A Tribute to Ned Vizzini

                On March 24, 2010, I attended the Teen Author Carnival (TAC) in NYC with two friends.  I promised to write about the experience shortly after, but never followed up.  It was at the TAC where I met Ned Vizzini, and it was an encounter that really touched my heart.

                The TAC, hosted by the Jefferson Market Library, brings young adult genre authors together for Q&A sessions and book signings, all for free.  My friend, Sandy (who I have mentioned many times on this blog) had heard about it and invited me and our other friend to go with her.  We boarded the train to the city and eventually found our destination (we are far from good navigators).  The event was split into several Q&As, all occurring simultaneously.  From what I remember, you could attend panels on paranormal romance, fantasy/sci-fi, or “realistic” fiction.  It was set up so that you could essentially attend every session—they each ran three or four times; I don’t remember for sure.  We attended two panels, listening to YA authors discussing their new books, their writing processes, and their favorite characters.  They took questions from the audience, and there were giveaways.

                After those two sessions, we prepared for our third, which was the “realistic” fiction panel (for lack of better description).  This is the one I was most excited about.  Prior to attending the TAC, I had perused the attendee list, looking for favorite authors.  I found Tonya Hurley, who I had met while working at Barnes & Noble when she came for a book signing; Barry Lyga, author of Fanboy and Goth Girl; and Ned Vizzini, whose novel, It’s Kind of a Funny Story, I had just recently finished and loved.  I had heard of many of the others, but these three piqued my interest the most.  In my head, I had decided that if they had new books for sale, I would buy them, and seek their autographs.

                When we headed in for our third panel, I did not know what to expect.  One of the women helping to run the event told everyone that, if we posed any questions to the authors (whether to one in particular or to all of them collectively), we were allowed to take a book from the cart—all ARCs or finished copies of their books.  I looked over at my friends—I knew that I was going to ask a question.  This was my chance to interact with some great writers.  Both Barry Lyga and Ned Vizzini were sitting at the table.  I began brainstorming for a good question.

                A favorite author of mine, Diana Wynne Jones, came to mind.  I thought of her writing process.  I had read somewhere that she started writing once she had several major plot points planned out.  I figured I’d go with a question relating to that.  I raised my hand, and when my turn came, I asked, “How do you all start writing?  Do you just sit down and see what you come up with, or do you wait until you have a few set scenes planned out?”  I got a few blank stares, until one of the authors (it may have been Lauren Oliver) asked, “Did you say sex scenes?”  We all laughed.  I felt my face go red, even though I also thought it was funny.  “No; I tend to mumble—set scenes!”  I remembered to enunciate properly.  I had posed the question to everyone on the panel, and we all got a nice glimpse into the minds of these great storytellers.  Soon enough, we moved on to other questions and the panel was over.  The woman from the beginning of the panel reminded us to come up to the cart to take a book.  I walked up, thinking that I would take something by either Barry or Ned, when my eyes rested on a copy of Be More Chill (a Ned creation), and I claimed it as mine.  All smiles, I walked back to my friends and we hung around the room’s entrance.  We were all giddy about my question, my new book (which was pretty worn-looking, actually), and the day’s events in general.  The whole thing was very cool!

                While we were still chatting at the door, someone walked toward us and interrupted our conversation.  It was Ned Vizzini.  He asked, “Have any of you seen my book?  It was my personal copy; I think they put it on the cart by mistake.”  I looked at the book in my hands—this was his copy of Be More Chill.  I offered it to him, explaining that I took it from the cart, but I was glad to give it back (his personal copy!).  He looked at me and the book, and then said, “No, I want you to keep it.  I’ll sign it for you.”

                As you can imagine, I was in disbelief.  I had freely offered his book back to him and he was going to let me keep it!  I handed it over, and he personalized it for me (Maeghan- I’m sure you don’t need a squip!), telling me about this particular copy.  Not only did he bring it with him to do readings at events, but he had also been writing notes in it for a screenplay.  Before he had signed it, knowing this information, I offered it again… but he insisted I hold onto it.

