Woolston Magic Part 2

(The following blog post is not meant to embarrass anyone. All overwhelming praise could not be helped.)

Blythe’s book, The Freak Observer, arrived one afternoon soon after she and I had made contact. I opened the package and pulled out a small and beautiful hardbound book, black dust jacket with a human heart on the front cover and a brain on the back.



I was supposed to be working (my fake work - the stuff that makes me money until I’m being paid to write). Immediately, my laptop was cast aside and this little nugget of a book was cracked open. I read the first 100 pages in about two hours. By that time, I was honestly sitting in my big chair, clutching my heart as I turned the pages. I immediately wrote Blythe an email:

"Your gorgeous book appeared in my mailbox today. My heart hurts sufficiently enough now that I think I'll go back to work for a while. I'm definitely in the love it category. I'm more than thrilled that I can just send you a message telling you that."

Her protagonist is Loa, a smart, funny, tortured teenaged girl, and you know how fond I am of those. My connection to Loa’s internal life was immediate and sustaining. I could totally identify with her. My perception is that she felt like an outcast in her own family, that she carried her pain around like an extra appendage, that she was ill-suited in her skin and that it was difficult for her to be a smart girl in a family that doesn’t talk about anything. Loa reminded me of the affliction of adolescence. It’s amazing that any of us survive.

I coped by doing a lot of drugs and telling myself and others that I was actually a princess and that my real family was soon going to come claim me in order for me to go rule my country. Either that or I was an alien. Sometimes a friend of mine and I would drive out to Molt in the middle of the night, park on the deserted road and scream at the top of our lungs for the spaceship to come and get us.

For Loa, escape was physics. In an unbelievably Sagan-esque way, Blythe weaves enough physics into Loa’s story to mystify and intrigue. I loved that about Carl Sagan too. It consistently reminded me how small I am.

My real feeling, not to make everything in the world about me, was that Blythe and I wrote books that take place in parallel universes; YA books that are dark and brutal and smart – complete with swears and sex. Books that speak to young adults like I was – ones who feel more out of place than they actually are and who do or think about doing any number of terrible things to try to get their skin to fit.

I emailed again and let her know how much I loved the book, how it touched my heart, and the next day at school Chris brought me another book. This one had the same look – a small gem covered in black. The Absolute Value of -1, by Steve Brezenoff. I loved every second of it, even when it left me on the verge of slitting my throat. It was like Blythe was introducing me to a reading world I didn’t even know existed. I think she had told me that both her book and -1 were published by the same house. I don’t remember how it ended up that I did a little research, maybe the little LAB logo, but I got online to look up Carolrhoda Labs, their publishing house. Here’s what I found:

“Carolrhoda Lab is dedicated to distinctive, provocative, boundary-pushing fiction for teens and their sympathizers. Carolrhoda Lab probes and examines the young-adult condition one novel at a time, affording YA authors and readers an opportunity to explore and experiment with thoughts, ideas, and paradigms in the human condition. Adolescence is an experience we share and a condition from which some of us never quite recover. All of us at Carolrhoda Lab are proud to proclaim our lifelong adolescence and our commitment to publishing exceptional fiction about the teenage experience.”

WHAT? My mind screamed (yet again!) It was better than anything I could ever imagine. I’ll be honest. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what it’s going to be like – when it happens. It’s important, I think, to know what I want out of this whole experience. What I want is to be hooked up with an agent who will advocate for my work and my family, who brings out the best in me and who is brilliant and funny and creative and exciting and who loves my books as much as I do.

Carolrhoda Labs is an amazing example of how low my expectations have been, how much I would have shortchanged myself.

Here is an entire army of my kind of people. The big nerd posse of my dreams. A collective of people dedicated to helping all those who are running around with their nerves on the outsides of their bodies. Sympathizers. Wow.

I emailed my friend Blythe to let her know how I felt. As you know, I’ve had some bad experiences with other writers along this road. It makes me wary. I couldn’t have these wild yearning feelings hanging in between us in our burgeoning friendship. I just told her that even though I felt like I fit in with this group of people like a hand in a fucking glove, like me and my lovely little book belonged there, I wanted to be her friend no matter what. As soon as I wrote it, the crazy feelings vanished. Honesty – the magic elixir.

I don’t know if I’ll fish my wish. It doesn’t really matter. Now I know how big to dream.

I’m a lucky girl. I am surrounded by women who bolster me and feed me and make me laugh, women who have watched my children come into the world, who have held my hair back while I vomited and let me borrow their toothbrushes afterward, women who have known me since I was 13 and still love me, who will take midnight phone calls, women who take care of my kids and who let me be a significant part of their kids’ lives, women who I watch crappy TV with, who get excited with me when each new Twilight movie comes out, women who understand me, who hold me to my highest, women who are truly my sisters in this life.

Where this journey is concerned, they’ve come out in full force. I have a myriad of women who have shown up for me to encourage and read and critique and kick my ass when it’s been necessary. Gorgeous writers and talented editors have volunteered their time and attention to help midwife my book into being. And of the tens of women who have helped, only two have hurt. Pretty good odds, no?

It’s been a while since I’ve added to my collection of stellar female siblings. Honestly, this crowd is hard to bust into. Blythe Wolston has done it with ease. And not only is she my friend, she’s my supplier too. Poor Chris is obligated to ferry books back and forth. He keeps them hidden in his coat like contraband.