tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82096214943591595752024-03-05T06:19:45.172-08:00BLARGHNina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209621494359159575.post-41246123634110548012011-10-18T06:50:00.000-07:002011-10-18T06:55:37.638-07:00To SWEAR Is Human<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYTBlsY-FtIXR9oav6o2b7cGmOgiV2NIeHdjAGcr2Rs0pnNmWxzvIATTxZnn62f-Gff3fyOZUeflY8mQMlG6lDosbj61_GUVdxGP8A59k6iGh1Jp4u_VNBOnOTZLIncfDIsYzg94_F_KrF/s1600/swear+cover+artwork.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 220px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYTBlsY-FtIXR9oav6o2b7cGmOgiV2NIeHdjAGcr2Rs0pnNmWxzvIATTxZnn62f-Gff3fyOZUeflY8mQMlG6lDosbj61_GUVdxGP8A59k6iGh1Jp4u_VNBOnOTZLIncfDIsYzg94_F_KrF/s320/swear+cover+artwork.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664829940151423346" /></a><br />People put a lot of stake in promises. Swear an oath, make a pledge, take a vow — you’d better be good to your word. If you’ve ever been on the receiving end of a broken promise, you don’t enter into them lightly. <br /><br />Only promises can be tricky. Situations change, making a pledge impossible to keep. Or a promise gets lost in the maze of memory. Or loses its purity and becomes a responsibility — a “should.” In my perfect world, there’s no such thing as “should.” <br /><br />Especially when it comes to love. <br /><br />Which is what SWEAR is all about.<br /><br />Okay, maybe not all. The novel revels in ghosts and gods, friends and fiends, abduction and seduction, music and madness and a twisted, tangled mystery. But at its core, SWEAR ponders why we swear our love. <br /><br />No doubt, it’s an instinctive urge. Love is so huge, so vital, and in a way so scary, it’s natural to say: “Promise you won’t break my heart. Promise you’ll never leave me. Promise to love me forever.” Yet as the characters in SWEAR ultimately discover, love is a gift, not an obligation. Love is a risk, not a duty. Love is to be cherished and respected and fought for, but in no way beholden to our will. Love is more powerful than our intention and beyond our control. <br /><br />Love is magic, and there’s only one crucial ingredient for magic:<br /><br />Belief.<br /><br />Believe that you’re worthy of this magic and it will come to you. Believe that you’re capable of giving this magic, and do so—an equal bliss. Feel it. Share it. Believe, and enjoy! <br /><br />To swear is human. To believe, sublime.Nina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209621494359159575.post-84697488562674884452011-09-08T12:36:00.000-07:002011-09-08T12:45:46.986-07:00ANY QUESTIONS?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRy_Ifz6riM4gFrYmaobJrsQ8XhyphenhyphenWmScx9e7CS5uUM1IXoLbo0gir-nXbKiI2IRckeeoJ638ZkEP7hOKUQtGrgPOmf1w0DbNw5zYFBX053bn40UhEkPJCdCL485AHARYfOqXyfvJuu8BVi/s1600/SWEAR+cover.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 211px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRy_Ifz6riM4gFrYmaobJrsQ8XhyphenhyphenWmScx9e7CS5uUM1IXoLbo0gir-nXbKiI2IRckeeoJ638ZkEP7hOKUQtGrgPOmf1w0DbNw5zYFBX053bn40UhEkPJCdCL485AHARYfOqXyfvJuu8BVi/s320/SWEAR+cover.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5650076832975168482" /></a><br />IT'S ABOUT A MONTH TILL SWEAR, the sequel to SWOON, arrives in hard cover glory and I’m starting to get seriously excited. One big reason is the whole lot of advance love coming this way. DARK FAERIE TALES (http://darkfaerietales.com/) and PARAJUNKEE’S VIEW (http://www.parajunkee.com/), for instance, are giving SWEAR anticipatory action, so indulge your desires and check them out. If you haven’t yet delved these blogs, know that they place the paranormal in ultra high regard, and their coverage is ingenious —events, contests, et cetera that are the products of some beautifully twisted minds! Sinclair Youngblood Powers is about to compete in the “Supernatural Smackdown” — and has been busy exercising (not to be confused with exorcising) his seduction skills in preparation. <br /><br />What’s more, starting 9/19, the incredible NOVEL NOVICE kicks off a month-long “Countdown to SWEAR” event. Every day, the site that brings you the best of YA in a smart, stylish, unique way will offer tidbits of appetite-whetting SWEAR news, reviews, trivia and (of course) contests. An author interview is also in the works—and who better to ask the questions than SWOONIES themselves? If you reveled in SWOON, can’t wait for SWEAR and have been wondering what the #$^@*&(! is up with Sin, Dice, Pen, Ruby, et al post your questions here: <br /><br />http://novelnovice.com/2011/08/18/send-us-your-questions-for-swoon-author-nina-malkin/<br /><br />If not for readers like you, SWOON wouldn’t be where it is today—in it’s 10th printing and enticing SWOONIES in translation all over the planet. Your support means so much—and in effort to keep you amused and alarmed (as if the twists and turns of SWEAR won’t be enough), there are big changes coming to ninamalkin.com. Design diva Denise Biondo is helping upgrade the site with new stuff. It’s all set to premier soon— and while I’ll save details for a later blargh, I will say that the most fantastic addition can be summed up in one name: Rony Corcos. Who’s she? Google her now or wait till I turn you on officially. Either way, your ears, heart and soul will thank you — I SWEAR!Nina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209621494359159575.post-17726516843606920972011-02-04T13:42:00.000-08:002011-02-04T13:55:07.471-08:00SWEAR WORDS<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4k-s5I30vTs7pNpwoFLm54KFcZkL8F7RlsRRFp2xWV98XLZeiMt2k90WRDhMd4UqFJgpVsHyrc5xl8YJJPhLXUoeiMwHmWHI_TbcOY-JRfKBRDNSNb60ygyakzJwsZlw3q6BcE3jfb7S7/s1600/SWEAR+cover.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 211px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4k-s5I30vTs7pNpwoFLm54KFcZkL8F7RlsRRFp2xWV98XLZeiMt2k90WRDhMd4UqFJgpVsHyrc5xl8YJJPhLXUoeiMwHmWHI_TbcOY-JRfKBRDNSNb60ygyakzJwsZlw3q6BcE3jfb7S7/s320/SWEAR+cover.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569954252342042066" /></a><br />Gorgeous! Breathtaking! Freaking amazing! And my personal favorite: OOOOHHH!!! Just some of the reactions sent by Swoonies on my mailing list when I shared a sneak peek at the cover of <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWEAR</span>, the sequel to <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWOON</span>. I gotta agree—and can without coming off conceited since I had absolutely nothing to do with the design. (That would be the enormously talented Cara Petrus at Simon & Schuster. Hail, Cara!)<br /><br />Since <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWOON </span>arrived in the spring of 2009, I’ve been bombarded by reader questions, the most insistent being: Will there be a sequel? Now, with the cover of <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWEAR</span> on my hot little computer, I actually believe there will be. Which leads me to the subject of this blargh: To address a number of pressing issues about <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWOON, SWEAR</span> and the novels’ sorta-kinda hero, SINCLAIR YOUNGBLOOD POWERS. You asked, so here I go…<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">When will SWEAR be out?</span><br />The exact date? Dunno. But S&S say late August, early September.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">What? Waaaahhh! Why so %$&#^@! long?</span><br />Actually, there’s a good reason. <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWOON</span> was a risky venture. It’s not your typical by-the-numbers paranormal novel, it deals frankly with sexual matters, and there might even be a word or two requiring a dictionary consult. So before committing to a sequel, the publisher wisely wanted to see how <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWOON</span> did. Well, it did okay. It’s currently in something like its tenth printing, popping up all over the world from Turkey to Brazil. And whom do I have to thank for that? YOU!!! Readers who longed to be challenged as well as entertained, who could fall for a torn and twisted guy like Sin and champion a heroine like Dice. You who love <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWOON</span> made <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWEAR </span>possible.<br /><br />Yeah. Great. Then I had to write it…<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />What happened to Sin at the end of SWOON?</span><br />I get this question a lot. Too bad I still can’t answer it. Neither can he…exactly. The subject of Sin’s disappearance is certainly addressed in <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWEAR</span>, but the universe is a mysterious place. Sometimes we mere mortals go through stuff we can’t fully explain, so imagine the experiences of a ghost-turned-golem. Trippy. And as you’ll discover in <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWEAR</span>, Sin’s not the only one to vanish into thin air.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />But he <span style="font-style:italic;">will</span> be back?!</span><br />Yes. Of course. Absolutely. Although he’s…changed. So has Dice. And Pen? Let me just tell the Swoonie who wondered if that's meant to be Pen on the cover of <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWEAR</span>, unequivocally, <span style="font-style:italic;">no</span>. What Sinclair Youngblood Powers did in the town of Swoon that fateful autumn left virtually no one unscathed. <br /><br />Still, that has very little bearing on what goes down this time around. <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Which begs the question: What’s SWEAR about?</span><br />It’s not polite to tease, but I can’t give away too much. I will say that the story opens with Dice doing a decent job dealing with Sin’s abandonment—except for the deep and abiding sense that he’s not really gone. Then she gets distracted by a different presence, a spirit driven by dark, destructive motives she cannot fathom. But she’s got to figure it out. Fast. Since as the cover hints: Some love bonds. Some love destroys.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">How about a sample of SWEAR? </span><br />Soon, I swear! In the coming months, there’ll be an excerpt on ninamalkin.com. Plus, advanced reader copies as well as e-galleys will be made available by S&S for qualifying reviewers. And of course I’ll do contests and giveaways and such, so if you’re a book blogger who’d like to do an event with <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWEAR</span> around its pub date, please hit me with your ideas. Like I mentioned, if not for readers like you, <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWEAR</span> wouldn’t exist. For a wordy woman, I’m stymied to express just how much your support means… <br /><br />Yeesh, I’m getting sappy so I’d better sign off….<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">SWOON</span> on!Nina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209621494359159575.post-62891964715269299682010-10-12T07:44:00.001-07:002010-10-12T07:48:29.318-07:00We Have WINNNERS!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN_HTODFG9YZ-amRnjrZW2El1DYP9b31Ur4MfpdB1oQYpn5W8va35n4tuWiKzktM4TnQuzTBsVs2_OKYqZ9O4Jjiw7Is4ZNlNP-oEBgcN87nV2yr3ShhMPpGSFBWn891YzfsjL7jKWkO6N/s1600/Swoon+cover+comp+7.08.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 215px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN_HTODFG9YZ-amRnjrZW2El1DYP9b31Ur4MfpdB1oQYpn5W8va35n4tuWiKzktM4TnQuzTBsVs2_OKYqZ9O4Jjiw7Is4ZNlNP-oEBgcN87nV2yr3ShhMPpGSFBWn891YzfsjL7jKWkO6N/s320/Swoon+cover+comp+7.08.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527171169237640818" /></a><br />Swoonie shout-outs to everyone who entered the SWOON & SHADOW HILLS contest last month. You guys rocked me and author Anastasia Hopcus with your tales summer and back-to-school moments. But we had to choose, and so we (painfully) did. Below, read the stories that won signed copies of SWOON & SHADOW HILLS... <br /><br /><br />THESE SUMMER STORIES WON SWOON!<br /><br /><br />When you school year-round, summers tend to bleed into the rest of the year. But this year was special. This year, I went on my first family vacation ever. I had been on vacation before, but it had always been with other people, friends, extended family, what have you. This summer though, in fact, only a few weeks ago, not only did I get to go on a vacation with my immediate family, I got to actually leave the country (something I've only done once before). The second week of September, I went on a Caribbean cruise with my mom, dad, and sister. Since we booked the cruise in mid 2009, we had been counting down to that week for quite a while. When it finally came around, we were all beyond ready for a break. <br />When we boarded the boat on Sunday, I was ready for my week off, and then, before we had even left the harbor, a waiter spilled a tray of pink drinks on my white shorts. I thought, it's okay, he'll give us our drinks for free and then I'll go to the room and change. So, that's what I did, or tried to do. When I got to my room, my luggage wasn't there yet. It didn't show up until 8 o'clock that night! The only thing I could think was that this was an omen. The rest of the trip would be awful. I'm so glad I was wrong. By the second day I had forgotten all about the sticky shorts. We went on to spend two days at see before docking in Montego Bay, Jamaica. In Jamaica we took a shuttle to Ocho Rios and climbed Dunns River Falls, this amazing waterfall in the jungle. It was one of the most exhilarating days of my life. The next day we were in Grand Cayman where we went snorkeling at the coral gardens and Barrier Reef and watched my dad and sister kiss sting rays at Sting Ray City Sand Bar. Our final day on land was spent in Cozumel, Mexico where we decided to just do the touristy thing and shop for souvenirs and go to a kitschy restaurant where everyone wore sombreros. We had one more day at sea and then we were back in Texas and none of us were ready to get off the boat. Over the course of the trip we had become fast friends with three waiters working in the dining room where we had dinner every night. Not only did I get to experience the different cultures of some of the islands in the Caribbean, I also got to learn about our new friends cultures, those of Peru, Latvia, and Indonesia. We all cried when we had to say goodbye, but I still get to talk to them every once in a while when they can access email. So this summer will bleed into fall, but I'll drag it out as long as possible.