Things don't always fall apart

As anyone who might have read my second memoir, Into the Tangle of Friendship, knows, I don't have the best relationship with my mouth.  Just about anything that could be wrong with it is (I'm talking about structure and soft tissue now, and not verbal emanations; there's much wrong with that as well).  And so, through the years, I've had small surgeries and big ones, I've had jaw bones bolted to jaw bones, I've had the mouth wired shut for weeks on end, I've had a root canal gone desperately wrong (a shattered tooth, a pain killer to which I had a nightmarish reaction), I've had gum grafts that have made me feel and look like a flying UFO. 

It's just my mouth.  It is not life-threatening.  People face far far worse things every single day—many people.  But still.  I woke up this morning and didn't feel like going to the periodontist who is perfectly nice and tres talented (his nephew is also high up on Obama's team, so he tells good stories).  I didn't feel like it.

Here's what happened to make the day sweet anyway.  My son woke up and said the kindest thing.  My husband offered to make me a late-night brown cow (something to savor while watching So You Think You Can Dance).  Matthew Quick sent along these generous words about The Heart is not a Size.  I heard from friends (I love my friends).  And.... the yellow finch that banged on my office window for months following the passing of my mother, the finch that launched Nothing but Ghosts (or its near cousin), started banging again the very instant I arrived following this morning of surgery and stitches.  It had not banged for months and months and months.  But here it was again—another message, I suspect, from my mother.

Life is good.

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The Beth Kephart Reading Challenge (I Know, I Can't Believe It)

When My Friend Amy named her blog My Friend Amy, was she anticipating that she was going to meet me? That she was going to change my life with such force that whenever I talk about the trajectory of my writing career, I talk about her? She's the one who threw the Nothing but Ghosts virtual launch party. She's the one who got me involved with her tremendous Book Bloggers Appreciation Week. She's the one who, every day and often several times a day, helps direct us, her fans, to new books, new shows, new concepts, new issues, other bloggers and writers.

My Friend Amy. Indeed.

Today Amy has posted a Beth Kephart Reading Challenge. But beyond that, she has given me the opportunity to put my eleven years as a book-published author into perspective. I began this journey by publishing memoir. I moved into history and poetry, corporate fable, young adult novels, and I'm currently finishing my first novel for adults. I have learned a lot along the way—about how memoirs, for example, inadvertently freeze people in time when in fact (and for example), children grow up, they evolve, they overcome, they teach us more and more each day. They deserve to be recognized and seen for who they are right now.

Amy has given me the chance to say this, the platform, and she has done this within the context of a contest that has, as its prize, an ARC of Dangerous Neighbors, my historical novel that, as of this moment, only Laura Geringer (my editor), Amy Rennert (my agent), Robyn Russell (Amy Rennert's assistant), and the extraordinarily good people of Egmont USA have seen.

I encourage you to head over to Amy's.

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readergirlz writing contest (3): then and now: The Winner

For the third Readergirlz contest, writers were asked to choose a photograph of themselves at a turning point in time. They were then to write of that moment in present tense. They were next to take that moment and recast it in past tense. Finally, they were to reflect on what each tense made room for in terms of storytelling.

Our winner is Kiera Ingalls, 17, of Wayne, PA, who did a masterful job of twice telling a wild turkey story and reflecting on what the exercise yielded. We had two runners up: Carly Husick and Lucia Anderson. Kiera wins a signed copy of Nothing but Ghosts, and I replay her entry in full here. Look for the fourth and final readergirlz writing contest tomorrow; the winner of that contest will receive an advanced reading copy of The Heart is Not a Size.

Present Tense:

I follow my brother’s quick steps in the dewy grass to the roaring creek. The slime of salamanders lingers on my small fingers as I rub the bumpy skin of a toad. My brother Roscoe starts to meander towards the woods. Quickly following him I make sure not to drop the fidgety toad that I cusp in my hands. Under the tree cover there is a myriad of vibrant green “monkey brains”. I pick one up and the citrus scent wafts right up to my nose. From the corner of my eye sudden movement catches my attention. I drop the monkey brain as Roscoe dashes after a wild turkey. He lunges at it once only brushing the tail fathers. He sprints up again making another attempt this time acquiring a feather. With another grab the agitated turkey turns around and bites Roscoe. My brother stops, allowing the wild turkey to fade into the distance. I approach my brother and after seeing that he still has all of his fingers we take our time back home. Looking down my brother faintly knocks on the heavy mahogany door. My mother slowly opens the door appearing disgruntled. I gaze up extending my arms in front of me to expose my bumpy finding to mommy. In return she extends her accepting arms to Roscoe and I for a hug, and in relief we leap into them.

