Spotlight Tuesday: SHARKS AND BOYS

This week, we're spotlighting two books that are both being released today by Contemps members.

Today, I'm excited to be able to share with you SHARKS AND BOYS by Kristen Tracy.

As I read this book, the one thing I kept thinking was - wow, the contemporary readers who enjoyed TRAPPED by Michael Northrop will really enjoy this book too. It's another story of survival, except this time there's water involved. Lots and lots of water. And sharks!

Kirkus gave this one a STARRED review. And Booklist had this to say, "A page-turning thriller that will please Gary Paulsen fans, this emotionally complex novel makes everyone's worst beach nightmare palpable and provides a fascinating character study that explores what happens when instincts are pitted against relationships."

Sounds good, right?

SHARKS AND BOYS was also featured in a "USA Today" round-up titled, "Find the Great Outdoors in These Kids' Books."

Yay Kristen!

What you have to love about her books is the fun sense of humor she brings to each one. Here's a short excerpt from SHARKS AND BOYS to give you an idea:

"Enid, what really brought you here: Wick? The llama? Your broken heart? Gary? The rubber-band principle? The story of Moses? Your father?

I'm so confused. And tired. Stalking requires a ton of mental energy. And muscle strength. My thighs quake from supporting me in a crouched position. It's time to return to Vermont. But who is Gretchen? I can't leave until I know. Once I know, I'll leave."

Wanna know who Gretchen is? You have to read the book and find out!

Kristen Tracy is the author of a whole bunch of other novels including LOST IT and CRIMES OF THE SARAHS (Simon Pulse),  A FIELD GUIDE FOR HEARTBREAKERS (Hyperion-Disney) and the middle-grade novels CAMILLE MCPHEE FELL UNDER THE BUS and THE REINVENTION OF BESSICA LEFTER.

Happy release day, Kristen!

Hot Topic Tuesday: Car Talk

People who know me will laugh when they see this topic, because I suffer from some sort of car curse. It’s sort of my own fault. I need to sell my car. My Jetta spent nearly two months in the shop this year because it began growing a dangerous mold after a botched factory recall of the sunroof drain plugs (don’t ever buy a Volkswagen with a sunroof). During that time, the dealership gave me a courtesy rental car. But only for two-day time chunks. Which meant I drove a lot of cars. For some reason, driving such a grand variety of cars got me thinking about my high school wheels. Get ready. Here it comes. 

In high school, I drove a propane-powered El Camino. I mean, the propane tank just sat there, larger than life, in the bed of the car. Some people assumed that it was some sort of speed demon vehicle and that the propane tank contained super-powerful fuel. Not so. But it led to countless men challenging me to race them at red lights. Which led to countless male-driven pickup trucks squealing away from me when the light turned green.

The funny thing about my propane-powered El Camino is that I can’t ever remember being embarrassed by it. I drove the crap out of that pig. I schlepped people around in it. Picked up groceries for my mom. Went on dates to the drive-in. Beep! Beep! I loved my El Camino. (After I took beginning Spanish and learned that it meant ‘The Road’ I liked it even more.)  I guess I knew that it was funny looking, but I never felt like I was my car. I was a person. My car was just the thing I drove. But I might be in the minority here.  What do you think? Does your high school car define you? Maybe mine defined me and I wasn’t self-aware enough to realize it. Of course I was aware of the limitations. No backseat. Constant smell of chemical odorant mercaptan.  Couldn’t go grocery shopping in the rain. Could only gas it at Petrolane Stores and had to exit the vehicle and stand behind the safe yellow line until all valves were resealed and secured. (Sometimes I’d get a rebel gas attendant who’d let me stay in the vehicle during the fueling process. Then, I took it as a flirtatious gesture. Now, I’d see that as flammable laziness.)

So there’s the story of my high school wheels. What do you or did you drive? And what do you think it says about you?

Hot Topic Tuesday - Writing & Regret by Kristen Tracy

I don’t know if every writer has this problem, but I have a tough time throwing away old work. Because I might need it one day. Can my imagination really last forever? I mean, the ideas I had back when my mind was still forming might be worth something, right? Which brings me to high school. And college. And all the years after that. And the eight plastic tubs that I’ve got stacked in my living room closet that contain mounds and mounds of my formative work. (Based on the contents of my tubs, apparently I consider my formative work to be anything I created after third grade and before eight months ago.) Oh, my tubs. They contain so much. 

About a month ago I got an email that caused me to reevaluate those tubs and their contents. I was asked if I had any work (of the embarrassing variety) that I wanted to share with the general public.  I was asked to read this regrettable work at the Swedish American Hall alongside other writers who rent space at the San Francisco Writers’ Grotto. The event was called: Regreturature: An Evening of Readings That Probably Shouldn’t See the Light of Day. And I agreed. I don’t want to admit how many hours I spent digging through my high school and college writings. Was I embarrassed by what I found? Maybe. But I was also incredibly happy that I wrote so much. 

I wrote about everything. (Even my parakeet. She was such a fantastic bird!) Not only did I write about everything, I censored nothing. A lot of what I found were poems that I turned in for peer critiques. I must have been insane. When it came to the sestina I gave them way too much. Let’s just say that sophomore year I was into full-frontal honesty. Okay. This is surprising because I’m afraid of so many things. (Bears especially) And yet I look so fearless on the page. I basically handed over my heart. In letters. In school assignments. In journals. In Valentines. In doodles. I haven’t read my regrettable work at the Swedish American Hall yet. That happens April 7^th. But the process of combing through my old work made me wonder, what is regrettable work? 

Sifting through my tubs I found a lot of things that made me cringe. (Here are two lines from a love poem I wrote to a boyfriend: You give me love by teaspoon, when I want it to be poured. Too often I'm left unfulfilled. Too soon am I ignored.) Regrettable? Hmm. I’m glad I wrote them. At least I think I am. I must be, right? Because I’ve kept eight tubs of that stuff. 

What do you guys think? Is there such a thing as regrettable work? I worry that if I believed that one day I might regret my work in the future (this postulation feels very Marty McFly to me) that I wouldn’t have written it. This goes out to everybody, young and not young. 

Do you fear writing regrettable work? What would make that work regrettable?