The Bubble: A New Review

Back in the nineties, I used to write reviews. I wrote music reviews for Alternative Press, movie reviews for TNT Rough Cut, and over the years I've written book reviews occasionally, once even for the New York Times. But it's been a while since I did any kind of writing like that. Once you have a book or two out there, or hope to one day have another book or two out there, writing potentially-negative reviews becomes complicated. You know how it feels to get roasted, and you don't want to do that to other people. Also, that person you roasted might one day show up next to you on a panel at a book festival, and that would be awkward. 

I thought I was being wise by declining to have an opinion, but I have been rethinking that decision.

Last summer found me at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe in Scotland. I was helping my bandmate Tressa Preston stage her show, "Gooder Than Gold," but I also had a chance to see a lot of other shows, and I posted about them on social media. Not reviews exactly, because I didn't give any stars, but analysis and reactions. What is this play, and who is it for? What other media does this connect to? What ideas did it spark? In writing this kind of review, I found a middle ground between vapid boosting and serious critique. It worked, and also I found I actually loved it. 

The idea for The Bubble was hatched at a working breakfast in Edinburgh, and has been in development since. I launched some social media accounts, and experimented with talking to the camera. I began listening to new music, and keeping up with award show buzz. I got back on Netgalley and started reading ARCs of forthcoming books. It's been good for me, and it's been really fun, to write reviews and hot takes on The Bubble. Some books I've reviewed: Kin by Tayari Jones, Missing Sister by Joshilyn Jackson, and Wolf Worm by T. Kingfisher. I did manage to actually criticize Hamnet, reviewed two local plays, and I'm gleefully making Spotify playlists, picking new music I like. 

Currently I'm playing around with @itsonthebubble accounts on Instagram, Threads, BlueSky, Facebook, and TikTok, with the main blog living on Substack. That's a lot to maintain, but in a month or two, I'm going to evaluate what makes sense to continue and what I can cut. The whole thing is an experiment, and this part of it is really interesting. Who knows what else might pop up? 

Lydia Netzer, Developmental Editor, Book Doctor, Manuscript Consultant

After several years of using my red pen only on essays written by my literature students, I'm putting my editing hat back on, for a few clients this summer, and a few more in the fall. 

I'm the type of editor who will be honest with you, and also be your biggest cheerleader. I believe in listening to your goals and helping you figure out what exactly you want to communicate with your story. I believe in working hard on your manuscript, and giving it my full attention. And then I believe in telling you the hard truth, stuff other people might not tell you, about what to cut, what to lean into, what's not working, and what has the potential to shine. 

I have a masters degree in English literature, and I've been teaching fiction writing, expository writing, and literature, from university level down to elementary school, since the 90s. My two novels, Shine Shine Shine and How to Tell Toledo from the Night Sky  (links take you to reviews in the New York Times), were published by St. Martin's press, so I've been through the process of selling a novel and working with an agent and an editor at a big publisher. Thirty years into working with writers, I have a lot of tricks up my sleeve, and insight as to what obstacles you're facing and how to get over them. 

I do three types of editing work. The first is the most intense, time-consuming, and therefore expensive. This is developmental editing, at 5 cents a word. It's a close critique, with mark-ups on every page, and tons of suggestions and analysis of each scene and section of your book. I can also do this kind of work for shorter fiction and essays, with a $50 minimum. 

The second type of work I do is book doctoring, where I read your whole novel (up to 80K words) for $1000, and make holistic suggestions. This is less expensive, and perhaps better for an early draft, where you need to talk through big-picture stuff and figure out what your book is really about. I'll deliver pages of notes, and give you lots of suggestions for different directions you can take your project, then answer all your questions about it. 

The third option is a live consultation, which happens via video chat at $50/hour, and can go along with either type of editing service, or independently, if you want to talk about a piece you're working on. 

I have worked with absolute beginners and bestsellers. I have a few testimonials here, to give you a sense of the impact I can have on your work: 

Her helpful feedback was also instructional. My writing is better, stronger, for having worked with Lydia.                                -- Drema D.

Lydia strengthened my novel with her clear and concise feedback. I was much happier with my story and was finally able to finish all my rewrites.                                                                                 -- Marta P.

I do not believe I would have finished my novel without Lydia’s keen eye. She is truly remarkable at her craft and equally talented at helping others realize their vision. The best decision I made was trusting her to make my manuscript better.                                            -- John S.

If you'd like me to read your novel, or talk about the possibilities of working together, you can find me on Facebook, Instagram, or email me at lydianetzer @ gmail.com. 

10 Rules for Parenting Without Regrets

What do you mean you have no regrets?

My son just turned 18, so he is no longer legally a child. I feel a sense of accomplishment in reaching this milestone without killing him, or having him kill me. He can vote and get his nose pierced, buy cigarettes and get a full time job, sit on a jury and get married. I celebrate that sudden incursion of liberty.

Feeling introspective, and retrospective, on this auspicious birthday, I put together a list of ten rules for parenting without regrets. These are NOT the guiding lights that kept me on some noble path of righteousness for eighteen years. In fact, if we're going with a "path" metaphor, I have been in the ditch, off the cliff, driving backwards at a dangerous speed with a baseball cap turned around backwards on my head and my grinning face sticking out the window, and sometimes sitting in the middle of the road crying and picking at my cuffs. But having come this far, and making many mistakes, but coming out at the end with a lot of pride in my kid, here are the hard lessons that I've learned:

Can I pet this cow?

