Saturday, November 5, 2011
I'm doing it (kind of) for a couple of weeks with POPULAR then I have to switch to editing. Deadline is 11/30, so I'll be off for Xmas! Well, I've got another project that I want to write and a new paranormal YA that I want to work with. I've put KEPT on the backburner for a tiny bit. Just to give myself a little more space from the project.
I've got news to announce soon that kind of revolves around KEPT. Can't wait to share!
Happy writing. xx
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Lots of things went down this week. Choices, possible opportunities, having to make huge decisions, yes or no answers, things maybe happening, things maybe not . . . a whole freaking lot can change in two days.
It's kind of a lot to absorb. Makes the ground feel a little shaky when you thought it was solid. Nothing's happened and nothing will happen tomorrow, but it's definitely something on my mind and the possibility of weighing options or having to make choices is rattling around my brain.
Very vague, I know. But that's how this is--one thing depends on another and so on.
For now, I'm going to try and plant my feet on the ground and not think about/worry/obsess over anything until/when it comes.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Smiles will be real and more present. Life will still be challenging, but won't feel insurmountable. Going out will be an option. Alcohol will be consumed. Dancing to Top 20 hits will leave you feeling exhausted in the best way. Work will be something that calls to you during the day and keeps you up late into the night. Life will just BE.
After this is over, I swear I'll never complain about anything again. Nothing will ever compare to this.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Much <3 to you all!
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Kate and Ross got me flowers for my two year anniversary in New York. According to the card, I'm now a "true New Yorker."
Sometimes, it feels like I've been here for ten years. Sometimes, a week. I still get lost on new trains, still go the wrong way when trying to find strange buildings and still Google Map any new place I go and hand draw a map. But I'm not afraid of going to new places.
I used to be.
When I first moved here, the only place I felt that I knew how to get back and forth from without having to worry was to S&S. I would get on the train at 7th Avenue, put on my headphones and ride the 45-ish minutes into the city. And that's not to mention how long it took me to feel comfortable to play my iPod because I was sure the conductor would change the route with a message that the train was going to the Bronx or somewhere far away. I was convinced I'd get lost and never find my way back to Park Slope again. (Not being a drama queen--I was serious!)
But now, it's almost as if I instinctively know how to get home. And home for me is the best place to be in the entire city. I'm happiest when I'm in cozy socks, yoga pants, a PINK t-shirt and doing anything--or nothing at all--with my bestie.
If you passed me on the streets, you'd probably think I was a tourist. I've always got my BlackBerry out and am taking pictures of everything. I wear Brooklyn hoodies, a "Gaga for Brooklyn" (she's performing on May 27 for GMA, btw . . . )T-shirt and it'll soon be warm enough for me to wear my "I love New York" shirt. I know that it's not "cool" to do that when you live here, but I don't care. I haven't gotten past the giddy stage of living in the city that never sleeps.
I'm a Brooklyn girl and proud of it!
Much love to all of my Brooklyn family and friends who have supported me here. I love you all.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Hey nineteen-year old me,
You feel like you’re drowning in secrets, huh?
I know. Every morning, life crushes your chest until you can’t breathe? Look, that might last a little while. But, and I know you won’t believe me now, it won’t be forever. It’ll feel like it, though. Every morning, you’ll lie in bed, listening for signs—clues—of what kind of mood he’s in. Will Dad be furious, agitated when you try to sneak to the kitchen for cereal? Or will he be holed up in his bedroom on the laptop that’s never off for more than an hour at a time? The one he’s on from five am till two or three in the morning. You will not even want to think about what he’s doing.
You’ll be angry. Sometimes white-hot rage.
At Dad—you’ll really hate calling him that.
At Mom—the one person who claims to be your ally. She’ll bitch about how horrible your father is and how she’ll to fix it. But she never will and when you realize that it will really hurt at first. But soon after, it’ll make you angry and you’ll stay that way for a long, long time. For now, you’ll hold hope, every day, that she’ll change. Wake up and leave him. I wish I was wrong, but it’s better you know this now: she never will. She’s been married to him since she was seventeen. He’s molded her, shaped her into the person she is. Instead of being a mother, she’ll feed you to him like fish food. And he’s a piranha.
That will kill you. Your “ally” hurt you worse than the person who you thought caused the most damage. But hurt is sometimes good—your eyes will open because of it. You will, slowly, begin to see them for who they are. It’ll be ugly, but it’s necessary. You’ll learn that the conversations with Mom where you plead with her to get out are a waste of your breath. And you’ll be safer, it’ll be easier on you to stop. In case he hears. Or she tells him.
