Hunting the Snark (updated!)

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Whenever I see my writer friends react to reviews, I’m reminded of a certain Gary Larson cartoon:

Owner says to dog: “Get the stick, Rusty! Come on, get the stick! Good dog, Rusty! Isn’t Rusty a good boy!”

Dog hears: ” – – – – – Rusty! – – – – – – – – – – Rusty! – – – – Rusty! – – -.”

But it’s not our names that we writers get all hyper-aware about in reviews. It’s the snark.

Here’s an example: I once wrote to congratulate a friend of mine whose new novel had just received a fabulous, glowing review in Publisher’s Weekly. She wrote me back a one-word email: “Overwrought?!?!?!”

Oops. I hadn’t noticed that one bit of snark among all the praise. I had read the following words, “This extraordinary and accomplished novel, while overwrought in places, is hands-down one of the best books written this year, maybe of all time!” But my friend had seen only, “- – – – – – – – – overwrought – – – -!”

This Rusty-dog-like vision is why when writers see emails from their publishers with the subject header KIRKUS REVIEW, we flinch a bit. Okay, we flinch a lot. Kirkus must have some sort of snark-inclusion rule in their guidelines, and their anonymous reviewers follow this rule with relish. Even in their most positive reviews, there is always at least one damn phrase guaranteed to gets up the author’s nose.

Being as Rusty-dog-like as the next writer, I remember exactly two words from the Kirkus School Library Journal review of Uglies: “although lengthy.” (Gads. It’s that “although” that kills me. Like “lengthy” things are such a trial. “Although lengthy, my vacation was very enjoyable.” “Although lengthy, our marriage is a true union of two souls.” “Although lengthy, World War II defeated facism and saved democracy.” Argh.)

So when my upcoming Kirkus review of Peeps appeared in my in-box, I braced myself. (Plot purists take note, mild spoilers.)
 
(STARRED) Both medical thriller and science fiction, this fast-paced, captivating modern vampire story is enriched with biology and history. Nineteen-year-old Cal is a hunter. He works for the Night Watch, New York City’s clandestine organization to capture “peeps,” “parasite positive” people infected with an ancient disease that causes vampirism. They’re cannibalistic, violent and wildly strong. Cal tracks his line of contagion: an exgirlfriend, whom he unwittingly infected, and then his progenitor, the girl who gave it to him. Yes, Cal has the parasite, but he’s a carrier rather than a full-blown peep. Forced into secrecy and celibacy but possessing peeplike superhuman senses and strength, Cal simmers with adrenaline. He succeeds at his job in the dank, oppressive urban undergrounds, but he discloses secrets to an unauthorized, uninfected girl his age who becomes inextricably involved. Conspiracy issues arise; the parasite’s centuries-long history holds a profound revelation. Westerfeld intersperses relevant chapters on how various real-life parasites operate in nature. Entrancing throughout–but squeamish readers beware. (afterword, bibliography) (Science fiction. YA) (Aug 1 issue)

Rusty says: Not much snark here at all! In fact, it seems that the snark-quota was entirely expended in the phrase, “but squeamish readers beware.”

But this is good snark, because it will bring the non-squeamish running in droves! So when I performed my second writerly duty (after snark hunting) and cut the review down to a jacket blurb, here’s what I came up with:

This fast-paced, captivating modern vampire story is enriched with biology and history. Entrancing throughout–but squeamish readers beware.

See? The snark is in the jacket quote! Hah! Snark on that, anonymous Kirkus-oid!

My only regret is that they didn’t put an exclamation point after the word “beware.” That would have been much cooler. Maybe I’ll just, you know, add one. Who would notice?

ONE MORE THING: The release date for Peeps has been moved up to August 25. That’s four weeks and three days from now!

ONE OTHER MORE THING: Kirkus reviewers are the kindest, bravest, warmest, most wonderful human beings in the whole world. Any implied disrespect was for humorous purposes only. ‘Nuff said.

