Adrienne Maria Vrettos

Here I am in beautiful Essex Vermont for a writing conference!

Here's my adorable room:


I got here early in the day, things don't kick off until 5PM or so, and I decided to go meet my good friend Dave for lunch. It was a $20 cab ride, though well worth it to spend an hour chatting with one of the best people in the world. I decided that, since it was a beautiful sunny day, that I would just navigate the bus system back to the Inn to save some money.

Have you ever been to Vermont?

If the answer is no, let me tell you something. The weather can be sunny, you can sneeze, and by the time you open your eyes there will be a blizzard that is more blizzardy than the blizzard in Little House on Prairie.

That's exactly what happened to me. One minute I'm happily riding the bus, "Oh look, it's St. Michael's college!" and "Oh look, what a cute Amtrak station, this is where I transfer to the other bus" to.... "Oh my God."

The "Oh My God" was because the bus driver had dropped me off at this cute little outlet mall/movie theater (weird, only in Vermont can an outlet mall be cute). He said that the Inn was just down the road an across the street. But that was before the BLIZZARD OF 2010.

Seriously, it's like he drove away and the sky opened up and then I was walking down the side of a road in a white-out. Could not see ten feet in front of me. Could not see where I was going, or where I'd been.  How long had I been walking?  Days?  Weeks?  Seven minutes?   Would I have to eat my wool clogs to survive?  Is wool even edible?  Why do I think it's edible.  Must google, if I make it.  Would i need to fashion some sort of snow shelter, and create fire using the wool clog I don't eat?  Are they edible AND flammable?  Does the guy that does that wild man survival show know about clogs?  They could save his life!

Obviously, hypothermia had set into my brain.

Here, this is what I looked like (and yes, I would be the person found with silly self-portraits on an iphone frozen to my hand)



My hat does not have ear-flaps. That's actually snow frozen to the side of my face.


This will not be a surprise to people who have been in a car with me.  I am the person that would be found frozen in a snow drift, ten feet away from a coffee house.  Also, it will not be a surprise to those who have seen the scar on my leg from the Adrienne vs. Automobile incident of 1995 that I do not well in situations where cars may skid out of control and kill me dead.

Somehow (by walking 200 yards) I made it to a little movie theater and blustered into the lobby, stamping snow off my feet, steaming up my glasses, and basically acting like I had just tunneled through the snow from Canada.

This was amusing to the nice gentleman and his adult son who were standing in the lobby, talking about the surprise snow storm.

Now, if my mom and dad are reading, I ask them to please stop.

Because what happened next could have ended up the sort of cautionary tale that, well, you'll see.

I sputtered out something through frozen lips that sounded something like "My friend David Bus So Cold Got Lost Inn at Essex The Snow Dear God The Snow!"

They gave me a ride. They'd just seen The Tooth Fairy and recomended it highly.

To make me feel better, the dad assured me that this was too much of a freak blizzard for me to walk ten minutes in, and he never would have forgiven himself if he read in the paper that I'd been found frozen by the front door to the lobby, just feet away from sweet safety.

Of course, by the time we pulled into the Inn, the snow had cleared, everything seemed much less dire, and the feeling was working its way back into my frozen face.

And now here I am, recovering from my ordeal:



The conference hasn't even started yet, and I'm ready for a nap.

I love Vermont, even with its crazy weather. And I really, really love Vermonters.


xoxo
AMV

On Sunday the little one and I went on an awesome girls' date to my friend Tara's place to watch FAME (I'm gonna live forever!). LO played with the cat toys, ate lots of apple slices and spit out the peels, and repeatedly tried to get the cat to play a game on my iphone. The cat wasn't into it.

Tara and I started talking about what we'd focus on if we got to go to a performing arts high school now (theater for her, voice or dance for me), and I flashed back to my ... erm..."previous dance experience".

