Hi All,
As the launch date for the paperback version of Leaving the Beach draws near, my publisher, Booktrope, has set up a Goodreads Book Giveaway for it. The Giveaway will run from now until June 10, 2014.
Here are the giveaway details.
Thank you and best of luck!
Over the weekend, I had the pleasure of being interviewed by Tara, a great book blogger who has a site called Book Babe. I loved being interviewed by her, because she asked lots of fun questions about my new book, Leaving the Beach, and also about my life and my pets.
Here’s the entire interview. Please feel free to comment either below or on Tara’s site. And thank you, Tara for having me as your guest!
Today I’m very excited to share this positive review from Kirkus about my soon-to-be-released book, Leaving the Beach. The entire review can be read here, or, if you prefer, here’s a quick excerpt:
Rowen’s novel…gracefully grapples with several important issues, including alcohol and drug addiction, loss, grief and sexuality. It also offers a unique look at an eating disorder from the sufferer’s perspective, describing bulimia frankly and graphically. However, there are also many entertaining pop-culture references to offset the weighty themes. Music lovers, in particular, will appreciate the very specific rock trivia that the author cleverly provides throughout the story. An intriguing novel that looks at the ways that people cope with the pain in their lives.–Kirkus Reviews
I like this review a lot because I feel as though the person who wrote it really understood what I was hoping to do with the story. I didn’t want to write an “issue book” about bulimia; rather, I wanted the character’s illness to be just one element of her personality, and that seems to be what came through for the reviewer.
As for the book itself, it’s currently available on Amazon , in both paperback and Kindle versions. If you read it, I’d would love to hear your feedback, and, of course, if you’d consider writing an honest review for Amazon, I’d be thrilled.
Thank you!
Mary
The best way to begin this story is to go back to a Saturday night in April of 1994—April 23rd, to be exact—about two weeks after Kurt Cobain’s suicide. The news of his death had shaken me pretty deeply, as, like many Nirvana fans, I’d worried about Kurt’s fragile nature, especially after reading and hearing so many stories about his health issues and drug use. His loss, therefore, wasn’t only a shock, but a terrible reminder that some people—regardless of wealth and status—still find life too overwhelming to endure.
Anyway, on that Saturday night, I found myself at a very large house party in Newton, Massachusetts. To this day, I’m not sure whose house it was. My dear friend Michelle had been invited by someone at her work, and since we were both single women back in those days, she and I had decided to stop by. It was a beautiful evening, and at one point–while chatting with some nice guys out on the porch–I mentioned that I was planning to go inside around midnight because Saturday Night Live was rerunning one of the episodes on which Nirvana had appeared. (This was back in the Stone Age, before the invention of Tivo and DVRs.
So right around midnight, I was sitting on the couch in front of the TV, watching SNL. The house was quite crowded, but I was focused on the screen. Then, just as Nirvana was announced, someone sat down beside me and said, “I thought I might find you here.” Well, you’ve probably guessed who it was. No, not Kurt Cobain’s ghost; it was one of those nice guys from the porch, who, as it turned out, was also a huge Nirvana fan. We watched the performance in silence, and seeing Kurt so alive and full of energy brought me to tears. When it was over, consumed by emotion, I said something to the effect of, “What if he’s not really dead. Like, what if he faked his death or something.” I didn’t really believe that was possible—at least I hope I didn’t. But I couldn’t help wishing.
Now at that point in my life, I’d been trying to write fiction again. Back in high school and college, I’d done a ton of writing, but during my floundering, post-college years—complete with bad boyfriends and a bad eating disorder—I’d pretty much stopped. that was partly because I was so busy with work and other stuff, but also because I wasn’t sure what to write about.
So April 23, 1994 will go down as a landmark date for me. Not only did I meet a guy who’d end up becoming a steady boyfriend and eventually a wonderful husband, but in my head, I began drafting a novel about a successful grunge artist who dies under suspicious circumstances.
Yes, it’s been almost twenty years since that night—hard to believe!—but some things take time. So happy anniversary, sweet hubby, and hello, Leaving the Beach!!