You’ll have no idea how to handle this—the realization that you have no one. Once you’ve seen the truth—the reality. It’ll burn your entire body—like you’re holding yourself over a candle. Looking at their faces, hearing them talk will make you squirm and want to lock yourself in your room. But hang on—keep up the façade that you’re fine. That everything’s okay. That’ll be the only way to keep screaming fights to a minimum. Sooner than you think, you won’t have to hide your feelings or fake anything. It’ll be within reach.
For now, there’s nothing else you can do—it looks as though it’ll stay that way forever. And I get it. I really do. You’ll see no options. There will be two things that keep you from OD’ing on a bottle of Aleve and endless glasses of cheap, disgusting white wine from Wal-Mart. To take the easy way out. But don’t.
What you don’t know, what I wish I could tell you now, is that things are going to change and be better than you could ever imagine. You don’t have to believe me. And you probably don’t. But at least keep reading.
So, those two things you’re immersed in? Throw everything you’ve got into them.
School. That’s why you’ll have been in college since you were sixteen and will be about to graduate soon. To escape. To hide behind the books. The math you don’t understand—the hours of studying to keep him from bothering you. The American lit class you love—if you can’t have a life, at least you’ll live vicariously through the characters. Education could be the ticket out, you’ll think. In the end, it won’t be. It’ll be something better. But stay in school. It’ll get you to where you’re going.
Writing. You’ll lose yourself in the words and will have found a way to make some money by freelancing. The checks will be handed over (read: taken from you) to Dad, but hey, it keeps a short moment of peace. Very short. He’ll always be watching—making sure you’re working to earn him money. It’ll make writing hard sometimes. But you’ll keep paging through your copy of The Writer’s Market until you have a list of every place possible to submit your work. That’ll make Dad—and you—happy.
You’ll feel lost for a while, though. How could you not? You’ll see no way out. You’ll think you have no control over anything. Don’t beat yourself up for feeling that way. For thinking that because you’re an adult, you should give them the finger and walk out. The truth: you’re nineteen. You’ve moved eleven times. Your father’s had more jobs than that. You’re a product of your circumstance. It’s not easy to admit that—just know that it’s not your fault.
He’ll drive you to college. He’ll take your mother to the grocery store. The post office. Your brother will not go out. Your house will be on lockdown. The blinds will be drawn. No one will be allowed to talk to the neighbors. You’ll have been homeschooled since you were in eighth grade. You’ll recognize yourself in Cady from Mean Girls; embarrassed about all the things you don’t know and haven’t done. Go easy on yourself. You haven’t had the opportunity to have a life like others’—remember that it was never your choice.
You and your little brother will have never seen The Real World on MTV. Or music videos on VH1. The last movie you’ll have seen in theaters will be Pocahontas. There will not have been cable in your house since you were nine because Dad won’t want you getting ideas. Ideas of what normal life could be. But you’re so close to normal.
You’ll never have had a real boyfriend. You’ll never bring friends, the few you’ll have made at college, over because of what they will see: a house that looks as if you’ve just moved in. Even though you’ll have been there for a year. And that’ll be a long time for the Burkhart family.
You feel as though you’ll be moving for the rest of your life. And you will make another move. But this one, I promise, will be the one that changes everything.
Most of your stuff will be in the garage. In boxes. No photographs will make it to the walls. The sparse furniture will provide just enough space for your family to sit. Everyone will be on edge—ready to move—at a moment’s notice if Dad gives the word. No one will know where—it’s always a mystery until the U-Haul arrives.
He could choose Texas. Or Kentucky. Or Cali. But you’ll be prepared. You have to be. It’s the only life you know. Moving in the middle of the night will be nothing out of the ordinary for your family.
You think this is your life and always will be. Guess what? It won’t. And all of those secrets? They’ll come tumbling out.
Next spring, you’ll turn twenty. You’ll have stopped freelancing and have written a novel. You’ll get an agent. You’ll make a four-book deal. It will sound glamorous to everyone who doesn’t live in your house. Anyone who doesn’t know the paychecks aren’t yours. They’ll support your able-bodied father who won’t work and the mother who allows it to happen and refuses to work. She repeats the sentence that’s burned into your brain. “When I married your father, working wasn’t what I signed up for.”
You’ll want to scream this: Guess what, Mom? Supporting my family wasn’t a pressure I signed up for, either. But you won’t. And it’s the right choice. Keep quiet, just a little while longer.
