Cover Mock-Ups

So one of my coworkers asks me a lot about my novel - since she is a joking sort of person she insists that I should write not about the Potato Famine, but a potato version of 50 Shades of Grey, because THAT would sell like crazy (I roll my eyes a lot) - and she offered to make me a book cover.

I thought she was kidding.

On the (extremely) off chance she WASN'T kidding, I thought she'd come in with some fairly respectable stuff, not, you know, clip art and comic sans, but nothing terribly impressive. Maggie tends to sell herself short in the (very strange) conversations we have between customers.

I was in no way expecting something as amazing as this, and I thought it might be fun to share with you!

Dear future publisher: This. Please and thank you. 

I know, right??? I was completely floored when Maggie handed a printout of that to me a few weeks ago.

And, of course, in the vein of "you should write something like Twilight because that would take you no effort and you'd make a million dollars":

I present: Potato Famine Twilight, complete with blurb from Hedwig.

Maggie has assured me that the "jacket copy" is all gibberish, so don't strain yourself trying to see what it says. But still! How cool is that? An actual cover - even if not a real one from a publisher - is a pretty exciting thing to see. :)

I hope you're all staying warm in this horrific cold! Until next week, fair blog readers.

And Another One Done!

... well, for now. :)

So I was convinced that yesterday was Monday, hence this random Wednesday post. But this random Wednesday post brings you the news that I am *finished* with this draft of The Long Road Home!

WOOOO *throws confetti* WOOOO.

So, what happens next?

Well, it has just gone out to beta readers (as of right now, that consists of my roommate extraordinaire Lisa, my mom, and my publishing internship buddy Ari) because they are both nice people who like me and also people who will be very honest with me. I do so hope they'll enjoy it. (And not rip it to shreds TOO much.) After that, there'll be another round of edits, of course. Perhaps more than one more round, depending upon the level of edits suggested to me.

While that's happening, I get to write up a query letter (ugh) and a synopsis (double ugh) so as to prepare for AGENT SUBMISSIONS sometime this fall, hopefully!

And also not listen to Mumford & Sons for about a month at least. This last draft was fueled entirely by Mumford songs (well, that and tea). But I can hardly help it when this song in particular has the title of my novel in the lyrics, can I? (Sssh, don't tell Maire her theme song was written by a bunch of English guys.)

And... start something new, I suppose? We'll see what's next in store!

Till next week, dear readers... when I promise to remember when Tuesday actually is.

Finished!!

Hello, fair blog readers! My apologies for the late post today. Yesterday was probably the worst day ever. And by ever, I'm not sure I have experienced a worse day in all my 22 years of life. I thought I'd already had the worst day ever, but getting lost in Venice was at least something where I had control over the outcome. Yesterday was not one of those days.

But I survived yesterday and ended it by eating crepes and watching Downton Abbey with my little sister and my roommate/best friend, so that was all right.

Besides, I did not open this blog page to tell you about my Worst Day Ever. I opened it to tell you some NEWS: I finished my novel!!!

Specifically, I finished my first draft of "The Long Road Home," lovingly referred to as "that Irish novel." (Writers: do you also refer to books by things other than their titles, or just me? Mine are always "that French Revolution novel" or "that Irish novel" or "that London Blitz" novel.)

So, what now, you ask?

Well, my little sister is visiting me in Ithaca for the week, so I am taking the week off to hang out with her whenever I'm not at work. After that, I plan on trying my hand at writing a one-act play, because my aforementioned roommate/best friend is an actress currently without any acting to do, and also because why not give it a try?

And then of course there are the edits. So many edits. I'm not sure I've ever been so aware, immediately upon finishing a draft, just how much work needs to go into a piece to make it work the way it should. But I think this one could REALLY work if I get all the little jigsaw pieces to fit exactly as they should.

My new goal is to have it ready to send out into the world by the time many writers are gearing up for the madness that is NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) in November. That should give me plenty of time to do edits of my own, send it out to a beta reader or three, and do another round after that.

So... anybody want to beta read a rather dark fairytale about the Irish potato famine for me? :)

And writers - what is it that you do after you finish a project? Do you do a victory dance? Do you read a lot? Sleep a lot? Catch up on tv? Or do you dive immediately into your next project?

Teaser Tuesday: Making Mischief

Hello, fair blog readers! I have a teaser for you today!

Maire has been told by the Secrets Man to mess things up a bit at the farm, namely, by disrupting a shipment of grain due to be sent off to London. She recruits Caleb and Elizabeth's help, but then finds out that that might not have been the greatest of ideas.

I hope you enjoy it!

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“’S’all right, Caleb,” she whispered. “No one will catch us.” 

“Easy for you to say,” he muttered back, barely moving his lips. 

