Kaitlyn Sage Patterson's Blog

I want to say my fascination with etiquette books started in college, but the truth of the matter is that it started a whole lot earlier. When I was still in middle school, I found a copy of Lisa Birnbach's THE OFFICIAL PREPPY HANDBOOK in my local used bookstore, and I've been hooked on etiquette ever since. 

In the intervening years, I've amassed shelves upon shelves of these tomes: the weirder, the better. I keep a third edition of Emily Post's ETIQUETTE on my desk at all times (still looking for a first edition in good condition that doesn't cost an arm and a leg), but my favorites are the obscure, the bizarre, and the downright odd. I thought I might bring you, dear reader, some of the gems of my collection.

Eleanor Roosevelt's Book of Common Sense Etiquette

Let's start with some advice from our pal Eleanor (side note, her mother nicknamed her Granny because she was so serious, which... I mean, I just love her for that). In the introduction, Granny says,

"Etiquette, from my point of view, is not just a matter of knowing how a lunch or dinner should be served, or what the 'proper' behavior is in this or that situation. There are many correct ways of behaving in almost any situation, and many proper ways of doing those things for which there are precise rules in formal etiquette books. But the basis of all good human behavior is kindness. If you really act toward people in your home and out of it with kindness, you will never go far wrong."

Hit the nail right on the head with that one, Granny. (I'm just going to keep calling her Granny.) And while we'll get to some of the precise rules she references in other posts, I wanted to start here, with that. Because that's some really freaking good advice. 

I wanted to start this series with this book, and this quote, in particular, because it is the single rule I will almost never (There are a few select times that are the exception, of course. See: Nazis.) advocate breaking. More than anything, it is important that we, as writers who are, one and all, humans first, remember kindness. Kindness to our readers, kindness to our colleagues, kindness to ourselves. 

BUT! As a writer of YA with a whole lot of romance, the following statement in particular, caught my attention. I want to leave you with this quote from Granny on the subject of teenage love.

"I have no patience with older people who attempt to laugh off their youngsters' love affairs with such terms as "puppy love," "infatuation" and the like. Love is love, and it is a matter of simple fact that boys and girls in their teens may fall in love as deeply, as seriously, and as devastatingly-- perhaps even as lastingly-- as when they are older"

Granny gets it.

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I got so excited about Brie Spangler's gorgeous YA debut, BEAST, that I accidentally ordered two copies! Rather than hording them both for myself (believe me, I was tempted!), I'm going to give one away! Check out the description below and enter to win a copy of BEAST!

Tall, meaty, muscle-bound, and hairier than most throw rugs, Dylan doesn’t look like your average fifteen-year-old, so, naturally, high school has not been kind to him. To make matters worse, on the day his school bans hats (his preferred camouflage), Dylan goes up on his roof only to fall and wake up in the hospital with a broken leg—and a mandate to attend group therapy for self-harmers.

Dylan vows to say nothing and zones out at therapy—until he meets Jamie. She’s funny, smart, and so stunning, even his womanizing best friend, JP, would be jealous. She’s also the first person to ever call Dylan out on his self-pitying and superficiality. As Jamie’s humanity and wisdom begin to rub off on Dylan, they become more than just friends. But there is something Dylan doesn’t know about Jamie, something she shared with the group the day he wasn’t listening. Something that shouldn’t change a thing. She is who she’s always been—an amazing photographer and devoted friend, who also happens to be transgender. But will Dylan see it that way?

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The thing I remember about the vigil I sat through my Iya’s final days is her fluttering hands. Her knob-knuckled, thin-skinned, white hands gathered pleats in the fabric of her sheet. Pleating and un-pleating in ceaseless, shaking industry.

Sometimes, that’s how my anxiety feels. Like my brain won’t stop folding and unfolding problems, working through the dark hours of my sleepless nights to find just the right angle of some imagined thing that I’ve done wrong that will needle at me until I collapse in a heap of tears and self-loathing.

