This is so exciting. I bet if you hit a bookstore right now, you'd likely find Liza Palmer's brand new book, Seeing Me Naked, even though it isn't actually supposed to be out until Wednesday. There have already been reported sightings!

In honor of Liza's new book, she and I have done a three part interview, which I'll be posting here over the next few days, as she gets ready to start her book tour with two appearances here in the Los Angeles area this week, Wednesday night at Vroman's in Pasadena and Thursday night at Book Soup in West Hollywood. Which, if you are in the general area, you should do your best to catch!

Liza and I met through our publisher back in 2005, a few months before her debut novel, Conversations with the Fat Girl launched the 5 Spot line of smart, hip women's fiction for Warner Books (now Grand Central Publishing.) We started talking then, and haven't stopped since, as anyone who has sat through one of our dog and pony shows can attest. We've given workshops and participated in panels together, and we spend a lot of time talking about narrative, story, character, and the publishing business while driving along the glorious Pacific Coast Highway in Liza's adorable bug. (Yes, she drives.) In honor of the release of her new book, the soon-to-be-an-enormous-hit Seeing Me Naked, I thought we'd have one of our conversations here in my blog.

So, Liza. How did you become such an Indie Music Snob (albeit one who somehow failed to identify Ben Gibbard as the singer in the Postal Service--no, I will not let that go) and how do you think that relates to the choices you made for your protagonist in Seeing Me Naked? Meaning, do you think if you met a hot guy who listened only to Classic Rock, it would thrill you in some basic way-- much the way that slightly-snooty Elisabeth finds herself and her world rocked by meat-and-potatoes superhottie Daniel?



Okay- first off-fffuuuuuuccckkkk you-enough with the Ben Gibbard-this from someone who owns Kellie Pickler.

Ugh-classic rock. Daniel is hothothot though so that brother could roll up rocking the Jethro Tull and Elisabeth would be all over it. But - what if he pulled up in that Yukon of his with Kashmir blasting. Hot.

Thanks for that extravaganza of eloquence, Liza. I do own Kellie Pickler, as a matter of fact. And I'm proud of it. But then, I do not identify myself as an Indie Music Snob, so there's no conflict. Just red high heels, baby!

Daniel really is hot. And drives a Yukon. Do you feel that his hotness makes him a romantic hero? What makes a romantic hero? Are you holding out for a hero? Aren't we all?

I think one would have to not own Kellie Pickler in order to pass any kind of judgment on music taste. Just sayin'.

We were talking about-on our last drive-about how creating a man who knows what he wants-a straight shooter- is a new thing for both of us. Domenic, the love interest in Conversations with the Fat Girl, was just as scared and confused as Maggie. Daniel knows what he wants.

And, seriously, is there anything hotter than a man who knows what he wants?

Maybe a woman who does too. Let's use that as a totally inappropriate and kind of gross segue, shall we? What do you want in terms of your new book? I've watched you interact with readers who felt that you had somehow captured their own lives and put them into words in the pages of Conversations with the Fat Girl-- for some, perhaps, for the first time. Maggie was a character who really seemed to touch readers profoundly. As an author, how did it feel to have that kind of power? And what kind of things were you trying to say with Seeing Me Naked-- how do you hope Elisabeth will touch your readers?

(And by the way, you are making my point for me regarding music with your irrational hatred of Kellie Pickler. Just sayin' right back.)

We always talk about someone's "kink" - like in romance novels (you know, all 3 Elizabeth Hoyt novels I've read) - when a writer always has someone manhandle someone a certain way - and I think that same "kink" can be found in all writing - not as concrete, but... Like I think I'm constantly working out someone going backwards to go forward. Trying to figure out what you've become in recent years - someone who is not the real you - and then finding your authentic self. Maggie had that - hid her beauty under a barrel - and I think Elisabeth has that, too...hiding behind her father's fame and her workaholic nature.

That's really interesting. Talk more about that!

About what? There was so much brilliance smashed into one simple email. I mean, you must be specific, Ms. Crane.

I think I'm interested in the idea of authorial preoccupation as kink. In that sense, what gets me going is probably identity-- how does a character figure out who she is? What she wants? Where she's headed?

I like thinking about your major kink as being the tension between an emergent authentic self and, presumably, the remnants of fake selves littering a character's social landscape. Why do we hide behind things in the first place? And how scary is it to leave behind the things we thought kept us safe? It reminds me of an Alanis Morrisette song, which I'm sure won't surprise you, as we have discussed before that the Under Rug Swept album was a major influence on both of us:

"This won't work now the way it once did
'Cause I want to decide between survival and bliss
Now I know who I'm not
I don't I still don't know who I am
But I know I won't keep on playing the victim

These precious illusions in my head did not let me down
When I was defenseless
And parting with them is like parting with invisible best friends."

Thoughts?

