Summertime, and the reading's easy...

So, I've been a reading FOOL lately, especially on my sparklepants new Kindle. It's been AWESOME. I recently finished Solstice by PJ Hoover, The Goddess Test by Aimee Carter, and Divergent by Veronica Roth. All really different and interesting reads. It's a good time for YA! :D

What are you reading now, and what's in your pile to be read?

Are you a reader?

I read pretty voraciously when I'm not writing one of my own books. (It's so hard for me to get my characters out of my head when I'm writing that trying to read something else is almost impossible.) There is always a book on my nightstand, more often two or three, plus whatever's on my Kindle. Then there are the magazines scattered throughout the house, usually folded back to the last article I was looking at.

I've always been a reader. One of my earliest memories is winning a blue ribbon in kindergarten for reading the most books. My parents read, my brother reads...books have always been a part of my life.

So here are my non-scientific questions for you:

Have you always been a reader?
If no, when did you start actively reading for pleasure?
If yes, does the rest of your family read?
Where does your love of reading come from?

to read or not to read...

Before I was a published author, I remember hearing other pubbed authors say that they had never read their books in print.

Each time someone would say this, I was scandalized! What? How could you not read your printed book??? What is wrong with you?

Guess what? I've never read BITE ME! in it's published form. I've started a couple of times, but never could get past a few pages. It felt weird.

But then LOVE SUCKS! came out a few weeks ago and I realized I barely remembered anything about the book. I remembered Sexy Lexy but that was about it. So I sat down one night and started to read.

And I didn't hate it.

So I read a little more.

And I still didn't hate it.

And then I laughed out loud a few times.

Wow. Not hating it.

And then, the book was finished. I read it all. And, dare I say it? I actually enjoyed my own book. Sure, there were a couple of things I would've done differently. It's very fast paced (which I prefer) BUT there were moments that it felt a little rushed to me. But then, I'm the author and I'm never gonna be truly satisfied with my own work.

Armed with this knowledge and new found courage, I thought I'd try to read BITE ME! again.

Yeah. I'm pretty sure BITE ME! will always be my one unread book. I just can't do it. I dunno why, and I'm quite certain I'm ok with not knowing the reason behind my psychological block.

What about you? Do you think you'll want to read your book in print or are you gonna be like me? And if you're a reader not a writer, do you find it weird that some authors can't read their own work after it's published?

I Love Books... And They Love Me Back

I love books. And recently I've been thinking about how much they love me back. I commented on a Facebook status featuring a display of Julia Quinn's novels about how I spent a four day weekend at our lake-house in Maine reading her Bridgerton series from start to finish-- I think there were seven of them at the time-- while the scabs on my bald head healed. I'd just finished treatment for the worst of my cancer battles and was getting the worried, sideways glances. Nobody was sure I'd make it. I swear to you, I believe losing myself in that gloriously warm, funny, wonderful series was healing, nurturing, and helped me turn the corner.

I actually look back on that particular weekend with great fondness. Reading good books is, for me, a lush experience. Give me that lovely, earthy smell of the lake and pines. Give me a blanket over my legs on the dock, one pug nestled across a thigh, and a cold drink within reach. Give me the words-- a book open in my hands into which I can tumble. I may be the only person alive who would, knowing how it will end, gladly tumble right into Tom Riddle's cursed diary just because the thrill of it makes me shiver. Voldemort can do his best-- the idea of actually somersaulting down, down, down into the pages-- HEAVEN!

I've always loved books. I've always taken solace and comfort in their pages.

This past week I was feeling down, and once again crawled into one of Julia Quinn's universes. I read Ten Things I Love About You in a greedy, delighted rush. I'm also finally getting to the latest House of Night book. The experience was so delicious I have decided, very soon, to re-live my Bridgerton marathon.

Is there a series you wander back to re-read when you need to feel loved and comforted? I have so many-- but I'd love to add even more to my list! So what books do you love, and more importantly, which ones love you back?

recommendations?

I need some good YA recommendations. (Besides our own Rhonda Stapleton's Stupid Cupid, Flirting with Disaster, and Pucker Up. I'm all about those!)

I recently just finished Twenties Girl by Sophie Kinsella and I'm currently reading On the Steamy Side by my friend Louisa Edwards as well as the soon to be published Boyfriend of the Month Club by my friend and crit partner Maria Geraci.

But I need some good YA recs. So hit me with your best shot.

What Are You Reading?

It's almost summer, so that means summer reading! Laying by the pool, relaxing with a good book, and a nice cold drink...ahhh...

It's been months since I've really read anything other than board books or books on baby development, so I'm looking for some reading suggestions!

I plan to hit up Borders this weekend to buy Rhonda's latest, so I'm looking for some other suggestions.

Speaking of Rhonda, the last installment of the STUPID CUPID trilogy hit the stores yesterday. Go pick up your copy!



