lots of thanks, and My Friend Amy (warrior with wings)

The Jewish Museum, designed by Daniel Libeskind, in Berlin

First, I need to say thank you to everyone who made my birthday such a bright yesterday. My birthday-birthday, and my book birthday. The weather was surreal-ly sweet. The daffodils bloomed. I got the client project done in the nick of time. My students were their perfect student selves. My husband brought roses. A friend drove a long way to leave me with a glamorous basket of pansies. My brother played the birthday song, my brother-in-law was all sweetness, my mother-in-law sang. There were hummingbirds and William Kotzwinkle and Kelly Simmons just about did me in with words I swear I'm gonna frame.

I had crab cake.

I had dessert.

My son called—his voice the color of the day, his stories the kind that kept me smiling, late, in the dark of the night.

I know what, and for whom, to be grateful. And I am.

Today, I am, again, grateful for Tamra Tuller and Chronicle Books and the release of Going Over, and for all of you who sent notes or Twittered or Facebooked or just plain kept me company during the release. Thank you for letting me know about the starred review in Shelf Awareness. Thank you for sending along the extremely kind BookPage review. 

Last evening, Chronicle Books kicked off the blog tour (following Serena Agusto-Cox's earlier blog kindness) with some words I wrote about music, writing, and Berlin, in a post that begins like this, below, and carries forward here:
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At the age of nine, on a Boston pond, I launched my (oh so very minor) ice-skating career. Twirls. Edges. Leaps. Falls.

Shortly thereafter (the precise day and hour escape me now), I began to write. Lyric flourishes. Running lines. Suspended disbelief. Revisions.

Music and story. They’re the same thing, right? Sentences are melodies. Plots are choreography.  The silence in between the lines is wish and wisk.

Today My Friend Amy, who has, for almost forever, truly been My Friend Amy, is continuing that blog tour. A book warrior with wings, I'll call her, who has accompanied me through so much of my writing journey, who has always mattered deeply, who spent some time reading Going Over, writes the sweetest words, and is offering a copy of the book to one of her readers, all of which is happening here.

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Small Damages, Day of Riches

Today, a day of riches, and I'm not sure I can adequately capture them, reflect them, send them back out into the world with as much power as they have—each of them—given to me.  Quiet power.  Not the kind that goes off strutting, but the kind that is found in the middle of the night, alone, beneath a full bright sheet of stars.

As they occurred to me, then, in the order that I discovered them:

A dear overnight send off from My VERY GOOD Friend Amy.  

Pam van Hylckama's (which is to say Bookalicious's) exquisite review of Small Damages.  She was in a car wash, as I recall, when she first read this book some time ago.  I remember the happiness I felt when she whispered a few encouraging words my way.

Serena Agusto-Cox's incredibly kind Book Birthday Blog, which can be found here.

Tamra Tuller's news of a beautiful VOYA review, which called Small Damages, among other things, "a magical story that is simple, yet complex."

Joseph Glantz going live with an interview he has been conducting with me over the past few days; his questions touched on all aspects of my career—from Flow to Zenobia to Dangerous Neighbors to the memoir work and to my love of place, my approach to dialogue, and my obsession with metaphors.  Our conversation can be found here. 

Twitter love from Pam and Danielle, Kelly and Melissa, the Penguin team, Maya, Lydia, Jenna, and Ruta Sepetys, whose love continued into this late afternoon, when I came home from a circus and discovered a gift from her at my front door.  We shall, indeed, have cake, Ruta.  We shall.  A note from Alyson Hagy, who cares so much.  A note from my dear Ivy Goodman.  An enthusiastic call from Amy Rennert, my agent.  Dear notes from Jessica Shoffel.  So many sweet emails from Tamra Tuller.  Michael Green being his cryptic-funny-smart self.  A virtual moment with Jill Santopolo.  Kindness via Facebook. 

The gloriously thoughtful words from the well-known and widely loved blogger, Florinda (3rsblog), with whom I have now had a long friendship, and with whom I get to cross paths, in person, every now and then, even though she lives 3,000 miles away.  Her words are precious to me, and she is, too.  Her thoughts about Small Damages are here.

The realization (thanks to Twitter) that Small Damages had been named one of five hot YA picks "that will thrill adult readers just as much as teenagers" by She Knows Book Lounge.  