There will be public interest in you because of your book deal. But your secrets will never come up in interviews with the newspaper. You’re told all of your answers better be candy-coated bubble-gum fluff. And they always are.
But something will happen soon. Something better than the book deal. You’ll meet someone who will become more than your best friend. Your secrets will no longer smother you. You’ll spill them all to her.
You’ll admit what you’ve never told anyone: you’re living in an emotionally abusive, controlling home. Any money you make goes to support your family because your father won’t “let” your mother work. She doesn’t protest and you resent her for it.
And, the secret you’ve never told a soul—you’ve moved so many times because your father is a con man. His “jobs” are spending hours on the computer finding ways to take money from people and sink them into get-rich-quick schemes that always fail. To take their money and disappear. That’s why he’s always on the move. A man will come to your door with a gun. Meant for Dad.
You’ll make all of these phone calls from your closet or outside, in the corner of your backyard. Your voice will rarely go above a whisper. Your best friend will talk to you—and keep talking. She’ll build up your confidence that hovers at zero. She’ll convince you that you need to get out. And she’ll help you. You won’t believe her sometimes. You won’t believe that you can get out. But she’ll keep telling you it’s possible.
Listen to her.
An opportunity will present itself and it’ll be now or never. You’ll fly to Missouri to meet her where you’ll both speak at a writer’s conference. Your father will let you go alone for once. He’ll only concede after endless screaming fights and your threats of not going, so be prepared for the fight of your life. Be careful not to get hit—but push it as far as you can. Use his weakness against him. Play him the way you’ve always been too scared to before. He’ll be blinded by dollar signs—use that. When you do, he’ll let you go.
The weeks leading up to the conference will be agony, filled with fear, sadness of leaving your brother, and an occasional spurt of hope. Almost every night will be a sleepless one. Know that Tylenol PM and alcohol won’t help you sleep. Every secret phone call will send you into an instant panic attack and, at the same time, her voice will be the only thing that’ll calm you down. Your pink Motorola cell will never leave your side—you live for a text, e-mail or call from her. Keep the phone by your side—she’ll be your greatest distraction and source of comfort. You’ll never have needed anyone more.
Be diligent. Pretend you’re the obedient doormat they want you to be just a little while longer. It’ll nearly kill you, I won’t lie. But if you can get through this—you’ll have made it, literally, out the door.
You’ll be terrified of getting caught until you reach the airport. And that’s valid. You’ll even be scared until the plane takes off. Even then, there will be strings like always. If you don’t answer your phone every time he calls—and he’ll call almost every couple of hours—he’ll call the hotel or hop on the next flight.
But there’s one person you’ll want to see more than anyone. And she’s keeping you alive. Sounds dramatic, doesn’t it? But it’s true.
Remember that every hour in the air puts your farther away from them and closer to her.
Your parents will expect to see you again in three days. They won’t know that your best friend’s booked you a New York City bound ticket. Even when you land at the Missouri airport, you’ll be sure he’ll somehow be there. That it’ll be over. But it won’t. He won’t be there. Your anxiety will still be at a ten. But it’s going to lessen. Trust me.
When you find her at the conference and her arms are around you, you’ll know you’ve made the right decision. Doubts will flee from your head. You’ll make it through your presentations—turning on professional author Jessica Burkhart, then you’ll head back to the Missouri airport.
At the airport, you’ll do two of the most important things you’ll have ever done in your entire life: e-mail your parents and tell them you’re never coming back and why. Then, smash your phone into a million pieces.
Seconds before you pull out the SIM card, removing any remaining source of contact to them, your text alert will go off. And it’ll be a message you’ll carry with you always. Good shit. Your little brother approves. Almost as if he knew when you hugged him so hard the night before you left that it’d likely be the last time you ever saw him again.
You’ll arrive in New York and, just like the heartbeat of the city, things will happen fast.
You’ll learn the subway. Find an apartment. Keep writing your books. Change your e-mail address. Make zero contact with anyone in your family. Get a prescription for anti-anxiety meds. Smoke a cigarette. Become more comfortable around men. Cut and dye your hair. Stay out ‘till six bar hopping. Learn what love is. Learn that family doesn’t have to be blood. For a while, you’ll still be afraid that you’ll see him on every street corner. But wait it out. It’ll never happen.
You’ll have the date your life started, 040509, tattooed on your wrist. You’ll also leave the last part of Jessica Burkhart behind. You’ll take your best friend’s middle name as your last name. Jessica Burkhart will become your pen name and Jessica Ashley will be your name.
