Jennifer Anne Kogler

I don’t know about you, but I sense summer in the air.  And summer reminds me of a lot of things: pools, lemonade, sunscreen and, perhaps most of all, postcards.  Though I have no empirical basis for saying so, I feel like people don’t send postcards as often as they used to.  Which is why I was thrilled when this came in the mail from my friend Ayn (who knows that I’ve long loved the books of P.G. Wodehouse).

Apparently, you can get a whole amazing vintage box of them:

Postcards from Penguin: One Hundred Book Covers in One Box

Anyway, I know there are faster ways of communicating where you are and what you’re doing, like Facebook and email, and well, most anything else.  But there’s just something about getting an unexpected postcard in the mail, letting you know someone, somewhere was thinking of you.  I plan on sending some of my own this summer, wherever I end up heading.  Consider it my summer resolution.

So here’s to postcards — wonderfully analog in a digital world. -JAK

In terms of television viewing, California has its advantages and disadvantages.  For instance, watching sports here generally works out better than on the East Coast, in my opinion, because you don’t have to stay up past midnight to watch the end of a game.  Same goes for most award shows.  There are, however, things that cut the other way.  Like Wimbledon.  Or, well, pretty much anything that happens in England.

Which means that, if I want to watch the Royal Wedding live, I’ll have to get up at some horribly early hour of the morning.

Look, I love England, both in theory and in practice.  I love tea, I studied abroad in London, I love Digestives, the Tube, and one of my best friends lives there.  I also love the community aspect of appointment television.  In an increasingly fractured world, fewer and fewer things qualify.  The Super Bowl, maybe.  The Academy Awards, perhaps.  And the Royal Wedding sure seems like it might.  A lot of the world will gather around the figurative water cooler on Friday to chat about it.  And in certain instances, especially when it’s not an inherently negative discussion, that’s a neat thing.

But I just can’t do it.  I looked it up, and I think I’d have to get up at 2:30AM or something.  I simply can’t stomach hitting “save” on my phone alarm, pictured below:

I’m afraid of the effect it might have on my circadian rhythm.

But it got me to thinking about what planned events I would get up to watch.  The list, off-the-cuff, is short.  I would get up at that insane hour to watch: my own wedding (though, admittedly, that’d be weird), someone I admire win an award, a sequel to The Goonies, and a loved one claim his or her lottery winnings.  I’m sure there are other scheduled things I’d set an alarm to watch on television, but I just can’t think of them.

Wait a second. What’s that you say?  I’m approaching this all wrong?

You’re completely right, of course.  Why go to sleep at all when I can just fire up a pot of coffee, watch Letterman and Fallon and whatever is on after that, and never go to sleep.  It’s not too early to get up, it’s just early enough to stay awake.

What would you get up for?  The Royal Wedding?

Either way, I’ll see you at the water cooler, because even if you don’t get up for it, I doubt you’ll avoid hearing about it.

-JAK

After my first book came out, someone asked me a question at a signing that I’ve never forgotten. Maybe, at this point, it’s a trite one.  It’s been asked many times in many ways — but the question still always strikes me as a great one one:

What other writers, dead or alive, would you most want to have dinner with?

It’s basically a way to explore who you have a writerly-nerd crush on.  Off the top of my head, I have many, wide-ranging (read: random) picks.  Fitzgerald, Cleary, Oates, Le Guin, Wodehouse, Card, Patchett, Tolkein, Twain, Morrison, Dickens, Lewis and on and on.

For me, this is a more interesting question than “who would you like to meet” or “who do you admire” because there’s the added dimension of dinner.  Which means loose conversation and the potential for the kind of anecdotes that are best told around a table, holding a drink, with a plate of hot food in front of you.  There are also several ways to approach the question.  Should you pick a writer like Oscar Wilde, who is both a brilliant writer and is sure to have many entertaining dinner party stories?  Or someone like Harper Lee because she never gives interviews and it would be such an exclusive treat?  What if a writer is brilliant on the page but a dud around the table?  Does that count against him or her? If you invited F. Scott Fitzgerald would Zelda insist on coming too?