#1. Say yes. Even if you are afraid of setting a precedent.

You're at the beach. You're tired and sandy but it's been a beautiful June day, and the kids say, "Can we stop for ice cream?" You want to say yes, because you're not a monster, but you don't want to set a precedent. You won't always have time to go, or dinner plans that allow you to eat later, or cash. Do you want to create an expectation that every time after the beach you'll eat ice cream?

Just say yes. One time isn't every time. Say yes to letting all the neighbor kids in the pool. Say yes to extending your afternoon walk to the harbor so you can take an extra hour to look at boats. Let him wear the costume to church, or empty the whole shaving cream can into the bath. You can say, "It won't be yes every time, but I will say yes this time." Kids can understand this. And probably, you won't get back to the beach for a few weeks. You won't take a walk every day like you plan to. These circumstances won't recreate themselves as often as you think, because of rain, or someone gets sick, or schedules change. So don't let the fear of creating an expectation of "every time" make you say no to "this time." Because it might be the only time.

Three, and acting like it.

#2. Understand that your child is very young. 

I once heard a mom say to her kid, "You're four years old! Act like it!"

To her it meant, "You've reached the advanced age of four! From this austere tower of maturity, let your light of wisdom shine, lo unto all the earth and your two-year-old brother!" But I wanted to say, "Girl! He is acting like he's four!"

I didn't, because her kid was already being a shouty little turd, and the last thing you need in that situation is some holier-than-thou mother wafting in to drop a "Cherish these moments!" on you. But my oldest child at the time was around ten, so naturally I knew that while ten was an age when they could reasonably be expected to be mature and wise, four-year-olds were babies. Now of course when I look at ten-year-olds, they're babies. And I also know that moms of kids in their thirties look at my 18-year-old and think he's a baby. And so on. The point is that whatever behavior is embarrassing and horrifying you right now, there's a mom of an older kid looking at your child and thinking how young he is, and how much time he has to grow out of that behavior.

#3. Parent the child you have, not the child you thought you were going to have.

Buzz Lightyear rejects 19th century novels.

For example, I never thought I would give birth to a child who didn't like reading novels. Without books around me in tottering piles, I suffocate and begin to die. I need them going into my eyes, multiple ones at a time, all the time. I used to genuinely believe that not reading fiction was a form of mental illness. Then I met Dan and married him. My husband reads all the time. But not novels. He hasn't read a novel in years, yet he manages to stay upright, breathe in and out, walk around on the earth, even support a very demanding family. Looking at him, you would never know the blackened sickness that lurks within. I love Dan, but I never thought for a second my children would inherit his distaste for fiction, or as he calls it "a bunch of lies." Yet this is what happened.

For years I tried to pound a love of fiction into my son. I read out loud to the cliff-hangers, and then left the book lying about. No interest. I instituted a no-movie-before-book policy. Didn't care. I bought entire series of the dumbest novels he had any flicker of interest in, such as Warriors and Vampirates. I tried. I broke my head open trying. Not only did he find novels unappealing, he summarily rejected pretty much any form of narrative including all study of history.

And then, one day, I quit. I said to him, "I will still require you to read some novels, because I am your English teacher, but I do not require you to like them. We will keep studying literature and history, but from now on you're allowed to half-ass it. We'll fill up on the stuff that involves lists and maps and bullet points and charts and dates and facts, and glide over the stories." It was awful, but it was freeing. Now he's a B student in history and English. He has more time for math and science which he likes and is good at. He, like my husband, has continued to breathe and walk, and miraculously so have I, even though I am parenting a child who does not like to read books.

Of course this is a frivolous example. Others are parenting children whose very identities violate the cultural and religious norms and ideas they grew up with. But even if you're only frustrated because your kid doesn't like art, or finds hiking dull, or enjoys football, or likes poetry, and it's the opposite of what you thought your kid would be like, I say this: Don't waste another second parenting a child that you don't have. Look at the kid in front of you, see them for what they are, and parent that child. The one that doesn't like sports. Or likes sports so much he wants to go to the Olympics for wrestling. That one. What he needs is important, not what you thought he would need. What she wants matters, not what you thought she would want. You can still like books, or hate football, or go to the mall, or resent gardening. But stop feeling like your way is the only way. In my mind, asking "Who doesn't like reading novels?" was like asking "Who doesn't like civilization?" Some kind of crazy person in the wilderness who eats deer straight from the carcass and hosts lemurs in his armpit hair?

But no. There are all kinds of people. In the genetic lottery you may not produce someone just like you, so deal. Deal faster than I did.

That was a long one. Here's a short one:

Sewing this was hard.

#4. Do the hard thing.

Most things that are worth doing and have a high positive impact on our kids lives are a pain in the ass.  So drive endlessly. Pay vast sums. Spend a lot of time. Learn new skills. Talk to people you don't want to talk to. Work with people you don't want to work with. Doesn't matter if it's hard. You do not want to look back and say "Well, we had this opportunity, and it would have been great, but I did not want it to cut into my day that much, or it would have been too much of a learning curve, or I didn't know how to do that, or I didn't feel comfortable putting myself out there." Parenting is one hard thing right after another. Some of them, you will pass by, and that's ok. You can't do everything all the time. But some of them you will need to dig in and do, for your child. If you get through with parenting and you've never done anything that made someone say, "I could never have done that!" while you're thinking "If you had to, you could" then you've passed some opportunities by that you will regret. Do the hard thing.

