Posts for category ‘author interviews’

February 9, 2010
In Conversation with Matt de la Peña

Matt de la Peña is the author of three acclaimed novels for young adults, and has also had short fiction published in various literary journals. I’ve known Matt awhile—our friendship began when we were forced to ride around in a stretch limo together at the Rochester Teen Book Festival. Yes, sometimes this job is hell.

While on tour for Once Was Lost, I picked up a signed copy of Matt’s latest book, We Were Here, at BookPeople in Austin and read it on the way home. This story, about three boys who break out of a group home and embark on a journey down the California coast, moved me from page 1, when the narrator, Miguel, muses about the book he’ll someday write:

“About what it’s like growing up on the levee in Stockton, where every other person you meet has missing teeth or is leaning against a liquor store wall begging for change to buy beer. Or maybe it’d be about my dad dying in the stupid war and how at the funeral they gave my mom some cheap medal and a folded up flag and shot a bunch of rifles at the clouds.”

Later, Miguel joins up with Mong and Rondell, and together they’re three characters I’ll never forget. While traveling for OWL and doing school visits and trying to connect with bored-looking teenage boys, I kept thinking, “I wish they could be listening to Matt de la Peña instead of me.” Not that I don’t have anything to say to bored teenage boys, because I think I do and usually once I get my talk rolling they are bored no more, but We Were Here truly speaks their language. It speaks your language, too, if you’re a writer, with prose that is both immediate and poetic, clear and complex, and has real drama and humor without straining for either. Matt and I have been having an email conversation about WWH for a few weeks—edited below for your reading pleasure.

My first and most important question before we even start: how do you get the little accent mark/tilde thing over the n in Peña?

So, the tilde over the “n” is tricky on the web. It’s easy on word — you just go to special characters. But I really don’t know what to do on the web. They make it hard to be Mexican online. And when I see my name without the tilde I feel naked. And I feel like I’m disrespecting my grandma.

(Fortunately, I figured out how to do this, because of course there is an entire wikipedia entry about it. On a Mac, you do option+n then the letter you want under the tilde. /PSA) Okay, at the risk of sounding like I’m asking where you get your ideas, what was the genesis of We Were Here?

When I was writing short stories I developed a weird strategy. I’d always take two partially finished stories and throw them together, no matter how odd the fit (sort of like Ben & Jerry’s Half Baked). It usually took me in totally new directions. One time I paired a landscaping story with a story about a relationship that was messed up by a cheating dude (not based on my own experience) (well, maybe a little). It seemed to work. For We Were Here I did something similar. Main character Miguel’s crime is something I took from a college basketball teammate of mine. He came to the first open gym of the year with one of those house arrest anklets. It wasn’t until six months later that he told me what happened. It broke my heart. And I always secretly watched him when everybody was goofing off or messing with each other. He’d be laughing like everybody else, but there was always something sad in his eyes. Such a complex crime (I guess I shouldn’t give it away). So, I took his crime and made it Miguel’s backstory. I also worked in a group home for a couple years after college. Tough job, but I remember looking through all the kids’ files after they went to sleep. Heartbreaking stuff. At least in some cases. So I threw Miguel into a group home setting. And last came the trip down the California coast. Seven years ago I started a failed novel about a musician living in LA. He’s originally from Stockton in Northern California. After his old man dies he drives the coast to LA and stops at random places to hang out solo. The book died because it didn’t have enough plot. But I stole the section where he travels the coast and gave it to Miguel, Mong and Rondell. And the last thing I had to do was find the right voice. Remember that story collection we were both in, Does This Book Make Me Look Fat? That was the first time I’d ever done 1st person in YA. And I was sort of practicing the voice I eventually gave to Miguel.

Anyway, that’s a very long-winded answer to your question, I know. The point is, We Were Here is a bit of a mashup. It came from all over. But the genesis, the core story I wanted to explore, was what happens to a kid who commits the kind of crime Miguel commits. What does that do to his psyche moving forward.

Ever since you mentioned Half Baked, I am jonesing.

Sara, I want you to seriously trust me on something, okay? Häagan Dazs’ Caramel Cone. Please try a pint. This son of a bitch ice cream is so good I can’t believe it.

(Insert several-day interval during which I ignore Matt’s advice, yet do consume a pint of Everything But The, against doctor’s orders.) The case files. The scene in which Miguel reads his friends’ case files had this powerfully physical effect on me I don’t often get when reading. I had to keep putting the book down, and was talking aloud to myself: “Oh God. Oh no.” Did you know when you started the story what would be in each of the three main characters’ files? On a related note: how much do you know when you start a book? Do you have it pretty well mapped out or do you allow yourself to be surprised, and allow the story to change because of those surprises?

