Mary Hill: How She Died, How I Lived

Mary Crockett is my sometimes writing partner and my always friend. I could not be happier to talk with her about her new YA novel How She Died, How I Lived, which is coming out in November from Little, Brown. It’s about a girl overcoming survivor’s guilt when her friend Jamie is killed by another boy.

I’ve written both about Mary and with Mary (you can visit some of our old blog tour stops here) so I’m keeping the introduction brief and just jumping in:

Mary: How She Died, How I Lived was a bit different for me as a writer, because it wasn’t necessarily a book I decided to write. The story overtook me and made me write it, if you know what I mean.

I was hard at work on an entirely different manuscript when I saw in the newspaper that a young woman from my community who had been missing for days was found dead by the side of the road. She was murdered in a shockingly brutal way by a young man she knew and trusted. A young man, in fact, that she was trying to help.

I was simultaneously outraged and overwhelmingly sad.

That story broke something in me. So I did what I do when I’m broken. I cried. And then picked up a notebook and pen.

Mary: It was a hard story to write–but I really felt this story mattered, and that faith kept me moving.

You know me, Madelyn. I love to laugh at silly jokes and goof around. I’m not the Doom and Gloom Patrol. So my challenge with this story was finding the light, even in the darkest of moments. And I did find it.

This is a story about healing and friendship and discovering out what’s worth living for, even in the wake of something horrific.

Mary: Oh wow. I fail. A lot.

I was trying to sit down yesterday to get going again on my work-in-progress after a looooooooong hiatus, and I swear, I just WOULD NOT DO IT.

I wanted to return to that manuscript that was half-written when I started How She Died, How I Lived, but I was going out of my way to find absolutely anything else to do instead. Heck, I resorted to doing laundry! By choice–not just because we ran out of underwear!

I felt so nervous, like someone had set me up on a blind date. Would the manuscript like me? Would I like it? What should I wear? 

So yeah, I’m not the person to ask about self discipline!

Mary: When my daughter was younger, I tried to ignore the fact that she might one day read my stuff. You know, so I wouldn’t feel guilty about the cursing or kissing or bad behavior or whatever. But now she’s an older teen, which makes her the ideal target audience for How She Died, How I Lived. And she was my best reader, honestly.

I ask her, do you think I should change the language here or tone that part down? And she argues to keep it dark and edgy–because to her, that’s real. That’s what she hears and sees every day at her high school.

My teen sons are another story. I’m not sure they’re even aware what I do for a living. (That’s not entirely a joke.)

Mary: It seems the universe keeps trying to teach me the lesson that I have to let go of my desire in order for the thing I want to happen.

This manuscript had been in circulation for quite a while, and quite frankly, I had lost hope. So I shrugged and went on about my business otherwise.

Luckily, my fantastic agent Emily Mitchell did not lose hope! She kept plugging away–so when I got the news that an offer was coming in (and not only an offer, but an offer from a press that has published some of my literary heroes!), I was out of my skin!

One of the best parts was sharing the news with my friends–all of whom had heard me moan and groan about how I was giving up.

I knew when I called to tell you my good news, Madelyn, you were genuinely as happy for me as I was for myself! And having a friend like that, who truly wants the best for me–that’s not something I take for granted. (Or at least I try not to!)

Mary: When I was in 3rd grade, my teacher had the class write stories about having a wish granted. I think in my story an alien comes down from outer space and tells me I can have whatever I want, and I say “a friend!” and then the alien becomes my friend. The teacher went on about what a great story it was, and she had copies made that she passed out for all my classmates.

So at the time, I thought this was all due to my amazing story. But looking back as an adult, I realize my teacher must have been aware I was a friendless oddball who was regularly mocked (no pity–this is just the truth!), and I think she was trying to send a message to the class to be nicer to me. It didn’t work, but I was happy that she liked my story.

Now, I realize that pretty much the arc of anything I write–picture books, novels, whatever–is still just that story in a different form:

Someone needs a friend; someone gets a friend. The End.

Mary: Hmmm. Yes, the friend thing–but also oddities. The weird. The out-of-sync. The awkward.

Also, birds. The river.

More motifs than themes, I guess.

Mary: Poetry teaches you to listen to the quiet between words.

Prose teaches you to hurry up and say it already!

Mary: Verse novel, baby! It’s a gonna happen! I haven’t started yet, but hope springs eternal!

That’s a cool idea! Yeah! I suck at the big picture, but I’m pretty good at one word after another. One and then one and then one. And the big picture comes into focus soon enough.

Thanks, Mary!