#5. Whenever possible, shut up.

I love lecturing. Lecturing is my jam. Sometimes I even get paid to do it, when I'm talking about how to create tension in a scene. I also have some great parenting lectures for my kids. For example, I love my "What Slimy Pit-Monster Lives In a Room that Smells Like This" or my "When I Was Your Age I Wanted Things! And I Made Schedules and Lists and Worked Hard to Get Them!" or my old favorite "Do You Want To Be the Kind of Person Who Turns In Work This Sloppy?" I find that my lectures wander from criticizing specific behaviors to general indictment of the child's character, and on to comparisons with my own virtuous childhood, and sometimes all the way to declaring, "I give up!"

Pictured here not listening at all.

My children have let me know that these lectures are not that effective. They've noted that when I repeat myself seventeen times, each time with a different metaphor or anecdote from my own childhood, that the intended effect diminishes significantly. They've even sometimes made the humorous gesture of finishing my sentences for me as I say them. As if they already know what I intend to say.

So now my rule is that as soon as it is possible to shut up, I do.

There are two reasons. One is that the lecturing is not effective. You're old, you're wise, you understand these things, and they're young, and foolish, and they don't. You're not going to lecture them into understanding. Even if you include many clever analogies. I've tried this. It doesn't work. The other reason is that because lecturing will not produce understanding, and you will feel frustrated, and need to lecture harder. Then you will work yourself into saying negative things. Things that will ring out like bells through the years. The children will not change their ways because of the length of a lecture, but they will never forget the terrible things you never meant to say when the lecture started. They will remember those things with blistering clarity.

Don't you remember every horrible thing your parents said to you? What is wrong with you? You're not smart enough to do that. You'll never be an artist. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror? You are the devil's child, sent from the fiery depths of hell to torment me on this earth. Stuff like that. Don't put those things in their ears. Say what you know you want to say, and then shut up as soon as possible.

That random tissue paper glue thing is so great, baby.

#6. Be your child's biggest fan. 

On occasion, you will have to criticize and correct your child. But as often as you can, make the choice to be a frothing, irrational geyser of praise. Defend them to the hilt. Believe them even when it's foolish. Emulate that lunatic on reality television that won't let anyone say anything bad about her little girl. Lots of people in this world will want to criticize your baby, and you don't always have to be one of them. Don't we all deserve to have that one person who thinks the world of us, who has never known anyone more wonderful, more adorable, more interesting, and more talented? Be that person for your kid. I know that coaches aren't supposed to give them trophies for trying, but their moms still can, surely?

Don't lie. Don't praise bad behavior. But don't always feel like you have to temper your praise or keep it reasonable. It's okay to say to your child that you think they are the greatest in the world. Gush and foam about your kid sometimes, and let them hear you do it. You are the parent. Let them know they are your favorite, and that home is a safe place, a happy place, a place where people think you're great. They do not need to know that mom is being realistic about how good they are at dance, or that mom is just being honest about their appearance for their own good. Let other people do that. You be fanatically positive. Only in recent years have I had the good sense to admit to my kids, "I thought you were the very best" without qualifying it. I wish I had come to that way sooner.

#7. Show your child the dark parts of what it is to be human.

You will cry. You will lose your temper. You will make mistakes.

You are a working model of a living human being, on permanent display in your child's world. When they're young, you're all they know. If they don't see you cry, if they don't see you mess up, and lose your crap, and do wrong, then they'll never see you stop crying, and fix your messes, and restore order to your brain, and correct the wrong. If they never see you in pain, they never see it's possible to recover.

If you're living a perfect life of peace and sanctity in front of your children, because you want to shield them from the sadness you feel, or the anger, or the mistakes you have made, then know that you are also stopping them from understanding how to get through those hard and strong emotions, and recover from mistakes. Fight in front of your kids, and make up in front of them. Share your sadness over death, and let them see the aftermath, how you struggle and how you overcome it. Because they, for sure, will NOT be able to live that perfect peaceful life. They will throw fits and they will screw up and they will be horribly sad and they will fight. They need a model for this behavior as well as for all the good stuff like being kind and showing compassion and patience and all that. They almost need it more.

This one now has a cell phone.

#8. Don't promise or threaten what you can't deliver. 

This one is hard, because it eliminates the possibility of shouting, "I'm coming up there, and if you're not actually doing math, I'm going to murder you in your face with an ax!"

Because I can't actually murder him in the face with an ax, I shouldn't promise that. I get that. But I also won't REALLY cancel his birthday party, or make him stay home from something when I've already bought tickets, or take away her phone for a year. Where it's possible, keep your promises simple and attainable, and your threats reasonable. If I'm constantly asking my children to doubt me, and question whether I really mean what I say, I'm asking for a world of trouble when I do lay out consequences I mean to enforce, because they're going to question those too, with good reason. In a perfect world, consequences would be clear, and ruthlessly enforced, both good and bad. However, sometimes the good consequence can't happen for some reason, and sometimes the bad one was really much too bad, on reflection.

