Drowning Instinct by Ilsa Bick takes hold of you and doesn't let you go until the very last page. I'm proof: I read it in two sittings. Even knowing that Liam would be up at 7:00, I stayed up till 3:00 in the morning to finish it. Here's the description, courtesy of NetGalley.com:

There are stories where the girl gets her prince, and they live happily ever after. (This is not one of those stories.)

Jenna Lord's first sixteen years were not exactly a fairytale. Her father is a controlling psycho and her mother is a drunk. She used to count on her older brother—until he shipped off to Iraq. And then, of course, there was the time she almost died in a fire.

There are stories where the monster gets the girl, and we all shed tears for his innocent victim. (This is not one of those stories either.)

Mitch Anderson is many things: A dedicated teacher and coach. A caring husband. A man with a certain...magnetism.

And there are stories where it's hard to be sure who's a prince and who's a monster, who is a victim and who should live happily ever after. (These are the most interesting stories of all.)

Drowning Instinct is a novel of pain, deception, desperation, and love against the odds—and the rules.

Where to begin? As an author, I stand in awe of the number of plot threads Bick weaves masterfully together here. As a reader, I couldn't turn the pages fast enough. And the writing--it's good. Really good. This book works on so many different levels. It's hard to know how to talk about it without spoiling things. So let me tell you about a few things I loved:

The conceit: Jenna Lord is telling her story aloud into a hand-held recorder given to her by a police detective who has asked her for the truth about what happened. She's in a hospital emergency room. There's been an accident; she doesn't know if she's in trouble or if she's the victim. And by the time she finishes the story--when we have all the pieces--we still don't know, exactly. But in a good way.

The nuances: As you can tell from the description, there's a teacher-student involvement in this novel. As a former high-school teacher, usually I steer way, way clear from these stories because they just piss me off. And at first, I wanted to shout at Mitch Anderson, "Never, ever, EVER have a student over to your house alone. Do NOT let her shower in your bathroom. Do NOT cook her breakfast." But gradually we come to see him in his shortcomings and his needs, to understand his motivations, however flawed. Also Bick deals with cutting, grief, sexual abuse, and lots of other serious stuff with subtlty and wisdom. 

The voice: Jenna Lord reminds me of the girl from Jay Asher's Thirteen Reasons Why. Maybe it's the similarity of the conceit, the simultaneous closeness to the listener (Jenna addresses the detective directly from time to time) and distance from events since they're being narrated after the fact). But at any rate, Jenna is smart, self-aware, and astute. The language of the book is just right for her.

The suspense: There was so much of it. Seriously. I had a list of questions about a mile long and it felt urgent to find out how everything could come together. Bick parcels out some of the secrets partway through, but there are always more brewing...

This book is one you don't want to miss. The official release date for Drowning Instinct is February 1, 2012.

No Crystal Stair by Vaunda Micheaux Nelson is yet another proof that Carolrhoda Lab is pushing boundaries in diverse ways. Here's a description of this "documentary novel of the life and work of Lewis Michaux, Harlem bookseller":

"You can't walk straight on a crooked line. You do you'll break your leg. How can you walk straight in a crooked system?" 

Lewis Michaux was born to do things his own way. When a white banker told him to sell fried chicken, not books, because "Negroes don’t read," Lewis took five books and one hundred dollars and built a bookstore. It soon became the intellectual center of Harlem, a refuge for everyone from Muhammad Ali to Malcolm X. 

In No Crystal Stair, Coretta Scott King Award-winning author Vaunda Micheaux Nelson combines meticulous research with a storyteller's flair to document the life and times of her great-uncle Lewis Michaux, an extraordinary literacy pioneer of the Civil Rights era. 

"My life was no crystal stair, far from it. But I'm taking my leave with some pride. It tickles me to know that those folks who said I could never sell books to black people are eating crow. I'd say my seeds grew pretty damn well. And not just the book business. It's the more important business of moving our people forward that has real meaning."

This is a very special book, and not just because it received a starred review from Kirkus Reviews calling it "a stirring and thought-provoking account of an unsung figure in 20th-century American history." In these pages, Lewis Michaux emerges as both a flawed human being living in difficult times and as  a player in some of the most important events of African-American and American life over 30 years.

As a novel "in documents," No Crystal Stair weaves together actual materials (articles, FBI files, pamphlets, bits of poetry) with journal-type entries from Lewis Michaux, his family members, prominent authors, and many other figures (some historical, some imagined) that he crosses paths with in the pages of the novel. For example, we hear from the banker who turns him down for a loan when he wants to start the bookstore; from his sister-in-law who disapproves of his politics and doubts his faith; from authors on the rise, like Nikki Giovanni; from reporters; and (my favorite!) from teenagers who get turned onto books because of his recommendations.

