On Lent, Sacrifice, and Donating My FAULT LINE Proceeds

So a lot of you know that I teach Sunday school. I talk about my hipster, social justice, reconciliation church enough for most people to be aware that faith exists in my life. But while I’m normally at service every week, and I spend a good deal of time talking spirituality with my 7^th and 8^th grade Sunday school class, I’ve always found Lent to be a little bit of a troubling time of year.

It’s not because I’m incapable of “giving something up” for Lent. I have given things up in years past, but basically I haven’t exactly figured out the point of that. My 11yo told me it’s about learning discipline and patience. I’ve been in publishing long enough to know that I’m pretty solid on both these concepts. Which brings me back to the idea of sacrifice.

Whether or not it was the intention of the church, people now use Lent as a sort of second “New Year’s resolution”. And while I definitely believe in do-overs (my life is riddled with them, after all), for some reason, I have a hard time believing that this was the expectation when the season of Lent was first established.

So I thought about it and realized if I’m going to sacrifice something during the Lenten season, it would be much more beneficial to the world if something positive came out of the sacrifice. If the sacrifice actually worked toward change in a good way. Because I’m pretty sure no one would see any positive things coming out of me giving up chocolate unless they really like surly a-holes.

To that end, and because I have a hugely supportive family and agent and editor (and day job), I’m going to give all the income I make from Fault Line book sales during Lent to the Voices and Faces Project in order to help fund more testimonial writing workshops for survivors. (If you’re wondering the logistics of this, it has to do with weekly POS numbers that my agent tracks so we’re going to track those numbers for the 6 weeks of Lent and calculate accordingly).

When Lent’s over, I’ll go back to giving 50% of my proceeds away like I always have. But during these forty days (well, forty-two really since we’re doing weekly numbers…Bookscan isn’t an exact science, after all), this is the plan. And I hope you participate it in some way (spreading the word, buying a book for your library, etc).

And maybe we’ll fund another workshop, or maybe we’ll fund three, or maybe we’ll only fund half a workshop…who knows? The point is steering the ship toward doing something better, making a difference, helping in some way. 

Consent and Sensitivity: "Good Sex" in YA Literature

I live in an unusual world where most of my conversations on a daily basis are either about good sex or bad sex. It is a strange thing being a rape victim activist/author of a book about sexual violence and also a romance editor. But to me, these things are compatible. They have an overlapping theme: how can we integrate intimacy, sexuality, and positive experiences into our culture so that both men and women feel empowered to make good choices with regards to sex.

So when the Sexual Violence in YA Lit Project team started talking, conversations naturally flowed from “how is sexual violence represented in young adult literature” into “how is positive sex or sexuality represented in YA”. Which began a conversation about what teens know, what they don’t know, and the importance of books in helping them see their own sexual agency in the best possible light. Whatever choice they want to make about it.

And we started a list of books that have positive representations of sex. Below is my list, but please go check out the lists of Karen Jensen, Carrie Mesrobian, and Trish Doller. (SPOILERS AHEAD)

The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky: I wanted this book to be first on my list because I think it has an amazing scene of respect for the main character’s emotional landscape and inability to consent. Charlie pulls back from sex with Sam and is listened to and honored for his choice. Charlie is a sexual trauma survivor and he’s not ready to be in that place with Sam even though touch feels good. I was pretty much sobbing when Sam said, “It’s okay that you’re not ready” and then helped him get dressed. This. Yes. Perfect.

How to Love by Katie Cotugno: This is a beautifully written “consent” scene in which Sawyer asks “are you sure?” twice, and Reena is solid about her yes. But more than that is the part of this adorable scene where he promises to go slow. And in that promise you understand something important about these two, which is that not only do they both want to be there, but there is no “let’s get it over with” backdrop to this conversation. It’s a scene where it’s made clear they both want a positive experience from it.

  

Forbidden by Tabitha Suzuma: I wanted to include this book because the author puts the reader in a uncomfortable place of witnessing the growing sexual attraction between a brother and a sister, understanding their shared trauma and how they got to that place, and drawing us into an incredibly intimate sex scene between the two of them that is equal parts horrifying and heartbreaking. It is incredibly difficult to write sex scenes that are not at all sexy but are still emotionally devastating. Suzuma does it beautifully.

If I Stay by Gayle Forman: So the “play me” scene where Adam teaches Mia how to be comfortable with him intimately by having her hands on him like she’d play the cello and then he plays her like he would the guitar, well, holy hell, it’s beautiful and sexy and perfect because it has this shared understanding of something they’re both passionate about (music) and how they can use it to get past the awkwardness of Mia’s first time. And it takes the reader through all the emotions of first time sex and awkwardness and honesty and yes, this scene is one of my favorites I’ve ever read.

The Summer I Found You by Jolene Perry: This book has an absolutely beautiful scene with a one-armed guy back from combat having sex with his girlfriend for the first time and it’s so perfect and awkward and sexy. And it starts with him saying this, “The second you say pause, we pause or we stop”. And then he says, “I’ve never done this with one arm. I mean, I might need some help.” And then I just about died of cuteness and all the awesome sexiness in this scene. And gosh, Jolene does awkward in the best way and makes it way more awkward for him (who has had sex before) than for his girlfriend (who has not) because she is the instigator of the whole thing and he’s the one who keeps wanting to make sure that she’s sure because he likes her and doesn’t want to screw things up. PERFECTION.