It's important to remember that if you've made an unreasonable threat, or a promise you can't deliver, it is okay to apologize to your child, and explain what happened. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have threatened to throw your Christmas presents into the fire one by one. That would have been crazy. I am not going to do that. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said we could go to Paris for your sweet sixteen. We like making our car payments too much. Etc. It's ok to recover from this by bringing in clarity and honesty, even late. But it's better to keep it simple from the beginning, and not wave around idle threats and bribes.

Eat candy, learn science.

#9. Take your children's social life as your responsibility. 

This is hard. It takes time and driving, and opening your door, and constantly stocking your refrigerator and pantry. It might also take maintaining a pool, having a game room, buying a house with kid hangout spots. Maybe it's going to church when you don't want to. Maybe it's making sure your kid is neck deep in a sport that they love where there are similar obsessed children. You may have to go to ComiCon or host band practice. You may have to finish the basement and then lay in Doritos and Mountain Dew and buy a Playstation. You may have to travel with the volleyball team. You have to pick up and drop off endlessly, and coach a team, and teach a class, you have to fill up your van with children, all the time, and you have to care about those children too, and befriend them. You will be glad to do all of this for your child. Some kids naturally seek and find friends and it all flows easily and you don't really have to do much. Some kids need the help. Take it upon yourself to do this work, and spend this time.

They weren't as close to the precipitous drop as they appear.

#10. Do your best.

There are two parts to this final rule. First, and most importantly, you have to know what your best actually is. Your best won't look the same as any other mother or father's best, and trying to do someone else's best will either disappoint you or break you in half. Maybe your best includes fewer trips and more books. Maybe your best involves less money spent but more play time spent. So you have to experiment, and reflect, and adjust, and figure out with brutal honesty what your best really is. Be serious with yourself, and figure out your limits, and how much you can do and stay healthy and cheerful.

Then do that. All of it. Don't stretch yourself to exhaustion, but go hard. Don't let yourself down by under-performing. In this season of your life, parenting is your most important job. Do it at maximum volume, top speed. Put everything you have into it, and nothing less, ever. One of the biggest reasons to regret what you've done as a parent is the feeling that you haven't done enough. But that finish line is a disappearing target, and we're always reaching for where we could have done more, spent more, etc. Figuring out how you're calibrated is hard, and takes a lot of soul-searching, but it's worth the time. When you figure out how your knobs work, you know what it means to turn them all the way up. And you can't expect yourself to go past that. Even if you're one of the ones that "goes to eleven."

I'm sure I'm forgetting some "rules" I meant to include. As I wrap this up, I find myself wondering what my children will think of this list. Probably, "Mom, you don't follow those rules!" And that's true. I do disappoint myself, and let them down. I fail often, but sometimes then I triumph, and figure something out, and make progress. I take it seriously because I owe it to them and I love them. So here I give you my attempt at a protocol. May it help you a little bit.

How to Tell Toledo From the Night Sky Launch Week

The Norfolk launch party for How to Tell Toledo From the Night Sky was celebrated by a lot of wonderful people at Smartmouth Brewery in Norfolk, hosted by Prince Books. Who could fail to be ecstatically happy when launching a second novel in a cool brewery with a ton of friends?

And then, two days later, I headed to Richmond to read and sign at Fountain Bookstore. Amazingly, Robert Goolrick, bestselling author of A Reliable Wife and Heading Out to Wonderful, joined me for the evening, and read from his brand new novel, Fall of Princes.

Proof of my joy: I'm so blinded by love that I just blogged a photo of me wearing an inflatable robot head. Yes, I'm glad this new novel is out in the world. And I loved launching it in Virginia. 

Pet Black Holes and Book Events

Watch this:




I made these toys.

Some I have already given away. I gave them to bookstores who supported Shine Shine Shine, to bloggers and blurbers, to author friends and others. Some I have yet to give away. How to Tell Toledo From the Night Sky will be launched in an avalanche of small knitted black holes, relentlessly attempting to draw in their companion planets, or your refrigerators, or anything else... ferromagnetic.

One reason I find it hilarious to knit them is because my main character, Irene, would find them so maddening. She's against anthropomorphism of science in any way. Black holes don't "sing" -- that's periodic oscillation. Atoms don't "want" to share electrons. Asteroids don't "lie in wait." She would roll her eyes and snarl at these cute little black holes with eyes. But her love interest, George, would probably hang them from his rear view mirror. So I like that.

How can you get one for yourself?

1. If you live in Western PA, come to Neverending Stories in Franklin on June 25, when I'll be giving away several black holes and planets at this awesome indie bookstore's anniversary party! The other exciting thing about this event is that my publisher has released some early copies of How to Tell Toledo From the Night Sky, which will be available for sale at this event only, one week before its official release.

2. If you live in Norfolk, come to my launch event at Smartmouth Brewery on July 1, hosted by Prince Books. I'll have some to give away there.

3. If you don't live in either of these places, or you don't like to gamble with chance, you can pre-order my novel from Fountain Bookstore in Richmond. Use this link to pre-order. The first 25 customers who pre-order from this independent bookstore will get a black hole and planet along with a signed book.