In closing, I just want to say that I firmly believe Mike and I would’ve ended up meeting some other way if Kurt Cobain hadn’t died. He and I lived in the same general area, were fans of many of the same bands, and frequented the same clubs. It was certainly a coincidence that we were at that party together, but I believe we were destined to be a couple. Suicide is never a good thing and it has no silver linings. Please, if you’re contemplating suicide or feel as though you need help, call the Samaritans at 212-673-3000. That line is open twenty-four hours a day and is free, confidential, and staffed by trained professionals who can help.
Leaving the Beach is currently available from Booktrope Editions.
Do you ever find that when you write a fictional scene, a similar event will happen in your real life? It’s happened to me a few times. Never the exact same thing, but something close enough to make me wonder about the power of ideas.
For example, my new novel, Leaving the Beach begins with the protagonist—a woman named Erin Reardon—having a chance encounter with fictional grunge star Lenny Weir in a nightclub. It’s an intimate little meeting, made all the more unique because Erin’s not really a fan of Lenny (or grunge music) at the time. She’s much more interested in artists like Elvis Costello.
So here’s where the real life stuff comes in. Last fall—just a few days after I learned that Booktrope was interested in publishing Leaving the Beach—my husband and I went up to Portland, Maine to see Elvis Costello play at the State Theatre. It was an amazing show, extremely memorable for numerous reasons. Anyone who doesn’t consider Elvis to be one of the great artists of our generation should try to see him play live sometime soon.
Anyway, as we walked back to our hotel, my husband remembered that the New England Patriots were on TV that evening, so we stopped into a little sports bar to catch the end of the game. But when we got inside, we discovered that the place was also holding an open mike night for musicians, and six or seven men were crowded onto the tiny stage, covering the Band’s “The Weight.” My husband checked out the game on TV, while I—not a football fan—turned my attention to the stage. I found the picture above on Twitter. Not sure who took it, but it was taken that night.
“Recognize any of those people up there?” asked the bartender as he poured our beers.
I looked again. A few of the singers were good-looking guys, but they didn’t look familiar to me. “No,” I said. “Who are they?
The bartender smiled. “Three of them are the Hanson brothers. Do you remember Hanson from the 90s?”
Hanson? I had to think for a second, but then it started coming back to me. Three cute teens/tweens singing “Mmmbop” in 1997. They’d had the undisputed song of the summer that year: it’d been impossible to go to the beach, or turn on MTV without hearing their infectious pop tune. Had I been a fan? Well, considering that I was thirty-three years old in ‘97, not so much. And yet, I do recall thinking they were talented kids. I’d seen them on one of the late-night talk shows, and had been impressed with their sense of melody and harmony.
And there they were, all grown up and playing an open mike night in Portland, Maine. I jumped to conclusions, of course, assuming they’d become yet another case of child stars burning out too quickly. It made me a little sad.
But a few minutes later, I turned to my left and saw that one of the Hanson brothers—the middle one, who used to have really long blond hair—was standing beside me, ordering a beer. I couldn’t resist. “You guys sounded good,” I said.
“Thanks,” he said, without a shred of ego. “My name’s Taylor.”
“I know,” I answered. “The bartender told me who you are.”
And then, for the next half hour or so, we had a really nice conversation. I quickly learned that Hanson is still very much a band, still making new music, and still touring. They don’t play pop any more though; their style is more like R&B. It was pure coincidence that they were in Portland that night, as they’d been traveling via tour bus between Canada and somewhere in the American South, and when they’d seen an open mike night, they’d stopped in for fun.
We talked about raising children (Taylor has five kids, the oldest of whom is about the same age as my son), education in America, and growing up in a creative family. He struck me as a very regular, unpretentious, sociable guy, who enjoyed chatting with the various people life threw into his path.
It was only after we’d said goodbye that the surreal nature of the situation hit me. Not only was it an odd coincidence to have met a teen idol like Taylor Hanson in a sports bar in Maine, but in some ways, it’d been similar to Erin Reardon’s meeting with Lenny Weir in Leaving the Beach.
On the other hand, there were plenty of differences. First of all, in the novel, Lenny Weir is wasted to the point of being almost incoherent, whereas Taylor was bright and well-spoken. And although I do think about that evening from time to time, I certainly didn’t become obsessed with Taylor the way Erin does with Lenny. And I’d never consider heading off on a dangerous roadtrip with…OK, I’ll stop there. Can’t give away too much of the story before it comes out.