My maternal grandfather died while I was in Korea, and the anxious, black grief I felt in the months after his death felt like a hole I’d never be able to climb out of.

I’d experienced depression before. In college, depression had been a blank hole of wandering aimlessly through my days. It was a disconnection from my feelings rather than an overwhelming sadness.

After Pop died, I fell into sadness and panic like it was a bottomless pit. I imagined that it would have been easier if I’d been able to say goodbye. In the throes of blind panic after spending a day in the press of bodies in Seoul, I thought that if I’d just been able to get back to the States for his funeral, I wouldn’t be such a mess. I searched desperately for any strand of reason that I could grasp.

I did, eventually, climb out of that hole. Writing helped. Finding the joy that comes from following a thread of a story from kernel to novel and then untangling the mess of a first draft helped my brain slowly find its way back to itself.

I wasn’t prepared for the blackness to settle itself around my neck again after Iya passed. In retrospect, I should have geared up for it. I should have had a plan. Coulda, shoulda, woulda.

My life was GOOD. My incredible boyfriend loved and supported me, and he didn’t mind that I spent most weekends holed up in my office working on my novel. And the novel! I’d revised it into something that was garnering some serious interest from agents, a dream come true. I had a brand new job that I loved. I kept repeating it like a mantra. Life is good. You are lucky. Like the fact that life was good should have somehow protected me from grief and depression and anxiety.

That ain’t how it works. Every night when I went to bed, I was plagued by an endless list of my faults. You’re mean. You’re petty. You’re self-involved and a terrible writer. You don’t work out enough. You should eat less. You’d be better if you were skinnier. You don’t spend enough time with your friends. You don’t do enough for your family. Your boyfriend could do better than you, you pathetic, spineless, piece of shit. Piece of shit. Piece of shit. Over and over and over until the only thing I could do was weep into my boyfriend’s arms while he played Steven Universe for me and petted my hair.

I don’t know why I was so afraid to get help, but making a phone call to a therapist seemed like the most impossible thing in the world. Even with mental health professionals for parents, even knowing that I desperately needed help, I couldn’t force myself to make that call.

It wasn’t until my parents came for a visit last fall and I broke down in pointless, heartbroken sobs in my living room that I knew I had to get help. It took nearly another month for me to manage to force myself to call and make an appointment, and longer still to claw my way through my own fear and go to my appointments. To meet with a psychiatrist and talk about medication. To find a routine and learn a bevy of coping mechanisms to help me through my most anxious days.

And despite everything I now know, despite all of the tools I’ve added to my arsenal, that ugly little voice still finds its way into my skull from time to time. Because this is an illness. A disease.

All of my wildest dreams have come true. My boyfriend is now my husband. My book and its sequel are going to be real, published books I can hold in my hands. I have a gorgeous house, and more books than I have hours to read and food in my kitchen. Life is good.

And I still have anxiety. And that’s okay. Because now when I start beating myself up, I think of Iya, teaching me to pleat tulle to make a tutu when I was a little girl, and of the way that our bodies remember those gestures. And I remind myself to practice the gestures I want to remember. I remind myself to be kind. And sometimes it helps. And when it doesn’t, there’s always Steven Universe.

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THANK YOU, BEYONCÉ!

It will come as no great surprise that I am grateful to Beyoncé for the role she played in my journey toward becoming a published author.

But, if I'm going to be totally honest, I owe E.L. James a pretty big high five too.

This is the only acceptable gif from that movie... 

It was about this time last year that I stumbled across a Fifty Shades of Grey live tweet and -- I am not even exaggerating because seriously -- my life changed forever. AND NOT BECAUSE OF THE REALLY EXCELLENT MOVIE I WATCHED THAT NIGHT OR THE WITTY COMMENTARY THAT BURST FORTH FROM MY BRAIN.

I got to know a bunch of wonderful people during that goofy, snarky live tweet, including my inimitable agent, Brent Taylor.