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October 13, 2009
in which Lisa Yee shamelessly exploits me (okay not really)

Lisa Yee was one of the first and nicest people I met when I started connecting with other writers for kids and young adults back in the day. She is smart and funny, sure, but more importantly we have almost the exact same taste in movies and she’s seen everything. Oh yeah, she’s also the author of six (six!) books for young readers. We recently had a chat about her newest, Bobby vs. Girls (Accidentally).

SZ: So I hear you have a new book out. Tell me a little bit about it.

LY: BOBBY VS. GIRLS (ACCIDENTALLY) chronicles the life of Bobby Ellis-Chan, a non-athletic fourth grader and a son of an ex-NFL player turned stay-at-home dad. Bobby’s best friend is Holly, but they can’t let anyone know they’re friends or else they’ll be teased since it’s practically illegal for boys and girls to be friends. After many misunderstandings, Bobby finds himself in the middle of a war between boys and girls.

SZ: Sounds great. As a long-time friend to boys, I’m excited to read it. Funny…I was flipping through my latest Horn Book and saw the review and couldn’t help but notice…gosh, this is kind of awkward…the mean girl in the book. Her name.

LY: Oh yeah. Her name. It’s um . . . Jillian Zarr.

(For the record, I looked nothing like that as a kid. I wouldn't be caught dead in a dress!)

(For the record, I looked nothing like that as a kid. I wouldn't be caught dead in a dress!)

SZ: I just wonder, you know, why you’d choose such a name for, like, a villain.

LY: Well, you know how with some people, you always say their first and last name? I wanted Bobby to have an enemy who’s name was like that. I’ve always thought that Jillian was a great name, but then I needed a last name for her. I had either just been emailing a friend of mine, who’s name happened to be, um, Sara Zarr, or maybe I was reading her blog. So I put Zarr as a placeholder last name . . . Jillian Zarr. But as I wrote, I fell in love with the name and it stuck. Now, I think it’s important to note that I did ask you if I could use your name beforehand. And I think your response was something like, “as long as she’s not a total dork,” or something along those lines.

SZ: If you say so. When you were Bobby and Jillian’s age, did you intermingle with boys or were you strictly No Boys Allowed?

LY: Hmmm . . . now that i think about it, I don’t think my friends and I co-mingled with boys. Although my best friend today is a guy. What about you?

SZ: Oh, I co-mingled all right. I’ve always run with the boys—I practically was a boy. My older sister once called me the “little brother [she] always wanted.” It wasn’t really until adulthood I started making close women friends. Do does this Jillian Zarr person become repentant and fantastic by the end of the story? Or would that be giving something away?

LY: Now that I think about it, in high school I was one of the guys. As for the evil Jillian Zarr . . . she is not redeemed by the end of the book. BOBBY VS. GIRLS (ACCIDENTALLY) is the first of a series, so I need to keep Jillian Zarr around and angry. Thanks so much for letting me borrow your last name. You, Sara Zarr, are a good sport!!!

SZ: I really am. You’re naming a mean girl after me, and I’m naming a doctor after you in my next book. Take that!

Lisa’s web site

Lisa’s blog where you can follow the adventures of Peepy and all his celebrity friends!


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September 15, 2009
Q&A with E. Lockhart (making disreputable histories popular since aught eight)

Long ago and far away, I met E. Lockhart the way a lot of us authors meet: online. I immediately developed a girl crush on her, because she’s super smart, cool, funny, and nice. Then, I started reading her books and became a fan of her writing, not just her personality.

The first time I met her in person, at NCTE 2006 (in the Gaylord Opryland biodome as you may recall), it went sort of like this: I stalked her, located her, threw myself at her (hiI’mSaraZarrfromtheemaillistit’ssogreattomeetyoucanIgetapicture?) and immediately handed someone a camera to snap our photo. And, she had just had one of those late flight situations that forced her to change in a restroom to get ready for her signing. But does she look even remotely cranky or put-upon?

(Thought bubble over me: How can I get my bangs to grow out as gracefully as E.’s? Speaking of hair, fun fact: I once expressed my obsession with the idea of shaving my head, just to see what it’s like. E. said I should do it, that every woman should at least once, and sent me a picture of her more or less bald. Though I was thoroughly convinced it worked for her, I still have my doubts when it comes to me.)

