Book Deal News FACTORY GHOST AKA That thing I wasnt supposed to write but did

This is a bit surreal.

In the fall of 2011, things were a bit hectic. I had the deal for SANCTUM, and I was smack-dab in the middle of writing the sequel. In September, I interrupted that project to write the partial for SCAN that went on submission in October.

I write to cope. And when I'm on sub, I cope hard. Once SCAN was with editors, I needed to stay busy, even though I knew that if it was acquired, I'd need to write the rest of the book on a very tight deadline. But for some reason, I didn't feel like immediately jumping back into Sanctum2 once I'd taken a break with it.

Aaaaand then I got an idea. Sneakily, guiltily, I wrote a few chapters. I sent them to Brigid Kemmerer, because she is very honest and frank (on top of being a brilliant writer), and I knew she'd slap me upside the head if I was getting involved in a project that was a total waste. But she got back to me quickly and basically said "GO GO GO!"

So I went went went, and three weeks later, FACTORY GHOST was finished. It's sort of like Phantom of the Opera meets Upton Sinclair's The Jungle, set in a fictional Asian society. Writing it was intense to say the least. But I'm *really* proud of it. And yesterday evening, this came out in the Publishers Weekly Children's Bookshelf:

Ruta Rimas at Margaret K. McElderry Books has acquired at auction Sarah Fine's Factory Ghost, a gothic YA novel about a 16-year-old girl who moves in with her father, the resident doctor for the town's slaughterhouse, and discovers that the myth of the factory ghost may not be a myth at all. Publication is set for winter 2014. Kathleen Ortiz of New Leaf Literary & Media did the two-book deal for North American rights.

Thank you, Brigid, for encouraging me to write this book even though the timing was all wrong. Thank you, Kathleen, for not freaking out (out loud, at least) when I told you I was writing another book instead of the books that were already under contract (and for supplying the color coded schedules to make sure I don't miss any of my deadlines. And for, you know, selling my books). Thank you, Ruta, as well as the entire McElderry team, for being so enthusiastic about this story.

And thank you, blog friends, for being part of this with me. I am so, so fortunate to be part of this community.

Maybe the hardest thing ever

I have a lot of experience with behavior management. Mostly, I teach parents how to improve their young children's behavior. It's tremendously rewarding to watch parents, who come to me in distress, feeling like they can't control their own children, grow in their confidence and cunning.

Yeah, cunning.

Anyone with a small child knows it takes mad cleverness to outwit the little creatures. Also, it takes tremendous emotional self-control.

After (*coughcough*) years of practice, I can tell you which, of all the techniques I teach and coach parents to use, is the hardest to actually implement effectively.

Ignoring undesirable (yet relatively harmless) behavior.

All the other things, the praising positive behavior, spending quality time, setting clear expectations and limits, having a consistent schedule, giving good directions, even time out and consequencing ... all pale in comparison to the job of ignoring a child who is doing or saying something annoying. [By the way, ignoring doesn't mean truly tuning out. It means not showing OUTward signs of attending. That's where the emotional self-control comes in.]

This week, I saw the adult equivalent of that in a writers' forum. It was an argument that just went on and on and on and on and on and omg I could keep typing but you get my point. I was lurking, as I am wont to do, and kept staring at the screen and whispering "Ignore them. Don't respond." But then ... more posts! More arguing! This was one of those throwdowns where people haul out the popcorn-eating emoticon.

Isn't he cute? Anyway. The argument didn't even have to happen--it wasn't a debate about two worthy ideas or anything like that. It got to be about semantics and little turns of phrase that had caused the other person to feel offended (though nothing truly offensive was said ... at least for awhile). I was really struck by how neither side could walk away. They were even telling each other to walk away, but no one seemed able to do it, even when it became apparent that neither side was going to come away looking good.

I am fascinated by that kind of thing. It was so important to have the last word. And this is what happens when you attend to a kid's undesirable behavior, like if you yell at him or whatever--it basically never works out. Sometimes it does, temporarily, but usually the kiddo will up the ante, because that kid is a human and we seem to have that need. I always tell parents--the second you step into the ring, you've lost. If I had been sitting next to any of the posters on that forum, I would have said the same thing (right before they called the police to remove the strange, bespectacled woman from their abode).

Have you ever been in a situation like this, where you just couldn't walk away? Did you regret it later? Have you ever been able to walk away from a person who was provoking you? Was it in person or online? If online, was it harder or easier than being in person? And how did you manage to shut down your desire to respond, to get the last word?