It was fifth grade. I suffered from that charming sort of crippling shyness that leads to selective mutism, a marked lack of first kisses, and a future career as a YA author. Anyhoo. I signed up for an after school dance class with some girls that I desperately wanted to be friends with. One of them was super good at the head moves that went along with Walk Like An Egyptian. I thought the worst part of class was when we had to leap one at a time across the dance floor. I wasn't a leaper. I sort of hopped once, and then scurried like a mouse looking for its hole. I was wrong, though, because the worst part of the class happened when the teacher sprung it on us halfway through that we were going to have to perform. On stage! How could she not have mentioned this on the first day so I could have promptly dropped out? She kept it a secret. A cruel, shy-kid targeting secret. I informed my mom immediately upon pick-up that I would NOT be performing in the recital.

She disagreed.

I contemplated faking small pox, but lost my nerve.

Our outfits for the recital were lime green spandex biker shorts with sparkly suspenders. And we weren't allowed to wear underwear! OR a bra! The horror, I tell you, was profound.

If the recital took place in a book, instead of in real life, it would have gone like this --- girl shakes her shyness, takes the stage, performs beautifully, standing ovation ensues.

Instead, it was more like -- shy girl messes up the steps, someone on her left hisses "What are you doing?!" after being stepped on by shy girl, shy girl prays for alien abduction.

I was so embarrassed that I rode home in the trunk. It was a hatchback, so it wasn't like I was going to suffocate, but it felt like a sufficiently terrible place to start serving my term as disgraced junior dancer. I watched the moon and stars through the defrost wires in the back windshield and told my parents that I was definitely coming down with something, and definitely needed to stay home sick the next day. Which I did, totally ashamed and feeling very much alone and oh woe was me.

Blarg.

What the heck do you do with a memory like that? I mean, it's not even so terrible --- I mean, no one died. I didn't lose a limb or a loved one. But still, it nicks at my insides. So what do I do with it? I mean, besides tell my friend Tara and then blog about it? Do I need to do anything about it at all?

Of course, the writerly answer would be to put it in a book. But really, I wouldn't want any of my characters to go through the horror of a lime green bodysuit with no underwear. I could change what happens of course, but that feels like a betrayal of my former self, the one who made it out of grade school and lived to tell [blog] the tale.

What do YOU do with the memories that make you cringe?

xoxo
AMV

I'm having the damndest time hearing my main character's voice. It's like tuning a radio, but all I can hear is static. Occasionally, a station breaks through. First, a film noir radio mystery. Fantastic! But then I lose that and in comes a morning show with a raunchy female host. Okay, I can try to work with that. But then comes NPR, This American Life, with a sixteen-year old, voice all up in her head, like she's talking to herself, instead of to America, about her life and these things that have happened to her. But then I lose that voice too, and there's just static. I know the voice I'm trying to find is some sort of mash-up of all three. It's just finding it that feels impossible right now.

Do you ever write a line that sounds so right to you, that you google it because you imagine it sounds so right because someone else must have already written it?

Just wondering.

xoxo
AMV

And by 'you' I mean 'the weekend!' because this was one of those weeks that was at least thirty-three days long. Just me, or anybody else? For us it started with a toddler with a tummy bug, then a husband with The Cough That Rattled The World, and ended with the sole of my beloved ugly-clog coming unglued. Stupid clog. If it wasn't so warm, I'd kick it to the curb.

But the weekend is here, really truly, and that means no more work and hopefully a little writing time and hopefully a lot of family time.

Tomorrow the little one and I will take a loooong bus ride to see my dear friend and mentor, Miriam. Is it weird to care so much about somebody you can't even really blog about them because nothing you write seems like it's really saying enough? Well, that's how I feel about Miriam.

I haven't seen her since the fall, and she hasn't seen my little one since she was barely crawling. I'm packing lots of stickers books and little animals and other things that hopefully will ensure a fun bus ride, and enough distraction to buy me and Miriam enough time for some good conversation.

And I'm totally late on this, but did anyone watch the People's Choice Awards? I have a really high tolerance for awards show bs, but the whole thing felt like a really long commercial interrupted by other commercials, even if it was hosted by the Queen (U.N.I.T.Y!)