See, at that point, I’d just barely dipped my novel into the shark-filled query waters, and I'd been following Brent on Twitter for quite some time. In fact, Brent was the first agent to request THE DIMINISHED, and he was also the first person to reject it. Eep. But we had a blast and really connected during the live tweet of Fifty Shades of Grey.

We have fun.

Fast forward to June, a wonderful agent requested an exclusive R&R (revise and resubmit) of THE DIMINISHED. The word “exclusive” made me feel just a little squirrely, so I reached out to Brent for some advice. He encouraged me to do the revision, giving me the push I needed to dive back into my manuscript and do the hard work the book required. Brent was agenting me before he was my agent. We were meant to be.

Said agent didn’t fall as in love with my revision as we’d both hoped. I was pretty crushed, but I managed to pull myself together and started sending out my revision. I was still super proud of the work I'd done on the book, and I felt confident that THE DIMINISHED would find its home. 

On the advice of a good friend, I re-queried Brent. There was just something about him that made me think we’d work really well together. I spent an embarrassingly long time picking out the perfect gif to include in my email to Brent.

In what seemed like no time at all, Brent had made an offer, I’d let the other agents who had my manuscript know, and I gave them a deadline of a week to make their decisions. That was also the week that my boyfriend and I bought our first home. Big stuff going on, guys. Big, exciting life stuff.

One of the best things to come out of that really hard week of waiting for all the agents to respond were the friendships I forged with some of the other writers at Triada and a number of other agencies. It was so incredible to see the generosity of time, advice, and friendship that is so present in our community. I strive to be as wonderful as the writers who've supported me through this process. 

I made this sweatshirt with spraypaint. I am a CLASS ACT.

A week after Brent made his offer I signed the agency contract in our new kitchen. Two weeks after that, Cody and I got engaged. Holy bananas, that was a whirlwind of a month.

When the dust settled, Brent and I got to work on THE DIMINISHED. It took a couple of months of contemplation and furious revision to get the manuscript to a place where we felt confident going out on submission.

Being on submission was a super fun time*, and I will be eternally grateful to Cody, my friends, and Brent for keeping me sane while we were out.

When we were on submission, my heart rate jumped about 20 beats per minute every time the phone rang, so I changed Brent’s ringtone to FORMATION. I figured it might help to KNOW it was Brent calling. Beyoncé was the obvious choice. 

I was in a very serious work meeting when my phone blared “I got hot sauce in my bag, SWAG.” 

I make excellent choices, y'all.

We’d gotten word that the wonderful Lauren Smulski at Harlequin Teen had made an offer on THE DIMINISHED. I definitely didn't sob into Brent's ear over the phone or anything. I was over the damn moon. (And by "over the damn moon" I mean actually weeping for joy for literal days.)

I signed the contract with Harlequin two days before I married Cody at my parents’ house.

SO. Long story short, This is how you get a book deal. You find the perfect Beyoncé gif. The End.

In all seriousness, I’m pleased as punch to be represented by the extraordinary Brent Taylor of Triada US Literary Agency.

And I cannot wait for you to read my novel, THE DIMINISHED, which will be published by Harlequin Teen in Spring 2018, followed by its as yet unnamed sequel in Spring 2019.

MEGA SQUEE. What a year!

*Read: EXCEEDINGLY STRESSFUL AND A GREAT TIME TO PLAN A WEDDING… 

As I've launched my novel, The Diminished, into the query trenches, I've been keeping myself extraordinarily busy. In addition to my full time job, I've been working with Raina, my horsey project, and picking up all the catering gigs I can manage. 

Last weekend I helped out at an engagement party and ended up frying up platter after platter of arancini, fried balls of risotto, which we served over tomato basil cream. The guests loved them, and I ate more than my fair share. Testing, you know? (I also ended up "testing" an inhuman amount of Humbolt Fog, the best blue cheese I've ever eaten.)

In honor of keeping busy, and because all that busy has meant I haven't had time to cook for this blog in a while, a recipe for arancini.