Or you can just rave about Elizabeth Hoyt-- whose new, contemporary book is out now, I believe...

I think there's this fear, especially in women, about being too amazing. Too authentic. We hide beauty, intelligence and wit under so many barrels - barrels of weight, bad relationship choices, soul crushing jobs - all in an attempt to blend in and not shine. So, as kids we run around being these little firework-ian beings who just love life and want to play and feel joy - but then middle school sets in. And it's all about conforming. And usually conforming means dumbing down and making yourself as indistinguishable from the next girl as possible. And I think it's global and not really specific to women.

I'm drawn to that quest...the yellow brick road, if you will - the winding road back home.

Oh - and that entire album is awe inspiring. Talk about a great album to drive up the coast to. We've talked about that, too. The evil of the playlist is that we no longer listen to whole albums.

Shame.

And then it seems as if girls grow into women who on some level prize invisibility. Like that thing where you (the universal you) dies of shame at the very idea that, for instance, some guy get the idea that you LIKE him or something-- as if we're these awful creatures for liking someone, as if we should be ashamed of our feelings. What is that? Because I think it actually is a female-specific thing to a certain extent. Women will alter their entire selves to avoid sticking out, being different, being SEEN. And yet I think it's a basic human need to be seen-- to be known-- to be understood, listened to, appreciated. That's where all good friendships come from, and romantic relationships too. So why are women afraid to own that? To say to themselves and the world: this is how I feel, and I'm not going to be ashamed of it, or silenced if I choose to share it, or compelled to hide it away somewhere because it might make someone else uncomfortable.

It's all about self-worth. Believing that you're worth "the trouble." And it even sucks that that's how we view ourselves - "trouble." But, when we think about all of the women who we model ourselves after - it's these amazing women who changed history by being visible and demanding notice. So, why on one hand do we obsessively yearn to be "just like everyone else" but on the other understand that to truly make history you have to unlike everyone else. Do we just not get the big picture? And is it only through fiction that we feel safe flexing those muscles?

Ugh...I need to take a drive. Nick Drake on the radio. Cup of tea.

You know, I think this might be a good place to talk some more about the flexing of muscles through fiction. I think it's crucially important that women ask these questions--- of ourselves, of each other, of the world, and in the books we read and write. I spend a large part of each day reading about books and about women in various places around the internet-- Jezebel, Bookslut, Broadsheet, Pandagon, to name a few. Almost without exception, the sites which most claim to represent women's points of view are at best dismissive of the books we write, and more likely snide and derogatory. Nor is it just the sites themselves, but, in large numbers, the smart, informed, opinionated women who populate these sites. We both watched the Jezebel commenters jump all over our friend Jane Porter's Odd Mom Out a few months ago, mostly because "those books" (presumably, books featuring women that are marketed commercially) were assumed to be crap. I say "assumed" because I feel confident none of the commenters who bashed the book based on a plot summary actually READ the book. I know I felt incredibly frustrated-- after all, I don't think I write vapid crap, and I would say that the Jezebel audience is exactly the audience my books would appeal to-- yet there seems to be this widespread belief that anything published in a trade paper original form with a fun, bright cover must not only suck, but be trash, objectively speaking. REAL literature can be identified by less amusing and more poetic titles, often by a hardcover release, and by a different color scheme. Yet you and I have often noticed that the plot summaries sound an awful lot like books published in our imprint. What are your thoughts about the undying Chick Lit=Crap Debate?

I think the most frustrating thing about all this, is that this entire argument has nothing to do with the actual content of the books. Both good and bad. What’s in between – cover to cover – never seems to be a part of the equation. Especially when you’re dealing with the witch hunt that is “chick lit”. There’s this one Sex and the City episode – not even from the 1997 novel, mind you – that “critics” re-hash and re-hash as if it’s found chronically in pink-covered books across the nation. Not unlike the ebola virus of publishing. But, the hitch in this theory is --- these books don’t exist. And if they do – we think they suck, too. Right? I mean, those books sound lame. Anyone that’s still talking about shoes and bullshit like that – I mean, come on? Really? The thing is – there are bad books and good books in every genre.

All of this posturing mirrors every middle school playground I’ve ever been on. The bottom line is that if I don’t care what these “critics” think – then they’re powerless. I write books that I love. People buy these books and get lost in the worlds I create. Period. The relationship between me as the writer and whomever is reading my novel has nothing to do with the little peanut gallery telling them that my book is trifling. I don’t think my books are trifling. My readers don’t think my books are trifling. My editor and agent don’t think my books are trifling. My family and friends don’t think my books are trifling. So - fuck everyone else.



And that's it for today. Make sure you come back tomorrow to get Part II of the conversation, in which we discuss Gerard Butler, Liza's origins as a writer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and much, much more. And if you have any questions for Liza, feel free to ask them here, and she'll be sure to get back to you!

Part II Part III