Happy, happy weekend everybody!

xoxo
AMV

I know, wishing people Happy New Year is so five days ago, but I am way late to the party and just trying to catch up. So... Happy New Year!

Whenever I think of New Year's, I think of my Best New Year's Eve Ever. It will take a minute to get to the 'best' part, but please bear with me.

I was 21, and a couple months before, over Thanksgiving break, I had been hit by a car. Unable to finish out the semester at college, I went home to recover from my injuries and start physical therapy. Just a couple weeks after I was hit, I was hobbling on crutches down an impossibly long hospital corridor, taking breaks every dozen steps, making my way to the hospital room where I would say goodbye to my grandmother.

The memories of this time aren't exactly a fog, more like a few bright flashes of images, feelings.

Using my crutches to get up to the podium at the funeral to read the memories my mom and her sisters had written.

My uncle's gentle but firm hand on my elbow, helping me into the car for the procession.

Our house, preciously full of aunties and cousins and noise for a few days, my little cousin on the couch beside me, pulling my hair into a dozen pigtails. And then the terrible emptiness when the relatives left, my parents went back to work, and my brother went back to college.

My dad sitting on the foldout couch in the living room (I couldn't make it up the stairs to my room yet), helping me move my leg out of bed and waiting quietly as I swore like a sailor at the morning 'pins and needles' (more like daggers and axes) that rippled and stabbed over my leg.

I wasn't eating.

A neighbor came over at my mom's request to make me lunch.

Our pastor came over.

My friend from college, Dave, came over, and I wanted him to take me with him when he left.

My high school friends would come by at night sometimes, to take me out. Someone would be elected to carry me and my broken leg up or down whatever invariably steep staircase led to the basement/loft/attic party.

I listened to Mazzy Starr's Fade Into You so many times that even now if it comes on in a store I go cold and want to kick something.

Physical Therapy meant flashbacks.

I spent a lot of quality time with the family dog.

I lived for My So Called Life (those who know me can trace my (bordering on unhealthy?) former obsession with Jared Leto to this time. Which is why I was so excited when two years later we TOTALLY had eye sex when we passed each other outside of Noah's Bagels on Melrose Blvd. in LA.)

I counted down the days until I could go back to the college, to my real life, to my own two feet.

New Year's Eve came, and nobody was home except for me. And the dog. My friends and my firefighter's carry didn't show. I tried really hard not to be depressed. To count my blessings. I would be back at school in just a few weeks. I was close to switching from my crutches to the duck-head cane my brother gave me for Christmas. I was too skinny, but really was there such a thing? I was alone.

And then, like some New Year's Eve miracle, my big brother came home early to hang out with me. Younger siblings will know that, even at 21, your big brother or sister coming home to spend time with you still feels like at a light is shining right on you, like you are special, like everything is all right. All I remember is that we sat at the kitchen table and he played the guitar and made fun of Jane's Addiction songs. And that memory, of his laughing face, hanging kitchen light, and the guitar, is enough to make that the Best New Year's Eve Ever.

I recovered. Sometimes I think I'm still recovering. But I'm here, right here, and right now, and so are you. And that's pretty amazing, right?

xoxo
AMV

That creaking you hear is the sound of my writer joints as I try to work them back to life.

Here's what it feels like:

I'm standing with a fifteen year old girl at the bottom of a very tall, impossibly tall, can't even see the top tall, mountain. And we keep glancing at each other, wondering if the other is up to the task.

I like this girl, Nan, a lot.

But she and I both know that to get to the top of the mountain (and here comes the most ridiculous mixed metaphor ever) I'm going to have to jump down the rabbit hole.

What I mean is that I've been hedging around her history, keeping it light, not running my fingers over her scars and asking where they came from.
Gigi Lane, the last main character I wrote, made me laugh every single day we were together. She still does.

Nan, on the other hand. She's going to break my heart, I just know it.