Personally, I’d love to have a YA-authors-before-it-was-called-YA themed dinner party and invite S.E. Hinton, Judy Blume, J.D. Salinger, John Knowles and Madeleine L’Engle (I think, perhaps, they all arguably qualify).  I wonder what they each would think about the explosion of young adult and middle grade focused fiction. Who else might be there?  And, perhaps, more importantly, what would I serve?  Since I’m only really competent at making three dishes – pumpkin bread, sugar cookies, and chocolate molten lava cake (yes, I have a sweet tooth) — it would probably be dessert focused.

Who would be at your writerly dinner party?

A few days ago, I got horribly lost walking around downtown LA, trying to find a restaurant.  (Why was I in LA, you ask?  More on that in a future blog post.)  Maybe it’s because so many of the street names are one syllable – Hope, Grand, Main, Hill.  Or it could be because I tend to get lost.  A lot.  Regardless of how many syllables the street names have.  So when I arrived at the restaurant I was looking for, I was not in the best mood.  In fact, I was in a foul mood.  It was late and I was hangry (hungry and angry for those of you unfamiliar with appetite related moodiness).  Before I even ordered, a song came on over the speakers and immediately improved my mood — Band of Horses’ “Marry Song.”

You may already know that I use music both in my books and as a way to set the mood of a scene as I’m writing.  But as a writer in the midst of revising a manuscript, I marveled at a pop song’s singular ability to affect a listener (and in my case, bust a person out of a funk).  Writing can do this too (think of a wonderfully written poem or short story), but often it takes longer.  I hate to admit it, but a perfectly rendered pop song may have the speed advantage here over the written word.  And I’m also reminded of the Hans Christian Andersen quote: “Where words fail, music speaks.”  Perhaps Hans had a point.

In terms of bad-mood-busters, my parents would probably pick Van Morrison’s “Bright Side of the Road,” which, I have to admit, is undeniably happy.  One bad-mood-buster (a hyphenate I doubt will catch on) I’ve been clinging to of late is Janelle Monae’s “Cold War.”  It’s not particularly happy, but it’s hard to stay still or in a murky mood when that song comes on.  What’s your bad-mood-buster?

-Jennie

Whenever I give a talk to a group about being a writer, no matter who’s in the crowd or how big/small it is, I always get questions about writer’s block: how I combat it, how often it comes and what causes it.  A person might also ask what my “muse” is.   These questions get asked a lot, I think, because most everyone, at some point in his or her life, has stared despondently at an incomplete piece of writing — whether it’s an assignment, a grant application or even an email.

In my view, writer’s block and muses are two sides of the same coin.  The simple truth is, some days, the writing comes easy — it’s as if Calliope herself is sitting on my shoulder.  Other days, it feels like it’d be easier to stand on one foot and hop up and down for four hours, rather than get one page of writing done.

One of the most difficult things about writer’s block is that there’s no one way around it.  Because a person’s creative process is inherently personal, breaking out of stuckness (a word I might have just made up) is also destined to be an individualized endeavor.  There’s no magical cure-all.

My first defense when I’m really feeling stifled or uninspired, for instance, is to take a walk.  I’m not picky about where.  Sometimes it’s to the nearest coffee shop, sometimes it takes the form of pacing in my apartment.  Sometimes I listen to music, read, or, if all else fails, force myself to sit until I’ve written a page and hope I come out on the other side unstuck.

All of this got me to thinking, though, about what I do to stop writer’s block before it happens.  Let’s call it Writer’s Block Preventative Care, in order to ward off the spirits of unproductivity.   I really don’t consider myself a superstitious person, but when it comes to writing, I have several talismans I’ve come to rely on.  Perhaps the one I use most, usually during the cold of morning when I first begin writing, is what I have affectionately named my thinking cap.  I was gifted it by a dear friend years ago.  Here it is in all its glory:

Though there may be some significance to the fact that my thinking cap is old, worn, and rifled with holes, I’m not sure what it is.  Does it actually ward off writer’s block?  Well, no, it doesn’t.  But it does keep my head warm . . . and that is something, after all.

In fact, inspiration/muse versus writer’s block might be best described as a David and Goliath story.  Face it: there are approximately fourteen thousand reasons not to write every day and only one reason to — because you love it.  Because on a day when you narrow in on writing that perfect sentence, chapter, beginning, ending — when, at last, you find the ideal word or a character’s voice — there really is no other feeling like it.

Which isn’t to say I’ll be giving up my thinking cap anytime soon.  Hey, in a battle against Goliath, I need all the help I can get.

