Archive for: ‘March 2009’

Beautiful Creatures, Meet the World!

March 31, 2009

Beautiful Creatures finally debuted on Amazon in its full graphic glory:  


Don't you think it's a great cover? Snaps to Dave, he really outdid himself on the design. It's printed on foil, so it has this great shimmery quality when you see it in real life. I mean, real non-digital life. 

And what you can't see in this picture is, man o' man, this sucker is huge! Here, I'll show you the profile shot, taken with L's phone at first sight:

Okay so he wasn't using an actual camera, but still. You get the point. The book is fat & juicy. (And that was the one day my counter was clean.) I guess that was really two points…That was the first moment I saw it. 

Here is the second, and this picture is with MP…whom I may or may not have kept home from school to edit the final draft. 
MP:"Mom! I have to go to school! It's been three days!" 
Me: "Don't be so selfish! Get back in there and EDIT!"


Don't tell Little, Brown, but Kami and I are actually more scared of MP than anybody. She's a real butt kicker. She's already shredding through the early draft of our next project…"Have you learned NOTHING!? Do you have an ADDICTION to COMMAS!? Does NOBODY listen to me?!" 

EP & KP go easier on us. But that's only because EP is older and has less time. And KP is younger so I haven't let her read it. I have a feeling it runs in the in the family.

Can't wait for you guys to actually read it now!  
8 months and counting…


Italy, 5 Days & Counting…

March 30, 2009


Oh my bags are packed, I'm ready to go,

How does the rest of that John Denver song go,

da da da da da da da da da daaaaaaaaaah….

I'm leaving on a jet plane, I'm going back to Italy,

the place where I like to go-oh-oh-oh-oh…

K & A & M and I are meeting up in K's old
farmhouse/villa/not quite sure what in the middle of the countryside between
Sienna and Florence. I'm not even sure there's a town. I'm not even sure the town
that might not be there has a name.

They are going to take walks. I am going to write because
walking is harder. It doesn't really matter what I do when I'm there. No matter
what, there will be rolling hills and vineyards and if I'm lucky we will make
it into Florence once for the burratta the size of a grown man's head that they
serve at some pizza place called something like pizzaiola…

I am so h a p p y, and I am very rarely this h a p p y…

Something about planes just makes me write until my fingers
fall off, I think it's the being nowhere.

Something about Italy makes me eat and drink and take naps
and wander and think and write, I think it's the being somewhere.

When I'm there I'm really present, I actually think about
what I am eating and seeing and tasting and smelling…

Anyways, 5 days and counting. My plan is to bring nothing.
It's like a contest in my family, competitive light-packing. If it was an
olympic event my brother and I would constitute the U.S. team. Carry on only:
MacBook Air. Blackberry Bold. Kindle. Toothbrush. Old J. Crew Pea Coat. Jeans.
Sweater. Scarf. Shirt. Underwear. Done. Maybe a pen and a notebook, if my
computer dies. 

By the way, that's not a picture of Siena, that's Otranto,
where I go for to a writer's colony most years in June. Still, in honor of
Italian week, I'm putting it up there so you know what's in my head right now…

 Angeli ribelli

Ciao, babies!

Sylvia Plath & Stevie Smith, Part II: You’d Really Like Kate Nash, Too.

March 25, 2009


"And sometimes, sometimes, I wish I was like Mariella, 
she got some pritt stick and glued her lips together. 

So she never had to speak, never had to speak, never had to speak. 

People used to say shes as quiet as a mouse, she just doesn’t make a peep. 

She marched to her wardrobe and threw away the colour, 

because wearing black looks mysterious, but it didn’t impress her mother. 

She wanted to dress her baby in patterns and flowers, 

but Mariella just crossed her arms and so she cried for hours. 

Mariella. Mariella. My pretty, baby girl 

Unglue your lips from being together and wear some pink and pearls. 

You can have your friends ‘round and they can stay for tea. 
Won’t you just try to fit in please, do this for me. 
But Mariella just crossed her arms and walked up the stairs 

and she went into her bedroom, and she sat on her bed. 

And she looked in the mirror and she thought to herself 

If I wanna play, I can play with me, 
If I wanna think, I’ll think in my head.

At school, Mariella didn’t have many friends, 

yeah, the girls there, they looked at her and thought she was quite strange. 

Boys aren’t really into girls at that age. 
And the teachers, they thought Mariella was just going through a phase. 

But Mariella just smiled as she skipped down the road 

because she knew all the secrets in her world. 

style="text-align: center;">yeah, she always got the crossword puzzle right every day 

and she could do the alphabet backwards, without making any mistakes. 

Mariella. Mariella. Pretty, pretty girl. Mariella. Mariella. 

Happy in her own little world.  Happy in her own little world. 

And she says I’m never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever, 
yeah, I’m never ever ever ever ever ever ever, yeah, I’m never ever ever ever ever ever ever 

gunna unglue my lips from being together

She said I’m never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever, yeah, I’m never ever ever ever ever ever ever, 
yeah, I’m never ever ever ever ever ever ever evereverevereverevereverevereverever 
gonna unglue my lips from being together 
ha ha ha ha."

Mariella, Kate Nash
photo credits here

Sylvia Plath & Stevie Smith: Why Are Seriously Depressed People Such Great Writers?

March 24, 2009


The NYT has a fascinating collection of commentary on the recent suicide of her son last week. She died 46 years ago. He died at 47. You can read the story here.

It's a terrible tragedy when anyone commits suicide, and I don't even know where I stand on the recent YA popularity of Thirteen Reasons Why. Suicide is hard to talk about, let alone write about. Read about.

Anyways, in honor of Sylvia, I thought I'd reprint Stevie, my all time favorite poet. ("This English Woman is so refined / She has no bosom and no behind.") I like to think they would have gotten along.


Not Waving, But Drowning

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning

- Stevie Smith