Rachel Vail
Birth
I was born on July 25, 1966, in NEW YORK CITY, and grew up in New Rochelle, NY, with my mother, my father, and my younger brother Jon. (And down the street from my future husband, though of course I didn't know that until much later.)
Interests
Some details, I do know-I was very into reading and theater, so I read every book I could get my hands on (especially realistic fiction, either contemporary or historical) and took acting workshops and auditioned for every play in school, camp, or the community. I played Peter Pan, Miss Hannigan in Annie, Benny Southstreet in Guys and Dolls, the Scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz, and lots of extremely memorable chorus parts-for instance, I was "girl number two" in Fiddler on the Roof-the one who said "We heard about your sister, Chava". I didn't care -I just wanted to be on stage. Waiting backstage before curtain call, after giving my all in a performance, was the best feeling I knew. In seventh grade I started taking magic lessons, and by eighth grade I was making all my own spending money by performing at kids' birthday parties as a clown named Tallulah. I liked the freedom of wearing all that grease-paint-I could be as wacky and un-cool as I wanted. I tried dance but felt so clumsy. I faked a sprained ankle to get out of the recital. I took voice lessons which made me a little light-headed (and I was afraid of the voice teacher's growling, drooling Doberman) and both saxophone and piano, neither of which I ever practiced. I did well in school but started a lot of my work at the last minute, in a crazy mad dash, so that it was never late but there were usually careless errors or areas I had to fudge. I had this idea that to work hard at something was sort of a negative, an admission that I didn't have natural talent. If I wasn't going to be Mozart and have the music (or dance, or math, or social studies term paper, or whatever) channeled through me from God, then I was just embarrassing myself by all that workmanlike effort. I didn't get over that idea until after college, by the way.
Career Ambitions
I never really planned to be a writer. I planned to be a financial wizard after learning about option-spreading at age 10, then a poet after discovering Shakespeare at 11. After overhearing "the real power is held by the lobbyists" on a class trip to Albany, I planned to become a lobbyist. Secretly, of course I always imagined myself as an actress, but that didn't seem hard or important enough, and also I worried I wasn't naturally gifted enough.
Parents
My parents were always great. I liked to make them proud, and they trusted me and supported my efforts and interests, which was sometimes weirdly tough. There was so little for me to rebel against.
As a Kid
When people ask me what I was as a kid, I always feel like my answer is at best incomplete.What are you like, as a kid? I'm still trying to figure out what I'm like as an adult.
Socially
Well, things went in waves. Sometimes I felt very "in", very aware of and tied in to the whole scene, excited by who liked whom, all the gossip, some of it less than kind. Other times I felt so alone-like there was nobody like me, nobody who liked me, nobody to talk to. And much of the time it was somewhere in between. A best friend when I was lucky, and a few people in each crowd I liked and who liked me. I resisted being classified as a brain or a jock or alternative or popular-too limiting. I would have to shut down too many parts of myself to be just one type.
Adolescence
I went through a very intense stage in middle school (Junior High). I worried about being too ordinary. I also worried about being too weird. I also worried about changing states of matter, my inability to be morally certain, ignorance (my own and world-wide), and making a fool of myself.
http://us.macmillan.com/author/rachel...
“Bruises on the soul hurt even more than bruises on the leg and take longer to heal. Maybe the trick is to try to avoid smashing into stuff so much. And then to be kind to ourselves as we slowly heal.”
“You can't own your victories if you won't admit your failures.”
“I don't care who kissed you first, as long as I kissed you last - George (If we kiss)”
“Love makes us stupid, sometimes.”
“I am a pacifist, danm it! And now I'm bleeding. What is wrong with you, you sick sicko?”
“I have standards. Well, okay, they're love standards, but I have them.”
“Please, we're in high school. Hook up and move on.”
“Sometimes sluttiness is a sign of intense longing.”
“Sorry," I said..."Sorry for what?" He glanced over at me."For whatever I did wrong," I said."Did you do something?"I shrugged, "Why are you not talking to me?""I'm just driving." He moved his hand from the gearshift onto my leg. "Do you like snowmobiling?""I love it," I said.He shot me a look. "Have you ever gone snowmobiling before?""No," I said.He smiled. God, I hate his smile, I love it so much.”
“It's just one of those things, like some people don't sink when they go in the pool, some know how to throw a ball so it goes toward the person holding the mitt. I have no idea how people do those things; I'm good at schoolwork. That works out well because it frees up my time for my hobbies, like lying on the couch eating M&M's.”
“Pushing Carson back out of the door, I grabbed my jacket off the hook and shoved my feet into the great old clogs that my poor podiatrist father wants outlawed."Don't you want to change or something?" Mom called after me."She'll never change," Carson answered, and followed me down the steps.I settled myself into the passenger seat and buckled up as he back out of the driveway. "Your arches are falling?""Turns out I am deeply flawed," I admitted.”
“Do you think we're being robbed?" I whispered.He nodded gravely, then crawled over to my closet and opened it."Did you want to borrow something more formal to wear for the robbery? I'm not sure I have anything in your size.""Shh," he whispered. "Don't you at least have a tennis racket or anything?""You think they came here looking for a doubles partner?"He turned quickly and gave me a look, then whipped a Wiffle bat out of the mess."Wow," I said. "You jock-type people really are single-minded, aren't you? Uh-oh, we're being robbed. Let's play ball!""It's for a weapon," Carson whispered."You're gonna hit them with a Wiffle bat?""What else you got?""Um...A pillow""Exactly" ... "Stay behind me," he whispered."Can I just say that I never knew this about me before, but weirdly enough this whole protective he-man thing actually turns me on.""Josie.""What," I asked."Shut Up."I grabbed my pillow, just in case, so to speak, and tiptoed behind him around the mussed-up bed. "Maybe we should just hide in the closet."He turned around, rolled his eyes and kissed me. "Shh," he repeated.”
“Come on Josie." He leaned closer and whispered in my ear, "I really want you there.""Yeah?" I asked, slamming my locker shut. "And do you always get what you want?""Yes," he said.”
“I shoved him off the snowmobile. He landed on his back in the snow. "Love is a brat, you think? No, love id fine. You are the brat, you spoiled, rotten brat!”
“I smashed his hand as hard as I could with the Wiffle bat."Ow!" he screamed.Carson was rubbing his red palm, inspecting it for damage. "That hurt," he shrieked. "You really hurt me.""Right back at you," I said. "Good-bye Carson."He frowned, massaging his hand, the big baby. "I just wanted to end this nicely.""Yeah?" I cocked the bat up to hit him again. "Well, this time you don't get what you want.”
“You planning top kill me with a Wiffle bat?" [Carson asked]"Yeah.""Why?" he asked.The bat was shaking in my tight grip. "Because I don't have my Minnie Mouse pillow.”
“I dont care who kissed you first as long as I kiss you last.”
“I didn't care who kissed you first as long as I kissed you last.”