If you happen to live in Richmond, I am going to be at Fountain Bookstore in Richmond on July 3, reading and signing my new novel, with special guest Robert Goolrick (#1 NYT best-selling author of A Reliable Wife), who will also be reading a sneak peek from his latest book.

There you have it! One new novel, one science concept, three upcoming events with three awesome indie bookstores, and many, many, many small knitted balls. For you.

How to Buy an e-Book from your Local Indie Bookstore

You may have heard the theory, currently being batted about on the internet, that buying books from Amazon will give you fleas, cause your hair to become dull and listless, send nuclear warships to Narnia, and cause the ghost of Charles Dickens to moan and twist on a spit of hot iron.

YES!

Or perhaps you just want to support your local indie bookstore because you like living in a town with lively, colorful storefronts and bustling foot traffic. Maybe you are trying to avoid trudging down silent dusty streets past yawning empty windows as a dry cash register receipt rolls tumbleweed-style past your feet.

No.

Sure you can buy books in paper from bookstores, but maybe you really just want to read on an e-reader, because gadgets are cool, and because you're going to Fiji and you need Thomas Hardy's entire oeuvre (obviously), and luggage is expensive and heavy. And because some books are only available on e-readers! You can't even get them in print if you beg.

Take, for example, my e-novella, Everybody's Baby, which by strange coincidence launched this week! It is only available in e-book. Does this mean that you have to abandon your support of indie bookstores to read it? NO.

Here's the word if you haven't heard: YOU CAN BUY E-BOOKS FROM INDIE BOOKSTORES. You really can. All those sanctimonious asshats in your life who have told you, "You can't have your cake and eat it too," are going to have to put their arched eyebrows on that iron spit with the ghost of Charles Dickens, because you can. You can read e-books every day, and twice on Sunday, and still support your favorite indie store.

Look at this site, for example. It belongs to RiverRun Bookstore in New Hampshire. You can buy e-books from RiverRun that will work on any device except a Kindle. You can get the Blio app and buy Blio books, or you can buy books in an .epub or .pdf format and read them on anything. Confused? They explain it all on their site.

Another way that many bookstores sell e-books is via Kobo. Here's how to navigate that purchase:

Step 1:

If you have a Kobo e-reader, you're all ready for step 2. If you don't, you can get the Kobo app for your iPad or iPhone, Android phone, desktop, laptop, or the digital display on the handle of your light saber. This page from Kobo will help you get that all set up and installed. Don't quit if you don't have a Kobo device -- you don't need one!

Step 2: 

Go to your local indie's web page. Let's choose my local indie, Prince Books, as a demonstration.

In the left margin, you'll see the Kobo logo. Looks like this:

or like this:

It might not be in the left margin -- Quail Ridge has it down on the bottom of the page. But under or near that logo is a search bar. Type in my name, and you'll get a list of my books available on Kobo. Notice you can get Shine Shine Shine in Hungarian, if you need it. If you really need it. 

Locate Everybody's Baby (oh my gosh, it's only $2.99?) and click on the link to Buy Ebook Now. Your cursor will not turn into a hand, but it is still a link! Click it, and you'll see. Amazon doesn't even know you're doing it. Amazon is totally uninvolved with this whole process. Amazon is probably washing its socks right now, completely oblivious.

Step 3:

When you get to the Kobo website, you'll see a banner across the top that says something "Welcome Prince Books Customers" or "Welcome Mysterious Galaxy Customers" or whatever, with the red "i" that is the IndieBound logo. See? It's working. Now when you buy this book, it will automatically sync to your reader, or your device with the app installed, or your desktop, or wherever you've stashed your Kobo app.

DONE! Read on.

My Stop on the Writing Process Blog Tour

Last stop, Abrams. This stop, Netzer. Everybody out.

If the writing process blog tour were an actual tour bus, then you would have just visited author David Abrams' blog, The Quivering Pen, to read about the writing process that brought us his first novel, NYT Notable Book, nominee for the LA Times Book prize, and one of my favorite books of 2012, Fobbit. You'd get off the bus here at my blog, and a small, hopeless red-headed child would hand you a map of the area, including the Slough of Neverdoingthisagain, the Mountains of Insurmountable Incongruity, and the Forest of Dithering Confusion. You'd be able to sign up for the Long Car Trip of Sudden Illumination and the Weekend Retreat of Urgent Sex Scene Production. And you'd be issued a black cardigan, cargo pants eight sizes too big for you, and a hair clippy to keep you from going crazy on your tour.

Lucky for you, it's just me answering some questions, meme-style. Everyone's got to answer the same questions, so here we go:

1. What are you working on?

I just finished writing my e-novella Everybody's Baby, which is about 50K words, and took six months to write from start to finish. This was a balls-to-the-wall effort in terms of daily production. After that was turned in, I spent some time trying to locate my children and force-march them through the remainder of the year's homeschooling for their respective grades (4th and 8th), and locate my floors, my hampers, my cabinets, the mulch in the flower beds. Still working on my sanity. It's sent a postcard. I have hopes.

