Stalker Chronicles author breaks down High School
I grew up in a small upstate New York town—not entirely unlike the one in my first novel, The Stalker Chronicles—so I’ve always been fascinated by the things we small towners do to pass the time. In Jamestown, as teenagers, my friends (oh, let’s be honest, my two friends and I) drove around aimlessly, gossiped constantly, and ate daily at either Perkin’s or The Taco Hut. The eating and the driving were really just excuses for gossiping, so sometimes I think all I did when I was a teenager was talk about other people, and hope and pray that somewhere, someone, hopefully in the next booth over, was talking about me. Like most Americans, and any woman who spent any time in a high school, I know a lot about gossip. High schools are kind of like small towns anyway—the bad food, the petty intrigues, and the small spaces. Also, I read Us magazine, which makes me a total, um, expert.
If you were at all like me in high school (and I certainly hope to spare you that humiliation), you spent a lot of time being either made fun of or flat out ignored. I was tormented for having a bad perm, for playing the clarinet, for falling off of a rope in gym class, and for revealing that I liked a certain guy—you know, your usual high school stuff. But the powerful, beautiful people mostly ignored me—in my school they were football players, football cheerleaders, starting basketball players, one rich tennis champion, and two or three girls from the swim team. Aside from these occasional moments of torment I often felt invisible.
So when I started to think about the protagonist of my first young adult novel, Cammie Bliss, I realized I was interested in the intersection of the highly visible and the totally ignored. Cammie, who is defined almost entirely by her reputation as a “stalker”—someone who is relentless in her pursuit of love, who continuously humiliates and embarrasses herself to get the attention of boys, and who routinely goes “too far”—feels both very visible and of totally no consequence. The head cheerleader, Kristi Day, whispers something about her when she passes in the cafeteria, but it’s a second in a cheerleader’s life, a throwaway moment. It’s not like she really sees Cammie, and yet she gets something right. Cammie feels this—and she wants it to change. She wants to be known for the right reasons, so when a new boy moves to town—Toby—she thinks she has a shot at becoming a better person.
I am also really interested in embarrassment. I wrote my dissertation about Seventeen magazine, which is basically a catalogue/history of embarrassment for girls—both self-inflicted and culture-induced. I think we’re all too hung up on feeling embarrassed all of the time about the stuff we do—having periods, going swimming, talking to people we think are cute, wearing clothes, stalking on Facebook—so I wanted to write a book about a girl who is pretty comfortable humiliating herself, who maybe has a bit of a humiliation addiction.








by Caragh M. O’Brien
By Andy Marino





