Arancini2 cups leftover risotto (see here, here, or here)1 cup flour1 cup panko bread crumbs, finely ground3 eggs2 tablespoons of watervegetable oil for frying

Allow risotto to cool overnight. Heat oil in a deep pan or heavy pot (I used cast iron) to around 375-380 degrees Fahrenheit. 

Place flour, panko, and eggs in three separate shallow dishes for dredging. Season the flour and the panko with salt and pepper to taste. Beat eggs with water.

Working in batches, roll risotto into roughly 1.5" balls, then dredge them in flour, then egg, then breadcrumbs, and fry for 4-7 minutes, until golden brown. Drain on a paper towel and serve with a tomato-based sauce. (We added cream, grated garlic, and basil to a marinara and called it a day. It was delicious.) Top with chopped basil.

 

In addition to all the writing and reading I do, I also spend a whole lot of time at the barn. This sweet-faced lady has recently won a place in my heart. She's a 14 year old Hanoverian mare, and she's had 12 (12!!!!) babies. My trainer and I are working on getting her in shape and used to having people on her back.

Riding is my first love. It's really good for my anxious brain to have so many things to focus on OTHER than my own brain and anxiety. While I'm on a horse I'm thinking about my hands and my seat and rhythm and what each part of my leg is doing. It's remarkably soothing. 

Hopefully, we'll get Raina in good shape soon, and I'll post some video.

Revision Water Recipe:Take one book in need of final revisions. Add an arbitrary deadline, very close. Sit down to work.Paint nails instead. Decide to get to work, smudge nails.Remove nail polish, whisk in a touch of anxiety.Get back to work. Revise a chapter.Get up to get water.Decide plain water will not fuel the creative juices. Slice one Cara Cara orange, considering all the while if you like them so much because they make you think of Sons of Anarchy. Fill one very large jar with ice and orange slices. Shake.Add chia seeds, just for fun.Search for a straw.Wash iced coffee straw from the morning. Decide to wash all the dishes.Get back to work.Revise three pages.Write a blog post.

GET BACK TO WORK, KAITLYN.

I'm hard at work revising my novel in order to meet my goal (I'd like to be finished with this revision and send it to my beta readers by Easter). You Are What You Read will return (with Tres Leches cake and a review of FANGIRL by the inimitable Rainbow Rowell!) in two weeks. 

Until then, enjoy this picture of my sweet dog, Jackson.

You Are What You Read is a bi-weekly series that combines my two favorite activities: cooking and reading. Today's book is Graceling by Kristin Cashore.

Once again, I find myself totally enamored with a fierce YA heroine. Katsa is Graced. She was born with exceptional fighting abilities, and, like the rest of those who are Graced, her eyes are two different colors. Unfortunately for Katsa, her Grace has made her very useful to her King, a vicious man who uses her as a way to keep his nobles in line. 

Katsa is enchanting, but what really made me fall in love with this story was the supporting cast. Katsa's cousin, Prince Raffin, is insightful and amusing. Po, our leading man, is charming and patient beyond reckoning. And sweet Bitterblue, who we meet later in the story, is darling and fierce in her own right. I loved being so fully immersed in the world of Graceling, and I'll certainly go back and read the next two books set in Cashore's world. 

Here's the throwaway line that inspired today's post, "He was muddy and smelled like horses. 'Did we get here in time for the food?' he asked. 'The invitation said something about pie, and I'm starving.'" So in honor of Graceling and Cashore's whole wonderful world, Bitterblue(berry) Pie.

Bitterblue(berry) Pie
two pie crusts (I followed this recipe to the letter.)4-5 pints of fresh blueberriesthe zest and juice of one medium sized lemon1 cup sugar3 tablespoons instant tapioca, ground1 teaspoon vanilla bean paste or vanilla extract
1 large egg, beaten with 1/4 cup water

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

Set a medium sized saucepan over medium heat and add half the blueberries. Mash to release the juices, leaving about half the berries whole. Cook, stirring and mashing occasionally until the berries release most of their juice and that juice has reduced by half, 12 to 15 minutes. Set aside to cool.

