This is Tess:
Her book is out today:
Yay, Tess!
Here Is Where I Get Maudlin
And if you hang out here, you already know—I don’t get maudlin a lot.
However, this is a special occasion, and sometimes it’s good to be a little sentimental.*
First though, because everything is better with imaginary technology, let’s go back in time.
The year is 2008 and I am a fledgling writer with a whole mess of words and plans and big, amorphous dreams, some of which involve gainful employment, but most of which involve writing books forever and ever and drinking a lot of coffee.
I know what I want from my life, but I don’t know quite what to do about it.
So when Maggie Stiefvater says we need to get organized, I listen, because she is talented and determined and because she is hilarious, and because she seems to understand concepts like sticking to a schedule and remembering to wear socks. I figure I can learn a lot from her. And when she says we need to start taking advantage of the various resources at our disposal, like the internet and each other and Tessa Gratton, and why don’t we do something productive and fun, I listen, because I enjoy fun, and because Tess is also talented and determined and hilarious. And it’s in this burst of initiative that Merry Sister of Fate is born.
At this point, none of us are professionals in the sense of actually having books out on the shelves, but we’re dedicated and ambitious, and we all work like demons, and when we’re not working like demons, we talk about how one day we’ll all be on shelves together and get invited to conferences and participate in panels and talk about how we knew each other Way Back When.
It’s daydreaming, but also not. It’s the kind of daydreaming that is really you trying on possible futures, mentally practicing the steps, and that kind of daydreaming is very different from wishing. It’s the kind of daydreaming where you are constantly holding yourself and each other accountable.
In the Timeline of Books, Maggie has just sold Lament and is writing the first draft of what will eventually become Shiver—only it’s called Still Wolf Watching—and we’re all thinking that hey, she really might have something here. (Cue hilarity. Really. We told her that. I know I deal in understatements, but that is ridiculous.)
For my part, I’m cheerily flailing my way through the first draft of something that will eventually become The Replacement. It’s a grim little book where nothing happens, and all the creatures are symbols for personal shortcomings and the whole thing is rife with metaphors for adolescence, because as I mentioned before, the year is 2008, and I’m still confusing theme with plot on a regular basis.
And Tess—Tess hasn’t started writing Blood Magic because Tess is blissfully unaware that she’s going to write YA.
Back in the present, with the benefit of three highly eventful years between now and then, everything about this seems kind of hilarious. But right then, it just seemed normal. We were bold and optimistic and dedicated, but mostly, we were laughing uncontrollably and making fun of each other and keeping each other accountable.
What happens next is simple. It starts with a dare. It starts with Maggie saying, “Gratton, stop screwing around with that dear-to-your-heart historical epic you’ve been revising into oblivion and write something brand-spanking new. And you know what else? I want to see a finished draft by October.”
Tess says, “I’d really like to write a YA, but October is soon.”
Maggie says, “I dare you.”
I’m paraphrasing all this very, very loosely. Which is why they both just sound like me.
Regardless of actual words said, Tess finishes the first draft of Blood Magic in less than three months. Is it sorcery? Is it elaborate voodoo? Does it actually involve blood?** No, this is just how Tess rolls.
And now, the thing is . . . that thing we talked about—the three of us, together on the shelves, the three of us with the books and the careers and the knowing each other Way Back When? It happens this month, for real, ultimately and irrevocably. Eye-tearingly, even—maybe a little?
Okay, fine. Yes. A little.
Blood Magic comes out on May 24th. That’s a week from today.
That’s this, right here:
Perhaps you are thinking that this book looks gorgeous and bloody? If so, you’d be right, right, a thousand times right.
Perhaps you’re wondering if you can pre-order it? You absolutely can.
You can go here to find Blood Magic at IndieBound, or you can order it from the online vendor of your choice. Or, grab it in the store on the 24th, because it is available pretty much everywhere.
Which is so unassailably cool, I can’t even say.
*A lot. A lot sentimental.
**Well, some blood.
Grabby-Hands
Once, I promised you a post of Great Meaning. This was a long time ago.
I promised a story involving personal growth and epic realizations and redemption.
Well, maybe without so much loftiness.
Okay, what I did promise was that I’d tell you what happened when three things finally conspired to shake my wallflower status to its very foundation. We’ve come to the culmination of those Three Things.
Up until now, my entire high school career has consisted of me sitting patiently in one corner or another (thanks to always being the very last person on the roll sheet), watching the world lumber by, and documenting pretty much everything.