And it's the last Wednesday of the month, so it's Deb's turn to answer this month's Sisterhood of the Traveling Blog question, which was about prologues. Lydia's answer can be found here.

It was a thing that happened

"Have you worn them in?" 


"...did you want to finish that or are you being purposefully elliptical?"


"I wish you wouldn't use such big words I don't understand."


"Worn them in what? A dress? A blizzard? A teenage mutant ninja turtle costume?"


"No, no, no. Have you worn them in and gotten USED to them? So they don't blister? You can't run with the Olympic Flame in unworn shoes."

I didn't know there were rules to this. I thought I could just wear my conver...shoe things that looked liked proper converses from New Look and be done with it. Surely that would be fine? They have a sole. They cover my feet. They have LACES. Shit gets real with laces.

I was in my uniform. In my trainers. Hair straightened within an inch of its sorry split-end life, and polos shoved down my trousers. Phone clutched. And still I didn't feel any sense of excitement or nervousness. The whole morning I'd spent in my pyjamas, feet up on the desk, watching the BBC live torch relay cam, trying to establish some sort of etiquette for what I was about to do. Do I wave? Do I hold it with two hands? Do I walk or run? I concluded that whatever happens, I was going to look like a prize twat. The only thing I knew I wanted to happen was for the crowd to sing Wings as I ra..jo..walk....moved my 300m. Likelihood? Minimal. Hope? Great. And that's all I had. Hope that somehow I knew what to bloody do at some point during the next 3 hours. And for the love of baby Pete and his family including pets, DO NOT DROP THE THING. DO. NOT. DROP. IT.


"Done any training?" another torchbearer asked me. Mum, dad, and Matt, all donned in red, white, and blue had dropped me at the Town Hall and now I was surrounded by organisers, the mayor, torchbearers, and the media. Lots of the media. I stuck to the wall and tweeted my way through the waiting, until HUMAN CONTACT WAS REQUIRED OF ME. It was downhill from here. Oh, oh wait no. No it wasn't. My 300m was all UPHILL, that's right. Of course. *I* had the uphill stint. Me. Only me. 


"..I ran up and down the stairs a few times this morning...two at a time." I said, with some conviction. 


"You're young! You don't need training. Here hold this." And a torch was thrust into my hands. One of the actual Olympic torches. I fumbled with my polos, lipgloss, and phone (essentials, don't tell me otherwise), as the torch tipped sideways and had to be grabbed to safety. 


"Oop, I'll just take that. We're going to have the briefing now, then some media photos, then we'll be on our way!" Organiser Northern Tom said. I liked Northern Tom. "But YOU will be in the middle holding the torch in all the photos!" Oh yay. Two hands, I repeated in my head. Hold the bloody thing with two hands.

At 5pm, one hour before my slot, we left on the torchbearer bus. Around 16 torchbearers, Northern Tom, and the driver. Just us. Until we left the car park and started the journey to the start of Ingrave/Brentwood's route. I was still glued to my phone, texting friends and family about where to wait, when I heard gasps from inside the bus, and gasps from outside too. Hundreds of people had already lined the streets. Hundreds of people with chairs, banners, bunting, cameras, friends, family, strangers, burger vans, music, MORE PEOPLE. I didn't understand. I didn't know Brentwood had so many people. And I was running in front of them. So I bent my feet forward, wearing my new trainers in.


"Louise, look. Look outside. The people. Look! There are so many and they're here to see US!" Leah's 16 and we stuck to each other the whole time. I was passing the torch to her and we went to the same school. We were the double act. Comedy required. 

It was only then when the adrenaline rushed to my feet, awakening them from their eternal slumber to think "...what the fuck is going on. Louise. Louise what are you doing. Why have we got energy. Louise. THINK ABOUT THIS.", and I found myself beaming and waving frantically to the now thousands of people. 50,000 to be exact. 50,000 people.

"So how did you get nominated, Louise?" someone behind asked. He was the oldest torchbearer, in his 70s, and had tears in his eyes the whole time.

"Erm. Well I didn't, really. I sort of got asked by Coca Cola over a year ago after I won this journalism-ish award with Channel 4. I have a blog and I want to help young people realise that they don't have to follow the crowd. It's silly really. Really cheesy. But I try to be funny and stupid so they know they can be themselves really and not take any shit." 

He didn't bat an eyelid at my language, and put a hand on my arm.

"You're amazing. That's brilliant. You're inspirational, you really are. Well done Louise."

And that was the first time I felt worth it. Felt like I deserved all of  *waves arms around* this. I gulped and said my thanks, before it was my turn to get dropped off.