's what happened and what I learned about myself:

1. I had no plan at the start of November. I'm not a planner, I have written every book by the seat of my pants. But when I actually sat down to write on November 1st, the vagueness was overwhelming. Maybe I could write a book about depression or angry girls or roller derby or being in love with a gay dude or killing your parents or some other thing. But I had too many maybes and no character voice in my head. This is what people who write by the seat of their pants forget: You cannot write anything if a character has not crawled into your head and taken up residency to tell you their story. This is why I've never bought into the "write every day" thing, because if no one is in my head telling me what to write, I don't have anything to put on the page.

2. It is hard to write a book when you're trying to promote a new release. It is not like the obligations of promo take up all your writing time, it is the defeat of post-release that makes writing a novel basically impossible. If you're not familiar with this, I wrote a post on it here. Bottom line: it is damn hard to find the energy to write shiny new words when you've just read a review on GoodReads that says they wanted to reach into the pages of your book and punch every character in the throat.

3. I have gotten excellent at figuring out what doesn't work. This may be because of editing for my day job, or this may be because I've shelved so many unworkable books, but I am now able to tell by about 15k into a manuscript if the story has any hope of becoming a real thing. The problem with this ability is that the NaNo advice of "just keep going, get your crappy stuff out there, you can go back and fix later" does NOT work when you can tell a book isn't going to ever be a thing. It's like telling someone to keep training for a marathon, even though they definitely will not be participating in the marathon. Going out to run in crappy weather becomes damn hard, and what is the point?

4. There are still things too close to me emotionally for me to write about. I started a book on depression and had to stop writing it because my friend Michael kept weaving himself in my head. My heart has not healed yet over losing Michael. It might not ever heal, and I need to honor that. Sometimes our blood on the page can't ever become anything beautiful. It's just blood.

5. Fake deadlines aren't really effective for me. My next book comes out in early 2016. That's a while away. I have several other projects that are in various states of completion on my desktop. Writing something brand spanking new, which presumably should re-invigorate me, mostly had me questioning: to what end? So I can revise for the next four years and maybe this could be a 2019 book? That way lies madness, my friends.

In the end, I would like to say I learned a TON by participating in NaNo this year, but mostly I learned that this wasn't a good year for me. My 12yo, on the other hand, kicked huge butt and is about 5 pages away from being done with her NaNo book. So I guess congratulations are still going to happen in my house on November 30th. Just not for me.

The Bunker Diary & Writing Hopelessness

Nothing To Hold On To

I read The Bunker Diary a few months ago. Since that time, I’ve probably read 40 books (hazard of the day job). I could probably have read 400 books and I still wouldn’t forget The Bunker Diary. I first heard about this book after I read a piece in the Guardian that compared it to John Fowles’ The Collector (though the Guardian claims TBD lacks The Collector’s humanism and poignancy) saying, “It is depressing both in its nature and its lack of redemption…” This book won the UK’s Carnegie Medal, and has been the source of a tremendous amount of debate over its worthiness ever since.

When a book hits a note like that with a reviewer or several reviewers, the first thing I must do is read it. To have elicited that sort of reaction usually means at the very least, it’s worth investigating. I have written before about how I’m not super interested as an author in making people comfortable. Some authors write books full of love and hope and wonderfulness; this is a valid and great thing. I edit many of these sorts of books for my day job, and yet, I would never want all the books in the world to be like this. As a reader, I would grow bored very quickly with the lack of depth resulting from a book selection limited to only those that entertain us or make us feel good.

My first two books don’t have happy endings. Sorry, not sorry. I’m not incapable of happy endings. I’m not incapable of offering hope. But in my core, I can’t seem to shake the hopelessness that plagued my high school years. I read books where rapists get caught or justice is served at the end, and I think: huh, that didn’t happen to me. I read books where a hot mess of a girl and a hot mess of a guy get together and their love saves them both, and I think: well shit, I must have done something wrong because I didn’t get saved and neither did he. And I start to wonder if maybe there are people in the world who feel/think like me. Who wonder why these books always seem to turn out so happily or hopeful when the shitshow of their lives is nothing like that.

We live in a dirty, depraved, unforgiving world. We live in a beautiful, tender, redemptive world too. It’s always going to be like this. The older my own kids get, the more I realize the value in providing them access to all sorts of books with all sorts of stories. Do I want my kids to be able to escape into a fun book? Yes. Do I also want my kids to sometimes learn about the world from books? Yes. Do I also want my kids to develop empathy and learn to ask questions about what they believe about themselves and the people around them? Absolutely.

Do I think this is all the responsibility of a fiction author? No. I really don’t. An author can be trying to do all sorts of things, teaching all sorts of lessons, hoping that their book will save a life. They may achieve things with their books that they never could have dreamed of, and yet, this to me is all gravy. We have one job as fiction writers: to tell a story.

I’m fascinated by the burden of responsibility that seems to fall on the shoulders of those of us who write for children. I’m not completely clear who decided on the rules about YA books, but there seems to be an insistence that if the books are going to be about difficult things, then they need to somehow “save”. I have long hesitated at this notion that YA Saves because I think it puts us in the position that we must then acknowledge that the opposite can be true too. That if we’re going to assert that YA books save lives, then we have to allow that they can damage people. And this power makes me very uncomfortable.

So when I read The Bunker Diary, I went in knowing that this was a “problem” book for some and tried to think like those people. Tried to figure out what about the hopelessness of this story would make me get all up in arms enough to want to keep it out of the hands of children. The book itself is raw and sparse and gorgeously written. It leeches at your emotional landscape with every page. It is a horrifying type of “No Exit” that pushes us to the point of not only examining the complicated dynamics of interpersonal relationships, but also examining truths of our world. But in the end, for all the emotions the story elicited in me, I didn’t step away thinking that this was a guidebook to morality/immorality or that it was a strong message book or anything else. And frankly, I think we’re better for not being spoon-fed answers or having everything wrapped up in a tight bow of satisfaction. We learn about ourselves and the world because we experience both the difficult and the beautiful.

I finished The Bunker Diary with questions about my own life. I didn’t think, “what would I do trapped in a box?”, I thought, “what am I going to do about my loneliness?” And there is value in that self-examination, but I don’t think authors should be held accountable if readers walk away from a book without that.

But Christa, you’re saying, isn’t it nice to offer a glimmer of hope?

Of course it is. Lots of people do that. But should this be a book mandate? Hell no. We don’t always get into the college we want. We don’t always make the team. We don’t always get asked to prom. When we pepper young adult books with this constant hopefulness without any recognition of the reality that there are shitty things that happen that we have no control over, we create a false expectation of everything turning out at the end of the half hour if you just work hard enough, fight hard enough, etc. Sure, it’s fiction, we can do that. But isn’t it more interesting to also have access to the fiction that doesn’t solve everything for us?

I happen to have 3 ARCs of The Bunker Diary and 3 extra copies of BLEED LIKE ME that 3 of you can win by entering the Rafflecopter below. You want to get your hands on this book. It's worth it.
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