___________________________________
UPDATE! (in the sense of humiliating retraction)

OMG! I just got an email from my no-longer-anonymous Kirkus reviewer. (Not anonymous to me, anyway. I shall name no names.) She informs me that those haunting words “although lengthy” are actually . . . not from Kirkus! That review was from School Library Journal.

Mea culpa, oh, quasi-anonymous one!

It just goes to show you that although memories can be haunting, they don’t have to be, you know, accurate. So, like I said, Kirkus reviewers are the kindest, bravest, warmest, most wonderful human beings in the whole world. And this time, it is meant without the Manchurian Candidate vibe.

The Uglies that Wasn’t

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While working on Specials today, I was poking around in my Uglies folder and discovered this pairing:

These were the two covers first given to me by Simon and Schuster, who were good enough to ask my opinion. Like design departments everywhere, the artists misspelled my name, and also managed to get the title wrong. (It’s Uglies, people, not The Uglies.) And let’s not mention the coffee stains.

They’re both really good designs, though. But Justine and I, and everyone else we showed them to, prefered the one on the right. More importantly, S&S agreed, and used that as the basis for the final cover.

So why is it better?

Well, first the leftmost design: The expression is much more intense, like someone secretly watching a terrifying ritual unfold. The lines of grass across the face create a more interesting composition. On the other hand, I don’t like the squarish font of the title as much. And I don’t like the black boxes around my name, which remind me of those machines that insane people use to make sticky labels to put on everything. In trying to make the text readable, the cover winds up with one too many design features.

The one on the right succeeds by being simpler, more direct. Although the eye is smaller, its gaze isn’t muddled up by the foliage. The rounded sans-serif font (without sticky label backing) helps simplify, intensify, and focus the cover. (I also like the black/white treatment of the title, except that it wasn’t the title.) Instead of the terror of the rejected cover, we have something intimate and quietly intriguing.

So simple seems better to me. And I’m glad the final cover zoomed in even closer to the model’s face.

But what the hell do I know? I’m, like, a writer. What do you guys think?

Die Uglies

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No, not Die as in “Cease to Live!” Die as in “The.”

That’s right, Uglies is soon to be translated into German.

The publishing company is currently deciding between two titles for this edition. Perhaps they’ll use the more faithful translation Die Haßlichen, meaning simply “The Uglies.” But there has been talk of going with a more descriptive title, such as Die Haßlichenweglaufenzugesichtersparenkinder. This teutonic mouthful means literally “the ugly away-running to save faces kids.” It should look very imposing on the cover:

(Apparently, the plot of Uglies has been used before in German literature. I mean, they’ve already got one word for the whole concept!)

I also received news today that Italian rights have sold. The Italians, however, have opted to buy only the first two books of the trilogy. It seems their clever spies have overheard my midnight screams as I attempt to finish Specials before leaving for Worldcon. Bastardos!

Despite their caution, I’m very pleased about Italians joining the party. As I explain in detail here, I had a friend in college who used to crack me up with literal translations of Italian movie titles. One day, she explained that the wacky comedy known here as Airplane was called “The Craziest Airplane in the World” in Italy. After learning this, my friends and I spent the next four years refering to all movies using this template. Thus:

The Godfather became “The Craziest Family in the World.”
Jaws: “The Craziest Fish in the World.”
All the President’s Men: “The Craziest Quaker in the World.”

Now that I will finally have my own work in Italian, I’m going to insist on title approval in the contract. So which do you think I should go with:
“The Craziest Facial in the World”
“The Craziest Cosmetic Dystopia in the World”
“The Craziest Hoverboards in the World”
“The Craziest Ugly Away-Running to Save Faces Kids in the World” . . . ?

Okay, me stop now. (Any more suggestions?)

Anyway, these two sales makes the Uglies trilogy my most translated work, beating Risen Empire by one language. Go Simon & Schuster foreign rights department!

