Amy Hill Hearth

While my historical novel, Silent Came the Monster, is the story of the infamous 1916 Jersey Shore shark attacks, the focus is on the people whose lives were impacted by the shark in some way, with an emphasis on resilience, love, grief - and tremendous courage.

Imagine this real-life scene as described by multiple witnesses in Beach Haven, the site of the first attack: Lifeguards and bystanders raced into the surf to pull a swimmer from the jaws of a terrifying "sea monster." Since it was widely believed, even by scientists, that "man-eating" sharks didn't swim in the waters off New Jersey or New York at all, witnesses were not only terrified, they were bewildered. Not knowing what the creature was, I'm sure, made it that much scarier.

The lifeguards were young, just as they often are today. And yet, they didn't hesitate for a second. Neither did the wealthy gentlemen from Philadelphia, many of them dressed in formal dinner clothes, who realized something terrible was happening. The lifeguards, hanging onto the victim by his arms, were joined by the gentlemen, and together they created a human chain as they tried with all their might to keep the victim from being pulled beneath the waves.

It was man – or men – against beast.

When I read the accounts of this tragic event and the others that followed as the shark moved up the coast, I was moved to tears by these extraordinary demonstrations of selflessness and bravery. This is why I dedicated the book to "the rescuers, lifeguards, and heroes who rush toward danger at their own peril. You represent the best of humankind."

I want them to be remembered.

When terrible things happen, there are always those brave souls who risk it all. I'm reminded of the police and firefighters who rushed into the World Trade Center towers on 9-11, or the stories my dad told me about his buddies in World War II when they were in the Army overseas.

Sometimes it seems as if the world is filled with evil people who care nothing about the well-being of others. And yet, the good folks are all around us, like angels.

 

 

They were smart. Wise. Intuitive. Their stories from long ago were riveting and historically significant.

  

But what seemed to draw readers to Sadie and Bessie Delany, the late centenarian pair of sisters of Having Our Say fame, was the fact that they were utterly charming and completely genuine. In a society in which people are accustomed to artifice and manipulation, the Delany Sisters were a shock. In telling their story, they had no agenda, and readers could sense it immediately.

 

The day I met them in 1991, they were 100 and 102 years old, and I was a 33-year-old newspaper reporter. Talking to them was like time-travel. They reached back into the past with ease, and took me with them.    

 

They blew me away.

 

I was captivated by the way they interacted with one another, sister to sister, after living together for a century. When I got home that evening, the first thing I did was call my own sister, who is a year and a half older. I couldn't wait to tell her about the pair of centenarian sisters I had met that day, and how they were still giggling and quarreling about things that had happened a century ago when they were little girls. 

 

This was, I told my own sister, the sweetest thing I've ever witnessed.

 

It is this sweetness, this unvarnished charm, that flows through the book. I made sure to include it all. I didn't want the book to come across as too reverent which to me meant stale. I wanted readers to know what it felt like to be in my shoes while I observed them puttering in the kitchen, or listening from "my" chair in the parlor or at the dining room table. Happily, the sisters liked my approach. When I suggested that the book be a work of oral history rather than a third-person biography, they agreed to that as well. To me, the words they chose to tell their stories were as important as the stories themselves.

 

And so, Having Our Say is peppered with endearing expressions and anecdotes. The sisters, for example, referred to themselves quaintly as "maiden ladies," a term I had heard perhaps one other time in my life. When I asked the name of their cat, they explained cheerfully, "We call him Mr. Delany since we don't have a man in the house." When asked why they thought they had lived so long, they replied: "It's because we never married. We never had husbands to worry us to death!" And then they shrieked with laughter at their own joke. 

 

I could go on....and on. But it's all in the book for you to read, anyway. You'll learn a great deal of American history from the book. You'll see flashes of anger and sorrow as they tell their stories. You'll be appalled at some of it. But most of all, when you reach the last page, you'll realize you've fallen in love with the Delany Sisters.  

 

I'm known for taking risks as a writer and trying new genres, but my next book is a leap even for me.

 

It's a historical thriller called SILENT CAME THE MONSTER: A Novel of the 1916 Jersey Shore Shark Attacks.

 

Writing it was how I processed the fear, confusion, and unknown we all experienced during the Covid-19 pandemic lockdown.

 

Here's a quick summary: During the summer of 1916, a surgeon at the Jersey Shore fights denial, conspiracy theories, defiance, and confusion in a desperate attempt to convince a skeptical public that the culprit behind a series of fatal attacks is a shark, not a huge sea turtle or German U-boat, and that it will strike again. Inspired by a series of true events.

 

The book deal was made by William Morris Endeavor Entertainment, my literary agency since 1991, with the fabulous Blackstone Publishing, long famous for audio but, since 2016, also publishing paper and ebooks. I am enjoying working with them.