Combine the rest of the ingredients in a large bowl, reserving tapioca. When the mashed blueberries are cool enough to touch without burning yourself (Be patient! Or don't, and burn yourself like I did.) stir them into the rest of the ingredients and add the tapioca. 

Dump the contents of the bowl into the piecrust you've placed in a pie tin, mounding in the center. Cover with remaining crust, either in a lattice pattern, or whole, with vents cut into the center. Press the edges together and cut away excess crust with kitchen shears. Brush with egg wash and sprinkle with sugar. Bake for 45 minutes to an hour, until the contents are bubbling and the crust is golden. (A tip! Cover the edges of the pie with tin foil in order to prevent burning.)

Wait 4 hours for pie to completely cool. Read Graceling in that time and the hours are sure to fly by.

My blog series combines my two favorite activities: cooking and reading. Today's book is The Queen of the Tearling by Erika Johansen

I fell in love with Erika Johansen's The Queen of the Tearling on page one. Kelsea is an eminently relate-able character. She's tender and tough, confident and self-doubting, smart enough to know when to ask for help, and most importantly, so human she jumps off the page.

I love that Johansen's plot swells like a massive wave over the course of the novel. The Queen of the Tearling sinks the reader deeply into the world and explores the characters and their motivations, without giving away a drop more than is strictly necessary. You don't get to see the whole world in the first book, a fact that I adored, though I can see how some readers might be frustrated. 

I started reading this novel on a Sunday, and late in the afternoon on Monday I picked it back up, just meaning to read a few pages. All of a sudden it was two AM, and I had to get up in four hours, and I was near the end, and it was clear that the wave was about to crest, and the characters were going to see the consequences of their actions, and I just couldn't stop reading. Luckily, the next day was a snow day. Phew.

I can't stop talking about it. I've recommended it to everyone I've talked to for more than ten minutes since I read it. Literally. I recommended it to my eye doctor.

I love the fact that Johansen really thought about what Kelsea would be experiencing and didn't force the YA love triangle on the book. I love that the book really thinks about civic responsibility. I love that it picks apart what it means to be a good steward. I love that Kelsea's plain and that people in her world see her that way. I love that Johansen addresses the different problems caused by beauty and plainness. I really really loved how real this felt. I can't wait for the next one.

In the beginning of the book Kelsea had two meals that struck me for how much they did for the plot in terms of contrast. She eats stringy, overcooked venison with one group of people, and it serves to show how uncomfortable she feels. Later, she has more venison, this time delicious, with another group that makes her feel at home, despite the (relatively threatening) circumstances.

Red Wine Venison3-4 small venison steaks (6 oz. each)3 cups red wine (anything will do, really, as long as it isn't the "red cooking wine" you buy at the grocery store. I used Black Ink, which was honestly too drinkable and delicious to be used in a marinade. Next time I'll Bota Box it.)1/3 cup soy sauce1 big knob of ginger, peeled and sliced3 tablespoons bacon fat

Remove all the silverskin from your venison. (That's the thin layer of silver tissue that runs all over the muscle.) If you're buying from a reputable butcher, they should do this for you, but check any way. Definitely check if you've begged the meat off a friend whose husband went out into the forest and procured the deer. This will keep the meat from being too too gamey. It's a pretty easy technique to master, almost like removing the skin from a fish filet, but be sure your knives are sharp.

Combine the wine, soy sauce, and ginger in a bowl or container with a lid. Add the venison and marinate overnight.

Open the kitchen windows or doors and turn on the vent. Heat a large cast iron skillet over very high heat. Melt the bacon fat. Cook venison, turning often, until the meat reaches 125-130 degrees. Tender cuts of venison are best rare or medium rare at most. Take a note from Kelsea. Dry, stringy venison is no good.

Serve with a side of The Queen of the Tearling by Erika Johansen. No really. You're going to want to read this one.