A Christmas miracle. Oh, and shoes.

I am trying to decide how much I want, I need, I MUST have these shoes. It's my birthday Friday. It's Christmas Saturday. I have to get them. Right?

Yeah. I gotta.

In other news, a minor Christmas miracle. Remember when I posted about my frustration with myself for becoming so easily annoyed by one of the girls in my new circle of friends? 

Well.

Lots of you offered advice (and even one lecture, SUSAN!), and it was all stuff I knew. All stuff I'd told myself. A lot of stuff I'd even tried already.

But sometimes there's just something about hearing it from someone else. So I made a renewed effort. I prayed harder, I tried to be more honest with my self about my issues with her, I avoided her when I could but looked for the positive and prayed for more empathy when I couldn't.

And lo and behold . . . 

A breakthrough. It was a small thing, but for the first time we had a situation where it was just the two of us, and people . . .

She's a totally different person when it's just down to two. Her energy changes. She relaxes. She is more reflective and less frantic. She is . . .

Human. More than tolerable. Maybe even likable.

And rather than being proud of myself, I feel glad that I got a chance to know her a little better, to see a true glimpse of her, because Heavenly Father softened my heart and then blessed me with a new friend for Christmas.

Merry Christmas to you all!

How To Get New Shoes

Yesterday, I went to the mall. I was looking for stuff. Christmas-y type stuff. And I found . . .


Puppies.


A store full of them, the cutest, wiggliest, lickingest, most delicious puppies ever. Two dozen of them at least.


I called my husband. "Guess where I am."


"Uh, I give up."


"The mall!"


"Oh, good." (I'm not sure, but he didn't seem thrilled.)


"Guess what store I"m at."


"Uh . . ."


"The puppy store!"


Silence. Then he clears his throat. "Melanie, back away from the puppy store."


"But they're so cute! There's a Yorkie! And a BEAGLE! Do you hear me? A beagle puppy."


"Melanie, seriously, you need to back away. That mall has a Nordstrom, right?"


"Yes."


"Why don't you go get yourself some shoes and forget about the puppies, okay?"


"Okay."

Christmas Nerdiness

I suppose because I find little girls singing "Santa, Baby" wildly inappropriate that my last post could be construed as cranky about Christmas. I'm not. It's just that those girls are the ones who are going to grow up to join the cheer squad and do a wildly inappropriate lip sync number in pseudo-lingerie at the high school talent show with their fellow cheerleaders. And I thought I'd do a pubic service by pointing it out. 


Au contraire, my friends. I'm not cranky about Christmas at all. I'm a huge Christmas nerd. Tonight I took my kid to get peppermint frozen yogurt and drive around looking at Christmas lights because I LOVE IT. All-Christmas music radio station on? Check! Saw the live nativity? Check! Picked out our Christmas tree? Check! Decorated the whole house? You bet.


This is the least stressful Christmas I've had in a lonnnnnng time and I'm trying to figure out why. I think it comes down to one little change. Last year, I saw an idea on a few different blogs (I remember it most clearly from Becca Wilhite) where people do this "Something you want, something you need, something to wear, something to read" thing.  I thought, No Way. I couldn't do that.  I LOVE buying presents.


But then we bought our new house and I knew I'd have to be smarter about money. So I decided to try it. And with that one little change, a little Christmas magic happened. I always think hard about the gifts I choose for people, but this year I've thought even harder. And buying a much more limited number of gifts has freed up not only money but time, and with that non-stressed time, I find myself more sensitive to the reason for the season.


So I blast my Bing Crosby and bake my Christmas goodies, and play with my kids and I'm enjoying Christmas because it's just . . . good this year.


Also, I love Jesus way more than Santa.

Super Icky.

A major Christmas pet peeve:


The song "Santa, Baby."


Worse? Little girls singing "Santa, Baby."


STOP IT.


I feel better now.