(And special thanks to niece Renee for helping with the German.)

Harry Friggin’ Potter

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New York City is mental tonight. In addition to all the usual crowds around bars and nightclubs and street performances, there are all these huge lines in front of . . . bookstores.

Justine and I were walking home from seeing the Liberty at Madison Square Garden, and stopped at out usual post-game restaurant at about 10PM. Already, there were families out with their hyped-up kids, lightning bolts on foreheads and big geeky glasses on. The buzz was already in the air.

After dinner, we decided to visit the Union Square Barnes and Noble. It had all the usual signs of NYC madness. There were rented searchlights sweeping the sky, giant lines and gianter bouncers, and that all-important symbol of more demand than supply: a wristband system. Folks with yellow wristbands were the lordly pre-buyers. Lesser minions were assigned orange bands, with numbers scribbled on each one showing the order of arrival.

Over at the fabulous Books of Wonder was an even vaster line. Two lines, actually, stretching in both directions to either end of 18th Street between 5th and 6th. There were wizards, bouncers, snipers, all the usual elemants of a book-release party.

We wanted to see our pals who work at the store, just to get the business-end vibe of all this madness. Also, I figured that this was probably the only overcrowded NYC event where YA-writer status was a red-velvet-rope-cutting superpower. Justine was like, “Don’t embarrass me.” But I went to the front of the line and spotted friends, who waved us in all official-like.

Whoa, those were some tired faces. The BOW crew had all been up since dawn organizing and strategizing and lugging vast quantities of books up from the basement. And here they were some 18 hours later, wearing pointy hats and facing a mob that would be surging into the store in only ten minutes . . .

But actually, they kind of looked like they were having fun.

Whatever you think of JKR, tonight was really amazing. Here were thousands of people within a few city blocks all having a genuine cultural event. And it wasn’t about a movie star or a politician or a sporting hero . . . it was about a book. (Hey, any night on which mid-list young adult writers magically obtain line-cutting powers is okay by me.)

It reminded me of a story about Charles Dickens’ popularity. When he was serializing The Old Curiosity Shop in 1840-1, the US was a week or so behind in the narrative, because the magazines had to be brought here by sea. One of the characters, Little Nell, got sick in that Dickensian way where you can die at any moment. So reporters used to hang around the docks when cruise ships arrived from England, and shout up at the passengers before the gang planks had even been lowered: “What news of Little Nell?”

That was probably the last time people got so exercised about a fictional character, you know?

Of course, Justine and I got the heck out of Books of Wonder before the appointed hour arrived, letting the people who’d waited in line have their due, and letting those brave souls at the cash register do their jobs.

My heart goes out to bookstore employees everywhere. I hope you all survived.

Boats Are the New Black

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Last week, Justine and I were privileged to go on our Razorbill publisher’s sailboat for July 4. Tonight, we got a taste of fireboat!

Back in 2000, when John Oakes was the owner of Four Walls Eight Windows, he published my adult sf novel Evolution’s Darling. We’ve kept in touch ever since, and he still invites me to his annual fireboat party.

This is an excellent thing, because fireboats are big, powerful tugboats armed with water cannon! A fireboat party consists of cruising around Manhattan drinking beer, eating sausage, and ocassionally firing the water cannon straight up into the air.

This is what a bunch of publishing people on a fireboat look like:

They look like pretty much regular publishing people, but notice the water cannon over their heads. There’s something special about water cannon, something that adds a certain frisson to a publishing party. Maybe it’s the fact that at any moment, John Oakes may fire the water cannon, and metric tons of seawater will fall on all your heads!

This is my artistic shot of the Statue of Liberty, taken from the front of the fireboat. (This was a peaceful moment, before the water cannon had been fired.)

I wish I had pictures of the water cannon shooting into the air. But something about having metric tons of seawater falling on my head and being out of batteries made that impossible. Trust me, though, it was funny seeing all those publishing people trying not to get wet.

