Sounds like me My life (so far) in song

In this balanced, honest collection of eight essays, each "anchored by song," Grammy-nominated singer Bareilles shares the story of her life "so far," beginning with her childhood in Eureka, Calif. When she was 12, her parents divorced but remained on good terms; Bareilles journaled her way through the experience, learning early on to use paper and pen as a way to process her innermost feelings. Teased by peers as a child, she was scarred by "fat trashing" but eventually found her way to a new school and friends, theater, and singing. After a broken teenage love affair, Bareilles wrote the popular song "Gravity" and began her journey to professional songwriting and singing, eventually signing a record contract and releasing five albums with and several hits. Readers will also learn the inspiration behind "Once upon Another Time," "Love Song," "Beautiful Girl," "Red," "Many the Miles," "Brave" and "She Used to Be Mine" were birthed. Though Bareilles asserts that writing the book was the hardest thing she's ever done, her prose has a natural rhythm, and the stories behind each song are organically woven throughout. Fans will be more enamored, as, like Bareilles's music, this biography resonates with authentic and hard-won truths. (Oct.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

A chart-topping singer/songwriter exposes "the inner workings of my mind and my heart" through this intimate essay collection anchored with music and humor.A five-time Grammy Award nominee, Bareilles conveys her life and career in a series of heartfelt, confessional ruminations written with the passion with which she hones her musical craft, forming an entertaining and candid scrapbook chockablock with memories, lyrics, stories, and photographs. A tomboy growing up the youngest of three sisters in northern California's wooded Humboldt County, the author reveled in building haystacks and catching frogs until her parents' divorce when she was 12, a devastating event that only exacerbated the self-consciousness she felt as the schoolyard "fat kidthe label I was given by my peers." Getting in shape and becoming active in theater empowered her throughout adolescence and shaped her onstage presence. The chapters are each named for a song in her repertoire: "Gravity" describes a formative and exquisitely crushing encounter with heartbreak, while "Love Song" chronicles the author's years as a flourishing artist on the singer/songwriter circuit in Los Angeles (she signed her first record deal in 2005). A unique epistolary section called "Beautiful Girl" includes letters to her former selves to exorcise the demons of the past. Mostly sidestepping hackneyed platitudes for true sentiment, the singer remains genuine whether discussing what she learned while writing on a deadline, the development of her recent theatrical adaptation of "Waitress," or the vulnerability of exposing her life "without the metaphor and mask of music or my singing voice." Bareilles also demonstrates a sense of humor, much like fellow musician Ben Folds, who admits, in his playful introduction, to initially repurposing one of her "Little Voice" promotional CDs to counterbalance an uneven leg on his entertainment center. A breezy, upbeat, and honest reflection of this multitalented artist. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Sounds Like Me AN INTRODUCTION I HAVE BEEN WRITING this book for over two years. Over two years for eight essays. Over two years for eight essays about myself, whom I spend a great deal of time with, and know a lot about. If you're not great with subtext, I'll help you out: Writing this book was difficult. I said yes to this project back in 2013, because I loved the idea of writing a book. That's like buying white jeans because you like the idea of looking good in them. I think we all know where this is headed. It was nice at first. I smugly skated around on the phrase, "I'm working on a book right now. . . ." and people gave me raised eyebrows and looks of wonderment and I felt like sparkly peppermint candy for a few months. Then the edges faded and shit got real. Instead of a cabin in the woods with a typewriter and a basset hound, I had a laptop, a winter in New York, a deadline, and anxiety. I kicked and screamed and wrestled and lost. I traveled and ignored and distracted and apologized. I watched it like a rattlesnake out of the corner of my eye and hoped it would just slither away. When it didn't, I spent countless hours in coffee shops, restaurants, and at my kitchen table, writing to meet a "hard" deadline that came and went well over a year ago. I considered giving back the money I got from the publisher. I considered putting this off for another few years until I became smart enough or wise enough or funny enough to know how to do this. Then, at the encouragement of my managers, I decided to take a long break from it. I wrote a musical. It was easier to write a musical than this set of eight essays. After about a year and a half of fighting it, I finally surrendered. I took a break from flogging myself with the question, "What business do I have writing a book?" and decided to do it anyway. That question didn't have an answer, and the truth is that nobody out there in the world needs this book. Nobody but me. I needed it. It taught me to love something difficult. Writing this book was hard. In fact, I would say it's the hardest thing I've ever done. But the epiphany was recognizing that I could maybe still love this thing not only in spite of it being challenging, but because of it. It was as I sat with that truth that I understood why I fought this so hard. It feels infinitely more vulnerable to speak about my life without the metaphor and mask of music or my singing voice. I had to take a look at who I am without those things. These essays are a much more direct line to the inner workings of my mind and my heart, and that's an exposed place to find yourself and your little machine. I leaned on the familiar foundation of my own music to find my way into this new kind of writing, and eventually the book evolved into a collection of stories, each anchored by a song. It felt right to weave my music into this writing in some way, and it helped the essays start flowing like the tiny belabored trickle they were intended to be. I tried to be candid. I tried to be honest. I tried to remember things in an unbiased way. I tried to be at least a little funny. I tried not to gossip. I tried to be myself, as wholeheartedly as possible. I started to enjoy it, and that was astonishing. I neared the finish line bruised but happy, all the while dodging the main question anyone would ask. . . . Deciding what to call this book almost drove me crazy. In a very formal meeting surrounded by a team of literary professionals, my publisher asked me casually, "So have you thought at all about a title?" He smiled. I fake-smiled. He had no idea how much time I had already spent wildly scraping my insides for this oh-so-elusive set of words. Hours and days and weeks making lists of possible titles, some of which still speak beautifully to the emotional state I was in along the way. . . . Wait, So I'm in Charge? Trying Too Hard Being a Person Is Really Hard I'm Not Going to Write You a Book I Don't Feel Like Being Funny Utterly Uncool Whatever It Is, It's Not What You're Thinking I spared him my knee-jerk reaction of leaping across the table and fighting him like a feral cat, and instead told him I was "working on it." I was on my eighth and final essay, sitting at my kitchen table looking out my window at the never-ending winter of New York, and thinking for the millionth time about what I wanted to call the book. I thought about the approach I was taking with the essays. About how the essays felt like they reflected my life on a larger scale. I wanted them to be honest. I wanted them to be authentic. I wanted to make sure that when I read them back, they sounded like me (*cue light bulb). So here we are. This book is some of my story and some of my songs. It was a labor of avoidance, then hate, then love, and I'm glad I stayed around long enough to witness the transformation. I wrote it for you. It sounds like me. Excerpted from Sounds Like Me: My Life (So Far) in Song by Sara Bareilles All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.