But if you’ve ever had an experience like this—a time when you’ve written something fictional, then had something similar actually happen to you, I’d love to hear about it.
A friend recently told me she was going to be spending a brief period of time alone in New York City. She and her husband would be going there together for a weekend, but the husband needed to head home Sunday night to get back to work, while she had another event scheduled in the City for Tuesday. So she’d decided to stay down there by herself Monday and Monday night.
But whereas she considered that to be something of a drag, I felt a pang of jealousy. A full twenty-four hours alone in New York. To me, it sounded like a writer’s dream. I imagined a morning of shopping at Century 21 or visiting a museum, eating lunch at Spring Street Natural, then maybe walking around for a while if the weather was nice. But by mid-afternoon, I’d head back to the hotel, buy the largest cup of coffee I could find, and crack open the laptop. Then sit back on the bed and write. And write and write and write. Dinner? Sure, I’d go out and grab something at some point. In New York, you can always find good restaurants open, both sit-down and takeout. Then I’d go back to the room and write until it was time to fall asleep.
Now before you conclude that I’m a serious loner, please let me explain. The truth is, I adore traveling with family and friends, and honestly, when I spend time alone in places other than home, I often experience moments of intense loneliness. But I’ve also gotten some pretty good writing done in those situations.
A number of years ago, I went down to New York for a weeklong writers conference. The conference was great—but very stressful and busy—and although the other writers I’d met would often get together for dinner or a drink when the day was finished, we’d all go our separate ways by about 8 p.m. So I’d walk back to my little hotel in Chelsea and start editing the novel I was working on at the time. I’m not sure why, but during that week, I made several significant breakthroughs in the story. Things I hadn’t been able to figure out at home became extremely clear to me during those quiet evening hours.
Another example happened this past summer, when my family took a cruise to Bermuda. I’d just begun working on a difficult essay before the trip, and had brought my laptop along in the event that I felt inspired to work on it. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d want to—as I was really looking forward to family time, and enjoying the boat and island—but on two of the “sea days” I carried my computer up onto a quiet deck, and in a total of about two hours, cranked that essay out. (See picture above.) Maybe it was the ocean breeze or the salty air, but I really think it was the new atmosphere. There’s something about writing in a foreign environment—something exciting and stimulating and romantic—that seems a little magical for me.
Not that I’d want it that way all the time. Normally, I write at home with my dog and cats, while my other family members are off at work or school, and I love it that way. Also, as I mentioned earlier, I’m not a huge fan of solo travel for extensive periods of time. My favorite vacations are ones shared with people I love. But every once in a while, it’s great to eke out a little time alone in a brand new location and just start typing. If you haven’t tried it, I highly recommend giving it a shot. And please feel free to share your opinions and experiences in the comments section.
Hi Readers,
Today I’m very excited to reveal some new information about my book (formerly known as GRUNGE.)
As many of you know, I’ve been working on this story for years now. It features a lonely bulimic woman named Erin, who’s obsessed with music and believes it’s her destiny to someday save a rock star and become his soulmate.
I could tell you more about the plot, but for now I’ll just say that the manuscript was recently accepted by a wonderful Seattle partner publisher called Booktrope, and it’s due to be released on or about April 22, 2014. Also, we’ve decided to change the title of the book to LEAVING THE BEACH. I was reluctant at first, but now realize that Leaving the Beach is a more fitting title for a number of reasons.
Finally, please check out the new cover. It was done by Seattle designer Melody Bostad, who runs One Eye Designs and I absolutely love it.
Hoping to have more news soon. As always, thank you for reading!
xo,
Mary
If you know me well or have ever spent a summer evening with my family, then you probably know about my fear of mosquitoes and the diseases they carry. I’m not concerned for my own health; as an adult, I don’t tend to get bitten very often, and I got so many bites as a child that I figure I must be immune to everything by now. (Please don’t tell me that’s irrational, as I’m pretty sure this whole blog post irrational. But it makes perfect sense to me 🙂
No, the people I worry about catching mosquito diseases like EEE and West Nile Virus are my kids. All the reports I’ve read say that kids and elderly people are most vulnerable to these illnesses, and most of the elderly people I know don’t enjoy running around in wooded areas at night. Or even if they do, they resist the temptation. But kids? No way.
