(Hortense as a teen, at right, with one of her best friends.)

I have news today. (It’s already being tweeted on the Twitterverse!) I’m going to be writing two Young Adult novels for Penguin Canada. The first — and possibly both — will be about Josephine’s daughter Hortense, taking me back to the Napoleonic era. The books will be published in Canada as  part of Penguin’s Razorbill line and in the U.S. as part of Viking Young Readers.

I got the offer some time ago quite out-of-the-blue. It arrived on my agent’s desk in a ribboned box containing chocolates and the proposal.

I needed time to think about it. I’d been long planning to write another (adult) novel about the women in Molière’s life — this I will still do.

But YA? I was interested. For over a decade I was co-editor of a YA series for reluctant readers. Too, many teens are fans of my adult novels. The idea of writing YA intrigued (and challenged) me.

I spent quite a bit of time reading YA and re-researching Hortense’s life, imagining what her story might be. I wasn’t sure I wanted to return to the 18th century — but then I got hooked. Hortense is a very appealing character, and her teen years are dramatic, but also very sad. It’s a truly sweet love story, as well of the story of a girl having difficulty coming to terms with a step-father (Napoleon).   

It’s going to be a very interesting few years! Somehow, I feel that I can do all of this all at once: finish This Bright Darkness, begin another adult novel set in the 17th century, write two YAs and a short novel for GoodReads, as well as launching my own e-book imprint. 

A sense of reality, apparently, hasn’t clicked in with my advancing years. 

I just got off the phone to a book club in Geneva — wonderful! The Skype connection was excellent. They were deep into the Trilogy and had lots of very interesting questions, a pleasure to chat with. (I told them secrets.) Thank you, Karen Smith, for organizing it.

If any of you reading this would like me to chat with your book club … just send me a note (sgulland AT sandragulland DOT com).

It’s so much fun!

I’ve mentioned before on this blog (here and here) that I’m a fan of author Julianna Baggott (also known as  Bridget Asher and N.E. Bod).

I loved her novel The Province Cure for the Brokenhearted and read her blog — Baggott • Asher • Bode —  regularly.

She a Writer Wonderwoman! She has published sixteen books in the last decade. (Imagine that.) Her latest novel, Pure, has just come out and is set to rocket.

“A great gorgeous whirlwind of a novel, boundless in its imagination. You will be swept away.” — Justin Cronin, New York Times bestselling author of THE PASSAGE

She’s be walking the red carpet for this one: a Fox 2000 film is already under way. 

What comes through in everything Julianna writes is heart. Big time. 

And so, a few questions: 

Julianna, you’re on tour now. Forgive such a nuts & bolts question, but: How do you pack? How do you cope?

I pack badly, messily. I forget things like shoes and have to buy them on the road.  I sometimes like to talk to people on planes, other times I shut down. I’m terrible at sleeping in hotels. I don’t like germs.

I DO like people in bookstores, very much. They’re my kind of people. (But I’m not doing a huge traditional bookstore tour right now…)

You have a complex writing life (you write in a number of genres for several publishers under three names), a no-doubt demanding job as a professor, plus you have a large, young family. I know you’ve been asked this a million times, but: How do you do it? 

I’ve learned to write while not writing. I keep the work in my head.

I write lists — lots and lots of lists. Every night before I fall asleep, there are lists before I can drift off.

I’ve learned to make interruption part of my creative process. To accept it.

Do you use an assistant? If so, what does he/she do for you?

I’ve had assistants over the years and right now I’m working this wonderful smart young woman, Tara Gonzalez, who knows the world of YA literature extremely well, works at a library, and is attending college. She’s incredible. Organized, smart, and plugged into a world where I need a guide.

I loved watching this old video interview of you: A Day in the Life of Julianna Baggott:

Wow. 12 years ago. I haven’t seen this in so long. This was before, in so many ways, I had my ass handed to me. This was a completely pivotal time. I was just about to fail — very personally and professionally. And my life would change completely within one year. Everything I thought I knew here was about to be upended. Failing was about to become more intimate. Pulitzer, ha. I can’t even bear to listen to myself talk.

And yet, that was who I was and in so many ways still am.

And, God, I still love the man in that video. 18 years together. And those babies!

Your definition of success at that time was seeing someone on a bus or airplane reading your book. Has that happened? 

Nope. And frankly with e-readers it probably won’t. You don’t see jackets anymore.

What’s your definition of success now?