The stumbled-upon discovery that Melissa Sarno of the blog This Too is holding a Small Damages giveaway over on her own fine words-rich blog.  That rascal, that sneak—but thank you, Melissa.  You. Should. Not. Have.  If you want a shot at Melissa's generosity, you need to go here. 

An email from Missy Kemp containing the photograph above.  Small Damages, arrived in her home.  That hint of orange.  And, soon after, the arrival, here, of my own box of books.  I can hold this book now in my hands.

And, finally, on this day, news that BookPage had included Small Damages among "the handful of teen books from this year that adults need to read."  The others on that list are Daniel Handler's Why We Broke Up, John Green's The Fault in Our Stars, Nike Lake's In Darkness, Patricia McCormick's Never Fall Down, Elizabeth Wein's Code Name Verity, David Levithan's Every Day, Margo Lanagan's The Brides of Rollrock Island, and Rachel Hartman's Seraphina.  That is shocking and glorious company to keep, and of course the idea of having Small Damages be considered as a crossover title is glory to the ears of this writer, who just yesterday published a piece on the value (or not) of YA labels. 

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The Small Damages Book Trailer

... featuring the words of authors I love, the kindness of bloggers, my photographs of southern Spain, and my husband's deliberately rough Spanish guitar, for that is the kind of guitar my gypsy characters play.

It would mean so much to me if you shared this trailer with others.

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carried by friends to Los Angeles and Texas and back again

I don't get out into that book world as much as I'd like to; my work keeps me here at my desk.  But I get to travel vicariously through people I've come to love, and last week, I was gloriously carried to or remembered at two major book events.

I'd begged the fantastic bloggers (and women!!!) Danielle, Amy, and Florinda to take me to the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books—a running joke we had among us.  But I didn't really expect them to, you know, take me there.  I'm agile, perhaps, and I can still bend, but I don't fit into any suitcase.  Still, being the inventive and loving women they are, they found a way, and here's the photograph to prove it.  That's one bright happy moment, the three of them with this part of me.  It put a tear in my eye when I saw it late last night.

Melissa Walker, whose new book, Unbreak My Heart, is due out in May, also found me in her travels last week.  She was in Texas at the Texas Library Association meeting.  She snapped this picture and sent it my way, with a note, Great to see you at the TLA.  The thing is, though, that I really do want to see Melissa.  In person.  Some day.  We're working on it. 

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Small Damages: the first review, with deep gratitude to My Friend Amy

I was not at home, not with my normal machines, not even with my book of email addresses. 

I was just here.  Being.

And then a message came through on my phone from Serena Agusto-Cox.  She wondered if I had seen My Friend Amy's blog today.  She thought that if I hadn't, I should pay a visit.


I waited until my husband was done with the ancient laptop we had brought along for this short journey.  It crunched and crunched (it takes its time) before the screen filled with Amy's words.  My eyes blurred.  My throat caught.  It took some time for me to read them.

Because.

Because Amy is kinder and dearer to me than I can say.  And her review is more than a review.  Review isn't even the word.  Her review is a gift. 

Yes.  This week is magic.

Thank you, Amy.  For always being there.  For being the first.  For making me lucky.

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Can Book Bloggers Change a Life? A Definitive Answer in Publishing Perspectives

Anyone who follows this blog knows just how important book bloggers have been to me.  As first readers, as confidantes, as bright and rustling wings. 

I was recently given the chance to tell that story to Publishing Perspectives, an on-line magazine spearheaded by Ed Nawotka and sponsored by the Frankfurt Book Fair that covers the book industry here and around the globe.  I had thought, when I began to write, that I might list all the bloggers who have been so instrumental in my career.  It quickly became clear that that would be an impossibility—that I would consume all allotted characters on blogger URLs before I had a chance to fully explain.  You all know who you are, of course.  Many of you appear permanently on this page.  I hope you know how much you matter. 

(Please also see Ed's call for responses to the book blogger question here.  Perhaps you'll lend your voice to the conversation.)

Today I would specifically like to thank a certain Danielle of There's a Book, who has been a pillar in my writing life—a buoyant, thoughtful, endearing advocate who has cared deeply about these stories I tell and has—in her own time, just because she is who she is—found ways to spread the word.   I didn't know this until last night, but Danielle also named You Are My Only one of her top reads of last year, one of the books she most recommended to people in 2011, the most beautifully written book she read in 2011, and the book that had the greatest impact on her. 

Danielle also named Small Damages, due out in July from Philomel, as the young adult book she is most anticipating in 2012.