What happens next is not on my hypothetical agenda. I could not have predicted it. What I’m saying is, it is so unexpected that it should be fake. It should be an after-school special. It is that thing I didn’t know ever actually happened.
Pugsly is short, loud and wildly good at extreme sports. Later, he’ll go on to compete in the X Games. He is the personal hero of one of my friend’s little brothers and is featured in real-live skate videos. I’ve never actually had a class with him, but we have PE in the same gym and he spends most of the period throwing the volleyball at his teacher. He is out of control. He is—how can I put this?
Pugsly makes Pierre look like a model citizen.
How this relates to me:
In delicate terms, I am what’s known as a late bloomer. More frankly-put, I don’t have a lot going on back there. Or up top. Or anywhere, really. I am diminutive in the sense that I might as well be a twelve-year-old boy. Sometimes, I feel vaguely self-conscious about this, but for the most part, I just go with it. I’m not really in the market for male attention, and there are benefits to being shaped like a very short flagpole—the main one being that I tend to wander through life unmolested. I assume that I am safe.
On this fateful day, I’m standing in the lunch line, waiting to pay the cafeteria lady for my sad gray cheeseburger. Cheeseburger obtained, I plan to meet Catherine by the trophy cases, go out to the courtyard, and spend the next fifty minutes trying to ignore the fact that the day is only half-over. I’m not crazy about this plan, but I’m content. At ease. Metaphorically, speaking, there is circus music playing in my head, and a tiny car, and some trained seals, and a bear on a unicycle. It’s a good place to be.
And then, the thing is . . . Pugsly grabs my ass.*
I Like My Coffee Black, Just Like My Metal
I just want to say that I am no longer unreasonably caffeinated.
I was. For like a month.
Also, I cooked zero things, ignored all forms of social media, listened to my music way too loud, and neglected to brush my hair.
The payoff? The Space Between has gone to copyedits! Which is two steps off from becoming an actual book. (Okay, more like three or four. But whatever.) It’s so close, you guys—it’s almost there!
So, in celebration of reaching this not-insignificant milestone, and because I can’t share my cold Chinese food with the internet and you probably don’t want it anyway, I have something for you.
This is not actually me revealing a secret, because The Space Between is already listed on Amazon, so the thumbnail’s been floating around for awhile. But I wanted to hold off on sharing it here until I had a nice big shiny file and yesterday, my editor sent me one!
So, here is the cover for The Space Between. And it is perfect.
What is this pretty red (red, red) book about, you ask? Well, here is the official copy from Penguin:
Everything is made of steel, even the flowers. How can you love anything in a place like this?
Daphne is the half-demon, half-fallen angel daughter of Lucifer and Lilith. Life for her is an endless expanse of time, until her brother Obie is kidnapped—and Daphne realizes she may be partially responsible.
Determined to find him, Daphne travels from her home in Pandemonium to the vast streets of Earth, where everything is colder and more terrifying. With the help of the human boy she believes was the last person to see her brother alive, Daphne glimpses into his dreams, discovering clues to Obie’s whereabouts. As she delves deeper into her demonic powers, she must navigate the jealousies and alliances of the violent archangels who stand in her way. But she also discovers, unexpectedly, what it means to love and be human in a world where human is the hardest thing to be.
Now, all I need is an ARC—just one ARC, held in my greedy little hands—and it’s going to feel real. Like a real book. That is happening.
Okay, maybe I am still slightly caffeinated. That doesn’t change the facts:
- I wrote another book
- It is pretty
- It is red
- It is a love story (Because when you get right down to it, aren’t they all?)
This is Not a Post About Sunshine
As you might have heard, there’s been some turmoil surrounding the Wicked Pretty Things anthology.
The short version is that fellow YA author Jessica Verday was asked to change the central romance of her story (which features a relationship between two boys) to a heterosexual pairing, and she said no. Her story is no longer going to be appearing in the anthology.
A few weeks ago, I talked about how happy I was to be included in this collection with Francesca Lia Block. If I had to pick the one author who’s had the greatest influence on me, both as a writer and as a person, it wouldn’t even be a contest. I read her books at a time when I was still figuring out who I was and what I wanted to do with my life. She changed the way I thought about love and storytelling and what it means to be a human being.
Those of you familiar with Block’s work know that she’s never shied away from topics like depression or drug-use or sexuality, and in the mid-90’s, she was one of the few YA authors writing books that consistently featured LGBTQ characters. The one essential idea I took away from her work is that the most powerful stories are about love, and love comes in a lot of different forms.
