The Divining Wand

[In mid-January The Divining Wand had the pleasure of featuring Sarah McCoy (The Time It Snowed in Puerto Rico) a week before the release of her second novel The Baker's Daughter and before her hectic book tour. Although much was learned about the author in The Revealing of Sarah McCoy, the true core of Sarah's heart and personality shines through in today's guest post.]

It may surprise some to learn that for a greater portion of my childhood, I was a desperately shrinking violet. I hid behind my mother’s skirt at church, fretted over attending schoolmate’s birthday parties, took my Christmas presents to the farthest corner of the room to unwrap at family gatherings. Social settings made me anxious.

My mom, an elementary school teacher, administered the Myers-Briggs exam, which I was more than happy to do alone at the kitchen table. To no surprise, I scored on the far side of Introversion. I wasn’t much of a talker, but that didn’t mean I didn’t have plenty to say. I felt things— deeply. Some days I thought I might burst with glee or sadness, pride or shame, love or hate. But spoken words were never my thing. They spilled out too fast, too haphazardly, out of control with my tongue in the way. In addition, I had something of a temper. We jokingly credit my Puerto Rican-Irish heritage, which may have doomed me from the start. Where some might’ve erupted in a cathartic purging of whatever it was that weighted their spirit, I imploded, burning with tears I found hard to fully express. For years, I felt as if my mind were a great torture chamber—a water tank of emotions, only I was no Houdini.

All of that changed the day my mom put a blank page on the table and handed me a pencil with the instructions, “Write it down, Sarah. Write down what you’re feeling.”

I can still vividly see that clean, white paper and smell the newly sharpened pencil shavings.

Write it down. Write anything I wanted? I thought it might be a trick, so I wrote the word we weren’t allowed to use in the house. “I hate…” I pushed so hard on the page that the letters appeared debossed. Then I stopped to think about it. Did I really ‘hate’ or was it something else—anxiety, frustration, suffocation. I couldn’t put an exact finger to my feeling, but I knew I’d written hate just to test the page, to say what I was forbidden to speak and see how it felt. I didn’t like it.

I flipped my pencil and erased. Gone. You couldn’t do that with spoken word. Once out, it blistered reality like a smoldering match head against skin. But writing allowed me time, space, a chance to express and reexamine, to create and mold until my feelings showed themselves true.

I began again: “Once a girl named Clara lived in a little house in the dark forest…” I wrote a story, and by the end was unburdened, lighter, and eager to share what I’d written with my mom, dad, and family so they would know how I felt. So they could understand that I wasn’t mad at them. I was just this—there—in the story. I’d discovered the key to unlocking myself.

Why do I write, you ask?

Because even now, in my thirties and married, the pen is still my key. It’s the only way I know to open. I write about the things that keep me up at night. The emotions that feel so large and consuming that if I don’t write them down, I might burst. Yes, I’m no longer the shy girl. I’m comfortable speaking about my feelings and opinions; but 99 percent of the time, I’ve already written them out in my journal or my stories. I write to understand my world. I write to connect with people. I write to find and express my truth.

Sarah McCoy is the author of THE BAKER’S DAUGHTER and THE TIME IT SNOWED IN PUERTO RICO. THE BAKER’S DAUGHTER was praised as a “beautiful heart-breaking gem of a novel” by Tatiana de Rosnay and a “thoughtful reading experience indeed” by Chris Bohjalian. It is a Doubleday/Literary Guild Book Club selection. Sarah has taught writing at Old Dominion University and at the University of Texas at El Paso. The daughter of an army officer, her family was stationed in Germany during her childhood. She currently lives with her husband and dog, Gilbert, in El Paso, Texas, where she is working on her next novel.

Join Sarah on Goodreads, follow her on Twitter, and become a friend/fan on Facebook.

Book Giveaway: The Divining Wand is giving away one copy of Drifting House by Krys Lee — in a random drawing — to anyone who leaves a comment on the post, What and Why Krys Lee Writes by 8:59 p.m. EDT tonight! The winner will be announced here tomorrow.

[In The Revealing of Sarah Pinneo, Sarah (The Ski House Cookbook) -- debut fiction author of Julia's Child -- explained that her greatest fear(s) "will eventually become the basis for a novel."