Season's Greetings

So DeNae ran a contest a couple of weeks ago where you could enter to win the greatest prize ever: she would write your annual Christmas letter for you. The thing is, I have never, in many many many years of being a grownup, sent out a Christmas letter. I don't know why, other than if it involves stamps it sucks away my willpower. If it involves the post office, it will never happen. If it involves the post office at Christmas time, that actually translates into an Urgent Care visit while doctors search for the cause of my sudden and mysterious hives.

Anyway, this is DeNae's letter for us. I thought what I sent her was already pretty funny, but then, she DeNae'd it, and . . . hahahahahaha! It took me a long time to calm down enough to call my husband and read it to him over the phone. I didn't change a thing except to add our signature. And photographic evidence.

I might actually go to the post office this week.

Season’s Greetings from the Jacobson Clan

Christmas 2010

You can stop buying lottery tickets, because you’ll never get any luckier than you are at this moment. That’s right: You’re on the “Inaugural Recipients List” for the first ever Jacobson Family Christmas Letter! I know! I’m terribly happy for you!

Our year has been so spectacular, even the Kardashians’ Christmas letter comes off sounding like an ad for tube socks by comparison. We don’t apologize for being awesome. You play the hand you’re dealt.

Speaking of hands, I’m delighted to announce that Kenny still has two of them, as he has discovered a talent for wood-working. He’s quite the wood-carving alchemist; no matter what he sticks on the lathe (a ’67 Volkswagen, for example) it comes off as a wooden bowl. Yep. We’ve got a whole lotta wooden bowls around here. Bowls, bowls, bowls. Far as the eye can see. The kids wear them instead of bike helmets. We sold the crib; Eden sleeps in a big ol’ wooden bowl.

Not that I’m complaining, particularly since Kenny is also a self-employed contractor for Allergan, a company that makes Botox, Latisse, and Juvederm. He heads up their Wooden Bowl division, which you have to admit is a natural fit given the faces most celebrities are sporting these days. Kenny’s also the 11-year old scout leader, shepherding a troop that has set a scouting record by earning their wood-working merit badges a breathtaking thirty-seven times.

James is in Kenny’s scout troop, and this year received his Arrow of Light. For those of you who are not up on scouting awards, the Arrow of Light comes right after the Stubbed Toe of Darkness Award. It’s a very coveted award. James loves doing homework, and spends every waking minute at the kitchen table with a song in his heart and a Number 2 pencil in his fist. He would rather do homework than anything else in the whole wide world. Seriously. He donated his Razor scooter and all of his video games to Habitat for Humanity so he would have more time to do homework. He is also very close to earning his Procrastination merit badge, but then, what scout isn’t?

Grant has taken upon himself the necessary task of decorating our new house. He’s got an impressive eye for detail. No kidding, the kid’s a wizard with a Magic Marker. Give him a blank wall, and he’ll have crafted a masterpiece inside ten minutes. Fortunately, we have a few dozen wooden bowls to hang up to conceal his work product, at least until he gets a decent agent. What? Like he was just going to give it away? He does hold regular informal exhibitions, however. You may have read about his hugely successful “Play-date” series of events. “Thursday Play-date With Juice Box and Dinosaur Shaped Miscellaneous Chicken Parts Hors D’ouevres” made the Times’ Lifestyle page, and was also the answer to a whopping fourteen crossword clues in that same edition. He stays humble, but it isn’t easy.

In March, Eden proved that you can never play too much Mozart for gestating infants, as she, brilliantly and without any instruction manuals whatsoever, went and got herself born. And at just nine months of age she can crawl, eat things off the floor, and play ‘Rondo alla Turka’ on the Sousaphone. Reports that Mozart un-Facebook-friended Eden over her choice of musical instrument are grossly exaggerated and just plain hurtful. The real reason he un-Facebook-friended her is that he died 350 years before Facebook was invented. I hope that clarifies things for everyone.

For my part, I finished and submitted my third manuscript – LDS fiction, not Sousaphone compositions; do try to keep up – and my first two books will be released next year. “War and Peace” and “The New Testament” promise to be big, big hits, and I’m so excited to see this latest novel – “Thinner Thighs in Thirty Days” – in print!