<br /><br />This summer, I was going to spend my summer at Duke University doing their Creative Writing Workshop, but then I found out that they don't take teenagers with only one year of college. So, I didn't get to spend my summer to do that, I have to wait a whole year. Then, I went with my family to Myrtle Beach, and got yelled at the whole time by my sister and my friend who was suppose to be there for me ended up spending most of her time with my sister and ignoring me, so that was ruined. And then, I come home to my find my schedule for 10 grade has been posted for me to see. Earlier that year I had tried out for chorus and had gotten in Women's Chamber, which is the second highest choir and not many tenth graders get in it's mostly the upperclassmen, but that wasn't on my schedule, instead they had given me Physical Conditioning, which is weight lifting, and I am not a gym person. So, I spent the rest of my summer frustrated, scared that it wouldn't be fixed, annoyed at the idiots who can't seem to make a correct schedule, abd stressed that I had to email my couneslor a hundred times only to find out she can't do anything about it which makes no sense, and that I had to fill out a schedule change request form that may or may not happen. And to top it off, my schedule still wasn't right after that, I had to have 3 schedule changes before it was correct. No summer, is good if you find out you can't do something you were so excited about, that two people who are suppose to be close to you turn their backs on you, and that you can't enjoy you time off of school because your stressing over next year. I spent a whole summer bored and in tears.<br /><br /><br />THESE BACK-TO-SCHOOL STORIES WON SHADOW HILLS!<br /><br />When I Was 13 I Went To School In Puerto Rico. The Kids There Were Jealous That I Spoke English And There Was One Girl Who Wanted To Copy My Paper In English Class. I Said No. It Was The First Day Of Ninth Grade And She Put A Giant Wad Of Gum In My Hair!! My Mom Took Me To The Salon To Get It Out. There Was Sooooo Much Gum They Cut My Hair Like Dorothy Hamilton!! And I Have Curly Hair.. So It Looked Even Shorter!! I Wanted To Crawl Under My Bed And Never Go Back!<br /><br />My worst back to school memory happened last year. At our school, we have a program called Warrior Pride in which juniors and seniors lead the first day of school for the freshman after all other people go home. Last year, I was assigned to lead the freshmen through the ropes course outside. The ropes course was a series of obstacles the students needed to complete, walking across giant skis as a group, lifting classmates through an intricate web, team building things like that. A. The first day of school was HOT. B. Our Warrior Pride shirts were black. C. I had the group of the most unenthusiastic freshmen. D. I heard the phrase "that's what she said" every couple of minutes. Yes, it was a group of "those kids". No amount of my scolding could get them to be appropriate and no amount of cheering could get them to be excited about doing this. One of the activities involves a trust fall and, being the leader, I needed to give the example, trusting them to catch me. They dropped me. Twice. So on top of dripping sweat and being annoyed, my bum was now thoroughly bruised and I was ready to go home, and it wasn't even lunchtime yet. By the time lunch came, we were allowed to go inside, but had to sit and watch the freshmen eat and only after they were finished were we allowed to eat. So add hunger to my list of downfalls. Not a pleasant day, to say the least. Then I come to find out this group of unruly freshmen are the freshmen I will be teaching every month on Warrior Pride days. YAY ME! *note sarcasm*Nina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209621494359159575.post-3550014715992396262010-09-03T04:14:00.000-07:002010-09-06T07:25:28.056-07:00ANASTASIA HOPCUS SPEAKS! AND GIVES AWAY SHADOW HILLS!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEickUyI6Xd6kIbenOUCvhI9Re6B0WoedSmuF7JnO7ECFOSFlx9FsaiI_LK8p3AAnHSqfE6Ez5SJHbbdGL9YI9I0qiYOio31RPtp5BIHGIZAfuTPn4F-QFb2d0WfBYmneSF88chG8Qfvs3qV/s1600/Shadow+Hills+avatar.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 206px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEickUyI6Xd6kIbenOUCvhI9Re6B0WoedSmuF7JnO7ECFOSFlx9FsaiI_LK8p3AAnHSqfE6Ez5SJHbbdGL9YI9I0qiYOio31RPtp5BIHGIZAfuTPn4F-QFb2d0WfBYmneSF88chG8Qfvs3qV/s320/Shadow+Hills+avatar.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512645209504167778" /></a><br />Surely you’re up on SHADOW HILLS by Anastasia Hopcus, a paranormal romance/mystery that takes place at a v. creepy boarding school. Surely you’d love to win one of two copies signed by the brilliant author herself. Your chance is nigh. First, read Anastasia’s fascinating interview here, then click on the link at the bottom of this blargh for contest rules and regs (you’ll have to share your best or worst back-to-school story, and I <span style="font-style:italic;">know</span> you have one).<br /><br />You can also read a fascinating interview with me at http://devenish.squarespace.com/news-and-events/—and enter to win one of two signed copies of SWOON. <br /><br />Anastasia, you rock for taking the time to do this interview. Especially since you must be slammed, the response to Shadow Hills being rather amazing. What’s life been like for you since releasing your debut novel?<br /><br />Busy! It's been great and exciting, and I've really enjoyed it, but I've just been amazed at how much I've been doing. I thought that when my book came out, the major part of my work had been done. The writing, the revisions, the BEA, the contests, etc.---I figured, what else was there to do? Well, I found out. I've had two autographings, one of which included a reading and an interview, as well a 28-day blog tour, not to mention meeting bloggers and readers and trying to keep up with all my emails. It's been such fun, and I've had lots of new experiences, and I wouldn't trade it for the world. But I have to admit, I'm a little tired. <br /><br />Not getting much sleep, huh? But when you do, what’s your dream life like? I ask since dreams are crucial to the plot of Shadow Hills.<br /><br />I dream a great deal, and they're often very vivid and have plots (albeit really strange ones). That's one of the reasons I wanted Phe to have these almost visionary dreams. I often feel like my dreams hold some significant revelation…if only I could figure out what it is!<br /><br />Any parallels between your high school experience and Devenish Prep?<br /><br />No, not really. Looking back on it, I think I probably would have enjoyed going to a boarding school. I went to a private school, but it was more like the one that Phe attended in LA---laid back teachers who you called by their first names, that sort of thing. <br /><br />In keeping with the theme of our contest, can you cite your own best or worst BTS memory? <br /><br />My best back to school memory was when I began the fifth grade. I won a back to school contest that a local department store was holding. The prize was that on the first day of school, a limousine came to my house and picked up me and three of my friends and drove us to school. The four of us thought we were the coolest thing ever, getting out of a long white limo in front of our elementary school! <br /><br />I was recently asked this question at a reading, and I think it should be posed to anyone who writes paranormal fiction: Do you believe in magic? Expound!<br /><br />I'd like to believe in magic. I've always been fascinated by the possibility of it, and I enjoy imagining a world where magical things happen. Insofar as actually believing in it, I do and I don't. I don't feel like I can really believe in something until I can see some evidence of it, but I do think that if I saw something truly magical happen, I wouldn't spend a lot of time trying to explain it away. I would probably pretty readily accept it. <br /><br />Shadow Hills is a mystery at its core. What mystery writers do you like? <br /><br />Anne George is my favorite. I also like Janet Evanovich and Nancy Atherton. <br /><br />Here comes the inevitable sequel question: Will fans be treated to the further adventures of Phe and her friends/enemies in Shadow Hills? <br /><br />I would really love to write a sequel. What I really had in mind when I began was a series of several books, and I have a lot more things I'd really like to explore regarding Shadow Hills and its inhabitants. Plus, I'd really like to develop Phe's and Zach's relationship. But I just have to wait and see on that at the moment. So I'm working on a YA paranormal that's set in London in the 1800's. <br /><br />An interesting period—it sure worked for Sherlock Holmes. Can we get off track and obsess about hair for a minute? Yours is so expletive gorgeous. Does it take a lot of work, or do you bounce out of bed looking like that every morning?<br /><br />It doesn't take a lot of extra time on a daily basis. I just use a shampoo that's color-enhancing. But red is a difficult color to keep looking bright, so I have to color it frequently. And it's a little more complicated because I use a store dye first to bring my natural color up to a light auburn. Then I mix Napalm Orange and High Octane Orange Special Effects together to get exactly the shade I want. <br /><br />Beautiful! Congrats on Shadow Hills and thanks again for the interview. I know people are excited about winning a signed copy of the book—so got to this link and start impressing us with your best/worst back-to-school stories. Go to this link now (sorry, you gotta cut 'n' paste — blogger not co-operating)!<br /><br />https://spreadsheets.google.com/viewform?hl=en&formkey=dHFFRnNHR3BkMHlQdUlBOEVLTVRtd0E6MQ#gid=0Nina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209621494359159575.post-14548578900205684752010-08-15T10:55:00.000-07:002010-08-23T14:42:58.524-07:00Be A Character In SWEAR Contest<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe0UnuDK6Xr5nS56uUdNS9XTf5ULtUSWIFb7sYi5JOPYYklSn1IGCGcqJHxg-n5rL-kuG7JmMRv3uiowAsTNJlJ3aSnijtI0usKoUiKcA2nN4WBNUxSNzdkKD3dbp_jABKO36wUI6yV_Oj/s1600/Swoon+cover+comp+7.08.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 215px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe0UnuDK6Xr5nS56uUdNS9XTf5ULtUSWIFb7sYi5JOPYYklSn1IGCGcqJHxg-n5rL-kuG7JmMRv3uiowAsTNJlJ3aSnijtI0usKoUiKcA2nN4WBNUxSNzdkKD3dbp_jABKO36wUI6yV_Oj/s320/Swoon+cover+comp+7.08.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505699405189601282" /></a><br />HOW AMAZING to see so many people enter the Novel Novice contest to become a character in <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWEAR</span>, the sequel to <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWOON</span>. Enormous thanks again to Sara of Novel Novice for hosting this special event as the culmination of <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWOON </span>week, and for her help in narrowing the field to a handful of semi-finalists. <br /><br />All the entrants were awesome, so I knew it would be tough choosing a winner. In fact, it proved impossible. Two entrants offered well-written and thought-provoking answers with attitudes, ideas and attributes that were eerily similar. They favor the same historical era, hold comparable theories on the existence of magic—even the way they describe their physical characteristics is similar. Since picking between them would have been unfair, I have no option but to declare that the <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWEAR</span> Character Contest has co-winners—<span style="font-weight:bold;">Erin Hampton</span> and <span style="font-weight:bold;">Lexie Wohlfort</span>. <br /><br />Reading their entries truly allowed the character to bloom. So when <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWEAR</span> comes out, just about a year from now, you’ll get to know a 1920s vixen named Earline Burnside, called Early because she’s <span style="font-style:italic;">way</span> ahead of her time. She embodies what Erin sees as someone “living impulsively and dangerously on the edge,” in a period Lexie loves because “all the dancing, parties, and jazz music make me feel like I would be welcome there.” Physically, Early’s got Erin’s unique grin and Lexie’s petite stature—as to the unusual, ever-changing brown-to-gold-to-green eyes, sorry, but another new character in <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWEAR</span> already happens to have those! <br /><br />Like all the characters you first came to know in <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWOON</span>, as well as the new ones you’ll encounter in <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWEAR</span>, Early is neither 100 percent good or evil, but complex: smart, funny, sexy, sparkling, opinionated, vain, insightful and self-destructive. I hope you’ll enjoy reading her as much as I’m enjoying writing her, and I thank Lexie and Erin for their inspiration. <br /><br />I also want to thank the other semi-finalists Lesley Jones, Courtney Rae, Aseal Tineh and Jaclyn Colello, as well as the seventy-or-so entrants who took the time to think about <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWOON</span> and <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWEAR</span> and enter the contest. It’s readers like all of you who <span style="font-style:italic;">make</span> writers like me. Your support means so much, especially when deadlines loom and distractions beckon. I hope you’ll be captivated by Sin, Dice, Pen, Ruby and Marsh—as well as Tosh, Antonia, Bone and of course Early—when <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWEAR</span> hits shelves in August 2011.<br /><br />Till then, <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWOON</span> on!<br /><br />FYI: Other <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWOON</span> contest winners from this summer include Heather McClung, Stefanie Rizzi, Jessica Parker, Livia Delgado, Jenni Hicks, Makayla Skubel, Alicia Guerrero, Amy Fiumara, Ashley Kearns, Raquel Vega-Grieder, and Nicole Kevren. Please be sure to check my BLARGH for upcoming contests this fall—including a back-to-school event with <span style="font-weight:bold;">Anastasia Hopcus</span>, author of <span style="font-weight:bold;">SHADOW HILLS</span>. Remember to sign up at the INK page of ninamalkin.com to join the mailing list—you’ll get advance notice of contests, giveaways and special events and be kept in the loop on all things <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWOON</span> and <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWEAR</span>…Nina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209621494359159575.post-21089216511738000482010-06-21T10:27:00.000-07:002010-06-21T10:30:57.447-07:00WIN! OWN MY OEUVRE! WIN!