Is that the reason Sarah writes? Well, in today's guest post, the novelist describes working out fears and much more. Enjoy!]

Writing appeals to me because it is the Rumpelstiltskin career: you spin gold from straw. Before I became a full-time writer, I worked on Wall Street, where investment was everything. Capital and money were always necessary to achieve anything.

With writing, everyone starts with the same thing: a blank page. It’s the ultimate meritocracy.

That said, I have a weakness for beautiful notebooks. I love crisp covers and tightly ruled pages, blank with expectation. I love pens which flow smoothly, and I prefer blue ink to black. I’d rather look at pens and paper than at designer shoes.

However, pretty paper is only a distraction. I might as well write on old grocery bags, as the result would probably be equivalent. The blank page is intimidating, but it’s also universal. Every book starts with one, and I don’t expect mine to be any different.

Also, I write because it’s the best way I know to work out problems. I wrote Julia’s Child because I wanted to make sense of all the noisy voices arguing about food and parenting. They surrounded me. By assigning their arguments to characters in my novel, I was able to have fun with a discourse that might, on another day, have caused me anxiety.

When I was a little girl my music teacher father used to direct a high school marching band.
He liked the music, but he didn’t enjoy the fact that he was expected to choreograph the band members marching around on the field at half time. He had a set of pawns that he’d made himself, from balsa wood. He would sit at the kitchen table–one pawn for each band member–and arrange them into formations.

That’s what I do when I’m putting together a story. I don’t literally move pawns around, but it’s effectively the same exercise. My father also used to curse at the pawns. The clearest memory I have of this exercise is how frustrated he became trying to form shapes and have everything come out even.

Novels and marching bands, unlike real life, usually have to come out even. It doesn’t always go well. But I’m so lucky to be able to try.

Book Giveaway: The Divining Wand is giving away one copy of Julia’s Child by Sarah Pinneo — in a random drawing — to anyone who leaves a comment on this post by 8:59 p.m. EST tonight! The winner will be announced here tomorrow.

[Introduced in the post, Picture the Book: MWF Seeking BFF: My Year Long Search for a New Best Friend, relocated Chicago writer/editor Rachel Bertsche chronicled her search for a new, "closer in proximity" friend in MWF Seeking BFF: My Year Long Search for a New Best Friend. Due to email snafus, Rachel's Q&A was MIA but can now be presented along with her guest post on why she writes. Yes, a double post plus a Book Giveaway and now, without further ado, here's Rachel.]

Although Rachel Bertsche’s quest for a best friend in her new home of Chicago was personal, the author focused on a dilemma that have many searching for a new and/or another best friend.

Let’s meet this debut author through her “official” bio:

Rachel Bertsche is an author, journalist and editor in Chicago, where she lives with her husband. Her work has appeared in O, The Oprah Magazine, Marie Claire, More, Teen Vogue, Seventeen, Every Day with Rachael Ray, Fitness, Women’s Health, New York, Huffington Post, CNN.com, and more. Prior to leaving the office life for the comforts of working from home (and in her pajamas), Rachel was a producer for Oprah.com and an editor at O, The Oprah Magazine.

And now it’s time to get to really know Rachel, quite possibly even better than some of her “trial” BFF.

Q. How would you describe your life in 8 words?
A. I am at my happiest right about now.

Q. What is your motto or maxim?
A. Do one thing at a time. (Or try, at least.)

Q. How would you describe perfect happiness?
A. I’m not sure there is such a thing as perfect happiness. To me, happiness is happiness. It looks and feels different for everyone. I don’t think one type of happiness is better than another. Even in my own life, I could have two relal happy days, but they might be totally different. Maybe happiness is like porn: You know it when you see it.

Q. What’s your greatest fear?
A. Losing loved ones.

Q. If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you choose to be?
A. Is it so lame to say right here, where I am… which is on my couch? Yes? Ok, Sicily.

Q. With whom in history do you most identify?
A. I want to say someone super cool like Annie Oakley, but that would be a real stretch. The truth is I have no idea. I guess I feel like so many people in history went through so much so that people like me could be where we are today. So I don’t identify as much as feel really grateful.