My definition of success now is that I get to stay on the field. I want to keep playing.

Fox acquired the film rights to Pure. Is “script writer” yet another hat you will be wearing?

I do write screenplays, but I think they’re going after someone who has a really serious track record in the industry; I like that. I really respect the producer on the project, Karen Rosenfelt, and her assistant, Emmy Castlen. They’re smart and creative people with a real eye.

What do you dream of doing that’s yet to come?

Right now, I’m one foot in front of the other. I loved the world building aspect of Pure. It’s a trilogy so I’m at work on edits for the second book and then the third is due right on its heels. I’ve got to carve out some mental space to build all of that architecture.

Thank you, Julianna!

As for myself, I’ve ordered Pure and very much look forward to reading it. From the reader comments already on Amazon.com, I’m sure this book is going to be a hit.

Check out the awesome book trailer!

Links: Julianna Baggott on Wikipedia

My husband and I have just returned from two weeks at a lovely beach in Barra de Potosí, just south of Zihuatanejo on the Pacific coast. Fourteen miles of clean, uncongested, undeveloped beach! Heaven! We saw whales!

We have been coming to this beach every January for some time. This year, the casitas where we always stay (Solocito) had a temporary problem with their Net reception, so my New Year’s Resolution to withdraw from the Net each day was made frustratingly easy. (We could get and send email, but not much else.)

I read/edited This Bright Darkness (The Next Novel) each morning while here: spent lovely, quiet mornings working to the sound of the crashing surf, broken by reflective walks along the beach. This is an ideal way to edit. We return every year, so I’m going to aim to have a MS in hand next year.

I also read a great deal (and yes, in a hammock).

For research: Ladies in Waiting; From the Tudors to the Present Day, by Anne Somerset (which made me think English history was far more randy, violent and repressive than that of the French), and A History of Mental Retardation by R.C. Scheerenberger (an amazingly interesting account).

For pleasure, I very very much enjoyed reading The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler. What a poet! Was a master of similie! Here are a few — only a few — examples:

As we drove to and fro, we listened to Elmore Leonard’s Out of Sight on tape. He’s such a master. I think he only gets better and better.

She got up slowly and swayed towards me in a tight black dress that didn’t reflect any light. She had long thighs and she walked with a certain something I hadn’t often seen in bookstores.

Dead men are heavier than broken hearts.

His office had the musty smell of years of routine.

I’ve also discovered and very much enjoy the ByLiner series of e-book essays. The two I read:

The Getaway Car: A Practical Memoir About Writing and Life by Anne Patchett. I’d recently read (rather: read and been knocked out by) Patchett’s novel State of Wonder, so I found her account of her writing life and process particularly interesting. A few quotes:

Why is it that we understand that playing the cello will require work but we relegate writing to the magic of inspiration?  . . . If a person of any age picked up the cello for the first time and said, “I’ll be playing in Carnegie Hall next month!” you would pity her delusion, but beginning fiction writers all across the country polish up their best efforts and send them off to The New Yorker.

I did – didn’t you? 

Art stands on the shoulders of craft, which means that to get to the art, you must master the craft.

Write the story, learn from it, put it away, write another story. Think of a sink pipe filled with sticky sediment: The only way to get clean water is to force a small ocean through the tap.

I got better at closing the gap between my hand and my head by clocking in the hours, stacking up the pages. Somewhere in all my years of practice—I don’t know where exactly—I arrived at the art.

It was Patchett who inspired me to look into Chandler, a journey well-rewarded.

The other ByLiner title was Advice to Virgins, by Amy Tan. Wonderful!

I think the ByLiner series is a particularly brilliant use of the new technology.

I also began reading The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern. I’m usually somewhat resistant to magic in a novel, but Morgenstern sets the stage very well.

Here are a few photos I took, inspired by the light in the sky and on the water at sunset: 

Two weeks didn’t seem like quite enough. Adios, ocean! Adios, beach! Hasta el proximo. 

One of my resolutions for 2012 is to disconnect from the Net for one hour a day while I’m writing. I’ve two programs that I hope will help make this possible: SelfControl and Freedom.

I suspect I’ll like SelfControl best: it sits on my (Mac) dock. Also, from what I understand, it only cuts out email and Social Net. I will still be able to Google, which I use for on-the-fly writing research.

Is that cheating? I’ll see.