See all of Danielle's thoughtful recommendations here. 

I'm not sure that any writer could hope for more than that.  I am sure, however, that anyone who questions the value of book bloggers has not had the privilege of meeting Danielle.

Great thanks again to all of you who have made such a difference in my life. 

My other stories for Publishing Perspectives can be found here:

The Attraction-Repulsion of International Literature: My conversation with Alane Salierno Mason

Transforming Children's Book Coverage at the New York Times: My conversation with Pamela Paul

Success is when the world returns your faith:  My conversation with editor Lauren Wein

Between Shades of Gray:  The Making of an International Bestseller 

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Florinda's Kindness. Best of Graces. K.M. Walton. DeWitt Henry. And the beach in winter.

I have been sitting here since four this morning, when it was all dark and all cold.  At one point I looked up, and there was blue within the black.  And then, a little while on, I looked and saw the float of pillowed pink.

Just ahead of the pinking, I went to my favorite blogs list and clicked onto the 3 R's Blog to see what Florinda has cooking.  Oh, good, I thought.  Her best of year list.  With great interest, I read.  The Warmth of Other Suns—a fabulous choice.  Tina Fey's Bossypants—absolutely; that book made me laugh when I needed a laugh. Just Kids by Patti Smith, one of my all-time favorite memoirs.  The Girls of Murder City.

It was when I got to the fiction list that I did a double take, for there was You Are My Only, alongside Faith, Girl in Translation, and Fathermucker. My little book beside some very big books.  Florinda's goodness forever transparent.

Why are there always 3,000 miles between me and the people that I want to hug?  I'm hoping Florinda can feel my hug today.  I am hoping there is pink in her sky.

Florinda, you deserve some major pink in your sky. Thank you. For everything.

My deep affection for the bloggers who have been so kind to You Are My Only is well-established.  I am so surprised and so moved by all of you who named You Are My Only at year's end (listing alphabetically): 

Caribousmom/Short List for Fiction
Caribousmom/Buzz Books Which Did Not Disappoint
Dear Author
My Friend Amy
On a Southern Breeze
The 3 R's Blog
Two Heads Together
Washington, D.C. Literature/Examiner.com

Tonight I'm going lift a glass in your honor in Atlantic City, where I'll be with my boys, doing that winter-at-the-beach thing we do.

I'll come home in time to lift another glass to K.M. Walton (though I promise not to arrive already tripping), who is launching her first book, Cracked, at the Chester County Book Company on Saturday night.  There's going to be a gonzo crowd.  Be there, I say.

On Sunday, I'm off to celebrate Little Miss Eva's birthday.  Of course there will be photos; there always are.

And then on Tuesday, I'll be in the company of my good friends, Elizabeth Mosier, Chris Mills, Kelly Simmons, and Pam Sedor as we toast DeWitt Henry, writer, founding editor of Ploughshares, and former Chair of Writing, Literature, and Publishing at Emerson College, who is returning to his childhood haunts on the Main Line with an evening talk at the Radnor Memorial Library.  I'll repeat myself, because I can: 

Be there.

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Small Damages, the opening lines

In honor of this new year, in honor of this generous post, the opening lines of Small Damages, due out from Philomel on July 19th.

The streets of Seville are the size of sidewalks, and there are alleys leaking off from the streets. In the back of the cab, where I sit by myself, I watch the past rushing by. I roll the smeary window down, stick out my arm. I run one finger against the crumble-down of walls. Touch them for you: Hello, Seville.

At the Hotel de Plaza de Santa Isabel, the old lady in the vestibule is half my height, not even. She has thick elephant legs and opaque stockings, and maybe the sun banged her awake when I opened the door, or maybe the look of me disturbs her, but whatever it is, she’s bothered. She puts her hand out for my deposit, finds a key, and knocks it down on the table between us. She thrusts her chin sky high, and I turn and take the marble stairs, where there are so many smashed-in footsteps before mine. Smashed in and empty and hollow.

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Hope is personal. Thoughts at year's end.

I've been wanting to say something for a while, haven't known where to begin.  I'll start like this:  It was quite a year.

Amidst other things, I released a book called You Are My Only, a book I'd spent a long time writing.  I had, perhaps, too much hope for it, or that's what I thought at first.  As it turns out, I had the wrong idea about what hope is, and where its embers live.