Q. Which living person do you most admire?
A. Michelle Obama is pretty amazing.

Q. What are your most overused words or phrases?
A. When it comes to speaking: “Literally.” In my writing: “just.”

Q. If you could acquire any talent, what would it be?
A. To dance!

Q. What is your greatest achievement?
A. MWF Seeking BFF. That I wrote a book at all still amazes me. That I wrote one that someone agreed to publish, and that enough people read to make it a bestseller…I’m still pinching myself.

Q. What’s your greatest flaw?
A. I’m so impatient.

Q. What’s your best quality?
A. Don’t take myself too seriously.

Q. What do you regret most?
A. Any days I should have spent with my father and didn’t.

Q. If you could be any person or thing, who or what would it be?
A. JK Rowling. I just want to know—for one day!—what it would be like to walk around with that kind of imagination.

Q. What trait is most noticeable about you?
A. My curly hair.

Q. Who is your favorite fictional hero?
A. Neville Longbottom

Q. Who is your favorite fictional villain?
A. A tie! Ed Rooney (Ferris Bueller’s Day Off) and Regina George (Mean Girls)

Q. If you could meet any athlete, who would it be and what would you say to him or her?
A. Michael Jordan. I’d say: “You are awesome! Also, my husband wore Air Jordans to our wedding.” Or maybe Sheryl Swoopes or Rebecca Lobo or Hope Solo. Those female athletes who have left me in awe over the years. I’d tell them that they inspire me. That when I watched them play when I was a kid (or with Hope Solo, even as an adult) I felt like I, too, could kick some ass.

Q. What is your biggest pet peeve?
A. The sound of cardboard rubbing together. Ugh.

Q. What is your favorite occupation, when you’re not writing?
A. That’s the only occupation, in some form or another, that I’ve ever had! To say editor would probably be a copout, but it’s true.

Q. What’s your fantasy profession?
A. Oh there are so many: Yoga teacher. Bookstore owner. Book editor. Pop culturist (not an actual profession, but I’d like to turn it into one). Ballerina.

Q. What 3 personal qualities are most important to you?
A. Sense of humor, kindness, intelligence.

Q. If you could eat only one thing for the rest of your days, what would it be?
A. If calories didn’t count? French fries. Otherwise, um, still french fries.

Q. What are your 5 favorite songs?
A. Trick question! Depends on the day. If you looked at my ipod now you’d think I only listen to Glee. I’m that person who no matter what song comes on, I say “ohmygosh this is my favorite song!”

Q. What are your 5 favorite books of all time?
A. The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien, Harry Potter series (counting the whole series as one but if I have to choose I guess Prisoner of Azkaban is my favorite since that’s when the whole series changed for me), Little Women, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer, Zeitoun by Dave Eggers. (Honorary mentions to A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving and AJ Jacobs’ books)

[ In Seré Prince Halverson's revealing Q&A, the debut author of The Underside of Joy claimed: "I became a writer because I loved to write, and I was blessed with an utter lack of any other talent."

Today, the author digs even deeper and shares precisely why she writes. ]

This question, Why do I write?, comes to me about a month after my debut novel, The Underside of Joy, was published and about twenty years after I began writing my first novel.

No, that is not a typo. That “twenty” should not have been a “two.” Although, believe me, for many years, I thought it should have been.

So if it took me twenty years to get published, you might—quite understandably—get the impression that I was a terrible writer who had no business trying to write a novel, or that I must have been playing at writing and not really working that hard at it. Or that I simply had really rotten luck.

It’s true that my writing has improved over the years, but looking back at my earlier efforts, I don’t immediately cringe or race to throw all of them into the woodstove. Before I began my first novel, I had been taking workshops and writing short stories and studying craft. I was serious about this writing thing. I got feedback from professional writers who both praised my efforts and made valuable suggestions. I subscribed to Poets & Writers and literary magazines. I read books upon books. My boys were three and six years old at the time, and I began getting up at 4:30 in the morning so I could write before their little pajama-clad feet hit the ground running.

At that time, literary magazines frowned upon simultaneous submissions, and so I mailed my short story manuscripts out one by one (in stamped manila envelopes and SASEs for return, if you’re old enough to remember those), waiting months and months before I received another rejection letter. I remember when C. Michael Curtis, the fiction editor at Atlantic Monthly, wrote me a note on a rejection slip, and I jumped around the house in glee. My first husband said, “But I thought it was a rejection.” And I said, “It is, it is! But he wrote me a note!”