“If you keep looking so guilty, you will get caught. Relax. Everything’s going to be fine. And if they ask you-”

“I truthfully won’t know. I know, Maire.”

The last thing they’d done the night before was ‘borrow’ the hayloft ladders and lug the last of the grain up onto the barn roof. It had been a tricky job, with harrowing moments aplenty – one even left Maire dangling from the gutter for two desperate minutes – but they’d managed it. And then Maire had hidden the ladders as well. 

“Tell me everyplace that I can hide these,” she’d told him, “and then go to bed.”

“Why? Those are heavy, Maire, let me-”

“Because I can already tell you’ll make a dreadful liar, Monaghan. This way, if somebody asks you where the ladders have got to, you can truthfully say that you don’t know.”

“But if I tell you where to hide them-” he’d said, looking puzzled. It really was sweet, how unused to causing trouble he was. Maire had half-wanted to ruffle his hair over it.

“You’re going to tell me a handful of places. And if someone asks you, you can say truthfully that you don’t know, because you won’t know which place I’ve put them in, or if I’ve put them all in the same place or not. And you won’t need to go into detail listing possibilities. You can just say ‘I’ve no idea’ and look sweet like you do, and they’ll let you alone.”

“If you’re sure-” he’d said, still looking skeptical

.

“I’m sure,” she’d answered. He had finally told her some good hiding places, and she then shunted him out the barn door, watching his vanishing silhouette for a long moment before setting to work.  

Looking at Caleb’s pale face in the bright morning sunlight, her stomach gave the same twist of guilt it had once she’d chased him from the barn several hours before. It was wrong of her to drag him into this. It was wrong of her to take such an innocent and involve him in her schemes. No matter that she could not have accomplished this on her own. No matter that he had volunteered even after she had told him to stay away. Caleb had probably never even pulled Elizabeth’s pigtails when they were children, never stolen extra helpings from the kitchen or skipped off working on a particularly fine day to skip stones on the duck pond instead. 

She, on the other hand, had spent her whole childhood playing pranks on her siblings. And she’d spent the past two years stealing where she could, making trouble, as her mother called it. She was good at it. She was good at throwing her elbows and her fists into other people’s faces, never mind that her nose got bloodied because of it. She always came out with that fistful of barley, or that extra blanket, or what have you.

Caleb, however – Caleb was not a fighter. He was not mischievous. There was not a mischievous bone in his whole body. And Maire dreaded the thought of her troublemaking ways crushing his sweetness. 

Caleb was like sunshine. And she – well, she was the hailstorm no one expected and certainly no one wanted.

Teaser Tuesday: Kissing and Swearing

So it appears to be Tuesday again. Sorry guys. I have had All the Things happening to me lately: I have job interviews and finals and last classes and I met Tamora Pierce this weekend (!!! I promise you this will be a blog post) and I've won some writing contests and had readings to do and oh my goodness my brain might explode if I have to process one more thing right now.

Therefore, I have a teaser for you again, but it is the kind of teaser I know you guys like best: the kissing scene kind of teaser. Huzzah!

So, Maire has just attempted to beat up the Secrets Man, without much success, and he has in turn threatened Caleb's life if she doesn't do what he wants her to do. Then this happens. Enjoy!

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And then she bumped into Caleb before going in to dinner.

“Well, hello then,” he said, giving her his wide, cheery smile.

Maire could only gape up at him as suddenly she found her heart leaping into her throat. She felt strangely like she’d walked directly into a brick wall. There he was, whole, healthy, safe, and it suddenly occurred to her how terrible it would be if she lost him. How disastrous it would be if this boy, this sweet boy who seemed constructed solely out of smiles and good humour and kindness, were wiped out of the world by anything, least of all by Maire’s own carelessness. 

“Maire?” he asked, and she blinked at him, only just barely able to keep herself from continuing to stare. “Have I got something on my face?” 

She just shook her head, but then she furrowed her brows in as a strange, stupid idea formed in her head. Her eyes flicked up and down his face, from the quizzical expression in his blue eyes down to his chin, then up again, settling on his mouth. His shirt collar was hanging open, like the Secrets Man’s had been, and before she could stop herself, before she could tell herself that this was a terrible idea, she reached up on tiptoe, grabbed his collar to pull him in towards her, and pressed her lips to his. 

Caleb stumbled backwards, nearly sending Maire off balance, but he reached out an arm to steady her before she fell. She was just about to pull away, her thoughts screaming that this was a terrible idea and that she’d best run away right that instant, when Caleb tightened his arm around her. The gesture became not just one meant to keep her from falling; it became a proper embrace. And he kissed her back, then, his other hand coming up to brush her cheek. 