I had my copy of It’s Kind of a Funny Story on me as well, and I asked him if he would sign it, too.  This, being the book that introduced me to his writing, holds a very special place on my shelf and in my heart.  I remember how I came across it.  I was working in the children’s department, and found a stack of hardcovers in light green with a map on the cover.  I thought it looked interesting, so I picked one up and perused it.  It was discounted, so I decided that I would buy it once my shift was over.  I wanted to know what exactly made it a funny story.  I remember that for the next few days I spent reading it, I felt comforted.  I had not experienced the depression Craig faced myself, but I had witnessed the effects of mental illness on family members and friends.  I felt a strong connection to the story, even though I had never been to a psych ward.  I felt for Craig and the friends he made.  I felt for his family.  I remember finishing the book, smiling, because it made me hopeful.  I loved this book.  I love it still.

I had hoped Ned would sign this for me at the TAC, but I could never imagine the events that led to it.  In the last few years, when I have felt down on myself, or had worried for others, I would take out my copy of IKoaFS, and look at his message: Rock on, be strong.  It is always comforting.

I told him that this was the book that introduced me to his work.  He told me about the movie that was being made, based on the book.  He told me about Keir Gilchrist, who was to play Craig, and how thrilled he was that he was cast in the role.  He told me about The United States of Tara, a show that I had never heard of, but that Keir was in, and got me so excited for the movie’s release.  It was slated for that September.  I decided, in that moment, that I would go see it, even if it wasn’t at a local theater.  A limited release would not limit my enthusiasm.  I promised that I would see it.

We parted ways, and Ned told me to find and add him on Facebook (which I did as soon as we all got back home).  I spent the rest of the event in mild euphoria, having just had one of the best experiences of my life, with an author that I really admired.  When the book signings started, I let others enjoy their time with Ned while I introduced myself to different writers.  Barry Lyga signed my copy of Fanboy and Goth Girl, while I babbled in an appropriately fangirly way about how his book got me interested in comics, and he complimented me on the spelling of my name.  I gave him permission to use it in a future book, laughing, not thinking that he would eventually write a series about serial killers.  We chatted at length with Violet Haberdasher (known to some as Robyn Schneider), who Sandy was anxious to talk to, and the rest of our night was really wonderful.  I could not have asked for a better day in the city.

Later, I found Ned on Facebook.  He didn’t have a fan page at the time, just his personal profile.  I sent a friend request, not really knowing what would come of it.  He added me back, and when he did, I was thrilled again.  I posted on his wall:

 It was so great to meet you at the carnival yesterday. It really meant a lot to me! :) Really looking forward to the movie in September! I will definitely go. Also, I saw the actor that is playing Craig--awesome! :D

He replied:

Thanks a lot. Really glad you had a good time and that you will be seeing the film!

It’s the little things that make us happy, right?

I posted another message on his wall when I saw the movie a few months later.  I just wanted to show my support.  I brought my parents, after conveying so much excitement for it.  They knew about my experience at the TAC.  They were good sports about going to a movie they hardly knew anything about, because they knew I was so into it.  I wanted to share the experience with them, with everyone.

Now we are approaching 2014, nearly four years after I met Ned.  Since meeting him in NYC that day, I have moved around a lot.  I lived in France for a study abroad, moved back, finished up my bachelor’s degrees, and moved to California.  I realized that Ned lived in Los Angeles (not close to where I was), and had a new book coming out—The Other Normals.  I hoped that I would meet him again at an event on the west coast, so that I could tell him that I still had his copy of Be More Chill, and how much it all meant to me.  Unfortunately, I moved back to New York before I could get the chance.  I still hoped that I would meet him again someday.

By this time, my experience with depression and mental illness had become more personal.  I was far away from my friends and family, and I have dealt with anxiety for many years.  Those months in California were difficult for me at times, and it became hard for me to communicate with people back home, since I felt like I had more troublesome feelings to share than good.  Certain family members of mine were going through hardships as well, making tough life decisions and seeking therapy for their own problems.  I would think of Ned’s book, and his advocacy for those who suffered with these issues.  IKoaFS had touched me, and it seemed as though Ned’s work would stay with me forever.

When I came back to New York, I tried to piece my life back together.  Some relationships were hard to mend, and I was still feeling very troubled.  You get into these cycles (much like Craig and his swirling thoughts), and it becomes very difficult to break free of them.   I had seen a counselor for a while during my last year of school, when my anxiety became difficult to manage, but I obviously had to stop going when I moved.  I had planned on finding a new therapist in California, but I never got around to it, due to finances and lack of transportation.  I probably could have tried harder to make it work, but I suppose we all reach a certain point where it doesn’t seem possible to make the commitment.  I had no idea where to go and I didn’t have a reliable way to get there, anyway.