And Mel's new book will be available in July.



If it's ebooks you want, be sure to check out Kristen's and Gwen's latest!





Other than these awesome titles by our Nistas, what is on your summer reading list?

Where do you like to read?

(image courtesy of treehugger.com)

What is your ideal reading environment?

In the fall and winter, my favorite thing is to cuddle up in the corner of my sectional couch, tuck a blanket and a bunch of pillows around me, and read. I like it quiet, but with a nice fire crackling in our fireplace.

In the spring and summer, I love to sit in my back patio, just digging into a book as the warm breezes filter through the big screened panels of the room.

But honestly? I can get lost in a book anywhere. I've brought them while waiting for doctor appointments, during my lunch break, while I have downtime in the car--anywhere that gives me a few minutes to dive back into whatever story I'm engrossed in.

How about you? What's your favorite way to read? Are you the kind of person who can read anywhere, or do you have to have a certain environmental setup to focus on a book?

Whatcha reading?

I'm going to the KidLit Con 09 on Saturday, here in DC. It's a conference focused on the "kidlitosphere" (blogging about books for kids and teens), and should be pretty cool.

There will mostly be book review bloggers, but also some publishers and authors. I'm hoping to learn about a lot of new books I don't already know about.

But until then, I need some reading suggestions. So whatcha reading right now, or what have you read lately that you really liked?

To finish or not to finish, that is the question

I'm talking about books, in case you're wondering. Because if I were talking about chocolate cake, finishing wouldn't even be a question.

What I want to know is, do you finish a book even if it's not holding your interest? Or if it's just an okay read? Do you keep going, hoping the story will take some amazing turn that will redeem everything else you've slogged through? Or do you stop, put the book aside and reach for something new?

I used to be a compulsive finisher, but now, not so much. I figure life's too short to read boring books, you know? And I'm struggling with this decision right now - I started reading a book that's the first in a very popular YA series and while it started out pretty good, it's quickly gotten very "meh" for me. I don't care about the characters, which to me, is a big downfall. Why should I keep reading about people I have no empathy for?

So what do you do? Finish or put it aside?

What are you reading?

I got home from the Central Ohio Fiction Writer's conference on Sunday and one of the things I brought with me was a wicked head cold. Because of that, I'm wimping out on today's post and simply asking what you're reading.

I know. Lame. But it was that or a 15 page long Nyquil induced rant on how smoke detector batteries should never, ever need to be replaced due to excessive beeping while there is a sick person in the house and the only well person is 1000 miles away on a business trip.

See? You got off easy.

Take a Look, It's in a Book...

Butterfly in the sky...
I can fly twice as high...
Take a look...
It's in a book...
Reading Rainbow!

Anyone else remember that show? For over 26 years, LeVar Burton hosted PBS' children's literacy show, Reading Rainbow.

I used to watch it religiously when I was little. I credit it -- and Sesame Street, of course -- as being instrumental in my love of reading.

In fact, I loved Reading Rainbow so much that I even auditioned to be in one of the on-air book report segments at the end of the show. I still remember my mom picking me up early from school to take the bus into The City (yes, it's capitalized, because I'm referring to NYC) for the audition.

Alas, I didn't get it. :( The first of many rejections for me in the publishing world, unfortunately. But it didn't make me love the show, or books, any less.

Reading Rainbow came to the end of its 26-year run last Friday, after winning mroe than two dozen Emmys. It was the third longest running children's show in PBS history. Only Sesame Street and Mister Rogers beat it out.

In explaining why the show ended, John Grant, who is in charge of content at Reading Rainbow's home station WNED, explained that there's been a shift in educational TV programming philosophy, starting with the Department of Education under the recent Bush administration (had to put that "recent" in there, because Reading Rainbow outlived both Bush Sr. and Jr.'s administrations).

The Department of Education wanted to see a heavier emphasis on the basic tools of reading, such as phonics or spelling. PBS, the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, and the Department of Education put significant funding towards programming that teaches kids how to read.

Reading Rainbow, on the other hand, taught kids why to read.

So I think it's sad to see a show focused on the sheer joy of reading end. My hope is that kids today will continue to learn the joy of books, and not just read because they have to.

Read All About It

I've been an avid fan of newspapers for many, many years. My mom and dad love to tell the tale of me, pre-school aged, sitting with a copy of The Boston Globe, upside-down. When asked what I was doing, I replied "I'm ponderin' the world sichapashun." I have no memory of this, but it sounds like me imitating my father's southern drawl, so it's probably true.

I still read at least one newspaper a day, quite often more. I think non-newspaper people find this startling, because they have images of their friends reading every single word in The Boston Herald, passing out in their cornflakes, and getting nothing else done all day. What we actually do is skim, scan, and read the juicy bits. I, personally, read the first few leads. Then I scan. I read the gossip page. Scan some more. Read the editorial page, picking anything that matters to me and ditching the rest. I never read letters. A quick perusal of the Sports page, then I leave it for anyone else who cares. My Sunday and Weekend Editions are a more leisurely, luxurious process. I milk those all weekend.