As research for that last project, I, with malice aforethought, took up running. I now run one mile every day, if you don’t count the sixty miles I log hunched over and chasing Eden, hollering, “No, no! We don’t eat daddy’s lathe! And spit out that Sousaphone! Icky! Icky!”

You may already know that the entire family is very musically adept. I set a goal of learning one hymn a week on the piano, a plan that was going swimmingly until week two. Now, it’s been modified to ‘a measure a week, unless I don’t feel like it.’ After four months, I’m eight measures into “Count Your Blessings”, which means I’m learning it as quickly as most ward choristers conduct it. I’m proud of that. James also started piano lessons, and has learned to his genuine astonishment that contrary to everything his friends have told him, playing the piano does not cause terminal geekiness. Being in sixth grade, however, does.

Kenny is taking fiddle lessons, in part because of his love of music but mostly because he hates the neighbors. If their dog doesn’t stop barking all night, it’ll be the bagpipes next. He is so not kidding. Grant is the family band’s lead singer and choreographer, making a name for himself by creating a hot new dance genre combining the graceful lines of Krump with the psychedelic energy of the Minuet. We call it ‘capering’, but in the Times crossword puzzle it’s referred to as “The Krimpuet”.

We love our new home, we love the library we opted for in place of the dining room (because you can always order a pizza while reading “Jane Eyre” but you can’t do it the other way around and stay out of jail), we love our new ward, we love being a family, and we love Christmas.

Here’s hoping this finds you happy, healthy, and surrounded by all the things that make you smile.

And if that includes wooden bowls, then you need to come for a visit.

Have we got a wall for you!

Love,

The Jacobsons

Scattershot

Well, that was interesting. In the never-do-it-again category, but interesting nonetheless. Goodbye, Friday. It was the first time in a long time that I was glad to see you over and done with. Note to self: if your gut tells you  not to do a review, don't. Your gut has a big brain.


I haven't been random in forever, so let's open up the old steel trap and give it a good shake, 'kay?


First, I really like handmade cards. I like giving them and I like getting them. I hate making them. My mother-in-law loves making them. She gives me a whole box of handmade cards at Christmas for me to use throughout the year for an assortment of occasions. I pilfer it at least once a month. Best Christmas present ever. For reals. 


We have very dry lips at our house right now. Several times in the last week, Kenny, James and I could all be found in a huddle around my precious tin of Rosebud Salve, rubbing it on our lips and jockeying with each other for position like we were trying to get warm around an oil drum fire. 


I've never really wanted a pony. Does that make me weird?


I'm worried about a friend. I figure the best thing I can do is bite my tongue on any advice so that later I can be her soft place to fall if she needs me, but it's hard.


I love sleep. So much. So, so much.


Someone was having an argument the other day about who wears the pants in their marriage. It occurs to me that marriage works very best when neither of you are wearing pants. Just sayin'.


I thought finding my first gray hair last month was my first sign I'm getting old. But no, I discovered my first true sign of old age this weekend when I skipped wearing a pair of really cute shoes in favor of wearing comfortable ones. It's Merry Birthaversary this month and the shoe thing made me really feel the big 3-6 looming just a couple of weeks away.


I have no idea what to get my brother for Christmas. If you know him, ask him and tell me what he says, okay? But play like I didn't tell you to because I want to get it for him and have him think I'm just an awesome gift-giver. His penchant for buying whatever he wants when he wants it (he doesn't have expensive tastes, to be fair) makes him hard to shop for. (This was a completely pointless paragraph since none of you know him.)


Kenny stole my copy of Matched by Ally Condie as soon as I brought it home Thursday night and he's ignoring me, kids, and dishes to read it.


I like it when he does that. It's fun to see him wrapped up in something.


I'm not a big fan of pudding. I'd rather have Jello. I can't decide if this surprises me about myself.