I began working again, which made a huge difference in my well-being, and I could relax.  I spent time with the friends I had left behind.  I reconnected with estranged family members.  I felt that this was essential.  I wasn’t ready to move again, so I finally applied to graduate school so I could pursue my dream of becoming a children’s librarian.  I was trying to figure myself out.

I started school and immediately loved it.  I had missed working hard, and I missed learning.  Shortly after my studies began, however, someone very close to me was hospitalized in a psych ward nearby.  I made every effort to be there for him, going out of my way to visit as often as visiting hours allowed, despite my workload.  Having read Ned’s book, I felt like I was better prepared for this.  I was blown away by how similar the experience was.  Music class, art therapy, movie nights—it was comforting to know that it didn’t have to be scary.  I was confident that he would come out of it okay.

I had already recommended IKoaFS to someone else close to me, and I made the same recommendation after this.  This book had a special meaning to me, and I wanted others to feel its power, too.  After this directly-impacting experience, I wanted to get in touch with Ned again, somehow, and let him know just how much reading his book helped me, and how it was going to help others I knew.  I wanted to tell him how grateful I was that he had written this book, as well as his other works, and how much he inspired me.  I truly admired Ned and what he brought to this world.  I still do.

When I finished my final exams earlier this week, I was overjoyed to be done.  I worked very hard, and I was looking forward to some rest.  I was very stressed out, for various reasons, but I also had a lot to be happy about.  I had two job interviews, was getting good grades, and overall felt so empowered.  I got home from my exams on Thursday night, and watched some TV with my parents.  I began playing with my phone, and pulled up Facebook.  I scrolled through the updates until I came to a chilling post from one of Ned’s friends to his page.  My heart thumped—this post didn’t specifically say that Ned had died, so I hoped that I was reading too much into it.  Perhaps he decided to retire from writing, or something like that.  I clicked ahead, onto his profile, and was horrified to find that others had posted somber messages as well.  All over his page were messages of sympathy, to rest in peace, and exclamations of pure disbelief.  I immediately began to cry.  It was just speculation, and I hoped it was all just a terrible joke.  No one could find any proof that Ned was really gone.  We only had the word of others that he was dead.

I get anxious over things like coincidences.  It struck me hard, reading all of these messages from others, when I had finally followed him on Twitter a few days prior.  I felt like my last recommendation for It’s Kind of a Funny Story was so recent.  Hadn’t I just recounted the tale of how I met Ned at the TAC to a visiting friend?  I felt sick to my stomach, thinking that it might be true.  It made me feel awful, finding this information when he was on my mind over the last few days.  I know that you can’t predict these things, and coincidences are just that—coincidences—but it did not make me feel any better.

My mom knew how much this upset me.  She knew what Ned Vizzini meant to me.  She told me that it was just a rumor.  It’s the Internet—I don’t know any of those people, and I don’t know what would make someone spread a possibly false story about this man.  After several unsuccessful Google searches for any confirmations, and many refreshes to Ned’s profile, I went to bed, hoping that when I woke up, it would all have been an elaborate lie.

In the afternoon, my mom called me to say that it wasn’t true.  She had looked earlier and found no confirmation.  I ended up looking a few minutes later, and the top three results for Ned’s name were obituaries from a few news sources.  I was devastated.

You never want your heroes to be broken.  You never want them gone.  The news of Ned Vizzini’s death has left me with such sadness, confusion, and regret.  I wish that I had written to him, to tell him everything I have just told you.  I wish that I had told him, again, how much his work meant to me, and that he inspired me.  It hurts me to know that this wonderful man that I met nearly four years ago is gone, and I will never have the opportunity to talk to him again.  I will never get to experience the scenario I created in my head, where I am talking to him at another book event, laughing about the TAC and how I still have his copy of Be More Chill.  I will never get to show him the copy again, and perhaps offer it back to him.

I will miss Ned Vizzini.  I will forever cherish my memory of him, and I will always remember his kindness.  He gave me something very special that day in NYC, and I will always be grateful for it.  I am so saddened by this news, but I can only imagine what his wife is going through.  I can only imagine how confused his son must be.  I can only imagine what his family and friends are experiencing now.  I wish them all strength, and hope that they are remembering all of the wonderful things that Ned brought to their lives.

Rest in peace, Ned.  Thank you for everything.