And that’s why I’m choosing to withdraw my story “The Drowning Place” from the Wicked Pretty Things anthology. I would have been honored for my story to appear alongside Jessica’s. We need stories like the one she’s written. There are still people who will tell you that love only counts when it looks a certain way, and that’s not true. Love is love. It’s what matters.
This Is Not a Story About Boredom
Okay, I lied. It totally is—but it is also a story about hope and curiosity and how under the right circumstances, an unsolved mystery can be like a metaphorical lighthouse. Yes, I just said the phrase metaphorical lighthouse.
For awhile now, I’ve had this tidy plan for my high school posts. It involved character development and narrative arc and me making a timeline on a piece of notebook paper and I was going to be very chronological and organized. Those who know me will understand how laughable this is. You will understand that it just couldn’t last.
So I’m taking a small detour, because I’ve stumbled upon something I want to talk about. And by stumbled upon, I mean it was handed to me again and again.
In the last month or so, I’ve gotten a number of emails from people who are currently in junior high and high school and who’ve had some incredibly personal and insightful things to say about a deceptively rough topic: boredom.
A lot of the correspondences involve frustration—people wondering how to stay sane and if it will get better and most especially, how to survive it on a daily basis. These are good questions and to be frank, I have no answers. Boredom is a tricky thing and it comes in a lot of different shapes and sizes. I can’t tell you how to beat it. But I can tell you what I did.
Here is an admission: for most of my life, I thought people who got bored were just lazy thinkers. I’d always been able to entertain myself, either with a book or a story I was making up, a long run with the dog or an impromptu living room dance-party with my sister. People who got bored just weren’t trying hard enough.
Then I started high school and boredom became my number-one hobby.
When people find out that I was homeschooled by hippies/gypsies/raised by wolves, a lot of times they’ll ask if public school was a big adjustment. I always say no. I tell them I adjusted well and adapted quickly and kept my head down.
And that’s true.
But there’s also another true thing, and anyone who’s ever worked with animals in captivity will spot the signs immediately.
Brenna at sixteen is restless—a fidgeter. She tears up looseleaf paper like a neurotic hamster and chews the erasers off her pencils and picks apart the layers of her pressboard desk. If she were allowed up out of her seat, she would pace just as tragically as the tigers at the zoo. She begins to wonder whether or not it is possible to die from boredom. Literally die.
I Can’t Think of a Clever Title (inarticulate squealing just doesn’t translate to text)
I’m back! With a huge to-do list and a mountain of laundry and the stupidest head-cold ever, but I’m back, and I’m motivated and slightly euphoric and entirely ready for spring!
-The Breathless Reads tour was excellent—nothing short of spectacular, really. My fellow Breathless authors were not only wonderful people, but highly entertaining, and it was amazing to actually meet readers face-to-face and get to know some of the teens and the bloggers I’ve crossed paths with around the internet.
-I’m probably going to be getting more edits for The Space Between in a day or two and we all know what that means: take-out Chinese food and pie-baking and terrible hair. Also, late-night conversations with the cat about character motivation, and putting the milk in the cupboard instead of the refrigerator because my brain is easily confused by storage spaces with doors and shelves.
-Now, on a less dire note, I would like to present to you Something Very Cool, which is this cover:
Cue the happy dance! The happy dance! But don’t watch while I do it. Because I am a terrible dancer.
To elaborate, and so that I make sense: I have a story appearing alongside a whole list of phenomenal authors—not least, Francesca Lia Block, who is basically* my most significant writing role model of all time, and whose work is the main reason I decided at 19 that I was actually going to get brave and pursue publication. For real. And when I saw that she was going to be in this anthology, I immediately commenced bouncing around the house like the Gummi Bears! You remember the Gummi Bears, don’t you?
So . . .
I should probably step away from the internet now, before I start resurrecting other Disney cartoons of the 80s.
*By basically, I mean . . . just is.
Away Message
At 4:30 tomorrow morning, I’m taking off for the airport with freshly-painted fingernails, two boxes of Panda licorice, my winter hat, and a packet of rose-petal tea.*
Once gone, my plans include late nights and caffeine at an insurmountably awesome and incredibly massive writing retreat, immediately followed by the Breathless Reads tour.
There will be all kinds of bloggy activities during the retreat,** and once I’m on tour, I plan to keep things current via twitter, but my lack of smartphone might complicate things, so if anyone’s curious about where I happen to be at any given time, you can always take a look at the event schedule on my website.
Somehow, this all sounds very egomaniacal, like you need to be apprised of my movements, when in fact, it’s mostly for my mother. (Hi, mom!)