I like being good at stuff but on the flip side, I'm easily frustrated when things aren't intuitive for me. Like, tantrum-throwing frustrated.


Every time I sit down to be random, I think I have nothing to say. And every single time, the more I write, the more I think of to say.


So I'm going to stop talking before I put us both to sleep. 


Hello, new followers.


Oh, please click here on this link and Vote for Debbie. You don't have to fill anything out. Just click vote. We're trying to help her get a job. It'll be your good deed for the day.

Maybe I'm the crazy one.

First things first. The winner of Jana's book is . . . 


Susan! Yay!


To be honest, it was DeNae first but since I happen to know that she already has a copy or two of this book, I did good old Random Number Generator again and it spit out Susan. So hit me up with your address and I'll send it to you, friend.


Next, I'm doing a book review. But I need to give you a little background first. Oh, who are we kidding? A LOT of background. (What, you thought you were reading someone else's blog?)


I started this blog with the intention of discussing my writing journey, and also reviewing books. I sometimes do those things but not a lot anymore. There are a lot of reasons for that but we'll just talk about the books. First of all, I think I'd get bored if I posted book reviews all the time because I'm perfectly happy spitting out a sentence or three on the books I read on Goodreads. So if you want to know what I think about books, go be my friend there.


Secondly, I'm a writer. I know it's inevitable that I'm going to get bad reviews, but I'm not looking forward to it. Why would I do that to other people? This is ESPECIALLY true of LDS writers, whether or not they write LDS fiction, because as Josi Kilpack says, we're in a very small sandbox and it behooves us to play nicely.


But back to when I first started my blog, a couple of people asked me if I'd review their books. I had met both of these people in real life, liked talking to them, and idiotically thought this would mean I'd like their books. So I committed to a date to be on their blog tour and set about reading the book in each case. Both times, I hated the book. And there in lay the quandary.


I'm a very honest person and I hope to be the kind of person whose opinion carries some weight because I make discerning choices. Like for example, all of my friends in real life know that if I say a book is good, it's good. They might not like it but it's probably at least worth the read. I'd like my blog friends to know that, too. Therefore, I only post reviews of books I really like.


So now I was stuck. I didn't like these books but had already committed to blogging about them. Generally, people say "I'd love it if you'd review my book" but they mean, "I'd love it if you'd review my book POSITIVELY." They don't really want you to tell the truth about what you thought. And when it's someone you know, you have to weigh your friendship or even cordial acquaintance against your vaunted credibility. 


I couldn't bring myself to say I liked either book. I just couldn't do it. But I was willing as a friend to help them spread the word by throwing up a picture of the book, a synopsis, and an interview with the author type of thing. It wasn't my favorite compromise because there's still an implicit endorsement there, but it was all I could think to do to preserve the relationships after already committing to do the reviews.


However, I'm smart-ish, and I learned. I have since been asked to participate in blog tours and my response is, "I'm willing to read the book but if I can't give the book a "B" grade or better, then I won't post about it, and I'll gladly pass it on to another reader of your choice at my expense who would be willing to review it instead. Can you live with that?"


This is what happened when Tamara Hart Heiner contacted me about reviewing her book Perilous. 

This is her first novel and it's a YA thriller about some girls who get kidnapped and have to make their way back to home and safety.


I didn't like it. So why am I posting a review when I'd have to grade this less than a B?


Because SHE TOLD ME TO. Seriously.


I emailed her and explained. "Hey, remember our little agreement where I don't really do reviews if it's below a B? How about if I just link to your cover, your contest, etc.?"


"No," she says. "If you don't mind, I'd rather just have the negative review." Then she posts this on her blog (I pasted it in word for word):

Now, on to another subject. I've had two people on my blog tour line up contact me and tell me that their reviews are less-than-stellar. Both asked me if I preferred to remove them from my tour.

Of course I told them I still want them on my tour!