Not all the voices in the novel are perfectly distinct, but that's okay. Because by the end, we've got a gorgeous portrait of a life that's full of nuggets of wisdom, little-known facts about life in Harlem, spot-on portrayals of debates on race and civil rights (integration or independence? accomodation or confrontation? violence or patience?), and anecdotes that you'll want to tuck into the pockets of your heart. A few of my favorite quotations from the book:

Lewis: "If a sexy book gets them in the door, I'll show them a sexy book. Then I'll show them Douglass or DuBois or something else of value. If you're in the book business, you've got to sell books." 

Lewis: "I found out who the real Lord is. That is the landlord. He comes to see me every month. So praying doesn't get it. Work gets it. And I'm working hard."

Elder Lightfoot, Lewis's brother: "If there's no devil, who gets the credit for raising all the hell?” and “Be willing to help anybody who is down, but don't go down helping him.”

Snooze (teenage male): "Man, how does Hughes know this stuff? It's like he's inside my head. Like he's reading my mind. I, too, sing America. I read it over and over. It carves itself deep in my mind 'til it sticks. I can't shake it. Don't want to."

Lewis: "Until the neglected and the rejected are accepted and respected, there's gonna be no damn peace . . . nowhere! Only a tree will stand still while it's being chopped down" (after assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr.).

This is a book with much, much heart. In addition to being lovingly executed, it's flawlessly researched. It's a beautiful example of multi-genre research that teachers can share with students of all ages. Tom Romano--the guru of multi-genre research--would be thrilled with this book.

Bravo. I'm proud to be in such fine company at Carolrhoda Lab.

I know, I know, self-publishing e-books is all the rage. Who wouldn't like a bigger cut of their profits? Who wouldn't like to see their book "out there" as quickly as possible? Who wouldn't like to be the next success story? Here are the reasons why I would recommend that you think twice about self-publishing your first novel as an e-book.

(1) Amazon.com is NOT looking out for your art.

Of course, a traditional publisher also has profit on the mind. But they also have a reputation to protect, an investment in quality. Amazon? Not exactly known for customer service. Amazon has nothing riding on you, your book, or its success. They are more than happy to let you put your stuff out there, whatever the quality; they expect consumers to separate the wheat from the chaff. I'm amazed with Carolrhoda Lab, my publisher. I couldn't ask for a more amazing editor than Andrew Karre--or for better company for my books. Check out the reviews (look at those stars and awards!) for Carolhoda Lab titles, and then try to tell me that quality isn't the top concern.

(2) It's too easy.

Amazon.com promises that "publishing takes less than five minutes and your book usually appears on the Kindle store within a day." You might think that sounds great, but are you really ready to publish?

One of the biggest frustrations for beginning writers is discovering the many gatekeepers in the publishing industry. Literary agents, editors, publishers, publicists... how do you find your way? You need a perfect query letter and synopsis... and an iron-clad ego to handle the rejection letters. But all these steps also provide the aspiring author with many reasons to reconsider her work, to crack the manuscript open again and find the new opportunities for improvement. And that's before an editor goes to work on the manuscript. Take out those gatekeepers, take out the reflection that they force on the writer, and suddenly it becomes easy to publish material that's not ready for the world.

(3) You can't take it back.

Let's say that you do self-publish. You might find great success, but you might also find that you've dropped your baby into an impersonal, indifferent virtual world. Further, barring tremendous success of your book (and y'all, those mega-sales are rare!), you've just ensured that that novel will never come out with a traditional publisher. 

(4) It's too soon to know how things will shake down with e-publishing.

Sure, self-publishing might turn out to be the greatest way to reach readers, but do really know how the process is going to shake down? What looks like a great deal might turn out to be a big bust. So unless you have a crystal ball...

(5) Some markets are hard to crack with e-books or print-on-demand books.

Let's think about children's and YA publishing (my world!). Librarians are key figures in this world, and self-published titles (print or electronic) are unlikely to reach them. More and more people have the means to consume e-books, but are your ideal readers in that group? Some of the readers who matter most to me--kids on the fringe, teens without fat wallets, newcomers to the US--don't have wide access to e-readers.

So... I'm not saying NOT to self-publish. I'm saying think twice--no, five times--before you do.

You don't have to be old and bearded to be sage. In fact, my editor, Andrew Karre, is living proof that you don't have to be either to see things that others miss. In a recent piece for Hunger Mountain, he takes a step back from debates about YA literature--debates among authors, editors, fans, critics, and moralists--to look at how these debates (regardless of their outcome) show something of broader importance about YA lit: it matters.