Now that the systems are somewhat restored to balance, I've turned to my actual work-in-progress, which is another novel. It's about incorrigible firesetters, roller coasters (actual ones), and Melville's lost novel. Honestly it's about that moment of irrevocable change -- that second you hang before tipping over the top of a roller coaster, that second before a match flares, that moment when you change the course of your life forever. I'm interested in what that is -- resolve? fate? chance? will? -- and I'm hoping the novel will help me figure that out.

2. How does your work differ from others of its genre? 

I don't know what my genre is actually called, but I'm pretty sure that it's full to the brim with love stories about science, motherhood, sex, and death. And I'm very proud to be completely typical in that literary realm.

3. Why do you write what you do?

I write to make happy endings for my characters, to fix their terrible lives. I layer stuff around them - plot, science, surrealism, voices - until the book says what I want it to say. But the central motivation for writing is to find the way through, for these people, and get them out the other side. This is why I return to old half-finished novels. I feel like I need to resolve things for the characters. There's a book I've been working on for ten years now, and in the last draft I wrote, I stopped when these two main characters, sisters, were out in the woods experiencing something absolutely horrible. I stopped, and left them there, because I had to go work on something else. But I know I will get them out of that situation eventually. That's why I have to go back to that novel.

4. What is your writing process like?

The first draft of a novel comes out in fits and restarts. I often write 20K or 30K words of a novel, abandon it for a year, come back to it and start over, sometimes with major changes. When I feel like I'm writing the book correctly, I can work my way through to a full draft, but it might take years to get that kind of traction. And even then, after the draft has cooled off and I come back to it, I may need to start over. While I am writing a book this way, I keep a notebook of ideas, character quotes, concepts for scenes, etc. so I don't lose track of my thoughts if I go for years between drafts. With Shine Shine Shine, it took 10 years to get to a point where I could show it to an agent and feel done.

A page from my How to Tell Toledo From the Night Sky notebook.

With How to Tell Toledo From the Night Sky, my new novel that's launching July 1, it took a little less time. I wrote it for the first time in 2004 as a horrible little hyper-controlled manuscript with no dialogue. I came back to it in 2007 and wrote it as a screenplay -- all dialogue. Then I revisited the story and characters a third time in 2012, this time writing a full draft of the actual novel that became the published final draft. There are elements, in the published book, of both those earlier attempts, but most of those things have been wiped away.

I do not recommend my process.

Your next stop on the tour might be one of these wonderful writers I'm tagging now:

Susan Woodring is the author of Goliath and Springtime on Mars.

Michele Young-Stone is the author of The Handbook for Lightning Strike Survivors and Above Us Only Sky.

Joshilyn Jackson is the author of gods in Alabama, The Girl Who Stopped Swimming, and her most recent, Someone Else's Love Story.

Write Your Rock 'N' Roll While You Are Young: An Old-Testament-Style Exhortation

O my daughter, write all your rock ‘n’ roll while you are young.

My kid. This exhortation is for her in 10 years.

Rage, scream, pierce, sulk, defy. I give my blessing for your worst tattoos. I want you to grab the microphone and screech into it. Wear pants that are too tight. Stomp around. Growl at people.

You will never be so safe and free as you are right now. And it is only from this wealth of safety that you can so blithely growl. It is only from the peace of your perfect, unspoiled life that you can stand there, razor-sharp. You can criticize me and everything I stand for. I’m so glad you are that safe.

Change the world. Why not? Defy me to change the world. Get in my face. Write a manifesto.

I remember standing on the basement stairs in the house where I grew up, and my mother was unloading the washing machine. I was challenging her about the morality of the death penalty, not because she disagreed with me, but because she agreed, and that maddened me the more. “If you believe in change, then why don’t you do something about it?” I raged at her. And she stood there, with my clean underwear in her hand. I was so disgusted by her complacency.

Kid, hate me hard while you can. As long as you hate me, you can’t miss me. As long as you are repulsed by my life choices, you can not imagine what it will be like to lose me. I want to be here for you, stupidly steadfast, boring you to death for all your life. I dread the moment when you look at me and realize I will die. Because I know in that moment you will become a little bit quiet and a little bit afraid. Why should you be afraid now? You are so young, no one you need can ever die. It is unthinkable.

So now, write all that brave material that only you can write, sing the songs that that only you can sing, tear down the edifices that only you can muster the sufficient angst to bring yourself to hate. Now while you have not seen sorrow or felt pain, while you are still self-righteous enough to muster indignation. Do it for me, your mother who has been scared stiff.

Me, when I was 19. I knew everything, so it was a good time to be loud.

I remember writing political songs and singing them loudly in public spaces. I said a lot of brazen things. I used the word “America” in songs with a “message.” I stuck my head up high, as high as I could get it, and yelled about indignities and injustice. I hope you do that. I will listen.

O my children, I used to have balls. Balls no more. And the saddest thing is -- it didn’t even take that much to stomp it out of me. I went down hard with a few deaths, some sadness, a little madness. Used to be, the threat of consequences made me laugh. Now, consequences terrify me -- imagined, real, inevitable, yours, mine. I am rigid with it. Put a guitar in my hand, and it cracks.

Because I’m afraid now, I’m quiet. A microphone? Outrage? The stage? It takes everything I have to say anything at all, even in a small voice. It takes everything I have to crawl out from under the bed and say “I’m still here.”