Hope, I learned over the course of this year, is answered in the middle of night and in the heat of the day by kindness you don't see coming.  It is given wings by extra-ordinary readers who take time from their real lives to read your book, to think about it, to tell you and others how the story lives in them.  There was no official blog tour for You Are My Only, no physical tour, nor radio, nor TV (though I will always be grateful to my friend Darcy Jacobs, for her kindness to the book in Family Circle).  I had a book launch party but there were few books to be had.  And nonetheless—nonetheless—You Are My Only found its right homes.

If I tried to thank all of you who taught me what hope is and what it looks like this year I would not succeed.  There were so many moments, so many gifts, so many gestures, so many wild acts of compassion, so much unfathomable generosity.  Hope was born.  Hope was launched. 

At the end of this year, I want to stop and thank all of you.  I also want to stop—just plain stop—and thank the young woman who started so much of this for me:  Amy Riley.  It was Amy who discovered my blog a few years ago, when Nothing but Ghosts was set to come out.  It was Amy who threw a surprise launch blog party that year that left me in trembles.  Amy has been there ever since.  She has rallied her enormous community of friends around me—opened doors, built bridges, quietly insisted.

And there she is, at the end of this year, naming You Are My Only as one of her top books.

There are official lists.  There are personal lists.  Hope is entirely personal.

Thank you, Amy.

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The You Are My Only Treasure Hunt Final Installment: What about that asylum?

Because you may in fact have grown weary of listening to me go on about the You Are My Only Treasure Hunt, I introduce this final clues installment with pictures of puppies.  Everyone still loves puppies, right?  And especially ones with hats.

In any case, here we go.  The fifth and final guest post telling the story behind the story of You Are My Only has now gone live out there in the blogosphere.  This one appears on a blogger site that I find visually fascinating and deeply textured, like the best designed Project Runway dress (I'm thinking Mondo crossed with Anya).  This blogger (who is herself a fine writer) describes herself as a pain in the you know what (but I rather love her), has a close relationship to Hicklebee's (she's the resident blogger), wears tiaras, and is a member of the National Book Critics Circle.  I do not know if she dances.

Post 5 begins like this:

If you’ve been following these blog posts, then you understand already that I don’t write my books in some preordained sequential fashion. I don’t outline a plot; I don’t consult the trends; I don’t go with the fashions. I write about what will not let me sleep, and over time, and through countless drafts, the separate aspects of my obsessions knit themselves into a story.

One of the things that was keeping me awake at night while I was working on this book was the stories I kept reading about urban explorers—those fascinating souls who explore abandoned buildings, often illegally, and create entire underworlds within them. For many years, a northeast Philadelphia asylum known to many as Byberry was a favorite haunting ground for these folks. This gigantic structure had been left to rot after being shut down in the 1990s, and the urban explorers (or “cavers” as they are sometimes known) had taken over—held rave parties there, ridden their motorcycles through connective tunnels, dug through the patient records and film reels and all the wild and disturbing “stuff” that had been so haphazardly left behind.

Your job is to find this post and to also find the four other posts that very kind bloggers have lodged on their blogs.  If you do that—find all five posts, put the links on your own blog, and send me proof of your cross linking in any comment box by October 24—you will be entered into a drawing.  The two randomly chosen winners will each win a signed copy of You Are My Only as well as an opportunity to have 2,000 words from a work in progress be critiqued by yours truly.  For the full details go here.  Winners will be announced October 25, the day that You Are My Only launches.

Here, again, are the clues.

Post 4 is housed at the psychodelically-hued (we know that isn't a real term) home of a certain chick who loves lit.  I met this wonderful person at the BEA this past summer.  She was part of the awesome gang of many who surprised me with a YAMO blast a month or so again.  The post you are looking for begins like this:

Those who know me know that I’m only intermittently good at devising titles.

Undercover was called Come Back to Me, for example, until Laura Geringer asked me to please think again on that one. Still Love in Strange Places was named by my son moments before the W.W. Norton catalog was going on press. Nothing but Ghosts was my title, thank you very much, though there was a slight (we ignored it!) problem—I’d used the word ghosts in a previous book title (Ghosts in the Garden). The Heart is Not a Size and House of Dance were titles of my making, and I proudly claim them.