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7aMEa7PiDRWWY3V1ROKIb3EgWtRf5u5iwSdJ7Od4EH1F03vyd2236KtHAlmI5UJmK9I-baPbFDo2mocIEF0eN8wFzueB-9EsfhWecs6yiM5RZD0SvC91_D8iS685qOakRWZ8x_BMNhupX/s1600/Swoon+cover+comp+7.08.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 215px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7aMEa7PiDRWWY3V1ROKIb3EgWtRf5u5iwSdJ7Od4EH1F03vyd2236KtHAlmI5UJmK9I-baPbFDo2mocIEF0eN8wFzueB-9EsfhWecs6yiM5RZD0SvC91_D8iS685qOakRWZ8x_BMNhupX/s320/Swoon+cover+comp+7.08.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485280296263193282" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">HAPPY SUMMER SOLSTICE! HERE’S TO ANOTHER SEASON OF SIN!</span> To ensure your weeks ahead are filled with books, I’m giving away to my entire YA oeuvre. One winner at semi-random will receive a copy of my current novel <span style="font-style:italic;">SWOON</span>, as well as <span style="font-style:italic;">6X: The Uncensored Confessions, 6X: Loud, Fast, and Out of Control, Orange Is the New Pink</span> and, just to put a little chill in your heat, <span style="font-style:italic;">Mistletoe</span>, the novella collection that boasts Melissa de la Cruz, Hailey Abbott and Aimee Friedman as well as yours truly. One runner-up will win a signed copy of <span style="font-style:italic;">SWOON</span>.<br /><br />How to win? Details:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">* Tell the world. </span>To enter, please promote this contest by posting about it on FaceBook, Twitter, and/or MySpace, or if you don’t “social network,” tell your friends. Yes, technically this reduces your chances of winning because it tips more people off to the contest. But karmically it hugely enhances your chances of winning because it shows how much you like my stuff and want everyone else to like it too.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">* Correctly answer the Very Simple Contest Questions below.</span> (You needn’t have read my stuff to get the right answers, as they’re easily found on my website.) Then email your answers to nina@ninamalkin.com. All correct answers received by midnight on Sunday, June 27, 2010, will go into a box along with one of my utterly unbiased pussycats, and the pussycat will select the winning entries at random. (No pussycats will be harmed in this contest; pussycats love boxes and little scraps of paper!)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Very Simple Contest Questions:<span style="font-weight:bold;"></span></span><br />1. What does Dice smell before she ever lays eyes on Sin?<br />2. What are the names of the four members of 6X?<br />3. Where does Babylon of Orange Is the New Pink get to spend her summer?<br />4. Who drew my portrait?<br /><br />I look forward to receiving your entries. <br /><br />SWOON ON!Nina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209621494359159575.post-29565524591866814722010-06-02T14:51:00.000-07:002010-06-02T14:59:43.430-07:0010 Ways to SWOON<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN6mHm3wwQQJNPUBPNyQ4ntKeC6lQCuipXlh1x0Umg0gu2FhsyyHIzgrAVu8o-EtVs0M_okuGik_o4TOtHc1IyxlpmnnbUAVwJB4njyd0rmv85_MoIjVCOwe7XaQSS3iekdaGNUHMq3PNX/s1600/Swoon+cover+comp+7.08.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 215px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN6mHm3wwQQJNPUBPNyQ4ntKeC6lQCuipXlh1x0Umg0gu2FhsyyHIzgrAVu8o-EtVs0M_okuGik_o4TOtHc1IyxlpmnnbUAVwJB4njyd0rmv85_MoIjVCOwe7XaQSS3iekdaGNUHMq3PNX/s320/Swoon+cover+comp+7.08.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478299333335187762" /></a><br />SUMMER IS SWOON SEASON—the perfect time to lose it, utterly and completely, to bliss. Ahead, 10 ideas for achieving the SWOON state that have always worked for me.<br /><br /><br /><br />1) Go skinny-dipping. Not feasible? Do something else naked you’d normally do clothed. Baring all helps you revel in the glory of your own body. Clean your room naked. IM someone naked. Sleep naked. Read naked. Whatever you do, avoid the mirror—this isn’t about judging or even admiring yourself; it’s about being yourself. <br />2) Roll down a grassy hill. You needn’t be a giant panda, but if you want to watch one for inspiration: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s3k50IfMbS8&NR=1 WHEEEEEE!!!<br />3) Lie very, very still. Okay, you’re at the bottom of the hill now. No gadget. No other people. No nothing. Let your senses take over. See the natural world. Hear birds, bees, crickets, what-have-you. Smell the proverbial roses and everything else. Feel the tickly grass. Taste it. <br />4) Talk to your crush. Just do it, damn it! The first few syllables may feel like puking up very sharp pebbles. After that, you’ll fall into this flow akin to an out-of-body experience. And you’ll have done it! Yes! <br />5) Perform. Getting up in front of folks to strut your stuff is weirdly freeing. Read a poem, rock out, juggle, tell a joke. Then take a bow.<br />6) Dance your ass off. In the club, at a party or alone in your room. Let the rhythm own you; let the beat into your blood. Continue for 10 minutes minimum, until you’re sweaty and giggly and high on your own endorphins. <br />7) Scream your head off. If you need a setting, go whitewater rafting or ride your roller coaster of choice (mine is Coney Island’s inimitable Cyclone). <br />8) Frolic with another species. Swimming with dolphins may not make your vacation plans, but if there’s a cat, dog, goat, duck, et cetera at your disposal, cavort with the creature—it’s as close as you can get to being in a cartoon.<br />9) Kiss and kiss and kiss... This one has clarifiers: First, you must feel completely ready to kiss. Second, there must be somebody you truly want to kiss. If these prerequisites have been met, do kiss—and only kiss. Even if you’ve been with your kissable one forever, revert to the just-kissing stage and rediscover the swoon therein.<br />10) Read SWOON! A novel of possession and obsession and betrayal and revenge and desire and sacrifice and pure, complete, impossible love, SWOON had me in thrall while writing and I'm told it creates similar reactions among readers. <br /><br />That's my list. Got your own? Lemme know. In fact, it's a contest — and you can enter, thanks to the lovely & literary Meg, who's hosting the event on her blog. Go here now: http://book-mac13.blogspot.com/2010/05/swoon-this-summer-contest.htmlNina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209621494359159575.post-47949491591765670182010-05-03T17:33:00.000-07:002010-05-03T17:38:55.894-07:00Is He SWOONWORTHY?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKs8Lt-uGIrwMDO71Hehyphenhyphene1kxMMvkn17p1x99CYhdFR7qZO3m7BNi6qW3a-028_jceEL3Fg0ReyfsO7PpLLzGH69XKh13jO1V4cLGc22HYd_MVxfhL9Tt4B_ejnDSDfX6nNDmd-VO9iYcN/s1600/Swoon+cover+comp+7.08.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 215px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKs8Lt-uGIrwMDO71Hehyphenhyphene1kxMMvkn17p1x99CYhdFR7qZO3m7BNi6qW3a-028_jceEL3Fg0ReyfsO7PpLLzGH69XKh13jO1V4cLGc22HYd_MVxfhL9Tt4B_ejnDSDfX6nNDmd-VO9iYcN/s320/Swoon+cover+comp+7.08.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467207836588637346" /></a><br />Does that dude deserve your rapt attention and emotional investment? To celebrate the paperback release of SWOON, the novel’s star-cursed lovers Sin and Dice are here to help you ID if he’s a bestie-to-be, a red-hot fling or the real thing.<br /><br />1. Recently, you felt compelled to tell this guy…<br />A) What you had for breakfast.<br />B) That it’s impolite to stare.<br />C) Absolutely everything you’ve ever thought, felt, dreamed of and believed in.<br /><br />2. Your beach day gets rained out so…<br />A) He suggests you go bowling instead.<br />B) He suggests you hang out in his room instead.<br />C) Oh…it’s raining? You two hadn’t noticed…<br /><br />3. You could fall into itty-bitty pieces every time he…<br />A) Makes a joke or does an imitation—the boy cracks you up!<br />B) Looks your way for more than three seconds.<br />C) Asks you a question—even if it’s “How are the tacos?”<br /><br />4. Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18, aka “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day,” reminds you that he’s…<br />A) As cool and sweet as a Slushee.<br />B) Hot. So hot. So very, very hot.<br />C) Warm, bright, wonderful—you wish he would go on forever!<br /><br />5. The boy is your go-to for advice on…<br />A) What tunes to download and movies to see.<br />B) Which heels make your legs look sexiest in this skirt.<br />C) Whether to follow your creative, academic or entrepreneurial muse.<br /><br />6. He said he’d call. And he did…<br />A) About five minutes ago just to say what’s up.<br />B) At two in the morning to see if you wanted to sneak out.<br />C) Two days, fourteen hours, seven minutes and forty-eight seconds ago.<br /><br />7. If he ran away to join the circus, he’d be…<br />A) A clown.<br />B) An aerialist.<br />C) The ringmaster.<br /><br />Read on for his SWOON score:<br /><br />Hangworthy (mostly A answers)<br />SIN SAYS:<br />Having felt the noose around my neck, I do rather chafe at the term “hangworthy,” but I understand the context here. To me, it’s evident that you and this boy are bound to be the best of friends. You make each other laugh, have similar tastes, get along splendidly and feel comfortable around each other. Alas, the chemistry required for the true swoon state fails to exist between you.<br />DICE SAYS:<br />Yeah, but a swoon state can sneak up on you. One day, you’re best friends with a guy and the next you suddenly see him in a new (i.e., romantic) way. The fact that you already know how cool and funny and smart and sweet he is (and he’s up to speed on the awesomeness of you), you’ll be in a great place when and if the swoon begins.<br /><br />Lustworthy (mostly B answers)<br />DICE SAYS:<br />Is it hot in here, or is it just the sparks flying between you two. He’s gorgeous, reckless, careening between darkly brooding and wildly audacious. No wonder your nerve endings are on red alert. Check yourself, though—unless you can you keep physical attraction separate from emotional attachment (and that is hard) you may wind up hurt.<br />SIN SAYS: <br />Simply because a boy has a bit of a wild streak or dark side doesn’t mean he’s a callous cad. His piercing stare may be a symptom of shyness, his outrageous actions a display to impress you. The magnetic force between you is strong, so rather than fight it, get to know what he’s truly about. Do take it slow, though; when heat moves fast it tends to burn out and yes, sadly, leave a scar.<br /><br />Swoonworthy (mostly C answers)<br />DICE SAYS:<br />Yay, you! Seems like you’ve found a guy that has qualities you respect—someone smart, kind, honest, warm, all-around amazing. You’re falling for him big-time, and wonder if he feels the same. There’s no need to push it; just let things develop naturally and enjoy every moment. Swoon on!<br />SIN SAYS:<br />Agreed, the ecstasy of the swoon state is heightened when it builds over time. To keep impetuosity in check, remember that you have a life (your family, your friends, your art, your interests) beyond this boy—in fact, that’s one reason he finds you so beguiling about you—so keep all that going as your romance grows. Swoon on, indeed!<br /><br />Romance ruminations? Go to Love Advice with Sin & Dice on the SWOON page of ninamalkin.com for he said-she said counsel you can trust!Nina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209621494359159575.post-67431195128800222432010-04-23T05:34:00.000-07:002010-04-23T05:43:31.642-07:00Poem in Praise of Paper<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaa0zO0vhAUvi8SYe1WuA-TLkZq-jsDyxG-epMcEm3f8lS9s3Bwusxj64o6LC9wDfg6DFokJ7t5-kYrMZ2IipB8HzMk1AhI39b4FEe4y8-BQbbBq1fXDpfs8BNGfqS4RAEU696xayyWTHH/s1600/Swoon+cover+comp+7.08.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 215px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaa0zO0vhAUvi8SYe1WuA-TLkZq-jsDyxG-epMcEm3f8lS9s3Bwusxj64o6LC9wDfg6DFokJ7t5-kYrMZ2IipB8HzMk1AhI39b4FEe4y8-BQbbBq1fXDpfs8BNGfqS4RAEU696xayyWTHH/s320/Swoon+cover+comp+7.08.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463312247328470962" /></a><br />That there device, I hear it’s nice,<br />And yet I crave it less than lice.<br /><br />It may not be a piece of crap<br />But I don’t want it on my lap.<br /><br />It may upend the universe<br />But I won’t tote it in my purse.<br /><br />It may be swell, but here’s the rub<br />I will not take it in the tub.<br /><br />And yes, I’d rather drop down dead<br />Than bring a gadget to my bed.<br /><br />Object of such abject covet—<br />iPad? No, I do not love it. <br /><br />I'm a paper person, see.<br />Go—roll your eyes, bemoan the tree.<br /><br />Paper’s passé but here’s the deal:<br />I love its soft yet grainy feel<br /><br />No gizmo can eradicate <br />Paper’s cream and paper’s weight<br /><br />And yet each page, fashionably thin,<br />Between my fingers remains in.<br /><br />Don’t get me started on the ruffle!<br />Glorious sound! But perhaps best of all<br /><br />Is the way that paper smells:<br />Subtle, smart, it shows, not tells.<br /><br />Go stick your nose inside a book<br />And inhale. Ah! Mm! Yes… Look,<br /><br />I know I’m ancient and curmudgeonly, <br />I’m over, out, behind. Only<br /><br />As long as I insist on breathing<br />Books on paper I’ll be reading.<br /><br />Hardcover and paperback<br />Here a pile, there a stack.<br /><br />Clean sheets, black print, bound by a spine.<br />Give them to me! Mine, all mine!<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">SWOON comes out in paperback on the 4th day of May in the Year of Our Lord 2010.</span>Nina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209621494359159575.post-19865438030396200062010-04-16T10:32:00.000-07:002010-04-16T16:01:34.998-07:00Yes, a blargh...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGO1GgaSChmaElLh8ZODfsGUv4GcOHD1sJzykvqPUPBrXe0851Hd1L21lo6EY3HQwvM16xHckpoPTNFdU6gVasUJC_FhJbW2UykwYS5f3F-oJMyhJpwuB0kVAM51_OIpVr92Y-LWv_Vi3T/s1600/Swoon+cover+comp+7.08.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 215px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGO1GgaSChmaElLh8ZODfsGUv4GcOHD1sJzykvqPUPBrXe0851Hd1L21lo6EY3HQwvM16xHckpoPTNFdU6gVasUJC_FhJbW2UykwYS5f3F-oJMyhJpwuB0kVAM51_OIpVr92Y-LWv_Vi3T/s320/Swoon+cover+comp+7.08.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460792323942765938" /></a><br />I don’t blog because I write. And writers are boring. What to blog about? Staring off into space, conversing with people who don’t exist, acting out fight scenes with yourself? No one wants to read that.<br /><br />Today, however, I blog because yesterday I participated in Operation Teen Book Drop, thanks to a random email I got from readergirlz, who are…I’m not sure, girlz, I guess, who read. My directive: “Drop a book off in a public spot for some lucky reader to find.” Which sounded a lot like littering to me, so instead I walked over to Beacon, a high school in New York City.