And I'm going to let her. Characters come to us for a reason, right? We have to let them tell their truth, as ugly as it is.

And away we go.

xoxo
AMV

I really, really, really CANNOT WAIT to get the heck out of here! Seriously, enough of this work stuff, bring on the Christmas magic! We leave in the morning for my in-law's, and guess what we're going to do there? I mean besides celebrate family and the joy of the holidays and be thankful for all of the blessings of our lives. We're going to SLEEP! It's going to be awesome! I'm going to sleep like this, and like this, and like this.

Have I mentioned that our little one has decided sleep is not for her, no thank you?

I really, really love my kid but holy holly berries I am TIRED.

But excitement for the holidays is keeping me upright. We're going to make cookies! And wrap presents! And take the little one to the zoo and the children's museum and the bouncy castle place. And we're going to sit at the dinner table long after we've finished eating and laugh and laugh and laugh.

AND I'm going to have some writing time. There's just something so cozy about writing a murder mystery at Christmas.

xoxo
AMV

Isn't it funny how when you write out the word-version of music, you are totally convinced that everyone will know exactly what you're talking about? Or maybe that's just me.

The particular dun-dun-dun-dun of this post's subject line isn't the wedding march, or the Storm Trooper's theme music, but it *is* that sort of dun-dun-dun-dun that comes right before something really big happens.

For me, the 'really big something' is that I've gotten my new editor's notes on the fetchingly titled Untitled NYC Mystery, my 2011 novel. I've been so anxious to hear her thoughts, so eager to get back to the characters that I feel like I'm just getting to know. She's asked some terrific questions that I'll have a heck of a time/time of my life (?) answering.

I'm hoping to get a chunk of it done before Kindling Words, so I can go with a good sense of what I want to figure out while I'm there.

I'll be squatting in coffee shops and libraries for this next revision, since I had to let my membership to the Writer's Room go. I'm sad about it, but figure being forced to find places in NYC will write will somehow make my book about NYC better. Or so I hope.

Also, I really really need some new Avatars. Anyone have favorite LJ blogs to pull from?

xoxo
AMV

Dude!

First, I'm super sorry for calling you 'dude', but I'm finding

it hard to contain myself, so much so that I'm most likely

going to use the words 'wicked awesome' before this post

is over.


Tomorrow night is the annual Biblioball, right here in

Brooklyn, New York!


Biiiiiiibbbbblioballllll!


The Biblioball Dance Party
At The Bell House, 149 7th Street
(Gowanus area of Park Slope)/ 718-643-6510
Friday, December 11th
8PM - 4AM
$20 ADV/$25 Door


What's the Biblioball? Oh, just the utterly amazing

annual holiday event put on by the lovely librarians of

The Desk Set, benefiting Literacy for Incarcerated Youth.

My friends Maria and Sarah seen here in holiday finery,

and their dedicated team of volunteers, have been

working their butts off to organize an event that will totally
knock your socks off.


Trapeze artists! Marching bands! Sassy librarians! DJ's!

Bands! Tasty treats! Delicious Drinks! Raffles!

A winter wonderland of holiday decor, including

snowflakes cut by volunteer YA authors!


I know, enough with the '!!!", but seriously, it's going to

be wicked awesome and I think you should come. Last

year's event sold out, so they have moved to a larger

venue -- The Bell House


I'm posting this link, so you can read all about it, and

then you can decide you HAVE to go, and then I'll see

you there!

xoxo
AMV

First! If you live in New York, please come visit Word bookstore in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, this weekend! I think I drive people bonkers with my Greenpoint pride, especially when it comes to Word bookstore, but spend some time in the store and you'll see why our neighborhood (and our bookstore) are the bee's knees.

Word has invited some authors -- me included -- to spend the weekend helping customers pick out gifts, wrapping presents and generally bask in the awesomeness that is Word.