Post 3 is titled "When Emmy called I listened," and tells the story of my discovery of Emmy Rane.  Why she is.  Where (in part) her story came from.  It is posted on a site that is beloved by so many of you, a place where the color turquoise lives, a blog developed and managed by a young woman who is an orthodontic assistant by day.  The post begins with these words:

You Are My Only is a book told in two voices—that of a young teen named Sophie and that of a young mother whose name is Emmy Rane. Emmy Rane’s voice has been with me for a very long time. She was inspired, in part, by a moment, long ago, when I noticed a small child left untended by his mother. I have one of those apocalyptic imaginations (for better or worse, and most times, in real life, that would be worse—just ask my son), and instantly I was imagining things. The sudden stirring of a storm. The evil intentions of a neighbor. A big fat wasp with a ready sting. Somebody, I thought, please rescue that boy! 

Post 2 appeared on September 21 on the site of a woman who has consistently made my life a sweet an good place, and who is indeed a friend to us all.  That post was called "Opening the Door to Cloris and Helen," and it started this way:

I’ll be honest.  Cloris and Helen are two characters who have been living with me for more than a decade.  That’s right.  I carried these two dear souls, these more-than-best-friends ladies, through a variety of novels I’d been writing.  They were bird-obsessed in one book (not so strange, since all of my books have at least one character who is obsessed with birds).  They were digging a huge hole beneath their house in another.  In an early version of the book that became You Are My Only, it was Cloris who had been committed to the asylum.

Post 1, finally, ran on September 9 on a blog with the clever subtitle, "Looking better in black since 1234."  It was called "The (furious) metamorphosis of Sophie" and it began like this:

Several years ago I began to write a novel for adults that had a certain Sophie as its focus.  She was in her late thirties and her boyfriend, Vin, had recently left her.  She was alone, a writer, and trying to piece together the unresolved oddments of her past.  Strange things were being left on Sophie’s doorstep—signs, masks, even a pot of soup—and the only thing that Sophie knew for sure that she was being lured to an abandoned asylum on the other side of the woods by people she wasn’t certain she could trust.

Finally, for those of you who have actually read to the end of this post, but do not wish to track every post down, then I offer you this:  Link to this YAMO Treasure Hunt Final Installment page on your blog, on Facebook, or on Twitter, send me proof that you did, and you too can be entered to win the grand prizes.

Huge thanks to There's A Book and My Friend Amy for making this hunt possible.  For more about the book, please view the trailer here.

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You Are My Only—the kindness of bloggers continues

I woke up yesterday thinking the day would be like most others—a scramble of corporate work, some exercise, laundry folded on the fly, an hour or two spent with a novel-in-progress, some texting with my son, Wednesday night salsa at MIXX.  It started out that way, that's for sure, but the pattern got broken mid-way through.  Things started to show up on my Facebook wall.  You-better-take-a-look-at....-emails were coming through.  What's going on? people were asking.  I don't know, I said.  Because for a long time I didn't.

I'm still mystified, to be honest, by all the kindness that came my way during the course of yesterday—all the kindness that exists in this world.  I'm mystified, and I'm eternally grateful. I am also feeling desperately inadequate because I have failed to capture it all.  I had planned, yesterday, to thank some very special people who have been supporting me and my work for years.  In the shuffle and shift and bewilderment of my day, I did not do that.

Today is the day that I stop and thank the readers and writers who have quietly written to me of their support.  Today is the day I thank those who read this book early and posted their thoughts.  I never want this blog to be all about me.  It is my privilege, here, to write about others, their books, their dreams; to write about my city; to write about people doing good.  In cross posting these early blogger reviews of You Are My Only, I am celebrating those who took the time—those who care.  I am telling them what I hope they already feel and know:  That I am hugely grateful.  If I have not captured your voice here, it is only because I don't know.  Because years ago I stopped googling my own name—the only solution for one as naturally obsessive and easily worried as me. 

And so then please find below the excerpts from some recent blog posts that I hope you will read in their entirety. Posts from bloggers whom you should visit daily.   Caribousmom is here—that exquistely smart reviewer with whom I first connected over The Elegance of the Hedgehog and whom I later met in person in New York; I've loved her ever since.  Becca of Bookstack, an indelible presence and so-smart reviewer and long time blog world friend is here.  There's a Book and My Friend Amy are here—their support so entirely unspeakable.  Hippies Beauty and Books. Oh my, is here, as is The Reading Zone.  These join the rocking surprise gonzo You Are My Only promotion featured here, on Chick Loves Lit and on Bookalicious, the equally stealthy and gonzo Melissa Sarno of This Too  giveaway,  Florinda, Kay's Bookshelf, and Books, Thoughts, and a Few Adventures.