<br /><br />I’d heard about Beacon. A kid I know applied and was bummed when she didn’t get in. Another kid I know got in, then his mother pulled him out because he was getting in trouble. Apparently, you have to be pretty self-motivated to excel at Beacon, and if you’re not, well, the place does have a reputation as a “weed school” (which is not why I walked over there). <br /><br />Everyone was super nice. <span style="font-style:italic;">Security </span>was super nice. They let me go up to the library without even checking me for priors. There I met the librarian, who invited me to give a reading—which I really want to do, despite the list of Pulitzer Prize-winning and bestselling authors I’d be following (not intimidating at all). <br /><br />Then the librarian introduced me to Renata, who’s the editor of <span style="font-style:italic;">Beacon Ink</span>, the literary magazine, which is not the only swell thing about her. Take, for instance, the fact that she asked someone to the prom in <span style="font-style:italic;">brownie</span> (brownie being a dialect of chocolate, the language of love). Renata offered me a piece of the invitational brownie (assuring me it had none of the above-mentioned “weed” in it). Looked mighty tasty, but before I could get my hands on it I got my hands on a copy of <span style="font-style:italic;">Beacon Ink</span>—the best part of my visit.<br /><br />Because I read a story by Renata that includes the confession “I always wanted someone to be jealous of me” as well as a character named Crayon. Also a story by David that imparted: “Never have a staring contest with an inanimate object; it can’t end well”—advice so sage I suspect it’s actually Confucian. Plus, this big gurgling language orgy by Nate that I nonetheless sort of understood even though it <span style="font-style:italic;">is</span> a poem. And, yes, v.c. photography and illustration aplenty. <br /><br />So even though Renata charged me $5 and I left without a bite of that brownie, I got such a warm-and-fuzzy about words and the people who worship, wield and mess around with them, I’m glad I “rocked the drop” as the readergirlz say. I’m also glad I didn’t get arrested—like Arlo Guthrie in “Alice’s Restaurant”—for littering. (Oh, the readergirlz say I'm supposed to refer to "the hash tag <a href="#operationtbd">#operationtbd</a>" in my blog, but if you know anything about me you know I don't know what a hash tag is but am wondering if it's anything like a hash brownie.)<br /><br />As to the book I dropped, that brings us to the self-promo part of this missive. <span style="font-weight:bold;">SWOON</span>. It hits in paperback next month (the hardcover being in its seventh printing!) and I've sworn to do lots of obnoxious yapping (and even blogging) about it. So if you haven’t read it yet I hope you will (hint, hint, Renata).Nina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209621494359159575.post-60019152044894133992009-10-13T08:57:00.000-07:002009-10-13T09:30:31.534-07:00Read, Write, Revel...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxdtlllCv161Um1hfIo8tIKcODSKwvsOXRKH7luZBa5QTDQp5opXJbEYAmr4UdeePa7M4wCyqGu2CS72X23W07-G6UheWMzb8V432-R8NDaKccqEL-pGkf3B_RtJ3cbK9WPdQOI4bzX0hM/s1600-h/art.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 210px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxdtlllCv161Um1hfIo8tIKcODSKwvsOXRKH7luZBa5QTDQp5opXJbEYAmr4UdeePa7M4wCyqGu2CS72X23W07-G6UheWMzb8V432-R8NDaKccqEL-pGkf3B_RtJ3cbK9WPdQOI4bzX0hM/s320/art.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392120580298199042" /></a><br />IF YOU'RE READING THIS BLARGH, you're reading. Ergo, you enjoy reading and don't need me to give you a reason to do so. But I will anyway, because readergirlz is doing this tribute to the Young Adult Library Services Association's Teen Read Week (18 October - 24 October). They've asked bloggers (do blarghers count?) to shout out YALSA's awesome event and reading in general. <br /><br />So here's a reason to read — maybe for you it's reason #645,293. Or it might just be reason #1. The more you read, the better you'll write. Promise. So whether you want to write for a (tee-hee!) career, bang out a kick-ass term paper/essay test answer, or simply compose a text message that will make someone go "whoa!" — read. Become a critical reader, a writer-reader — let your reading inform your work.<br /><br />Yeah, it's a trick. Reading is like taking a writing class, only a really fun one, and you gain the benefits practically by osmosis. Reading will help you perfect POV, dialogue, plotting, pacing — basically, all that stuff that makes a good piece of writing. Plus you'll probably learn a new word or two, and you can't know too many of those babies!<br /><br />So have fun on YALSA Teen Read Week (that's 10/18 - 10/24...which isn't even a whole week but we'll give 'em a pass on that) and pay homage to those readergirlz too. For more writing tips from me, check out the FREAQS page at ninamalkin.com. And, if you haven't done so already, I strongly suggest that you prepare to SWOON...Nina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209621494359159575.post-75925304313470529892009-09-01T07:21:00.000-07:002009-09-01T07:28:59.187-07:00Your Fall Reading Lust!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx4Mcg2JXb2ltOLSMa8b7ucabbNCsGtI8ZL9MPTqECbPdyJYRxVuantf2zhRzsJ6ooRwsz9Hpx25sC6wXEBIy_ueymHmTnt9rm91N5Hm6lRX3R069-YN6y5ARIDuBL_7hlqQaX6AfdiSMk/s1600-h/lust.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 208px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx4Mcg2JXb2ltOLSMa8b7ucabbNCsGtI8ZL9MPTqECbPdyJYRxVuantf2zhRzsJ6ooRwsz9Hpx25sC6wXEBIy_ueymHmTnt9rm91N5Hm6lRX3R069-YN6y5ARIDuBL_7hlqQaX6AfdiSMk/s320/lust.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376505897257696226" /></a><br />THE NOVEL IS IMMORTAL. Why else would it continue to exist with all the other amusements jockeying for your attention? The novel thrives because no other medium truly gets you inside a story, a character, a town, a world—or a heart, a brain, a soul, a spleen. A movie can show you; a video game can give you a gadget and a sense that you’re doing something; but a piece of fiction invites you into thoughts, feelings, ideas, motives, longings, beliefs like nothing else. You read, you’re there. You read, you are. Plus, the novel makes you part of the creative process. You watch a play or hear a song—it’s cool, yeah, but it’s passive. You read a book, you’re engaged—you help bring the people and places to life, for you, in you. That novel is yours. <br /><br />But you already know that. That’s why you’re going to enter the SWOON Fall Reading Lust contest. Because the only thing better than a book is a free book. And the only thing better than that is a bunch of them, a whole dang box full.<br /><br />The Autumnal Equinox is a very important date in the town of SWOON, CT. Hence, a contest in honor of this year’s upcoming celestial event, with a prize sure to thrill the stuffing out of anyone who revels in the written word.<br /><br />To enter, take the six-question test below and email answers to nina@ninamalkin.com by 6PM on the Autumnal Equinox (22 September 2009). The first entrant to answer every question correctly will win Your Fall Reading Lust—a box o’ brand new YA fiction in the paranormal/sci-fi realm. Some works will be straight off the presses (mmm, the smell of fresh, hot ink!). Others will be in Advanced Readers Copy form (fiercely collectible!). All will be signed by the authors (yes, really!). <br /><br />Your Fall Reading Lust includes:<br />HUSH, HUSH by Becca Fitzpatrick<br />POSSESSIONS by Nancy Holder<br />SWOON by Nina Malkin<br />DEMON PRINCESS: REIGN OR SHINE by Michelle Rowen<br />SEA GLASS by Maria V. Snyder<br />THE HOLLOW by Jessica Verday<br />CRASHED by Robin Wasserman<br /><br />Salivating yet? Of course you are! So wipe that drool off your face and get ye to the questions below: <br />1) What is a golem? <br />2) What is the mystical/spiritual power of the ash tree (cite at least one)?<br />3) What is the English translation of “Ave Verum Corpus”? <br />4) What is a Cutlass Supreme?<br />5) What famous dead actress complained on film about getting the fuzzy end of the lollipop?<br />6) What is a farrier?<br />NOTE: While all questions are SWOON-centric, you needn’t have read the book to find the answers…<br />ALSO NOTE: Second and third place winners (second and third completely correct entries received) will win a signed copy of SWOON.<br /><br />Good luck & SWOON on!Nina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209621494359159575.post-89733527928236012662009-07-17T05:21:00.000-07:002009-07-17T05:40:52.239-07:00Soundtrack to SWOON<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_cwIzC7Ft3rt-r3dC0hhQHBW8l-zbLMARwUDoDRxUQIlzLqKjvbFQBXoxR-4vtY78jwpwpXm-LTuL2LHCuthEIeSXNC4HIQ3ujzRmVSRHQ7An2iX7NsfXgEKBdWp-VXacylKTf1LntH0a/s1600-h/Swoon+audio.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 262px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_cwIzC7Ft3rt-r3dC0hhQHBW8l-zbLMARwUDoDRxUQIlzLqKjvbFQBXoxR-4vtY78jwpwpXm-LTuL2LHCuthEIeSXNC4HIQ3ujzRmVSRHQ7An2iX7NsfXgEKBdWp-VXacylKTf1LntH0a/s320/Swoon+audio.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359406559914493522" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />In a previous incarnation, it was my job to follow musicians around and listen to the records they made and opine about that in print. It was fun, a huge record collection ensued, and the swag was interesting (ask me sometime about the chastity belt I received via UPS). The experience also informed the novels <span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">6X: The Uncensored Confessions</span> and <span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">6X: Loud, Fast, and Out of Control</span> (see OTHER WRITING).<br /><br />Music remains central to the quality of my life, but when I’m writing it’s anathema, a distraction. I write in a refrigerator box, where it’s quiet and smells like paper. Still, music intrudes, as scenes or characters strongly suggest or connect to certain songs. Hence the following Soundtrack to SWOON. Have a look. Have a listen. Create your own Sonic SWOON. Share your playlist with other SWOONIES. And share it with <span style="font-style: italic;">me</span>—maybe you'll turn me on to something new<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>(I haven’t discovered any new bands in a long time, unless I happen to know them personally). Share, also, because it’s a contest! Mm-hmm, comment back with your personal “SOUNDTRACK TO SWOON” by 15 August 2009 and you’re entered to win a signed eight-CD edition of SWOON, the audiobook (fun on interminably long road trips and/or to torture loved ones instead of the musical selections you otherwise use to torture them).<br /><br />If you’d like to hear a five-minute sample of SWOON, read by the lovely and talented Caitlin Greer, go to http://books.simonandschuster.com/Swoon/Nina-Malkin/9780743582001. You can also hear a smaller snippet and download the SWOON CDs directly to your iPod at http://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewAudiobook?id=315002321&s=143441<br /><br />Enter with your SWOON playlist, and if you do, please remember to email it to me at nina@ninamalkin.com so I’ll be able to contact you if you win. (I’m still trying to find the elusive Kailtyn, winner of the “My First SWOON” contest…Kailtyn, if you’re out there, be in touch, okay?)<br /><br />But enough of my yakkin'—let's boogie (bonus points to anyone who correctly identifies the preceding reference).<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;">“Summertime Blues” — Who</span><br />The Eddie Cochran/Jerry Capehart classic. I’m partial to the Who’s version off <span style="font-style: italic;">Live at Leeds</span> for the opening scene of SWOON.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;">“Goin’ Nowhere” — Chris Isaak</span><br />This is Pen’s theme, once Sin’s influence starts to take hold. She <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> the kind of a girl who looks better naked…<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;">“Baby Love” — Joan Osborne</span><br />Put aside the cougar/cub thing and you’ll see how well it sums up Dice’s feelings for her boy. And on a very, very good day, Dice’s voice is kinda Joan Osborne-y.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">“My Ritual” — Folk Implosion</span><br />What a groove. So seductive. And the lyrics spell out Sin’s own ritual essence.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;">“Mannish Boy” — Muddy Waters</span><br />Sin’s song. Clearly.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">“Glad Girls” — Guided By Voices</span><br />When Sin first hits the Swonowa quad, this track fills the air. Really, he only wants to get you high…<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;">“Peacock Suit” — Paul Weller</span><br />Such a strut! See our antihero, dressed to kill, leading his ladies into the Cutlass for the homecoming bacchanal.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">“Chain of Fools” — Aretha Franklin</span><br />This is all Dice can hear when she finally comprehends the depth and depravity of Sin’s mission.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">“N.W.O.” — Ministry</span><br />Kurt Libo’s song. He’s a mechanic, so maybe you think “Jesus Built My Hotrod” more apropos. But this reflects Kurt’s dream of Sin’s “new world order.” That sample from George Bush (the father) says it all.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">“Red Right Hand” — Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds</span><br />My flat-out favorite desperation/surrender/exhilaration song. “Microscopic cog…catastrophic plan…” gives me the shivers!!! If ever I wrote something nearly as good, I’d have to retire—my work would be done.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">“We’ll Burn Together” — Robbie Fulks</span><br />It doesn’t suffice to say, “I love country music,” since what I mean by country may not be what you mean. But this adulterous little ditty seems appropriate for the Wolverine Tavern crowd.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">“Storms” — Fleetwood Mac</span><br />Dice’s song, just before she gets up and pokes the fire. Hokey as hell, but so be it.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">“On a Rope” — Rocket From The Crypt</span><br />Perfect for the closing credits...Nina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209621494359159575.post-85819184523486285392009-07-07T05:04:00.000-07:002009-07-07T05:24:27.063-07:00“My First SWOON” by Kailtyn<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI3pPPwU1xGM4pctKG26GgMDiV738xYuiI7-4o8cfhSzfRCZzpyLzGEWURXTs45TxitUpMrqsI5o68yyAAjWa6jkl_3CFiMI4_t9HkBqOfNcEnC_sLBG9Xic0TTjdY1RzoWzW80NlsEPDC/s1600-h/Swoon+cover+comp+7.08.