 

I'm a little nervous as well as excited about the book, which is so far out of my comfort zone that I considered not showing it to my agent. I thought of it as an experiment and a way to deal with those grim days of the lockdown. But curiosity led me to send it to my agent after all, just to get his reaction, and he thought he could sell it. So here we are.

 

The book can be pre-ordered at your favorite locally-owned bookshop or any online store.

I'm a born writer, and there was no greater proof than the way I reacted to the global pandemic. I didn't think twice. I didn't hesitate. I went into my home office and started to write.

 

No, I didn't write about the pandemic itself. My topic is an entirely different one. I don't feel as if I chose the subject as much as it chose me. It's what I wanted or needed to write, so I did.

 

That said, the idea was rattling around in my head for a long time. I'm an "ideas" person, but being in lockdown with my husband and our dog put my mind into overdrive.

 

I wrote day and night and the result is that just one year later, I have completed a polished, five-hundred page manuscript. Everyone has had their own way to deal with stress; this was mine.

  

I missed a pug named Audrey. Boston Terriers named Wonder, Lexi, Luna, Jax, and more. Beloved cats named Quentin and Benny.

 

I missed travel photos from my friends on vacation.

 

I missed photos of babies and old folks, newly-engaged couples, and family reunions.

 

I did not miss political posts. I did not miss angry or "negative" people. I did not miss toxic people who use Facebook as a place to vent all the time.

 

I did succeed in writing a lot more, which was my goal. It's hard enough to be a writer with all of the turbulence and distractions of this world. Add Facebook to the mix and it can be hard to stay focused.

 

But I miss it enough to come back for a while. 

 

 

 

 

People usually see a book only as a finished product, and while they can easily imagine the satisfaction and pride an author must feel when seeing her book on the shelves of a bookstore they have no idea what has gone into the creation of it.

 

Some books are easier to write than others. I have published ten, all with major publishing houses. This means I came up with an idea, my literary agent gave it a green light, and then a publisher chose to take it on. Just getting a book deal is a huge accomplishment. Once the proposal is sold to a publishing house, however, then the real work begins.

 

My most recent book was a challenge in many ways. Streetcar to Justice: How Elizabeth Jennings Won the Right to Ride in New York (HarperCollins/Greenwillow 2018) is the first biography of a woman who is sometimes called the Rosa Parks of New York. My goal was to write her back into history.

 

I had been reseraching her story and the era for many years as a hobby of sorts when a writer-friend gave me a nudge (a very big nudge; more like a shove) and said I had a responsibility to pull it together and turn it into a book. She was right. But what a responsibility!

 

I wrote it for middle-grade students because that's the age when most American children first learn about Rosa Parks, the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., and other civil rights heroes. Writing about someone who was famous and then forgotten one hundred years prior to Rosa Parks's arrest, however, required that I provide a tremendous amount of context. Because so little is known about the era by most Americans, many adults are buying the book, too.

 

Looking at the stacks of boxes of research in my home office, I felt overwhelmed. Why on earth was I taking this on? It was one thing to do the research (a journalist's idea of fun) and another thing to write a book. Even after I had written the basic narrative, I needed to add sidebars and timelines. I spent countless hours looking for the right illustration, photograph, or painting to go with each part of the story, and then acquiring the rights to use each one.

 

Again, I felt a strong sense of responsibility. I had grown attached to my subject. Elizabeth Jennings was a woman of great courage. Unknown to most people today, segregation was rampant in the North, includiing Manhattan. Miss Jennings,  a black schoolteacher and church organist, was assaulted and removed forcibly from a streetcar in Manhattan meant for whites. She had hoped the streetcar conductor would let her ride, rather than making her wait for a car bearing the sign for "Colored People." She didn't want to be late to church. Her actions that day led to the first significant step in the fight to desegregate New York City's public transportation.

 

And yet no one had written a biography of her. This year marked 164 years since she was assaulted and 163 years since her unlikely victory in court. 

 

But again the word that defined my decision to be the person who wrote it was "responsibility." Yes, it was a joy. Yes, I am proud. The critics gave it two thumbs up. The book received a coveted "starred" review from both Publisher's Weekly, which called it "a book that belongs in any civil rights collection" and Kirkus, where the reviewer wrote that the book is "completely fascinating and unique." And, of course, I'm thrilled.

 

I'm also relieved. The satisfaction of having created the book is a lot more complex than simply seeing it displayed on the shelves of bookstores. I know what went into it. I know the hard work, the late nights, the cups of coffee consumed, the dinners I missed with family. I gave this book everything I had, including a chunk of my life and a piece of my soul. The writing of Streetcar to Justice was, put simply, a leap of faith. That's the part you don't see when you hold the book in your hand. #GreenwillowBook #HarperChildrens #RosaParks #middlegrade

I hope everyone has recovered from the blizzard that covered half of the country last weekend.

When nature wreaks havoc, we adults tend to focus on the stress and inconvenience, while children see an opportunity for a break from school and a chance to frolic in the snow.

From an author’s point of  Read More