I kept on writing in the wee hours of morning, through the rejections and a divorce, years as a single mom, a long-distance relationship, another marriage with two young stepdaughters—as my sons’ little pajama-clad feet grew into size thirteen basketball shoes and football cleats and a couple of smaller, daintier feet donning tap and soccer shoes joined them.

There had been one awful, very long dry spell, during and after my divorce, when I didn’t write fiction, but I kept a journal. There were times when my novel sat on the back burner simmering while I met advertising copywriting deadlines, but I’d still scribble notes about characters or plot as I tried to focus on writing a headline or tagline. I wrote three and a half novels. I got my first agent. I spoke to editors interested in my work. I had a lot of very close calls. But still, no one said Yes.

And yet, I still said yes to writing. Why?

Why do I write? Do I write so I can have my work published? Of course I wanted to be published, but if that were the primary reason, I suppose I would have quit writing years ago. Is it beyond gratifying to have my work out in the world, to receive notes from readers instead of rejection slips, to experience a dream realized? Yes, yes, and yes.

But I wrote for twenty years without all that, without a yes, and I still loved writing, even needed it, and felt lucky to have it. I never said, “That’s it! I’m outta here.” (Well, I may have said it, but I was only bluffing and my writing knew it. You could almost see the manuscript smirking, could almost hear it say, “She’ll be back.”)

So why do I write? (“Tell us, already,” I can hear you mutter…But you see, I had to write all this to find my truest answer…)

Writing takes a lot from me, but it gives more. Man, does it give. There is an optional something more that each day offers us, but we have to be willing to step across the threshold in order to receive it. For me, writing is my entrance into that more. For some, music is the doorway. For others it is the swift pounding of feet on a track or across a stage, the in and out of the breath during prayer or meditation, the rhythm of expert stitches sewn along a stretch of silk or into a human heart. For me, the doorway is the scratching of pen on paper and the tapping of my fingertips on keys. For me, that’s how the light cracks through those dark early mornings, the light that allows me to see and feel and sometimes even give that something more.

Book Giveaway: The Divining Wand is giving away one copy of Seré Prince Halverson’s debut novel The Underside of Joy — in a random drawing — to anyone who leaves a comment on this post by 8:59 p.m. EST tonight! The winner will be announced here tomorrow.

[Given Erika Liodice's success in writing/publishing her debut novel Empty Arms in Kindle Edition, NOOK Book and Paperback, one might think that becoming an author was a childhood dream. Yet, in today's guest post, Erika tells how her journey to novelist began on the path to self-discovery.]

Growing up I often heard people say, “I found myself at college.” It led me to the delusion that finding oneself was some sort of transcendental experience involving rays of light and smoke clouds of wisdom that could envelop you right in the middle of a keg stand or flaming Dr. Pepper shot. I wish someone would’ve warned me that my metamorphosis was going to be dark and lonely…and take my entire 20s.

But they didn’t. So I ventured off to college and waited patiently for my lightning bolt realization. To my disappointment, the only thing I learned about myself during those four years was how incredibly hard I had to work just to keep my head above water.

Always the optimistic, I figured that my grand discovery would come during my summer backpacking trip through Europe. After all, I’ve had an insatiable wanderlust ever since I first set foot on an airplane when I was six years old, so wouldn’t it be appropriate for my magical epiphany to happen while I was surrounded by rich cultures, exotic foods, romantic languages, and soul-stirring views?

You’d think. Instead, the only thing I learned about myself during those six weeks was how short my fuse can be when I’m overly hot, overly tired, or overly hungry. I returned home no closer to understanding what made me tick or what I had to offer the world. My “truth” eluded me.

With no clear direction of what I wanted, I accepted a well-paying entry-level job at a reputable pharmaceutical company. Since I hadn’t found myself in college or in Europe, I hoped that ascending the rungs of the corporate ladder would hold the answer.

And so I began the climb. I got promoted, chased higher salaries, and even switched companies a few times, desperately trying to uncover the missing ingredient that many of my friends and colleagues had found. Everyone around me seemed happy with their titles, salaries, and job responsibilities, but meanwhile I had the nagging sense that my life was slipping by.