Next year I’ll bring an umbrella and fresh batteries. I promise.

One more thing: Last year, John sold Four Walls Eight Windows to Avalon Publishing Group. He’s working there now and publishing much cool sf and other stuff. Please go buy his books so that there will be a fireboat party next year!

The Future of Pretty 2

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Get ready for some scary, fresh from Boing Boing.

My book Uglies is set in a future in which readily available cosmetic surgery has lead to an “arms race” of attractiveness. Everyone is forced to have huge eyes, super-clear skin, full lips, and all the other signs of neotony that evolution (supposedly) makes us look for when choosing a mate.

But what never occured to me until today is that you don’t need a lot of surgical technology to create this dystopia. All you need is . . . Photoshop.

Behold the world of Angels with Attitude:

From the contest rules:
These photos will be judged on facial beauty, expression & fashion, and overall appeal . . . but should not be extremely or overly retouched. (We are judging the child – not the retoucher!) Overall Winner will receive 50.00 Angel Dollars.

“Angel dollars?” you make ask.

Well, “angel dollars” are just like real dollars, except you can only spend them to enter certain teen and pre-teen beauty contests. These contests are run by the same people who run this “not overly retouched” photo contest. It all fits hand in glove, from digital camera to computer screen to real-life angelic beauty smackdown.

By “angelic,” interestingly, these folks seem to using the same criteria as my Uglies dystopians: creepily huge eyes, clear skin, full lips. But what’s amazing to me about these photos (go gaze at them, if you dare) is that they show how a small group of people can go into a feedback loop and wind up off their collective rockers. This site is not a satire. Nor is this one. This is nothing less than an honestly held aesthetic about what human children should look like.

Can you imagine what will happen when cheap cosmetic surgery is safe and reversible enough for little kids? These won’t just be photos anymore.

Of course, maybe “angelic” is the right word. I mean, angels in the Christian Bible were actually terrible to look upon, right? (Jud 13:6, anyone?) But the word that comes to my mind when I look at these pictures isn’t “terrible.”

It’s more like . . . “eww.”

Green Russians (updated)

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In the comment thread for my 4th of July post, there’s been much talk about how well the cover gods have treated me. Yes, my covers have generally been excellent (through no efforts or skill of my own). And the really amazing thing is, although I have several publishers, my books mostly look like they belong together. Especially all those eyes. (Even the Midnighters 1 cover has an eye-thing going on, if you sort of squint.)

But to think such thoughts aloud is dangerous. Pride cometh before a fall.

Just yesterday in the mail, the cover gods sent me their comeuppance, the Russian cover for the Killing of Worlds:

Many questions arise: Who is that green woman with skunk hair? Why are they wearing Soviet spacesuits from 1971? Is that a giant camera floating in space behind the overweight Thunderbird 4?

Just so you know, there are no green characters in Killing of Worlds. And no giant space cameras. (Sure, there’s a mad psychic senator, a world-spanning intelligence, one cyborg commando, and a few space battles. But nothing weird, like, for example, skunk hair.)

The mysteries of Russian cover art are many. It seems the publishers there buy it from some giant source of fantastic art in the sky, and then mix and match willy-nilly. Leland Modesitt, who was kind enough to forward this copy to me, reports that he once had a Russian translation that included 30 pages of slick fantasy art, all of it unrelated to his novel.

Oh, well. At least the green lady has big eyes.

-UPDATE-

Oft-translated fabulist Nalo Hopkinson sent me this cover of the Italian edition of Midnighter Robber, featuring a blue protagonist. But at least if she has skunk hair, her bullfighting sombrero hides it.

Fireworks

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Justine and I spent the evening of July fourth on the Moon Dance, a thirty-foot sailboat co-owned by our splendiferous publisher, Eloise Flood of Razorbill. We sailed down the Hudson from 79th, catching great city views as the sun went down, then watched the fireworks, drank beer, and grilled various things.