Past Tense:

We jumped in the creek looking for slimy squishy creatures and we walked through underpasses beneath major roads. Wandering through the woods my brother, Roscoe, and I discover fox skulls and fragrant Osage Oranges. As we started back to the house Roscoe spotted a wild turkey and decided he would try to catch it. I’m not sure if he intended to have it for dinner, considering he was a very picky eater and would only eat turkey and lettuce sandwiches for some time, or if he wanted to domesticate it as a pet. Nevertheless, he was chasing the poor animal and grabbing at its feathers. I t must have been Roscoe’s second or third attempt to grab at the turkey, so it turned around and bit him. At that moment Roscoe decided it was time to head home. We hesitantly knocked on the front door and our disappointed mother answered. Although she was greeted by two once clean children that were now soaked, covered in mud, infested with ticks and most likely infected with giardia-- presenting fox skulls, toads and Osage Oranges-- she still accepted us with open arms and a smile.

Reflection:

Writing this event in present tense following with past tense revealed to me the humor of the event that was unfathomable at the time it happened. In general this process allows for interpretation of a past situation with the end result presenting intriguing differences. In my story for example the present tense introduces apprehensive characters and the past tense illustrated a couple of fearless pioneers.

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readergirlz writing contest (3): then and now

Two winners have been selected for the October readergirlz writing challenge, and their work will be posted shortly. In the meantime, I'm happy to unveil the third challenge of four, a contest I've called "Then and Now." Here we go:

In this readergirlz challenge, the premise is simple (and does not involve a video). Find a photograph of yourself as a young child on the verge of some new knowledge or turning point. Write a paragraph about that photograph/that moment in present tense, as if you are experiencing that moment for the first time. Then write about that photograph/that moment in past tense, with the gift of retrospection. Ask yourself what you gain from working in the present tense, and what is gained by reflection; include your thoughts on this with your submission. Send your entry to me at kephartblogATcomcastDOTnet by November 25, 2009. The author of the winning entry will receive a signed copy of NOTHING BUT GHOSTS, a novel about a young girl who, in learning to live past her mother’s unexpected passing, involves herself in decoding the mystery that envelops the recluse down the road. The past and the present collide in GHOSTS.

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Rejuvenated at Amada (and a NBG review/giveaway)

I have been in the kitchen for much of this summer—planning and cooking lunches and dinners, planning again, cooking again, starting again. Somewhere along the way, food lost its luster. Meals had become the thing to figure out, to be on the ready for. I wasn't, frankly, much in the mood, and the truth is: I miss my mother's cooking. No one ever did or will again cook like she did. I miss her simple chicken, her sandwich cookies, her inventions. My mother taught herself to cook. I never learned enough from her.

But last night, at a Philadelphia restaurant called Amada, I was blessed with the most exquisite meal I believe I have ever had. Spanish tapas of the authentic sort. Delicate prawns. Asparagus like candy. The sweetest serrano ham I've ever seen. Flatbread to die for. Ice cream like no other. And at the end, of it all a cookie thin as paper on a white rectangular dish.

Something was reborn in me, eating at Amada last evening. Something like hope. So this is what food can be, I thought. And this is pleasure. And this is the reward that life offers.

Becca is another reward that life offers — a brilliant reader and writer and teacher and liver of life. Today, in a beautiful gesture, she is offering a review of Nothing but Ghosts, as well as a giveaway. Visit her site, if you can.

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The Bookslut Review of Nothing but Ghosts

Sometimes, after a long walking day in the city, words float in toward you, and you catch your breath.

That just happened, with the Bookslut review of Nothing but Ghosts. I post here a small excerpt from Colleen Mondor's most generous review.

Kephart's incredibly elegant writing style is what really stands out. Her use of language is startling at times and it cuts right through all the clichés that burden so many novels for teens. Here is Katie remembering a final vacation with her parents: "History is never absolute truth. It isn't just the thing that was. It's the thing that could have been." It's a lovely sentiment and transcends Katie's memory to Martine's loss.

In ways the reader will not expect the two are brought together which makes the ending that much more bittersweet. I loved Katie, loved her dad and all the memories of her mother. I thought the mystery of Martine was authentic and interesting and the way that Katie followed it, with help of the coolest librarian ever, to be quite engaging. The supporting cast also stands out well from Danny (boyfriend material) to Olson, the man who might very well have all the answers. The ending is about as good as it gets making Nothing but Ghosts one of those classic summer success stories. The adventure here might be small, but it's a trip worth taking.

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