Eventually, I gave up on the notion of finding myself and focused instead on finding happiness. In my free time, I took classes that interested me: graphic design, photography, commercial arts, sculpture, sewing, Pilates. I joined a book club. I taught myself how to cook. I volunteered. I even dragged my non-religious butt to church and studied the Bible. Happiness came in dribs and drabs, but it never stuck around for very long.

Then one day, my husband came home from work and told me a story that nearly brought me to tears. Out of nowhere, the desire to write a novel bowled me over. I started that very day. Thinking it would probably end up being another one of my “flavor of the month” creative undertakings, I didn’t pay it much mind. But then that day turned into a week, and that week turned into a month, and soon I was waking up at 5 a.m. so I could write for two hours before work. A couple of years later, I had a manuscript. A few years after that, I had another.

In the end, I didn’t find myself at college or while backpacking through Europe or while working in Corporate America. I found myself in those cold, dark hours of the morning hunched before the glow of my computer. It taught me that I am a writer. That is my truth. That is what brings me happiness.

That is why I write.

Book Giveaway: The Divining Wand is giving away one copy of Erika Liodice’s Empty Arms — in a random drawing — to anyone who leaves a comment on this post by 8:59 p.m. EST tonight! The winner will be announced here tomorrow.

[Dee DeTarsio (The Scent of Jade and ROS) wears her favorite author's heart on her sleeve. As a result, in this Valentine's Day guest post, Dee takes the opportunity to explain/share her feelings of "reader love."]

“To Marian Keyes – and to the Marian Keyes in every woman – that smart, funny, sad, put-upon, brave part of your soul that makes this world a brighter place.”

I am stalking Marian Keyes. She’s a Virgo, I’m a Virgo. She’s a successful internationally recognized goddess of an author, and I … well, I’ve read everything she’s ever written. I expect we would be best friends. Her most excellent Ms. Keyes is from Ireland – I love the color green. From her first book, Watermelon, (my seventh favorite fruit) to Sushi for Beginners, (I’m only up to California rolls myself) to Anybody Out There — I have loved, read, and reread every word. We are practically sisters.

Goddess Marian Keyes (pictured left) … and her doppelganger, my sister, Beezer, who I sometimes call an eejit!

There is good news on the horizon: Marian Keyes is coming out with a new book–a cookbook, (or cookery as Marian and I like to call it) Saved by Cake, to be released February 16, 2012.

“Saved by Cake” gives an extremely honest account of Marian Keyes’ recent battle with depression, and how baking has helped her. A complete novice in the kitchen, Marian decided to bake a cake for a friend and that was it – she realized that baking was what she needed to do in order to get her through each day. And so she baked, and she wrote her recipes down, and little by little the depression has started to lift, along with her sponges…With chapters on cupcakes, cheesecakes, meringues and macaroons, chocolate cakes, fruit cakes and favourite classics, Marian’s recipes are aimed firmly at beginner bakers, offering hints and tips to help along the way.

There is icing on that cake–rumor has it that Marian Keyes also has a new novel coming out this Fall–featuring the youngest Walsh sister, Helen!

Oh my gosh. I have an apron that looks almost like Marian’s. (I am such a gobshite!)

[Julianna Baggott (complete listing of her books) is an author who writes across genres, believing they complement rather than are separate from each other.

Available today is the author's riveting, breakout novel PURE -- the first volume in her post-apocalypse thriller trilogy. It's based on Julianna's background of magical realism. That is what she writes and, in this guest post, she explains why.]

I’m answering this question late at night — in a usually loud house now quiet. The kids are asleep in bedrooms nearby. My husband is in asleep downstairs, my parents in the guest room, the dogs on dog pillows out for the night. It’s dark except for this glow.

I’m here as a moth, batting against light.

I’m here because I’ve learned that writing – this twitch of my fingers – is really rooted deep inside of me. It’s a way of running your hands through the reeds, the silt – the kind of silt still clouding the day, the kind settled (like memory) waiting to be stirred.
I’m here because my mind has things to run through.

I’m here because this is a place I’ve come to know. The white page, patient as snow.

I’m here because I’ve lived this day as a writer – meaning I’ve lived doubly. I’ve lived it as myself and I’ve lived it to pull from it what I need to remake a world. Or, no, I’ve spent the day collecting and now I have these things to shine up and set against each other.