I’m bravely considering cutting out email until 11:00 a.m.: that way, when I begin writing in the morning, I won’t get distracted. (I can feel myself going for nine or ten already. Junkie!) 

Debbi Ohi posted a similar resolution on her Inkygirl blog. Her cartoon expresses the problem perfectly:

Do you have writing resolutions?

{Image at top: from ’Liber Floridus’ (Book of Flowers), a Medieval encyclopædia, from one of my favourite visual blogs, BibliOdyssey.}

I’m excited about the year ahead. So much will be happening!

I got a wonderful editorial memo from my editor at HarperCollins Canada on The Next Novel. The suggestions were great. I’ve work to do, but I’m excited about it. 

My wish for you: May the muses pester you like crazy! 

Here are two New Year’s blogs I loved: 

One from Lilian Nattel, who reads this blog. Do read her post: you will love it. 

The other from Neil Gaiman’s blog (which I also love): here is a poster a friend made from his New Year’s wish for his fans: 

Excellent thoughts!

Enjoy this evening! 

A friend, Julie Levi, wrote asking for book recommendations, so I’ll begin with books.

I’ve read quite a few books this year, but I also started a great number and abandoned them. I’ve become increasingly particular, I notice. Life is so short! 

This list, then, is not only of books I couldn’t put down, but the ones that lingered in my mind. They are the books I urge friends to read — and, given the season, some would make excellent gifts. 

So, in no particular order:

FICTION: 

State of Wonder, by Anne Patchett. Okay, I confess that I haven’t finished this novel yet, but it’s so finely-crafted I have no qualms about including it. It’s a contemporary novel with a mystery at its core. It would make an excellent gift for the literary reader in your life (such as yourself). 

Italian Shoes, by Henning Mankell. Those of you who know Mankell will understand. The members of my book club adore him, and, now that I’ve read him, I do too. I’ve not read his mysteries, but my husband has read one and enjoyed it. It’s hard to describe his appeal because he’s a little bizarre.  

 The Reinvention of Love, by Helen Humphreys. I love everything Helen Humphreys writes. She’s one of my favourite historical authors. This spare — and just a bit strange — little novel, this twirl through the circle surrounding the French author Victor Hugo, will appeal to those who love French culture and finely crafted prose. (And don’t the two just seem to go together?) 

 The Sisters Brothers, by Patrick deWitt. This poetic, outrageous, laugh-out-loud funny and gripping cowboy novel about a couple of hit-men swept through the international awards like a flu this fall. Of all the books on this list, I think this one would make the best gift, either for a man or woman, old or young — and if you buy it now, you can read yourself it first, because it isn’t long.

Brooklyn, by Colm Toibin. If you’re looking for a delicious novel to sink into this winter by the fire: this is it.  

A Visit from the Goon Squad, by Jennifer Egan. Hip, smart, crackling with wit — and well deserving of the Pulitizer prize, in my opinion. 

Wrecker, by Summer Wood. This was my shout-out novel of the year. I bought a copy just to pass around. If you live in a back-to-the-land community (or would like to), this novel will especially appeal. Summer Wood is a wonderful writer with great heart. 

Room, by Emma Donoghue. The subject of this amazing novel scares some readers off. Persevere. Donoghue’s rendering of the voice of a young boy is simply magical, as is the ending.

The Little Stranger, by Sarah Waters. One of her best, I think. Haunting. Great for a stormy night. Prepare not to get much sleep! 

TEEN FICTION:

 Tilt, by Alan Cumyn. This is a book for the older teens on your list — but I suggest that you read it yourself. I adored Tilt. Alan Cumyn has created a wonderfully engrossing, charming coming-of-age story.

I should also mention that The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins is a tightly-plotted apocalyptic novel that you might want to read, if only to know what everyone is talking about. It’s well done and particularly well imagined — with disturbing echos of our “reality TV” world. 

I’m going to simply list the rest of my list (without links and cover images): the day awaits! 

POETRY: 

Origami Dove, by Susan Musgrave. Wonderful.

NON-FICTION:

Steve Jobs, by Walter Isaacson: a compulsively-readable biography about an eccentric hippy who never lost the faith. Read it! 

The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating, a memoir by Elisabeth Tova Bailey. Enchanting! 

A New Leaf by Merilyn Simonds. This would be a fantastic gift for gardeners. I’m not even a gardener, but I relished every word. 

 The Tiger: A True Story of Vengeance and Survival, by John Vaillant. Terrifying! And with a strong environmental message. 