We can all agree that for the most part, honesty is the best policy. Right? Blog tours are no exception. Here's the way I see it:

1) Like it or not, we all know that not everyone is going to like my book. Of the 40 people I have on my blog tour, if 35 of them like it, I'm thrilled. If all 40 liked it, I would probably think that someone was afraid to tell me what they really thought.

2) My book is NOT PERFECT. I'll be the first to admit this. I see the flaws. Others are going to see the flaws. Some people it's going to bug more than other people. I hope the majority of readers will turn a blind eye, but I am certainly not surprised when there are negative responses.

3) Negative reviews create controversy, and controversy creates interest. At least, I hope so.

Give it to me straight! When I get my first 1-star review, we'll have a consolation party!

IT'S EXTREMELY IMPORTANT THAT YOU KNOW ALL THIS STUFF SO YOU KNOW THAT I AM NOT THE TYPE OF PERSON THAT GETS MY JOLLIES BY TRASHING OTHER PEOPLE'S BOOKS, STEALING THEIR LUNCHES, OR KICKING THEIR PUPPIES.


OKAY?
Here's the deal. I'm a character driven reader and writer. I love a great character. I'm fairly indifferent about plots. If they kinda make sense, I can live with it if I'm really into the character. Tamara has written some pretty good characters, and I think she shows promise as a writer, but  . . .


I could not deal with the plot. Drove me nuts. Hole after hole after hole after leap in logic after hole. That's my beef with it in an nutshell. On her blog, she introduces herself by saying, "The book I started when I was 12, Perilous, is scheduled for release from WiDo Publishing on November 16, 2010." And to be honest, that kind of says it all. The writing is fairly polished, but the plotting . . . well, yeah. It didn't surprise me that the plot was conceived of at about that age. That's exactly what it feels like. 


No throwing tomatoes. She said it, not me. I'm just confirming it. Because she insisted on it. The other problem is that this ends in a cliffhanger, which okay, is not my favorite thing but I don't mind as long as there's some kind of resolution for at least some of the major themes/conflicts in the novel before it sets up for the next installment. Here, it's so abrupt that yeah, there's some stuff that's "resolved" but with zero catharsis, ZERO, for the reader or characters and it feels . . . unintentional. Like maybe the author thought they solved stuff and didn't realize that they didn't. It's a major pacing problem. Super major.


That's all I'm going to say and I don't feel happy about having said it, but Tamara, my friend, if you're hoping controversy generates interest, I guess I'm handing you a gift-wrapped present. 


To the rest of you, I will say two more things. First, I'm not going to tell you what letter grade I would give this except to say "less than a B." Secondly, take my opinion with a grain of salt. On Goodreads, this book got a 4.64 with 11 reviews and on Amazon it has an average four star rating with five reviews. So either I'm crazy, because I don't see it, or they're all crazy. I'm willing to entertain either notion.


And btw, anyone who has read the book and wants to argue the point, fine. Rule #1, you can't do it anonymously. If I had to stick my neck out, you do, too. Rule #2, in defense of the plot, I will not accept the argument that it was written for 12-year-olds and the plot holes won't bother them. I won't accept that argument for a lot of reasons, most of which I'm way too tired to explain right now, but it all boils down to: that's a weak argument.


So there. I did it. I publicly said I didn't like a book of someone I kind of know. That was not fun. Tamara, I'm sorry, but I really did try to avoid this! Regardless of my opinion, I wish you great success because I definitely think you have talent. I think it just kind of got married too young to the plot of this book, but I have no doubt I'll see great stuff come from you in the future. As I honest as I was in my review, that's as honestly as I mean my assessment of your potential.


Okay, done. That was hard. And in case any of you were wondering, NO, I don't want an honest review of my book unless you LOVED it. My nerves can't take it.


I shall now and forever after return to my policy of not saying anything about a book at all if I can't say something nice.

Snippets

I am so excited that I can now return to my regular routine of reading and writing blog posts. I've been participating in National Novel Writing Month and yesterday I hit my 50,000 word goal. My publisher has asked me for two books a year and I got a little off my pace this spring, what with new-baby having and new house buying. I needed this to kick off my next novel and get a ton of momentum going, which is exactly what's happened.


