💫Meagan Thompson-Mann is zhushing up her manuscript 🌿
@thecrumpet.bsky.social
1.3K followers 1.4K following 790 posts
Legally non-blonde / writer of minor repute (I'm in the Congressional record!) / querying 1st novel THIS ENDS NOW / noodlings at meagantheauthor.com / co-host of podcast BAD LIT FRIENDS (@badlitfriends.bsky.social‬) / transplanted Nutmegger / Valley Girl
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thecrumpet.bsky.social
October 15 #WIPsnips – “care”

Just Jenny being Jenny, reading David Lodge’s “Changing Places” (at Gregory’s recommendation) on a Saturday night and taking self-indulgent, pseudy notes on the slipperiness of identity instead of indulging in a face mask. A snip from my #WIP “Surface Tension.”
“The subtext,” she scribbled in her black and white composition book, “isn’t about fish floundering out of water or the strange architecture of institutional cultural exchange. It isn’t even about middle-aged men or the sexual revolution. It’s about—”

Jenny chewed on the tail of her red Bic pen. In the kitchen, Tessa was daubing a homemade colloidal oatmeal mask on the sharp planes of Hallie’s face, taking care to avoid the eyes. These women could have bought out every makeup counter at Barneys, but in their fourth floor, Lower East Side walk-up, they’d opted for steel-cut oats and a tub of Greek yogurt in pursuit of the line of beauty. Between the scuffed walls and in the cracked mirror in the Depression-era bathroom, they were just Hallie and Tessa, two anygirls getting ready for a Saturday night out. Ludlow Street had changed them.

“—context,” she continued. “How geography changes you, how new buildings and land and people can fold and poke you into someone more like them.” She underlined that last bit. “Maybe at home, you’re conservative, but move a country or a city or a block, are you still the same? Do you play by the same rules wherever you go?”

Her pen rested on the dot of her question mark as she read what she’d jotted down. If she was right, Gregory was asking her a question, many questions: what is a city like New York for but reinvention? Even if we are here for only a few months, can we not slip into some different skins, see how they suit our features? Can we ever be the same creatures afterwards if we do?
thecrumpet.bsky.social
Him: Honey, if I start a sentence of dialogue with "Cool," that's an interjection, right?

Me: Yeah, remember your Schoolhouse Rock?

They're generally set apart from a sentence
By an exclamation point
Or by a comma when the feeling's not as strong
Interjections Schoolhouse Rock.
YouTube video by us chronicle
youtu.be
thecrumpet.bsky.social
I just found out that I have full access to JSTOR through my alumni association and besides taking part in a sacred cacao ceremony for lawyers sponsored by the LA County Bar Association, this is possibly the most scrumptious thing I've experienced all week.
thecrumpet.bsky.social
October 11 #WIPsnips – “welcome”

Vibes today: one of Jenny’s superpowers is how she cons everyone into thinking she’s sensible. Thoughtful. But is welcoming Gregory into her summer sublet for a “coffee” (ahem) sensible? Thoughtful? Or is it utterly whackadoo? A snip from my #WIP “Surface Tension.”
“This is fantastic,” Gregory said at last. “Very authentic New York. You’re lucky to have landed here.”

“Above a used clothing store and between a couple of construction sites?”

He paused outside number 151 and turned to face her. Dim light spilled from inside the shop front, and his hair glowed more bronze than its usual murky blond in the glow. “Just like most things in life, it’s what you make of it. Sometimes you just need to change your perspective.”

She swallowed, but her mouth was dry. 

Why not?

Jenny reached for his hand. “Here,” she said, tugging him one door down, the word barely more than a whisper. “This is me.”

His fingers flexed, then tightened around hers. “This is you.”

Yes, why not? 

“I could make coffee,” she said. 

Nothing about this felt real, like she’d stepped six inches outside her body. Like she was her own doppelganger, watching herself say wild and outrageous things. Things like: “If you want. I’m on the fourth floor.”

Gregory blinked twice, his lashes catching the streetlight above. “If I wouldn’t be intruding.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He stood there for a moment, then nodded. “All right.”
thecrumpet.bsky.social
I am EEEEEEEEE about this interview with the lovely Amber Hamilton dropping Wednesday 10/15! While you wait for her book SEVEN DEADLY THORNS (coming soon on 11/4; pre-orders available now!) listen to us get weird about fairy tales, the tribulations of querying, and getting your book into the world.
kirkrafferty.com
On the next Bad Lit Friends, we’re speaking with Amber Hamilton, author of Seven Deadly Thorns! We were so excited to have Amber be our first interview, and it was an absolute joy speaking with her. Drops Wednesday!
#WritingCommunity #ReadingCommunity #Podcasts #YA
thecrumpet.bsky.social
October 10 #WIPsnips – “prize”

Yet another way Lainey Pike isn't like Donald Trump: she didn’t win the Nobel Peace Prize (again!). But she did draw a line at last when it comes to Gregory, and her prize for defending it is better than any damn medal. A snippet from “This Ends Now.”
I regret to inform you that in my reverie in the vestibule, this topsy-turvy interlude, with his strong arms wrapped around my back and my cheek pressed to his dark blue sweater so the dull, familiar th-dum th-dum of his heartbeat filled my ear, with the scent of his clean hair and the sour tang of his wine breath in my nose, one word bounced again and again upon the walls of my brain like a rubber ball: yes.

