Truth and Darkness

As you probably know (or you should by now, anyway), I write crime fiction, mostly YA suspense. My stories tend to be dark, a little gritty, and sometimes a little unconventional. Which makes it hard to find an agent, or editor, who will take a chance on my work. "Too dark," I hear a lot. "Why do go from the past to the future?"

Here's why: because I like it that way. There.

Of course, I know all about the conventions in fiction, in YA, and in mysteries. No killing off little kids, for one. Can't be too depressing. And I try to fit in, write to fit those conventions, at least some of the time.

Anyway, to get to my point (I do have one, in case you were wondering): a writer friend suggested I read R.A. Nelson's books, knowing I write YA Suspense. So I picked up Breathe my Name. The title was promising, so I started to read with optimism.

The book is Frances Robinson's story, a girl with a dark past. Her mother suffocated her three younger sisters, with Frances as the only one who got away. Years later, Francis lives with her foster family when her mother gets out of the mental institution. And Frances worries, and we worry right along with her as the mystery unfolds.

R.A. Nelson goes between today, when Frances is trying to figure out if her mother is trying to find her to finish what she started, and the past, leading up to those heart-wrenching deaths. So there's your switching between present and future--and R.A. Nelson does it beautifully. There are dead little kids, crazy parents, and the story is pretty dang tragic. All rules that we're not supposed to break. But Nelson does it with such class and finesse, I have to tip my hat.

People ask me sometimes: why the dark stories? Usually they follow up with: but you look so nice. I like these stories, as a reader and a writer, because they show the truth. There is no better time to show what a person is really about, then to put them in an extreme crisis. There is truth in that darkness.

Not that us gloomy writers don't know how to have a happy ending. Because it's always darkest before dawn, right?

Grumpy

I've been fighting a bad mood for over week now. I'm hustling work, kids, house, and migraines--which only leads to more migraines. And grumpiness.

I tried to cheer myself up by planting colorful annuals in the yard. No luck on busting grumpy streak. I bought chocolate. Still grumpy. Read a good book, but mood was not lifted. Good music, nuhuh, still cranky.

I guess sometimes you just gotta go with your inner grump.

Who's your audience?

After waiting my turn at my local redbox vending machine, I finally got a hold of Marley and Me. The kids had been wanting to see this one, so we settled in with our snacks and drinks for a nice family movie night. They're my favorite pastime, btw.

On a side note: I had asked one of my mommy friends what she thought of the movie, if it seemed okay for my kids' age (6 and 9). "It was good," she said. Then she lowered her voice. "But they do say 'crap' in it." I resisted the urge to laugh at this comment (we use bigger words than crap in my house--accidentally, I assure you), and made a note to rent the movie soon.

So we watched Marley and Me, expecting a nice family movie with a dog in it. And it was a really good movie. With a dog. Oh, and a few kids, as very minor characters. Because the main character, the one whose story we were watching, was a grown man (played by funny Owen Wilson), trying to figure out who he was.

THIS WAS NOT A CHILDREN'S MOVIE. And I'm not referring to the language, or the many sexual insinuations (and a miscarriage--really, 'crap' was the most inappropriate part of this movie to you?) in the story. I'm referring to the fact that this was a story only people over 30 could appreciate.

Now I'll admit, I never read the book (shame on me). But this movie was marketed as a kid's movie. And we all know why. It makes money that way. Very, very dishonest use of marketing.

Still, if you're over 30, enjoy this movie (with a big box of tissues, 'cause it's a whopper of a tearjerker). The dog is adorable.

The Perfect Snack

I love to snack, especially when reading or writing. Usually they're M&Ms, or some other snack of the chocolate variety--but a few weeks ago, I accidentally made these really, really good oatmeal cookies. People loved me, or hated me ("Are you trying to make me fat?") for sharing them. But I thought I should give out the recipe, 'cause these cookies really rock.

Rockin' Oatmeal Cookies (this recipe makes about 3 dozen cookies)

1. Preheat your oven to 350 degrees
2. Mix 2 sticks of soft butter with 1 cup of regular sugar, and 1 cup of brown sugar
3. Add 2 teaspoons of vanilla extract and 2 eggs (use a mixer, if you have one, or a fork)
4. Slowly mix in 2 teaspoons of cinnamon, and 2 1/2 cups of self-rising flour (if you don't live at high altitude, make that 2 cups)
5. Taste the dough. It's really good.
6. Finally, add 3 cups of old-school oatmeal, and 2 cups of raisins. You can add nuts too, if you're into that--me, not so much.
7. Bake for 16 minutes on a waxpaper-lined cookie sheet. While you wait, you can practice how you'll respond to all the praise you'll get ("It was nothing, really." Or: "I just whipped these up." Or, "Really, I should be a chef?")
8. Eat cookies. Share if you must.

Gentlemen

When I was still in my teens, I had a few boyfriends before I found my guy-for-life. And I still remember what my grandma used to say, after asking me about the latest. "As long as he's nice to you."

Truer words were never spoken. I was lucky enough to find my gentleman, and have been married to him for fifteen years.

But I still remember how blurry that dating time was. How difficult it was to define that "nice," and how blurry the line to "not nice."

On Alice's CWIM blog, guest-blogger Sarah Raasch has some incredibly smart things to say about Twilight, and what a bad example beloved Edward is: emotionally abusive, controlling, with stalker-qualities. Ugh. I know what my grandma would say about that guy.

Which brings me to this question: what responsibility does the writer have in the message of their books? Especially in YA...

Is it okay for girls to aspire to this Edward-type boyfriend?

Bonechiller

Second books are always interesting. Sometimes, an author had lots (and lots and loooots) of time to work on their debut. The author polished. Revised. Had their critique group look at it once, twice--you get the idea. First books are honed. Second books... not so much.

So I loved Graham McNamee's Acceleration, which won an Edgar (read it if you haven't; it's good.) And I checked to see if he had other books out, which he didn't at the time, because that was his debut.

Anyway, I was very excited to get my hands on Bonechiller, his second book. But then I read a few pages, and it just didn't grab me like his debut. Dammit, I thought. There's another one of those sorry seconds.

But I kept reading. This was Graham McNamee, after all. Give it a chance. Plus the novel is set in a chilly, remote part of Canada, which reminded me of North Dakota (where I lived for two years.) So I read. And then I was hooked. Slowly...

Much like the monster that chases Danny one freezing night. First, he wonders if he made the whole thing up, but then he finds that more teens in the Harvest Cove area have been disappearing on cold winter nights. And when his friend Howie gets taken too, Danny, Howie, Pike, and Ash (who Danny has a thing for) decide to chase the monster instead of being chased.

Bonechiller is a bit of a slow start. But then you start to feel for Danny, whose mother died of cancer, and his friends, who completely come to life. The book has some folklore in it, a great setting, and lots of undercurrents--if you give it a chance.

And you should. This one's worth it.

Home

I'm back from vacation, and I can't say I'm loving it. Lots of work, broken vacuum cleaner, clogged kitchen sink (tip: no noodles down the garbage disposal...), broken phone and a blizzard on the drive home.

Sigh. At least I got to smell some daffodils, eat good Dutch cheese, and enjoy my dad's cheffing talent. I miss Holland. But I also missed my home here in the States. My cats, dog and Tivo.

It ain't easy being a dual citizen.