Up until a couple of weeks ago, my favorite E. Lockhart book was Dramarama. I love that book! Theater camp! Best friendships put to the test! And, of course, jazz hands. Then, I finally finally finally read National Book Award finalist and Printz honor book The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks and, well, as you may already know, it is a great book, full of important ideas while also endlessly entertaining, and my new favorite of E.’s oeuvre thus far. (“E’s Oeuvre” sounds a little bit like a late-night cable movie on the naughty channel…)

Even though E. is busy writing more books and going on tour, she graciously agreed to answer some questions for the blog:

SZ: Can you talk a little bit about the narrative voice you chose and how you chose it?

EL: It’s just what came out when I wrote the first sentence. I knew Disreputable History would be written in third person, partly because I wanted the challenge after doing a series of first-person books, but also because I wanted to keep Frankie’s plans a secret from the readers until she executed them. That’s harder to do when you’re inside a character’s head. I think I am pretty much incapable of an invisible omniscient narrator. I kept having stuff to say; comments about what was going on. So I wrote them. It wasn’t considered. It was organic.

SZ: In the acknowledgments, you mention you sold this idea based on a couple of paragraphs. Be honest: did you have any clue what you were going to do? Are any of the seeds from those paragraphs left in the final outcome?

EL: I sold the book based on the idea of writing about late night pranks and hijinks at boarding school, which was an idea I presented causally, verbally, at lunch with my editor. She made an offer the next day — and then I wrote up two paragraphs so sales and marketing would have some idea what I’d be doing.
In those two paragraphs, I came up with the idea of a girl with an older boyfriend and her relationship to his group of friends, all of whom are dismissive of her capabilities.  So the book was always about a girl proving herself.

SZ: What surprised you in the process of writing this book?

EL: It’s the first book I wrote in company with other writers. John Green, Maureen Johnson and Scott Westerfeld sat next to me in coffee shops during much of the writing process. John kept telling me to miss my deadline and make it better. To not rush in order to pay my bills, but to take the time to write the best book I could write.

SZ: Frankie is a teen girl who is cute and not unpopular, but also not satisfied to accept those things as her only source of social and personal power. She doesn’t want to be dismissed. That’s something I really connected with—being or feeling dismissed is pretty much a one-way ticket to outrage for me. As a girl and a woman, I’ve felt dismissed due to apparently not being pretty enough, and Frankie sometimes feels dismissed in part for being great looking. (Message: you can’t win?) In my expert opinion, you’re a hot tomato (as my stepdad would have said), a loaded potato (as Frankie would say). Also, you are a PhD holder with a formidable brain. For me, something changed in the transition from sixth grade to seventh and all of a sudden being smart was a bad thing rather than something to be proud of. It became an insult and a source of shame, which was totally confusing. When you were Frankie’s age, did you ever find yourself trying to hide your intelligence? As an adult, have you ever found your intelligence misjudged because of your looks?

EL: I have never hidden my intelligence.  I have doubted my intelligence.  Or, I have been secure of my intelligence and doubted other people’s evaluation of it. People have sometimes misjudged my intelligence because I have behaved in a silly fashion (which I heartily enjoy). Or because I have dressed in a provocative manner (which I also enjoy). But I can take responsibility for those situations. What angers me is when people have misjudged me because of my youth (back then) or because of my gender.

SZ: It seems that books can be similarly misjudged. I’ve always thought that your books are like Frankie—formidably brainy in adorable skin. Because the stories are fun and entertaining, the intelligence within them might be overlooked. Was being a finalist for the National Book Award validating in that regard?

EL: Oh, it is very nice to be validated by the patriarchal establishment. That is what Disreputable History is about, after all.  But I try to interrogate it for myself as well.  Am I really more proud of what I did because I got a shiny medal from a longstanding institution? Is there a way to think about my work that is completely or at least partially separate from all such institutions — the National Book Foundation, the bestseller list, the American Library Association, etc?

SZ: Great food for thought. I love the ending of the book—Frankie is left dealing with the consequences of her choices. Not all of them are happy, or ideal, but she accepts them and seems to recognize the universal truth that every choice you say yes to implies a no you’re saying to something else. Was it tempting to tie things up a little more neatly?

EL: I am incapable of tying things up neatly. It is my fault and my strength.

SZ: I hear you, sister.

If you don’t already have your very own copy of The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks, you need one. It recently came out in paperback, which is under $10, or for just a few dollars more you can own the hardback with the original cover (which I prefer to the paperback, myself). Some links:

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