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 215px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI3pPPwU1xGM4pctKG26GgMDiV738xYuiI7-4o8cfhSzfRCZzpyLzGEWURXTs45TxitUpMrqsI5o68yyAAjWa6jkl_3CFiMI4_t9HkBqOfNcEnC_sLBG9Xic0TTjdY1RzoWzW80NlsEPDC/s320/Swoon+cover+comp+7.08.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355693044016430162" border="0" /></a><br />Thanks so much to everyone who responded to the “My First SWOON” series of guest blogs with stories to their own. More than 30 entrants. A lot! I don’t believe that large response was generated by a chance to win a signed copy of SWOON as much as the fact that the emotions attached to this pivotal experience are simply that strong, that moving, you were compelled to share. I relished all the stories, from the pre-school swoons to the swoon-of-fruition following a 12-year crush. Some swoonies were unabashedly romantic while others had the wry humor of retrospect. And the boys in these stories—each one swoonworthy in his own way.<br /><br />Clearly, choosing a winner was no small task. I was nearly reduced to a random close-my-eyes-and-point selection process. Instead, I ultimately picked a swoon that resonated with me because it was so fresh, so immediate. Just two days before writing, a young woman of 16 had her first swoon. And dang, it was a doozy!<br /><br />Only now I face a greater hurdle. A technological one. The winning “My First SWOON” was written by a girl known only to me as Kailtyn. Are you out there, Kailtyn? Are you reading this? Please reach out to me at nina@ninamalkin.com so I can get a signed copy of SWOON on its way to you. Aside from making this direct appeal, I’m clueless how to get in touch with you. I clicked on your name, but there was no contact info. Blogger.com “help” was…not. This contest-having thing is new to me, so perhaps I should’ve built in a mechanism to ensure being able to locate the winner, but being dumb like that failed to do so. So if you’re Kailtyn, write to me with your address and how you’d like your copy of SWOON to be personalized and it shall be signed, sealed and delivered, pronto.<br /><br />Meanwhile, below, Kailtyn’s first SWOON in all its wet and wild glory…<br /><br />My first official swoon happened 2 days ago. I am 16.<br /><br />I was down in Tennessee on a mission trip. We went white water rafting. You had to be in groups of six and you got to choose your guide. Well, seeing as we were on a church mission trip I didn’t want to pick this one guy, who I later found out is named Cody, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to focus. So we picked this other guide named Cameron.<br /><br />We started out and it was just raining. But then it rained harder and started hailing. I felt like I was in the coast guard or something. We hit a class 4 rapid, which is like the biggest one they have where I was at, and I fell out. Now I’m a pretty good swimmer but it was like a monsoon going on. So all the sudden I'm lifted out of the water by none other than Cody, the dreamy tanned and muscular guide I mentioned earlier.<br /><br />Now the saving position is so that when you are pulled up from the water the person saving you falls back and you end up on top of them. And that’s exactly what happened to me. And I was just shocked and didn’t even get up. I just lay on top of him all wide eyed until someone asked if I was okay. That snapped me right out of my little bubble and I felt to embarrassed but he told me it was fine and it was a pleasure saving me. SWOON MOMENT :)Nina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209621494359159575.post-39634642751791473862009-07-02T06:30:00.000-07:002009-07-02T06:57:29.027-07:00"My First SWOON" by Melissa de la CruzThank you, Micol, for SWOONING and for being soooo punk rock. Always appreciated!<br /><br />Ding-dang, we're going out with a bang on these here first SWOONS. Our final guest blogger is Melissa de la Cruz, author of a slew of stand-alone books for teens and adults and the <span style="font-style: italic;">New York Times</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">USA Today</span> best-selling YA series: The Ashleys, Au Pairs, Angels on Sunset Boulevard and Blue Bloods (the latest of which is <span style="font-style: italic;">The Van Alen Legacy</span> — unfortunately, Blogger insists that the Jpeg she sent of the gorgeous cover is corrupt!). With all that writing, she was still awesome enough to blurb SWOON for me—she declares "Sexy and deeply seductive...SWOON will make your every sense tingle" and is apparently a fan of the notorious "spanking scene." She also made time to offer this essay—and good as Mel is at making stuff up, this story is the real deal and as perfect a testament to true love as you'll ever read. Thank you, Melissa, for SWOONING...<br /><br />I was a late bloomer. But I hid it. In that, the attitude I adopted all throughout my life was been-there, done-that. By the time I reached college I was a compulsive, habitual liar. I told everyone my high-school boyfriend had a tattoo, a drug addiction, and a rap sheet: kicked out of more prep schools than you could count. I was jaded and worldly, skeptical and sophisticated.<br /><br />Or so I pretended. My “boyfriend” was my prom-date, a set-up. Everything I said about him was true, except for the fact that he was mine. (But I had pictures: sure they were only of prom, but didn't everyone else only have those too?)<br /><br />You see: I didn't want to be anything at all like what I really was: an ordinary, suburban girl who had never been let out of the house alone! At night! Never done anything, never kissed a boy, never fallen in love. My parents were immigrants, and for the first years we were in America, they were terrified of letting me go anywhere alone. My dad drove me to dances in 9th grade. No wonder I would never be popular.<br /><br />But then I went away to college, and they dropped me off in the middle of New York City, and suddenly I had the freedom to be the kind of girl I had always wanted to be: the kind of girl found in novels by my favorite writers Bret Easton Ellis and Jay McInerney: the gorgeous mess, the unforgettable fuck-up.<br /><br />So: the reinvention. Keeping up the façade of cosmopolitan indifference meant that I became a fag hag, of course: who needed silly boys? (The girls I did hang out with were way beyond college guys: they dated professors and businessmen, moguls and<br />restauranteurs, men who proffered sports cars and entrée to the cocktail party circuit.) When in truth I was too paralyzed to feel anything for anyone, and so inexperienced I had no idea what to do with a boy if he ever did get too close to me.<br /><br />I had just turned twenty-five when I met my husband. Oh I'd had boyfriends, sure, and had turned in my V-card by then, but I had never let anyone in—had never truly swooned. I was never a believer in love at first sight either. I come from practical people, and am a practical person myself: love was messy and ridiculous. I had had enough of waiting by the phone, of angst and unrequited crushes and going-nowhere hook-ups.<br /><br />Whenever I did get married, I thought, and marriage was as much a goal for me as it was to get published—both ambitions I pursed with the same amount of diligence and determination—it would be sober, practical, business-like. I was looking for a “partner,” a companion.<br /><br />What I found was a good old-fashioned love affair. Complete with passion and tears and endless melodrama. It's funny now to think about the two of us back then: We were so young. (My husband was even younger than me. He was twenty-two when we met.)<br /><br />We fought all the time, with a violence that bordered on the edge of danger: he threw me against the fridge, I clawed at his cheeks and spit in his face. We have screamed at each other on every corner in the West Village, hurling groceries on the street. We also made out in every downtown bar we frequented, with the kind of lewd, embarrassing PDA sessions that made our friends cringe. We were loud and drunk and affectionate and spiteful, all in the same evening.<br /><br />And yet, through it all, we have also become the stable, practical couple who have built a life and a home and a family together.<br /><br />It is corny to write about a love that still sustains, that still survives, that you live in every day. Much better to write of past loves and past lovers with the sepia-toned light of nostalgia and wisdom. But all I have is Mike. He's the only one I've ever swooned over. I get just as excited seeing him today as I did when I spied him across the room at the party, when I came on to him so strongly you would have thought I was starring in a heavy-metal video.<br /><br />He is everything I had never known I always wanted: a kick in the head, a stab in the heart, the father of my child and the swoon of my life.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Melissa de la Cruz is the author of loads of fiction and non-ficiton books for teens and adults, her latest being</span> The Van Alen Legacy.<span style="font-style: italic;"> Visit her at melissa-delacruz.com</span>Nina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209621494359159575.post-20462932106321985412009-06-29T05:12:00.000-07:002009-06-29T05:18:08.835-07:00"My First SWOON" by Micol Ostow<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3s0-AuWCxTM8XhLBYneFipebaUzMZRIcdaiHyo2xESmDTwWjrxynehMHCBrRakwUliUdyIO_ECNyC44d6SVaSSVHFohFE_ZmlNSSL06zFqqHYFwkbjJc3GJbK6Kfui-dtf5eQJ3RuidpN/s1600-h/Golden+Girl+final.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3s0-AuWCxTM8XhLBYneFipebaUzMZRIcdaiHyo2xESmDTwWjrxynehMHCBrRakwUliUdyIO_ECNyC44d6SVaSSVHFohFE_ZmlNSSL06zFqqHYFwkbjJc3GJbK6Kfui-dtf5eQJ3RuidpN/s320/Golden+Girl+final.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352722749381484002" border="0" /></a><br />So now you know just how bad a boy you magnetize. Must be something in the water. Or your genes. Or you jeans.<br /><br />Racing headlong now towards the culmination of first SWOONS. Remember, you still have two more days to comment back with your own first SWOON and be entered to win a signed copy of SWOON. And you still have two more days to nag me about submitting my own rather awful admision...<br /><br />Today we have a swell SWOON from the indomitable Micol Ostow, author of The Bradford Series of novels and ultimate how-to, self-help tome <span style="font-style: italic;">So Punk Rock (And Other Ways To Annoy Your Parents)</span>. I know Micol was on a guillotine of a book deadline, yet she still made good on her promise to dig deep into her past and pull out this plum. Thank you, Micol, for SWOONING, and for the best sub-title ever...<br /><br />"I Was A Pre-Teen Cougar"<br /><br />His name was Jerry.<br />Or maybe Matt?<br />Or possibly Adam.<br />I dunno; it was a long time ago and anyway, I’m changing names to protect the innocent.<br />(Yeah, that’s it…to protect the innocent!)<br /><br />So anyway—Adam.<br />He had red hair buzzed into a crew cut that begged to be run against the flat underside of my palm. His cheeks were dusted with freckles and he probably weighed less than I did.<br />I was eleven. Adam was ten.<br />We were campers together at a Jersey day camp one summer. His “bunk” (we had no bunks—day camp, you see, but whatevs) sat one level below mine in the amphitheater each morning for daily announcements. Hence my spectacular view of the top of his head.<br /><br />May I just say: swoon.<br /><br />Adam was my first dry-throated, rapid-fire blinking, don’t-open-your-mouth-‘cause-Gawd-knows-what-senseless-insanity-will-pour-forth crush.<br />Was it the nylon soccer shorts? The tube socks pulled up to his ankles? The fact that he stubbornly refused to sing along to our morning sing-alongs?<br />I’ll never know.<br />But what I suspect is that it was all to do with his age.<br />You see, in addition to Adam being my first crush, he was also my first introduction to that elusive species known as The Younger Dude. We were only a year apart chronologically, sure, but everyone knows that girls mature more quickly than boys. Between us lay vast oceans of cognitive dissonance that our budding chemistry couldn’t possibly bridge.<br /><br />Still, though, I tried my hardest.<br />I recall early experiments with “lip gloss” (ChapStick) on our camp overnights, and knock-knock jokes hurled blindly in Adam’s direction with no regard toward timing or punch line.<br />I may or may not have tripped him during Jump the Brook.<br /><br />Okay, my technique could have used some perfecting.<br />But puberty was washing over me like a bubble bath set to boil, and one thing I realized about guys—that is to say, boys—like Adam, was that the younger ones?<br />They flat-out worshipped an older woman like moi.<br />(And who could blame them?)<br /><br />If I played my cards right, I quickly, learned, Adam bore his Jump the Brook battle scars with pride, laughed at my jokes and sought me out with one-liners of his own.<br />Younger men were impressed with me simply because I was older.<br />They were easily flattered, they didn’t tend to argue much.<br />It was a lesson I internalized quickly, completely.<br />And it wasn’t until some twenty years later that it occurred to me that there was a flip side to all of that immaturity coursing to and fro.<br /><br />I gave up my real estate in Cougartown and set about finding someone who was my emotional equal.<br />Only to discover that at 33, as a young adult writer, I left my brain somewhere back at sweet sixteen.<br />Luckily, my One True Lurve is totally a kid at heart, as well….<br /><br />And, um—at exactly one year and three days older than me (gotta love a Taurus), he is the source of all things swoon-worthy in my quasi-grownup life.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Micol Ostow is the author of The Bradford Series and</span> So Punk Rock (And Other Ways To Annoy Your Parents). <span style="font-style: italic;">Visit her at micolostow.com.</span>Nina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209621494359159575.post-57005501566117232512009-06-26T04:25:00.000-07:002009-06-26T04:32:26.812-07:00Are You a Bad Boy Magnet?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpQvRyXKZjWdgD_ePulyFfP0bI5eSUW7Ca9CJk0N2I9HTQ3JHcru7X6QDl15jIRXZYpRn51IN0qHovFg-WN4i5Ni-Zhgm9ZiJ8CHVbo1zPmV7VgFQDSQF8-lVxKxcz3Dqw8mC1LypX7YzW/s1600-h/imgdevil1078.