However, if you’re in New York, Minneapolis, Denver, Salt Lake, or Raleigh, and feel like coming to a signing, the other Breathless Reads authors and I would love to meet you.
To everyone else, keep warm, and I’ll see you when I get back!
*And, you know, some other stuff.
**Not necessarily on my blog, you understand . . . What am I even saying? You all know how it works around here—Tess and Maggie diligently keep you informed with captioned photographs, amusing stories, and up-to-date information. Then, sometime later, I come along and repeat what they said.
The White Trash Club
Today, I’m finally going to talk about something that happened to me (as opposed to describing events that took place in my general vicinity). As far as Spanish class goes, this story is actually kind of commonplace. To be expected. About average.
And it cements every tiny, fragile piece of resolve I have.
Up until now, I haven’t said much (anything) about Spanish. This is because I hate it. Not the language, just the class. I hate it so much that in the course of my 10th grade journal-keeping, I mostly pretend that it doesn’t exist.
There are several reasons for this. Mainly, it is both agonizing and deeply boring. For one thing, I am surrounded by half the basketball team and most of the wrestling team And for another, Pierre.
Perhaps you will remember Pierre from that time he licked my face. This is certainly what I remember him from. The interesting thing is that despite the gross, wet indignity of having his tongue touch my cheek, I do not actually dislike him.
Even though he can be a total jerk, I still see his antics as a game, and this gives our interactions a strangely competitive quality. His job is to crack my veneer. Mine is to not respond. When he crouches next to my desk and starts panting in my face or rifling through my homework, I stare back at him blandly. When he makes fun of my shoes and asks me if I had Wonder Bread and margarine for lunch, I tell him no. I tell him I only eat my Wonder Bread with Karo syrup. I do it with a straight face, even though I have never eaten Karo syrup in my life and the one time my health-conscious hippie mother bought white bread, it was for a papier mache recipe.
Socially speaking, I have very few natural talents.* But I’ve got one or two, and my best trick is recognizing where someone rests on the power continuum. Pierre is somewhere near the bottom—wherever it is that class clowns generally fall—and it seems probable that he wouldn’t constantly act like such an ass if Pharaoh and Trout and the other sports-boys ever congratulated him for anything else. I may be relatively new to the social dynamics of teenage boys, but I know pack animals when I see them. Pierre is loud, unpredictable, and disruptive, but he is not an apex predator. And until the day he breaks character, I am secure in the idea that I know exactly what I’m dealing with.
The other player in this weird little non-drama is Valentine. She’s taller than me, with long blond hair and pale sled-dog eyes. She wears heavy black eyeliner and boys’ jeans. She’s sexy, but not particularly feminine. She’s scary in a thrilling, austere way. And by scary, I mean that I kind of want to be her.
Some Glorious, Glorious Things
As is typical, I’m disgustingly behind in sharing all kinds of exciting news. Basically, the internet moves much faster than I do. So, in the interest of being timely and responsible, I’ve made a handy list!
1) Because she is much more organized than I am, Maggie has already announced this on her blog and named names and posted pictures of taxidermied animals, but I’m repeating it here for posterity: in February, I get to take part in a huge writing retreat, where I expect to hang out with a whole list of inestimably cool people and stay up late and drink too much black tea. There will be vlogging. If you post questions on Maggie’s blog, we will try very, very hard to answer them.
2) Dates and locations for the Breathless Reads tour have been announced! Directly after the retreat, I’ll be leaving for a five-stop tour with Ally Condie, Andrea Cremer, Kirsten Miller, and Beth Revis, and you can find all the pertinent details here on my website.
3) ALSO (as you may or may not know) my next book is due out this fall and I’m going to be so mean here in a second and you’re going to hate me.
Okay, here is me being mean: I just saw the cover mock-up, and I can’t show you. I can’t show anybody because it’s not even final yet.
But I will tell you this: I lovelovelove it—the concept and the composition and the color scheme and the font and everything—it’s perfect!
And this: It’s designed by Natalie Sousa, who did such an amazing job with the US cover for The Replacement. The actual photo shoot hasn’t even happened yet, so I expect it will be awhile before there’s an actual reveal, but it’s there, it’s happening, and it’s excellent. And because I don’t like being disagreeable, I will leave you with something to soften my meanness:
4) My second book is officially titled The Space Between.
It is about demons and love and self-destruction and more love. It’s about monsters and transformations and kissing and self-perception and all the things I like best. That is not a good description. Later, it will have an actual summary, but right now I’ll just finish by saying, I am so, so excited for it!
Brenna Yovanoff 