But I want to listen to all your songs, especially the loud ones, the angry ones, the ones that stand outside of memory, that pay no attention to history or the inevitable repetition thereof. I’ll clap. I’ll yell. I’ll be like “That’s my kid! The ignorant one! Look at her! She’s so amazing!”

I am not saying this in scorn and I’m not scoffing at you. I really would love for you to stay like this forever. Just as hot. Just as ignorant. To be able to write that rock ‘n’ roll all your life. To speak for 20-year-olds and to 20-year-olds. Stay so perfect and unassailable and so convinced of your own idea and so untroubled by the weight and the stickiness of reality.

I earnestly hope for you that you will never be able to write anything that is at all relevant to an adult audience. But the world is probably not going to treat us that way.

Me at 40. Acquainted with fear.

I write this to you because I know that time is short. While my hope for you is that you never outgrow your ragged edge, I know you will. You will not be one of those people who still jingle and rage and thrash around when you’re my age. Your heart will break and shatter, and the things that charm you now will not be interesting. You will no longer be able to fit yourself into a mob. You will not be able to be reckless.

I know this because of myself, but also because of you.

Growing up is a trade. You trade in your rock ‘n’ roll but you will get your own spouse, your own children. You will trade in your white water rapids and get a riverbed so deep, a surface so flat, it reflects the sky. I see that in you already. Your time to scream and rage is going to be short. So don’t miss it. Life is a good trade, but you don’t have to make it yet.

When I say “Stop!” to you, understand that it’s what I have to say, and know that it’s your job not to listen. Press on. Do stupid things. Don’t tell me about them. It’s okay, you will live. Don’t worry about who’s listening, or what people will think, or what adults will say. Find friends that really get you and let them become very important. Drive around and do dangerous things and don’t tell me where you are. Tell me, “I’m fine!” and “Back soon!” and “I love you!” Don’t ask my permission, worry about my feelings, bow to my judgment. I’m only your mother. I love you, but I really don’t know anything.

Me at 18. Fearless. About to write a manifesto.

This is twenty year old me that was, writing to twenty year old you that will be: Write your rock ‘n’ roll this year. Set fires you don’t know whether you can put out. Forty year old me can’t tell ten year old you the things that I have done. The bottles smashed, the boys kissed, the cliffs hung from, the trains caught, the words screamed, the people hurt, the ropes cut. I can’t tell you about that because forty year old me is contractually obligated as your mother to hold up a stop sign and say “No more piercings. Home by ten. I want to meet his parents. Call me when you get there or your phone’s confiscated.” That’s my job. And that’s what means that you are safe enough to ignore every one of those restraints and write your rock ‘n’ roll and dangle yourself over those cliffs.

O my children, do the things that can’t be undone. Do the brave, stupid, wild things. Do everything that doesn’t make you die. Write your rock ‘n’ roll while you are young. Time is flying, don’t I know it? But no, this is not a suicide note. I’m happy! To my surprise, at this age it only takes a metal watering can covered in red enamel, with a big brass spout. And to make me whimper, it only takes a truck in an oncoming lane with overly bright lights. I’m not strong anymore. I’m not like you are. But I’m glad I was. Now I write books about it.

Where will you be when you sit down to write your books? When you settle into your deep riverbed? I hope you are panting, and tired, and worn, and I hope you come to your senses smiling and crying and barely holding yourself together. It’s one youth you have. Make much of it. With your warm blood, rock. With your new eyes, roll. When you tell your daughter how you put it all away, give her something to remember.

Everybody's Baby, an Original E-Novella about Love, Motherhood, and Kickstarter

Last fall, I had a crazy idea for a story.

What if a young, tech-forward couple funded their in vitro fertilization on Kickstarter, and then sold perks to donors -- perks like naming the baby and cutting the cord? Technology, love, parenthood -- in a weird way the idea was right in my literary lane. I got excited.

I was deep in another novel, but I decided to try writing this Kickstarter story, to see where it went. Twenty-thousand words later, I was in love with the characters, their heir love story, and the story of how they became parents. I brought it to my agent and then to my editor.

They thought it was a great idea! We came up with a title: Everybody's Baby. We worked in some plot twists, some new scenes, new characters, and started planning how we could best deliver this book to readers.

The most interesting thing about the project is that it is so very now, a snapshot of life on the internet the way it is right this very moment -- it's about Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, Pinterest, even Get Off My Internets and Jezebel, and of course Kickstarter. Putting this book on the schedule for publication in 2016 or even 2015 meant that it would be less current, and possibly even completely irrelevant, by the time it came out -- a dilemma unique to our high tech world, and as it happens one that could be solved by technology as well. The wonderful people at St. Martin's Press came up with the idea to release this story as a novella, direct to e-readers, which would allow us to bring it out before my second book, which is due out in July.

I am thrilled to announce that my original e-novella, Everybody's Baby, will be published by St. Martin's Press on June 3, 2014 (in two months!) and that it will be available in every format imaginable! There are links below to pre-order. I hope you do!

Here is the catalog copy, to tell you a bit more about the plot:

Jenna and Billy are in love.  He's an app developer, a hyper-plugged-in citizen of the internet, with a big Scottish family and winning smile.  She is a yoga teacher, tuned in to the vibes of the spiritual universe, who was abandoned by her mother as an infant and orphaned by her father's recent death.  When they meet, it's electric, and it is no time before they are married and eager to start their own family.  But when they can't get pregnant, Billy devises a plan:  they would raise funds for their in vitro fertilization on Kickstarter, offering donor perks like cutting the cord, naming the baby, and catching the baby when it takes its first steps.