Now I understand the desire to feel free, especially on beautiful summer evenings. As a kid, I was outdoors almost every night during peak bug-feasting hours, and never caught a darn thing. But as everyone knows, parents are different now. There’s so much more information available to us, giving us so many more reasons to worry.
And I worry about it all: car accidents, house fires, child molesters, drowning, guns, carbon monoxide poisoning; you name it. If it’s a danger in our society, I’ve spent at least one sleepless night stressing out about it. Probably more than one. I’m an anxious person.
But I don’t worry quite so much about those things as I do mosquitoes. Why? Well, there are alarms for carbon monoxide, and with fire, you usually smell smoke first and often have a chance to escape. I can try to keep my kids out of homes where guns are kept, and they’ve been taught to avoid older people who say creepy things or try to get inappropriately close to them. They’ve taken swimming lessons, and know they should never swim alone. And as for car accidents, I feel there’s only so much I can do to protect them, as I have zero control over other drivers on the road. All I can do is try to make sure they ride with safety-minded drivers now, and that they learn to drive safely themselves when the time comes for them to get their licenses. (Although I don’t expect to get much sleep once that happens.)
The mosquito thing, though, is different, because it seems so random, and nobody pays any attention to my warnings! Try to find a kid anywhere in New England in July or August who doesn’t have at least one bug bite. And try to find a community or county that hasn’t seen cases of EEE and/or West Nile in recent years, and maybe you’ll start to understand at least the basis of my fears. Yes, I know the numbers are ridiculously low, but there have been a handful deaths (mainly from EEE) in the last decade, and the disease has no cure. If you contract it, you will either die or (at best) suffer serious complications for the rest of your life.
And yet, it’s largely preventable. Use bug spray the experts say, but bug spray–even the stuff with DEET–doesn’t seem to make much difference with my kids, and they hate the smell of it anyway. Stay inside at dusk and dawn. See above sentence about how great it feels to be outdoors on beautiful summer nights. Wear long sleeves and long pants when bugs are biting. Ma! It’s 90 degrees out there. And all my friends are wearing shorts!
In other words, as the kids get older and more independent, I feel powerless over these diseases. I tell them what to do to stay safe, but they ignore me. They don’t really believe a little mosquito could make them sick. So I stress. They go to overnight camps in the middle of the woods, while I pace around the house at night, imagining the worst.
But during this icy winter of the Polar Vortex, one warm thought has kept me going: maybe all this cold will kill off the freaking bugs. Not the good bugs–not the worms and the ladybugs and the butterflies–but the nasty, disease-ridden mosquitoes. And if that’s the case, well damn it, I’ll stop complaining right now.
Everyone’s talking about Photoshopped images of models and celebrities these days. And for good reason. There’s no question that seeing idealized, superhuman images over and over again is detrimental to our self-esteem. Especially the self-esteem of younger people—both male and female—who don’t even have a strong sense of who they are yet. A teenager can spend hours doing her hair, applying her makeup, and choosing the right outfit, but once glance at a copy of Glamour on her way out the door can be devastating. Because despite all her efforts, she still doesn’t look like the flawless cover model.
And, as many experts have pointed out, neither did the cover model when she posed for the picture. Almost every single image that makes its way into fashion magazines, TV commercials, or onto billboards these days has been digitally altered. So I did a Google search for “fashion magazines 1970s” to help me remember what magazines used to look like before digital enhancement. And despite the fact that yes, they looked a lot different—lots of “Charlie’s Angels” hair and dramatic makeup—it was still striking to see how much unreality those 70s photographers were able to achieve with just makeup and lighting. Granted, it took many, many more hours to get the “flawless” look they were going for, but it was still pretty impossible for a kid in high school to make herself look like the women in this photo:
Or this woman: (yes, that’s Christie Brinkley)
Or this woman:
So what’s my point? Well, for starters, the fashion and beauty industry has been giving us unachievable standards of beauty since its creation. Take a look at this woman in 1922, for example:
But here’s the other side of it: do we, as consumers, want to see unachievable beauty and sexuality in our stars and fashion models? Everyone has heard the phrase “sex sells” but think about that for a minute. Why do we buy more of a product—perfume, blue jeans, cars, etc.—when they’re sold in conjunction with beautiful, sexy humans? And since we do, can we completely blame advertisers who sell to us that way? After all, they’re trying to make a buck too, and if they can’t sell perfume with average looking people in their ads, why wouldn’t they decide to sex it up a little?