Thank you.  All.  I'm about to start reading a new book called Child Wonder.  I hope to write of that soon here—to return to the universe some of the what has been sent my way.

"Beth Kephart is an author that knows the human heart and writes it with an eloquence that will have you in love with the words on the page as if they were living breathing beings. My only regret upon closing You Are My Only was that I had to leave behind Emmy and Sophie in their newly discovered freedoms, but thankfully I can still go back to visit them whenever I’d like. You Are My Only will easily be a favorite among readers, both young and old, and has quickly taken it’s place on my shelf among my personal favorite reads of all time."—There's a Book

"Her latest book, You Are My Only (due out on October 25th and available for pre-order here) is also a book about a desperate search. Two quests, really. Emmy, a young mother, searching for her lost child. And Sophie, who begins to question her world, seeking the one thing she doesn't know to look for. All of it culminating to a discovery that left me with sweaty palms and a racing heart as I turned each page."—This Too

"Beth Kephart uses a very unique style of writing for this book that reminds me a bit like Ellen Hopkins. She is extremely creative and uses a sort of poetic prose for this book that I really enjoyed. I’m not sure everyone will necessarily like this sort of writing style, but it didn’t bother me or distract me from the points the author was trying to convey. It is very different and I liked it. It comes across as eloquent and efficient and I think that it added that extra special touch needed for this book to be a great book and not just a good book." — Hippies Beauty and Books.  Oh my.  

"Anyone who has read one of Beth's books know she's an observer, that her books are about characters being torn open and stitched up with hope, that healing never ever comes apart from healing together. I haven't yet been able to write a proper review for this book, because no other book this year has affected me like You Are My Only did. It's a beautiful and powerful book on its own, but it's also a book that met me exactly where I needed to be met at the moment in life. And I think that's also a little bit of what having a favorite author is all about...they always write in such a way that you marvel at their gift for knowing bits of your heart you can't express yourself." — My Friend Amy

"In case you have not already figured it out – I loved You Are My Only – a book that takes the reader into the darkness and then shows them a way to return to the light. Beautifully written and astonishing, this is a book which I highly recommend for readers of all ages."— Caribousmom

"Beth Kephart always conveys an amazing depth of understanding about her characters and their emotional lives, while creating a story that captivates and engages readers of all ages. She writes about real people in real situations whose lives and feelings mirror our own, but elevates these experiences to an almost mystical level with her beautiful descriptive language and writerly attention to detail."—Bookstack

"This isn’t an action-filled book, despite the blurb.  It’s quiet, meditative.  Both narrative arcs are engrossing.  I found myself loving each story individually.  Whenever the narrative changed I would be upset leaving that character behind. But then, within a few sentences, I was equally as engrossed in the alternate story.  Kephart chooses her words carefully and the prose is gorgeous.  I found myself savoring each descriptive sentence while fighting the urge to fly through the book to reach the conclusion. Highly recommended." — The Reading Zone

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you will always have a place in my heart

There will, inevitably, be mistakes in this post.  That is because I am literally shaking.  My hands are numb.  My throat is tight.  Don't call me, because I'll start crying.

I am the girl in that picture, here.  Wearing funky pants and silly hairy, my whole self just a little bit blurry.

I haven't changed much.  I still have my self-doubts, my disappointments, my too-big dreams.  I can still get cranky from time to time, I can never get my hair right, and I can still write sentences that (upon waking to them the next day) shame me.  We writers out here — we are just writers.  And sometimes things go well and sometimes they don't, and if we had to do it all alone—if I had to do it all alone—well, I am pretty darned sure that my career would have stopped long ago.  I wouldn't have stopped writing.  But I might not have books in lovely covers to share.

I owe everything—everything—to the good hearts out here who have looked up from their own projects, their own days, their own children, their own blogs and said, You have a place with us here.

Today my world broke open that much wider.  Today—yesterday—the day before—the days before that—readers—friends!— reached in and turned on a light.  I have so many to thank.  It's just so inadequate, that phrase, thank you.

In a day or two, there will be a treasure hunt, a series of blog posts, distributed across the net, that I wrote to help tell the story of the story behind You Are My Only.  I will announce the details of that in time.

But all this time that I have been working with the dear hearts on this treasure hunt, those dear hearts took the party so much wider—very sneakily preparing what has become one gigantic early party for this book.  These party planners know that I never google my own name, and so perhaps that set them free. Still, I have no idea how they did this much without me even guessing that anything more was afoot.