And now, I'm going to add one more that was originally pubbed as a YA and has since been re-categorized as an NA. I want to include it because it involves gay characters and it also involves something that is important to include in the discussion: "good sex" that happens even though it is a bad idea for both characters. 

Hushed by Kelly York: I loved this book because it’s what I call the gay Dexter book. Serial killer, high stakes drama, a girl who has gone off the edge and the guy who has pretty much followed her there, and then in the midst of it all is this other guy named Evan. And I love the shower scene between Archer and Evan in this book because it comes amidst drama and all sorts of questions but it’s so natural for these two guys. And the way it’s written is sexy but also frantic and you are deep into Archer’s emotional landscape and you understand how much he is craving solace and you also in the back of your head understand that this is not a good idea for either of them, and I think there’s something really important about seeing good sex done for the wrong reasons. Because that happens too, and the raw honesty of it is really important to add to this conversation.

Now, it’s your turn. YA sex scenes that you think are done really well and why. 

On The Unlikables and Writing For the Fringes...

So a few weeks ago, I read this absolutely spot-on amazing article by Roxane Gay about unlikable female protagonists. It is worth a read if you have the time. And then more recently, I read this blog from Ruthie Knox about editors in romance and what they think readers want.

I put these two things together because I think they're relevant companion pieces. I am an editor of romance and while I have never asked my authors to do the things that Ruthie mentions, I have heard some anecdotal evidence indicating the veracity of some of Ruthie's words.

I'm glad these two women wrote their pieces because it starts a conversation. It challenges us as readers, as reviewers, as consumers in this book world. Further, both these articles are a bit of a call to action in terms of pushing boundaries.

And this is what I would like to talk about today. I believe that there are agents, editors, and publishing houses out there taking risks, pushing boundaries, and trying to get something different in front of readers. I have a publisher like this. I have an editor like this. I am grateful for them both.

But, these things we want to see in books, this desire for "different" is not without a cost. And the cost is in sales. Because for every boundary that a writer pushes, for every line they cross, they sacrifice sales. And at a certain point, authors have to start wondering if the push was worth it. If they wrote too much for the fringes, if their female protagonists were too unlikable, if they crossed one too many lines and sabotaged themselves.

Because we must acknowledge an inherent truth in both these articles: People do criticize unlikable female protagonists. They do criticize you for not doing it like you're supposed to. I have found in the romance world that readers are harder on heroines than heroes. I have edited almost a hundred books now and this is anecdotally accurate from my perspective. I have similarly found criticisms about doing things different in YA books.

But today I'm going to focus solely on Fault Line because that's my truth. I guess that I should start by saying my sales are "solid". I don't know exactly what this means, but this is what my agent tells me. However, when he tells me this, he also tacks on "for a difficult issue book by a debut author". So solid-ish, I guess.

From the very beginning, I knew this book would be difficult. It involves graphic rape, it involves harsh language, it does not have a tied-up happy ending, the perpetrators don't get caught, there is no "healing" that happens in this book for our survivor. She repels. She is raped and she shuts down and she repels.

But I wrote Fault Line anyway because I had something to say to survivors and the people around them that I didn't think was being said in other YA books dealing with sexual violence. And I was blessed to have a publisher who agreed.

Now. This is what I have seen and heard more than anything with regards to this book. "It is not for everyone." I have seen this enough times now that it almost feels like a tag line to me. I have found myself saying it (though truthfully only to my 60+ year old parents). And on occasion, I find myself apologizing for this book.

And because my sales are only solid-ish, I worry I've let survivors down. Because part of the point of this book was to be able to fund workshops for survivors and if the best I can do is solid-ish, then maybe I have done them a disservice.

Which brings me back to the issue of pushing boundaries and doing something different. The reality is that I did something different. I did not pull any punches and there is a good chance that I crossed too many lines. That I've created something that is inaccessible to too many people. And perhaps the people I wanted to help the most, I've barely helped at all.

Before you think I'm defeated, let me say this: I have found support for Fault Line in the most unexpected places. Sixty-year-old librarians and church pastors and teen boys and university professors and romance readers and mom book clubs and so many writers who I never even thought would care about this book. I have had AMAZING conversations come out of this book.

But I have also had the difficult experience of hearing over and over again, "I don't think I can read something like that." And the equally difficult experience of being criticized for not taking more care with such a hard subject.

Some people wanted something from this book that I didn't give them. They wanted a moral. They wanted a male ally who did all the right things. They wanted a female protagonist who was likable and healed. They wanted a happy ending. They wanted a thing to point to that allowed them to dissociate with the possibility that this could ever be them. They wanted to feel less helpless. See: "It's not for everyone."

I will always encourage people to write for the fringes, to push boundaries, to do something different. And every note I've gotten from survivors and allies have made that worth it. But do not go into that choice blindly. Every line you cross costs something. And until we can get readers behind difference, we need to be prepared for the consequences. And sometimes the consequence is shutting a door that you were desperately trying to pry open.