On the sailing end of things, Justine and I were pretty crap. As the NY Times said today, “There are few things more useless on a river than a novelist.” But I did do a bit of winching, which was well received by all.

I was going to photoblog the affair, but forgot to bring the camera. Fortunately, the Times has come to my rescue by running a photo taken from exactly our spot beside the Intrepid, looking across Manhattan toward the East River. (We also had an uninterrupted view down toward the Liberty Island explosions.)


Vincent Laforet/The New York Times

Needless to say, it was loads of fun and a great way to witness a familiar ritual from a new perspective.

On the way back uptown, we were attacked by the wakes of giant, millionaire-driven powerboats, which taught me three things:
1) 30-foot sailboats can roll over 45 degrees and still pop back up;
2) non-skid surfaces save lives;
3) millionaire powerboat owners are generally ass-hats.

But surviving made for a great workout. Thanks to Eloise, Ben, Brandi, and Andrew for a cracking good time.

Writing Advice 2

Posted on by scott

People in writing groups often ask me, “What do I do when I get conflicting advice? How will I ever decide which way to go?”

My answer is: “Try it both ways and see which works! Don’t just write one ending, write three!”

It’s a medically proven fact: Writing the same scene several different ways won’t actually kill you.

Take a cue from visual artists. They make a hundred pencil drawings of a subject before even starting with the paint. They paint the same dang pot of flowers a dozen times, with only slight variations. They doodle in their sketchbooks all day, making stuff no one will ever see. But they rarely sit there and just complain about a compositional problem without putting their hands on a brush/pen/piece of clay.

In my second novel, Fine Prey, I actually wrote a scene that I knew wouldn’t be in the final draft, just so I could visualize what had happened “off screen” in the story. Weird, but it worked.

In another case, I lost a short story and had to write it again from scratch. Then I found the original again. (Argh.) Guess what? The combination of the two–taking the best elements of each–was better than anything I would have reached by fiddling endlessly with that lost original. And the experience of writing a story twice and then comparing the two versions helped me understand it in ways I wouldn’t have otherwise.

You see, paper is magic: Making marks on it changes your brain. So, don’t sit around trying to think your way out of problems, write your way out of them. The best place to find answers is on a piece of paper or a glowing phosphorus screen.

One quick note
Of course, thinking about writerly issues in the shower or while jogging is a fine habit to get into, because otherwise that’s just wasted time.* Please understand that I’m not against thinking; I’m only against thinking that thinking on its own will get you out of a hole. Shovel also needed.

*Except for the being hygienic and fit, which is somewhat useful.

Bungee Jacket Alert!

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Readers of Uglies will know all about my so-called “bungee jackets.” Basically, they’re a futuristic way of escaping a burning building in a magnetic levitation harness. Of course, my tricky uglies and drunken pretties tend to put bungee jackets to much more amusing uses.

Well, it wouldn’t be the future if someone wasn’t already working on it. Howard Price of the Trades (which gave Uglies a great review for my birthday) pointed me to this article in the Economist. It’s about a backpack-based inflatable device that allows you to jump safely from a building and bounce to a halt.

The Lavochkin Association in Moscow demonstrated this device (using a 1/6-scale model) at the Paris Air Show in mid-June. They don’t have a working prototype, but the overall concept seems sound, or at least better than burning to death. (Or jumping with, say, nothing.)

You leap with the backpack on, pulling the cord, and the outer rim inflates as you fall. The aerodynamic shape of the device turns the point downward (putting you on the top) and slows your fall way down. Hopefully the pointy front end is soft enough to protect you from the ground, and any earlier jumpers from you.

The full-size version is six meters (20 feet) across, so imagine a flock of them coming down the street at you on a windy day!

Anyway, I want one. (After the testing. Lots and lots of testing.)