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 217px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpQvRyXKZjWdgD_ePulyFfP0bI5eSUW7Ca9CJk0N2I9HTQ3JHcru7X6QDl15jIRXZYpRn51IN0qHovFg-WN4i5Ni-Zhgm9ZiJ8CHVbo1zPmV7VgFQDSQF8-lVxKxcz3Dqw8mC1LypX7YzW/s320/imgdevil1078.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351597696177751810" border="0" /></a><br />We interrupt these “My First SWOONs” to bring you an important message. Judging by the response to “Sin & Dice Love Advice,” the romantic counseling service on this very website, a lot of plenty cool girls are dealing with some pretty bad boys. Are troubled types drawn to you like tornadoes to trailer parks? Take this quiz to see if your mojo is set on sin! Then read on to find out how to handle it.<br /><br />1. A guy comes up to you at a party. His opening line is…<br />A. “Have you tried the bean dip?”<br />B. “Have you read any Chuck Palahniuk?”<br />C. “Have you got twenty dollars?”<br /><br />2. Oh, by the way, it’s a masquerade party. He’s dressed as…<br />A. A vampire. But the nicest, sweetest, most gentlemanly and polite vampire ever.<br />B. Himself. He didn’t know it was a costume party and, in fact, he’s crashing.<br />C. Well, he’s got cool facial hair and the cutest little horns, but when you ask who he is he says, “My name is legion…”<br /><br />3. When you flunk a test, the guy who’s crushing on you…<br />A. Offers to tutor you in the subject.<br />B. Offers to download your iPod with his “music to vent by” playlist.<br />C. Offers to slash the teacher’s tires.<br /><br />4. You just missed your bus. Moments later, like magic, this guy rolls up…<br />A. On a bicycle, and offers to take you home on the handlebars.<br />B. On a motorcycle, and offers to take you home on the back.<br />C. On a motorcycle, and offers to take you across state lines.<br /><br />5. You agree to a blind date because your friend says the boy is perfect for you. Actually, the boy is…<br />A. Sweet and smart, washed and pressed, and a mere two inches shorter than you.<br />B. Snarky and smart-assed, and his bangs are longer than yours.<br />C. On parole.<br /><br />6. Someone is seriously sweating you. You know because…<br />A. He left you a hand-written note to that effect.<br />B. He’s always staring at you with this enigmatic expression.<br />C. He left a dead rat on your doorstep. The rat had a bow ribbon around its neck. But still…<br /><br />7. That’s it! You’re done with guys who…<br />A. Think lattes are a gateway drug.<br />B. Can’t stop flirting with your friends.<br />C. Have a wife and two kids in Baltimore.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">As Good as It Gets</span> (mostly “A” answers)<br />I don’t know what they’re feeding you but you’re attracting altar boys only. Not that there’s anything wrong with altar boys (if you don’t mind ending every Saturday night date at eleven PM so he can be well rested for Sunday services). Maybe a darker shade of nail polish—or proudly carrying a copy of SWOON around town—will bring some naughtier fish to your dating pool.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Bad and the Beautiful</span> (mostly “B” answers)<br />Your allure is a siren’s song to left-of-center, slightly screwed-up sweeties. For the most part, though, they wear their dark side on their sleeve, but their heart is close to the right place. Let your own innate nobility inspire and influence him. Don’t worry, your parents still won’t entirely trust him.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Bad to the Bone </span>(mostly “C” answers)<br />You emit pheromones that reach the deepest, darkest recesses of the massively messed up. Do yourself a favor and don’t leave the house again till your 30th birthday. If that’s not reasonable, try to be open to dudes that don’t have to take a piss test before each date. Prove that nice guys needn’t finish last!<br /><br />Hope you got a chuckle and an eye roll from the quiz, but let’s be serious a second: If you <span style="font-style: italic;">ever</span> feel threatened by or frightened around a guy, or just get a nagging feeling something’s not right about him, do yourself—your body, your sanity, your <span style="font-style: italic;">life</span>—a favor and get the hell away from him. STAT. ASAP. PDQ. NOW. You’re too smart, too noble, too beautiful to let an abuser or addict have power over you—no matter how manipulative he is or how enticing his surface allure. Look, I write fiction, but I know from reality, and I am not making this up! Confuse a bad boy with a sick person and your worst nightmare can come true...Nina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209621494359159575.post-5644293374312419202009-06-23T03:49:00.000-07:002009-06-23T04:02:17.177-07:00"My First SWOON" by Nancy Holder<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXZrQ2KqefvOgm1XDflPrn0xVGSwAEXFfufsf7FfYReTR0_pMamQSItXpjwDGoWceIMvPEHkKFdFyy3Oz__ZlfYpffCJ5hWvNcq-XFTkkdSeCT9pGg1JlCLoDmSF9kBaLELpShwKmtC-Ve/s1600-h/Wicked3_FinalCvr.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 216px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXZrQ2KqefvOgm1XDflPrn0xVGSwAEXFfufsf7FfYReTR0_pMamQSItXpjwDGoWceIMvPEHkKFdFyy3Oz__ZlfYpffCJ5hWvNcq-XFTkkdSeCT9pGg1JlCLoDmSF9kBaLELpShwKmtC-Ve/s320/Wicked3_FinalCvr.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350476682130098402" border="0" /></a><br />Many thanks to Aimee Friedman for sharing her passion for Paris. Ooh-la-la, as they say. We've so far had swooners swooning over songs, dogs, dancing, embarrassing rock stars, and now a city. Point being: Your first swoon doesn't have to be about a boy. So if you have a swoon to share, please do so by 30 June 2009. Comment back with your tale for a chance to win a signed copy of SWOON.<br /><br />And so, the swooning continues...<br /><br />Nancy Holder writes like a demon. She has more books to her credit now than most people have socks, though she’s perhaps best known as the co-author of <span style="font-style: italic;">The New York Times </span>bestseller <span style="font-style: italic;">Wicked: Witch and Curse</span> and (coming in July) <span style="font-style: italic;">Wicked: Resurrection</span>. Thanks, Nancy, for swooning…<br /><br />My first swoon took place in the water, just as in Nina’s Swoon. I was twelve; it was summer in Japan, hot, sticky, buzzing with mosquitoes. My blended navy family lived on a military base in one of five row houses created out of World War II parachute lofts, and I was home in a sort of bored fugue, probably reading and listening to sad rock songs. No doubt feeling a little sorry for myself, since my stepsister, who was two months and four days older than me, had a boyfriend and I did not. I was pretty sure that Danny, the boy I liked, had no clue how I felt, which was a relief, because what if he didn’t like me back?<br /><br />Then our home phone rang, and it was my GF, Karen. “I’m at the pool,” she told me. “And so is Danny. And he says he’s not going in the water until you show.”<br /><br />This was stunning news. This was fabulous news. And I honestly don’t remember getting my suit on and layering it with shorts and a T-shirt. I don’t remember putting on my sandals. I can’t remember if I took the bus or walked to the pool. I don’t remember much of anything until<br /><br />I saw him sitting on the edge of the pool, legs dangling in the water, grinning at me as I appeared just like Cinderella to make his day. <br /><br />I remember that the world fuzzed out and I almost didn’t recognize where I was—same old pool, the usual smell of French fries; and there was Karen, who was laying out on a chaise lounge and grinning at me, too. Caught in the tractor beam of Danny’s smile, I felt hot. Literally hot. I felt as if I were dissolving.<br /><br />I peeled down to my suit—blue and green boy-shorts and a halter top—like I really didn’t know he was watching me, and walked on over. My blond hair brushed my shoulder blades. I felt beautiful.<br /><br />I sat down next to him. Then, without a word, we pushed on the palms of our hands and we just kind of slid into the water, warm and cold, no words spoken. We both went under, and I could see him through the water, his face filled with joy. Because I had shown. Still submerged, he took my hand and pulled me toward him. And as we got ready for our first kiss, I remember thinking, <span style="font-style: italic;">What will it be like when we come back up</span>?<br /> <br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Nancy Holder is the co-author of </span>Wicked: Witch and Curse<span style="font-style: italic;"> and </span>Wicked: Resurrection. <span style="font-style: italic;">Visit her at nancyholder.com.</span>Nina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209621494359159575.post-15761374314792376282009-06-20T07:52:00.000-07:002009-06-20T08:08:52.163-07:00"My First SWOON" by Aimee Friedman<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjekMlkXCxXe5K2D4r8pD7odjFyPfpCEnfNqKc4Y0NmwW9ApxixKMwyk-t0_7zJhdQltbKRQifCEV8nL2pUpD9JlsP9sPBOGxuAN8aAFwT-mijCsuD-b1p9EEDL5CoZKXVvRgga77h2t2mR/s1600-h/SeachangeCVR.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjekMlkXCxXe5K2D4r8pD7odjFyPfpCEnfNqKc4Y0NmwW9ApxixKMwyk-t0_7zJhdQltbKRQifCEV8nL2pUpD9JlsP9sPBOGxuAN8aAFwT-mijCsuD-b1p9EEDL5CoZKXVvRgga77h2t2mR/s320/SeachangeCVR.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349426621897504066" border="0" /></a><br />Thank you, Robin Wasserman, for swooning…and for dancing…and for sharing your playlist. Warning: One of the numbers on your list, New Order’s “Bizarre Love Triangle,” has been known to have strange effects on people. I have a friend who, back in the track’s heyday, would fall in love with the first boy who entered her line of vision while the song was playing. Has anyone else out there swooned for a song? Please do tell all. I’ve been remiss in reminding y’all of the “My First SWOON” contest—comment back with the story of your first SWOON by 30 June and you’re entered to win a signed copy of SWOON.<br /><br />And now for our next swoonie…<br /><br />I once had the pleasure of being edited by Aimee Friedman (mm-hmm, in addition to being an author, her latest being <span style="font-style: italic;">Sea Change</span>, she has a real job). She was spearheading a quartet of holiday-themed novellas called <span style="font-style: italic;">Mistletoe </span>and asked me to contribute. While the other writers penned sweet, funny, romantic pieces that made you go “awww,” I delivered the tale of an obnoxious male TV star and the dead girl he got stuck spending New Year’s Eve with. And Aimee let me. <span style="font-style: italic;">Merci</span>, Aimee, for that—and for swooning here…<br /><br />The First Time I Saw Paris…<br /><br />I didn’t want to go. I was fourteen, it was winter break, and I was counting on hanging out with my best friend and dissecting high school thus far. Paris did not figure into those plans. My older sister had been living there since September —and had the chic new haircut and cute French boyfriend to prove it — and had invited me to join her over the holidays. Anyone sane would have jumped at this opportunity, but I clearly wasn’t in my right mind. I thought the world started and ended in New York City, my hometown.<br /><br />Over the course of one magical week, that opinion would be changed forever.<br /><br />But first I had to grumpily board an Air France flight, brood into my hoodie as I soared over the Atlantic (I can never sleep on planes), and sourly trudge into Charles de Gaulle Airport. My sister and her boyfriend (I resented his mere existence) were waiting for me there, and my sister handed me a paper cup of cocoa, my welcome gift. The drink was piping hot and very sweet, with a thick chocolate skin. Even through my haze of jet lag, I registered that this was probably the best hot cocoa I’d ever tasted.<br /><br />That was, I think, when Paris first whispered to me, when I began to wonder if this hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.<br /><br />We drove to the city, and in the gray afternoon gloom, the outskirts of Paris looked ordinary and dull, no different from anywhere on earth. I dozed until we arrived at my sister’s<span style="font-style: italic;"> pied-a-terre</span>, an ancient-looking apartment with chipped walls and a claw-foot bathtub. <span style="font-style: italic;">Sort of charming</span>, I thought before passing out on her futon. When I awoke, it was nighttime, and my sister was watching me in her patient way. “Let’s go out,” she suggested.<br /><br />And it was love at first sight.<br /><br />The city was lit up on all sides, like a golden-flecked globe. The streetlamps were wrapped in white Christmas lights that twinkled through the light drizzle. There was the long, lacy Eiffel Tower, much prettier than in pictures as it shimmered from top to bottom. There was the Pont Alexandre III, a bridge festooned with gilded angels and nymphs. Even the people on the wide, windswept avenues seemed illuminated—the women in their spangly dresses and sparkling scarves knotted at their throats, the men with glowing red cigarette tips dangling from their lips, the boys with their bright, mischievous gazes. Gazes often directed at me.<br /><br />Flat-chested, tongue-tied, curly-haired me, who, back in America, didn’t garner very many gazes from the opposite sex, unless you counted that dorky boy in science lab. What was different here? Somehow, in my rain coat and the beret my sister had lent me, breathing in the scents of coffee and perfume that permeated the air, I felt almost…alluring. Beautiful. Maybe my sister had felt the same way when she’d met her now-boyfriend. French boys appeared bolder, more inquisitive, more willing to take a chance on girls than their American counterparts. It was an exhilarating thought.<br /><br />It seemed to me that my sister and I walked the length and breadth of Paris that night, only stopping once at a café for a delicious dinner of steak frites . My sister let me sip from her glass of wine, and the drink left my cheeks flushed and my heart racing, like the side effects of a serious crush. But there was much more of the city to see, and as the week unfurled, I stood on my tiptoes to see Mona Lisa smile at me at The Louvre, I bit into flaky, buttery croissants, I bought my own filmy scarf to knot at my throat, and a little vial of perfume to spray on my wrists. And, at a whirling night-club one night, I got kissed by a navy-blue-eyed French boy, who told me I was <span style="font-style: italic;">une belle fille </span>and I wholeheartedly believed him.<br /><br />Is it possible to swoon over a city? I think so. As much I still love my native New York, and various other places I have taken sleepless flights to over the years, nothing makes my pulse race like Paris. It’s a cliché, I know, crushing on this most romantic of cities, but I can’t help it. Paris not only seduced me that first night, but it also opened the door onto my adulthood, onto the me I would slowly start to become. And for that reason, the city holds my heart.