Do you have a writing talisman?  Or a ritual?  If so, what is it?

-Jennie

Yep, it’s just over three months until The Siren’s Cry hits stores (6/28) and I’m happy to be able to share the (methinks) beautiful cover.  What do you think Fern is staring at?

Anyhow, I’m fortunate enough to have two books coming out this summer.  On that note, someone recently posed this question to me:  If both books were drowning in a lake, which one would you save first?  I answered that I couldn’t possibly choose.  I’d jump in and try to save them both, hoping for the best.

Is that a cop out?  Maybe.  I should have responded with a few questions of my own:  What were my books doing in a lake?  Did you throw them in?  Did you?  No, really, be honest – why did you throw my books into the lake?  Do you litter for kicks?

Kidding.  I also don’t think I’m capable of being that confrontational.   Either way, HarperCollins has wizards working in their art department.  Hope you like it!

Have you ever had one of those perfect car moments?   You’re listening to the radio and something unexpected comes on and you sit in your driveway (or in my case, carport), captivated until whatever it is finishes.  Perhaps the public transportation equivalent is forgetting to get off the subway or metro because you’ve become lost in whatever your headphones are streaming into your ears.

This happened to me the first time I heard Miley Cyrus’s “Party in the USA.” And, for a very different reason, it also happened to me yesterday evening.  I was flipping through stations when I heard a voice discussing fantasy literature.  Speaking was none other than acclaimed English author Susan Cooper of The Dark Is Rising fame.  And I sat for ten minutes, listening to the end of her speech, parked in front of my apartment, unable to pull myself away.

In a world where my next distraction is only a few fingertips or taps away, the moments when I’m unexpectedly enthralled by any one thing are gifts — gifts that are more infrequent than I’d like them to be.  Whether or not you agree with everything Cooper says, there is an undeniable eloquence and brilliance to her thoughts on the role of fantasy in the lives of children.  We “tell stories to unriddle the world,” Cooper explains.  It’s the kind of speech that defies a single sound byte.  And if you’ve got some time, you can listen to the speech, which she gave in 2007 at Cambridge Forum here (though some lovely Revels singing begins the Forum, you may want to skip ahead to the 14:30 minute mark, when Cooper finally takes the stage):  http://forum-network.org/lecture/susan-cooper-role-fantasy-childrens-lives

I also must confess something:  I’ve never actually read a Susan Cooper book.  It’s a gaping hole in my reading resume, I know.  I’ve long been aware of Cooper’s work and some of my closest friends growing up (and still today) consider her among their favorite authors.  I read Tolkein and C.S. Lewis and Le Guin many others, but for some inexplicable reason I never did get to The Dark Is Rising.  After hearing her thought-provoking speech, you can be sure I will (especially in light of the Arthurian elements).

Anyway, here’s to unexpected moments of reflection.  Thank you Susan Cooper.

All I see are stilettos . . . I guess I never got the memo,

Jennie

Who hasn’t felt like an outsider at some point?  Fern McAllister obviously fits into this category.  Fern’s outsider status becomes more apparent in the upcoming sequel, The Siren’s Cry, where Fern has to cope with being singled out in one of the more unforgiving environments for outsiders – a weeklong school field trip.

There is obviously something about being an outsider that resonates with me – The Death Catchers is definitely populated with a few of them.

But the word outsider is a multi-dimensional term, no?  There are downsides to being an outsider, but there are upsides to being different from the crowd.  In fact, perhaps uniqueness is simply another side of the same outsider coin.  It can be a very good thing.  Which is why, I guess, I found this article so fun:

http://io9.com/#!5768745/at-last-scientists-offer-a-possible-explanation-for-urban-hipsters

Scientists of some sort studied rodents and found that the larger the community they lived in, the more distinctive the sounds they made became.  Basically, the more people there are, the more we have to be distinctive to stand out, or so the logic goes.

Have you ever done anything to try to stand out?  Can it be something we choose to do?  Does it happen subconsciously?  How many outsiders does it take to turn a group into insiders?

And finally, is “Young Turks” by Rod Stewart a great song about a couple of outsiders?  I certainly think so.

Young hearts. Be free. Tonight.

Jennie

Hi all!