Want a sample paragraph? I'll share it (even thought I shouldn't because it's totally unrevised) just because I love it so much:

I'd figured out quickly that Ellie was right. The snarkier I was in my “Single in the City” column, the more readers it drew. I didn't go out of my way to find things I hated about my dates, but I was so, so grateful when I found them anyway. It made the columns much easier to write.

I had just turned in my fifth column the previous night, an analysis of an evening spent with Lewis, a guy who credited the power of some South American berry with righting his gastrointestinal system. In fact, he was so convicted of the power of this berry that he had spent the whole evening describing the change in the frequency of his bathroom visits and the improvement in the quality of time he now spent there. Best of all, I got to hear his pitch off and on through two hours of miniature golf about why I should buy some for myself (“Do it for your bowels!”) and then become a distributor and sign up all my friends (“Do it for their bowels!”). To be fair, I don't think he asked me out solely to sell me on this miracle berry, but really? There's a time and a place. First date, no matter where it is, is not that time or place.

I sat at the kitchen table waiting for my dad to come down. My laptop was open and waiting for him with the column titled “The Bowels of Misery” already on the screen. When he ambled in with his hair still wet from his post-run morning shower, I pointed to his chair. “Sit. Read.”

He lifted an eyebrow but did as commanded. A few times I saw him struggling to keep a straight face. When he finished a couple of minutes later, he lifted his eyes to meet mine. “Did you exaggerate any of this?” he asked.

“Nope.”

He leaned back against his chair. “All right. This guy totally deserved it.”

I grinned. “I know.” Lewis, who I named Frankenberry for the write up, had made this my easiest column so far.

Ah hahahahahaha! So fun.

In other news, it looks like my mom's country Christmas stuff will remain orphaned. Sigh.

And in other, other news, I think I'm going to die of a cough. 

You can still enter my Monday giveaway for Jana's Christmas book. Just go leave a comment. Go on. Do it!

And on Friday, I will be doing yet another book review in just about the weirdest circumstance I can imagine. Short version: I didn't like the book. I told the author I couldn't give it at least a B or better which is generally the only time I'll actually post a review. She was like, "I want you to post the review anyway."

What the what? So I'll even give you word for word her rationale that is the direct cause of me posting my first ever negative review. This is crazy, but . . . okay. So yay. That's Friday.

And I'm off to watch Psych's homage to Twin Peaks. As in the TV show. 'Kay, bye.

Free to a good home

I cleaned out and organized my holiday stuff yesterday. It was the first time since I've been married that I had it all out. Most of it has been in storage until this year. 


There were a lot of "Why did I keep that?" finds and a few, "I'm so glad I found this" finds. I threw out a lot of stuff, things that aren't our style or that none of us have an emotional connection to. I'm far more likely to keep a tacky craft project with my kid's picture in it than something gorgeous crystal spindly thing when I have no memory of where it came from.


Anyway, among my things, I found some of my mom's old decorations. I like them, but she loved the folk art style and around here we do glittery and shiny. I normally just donate stuff like this, but I have a lot of memories of these things hanging in our house. My brother and sister won't want or need them, but I'm reluctant just to stick them in the Goodwill box.


Would you or someone you know enjoy something like this in your home? I'll send it to you, no charge, just so I know they're going somewhere they'll be enjoyed and not just to a cast-off bin. (Possibly I've watched too much Toy Story.)

Anyway, there's a a pilgrim and his lady wife for Thanksgiving (or maybe his trashy mistress, I don't know. She's showing a lot of leg):

There's also some Christmas stuff. If you like it, it's a package deal. As in I send it all to you in one package, my expense. I just want them adopted.

Merry Christmas. I'm off to listen to some Bing Crosby and Ho (ho ho) up the joint!


P.S. Don't forget, you can win a copy of Jana's book, What Think Ye of Christmas, by commenting on the previous post.