In my book, wisdom is all about offering a broader perspective, often brought home by relevant comparisons. Which is why I love Andrew's connection between YA's role in the publishing world and Apple's role in the technology field. Brilliant, as you can see here:

Arguing about whether YA is too dark is the literary equivalent of arguing about whether consumers will ever want a cell phone without a physical keyboard. Worrying about whether YA is a genre is the equivalent of agonizing over whether an iPad is a computer or merely a media consumption device (the answer, conveniently, is the same in both cases: It doesn’t matter; it’s whichever you need it to be). The only meaningful outcome of these debates is this: What we’re doing matters.

But then, it hardly comes as a surprise that Andrew's thinking about something bigger and deeper than trends. Andrew's the editor over at Carolrhoda Lab, which published What Can't Wait and will also publish The Knife and the Butterfly in 2012. Carolrhoda Lab is a tiny, newish imprint of Lerner that publishes fewer than 10 books a year, and yet Andrew has a real eye for special that's quickly putting CRL books in the spotlight.

I'm not talking about myself here, but rather the amazing company I'm in. Blythe Woolston's The Freak Observer won an ALA award last year, and her new novel, Catch and Release, just got a starred review from Kirkus, as did Steve Brezenoff's Brooklyn, Burning. Steve's novel also recently appeared on Kirkus's Best of YA list for 2011. Ilsa Bick's latest novel with Carolrhoda Lab, Drowning Instinct, kept me up all night and is plotted so tightly that you'd be hard pressed to find a single scene that doesn't contribute to the weave of the many storylines. (Reviews of Drowning Instinct and Catch and Release to come closer to the release date. Till then: I loved them both!)

So if you want to read something about YA besides another article telling us that it's selling (really well), check out Andrew's Hunger Mountain essay.

A while back agent-turned-author Nathan Bransford did a "Five Openings to Avoid" post that takes a jab at some of the obvious and overused openings that circulate, especially among novice writers.

You know, the story that starts with a character gazing at herself in the mirror just so the writer can work in a physical description. That kind of thing.

I was in the final revision stage for The Knife and the Butterfly when I read Bransford's post. The Knife and the Butterfly begins with Azael, the protag, waking up. So imagine my chagrin when I saw the following on Bransford's list:

A character waking up: Sure, there's probably a good reason the character is getting woken up. Maybe their house is on fire/they're late for school/they just realized their insides are being sucked out by a sea monster. But not only is waking up overdone, what exactly is gained by showing a character wake up? Why not just cut to the insides-getting-sucked-out chase?

This is pretty true. But it's also important to know that there are plenty of good reasons to do things that are, by and large, a bad idea. What to do in my shoes?

Sit down and make sure you have lots of good reasons for why you've written something the way it is. (And, no, the fact that your current opening is already written is not a good enough reason to leave it.)

Here's a strategy that I use for endings: write 10 alternative endings to what you thought "had" to happen. You might still come back and decide your original direction was the right one, but you'll also have carefully considered your alternatives.

For The Knife and the Butterfly, I spent a day brainstorming alternative openings before deciding that it needed to open as it does, that my reasons for breaking the rules trump the reasons the rules were in place.

But you be the judge. Here's the opening few paragraphs from The Knife and the Butterfly. 

I’m standing inches from a wall, staring at a half-finished piece. Even though I’m too close to read what it says, I know it’s my work. I run my hands over the black curves outlined in silver. I lean in and sniff. Nothing, not a whiff of fumes. When did I start this? It doesn’t matter; I’ll finish it now. I start to shake the can in my hand, but all I hear is a hollow rattle. I toss the can down and reach for another, then another. Empty. They’re all empty.

I wake up with that all over shitty feeling you get the day after a rumble. Head splitting, guts twisted. All that’s left of my dream is a memory of black and silver. I sit up, thinking about snatching the baggie from under the couch and going to the back lot for a joint before Pelón can bust my balls for smoking his weed.

Except then I realize I’m not at Pelón’s. I’m on this narrow cot with my legs all tangled up in a raggedy-ass blanket. It’s dark except for a fluorescent flicker from behind me. I get loose of the covers and take four steps one way before I’m up against another concrete wall. Six steps the other way, and I’m bumping into the shitter in the corner. There’s a sink right by it.  No mirror.  Drain bolted into the concrete floor. I can make out words scrawled in Sharpie on the wall to one side of the cot: WELCUM HOME FOOL. I turn around, already half-knowing what I’m going to see.

Bars. Through them, I take in the long row of cells just like this one. I’m in lock-up. Shit, juvie again? It’s only been four months since I got out of Houston Youth Village.  Village, my ass.

I sit back down on the cot and try to push through the fog in my brain from the shit we smoked yesterday. Thing is, I’ve got no memory of getting brought in here. It’s like I want to replay that part, but my brain’s a jacked-up DVD player that skips back again and again to the same damn scene, the last thing I can remember right.

You can read a longer excerpt from The Knife and the Butterfly here, or buy the whole book in February!