The Grammy Awards this past weekend got me thinking about musical awards (well, not awards that sing, though that would be new and exciting).  Most media outlets do some kind of top music list in December.  The Grammys caused me to me conclude that it makes a lot more sense to anoint something the “Best of” when there’s been some distance.  It gives a person time to correct mistakes he or she may have made during the year.  Or maybe that’s just me.  And no, I’m not talking about Ke$ha.  I stand by that particular song purchase.  Don’t try to change me.  ;)

Anyhow, I think a month and a half is a good amount of distance.  And since music is a big part of my life and my writing career, I thought I would go ahead and post my top five albums of last year.  Not only do I listen to music when I write, but music also always manages to seep into the plot of each of my books.

As I began to think about what five albums I thought I liked best, I realized  something.  When I checked iTunes, the five albums I listened to most did not match up with the five albums that first came to mind as those I liked best.  I suppose this is sort of like the music equivalent of the difference between the person you want to be versus the person you actually are.  And yes, I am a person who likes Vampire Weekend a lot even though I know they’re popular enough now to have an official backlash.  I’m also a person who thinks I like Joanna Newsom a lot (and I do, she’s a  brilliant musician! who doesn’t love the harp!)  but the truth is, I didn’t listen to her new album nearly as much as I thought I did.  So here are the albums I listened to most this year (even including some Grammy winners . . . how timely).  Take from it what you will.  Which may be nothing.  To each his/her own and all that:

5. Vampire Weekend – Contra. This album stayed put in my musical rotation.  I know liking Vampire Weekend is neither novel nor will it give you indie street cred these days.  But I love Paul Simon’s Graceland.  A lot.  And this is the next best thing.  Perfect for a sunny day.  Or a rainy day you want to make sunnier.

4. Arcade Fire – The Suburbs. This isn’t my favorite Arcade Fire album, but that’s sort of like saying Sour Patch Watermelons aren’t my favorite type of sour candy (call me a classicist, but I prefer the original Sour Patch Kids).  Even so, I will still gobble them up, gleefully.  There isn’t a bad song on the album, but my favorites are the songs Regine Chassagne sings on.

3. Best Coast – Crazy For You. I guess I’m showing off my California bias, but I really loved this surfer throwback.  It took a couple listens and I think it’s deceptively simple.  I was humming these tunes often.  Out of tune, perhaps, but still.

2. Clubfeet – Gold on Gold. Maybe it’s weird that I find this album soothing, but the electro-pop of Gold on Gold was something I constantly listened to while I wrote in 2010.  It sort of reminds me of Hot Chip, except with a softer edge.  Sometimes I skipped a song or two to get to my favorite tracks, but it’s very good low-tempo electronica, if you’re into that sort of thing.  Which I am.  Especially when I write.

1. La Roux – La Roux. The album cover certainly ranks up there among my favorites.  In fact, my friend and I tried to give another friend with shorter hair the “la roux,” but her hair didn’t look quite as cool as the album cover.  What can I say except this was an album I had on all the time — while writing, doing the dishes, running, cooking, having a solo dance party and brushing my hair.  It’s a dancey-electronica activity improver.  Or something.  And I guarantee it’s an album I will be listening to well into the two-thousand-and-elevens.

What was the music you liked best?  And what was the music you listened to most?  Was there a difference?

Bye for now,

Jennie

Hi everyone!

Well, I recently received the official cover for The Death Catchers (due out in August 2011).  I thought I’d post it below.  Personally, I love it, but then again, I’m incredibly biased.  What do you think?  (If you think it’s horrible, don’t feel morally compelled to share that particular opinion with me.)

All this got me thinking about book covers.  As much as I’d like to claim I’m not a “book superficialist” (I may or may not have made that term up just now), and that I completely ignore covers when thinking about whether to read a book, that often isn’t the case.  I do judge books by their covers.  All. The. Time.

But I also realized something else.  Whatever convinces me to pick up a book — the author, the title, a recommendation, a whim, a gift, or the cover — if I read it and really love the book, I usually end up loving the cover.  I think it’s because, from the point I finish a book on, I associate all the happy feelings I had while reading the book with the book’s cover.  I suppose seeing the book cover becomes akin to hearing a song that you associate with some great past memory.

Speaking of songs, I’ve been listening to LCD Soundsystem’s “Dance Yrself Clean.”  A lot.  Most songs shouldn’t be nine minutes long.  But that one should.