On BEA and Being Feared

Posted on May 26, 2011 by Phoebe 6439 Commentshttp%3A%2F%2Fwww.phoebenorth.com%2F2011%2F05%2F26%2Fon-bea-and-being-feared%2FOn+BEA+and+Being+Feared2011-05-27+04%3A58%3A44Phoebehttp%3A%2F%2Fwww.phoebenorth.com%2F%3Fp%3D643

Today was the last day of BEA. As my trip to New York winds down, I’m inevitably becoming reflective on the whole thing–my first big in-person immersion into THE BIZ which I hope to be a part of.

My first thought is an easy one: I met a tremendous number of tremendous people this week. Kirsten Hubbard and Kaitlin Ward were pretty much my partners in crime for most of the trip, and I’ll really genuinely miss them and hope we keep in touch and get to share writing soon! Kody Keplinger is even fiercer and more fabulous than I imagined–at her signing for SHUT OUT, I passed her a post-it that said “Phoebe luvs Kody” in a little heart and damned if I didn’t mean it. Emilia Plater was adorable and full of love and I wanted to keep her in my pocket and take her home (though it would have to be a very big pocket; she’s a tall girl). Sumayyah Dawd and Sarah Enni were bright and brilliant and we really, really need to do a DC-metro meet-up before I leave the area forever. Michelle Hodkin was kind and inspiring, and Hannah Moskowitz was sharp and fantastic (and I spent most of the trip inhaling Gone, Gone, Gone on the subway, to boot) and Claire Legrand was elegant and funny and Sam and Paula were fun and perceptive and Paula’s son Milo knew a remarkable amount about Wookies. And it’s one a.m. and I’m probably forgetting someone and I’m so, so sorry if I did. You were awesome, too.

I got lots of books, and heard people discussing books, and that was great–is always great. But I had a disarming experience or two giving out my card. People took it, noted my name–said that they knew me. And insinuated that, while they liked my reviews and respected my thoughts, they feared them, too.

What a weird feeling.

Weird because I spent a lot of my time being scared of everyone. I’m shy, you see. Always have been. And that shyness became social anxiety sometime around high school. I spent a lot of my time wrestling with it, trying to be aware of it enough that I can overcome it, but not so aware of it that it’s crippling. I don’t think of myself as a scary person, who does and thinks scary, intimidating things–because I’m usually so busy being intimidated by others!

But I suppose I understand. I’m opinionated, and honest, and upfront about how opinionated and honest I am. I spent a lot of time on the subway this week thinking about reviewing, about being “scary”, about how reviewing fits into my life these days. I can honestly say I’ve been honestly reviewed at this point. I’ve felt the sting, the defensiveness, the urge to correct.

But spending so much wonderful time talking about books this week, discussing the nuts and bolts of stories and why they make us passionate, I still wouldn’t trade my position as an opinionated author/blogger for the world. Because as much as I like the authors I met as people, I’m not here for authors-as-institutions. I’m here for the books–the stories. And I understand defensiveness, and how hard it is to separate your books from yourself. But critical discourse and deliberation and careful consideration of craft can only ever result in better books.

On my first night here in the city, I went to the Teen Author Carnival. On one panel, the authors were asked if there was anything they’d change about their books. Kody Keplinger began to talk about a review she’d gotten, one that discussed Judy Blume and the ending of her book and how the ending was a little neat, how the reviewer wished it had been messier. And how she thinks of that now when she writes, about messy endings and emotional realism.

Standing there (smelly and tired from a long bus ride), I began to feel a lump in my throat. Because she was talking about my review.

I know not every author I’ve reviewed has felt that way–agreed with me about my criticism, been able to glean something from it. I don’t expect them to, and in a narrow way, I still don’t write specifically for writers. I understand that they can’t change their books after publication, and so many authors feel that they can’t learn from reviews at all.

But critical discussion around books generally can lead to more conscientious craft, a more thoughtful approach on the next book, and deeper writing. And I still want to be a part of that dialogue. No book is ever perfect, but we can talk about what an author’s done right, and wrong, and how to avoid mistakes in future books, and how to be more thoughtful as writers and storytellers. Writing’s not a monologue, but a conversation between writers and readers. And I still want to be a part of that, on both sides–still stubbornly refuse to give up my reader’s mantle.

So I’m okay with being scary, I guess. And for facing the scary future, too–one in which someone, inevitably, will teach me the truth about my own writing, too. Because it’s not about me, or even you. It’s about the words, and what they make us feel and think, and how they speak to us. It’s about working to write damn good books, and working to make damn good books even better.

Onwards.