Newspapers can be an amazing bonding experience, too. My father is another newspaper person. He often drops his Herald on the chair next to me in the morning to save me the buck. And we're both bad about reading articles out loud, as if the entire world MUST be fascinated by what fascinates US. Ahmed, too, is a newspaper guy. One of my absolute, all-time favorite things in the world is to lay in bed on a crisp fall morning, snuggled under warm quilts, sharing a pile of weekend newspapers in silence. We'll go an hour without a word, two nerds with glasses on the ends of our noses, to grunt a brief "did you see this?" and receive a muffled "hmph" of response.

You know it's real when you can tell the difference between a "yep" hmph, a "no" hmph, and a "not interested" hmph. And you know it's forever when you don't really care which hmph is which, because you're exactly where you want to be... you just like the sound of that hmph.

I hate to see the gradual decline of print news. I know everyone blames the internet, but to be honest we stopped having ours delivered because we went through dozens of incompetent delivery persons. In the end, it probably costs me no more to buy one paper daily at the stand, pick up the odd edition of another when I see something interesting now and then, and avoid the soggy, sloppy, and unreliable slings and arrows of delivery. Plus it's part of my routine in the morning... and I actually love it when my dad beats me to it and hands off his ratty, pre-read copy to me. It's something we share, still, after all this time. I only share my newspapers with the very best people.

Now, if you'll excuse me... it's Saturday morning. I'm off to grab the weekend Ledger and spend some quality time, ponderin' the world sichapashun. Hmph.

Child's Play??

Like so many writers and avid readers, my childhood was filled with books. This week I've been working on a children's book that I promised to my nephew, Liam, who will be in first grade this fall. He, like his aunt before him, was too impatient to wait for the school system to teach him what those mystical symbols on the page were all about. He taught himself to read, and now spends his summer reading absolutely everything with gusto. He's close to a second grade level already, and can sit with a beginning book in his lap without any assistance. He knocked me off my feet about two weeks ago when, while sounding out words on the sports page of the Herald, he struggled for a few moments and then blurted out the word "intercollegiate."

Folks, I know college graduates who can't spell it, much less sound it out from the page.

So I promised him his very own book as a reward, and I'm working on it now. Since I intend to break every rule in the book to create it-- and since I don't know what I'm doing anyhow-- I'll self publish it.

You'd think that writing for children would be simple, since they are, right? The arrogance of that statement is why, I think, so many people find themselves stunned when they answer those crappy ads in magazines shouting "YOU CAN WRITE CHILDREN'S BOOKS." It's actually quite likely you can't. I've always been marginally aware that writing for younger people bears a greater responsibility. But until I sat down to pen something for beginning readers I'd never considered how much it took.

Try it. Write a sentence describing your sneakers. Use only vocabulary, sentence structure, and imagery a child of five to seven years can understand. It's not that simple. Now try to create a story rich enough to make a child who is being reared in technicolor HD magical boob-box-hood within the same parameters.

It makes me genuinely appreciate the absolute genius of Doctor Seuss, Maurice Sendak, and god-love-them, the people involved in Sesame Street.

I clearly remember the very first books I devoured, including Where the Wild Things Are, The Monster at the End of this Book, and everything Seuss. But like my nephew, I was quickly bored with anything that seemed to be addressing me as a child. I quickly moved on to slender, first novels. My teachers were not so much pleased as mortified to find me hunched over The Hobbit and Watership Down by second grade. They were probably right, too. I was intellectually fascinated but the darkness did frighten me, and I was most likely nowhere near emotionally ready.

Anyway, wish me luck on Liam's book. It's harder than I thought it would be, but I suspect I will be prouder of myself than I thought, too. This ain't child's play.

I Love Books

I suppose if you're here, reading a blog dedicated to the joys of Young Adult fiction, you love books. I love books. My obsession started before I could even read them. As a little child I liked touching the spines, turning the pages, staring at the letters and wondering what they would say to me if I could read them. Needless to say I started reading early. I never stopped.

I've always had a deep suspicion of anyone who claims they "don't have time to read." Why is that always the excuse? Nobody ever says "I don't like books." I've begun to think we have created a culture of "stress addiction" that's really just "excuse addiction." Almost every excuse I hear these days involves a lack of time. We live in an age of ultra-portability and technological amazements, but nobody seems to have time. Microwave your dinner, take the fast lane down the highway, get your appointments sent to your Blackberry, text your kids. But finding an hour a night to enjoy a novel? Impossible!