Yes yes yes y-yes yes yes.

Jenny and Dave remained outside on the porch, or else Gregory might not have crushed me so tightly nor dotted a kiss on the crown of my head. If they’d been closer, he might not have been so bold as to say, “I’ve waited so long for this. I knew you’d see it my way.”

With these words, the greasy smear on my mind cleared. The bouncing ball stilled. “No.” I shoved him hard enough that his back thumped against the plaster vestibule wall. “Get away from me.”

Gregory’s shock—the widened brown eyes, the parted mouth—will forever be an image I cherish, one to roll about in my memory like a pair of cool marbles in my hand. It was only a moment, but I grabbed it. It was, after all, my prize.
thecrumpet.bsky.social
October 9 #WIPsnips – “battery”

For a very intelligent person, Jenny’s had plenty of bad ideas. Licking a 9V Duracell may not be that smart but it sure as hell is smarter than getting messed up with the guy whose Romantic Poetry seminar she took last semester. A snip from my #WIP “Surface Tension.”
One time, ignoring everything her father told her about the dangers of electricity, Jenny licked a nine-volt battery, just to see what would happen. She’d never forgotten it. The light shock that zinged her tongue wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t unpleasant. The danger was so small. A cheap thrill. The temptation to do it again still pestered her once in a while, though to date there had been no repeat performance. 

This close, Gregory could be that battery, but she doubted the danger was as mild as a Duracell’s electrical pulse. 

Kiss me again. How will you feel?
thecrumpet.bsky.social
Look, what did the Good Lordt create the "listen at 1.75x" function for on podcasts if not to get through our 1.5hr extravaganza? Come on, live a little. Listen to @kirkrafferty.com and me disagree about adverbs (I AM RIGHT) and why you should kill your darlings, especially if they are super cute.
badlitfriends.bsky.social
NEW EPISODE OF BAD LIT FRIENDS IS UP!

Wherein we talk about writing rules and why every single one of them is complete trash. (not really)

Bad Lit Friends is available on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, or wherever else you get your podcasts!
#WritingCommunity #Podcasts

open.spotify.com/episode/1eMk...
thecrumpet.bsky.social
THE WEDDING PEOPLE x SANDWICH

THIS ENDS NOW: Serial husband-ditcher Lainey hasn't met a functional relationship she didn't want to escape—until now. But she can't stop bolting until she takes down the charismatic man who wrote the toxic love playbook she's ready to toss out. #DVPit #A #UP #WOC
thecrumpet.bsky.social
SANDWICH x THE PAPER PALACE

THIS ENDS NOW: Ditching perfectly good husbands is a bad look, especially for a wedding planner. But Lainey can't stop running until she takes down the manipulative ex who made disappearing feel like devotion—and who's still rewriting their history. #DVPit #A #UP #WOC
thecrumpet.bsky.social
Love love love this! I've said it before and I'll say it again: I want this book!
thecrumpet.bsky.social
THE WEDDING PEOPLE x THE PAPER PALACE

THIS ENDS NOW: When her second marriage crumbles, a Gen X wedding planner spots a pattern: she dissolves into the men she loves. To break free, she must confront her first love—the man who taught her she was too much and never, ever enough. #DVPit #A #UP #WOC
thecrumpet.bsky.social
THE PAPER PALACE x SANDWICH

THIS ENDS NOW: Why has Lainey Pike fled another perfect marriage? At an Instagram-ready women's retreat, she recognizes the beast she must slay to break free: her brilliant, dangerous first love—who'd burn everything down before letting her go. #DVPit #A #UP #WOC
thecrumpet.bsky.social
October 8 #WIPsnips – “dungeon”

No dungeons in this snippet from “This Ends Now,” but the dank cellar of Lainey’s worst memories is where she keeps thoughts of her first, worst love. She’s forbidden herself from peeking inside—only terrors dwell there. Handsome, rotten terrors named Gregory Shipp.
The night before we left for Lost Acre, I broke one of my rules. I let myself peer inside the room I kept the bastard in, in the furthest, foulest corner of my mind’s cellar. Little Lainey lived there, too, and she was so sad, and he so awful, that I didn’t want to revisit their cheap little scenes. Nothing ever changed—the players jangled their bones the same, spoke the same, raved and cried and loved the same. There was nothing new to learn.

Looking this time through the keyhole, much seemed unchanged over the years, a bit dustier, a bit more faded. Little Lainey still made herself small, small, so small. Small enough to fit inside of him. And he—strong and tall and brilliant—reminded her in his seedy, silky tone that she hadn’t been quite as clever before he walked into her life and into her mind to sweep away the clutter. Without the clutter, there was more room for him, and wasn’t it marvelous that their thoughts and moods now echoed each other, chimed in each other’s tones? They’d become parts of one another.

Isn’t it romantic?