I’m here to make. I have the human desire to create something from nothing.

The day’s done, but I’m not done with it. I miss it already. I long for what’s slipped by. I want to keep. I’m here because I hoard the days. I hoard our fragile lives.

I write because sometimes there are too many words to keep up with. They’re noisy. They churn in the chest like a motor.

Where else would I go? What else would I do?

I’m here because the world itself doesn’t do what I want it to do. In fact, it’s unruly, unpredictable.

I’m here because when in deep, that unruly world (that brutal world) slips away. I am immersed. I’ve found warm water. There’s the silt again.

I’m here writing because I want to give something. I want to be put to good use. Here, I say, here and here. Fistfuls. Any use?

Book Giveaway: To celebrate the release day of PURE, The Divining Wand will give away one copy of the book — in a random drawing — to anyone who leaves a comment on this post before the deadline of 8:59 p.m. EST tonight! If you enter, please return tomorrow when the winners of both Book Giveaways will be announced.

[Last January 20, 2011, Eleanor Brown debuted with her "delightful" novel The Weird Sisters (presentation/review) and, within a week, she became a New York Times bestselling author. Amazing? Well actually the story of "sibling rivalry, the power of books, and the places we decide to call home" deserved every bit of acclaim and attention.

For those who have yet to enjoy this reading experience, today is your day as The Weird Sisters is released in its paperback edition. Also Eleanor begins another Book Tour....if she's scheduled for your hometown, treat yourself to a meeting/signing for this talented novelist who shares why she writes.]

Like many American girls, I spent much of middle school on the phone, chatting with my friends. It seems ridiculous now, in this age where email and texting have proven themselves much more efficient forms of communication, but I suppose that was the point. We weren’t interested in efficiency, my friends and I. We were talking things through, asking each other questions about things we liked (Duran Duran) and didn’t like (gym class), considering the possibilities of our lives: boys we might be interested in, homework assignments we had yet to tackle, plays and sports we might try out for, and the unfathomable distant future of adulthood.

In his novella, The Body, on which the movie Stand by Me was based, Stephen King’s narrator says, “I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, did you?” I actually do still have friends like the ones I had when I was twelve – I even have a few of the same ones – but our friendships are not the same. The idea of having enough long, empty hours to fill with meandering conversation seems indulgent, and we have, at this point in our lives, a less pressing need to discuss Duran Duran.

But I do still find myself with the kind of questions of identity and meaning I had when I was twelve, though I am better able to articulate and label them as such. And since my friends and I cannot talk those questions through on a daily basis, I must try to work out the answers myself.

And so, I write.

When I began writing The Weird Sisters, I was turning thirty, and, in the way that those decade birthdays have, it was shaking my faith in the status quo. That question I had mused over with such idle curiosity as a teenager – what was I going to be when I grew up? – now seemed terrifying and imminent, if not woefully overdue. And so I created three sisters, split my confusion and my personality traits among them, and set out to write my way out of my precocious midlife crisis. All the things I was wondering about came out in that book: What does it mean to be an adult? Why are family roles so persistent, so impossible to change? How do you relate to your parents when you are an adult? Why do I always feel like a failure? Can you change the person you always thought you were?

Those are big questions, and I can’t say I resolved them all in the pages of The Weird Sisters, but writing that book did give me a great blessing: it forced me to spend time with each one, often more than was comfortable. I faced mistakes I’d made, people I’d hurt, the way I had been careless with my own heart, all through the problems of these fictional sisters. I held each question to the light like a gem and watched the light reflecting off it until I had considered all its facets. And if I didn’t find the answers to the questions, I do think I found peace in them.

The page has infinite patience. It lets me say ridiculous things and then retract them a moment later without judgment. It allows me to change my mind at will, to wander off on seemingly unrelated tangents and then circle back around to find the perfect thing to say. It is as broad and as narrow as I need it to be at any moment.

Someone asked me recently why I read, and my answer was instantaneous: to understand, and to connect. And I think these are the same reasons I write. In stories, as both a reader and a writer, I am trying on lives, meeting new people, learning. I am twelve, lying on the linoleum of the kitchen floor, the phone cord twisted around my finger, talking my way through the mysteries of life with my closest friends.