Here's the schedule for Saturday:
1-3 pm:
Amy Braunschweiger (Taxi Confidential: Life, Death and 3 a.m. Revelations in NYC Cabs)
A.J. Jacobs (The Guinea Pig Diaries)
Rebecca Stead (When You Reach Me)

3-5 pm:
Jami Attenberg (The Kept Man)
Charles Bock (Beautiful Children)
Peter Brown (The Curious Garden)
Sarah Manguso (The Two Kinds of Decay)


And here's the schedule for Sunday:
1-3 pm:
Jedediah Berry (The Manual of Detection)
Emily St. John Mandel (Last Night in Montreal)
Adrienne Maria Vrettos (Skin)

3-5 pm:
Lev Grossman (The Magicians)
Maura Madden (Crafternoon)
Michelle Knudsen (Dragon of Trelian and Library Lion)

In other news...
I'm back from Thanksgiving in lovely New Hampshire (and I've brought my LLBean wool clogs with me! They are kind of giant and the sort of thing Stacey and Clinton mock on What Not to Wear, but they are so very warm. I swear by next winter no one in NYC will be wearing sexy boots, it will be big old clomping wool clogs all over everywhere*)

New Hampshire is 3PM pie territory, which I think is their other motto, besides Live Free Or Die. 3PM Pie means exactly what you think it means. Every day at 3PM you eat some pie and have a cup of coffee. And then you go home and your pants don't fit. Weird!

This is the view out the window of the room we sleep in. Waking up to trees outside the window is something I miss so much.



And here are some winterberries from the front yard, which will soon be decorating my apartment in a way that doesn't present a choking hazard.




AND I found my favorite old issues of the best magazine ever, otherwise known as Sheet Music and plunked away on the piano with my favorites from the Annie issue, and the Cowboy Favorites issue. Maybe far awaaaaaay!

Now I'm off to not be bitter about the fact that some people are totally getting to second base with Tim Riggins (I mean watching Friday Night Lights) months before it comes to us basic cable masses.

Happy weekend!

xoxo
AMV

*I think that I might be the reason that on the cover of this winter's JCrew, there is a model wearing boots that look like she is wearing a leather-clad polar bear on each foot. They are the exact boots I bought on sale a couple years ago, the ones that are so huge that no one else can fit in an elevator with me when I wear them. Trendsetter? Or Forest Gump?

Or, more accurately, the fact that I don't have Direct TV and therefore can't watch Friday Night Lights until it airs on stupid regular TV which won't happen for approximately a zillion and a half months --- that's what's ruining my life.

Oooh Direct TV is so cool and great and it lets SOME people see the best show on television while other people are still watching reruns on Hulu.  Well good for you Direct TV!  You've ruined my life.  I hope your happy. 

xoxoAMV

Today's question on Simon & Schuster's Blogfest -- "How do you feel about stuff like sex scenes in books? Inappropriate or okay?”   My answer, here, and Hannah Moskowitz's terrific answer, here.

And here is a lovely banned books week graphic, which I ganked from the fabulous E Lockhart, who credits the equally fabulous Literaticat for the image. 


While my own books have never been banned, that I know of, I get this panicked feeling in my heart whenever I think about younger me, the me I was when I was so confused and having such a hard time, being denied the books that saved my life.  So, in celebration of Banned Books Week, I'm off to my local library to check out some Laurie Halse Anderson!

Because when your day is long and getting longer and you really don't have the heart to keep your smile, you can wander into a coffee shop and find your lost heart carefully outlined in espresso on the top of your hope-this-warms-me-up-and-cheers-me-up latte.  Add to that a half hour to read Gabrielle Zevin's Elsewhere and things are definitely looking up.

xoxo
AMV

Simon & Schuster is running their second annual Blogfest, featuring more authors than you can shake a stick at!

Today's question is "Have you ever wanted to give up?"  My answer is here, and I'm in wicked good company - scroll down and next page for answers to other questions by authors like Sarah Beth Durst, Oscar Hijuewlos, Robin Wasserman and James A. Owen

xoxo
AMV