Then there’s the issue of celebrities. There’s no question that in America, our celebrities are larger than life. These days, the word icon gets tossed around more casually than beach balls at jam band concerts. But what happens when our celebs gain weight, like Jessica Simpson and Lady Gaga both recently did? Were we, as a nation, kind to these women, or were they ridiculed and shamed in the press? You know the answer. And come on, how many people reading this blog haven’t made some sort of negative comment about a star’s appearance? (And I’m not just talking about wardrobe choices here.) How many people haven’t said, at least once or twice, “Oh she’s looking old,” or “He’s so fat now, and his is hair is all gray!” But do we think those kinds of comments aren’t making it back to the celebrities? People, who, by nature, are often emotionally fragile? Is is any wonder that many of them opt for plastic surgery and allow their pictures to be Photoshopped?
Then there’s the fact that many of us don’t like seeing celebrities looking older, or not at their best. We have expectations of our stars–unnatural expectations, a lot of the time. Especially the stars who were initially introduced to us as young, beautiful people. I believe it’s because we see ourselves reflected in the eyes of these people we respect and, in some cases, worship. And it’s no fun watching ourselves age along with them. It was lovely to see Diane Keaton at the Golden Globe Awards recently. She was so beautiful up there on stage, talking about her friend Woody Allen and looking very age appropriate. If she’s had any corrective surgery, it’s been minimal, and I felt proud of her, proud of her bravery. Standing up and showing yourself as you really are–a beautiful, natural woman–in a sea of plasticized faces can’t be easy. But did I feel a little sadness too? I’m not sure, but if I did, it was because Diane Keaton—the unforgettably youthful, insecure Annie Hall—is now sixty-eight years old. Which means that I’m also thirty-seven years older than I was when I first saw Annie Hall. Ouch.
And here’s the kicker. When Keaton’s speech ended, the next thing to hit the TV screen was a L’Oreal advertisement for skin care, featuring none other than Diane Keaton, heavily Photoshopped and lit in such a way that zero wrinkles were visible. It was an odd coincidence, and somewhat disturbing. But I wonder how many viewers felt more comfortable watching the commercial. I wonder how many people relaxed when it came on, because, hey, that’s the way they like Diane to look.
The point of this post isn’t to come up with any answers, but rather to ponder this phenomenon that’s become so much a part of our lives. If it’s a chicken/egg thing, then what came first: the industry that insists on its celebrities and models being perfect, or the masses who insist on perfection in our icons?
Things are changing, yes. I was pleased to see the new Aerie ads that feature real women with real bodies, and it’s great to know that some stores are using realistically-sized mannequins for displaying clothes, rather than anorexic ones. Also, the rise of the careers of some plus-sized models is heartening. But we’ve got a long way to go if we’re really ready to embrace change. Are we ready? I’d love to hear your feedback.
I liked Songs From the Phenomenal Nothing by Steven Luna from the very first page. Tyler, the main character, is extremely believable as a grieving teenager trying to figure himself out. His mom died recently; he’s a gifted musician in a struggling band; he’s about to graduate from high school, but has no idea what to do afterwards. Then there’s his relationship with his dad, which has never been good, and has only gotten worse since his mother’s death. So when he finds his mother’s diaries that hint of a love relationship with a once-famous musician, Tyler needs to find the truth. But his journey into his mom’s past and search for his true identity are anything but predictable.
I bought Songs from the Phenomenal Nothing because I’d heard great things about it, and because it was published by Booktrope, the same publisher that will soon be releasing my new novel, Leaving the Beach. SFTPN is a young adult story, but I believe readers of all ages will be able to relate to Tyler’s angst. Steven Luna is a gifted author who doesn’t shy away from showing us the dark, sometimes frustratingly angry side of this seventeen-year-old young man. (And as the mother of a teenage boy, I appreciate that.)
Steven is the author of the Joe Vampire series of books, SFTPN is his first venture into YA material, and based on this book, I hope he writes more.
MaryRowen.com 