ATTENTION: Please remember that Catherine McKenzie’s debut novel SPIN makes its U.S. launch today.
AND

Book Giveaway: In celebration of paperback release day for The Weird Sisters, The Divining Wand will give away one copy of the book — in a random drawing — to anyone who leaves a comment on this post by 8:59 p.m. EST tonight! The winner will be announced here on Thursday.

[Danielle Younge-Ullman debuted in July 2008 with Falling Under (do read presentation/review) -- a book this Fairy Godmother described as painfully breathtaking and brutally exquisite. And it remains so in its Kindle Editon and NOOK Book format.

Today, in this guest post, the author focuses on her inspiration for the novel, and what makes the story passionately honest.]

It’s kind of a pretty word, a word that suggests something beautiful, like a butterfly landing on your fingertip, or a beam of sunlight bursting from the clouds.

But I was mad when I wrote FALLING UNDER. Furious, in fact. And the issues I was furious about are what sparked and drove the writing of the book.

Inspiration didn’t come to me like a butterfly, in other words, or even a beam of sunlight. More like a burning astroid, or a Mac truck.

The thing I was on about, and angry about, is what happens to kids when their parents divorce, particularly when those parents cease to function as parents, leaving the kids to navigate the world on their own…to essentially parent themselves.

Here’s a short excerpt from Chapter Sixteen that will give you an example. (My protagonist, Mara, has just been kicked out of her mother’s house.)

“The morning you arrive with your huge suitcase, Dad tries the heart-to-heart, but it’s not helpful to have him rant about what a bitch Mom is and then punch the wall beside the fridge, get hammered that night, and refuse to go to work the next day.

Certain kinds of support are worse than none at all.”

Sure, divorce is an everyday kind of tragedy these days. And yes, kids are elastic, adaptable, they survive. Sometimes they adapt so well on the surface that nobody sees how deeply and profoundly their view of the world has changed; how hurt they are, how alone they feel, how much more precarious everything seems to them, how much less they trust.

Mara, is a sensitive kid, a smart kid, a funny kid, and also a survivor. But the decisions she makes, as a result of having no stability and no parental figures she can trust or go to for guidance, are not often the best. The results are sometimes hilarious, sometimes heartbreaking, often both. And Mara grows up to be a mass of contradictions and unfulfilled potential—so afraid of the world that she can barely leave her house most days, stuck in a horrible artistic and professional rut, and burdened by a past littered with disastrous romantic (and sexual) relationships.

Mara’s adult life is consistent with what studies and statistics say, which is that many of the effects of divorce become evident only when a child reaches adulthood and confronts adult relationships. These are conflicted people who’ve had to rely on themselves, and don’t necessarily know how to function in a trusting relationship. They are also (statistically) likely to be less educated, more substance-addicted, less financially stable, less emotionally and psychologically stable, more likely to marry early, more likely to divorce…and it goes on. Unfortunately these stats are true of the adult children of all divorced families, including the amicable and “good” divorces, though of course the more stability and support provided by parents, family and community, the better chances the child/grown-child has of thriving.

Think about what that means, in a society where 50% of people are getting divorced…

Now I want to be clear: I am NOT on an anti-divorce rant. There are people who shouldn’t stay together, people who can’t.

I simply wanted to tell a story that would pull people, as viscerally as possible, into Mara’s experience, so that they would understand it. I wanted to reach out to adults and young adults who have been through this and maybe wonder why they (possibly) feel screwed-up and are not coping, and let them know they’re having a normal reaction, and that they can work through it. And I wanted to reach out to parents who may have divorced, or be considering it, and give them a sense of how it might affect their children, how important it is for them to continue to provide as much stability and leadership and understanding as possible, so their kids can better cope with whatever happens.

And then, if it’s not too much to ask, I’d also like society as a whole to start doing a better job at supporting families in crisis. Because THAT would be inspiring…in the beam-of-sunlight-bursting-through-the-clouds sort of way.

You can follow Danielle on Twitter, friend her on Facebook, and download Falling Under on your Kindle or NOOK Book.

[The decision to reopen The Divining Wand was based on the goal of offering more diversity in both books and authors. For example, today's guest showcases other forms of storytelling to prove how a writer can transition between formats and highlight his natural talent. Enjoy!]