A Week at the Airport by Alain De Bottom. Simply delightful. Perfect travel book! 

IMPOSSIBLE TO CLASSIFY:

Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk, by David Sedaris. Oh, my goodness! Sedaris has done it again. This book is the perfect gift for anyone with a warped sense of humour. (That’s all of us, no?)

Enjoy!

What are your “Best of the Best”? 

I suffered two losses yesterday: Touchstone (a part of Simon & Schuster), my long-time publisher in the U.S., has turned down The Next Novel. I have four novels with them — with extraordinary sales overall — so I’m sad about this.

Ironically, the editor loved the novel, but the numbers just didn’t add up — and it’s all about numbers these days. Mistress of the Sun didn’t sell as well as the Trilogy — Really! Who could out-sell Josephine? — and when the sales of your last publication tilt down, that’s all that matters. [See a post I wrote on this for Writers Unboxed, "Tyranny of the Numbers."] 

Basically, from a career-perspective, I’d need to write a strong commercial title to tilt those numbers back up. I’d need to write about a known historical person — a “marquee” subject. 

I don’t write for the market — and no writer should, in my opinion (for many reasons, but in part because “the market” is an illusive beast). I write because there is something in a story that irresistibly interests me, and trust that readers will likewise find it worthy. 

My other loss saddens me almost as much. I had a blog on Tumblr — “Ink” — where I tucked all the writing wisdoms I came upon. I had very few followers, but I loved this blog. I kept it for myself. By accident, I deleted it — and now it’s simply gone. There is no getting it back. 

The wonderful thing about being a writer is the work itself — that’s what matters — so in spite of these losses, I feel buoyant. Today is a day to count my blessings: and I have quite a few, in fact. Many! 

{Photo: At the South Pole, December 1911, from Wikipedia.}

Consider this list at The Penguin Press. 

Would Alex Haley’s Roots: The Saga of an American Family have been as successful as Before This Anger? 

What about Stephen Crane’s original title for The Red Badge of Courage: Private Fleming, His Various Battles?

Which from the list do you think are the most disastrous?  

A reader on GoodReads just sent me a lovely note, describing my books as ”fiendishly addictive.” I love that.

I was contacted recently by a university student who was working on a paper on historical mother-daughter relationships. She wanted to consult with me about Josephine and her daughter Hortense, which I was happy to do. She introduced herself, saying, “At one time, I’m sure I was your youngest fan.”

She was only ten when her drama teacher gave her The Many Lives & Secret Sorrows of Josephine B. This was before Tales of Passion, Tales of Woe, the second in the Trilogy, had even been published, and she made her mother drive her to Barnes & Noble three times, hoping that it had been released. 

Such testimonials are important to a writer — every writer — because of the common writerly affliction “Itotallysuckitis.” (Thanks to Therese Fowler, who didn’t coin the phrase, but passed it on.)

Author Carleen Brice wrote an excellent post on dealing with this affliction for Writer Unboxed: “Writing through doubt.”

I recently started reading Uncertainty: Turning Fear and Doubt into Fuel for Brilliance by Jonathan Fields. Is it an early sign of Itotallysuckitis that I’ve gravitated toward this title?  

There are degrees of Itotallysuckitis, of course. At worse, I become convinced that the novel I’ve been working on slavishly for four years is unpublishable.

Right now, for me, it’s more the feeling of facing a humbling yet exciting challenge. I’m fine with that: it’s one of the things I love about writing. It’s never going to be rote, or easy, or assured. It’s always going to take me into new realms. 

I’m reminded of a photo of Sarah Waters’ office. Note the poster on her wall: [Stay] calm and carry on. I think “Carry on” is an excellent prescription for Itotallysuckitus.

Do you suffer from attacks of Itotallysuckitus? What are your remedies? 

{Image at top: “The Sick Girl” by Michael Ancher, 1882. The photo of Sarah Waters office is from the wonderful Guardian series, “Writers’ rooms.” A Google search of Itotallysuckitus will bring up a number of references.}

I’ve two interviews on the lovely on-line magazine, My French Life: Part One and Part Two. I think they did a great job. (If you’re a Francophile, contact them. They’re looking for people to interview.)

Yesterday I spent hours struggling with DropBox in order to get files from my excellent Sandra Gulland Ink typist Ed, in Romania. (I love saying that.) Now I have the files on my computer and only need to organize and proof them. Poco a poco!