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Aimee Friedman is the author of </span>The Year My Sister Got Lucky, <span style="font-style: italic;">the South Beach trilogy and her new novel</span> Sea Change. <span style="font-style: italic;">Visit her at aimeefriedmanbooks.com.</span>Nina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209621494359159575.post-10016388898800788952009-06-17T05:46:00.000-07:002009-06-17T06:00:17.107-07:00"My First SWOON" by Robin Wasserman<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiltxf-2qJJDdb6ys6vXKOEHLfHOTuR80H5O0yz46Gmv5GaWUnebDbeOgVneNbfj03yW34qJahFvz7eF-NL5c45UckkgAbOuJ74FkRsYV6F6n6GnGZ2PhAo8iVe5A5WjDb95a5U8a9tWr2w/s1600-h/crashed.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 178px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiltxf-2qJJDdb6ys6vXKOEHLfHOTuR80H5O0yz46Gmv5GaWUnebDbeOgVneNbfj03yW34qJahFvz7eF-NL5c45UckkgAbOuJ74FkRsYV6F6n6GnGZ2PhAo8iVe5A5WjDb95a5U8a9tWr2w/s320/crashed.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348280580746900690" border="0" /></a><br />Many thanks to Lisa Schroeder for swooning in verse—and for giving me a new appreciation for Sammy Hagar...which is kind of <span style="font-style: italic;">per</span>verse….<br /><br />When people ask, “What’s your book about?” I simply refer them to the killer blurb Robin Wasserman wrote for the back cover of SWOON. As Robin’s fans know, her stuff is incredible—novels like those in the Seven Deadly Sins series, as well as <span style="font-style: italic;">Skinned</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">Crashed</span>. (Holding your breath till its September release? Here’s a preview of the cover). Visceral, frightening and immensely readable—that’s Robin Wasserman. Thank you, Robin, for swooning…<br /><br /><br />The summer I turned 14, I fell in love with dancing.<br /><br />Now, anyone who knows me will tell you this is a lie. They’ll tell you I almost never dance, that the phrase “let’s go dancing” makes me laugh, scream, then run in the opposite direction, that I’m the girl who needs to be dragged onto the dance floor kicking and screaming and that, once there, I spend most of my time complaining that I’m not a very good dancer and probably look like a spastic money, and that in actuality I am a not very good dancer, likely because I spend most of my time obsessing over the possibility that I look like a spastic monkey.<br /><br />All this is true.<br /><br />Also true, however, is the fact that the summer I turned 14, I fell in love with dancing (cue the “I’ve Had the Time of My Life” soundtrack) and it’s a love still going strong, even if much of the dancing takes place in the safety of my own home.<br /><br />Lots of things changed that summer; it was a summer of first swoons, as it were. I went away for the first time, to the kind of un-camp that unathletic, uncoordinated, socially awkward adolescents occasionally get to attend. It was a writing program on a college campus, and while it only lasted three weeks, it seemed to stretch on forever. Long enough for me to meet and befriend a merry band of freaks and geeks – the first real “they actually get me” friends I’d had in a long time. Long enough to discover a passion for writing, something that until then had just been one of those things that you tell people you like to do because you figure you’re the kind of person who should like to do them. Long enough to remember, or maybe figure out for the first time, that not everything sucked and that there might actually be life after junior high. Once I got back home, I would immediately begin counting the days until the next summer, and until college—but for those three weeks, I just let myself get lost in the moment. (And trust me, I am not a get lost in the moment kind of gal.)<br /><br />The one fly in the ointment, the mote in the eye of this perfect summer, were the weekly dances. Now, at age 14, I’d been to plenty of dances. Elementary school graduation dances, junior high school dances, not to mention an endless stream of bar and bat mitzvahs. Which meant I knew enough about dancing to know that I hated it. Hated it the way I hated things like tuna fish and volleyball—by which I mean, not only did I find dancing personally repugnant, but I literally couldn’t understand why anyone else would disagree. I would watch the poor fools out on the dance floor, jerking their arms and legs in various directions, big sloppy grins on their faces, trying to decipher what was going on like I was the creature from outer space.<br /><br />So understandably, I spent most of those summer dances hiding in the lobby. (You might suspect this was due to my wardrobe, which included a denim vest with so many dangling beads that I jingled when I walked, but mostly it was the dancing thing.) But in the closing hour of the final dance, for some reason I can’t remember—though I’m guessing it involved an ambush and some serious bodily force—I found myself on the dance floor. And somehow, I was dancing. Dancing almost without hating it. Then the Violent Femmes kicked in, and I was still dancing—not only without hating it, but without even thinking about it. I took my hair out of its tight ponytail and joined my friends in an exceedingly nerdy attempt at headbanging, despite the big blond afro I knew would result.<br /><br />I don’t know what it was. Some perfect combination of the music, the people, the summer, the knowledge that it was all about to end—something kicked in and I let go. Just like that. And then I danced my little spastic monkey heart out.<br /><br />These days, on those very occasional times when I can be persuaded to dance in public, and those even more occasional times when I can forget myself enough to enjoy it, that’s where I go in my head. That summer, that place, that moment. My first taste of what it meant to forget everything, even myself—especially myself—and just enjoy.<br /><br />Now, because as it turns out, pre-college nerderiffic summer programs are just as ritualistic as regular overnight camps, the playlist at each and every one of these dances included the same canon of songs. If a dance ended without each and every one of these songs being played, there would be a mass rebellion. And I speak from experience—we’re talking outraged, sit-in-style, hell no, we won’t go (until you play our songs) rebellion. And it somehow seems wrong to end this post without similar tribute to tradition. So here, for posterity, all I can remember from the playlist of my footloose summer:<br /><br />“Birdhouse in Your Soul” (They Might Be Giants), “Istanbul” (They Might Be Giants), “Brown-Eyed Girl” (Van Morrison), “I’m Too Sexy” (Right Said Fred), “It’s the End of the World as We Know It” (REM), “Oh L’Amour” (Erasure), “Stairway to Heaven” (Led Zeppelin), “Bizarre Love Triangle” (New Order), “Blister in the Sun” (Violent Femmes), “American Pie” (Don McLean)<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Robin Wasserman is the author of </span>Skinned, Hacking Harvard,<span style="font-style: italic;"> the Seven Deadly Sins series and the upcoming</span> Crashed. <span style="font-style: italic;">Obey the call to visit her at robinwasserman.com.</span>Nina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209621494359159575.post-52786798810845283822009-06-14T06:04:00.000-07:002009-06-14T06:08:04.548-07:00“My First SWOON” by Lisa Schroeder<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0RTnmvE2sPVBdFiY_qBAjWN8VmvBEuLv4A8axmsZ_Ho05piwXUehFxDTGRKBpwvrZ11LJWRQdAY2aOKyeekzfH2AtCsMz6kWoiT2C02fpguhONALVy9XsB_HzZjaGgMLZ4YVQSp3AdmjL/s1600-h/far+from+you.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 229px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0RTnmvE2sPVBdFiY_qBAjWN8VmvBEuLv4A8axmsZ_Ho05piwXUehFxDTGRKBpwvrZ11LJWRQdAY2aOKyeekzfH2AtCsMz6kWoiT2C02fpguhONALVy9XsB_HzZjaGgMLZ4YVQSp3AdmjL/s320/far+from+you.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347169331597052114" border="0" /></a><br />We’re smack dab in the middle of these “My First SWOON” essays and I hope you’ve been digging them as much as I. Okay, perhaps I’m slightly more into them than you, since for every one I run, that’s one less BLARGH I have to write. And I’m still on the fence about confessing my own “First SWOON” here—the ones running have been so sweet and so cute and mine is…so not. Eileen Cook, whose essay ran previously, was the ultimate in sweet and cute, not to mention hilarious. Thank you, Eileen, for swooning…<br /><br />Today we reveal the first SWOON of Lisa Schroeder. You’ve got to love Lisa for taking something as potentially daunting as poetry and making it as accessible and relatable as your best friend or your favorite jeans. Here, she brings that same graceful touch she employs in her novels<span style="font-style: italic;"> Far From You</span> and<span style="font-style: italic;"> I Heart You, You Haunt Me </span>to a personal confession of her own. Thank you, Lisa, for swooning…<br /><br />We were in that magical place,<br />between the innocence of girlhood<br />and the complexity of adolescence.<br />Always looking ahead<br />but holding on to the past.<br />Not sure of much<br />except who’s hot,<br />who’s not,<br />and which group should include us.<br />One warm summer evening,<br />hanging out at Gigi’s house,<br />when the lovely Dawn,<br />as cool as her name,<br />brought her tape player over.<br />She plopped it down and pressed play.<br />Nothing like The Carpenters or John Denver<br />like my mom listened to.<br />Nothing like Simon and Garfunkle<br />like my dad listened to.<br />This was different with a capital D.<br />It made my head nod<br />and my insides tremble.<br />He sang to our souls<br />about falling in love again,<br />and I had to know who he was.<br />Dawn smiled and her eyes sparkled<br />when she said his name.<br />Sammy Hagar.<br />We listened.<br />And we swooned.<br />After that, we knew one thing<br />as sure as we knew<br />the best days were yet to come –<br />There’s only one way to rock!<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Lisa Schroeder is the author of</span> Far From You <span style="font-style: italic;">and</span> I Heart You, You Haunt Me.<span style="font-style: italic;"> Visit her at lisaschroederbooks.com.</span>Nina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209621494359159575.post-73600893879392578312009-06-11T04:44:00.000-07:002009-06-11T04:57:34.362-07:00"My First SWOON" by Eileen Cook<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9a6N1TrCyA1assYatbEpp-xf4RHgBWe7iX-jOZsnVMeLjnqfeVlhjnTsEIJQCjnEHtC3JDyjk7wQbRZNc6zCNEfUkI3w1PRLdn_mCmPPhIaLgXHaA_pWGdrsHc9gGZ1KlcFB97qPoYFMx/s1600-h/WWED+front+cover.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 229px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9a6N1TrCyA1assYatbEpp-xf4RHgBWe7iX-jOZsnVMeLjnqfeVlhjnTsEIJQCjnEHtC3JDyjk7wQbRZNc6zCNEfUkI3w1PRLdn_mCmPPhIaLgXHaA_pWGdrsHc9gGZ1KlcFB97qPoYFMx/s320/WWED+front+cover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346037878879176754" border="0" /></a><br />Hope you enjoyed eavesdropping on an intimate conversation between Sin and I. Enjoyed, and found your mission: If you want a SWOON sequel, or a SWOON series, do your part to make SWOON a massive bestseller!<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Yechhh</span>, why does self-promotion feel so sullying? Just typing the above makes me want to take a shower…<br /><br />Before I do, I must return to our next guest blogger and her first SWOON…<br /><br />The term “perfect stranger” never made sense to me until the day an email popped in my inbox from Eileen Cook. The author of <span style="font-style: italic;">Unpredictable</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">What Would Emma Do?</span>—whom I’d never met—had just read an ARC of SWOON and felt compelled to tell me how much she dug it. How good did it feel to have this stranger contact me with just the perfect words? Very!<br /><br />Further proof of Eileen’s perfection: She wants to give you—yeah, you—$75 to spend on books. Mm-hmm, she’s running a contest to celebrate the six-month anniversary of <span style="font-style: italic;">What Would Emma Do?</span> and the winner gets a $75 gift card to her/his book store of choice. So go right now to www.eileencook.com for entry details. Hurry, contest ends 2 July 2009.<br /><br />Go, go, go—then come back and read Eileen’s perfectly cute and smart and funny “My First SWOON.”<br /><br /><br />Falling for Him<br /><br />I went to a Catholic high school. We were required to attend church on random school days as our souls needed way more saving than could be completed on a Sunday morning. We all grumbled about having to go, but it was better than sitting in math class having to sort out quadratic equations and polynomial expressions. In theory we were supposed to be pondering our eternal souls, but in reality most of us spent the time whispering, passing notes, and plotting our romantic lives. Attendance was required so it provided a great chance to scope out various classmates all in one place. A sort of Target of dating, everything you could want (or never want) all under one convenient roof.<br /><br />I had a crush on someone. I’ll call him X. Over the course of a few weeks we had passed the preliminary stage of acting like we didn’t care and had moved into the stage of having our friends discuss our potential relationship. God forbid we directly discuss it ourselves.<br /><br />My Friend (MF): So what’s up with X?<br />His Friend (HF): Why do you ask, does Eileen like him or something?<br />MF: Maybe. Does X like her?<br />HF: Maybe.<br /><br />This negotiation process had continued for some time and now all parties were fairly clear that:<br /><br />a) I liked X, and X liked me;<br />b) Cardboard boxes had better communication skills than we did;<br />c) Our friends were in training to be United Nations ambassadors by getting maximum information while promising nothing; and<br />d) It was time to take our relationship to the next level<br /><br />X and I were engaged in meaningful glances during the church service when it happened. The world began to seem far away. I could hear my best friend whispering to me, but she sounded like an adult from a Snoopy cartoon “wah, wah, wah, wa ha.” I suddenly was covered with a clammy sweat. Black spots started to appear in the corners of my vision. I knew love was supposed to make you feel wonky, but this seemed all wrong. I had to get out of there.