To attend this party, you must first visit the master schemer, the beautiful heart, the lovely lady behind There's a Book, the one and only 1st Daughter.  You must at the exact same time visit the one and only, ever invincible, always dear and wise and stunning, always surprising My Friend Amy.  You then must visit the fantastically multi-hued Chick Loves Lit (I literally screamed when I saw what she has there) and the incredibly wise, totally a-licious Bookalicious.    Soon, when I stop shaking, I will share those links that have been sent my way.  Every single one of which means the world to me.

Please don't think that I am kidding about my shaking over here.  And what I just wrote in a comment box to the 1st Daughter is true: The first thing that happened when I saw all of this just now is that I said to myself, Beth, You have to call Mom.  But Mom's in heaven, and she's looking down.  She sends her love to all of you.

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Talking about Connectivity, Melissa Sarno, and a Stealth You Are My Only Giveaway

I want to talk for a moment about connections—about the way one thing leads to the next.

The story starts with this blog, begun in a vacuum in 2007, begun with absolutely no idea of what a blog might reap, or what a blog should be.  (As you can probably tell, I am still figuring that out.)

Somewhere along the way, somehow, the magnificent My Friend Amy found her way here.  And because My Friend Amy had, scores of others did, too.  My Friend Amy is that kind of gal.

Among the My Friend Amy coterie was one Melissa Sarno, now a dear, amazing, smart, funny, treasured friend.  Melissa is a writer and producer for a toy company by day, as she will tell you on her exceedingly intelligent blog.  She is a fiction writer by (extremely late) night.  In between she keeps me laughing with her tales and her adventures, her threats to visit upon me the world's best pairing of cookies and wine, say, or a perilously stacked cone of ice cream.  Twice Melissa has stood before me live and in person at the BEA.  Always I learn from her.

Last week, Melissa was away.  Yesterday she was at a certain tennis match.  This morning, I turned on this computer to find Melissa right here, with me, undertaking a Stealth (which is to say surprise) In Anticipation of You Are My Only giveaway.  It's pretty big.  It's so Melissa.  It threw me for a Coney-Island-Roller-Coaster-quality loop.  Please take a moment to visit her blog and see what she has in store for you.

Melissa, you rock.  The next triple scoop is on me.  Plus the world's best malbec.

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The remarkable My Friend Amy writes about small moments

and why they matter in works of art.  I was thinking, as I read, that the New York Times Book Review should hire Amy as a weekly essayist.  She is just that good.  I was thinking, too, about how lucky I am to count Amy as a faithful reader and so entirely generous friend.

Thank you, Amy, for these words.  Thank you, indeed, for everything.

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My Friend Amy reflects on YOU ARE MY ONLY

When one of the most beloved and creative book readers and bloggers around takes the time to read your work, you are grateful. I most certainly and eternally am. Thank you, Amy.

In YOU ARE MY ONLY, Beth Kephart tells the story of a young girl ripped from the life meant for her as a child and raised in captivity with honesty, fairness, tenderness, and most of all hope. It's a story of unusual circumstances with universal application—no matter how dark and difficult life may seem, the hope for something more is always within reach. Breathtaking in its beauty and with great heart, YOU ARE MY ONLY brings readers the story of a kidnapped young girl that they will never want to forget.

Amy Riley, My Friend Amy

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In which I appreciate the early enthusiasm for YAMO

I have been anticipating the release of YOU ARE MY ONLY for what seems like a very long time (only because I was writing and rewriting the book for what felt like a long but deeply wonderful time).  But I did not anticipate having two of my favorite bloggers take such early notice of it.  Has anyone figured out how to send hugs long distance, yet?

For being there for me, and for my books, I am today thanking 1st Daughter at There's a Book and Amy, at My Friend Amy.  I would love to have you both to a party of cherished readers someday.

Oh, and may I just add a note of appreciation here for my dear cousin (we are going to call ourselves cousin, even if some second something is involved) Kelsey Coons for letting me know about There's a Book?  If you saw or met Kelsey, you'd want to claim first-blood relation status, too.

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My conversation with My Friend Amy

Amy Riley has been a force for good in my life since she mentioned my little blog on her very big blog and introduced me to her wide circle of friends.  She has known me through three books now, has generously supported each one, has taught me many things about books and life, and once I even had the chance to meet this book angel here, at the site of the first-ever Book Bloggers Convention, which she, but of course, helped organize.