Maire felt herself leaning in to him even more, giving herself over to the kiss, and that was when she yanked herself away, stumbling backwards, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She stared at him as he collected himself, as he let his hand fall back to his side now that his fingers were no longer settled against her skin. 

“Maire,” he said softly, blinking at her, “what-”

“Oh, bollocks,” she said, and she turned and ran, hardly thinking of where she was going.

 

Teaser Tuesday: Insults in the Rain

Hello all! Well, we have reached That Time of the Semester again - the time when I am running around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to do all the things I need to do. This week is made much more insane but also much more awesome by the New Voices Literary Festival, in which I am a student guide and get to introduce the FIRST EVER YA writer invited as a speaker to Ithaca College. (This was totally my idea. Just sayin.' *toots own horn*)

Anyways, due to the insanity, you guys get a teaser today! YAAAAY. It is from my senior project / that Irish Famine novel. Maire's new friend Caleb is a shepherd at the farm Maire's ended up at, and she's instructed to bring him and the other shepherds dinner even though it's pouring rain. She runs into someone else instead...

Enjoy!

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She plodded across the fields again, pushing her sopping hair out of her eyes as she went towards the sheep pastures. The basket was heavy, and she wondered what four shepherds could possibly need that felt like rocks. But she dragged it along behind her, her hands slipping on the wet wicker, peering through the rain-splashed darkness to find some sign of Caleb. 

She walked directly into someone as she was looking the other direction for some sign of sheep or shepherds. 

“Augh – sorry, I didn’t-”

And then she stopped. The figure in front of her in the darkness was not Caleb or Sean or one of the other shepherds. It was not someone from the farm at all.

“You’re capable of apologies,” the Secrets Man said, his smile just visible in the dim light. “Interesting.” 

“What are you doing here?” Maire snapped, stumbling backwards. 

He had no reason for being there, in the rain, of all things. He had no reason for reminding her so starkly of her betrayal, of reeling her in again. She’d thought she was free of him, now he’d trapped her in this place. Thought he was done with her. 

“I just thought I ought to happen by, see how you might be holding up. It is a difficult thing to leave one’s family, after all.”

The smile, all she could see of his face beneath the shadow of his brow, widened slightly. 

“You tricked me,” she snarled, gripping the basket handle tightly, wishing it was something less unwieldy, something she could strike him with. “You said nothing about leaving them forever, you bastard. This is your fault.”

 “You can blame me if you like,” he said, shrugging calmly. “If that’s what makes you feel better about all this.” 

“I don’t-” she stammered, but then she stopped. She didn’t want to tell this man just how much she hated him. She didn’t want to tell him that she’d likely kill him given the chance. And she could not let him know how very broken he’d left her, and just how much she knew this was all her own fault. “Why? Why did you bring me here, of all places?” 

“I knew you’d be treated well, fed, paid, the like,” he answered. “That is what you wanted, wasn’t it? You wanted to save yourself. You can do that here.”

“But – why another Cunningham? Why a place that’ll just feed the English?” 

“Well, I thought you might like to have some familiarity.” 

Maire had no words for him then. There was no phrase found in heaven or hell that would properly express just how much she loathed him. 

“So how are you faring?” 

“Why should you care?” 

“Temper, temper!” he said with a laugh. “I’m merely being polite.”

“Why did you bring Agnes here? Why did you bring any of us here?” 

“Because there’s some good you can do here. I thought she could, but it seems that I was wrong.”

“Maire?” 

She spun round, looking for the sound of the voice, and saw Caleb materializing through the rain. He was going to see the Secrets Man, he was going to find out everything horrible about her. But when she turned again, the Secrets Man had vanished into the dark as easily as a puff of smoke.

 

Finding Your Author Voice

Last semester, I took a class called Writing the Short Novel. I've shared some snippets from that project, Up in Smoke, with you here on the blog.

At the start of this semester, my professor, Eleanor Henderson, nominated me and two others from my class to read from our short novels at the Ithaca College Whalen Symposium. The Whalen Symposium is a day of presentations of student research, mostly involving science research or various thesis projects but also featuring some fiction and poetry.

So I read my work aloud in front of an audience for the first time.

And I have that video here for you! I hope you like it!



As my roommates can attest, I was really, really freaked out going into this, but once I got up to the podium, I actually found it kind of fun to share my work with an audience like this. I'm convinced that every writer has an Author Voice - we all react similarly to reading our work aloud. Our voices drop about half an octave, and we sound quite serious and important. My friend Sarah told me that she thinks someone is meant to be an author if they have an Author Voice, and that I most certainly do, so that was certainly reassuring. It is, after all, why I agreed to present in the first place - even though I was really scared about it, I thought it would be excellent practice, because being an author is the only thing I truly want to do with my life.