<br /><br />I could see X’s face. His eyes were growing wide as I stumbled towards him and the aisle. I stopped in front of him. My vision narrowed.<br /><br />That’s the last thing I remembered, then I passed out.<br /><br />Apparently I gave some sort of primal grunt. My friend described it as “it sounded like you were trying to pass a cow.” I then lunged for X, although I suspect it was more of an uncontrolled fall. No doubt X thought one of the following had happened:<br /><br />1) I had been overcome by my love for him and had to have him right then, right there,<br />2) I was having a religious vision;<br />3) I was a zombie and wanted to eat his brain; or<br />4) I was a total loser and social geek and should be avoided at all costs in the future.<br /><br />X went with option four. I regained consciousness after only a minute or so. Everyone was staring at me, except for X who was clearly planning never to look at me again.<br /><br />This experience taught me a couple valuable lessons.<br />1) Always eat a good breakfast or you could become lightheaded.<br />2) Although the idea of “falling for someone” sounds romantic, in reality it involves making unattractive noises and drooling. If you are wearing a skirt you may fall over with your panties on display. This should be avoided at all costs.<br /><br />My advice is if you plan to skip breakfast be sure to wear pants and don’t fall for anyone unless you’re sure he’s the kind of guy who can be counted on to pick you back up.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Eileen Cook is the author of </span>Unpredictable<span style="font-style: italic;"> and </span>What Would Emma Do? <span style="font-style: italic;">as well as the upcoming</span> Getting Revenge on Lauren Wood. <span style="font-style: italic;">Visit her at www.eileencook.com.</span>Nina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209621494359159575.post-66173736727070571962009-06-07T16:13:00.000-07:002009-06-07T16:23:36.470-07:00SWOON: the Series…?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtDYvh6zXtZnELypFSWeViPcabUpqEz3jRbwnmC_vVGvg30SVQ0o91REEmnOxTqJsv0w1rjCFpcn7ZnUyAKdv34IeVpCoYPlpN0N1Fj-owPAsH6m0AyDJdhrzjm9SNA2pHkTwAZ3QEy5I/s1600-h/imgsin1075.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 215px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtDYvh6zXtZnELypFSWeViPcabUpqEz3jRbwnmC_vVGvg30SVQ0o91REEmnOxTqJsv0w1rjCFpcn7ZnUyAKdv34IeVpCoYPlpN0N1Fj-owPAsH6m0AyDJdhrzjm9SNA2pHkTwAZ3QEy5I/s320/imgsin1075.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344728549349914402" border="0" /></a><br />Many thanks, Sarah Rees Brennan, for your biting guest blog! But I interrupt these “My First SWOON” essays with a blargh of my own. Many curious readers have written lately wondering if SWOON the novel will become SWOON the series or at least SWOON the sequel. Readers, you’re not the only ones to so inquire….<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">It is very early morning. AKA the middle of the night. I am abed when someone comes calling inside my head…</span><br /><br />Sinclair Youngblood Powers: Dearest lady?<br />Nina Osa Malkin: Sin?<br />Sin: It is I. Are you awake?<br />Me: I am now.<br />Sin: I’ve disturbed your slumber. Forgive me.<br />Me: It’s okay. There’s a sixteen-pound cat on my head, Sin—I don’t sleep well in general. So what’s up?<br />Sin: Nothing. Which is the problem, precisely. I miss our chats…our collaborations. I miss you, dear lady.<br />Me: Oh, Sin, me too. I love you so much. But your story’s told. SWOON is officially out. You ought to be excited.<br />Sin: I am! Of course I am. Millions of readers shall thrill to the tale.<br />Me: Millions, huh? Here’s hoping.<br />Sin: Except now…I feel so...adrift. What has become of me? Am I truly gone, never to return in print?<br />Me: Sin, your ego knows no bounds.<br />Sin: Cruel mistress! You have no notion what it’s like. To be brought to life so vividly, so exquisitely, have your story told so eloquently, and then to…to…to what?<br />Me: That’s part of the pact, babe, the author-character agreement. The last two words of every tale must be “the end.”<br />Sin: But it’s unfair.<br />Me: Oh, come on. You don’t see Dice complaining.<br />Sin: No. But as narrator she got to tell the story—she had a voice.<br />Me: You harboring a grudge about that? It’s Dice’s story as much as yours. Besides, the synopsis on the website is in your voice.<br />Sin: A paltry paragraph! Small favor.<br />Me: Sin, what do you want from me?<br />Sin: Can it not continue? The further adventures? I assure you, there are plenty. Especially now that I’m here, in New York…<br />Me: A sequel. You wake me up in the middle of the night to badger me about a sequel.<br />Sin: Is it not possible? I can’t imagine you resting on your laurels.<br />Me: Well, I have been getting emails from readers on the website, wondering about a sequel. And I have been wondering myself—I’m sure the further adventures <span style="font-style: italic;">are</span> intriguing. But here’s the thing, the state of the economy, the recession we’re in right now: My publisher didn’t do me a deal for a series, and the book business is stanko right now, so they probably wouldn’t want a SWOON sequel unless they could bank on a slam dunk—<br />Sin: Ah, if SWOON were an <span style="font-style: italic;">enormous</span> bestseller…<br />Me: The book’s only out a couple of weeks and they tell me it’s doing really well. But if it went mega; if readers wrote Simon & Schuster demanding more SWOON; if there were fan clubs…<br />Sin: Fan clubs! I like the sound of that! So how do we make it happen? Perhaps if I paid a visit to our readers, I could convince them to—<br />Me: Convince them, huh? You are funny, Sin. Look, I feel like we’ve done our job. We’ve told the story; Simon Pulse is promoting the book. Now it really is up to readers. I mean, I’d love to do more SWOON, but at the moment….I’m a little distracted<br />Sin: (<span style="font-style: italic;">somewhat indignant</span>) Indeed you are. Because you have another!<br />Me: What? Oh...you mean Leo.<br />Sin: Yes. <span style="font-style: italic;">Leo</span>.<br />Me: You know about him.<br />Sin: I know about him. And the young lady; I know about her as well. Ha! People think <span style="font-style: italic;">I’m</span> trouble!<br />Me: I know, I know, but…well, they’re talking to me, Sin. They’re in me.<br />Sin: I see. So where does that leave us?<br />Me: I don’t know, Sin. You go off and make literary history. You’ve got millions of readers to seduce — sorry, convince. And me…<br />Sin: You, dear lady?<br />Me: I gotta pee. So I might as well get up, turn on the computer. You know, do what I do.<br />Sin: Which is?<br />Me: Find out what happens…Nina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209621494359159575.post-85647067775759549652009-06-05T04:22:00.000-07:002009-06-05T04:29:15.503-07:00“My First SWOON” by Sarah Rees Brennan<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXyqyjNG7-8AfQ419qQpbjjgq8n7HmLhYENp4LZTKAeo1snlkXqYlK4XU_KxJ02z3kbLkbnbwZbEqfamL8P-gL0QkUWufke2zwwRqoOWhZWXhslCmW1V_r0x5tbZU5i3O5BtL0vZfvUgvJ/s1600-h/Demons+Lexicon+cover.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 210px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXyqyjNG7-8AfQ419qQpbjjgq8n7HmLhYENp4LZTKAeo1snlkXqYlK4XU_KxJ02z3kbLkbnbwZbEqfamL8P-gL0QkUWufke2zwwRqoOWhZWXhslCmW1V_r0x5tbZU5i3O5BtL0vZfvUgvJ/s320/Demons+Lexicon+cover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343804091893036706" border="0" /></a><br />Big wet sloppies to Terra McVoy for swooning. Have I mentioned that Terra is a hot shot in the Georgia book world and I am sucking up for an invite to the Decatur Book Festival? (She is; I am.) Have I also mentioned that this whole “First SWOON” thing is a contest—that if you comment back with the story of your own first swoon, you’re automatically entered to win a signed copy of SWOON (which at 421 pages makes an adequate door stop)? Have I duly noted as well that if people want to hear the unsavory story of my own first swoon, you’ll have to drag it out of me (figuratively, in your comments)?<br /><br />Onward, then, to our next swooner—which is bound to get tons of response since her demonic debut just hit shelves this week!<br /><br />The first I knew of Sarah Rees Brennan, she was on top of me. More precisely, the advertisement for her novel <span style="font-style: italic;">The Demon’s Lexicon</span> was above the ad for my novel SWOON on the inside cover of the Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Summer 2009 catalogue. I was instantly intrigued, as I’d long been a fan of <span style="font-style: italic;">The Devil’s Dictionary</span>, that sassy little classic by Ambrose Bierce. As Sarah proves in the following true confession, she’s a sassy little classic herself—I highly recommend you to check out her book ASAP. Thank you, Sarah, for swooning…<br /><br /><br />My first swoon happened, as is traditional, after my first kiss.<br /><br />I have to admit, a few other things happened in between.<br /><br />It all started with my mother, who was born in Liverpool around the right time for her friends to date the Beatles and for her to travel around Europe by smiling at total strangers and asking for lifts. She escaped being sold into slavery, nobody has ever been sure how, married my father and moved to Ireland. Which was a quiet, traditional country where divorce was still not legal.<br />My mother the flower child promptly started burning underwear in bins on the street. There is a picture of me, aged four, perched on such a bin.<br /><br />I was wearing a bobble hat. I look like I’m having fun.<br /><br />Fast forward a few years on, and I am the most hardcore feminist nine-year-old in all the world. I had a bowl haircut, glasses and an expression of near-permanent fury.<br /><br />Conversations between me and the opposite sex tended to go a bit like this.<br /> “Sarah, could you move?”<br /> “Typical. Just typical. Since the dawn of time men have been oppressing women by treating them as objects to be put out of the way when convenient. Well, let me tell you, you don’t own me. I’m not one of your many toys.”<br /> “Only I kind of have to get home, and you’re leaning against my bike and reading Pride and Prejudice.”<br /> “Well, do you know how many times Mr Darcy told Elizabeth to get off his bike? Never, that’s how many! Think about that. And stop oppressing me!”<br /><br />My father and my two little brothers also got this treatment. At the time my baby brother Saul was exactly one year old, and I used to trot home from school, pick him up out of his crib and say fondly: “Whoosa good boy den? Whoosa sweetums. Okay, stop crying. Jeez, quit oppressing me.”<br /><br />It was worse at school, since the boys there were first very puzzled and then extremely amused by me. Sometimes they would come oppress me all through our lunch hour just so I’d get annoyed and deliver one of my impressive speeches about the rights of women. I think everyone quite enjoyed themselves.<br /><br />One day things went too far.<br /><br />One day someone suggested Kiss Chase.<br /><br />At first I was relatively unmoved. It was, of course, a shocking game, and it was infringing the rights of women everywhere. I made that very clear. I climbed on top of the bike rack, which was sort of my special spot, and delivered a speech on the subject.<br /><br />It would never have occurred to me that things would go any further.<br /><br />There was this boy in my class. He was tall, blond and had a strange sense of humor. I don’t wish to name names, but let’s just call him Ciaran Oppressor Keogh.<br /><br />He had a sudden brilliant flash of inspiration.<br /><br />“Sarah,” he said, advancing on me like a panther. A panther in Nike shoes.<br /><br />I said: “I am not finished the chapter quit oppr – mff? Mfff!”<br /><br />Ladies and gentlemen, my first kiss.<br /><br />Unfortunately for Ciaran Harasser of Womankind Keogh, I was capable of going from zero to feminist fury in a matter of seconds.<br /><br />I am about to tell you something awful about myself. I hardly know how to put this.<br /><br />Reader, I bit him.<br /><br />I bit him kind of hard. Teachers at the scene used harsh words to describe it, such as "overreaction," "disproportionate response" and "frenzied bloodlust."<br /><br />Ciaran and I were both dragged to the principal’s office, where our mothers showed up and immediately began a catfight.<br /> “My child was assaulted!” said Mum.<br /> “Your child was assaulted?” protested Ms. Keogh. “My child sustained grievous bodily harm! My child is bleeding!”<br /> “My Sarah is a delicate flower,” claimed Mum.<br /> “MY CIARAN NEEDS STITCHES,” said Ms. Keogh.<br /> “Only two,” said Ciaran.<br /><br />I began to think more kindly of him.<br /><br />It had indeed been only two stitches. What were two stitches to make such a fuss about, in the grand scheme of things? <br /><br />“This isn’t the only time this has happened, though,” said the principal.<br /><br />This was simply outrageous. It was definitely the only time I had ever been kissed on the playground and caused a boy to need an insignificant two stitches. Why they allowed principals to tell such lies I did not know.<br /> “There was that incident where Sarah was dropping books down at boys,” said the principal. “From a height.”<br /> “I didn’t hurt them!” I said, shocked. “And the boys were fine too.”<br /> “Sarah just seems to be very volatile around the opposite sex,” said the principal. “Very strong-minded. Which is a good thing in many ways, of course. Though obviously not for Ciaran. I simply wonder if this is the right environment for her. I was thinking – I fancied I might make the suggestion – I think Sarah might be right at home in convent school.”<br /><br />At first the words didn’t even sink in. What the woman was saying was clearly absurd. Convent school? I wasn’t even Catholic!<br /><br />Then I looked at all of the serious adult faces around me.<br /><br />My head went all swimmy. My knees went out from under me.<br /><br />And that was my first swoon.<br /><br />Convent school wasn’t actually so bad, even though the kilts were not fetching. I’m still a feminist, and I still think biting wasn’t such a bad idea, though now I’m older and wiser I admit making the poor boy get stitches was going a bit far.<br /><br />And when I was sixteen and at a party, a tall blond boy with rather an interesting scar on his upper lip walked back into my life.<br /><br />But that’s another swoon.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Sarah Rees Brennan is the author of </span>The Demon’s Lexicon. <span style="font-style: italic;">Visit her at sarahreesbrennan.com.</span>Nina Malkinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03575068987733895383noreply@blogger.com9