A few weeks ago, Amy and I began an e-mail conversation that had me reflecting on the joys, fears, and behind-the-scene-ism of the writing life.  We talked at length about Dangerous Neighbors and about what's next and what I hope for and what I cherish.  It's all here.

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A cover story, an interview, a giveaway, and unrecordable emotion

Today I am in debt to the many who have embraced Dangerous Neighbors and made today, its launch day, alive and so beautiful, in so many ways.

Thank you, Amy at My Friend Amy, for doing so much, so quietly, so dearly — for finding the energy, for working (with Nicole Bonia) toward the ideas and the ideals, for coining the phrase The Beth Effect, for believing in the power of hope, and finding it.

Thank you, Melissa Walker, for asking me to tell the cover story of Dangerous Neighbors for your Barnes and Noble blog at Unabashedly Bookish. 

Thank you, Holly Cupala, for inviting me to share some of the secrets behind Dangerous Neighbors (and to conduct a book giveaway) for your own wonderful blog. 

Thank you, Deborah at Books, Movies, and Chinese Food, for your gorgeous review and for so kindly posting your thoughts on Amazon.  What a kindness.

Thank you, Anna Lefler, beloved comedienne and faithful Twitterer.

Thank you, Mandy, for more than I can ever tell or say.

Thank you, Karen Mahoney, for this incredible blog nod (and a fantastic list of other blogs you cannot live without).

Thank you, Elizabeth Mosier, for your party-hat wearing (even if it did unsmooth your enviably smooth hair).

Thank you, Jay Kirk, Sy Montgomery, Katrina Kenison, J.C. Castner, Kate Moses, Hipwritermama, Erin McIntosh, Lorie Ann Grover, Melissa Middleman Firman, Jill Santopolo, Rody Gratton, Paul DiLorenzo, Andra Bell, Ivy Goodman, Nate, Laura, Kelly, Tirsa, Caroline Leavitt, Steph Su, Serena, Jenny, Staci, Ed Goldberg, Meg, Novel Novice, Richard, Liz, Jan, Barbara, Jerry, Rosellen Brown, Allie, Kathye, and Alyson Hagy.

Thank you, all of Egmont USA, and thank you, Amy Rennert, for calling, and thank those of you who encourage champagne and a little private reflection on a day that so much corporate work calls, and thank you phenomenal, good-hearted bloggers, and any that I have inadvertently missed. I don't mean to miss goodness.  Ever.

For so many reasons, this book feels like my first, ever.

I have all of you to thank for that.

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Thoughts on the Book Blogger Convention, and special thank you's

We spoke of many things at the Book Blogger Convention on our author/blogger relationship panel.  I learned a lot from my fellow panelists, Nicole [Linus's Blanket], Amy [My Friend Amy], Bethanne [The Book Studio], Kristi [The Story Siren], and Caridad Pineiro [Caridad Pineiro's Blog].  Transparency and respectfulness were two recurring themes.  So was the need to blog not with an eye on gain, but with an eye toward community.  I spoke of my respect for bloggers who take time to read books, take time to craft their opinions, take time to share those opinions with the world.  I revealed my recurring worry that there are bloggers out there who have been kind to my books and that I, the author who does not Google Alert herself, does not know and has not said thank you.

Today an angel whispered in my ear, You may want to check out these two blogs, Books and Movies and You've GOTTA read this!.  I did, and may I now say, publicly, thank you, to both the angel and these two generous readers of The Heart is Not a Size.  I learned from both reviews, as I always do, and they are particularly helpful to me today as I turn my attention to a scene in a book that features horses.  Write longer, one urges.  (I am trying.)  Stay focused on the root of people.  I am working on that, too. Thank you both, so much.

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Scenes from the Book Blogger Convention...

which was so well run, so informative, and so rippled through with companionable energy:

The Javitz Convention Center.  Yours truly flanked by the gorgeous Natasha (Maw Books Blog) and the stunning Nicole (Linus's Blanket).  The faithful attendees, of the very last BEA week day, after the very last session, as seen from the very last seat of the Author/Blogger Relationship panel discussion.  Yours truly with the one and only Lenore.  Yours truly with the always-kind Melissa of The Betty and Boo Chronicles.  And never last and never least:  The fabulous Amy of My Friend Amy (in person!) as well as the very dear and intelligent Wendy of Caribousmom. 

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