The good news is that they make their fundraising goal, get pregnant and have a baby! The bad news is that their marriage begins to fall apart when they have to deliver on all those perks. It’s hard enough to survive delivering a baby without a performance artist making a documentary of the cord cutting. It’s difficult enough to get baby to sit up and smile for a six month portrait without a local politician taking up half the lens. What does it mean to be owned by the internet? Everybody's Baby explores how relationships grow and fail in public and private life, the hazards of living “in the cloud,” and the nature of love online and off. 

I'm so excited about this story you might even convince me to come and tell it to you in interpretive dance, but for all of us it might be easier to if you pre-order it at one of the following retail links:

Kobo

Amazon

eBooks.com

Barnes & Noble
Google Play
Apple iTunes

The great news is that due to the wonder of apps, you can buy this book for your Android, iPhone, or whatever, and even support local bookstores like Fountain Bookstore in Richmond or Prince Books in Norfolk by using their links to buy via Kobo. Got your own favorite indie? Use their domain.com/ebook/9781466867840 and see what that does for you.

I hope you enjoy this new story. I can't wait for you to read it.

10 Other Places Besides Amtrak That Should Give Writers Residencies

Inspired by Amtrak's round-trip writers residency on a train, and Sally Kilpatrick's recent adventure to Staples, where she wrote 1000 words while trying out office furniture, I present ten more places that should give residencies to writers:

1. That boxcar from Dexter. 

Photo: Håkan Dahlström - http://www.flickr.com/photos/dahlstroms/

People are turning shipping containers into all kinds of things -- energy-efficient office spaces, homes... sometimes they are even used to ship things. But I'm envisioning a residency experience where you sit in a boxcar, up to your ankles in the blood of your relatives, and the only way to get out is to finish your draft. Looking at the photo above, I'm envisioning a group writing retreat. I'll take the orange one.

2. The ISS.

Photo: nasa.gov

Sorry, children, I can't get you that thing you need from the kitchen because I AM IN SPACE. Also, I accidentally left my phone on Earth, and I'm not going to the grocery store for 6 months. Bye.

3. IKEA

Come and work in the best organized office/pantry/closet ever. Eat many meatballs. Toss plateware of sparse design at curious shoppers.

Photo: IKEA

4. Wonderland

Photo: Reuters/David Grey

Remember that weird abandoned-before-launch amusement park in China? I know I could write a kick-ass book here. But I'll need fog. Lots of fog. I think if writers took this place over, like a pack of feral cats, with laptops and gin, we could probably revolutionize literature. I mean, if I try to write a sentence explaining how this place is a metaphor for...


5. My Bathtub

Photo: clawfoot.com

I have an old, huge, claw-foot tub. This isn't it, because that would be weird. But believe me: it's grand. When my friend Veronica saw it, she said: "That's a suicide tub." I might have already put that in a novel, but that just shows how inspiring this tub is. When I'm stuck on a plot point, I go boil myself in this tub, read 19th century fiction, and the answer comes to me. It would be a great place for a writer's residency, if I weren't such an uncharitable, self-centered person.

6. The Pit Under Jiffy Lube, Where They Do the Oil Changes

Maybe I just want to go down there. I'm pretty convinced it's a whole other world, one I will someday descend into on a greasy rope, laptop under my arm, and write 5000 novels while goblins march by on whispering missions.

Photo: Youtube user j1300

7. The Dressing Pods at Bloomingdale's Concept Store

Here white, glowing pods descend on you and your laptop from the ceiling, and cannot be lifted until you are writing-satiated. They're meant to be retractable dressing rooms that turn into lanterns, but you can pretend you're inside the brain of an insect from the future, and use the privacy to change short stories instead of pants.

Photo: Grey Crawford

8. The One Stall with a Door in the Women's Prison on Orange is the New Black

The urgency. The laser focus. You are not going to dick around on Twitter when you should be writing, if there's an angry woman outside your door yelling "PINCH OFF THAT SCENE, BITCH."

Photo: Alison Wright

9. The Waiting Room at Someone Else's Therapist's Office

Photo: http://www.wellness-centre.co.uk/

If you've ever taken someone else to their therapy appointment, you understand the sweet sanctuary of sitting in the waiting room, waiting for them to be done. You know exactly how long you have, you're responsible for absolutely nothing else during that time, and you forgot the wifi password, if there ever was one. There's a pleasant swirl of mild insanity infusing the room, giving you interesting ideas for your book. And there's also that confidence that comes with the satisfying knowledge that today you're not the crazy one, you're the driver. Fully capable of writing solid, reasonable novels that wise, sane people will find full of value and delight.

10. The Overlook Hotel

Photo: The Shining

Ok, screw being the driver. What I wouldn't give to sit down right now at that old typewriter, smoke one of those old cigarettes, and hurl my crumpled up manuscript pages at somebody's skinny wife and satanic kid. And of course the best thing about the Hotel Overlook as a gathering point for writers is not the demonic possession or the underage apparitions. It's the bar!