memoir The Academie writing young adult (YA) fiction

Dear Dad…

Posted on June 6, 2011 by Amy Joy Posted in memoir, writing 3 Comments

A locally owned restaurant near me is sponsoring a Father’s Day contest: write a letter to your dad–150 words or less–sharing what makes him so great. Whether or not I win the free dinner for four, I thought this was a great opportunity to tell my dad how special he is. I have to admit, it’s not easy to fit into 150 words.

Dear Dad,

You may not know it, but I am one of your biggest fans. Sometimes we focus on the rough spots of life, the mistakes along the way. But there are so many things you did right. These are things I want you to always remember, just as I do. Here are a few:

Childhood:

Reading stories before bed. Your voices still make me giggle!
Me following you around asking questions
Things we made together: the bird feeder & science fair project

Teen years:

When you cut my bangs…too short, but I loved it anyway
How you supported me (poems, quotes, being there)

Then and now:

Working on the house together
Travelling. I get up early to sneak some extra time with you
Our talks. The wisdom of dad is something I always need.

I love you, dad.

Your little girl

I’d love to hear what makes your father (or father-figure) so special. Can you do it in 150 words or less? Please write and share your own letter, posting it in the comments below.

The Rocker

Posted on May 18, 2011 by Amy Joy Posted in memoir, writing 5 Comments

When I was a little girl, I had a rocking chair. Okay, that’s not true—as my older sister would quickly remind me. She had a rocker. But the one you could find in that chair most of the time, rocking away, alive in her imagination, was me. It’s the place where I dreamed up my best ideas—stories, projects, artwork, schemes, experiments, and contraptions. The day my dad told me I was too big to sit in that rocker anymore was not my best day. (I had to be told a few more times after that…) And in the years that followed, I never felt quite the same.

In the fall of 2010, my husband and I decided to start a family. With this news, my sister and her husband—their children no longer small—passed on to me their glider/rocker (mommy chair). Equipped with a rocking footstool, I had sat in many of these in recent years, hoping that someday I might be lucky enough to have earned one of my own. Now my dream had come true.

Then I lost the pregnancy.

And another.

By that time, I was quite ill. In fact, instead of getting to start a family, my husband and I learned that I had Graves’ Disease. Months of treatment—including radiation—followed, creating some of the worst months of my life.

For the most part, I think I have done a good job of putting thoughts of a family aside. We can’t even begin to try again for at least six months (some recommend 12), and so I feel there’s little need to dwell on it now.

But here’s what I find interesting. Over the past few months, that mommy glider has come to mean something different in my life. It’s the place of comfort I go to create my stories and do my best writing. It’s where my characters are invented and their worlds unfold. It’s the place where I am happiest.

And it reminds me of a little girl I used to know, who used to sit and rock for hours, dreaming of what she’d create next.

Somehow, despite all I’ve lost, I feel more whole.

Where's My Web-Slinging Action? Adjusting After Radioactive Iodine Treatment

Posted on March 23, 2011 by Amy Joy Posted in memoir Leave a comment

Where’s my web-slinging action? I asked my husband on our way home from getting my radioactive iodine treatment last Friday.

“Maybe it comes with time?” he answered.

I admit, we both secretly hoped that I’d suddenly find myself with some new superpower–even if it was small or only temporary. Or at the very least, I expected that I’d feel something.

But the fact was, if it weren’t for the fact that I remember taking the capsule that came in the scary lead package at the hospital and the fact that my doctor sent me home with explicit instructions to avoid public spaces and close contact with others, and follow specific rules of hygiene for the next 72 hours, I might not have known that anything had happened at all.

That’s right: for those who are wondering, like I did: will I feel any different? In my case, the answer was a resounding “no”. I didn’t get sick, I didn’t get any neck or jaw pain, and I didn’t feel all glowy. Nothing. It’s been life as normal–except I had to be alone a lot for the first three days.

But my husband and I made the best of it: he made me special food for some meals and brought in fun take-out that we never have for others. We picniced in areas of the house we never dine–me in one of the rooms we’d set aside for my semi-isolation and he in the hall outside of it. We took walks each day…I just stood a little further away from he and the dog than I usually do. He camped out on the couch and I got to remember what it was like to sleep in a bed alone again (I didn’t kick anyone!), and it actually felt a bit like years ago when we were dating (and it made us miss each other all that much more, which is always a good thing for any relationship).

So I didn’t get superpowers. But when you compare it to the alternatives (getting sick from radiation or having to recover from surgery), I really think I got off okay.

Is a writer born? Or created?

Posted on March 18, 2011 by Amy Joy Posted in memoir, The Academie, writing, young adult (YA) fiction 4 Comments

I started writing my first novel when I was in third grade. I was going to be the first famous child novelist. And I had a great idea for a novel (which I still plan to use someday). The trouble? I was eight or nine and had a lot of other things to do.

So I didn’t become the first famous child novelist.

In May 2009 I had the idea for another novel, The Academie. This I pitched to my writer husband, Christian, who promptly turned it down. My response: “Fine, I’ll write it myself.”

Almost half the book was written within a matter of weeks. Then I had to take on a heavier teaching load so we could make ends meet, and the book project got set aside. Meanwhile, I developed a hyperthyroid problem that began taking a toll on everything I did (though I didn’t know at the time what was wrong or that I needed to see someone about it). Despite feeling lousy, I pressed on, taking on more classes, until my body starting fighting back in the fall of 2010.

I was in teaching class the first time it happened: I had a chest pain. But not just any chest pain. A severe chest pain. “I’m having a heart attack,” I remember telling my class. “Great, I’m going to die at school. Wait–someone has to finish my book!” Blank faces stared back at me.

I didn’t have a heart attack that day, but I did have revelation. Okay, two revelations. 1. I needed to get to a doctor and 2. I needed to finish my novel.

As winter dragged on, I battled Graves Disease and went to more doctors’ appointments than I care to count, and I finally finished the first draft of my novel.

So the question remains: is a writer born or created? My answer: maybe a little bit of both.

PS Now I’m in the midst of revising The Academie, and I must say, you’re gonna love it! YA (young adult), but reaching beyond, it probes in to our fears and into our minds…It’s an experience you won’t soon forget. As for Grave’s Disease, I’m on the road to recovery.