You’ll no longer cower in anyone else’s existence. You’ll become a normal twenty-something who experiments with everything your new life has to offer. Some choices will be right. Others will be wrong. But at least you’ll be making them. You’ll no longer be kept by anyone.
Twenty-four year old Jessica Burkhart (aka Jess Ashley) is the author of the 20-book Canterwood Crest series from Simon & Schuster’s Aladdin MIX. She co-owns Violet & Ruby, a two-person packager and style blog, with her best friend and editor Kate Angelella. Jess’ YA verse novel, KEPT, is based on the above essay and has a proposal ready for submission. Visit her online at www.jessicaburkhart.com. Check out Violet & Ruby at http://violetandruby.blogspot.com.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
I'm also a little sidetracked. I had a moment of panic yesterday that I talked to K about. I almost e-mailed Miranda of Dear Teen Me, asking her to pull my essay and promising to write another--on a different topic. But I pushed through the panic and K talked me through the fact that I needed to remember why I'd written the piece and if I hadn't been ready--the words wouldn't have come out on the page. It would have been too much to handle and I would have been frozen. That happened last year when I tried to work on KEPT. I could only get to a certain point before it was too much and I'd have to stop.
I think I'm past that now. Or, at least, it's getting easier to handle.
I'm hoping my essay for Dear Teen Me will be the piece that gets attention for KEPT. I'm thinking about submitting the piece to a certain literary journal or a magazine for it to get even more attention. I'm also going to add a link to it on my PM page.
I'm ready to get KEPT in the hands of an agent/editor and, hopefully, the DTM essay will be the piece to get people interested in my YA work.
Off to write! Happy weekend to all! Anyone else writing? Revising? Reading?
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
I just sent it off to Miranda a few minutes ago. I wrote it a couple of nights ago, listening to my iPod around 2am. The thing I'd been TERRIFIED of came flooding out on the page. The essay is supposed to be fairly short, and I kept that in mind, but I could have gone on for many more pages.
That's why I'm glad I have KEPT--my semiautobiographical YA novel in verse. It's ready to be subbed--I've got 40 pages and a synopsis. I was scared to submit it to anyone--afraid of what people would think when they learned the real truth behind the pink-loving, sparkly Jessica Burkhart who writes the fun Canterwood Crest series. I'm unagented, so if anyone reads my essay when it goes live on March 23 and thinks my verse novel might be worth a look to their editor, please let me know.
Kate read my essay for Dear Teen Me and helped me take it where it needed to go. She never pushed for it to be more than I could handle--she's my best friend and she knows my limits on what I can think about from my past. But she edited it and pointed out places where I could improve. She reminded me that the point of DTM is to write a letter to your teen self and I needed to write more encouragement into my essay. I did and, with that, it was ready to go to Miranda along with four photos that fit the theme.
Kate's beside me, but I want to thank her publicly for all she does to help me as a writer--not just as my Canterwood editor but as a teacher in a non-instructor-y way. If you're looking for a freelance editor (formerly of Simon & Schuster and has references) who loves what she does and will give your work her utmost attention and the best edit letter you'll ever receive (I'm not just BS'ing you, I promise.), send Kate an e-mail at kate AT kateangelella DOT com. Her Website is www.KateAngelella.com. She's worked with fab commercial authors such as Lauren Barnholdt and award-winners like Kekla Magoon. Again, Kate Angelella is *the* best freelancer with reasonable rates that you'll ever find--I'd bet my series on it.
March 23. Ready or not. It's coming.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Friday, January 7, 2011
Incredibly tough, painful and disheartening aren't even strong enough to explain the past couple of weeks. There was a lot of bad. A lot. But in those moments, of utter darkness when you're on the brink of falling off the edge, someone pulls you back and you do the same for the other person. You see the rawest, deepest parts of people that are so intimate it can only serve to tighten bonds. You see what people are made of. Or who they really are.
I'm throwing myself into work during the day and spending every other free second with K. Things had to happen to get me fired up about blowing through several work projects--and I'm setting the Excel sheets, readying the Word docs and prepping my hand brace for a work out of epic proportions.
When things go wrong, I've always done one thing--the thing I'm good at--work. It's the solution to many problems.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
This is the blog of 2011, guys! (Tweens, this is YA content, FYI . . .) Kate and Ross started their blog for their two books (Crossed and Cursed) from Sourcebooks' FIRE imprint. The first debuts in spring 2012!
Go check it out--it's amazing and it's going to be so cool to follow them from sale to publication. For Team Canterwood, go show Editor K some sparkles and comment to say hi! :)