I'm the first to admit I love television. I love movies. I love spending time with my friends. But if I had a choice between any of those things and books... no contest. Books would win every time. They are my favorite, most treasured indulgence. I probably buy three novels a week at minimum. I do not have a "to be read" pile. TBR? If you count waiting until I'm done with the one in my hand, maybe. And with summer coming, most of the good stuff on tv is going on hiatus, anyway. Most nights I turn on the tv, true, but I also only glance up when I hear something interesting. Or Ahmed bumps my shoulder and grunts. What? Oh. They're doing fiddleheads on Iron Chef. Cool.

Back to my book...

I was thinking about this last night because I had food poisoning, but wouldn't put my book down. Every time I needed to run for the bathroom I stuffed a bookmark in, dropped, and scurried... but I also came right back. This morning Ahmed asked me how the heck I retained any of it. You know, he has a point. But I tend to blow through a novel in one evening, so I'm not worried. I can re-read it. (For those planning to ask, the book is Darkborn by Alison Sinclair.)

Bottom line? If you don't love books, you can't take a prominent place in my life. We can be acquaintances, but we can never be true friends. Sorry. I mean... what on earth would we talk about?

judging a book by its cover.

I hate to admit this, but I totally judge a book by its cover.

It's wrong and I'm ashamed. But I have high hopes that admitting the problem will be the first step toward recovery.

We're told over and over that the inside is not always reflected by the outside and yet we have to form our first impressions on something. And what is that something? More often than not, it's the first thing we see.

We judge people based on their appearance. I know, we shouldn't judge at all, but whatever. We do. We judge food based on what it looks like. I'm sure liver and onions is a fine meal, I won't touch it. Same with haggis (much to my Scottish friend's chagrin). So it stands to reason that we form a cursory opinion on books when we first see the cover.

Here's the thing that gets me the most. As an author, I am totally incensed by the idea that someone wouldn't give my book a chance based on a cover that I had nothing to do with. But as a consumer, I want to ring the necks of some marketing dudes who create covers worthy of a trial by fire.

How do I reconcile the two sides of my brain?

I've started forcing myself to pick up a book I wouldn't normally consider and read the back cover blurb. IF that blurb is intriguing, I'll get the book.

Tell me, do you judge a book by its cover and does it bother you?

The Gift of Books -- Thanks, Mom!

Tomorrow is Mother's Day. All of us have something-- some gift, memory, or grace-- given to us by our moms. Maybe we aren't even aware of it: eyes that are an unusual shade of grey, a tilt of the head that echoes a young woman from long ago, a habit of twirling hair, a laugh. I have my mother's eyes-- one of my only truly pretty features. I didn't get her curls, but I got the dark color of her hair. I have her hands. I have her voice, husky and low.

But the greatest gift my mother gave me was a passion for books. I remember a time, preparing high school students for the MCAS (standardized test) exams. My department chair shared a study that showed that the most reliable and consistent factor among students who did well on these exams, and in school overall, was the amount of reading material in the home. Kids from low income, middle income, and high income homes performed better across the board if they had parents who kept books, magazines, and other reading materials around the house. Even the education level of the parents had less of an impact on the statistics. A kid with two parents who had graduate degrees or higher would score predictably lower than a kid with parents who had nothing more than a high school education, but lived in a home with a wide variety of reading material.

I was not so much shocked as pleasantly surprised. Reading makes you smarter. It exposes you to ideas and experiences. It opens your mind.

My mom gave me books. I grew up without many luxuries; we never went to Disney Land. But there was a great used book store in the next town called The Book Stall. They had a musty basement (every time I read about Harry Potter sneaking through the tunnel to Honeydukes I think of it). You could buy used paperbacks there, and they had a terrific "swap" program where you could bring in a grocery back full of novels, swap it for a couple of bucks and another full bag. There were always a few around the house, and my mom traded off with all the neighborhood mothers, too.

I read my first romance-- Jude Deveraux's The Black Lion-- way before I was old enough for the content. But I figured it all out eventually-- and thank goodness the age of the bodice ripper has gone. Those types of romances are rare these days. But I also read Tolkien, CS Lewis, devoured the Ingalls Wilder books, and moved on to adult stuff before leaving grade school. The most exciting part of moving from the lower grades to junior high, for me, was getting my greedy hands on the stacks at the library.

I still love books. I will always love books. I love the smell, and the feel of the pages, and the tiny scribbles in pencil some stranger has left in the margin. I love yard sales on a warm June afternoon with tables piled with yellowing paperbacks-- old school romances from Johanna Lindsay and Kathleen Woodiwiss, original copies of Lad, A Dog. I love the gold on the edges of a leather-bound classic. I love the shift as the first words take me someplace new, and the bittersweet feeling of both loss and completion when I turn the last page to say goodbye to new friends and far off places.

So Happy Mother's Day, Lanie. And thank you for the many, many worlds you gave me.