Daniel Pyne has been at home in the world of film, TV, and books for over 30 years. His long list of screenwriting credits include The Manchurian Candidate, Fracture, Any Given Sunday, and Miami Vice. Currently, he is a writer, executive producer, and co-showrunner on JJ Abrams’ new TV show Alcatraz on FOX. He is also author of the cult noir novel, Twentynine Palms (which was also made into a feature film). His new novel, A Hole In The Ground Owned by a Liar was released on January 17th.

What I Write

I never really intended to be a screenwriter.

It was supposed to be a fallback position I would take while developing my prose writing skills, and in case I couldn’t make enough money to support myself writing the fiction I loved. You know. Serious fiction. Write one episode of television a year, a movie here and there. Imagine my surprise to discover that screenwriting was a career that people spent their lives mastering and that – initially, anyway – the skills required were hardly compatible with the skills required to write a short story, or novel. Not that they weren’t equivalent. Just different.

But as the literary magazine rejection slips piled up, it became clear to me that I might have to take a different path and, because my writing was always peculiarly visual, the shift to screenplays was, eventually, both gratifying and right for me.

I loved movies. I loved dialogue, and description – so much so that much of the early criticism of my scripts was that they were too literary, e.g. too many words. It’s a fair comment and a sin of which I am still guilty.

Oh well.

Screenwriting is the art of visual storytelling embellished by dialogue – one picture followed by another, and another, until the story concludes. Television (I’m sorry) is radio with pictures. Short stories are almost impossibly hard. And novels live in the imagination of the reader, requiring a kind of painting with words.

It hasn’t been that difficult for me to move between the different disciplines. I think, however, ironically that it took many years of screenwriting to prepare me for novels. The concision of a screenplay, the momentum, the architecture have all bled across into my prose storytelling more than I ever would have believed possible. Initially, the hardest thing was letting go of the rigid discipline of “showing and not telling.” The internal life of a character in a film, or on television, is the product of indirection and suggestion. You can never know what they’re thinking, you must express it with an action, or through dialogue, or in the spaces between the action and the dialogue, like a kind of bastardized free verse poetry with its own syntax and shorthand.

At first, it was a fitful process, in which my prose fiction characters would move and then think, move again, and then think again. It’s probably just that the underlying foundations of each form are so at odds: film is the art of discovering how much you can leave out and still tell your tale, novels are an endless process of discovering how much you can put in before your reader loses interest and falls out of the chair.
Using the past tense was also a challenge, strangely. You get so used to present tense writing screenplays that you forget how much it defines your style. Screenplays are inherently sloppy – sentence fragments, funky grammar, half-formed thoughts. Screenplays are a gesture.

And yet.

Writing screenplays has liberated me for prose writing. I’m no longer intimidated by the blank page, or the necessity of the perfect word, the perfect phrasing, the perfect idea. There’s a powerful momentum in a movie narrative, carrying you forward in the way that the great novels will, pulling you instead of pushing you.

Unfortunately it doesn’t work both ways. The more prose I write, the less patience I have for the blunt force trauma of movie and television storytelling where subtlety is generally discouraged, and the end product (a script) is just something transient to get everybody to agree to make a movie that may or may not, in the end, be what you wrote. And I’ve been so over-exposed to novels written solely with the intention of selling them to a movie company, that I am even more determined to take what I’ve learned as a twenty-first century screenwriter and bring it back to the prose form in a way that can tell stories in a new and dynamic voice without surrendering all that is unique about books, and that has stood the test of time.

The first time I saw my prose printed, and bound – and realized that it would never get changed, noted, revised, re-interpreted, spun, overanalyzed or subjected to audience testing – I was blown away.
People would read my words, and my words would tell a story, beginning to end, without mediation.

What a concept.

“Daniel Pyne’s A Hole in the Ground Owned By a Liar will put to rest any idle fantasies the reader may have of setting out prospecting for gold. A harrowingly funny story of brotherly strife, amorous misconduct, and small dreams blown disastrously out of proportion. I loved it.” –Scott Phillips, author of The Adjustment and national bestseller The Ice Harvest

“Smart, sexy, funny, and a brilliant storyteller. And that’s just me. Wait till you read Dan . . . ” –Eric Idle

Now a major thank you to Daniel Pyne for providing an excerpt that exemplifies his hybrid style between book and screenplay. Yes there’s (more…)