The Former Anne Spollen's Author Blog Is Being Retitled to "Notes from Living Upghetto"

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Well, here we are, a little late for cards, but we all managed to get in the same spot in the house at the same time. Philip told me, "Mom, please don't show that picture to anyone. We all look like we just got out of the institute." I'm not sure which institute in particular he's referring to, but I don't entirely disagree with him. In case you're wondering, Philip is the one clutching at his collar in a mute gesture of escape. His brother almost managed to hide, but the camera still caught a glimpse of his face. Emma is, like always, happy because she's not a teenager yet.

Anyway, we want to wish everyone a very Merry Christmas from our little corner of the world. Hope it's a great one!

3 comments:

krycul said...: Haha the teenager comment is funny because it rings with truth.

I was looking through the shelves in the "teen" section of my nearest Books'a Million and the name of your book caught my eye, and then the cover caught my soul. I couldn't tear my eyes away. It was the last copy and I knew I had to have it. So I hid it under the shelves and hoped that they didn't clean under there. The didn't. I was absolutely enthralled by "The Shape of Water." You're style is so unique and colorful. It was like I could taste, feel, touch, see, and smell what Magda was feeling. Thank you for the experience.; Thursday, 01 January, 2009
Mary Witzl said...: I'm impressed that your kids allowed you to take their photograph and post it. No way you'd catch mine doing that, even if I could get them to pose and not pull obnoxious faces.

What a great comment you got about your book. 'The Shape of Water' is a great title and it sounds like a fine book. I've got a list two miles long now, but yours is on it. If I ever spot it in a shop, I'll distribute a couple of copies around the shop in strategic places at eye level.

Happy New Year!; Thursday, 01 January, 2009
Anne Spollen said...: Wow Krycul -- Can you review my next book? Thanks so much, and I'm glad you liked the book. Love the line, "...and then the cover caught my soul." I didn't have anything to do with the cover, but I thought it was perfect for the story when it was chosen.

And Mary -- I was holding a pizza hostage to get the boys to stand still for a minute. Seriously. And my oldest had just come back from the school's Christmas concert and he was famished.

And after I hire krycul as my reviewer, I should hire you as my publicist!; Monday, 05 January, 2009

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Books

Light Beneath Ferns

"I have this strange sense that my silence is preparing me for something I can't name . ."

Elizah Rayne is nothing like other fourteen-year-old girls. More interested in bird bones than people, she wraps herself in silence. Trying to escape the shadow of her gambler father, Elizah and her mother move into an old house that borders a cemetery. All her mother wants is for them to have "normal" lives. But that becomes impossible for Elizah when she finds a human jawbone by the river and meets Nathaniel, a strangely hypnotic boy who draws Elizah into his dreamlike and mysterious world.

Only by forgetting everything she knows can Elizah understand the truth about Nathaniel—and discover an unimaginable secret.

Teen made trailer for Light Beneath Ferns.

Order Light Beneath Ferns here.

Foreword Magazine's Review of Light Beneath Ferns

Excerpt from THE SHAPE OF WATER

CHAPTER ONE
I discovered windows one afternoon and after that, nothing was ever the same. They had always been there, of course, glass panes shimmering in the color of rain, but that spring for the first time, I was able to open the windows in my room. For years, the locks had been painted stuck, and during the winter, heat from the radiator beneath my windows finally steamed off enough paint off the metal wings of the locks could be twirled open. Knowing that I could open the windows attracted me to them, and I began sitting under the windows, staring through the glass at the sky. From that position, on a chair in my room, the sky did not seem real; it seemed a place I was making up, so I watched it.
The white wood of the window panes acted as frames so the sky came to me slowly, and the huge openness of its space did not touch me. All the window glass in our old house had wavers and bubbles inside it, so at times the clouds moved like water, melting and blurring until they passed outside of the warp. After a few afternoons of sitting, the heavens seemed too quiet to keep watching so I began watching a small patch of woods next to our yard that housed little more than trees and a scatter of bony, mean-looking rabbits.
I started gazing at the sky and the woods in March when the branches were still wet and it was then, with nothing outside my window but trees and rain, that I noticed a shine inside darkness, I noticed colors glimmering within the darkness of the wood. I watched birds come and go, I watched rain nipple down from buds to the grass. The water dripping from branch edges and leaves created optical tricks; I could see that as I watched leaves melt.
Then one day I ventured into the space outside. I did not think about doing this much beforehand. I simply opened the window and dropped to the ground below, uncertain as to why this should be such a more satisfying exit than simply using the door; my father worked until seven o’clock and I could do whatever I wanted until then. But I liked the solid sound my legs made when I landed. Leaving via a five foot drop seemed so much more a decision than just using a door. The sense of escape made my heart pound, though all I escaped was the soundless spread of moss-colored light inside my house and the silence.
I had come to know silence well during those months after my mother died. When you sit in silence long enough, you learn that silence has a motion. It glides over you without shape or form, but with weight, exactly like water. Its color is silver. And silence has a sound you hear only after hours of wading inside it. The sound is soft, flute notes rising up like the words of glass speaking. There comes a point when you must shatter the silence, when you must shatter the blindness of its words, the blindness of its light. I did this by going into the yard. Once I stood there, in the grass next to the trees I had been watching, I found silence outside as well. But I was happier outside than I had been in the house, so I stayed for a bit. I stood beneath my bedroom window for a few minutes, looking up at the branches and the crooked pieces of sky colliding between the branches. I believed I could identify the scent of the sky as I stood there, a blue menthol fragrance similar to the scent of seawater that sprayed into my face when I first dove into the ocean. That initial scent smelled much more subtle than the ocean’s heavy, fishy aroma, a whiff of salt and mint that warned a more powerful scent would enter my nose just as I approached the water on a dive. It was the scent I dreamed in. And it was the scent of that spring sky as I stood in my yard.

***