High five

All right, let's throw spaghetti at the wall and see what sticks, okay?


You can win a Kindle at my friend Kristy's blog. Don't tell my son (who is thankfully uninterested in my blog so I can say this) but we got him a Kindle for Christmas. Why? Because most libraries now have Kindle lending programs. He's borrowed my Kindle four times in the last week to "check out" Encyclopedia Brown books. Now I don't have to deal with the "I'm out of books" whine anymore. Yay! Anyway, check out her Kindle contest here. It's easy, and right now your odds are really good.


Also to check out, iffin' you want to, is this silly interview I did back in May about The List. 



And I have another favorite thing:

The Rule of Five

This is also known as Saving Melanie's Sanity. So I'm sure this never happens to any of you, but sometimes when I put my head down for three weeks and write for hours a day to finish up a manuscript because I can't take it being undone anymore, when I eventually pick my head back up, I'm shocked, I say, SHOCKED to discover that my house looks as if it has been inhabited by a weird frat that leaves diapers lying around in pools of dried milk and various items of clothing hanging from our chandeliers, only it's Batman t-shirts and ruffle bottom bloomers instead of bras and thongs.

Anyway, it's a little overwhelming trying to figure out where to start, so I just follow the Rule of Five. Any time I go into a room, I must put away five things before I leave it again. By the afternoon, my house is not "clean" (something I think may be a myth perpetuated by home decorating magazines and ad campaigns for Chlorox), but it is livable and that's usually a vast improvement over whatever it started out as in the morning. As a bonus, whenever a wild hair seizes me (someone please explain that expression to me) to actually clean ALL THE WAY one of the disaster zones in my house, if I've been following the Rule of Five all day it feels . . . not daunting. Possibly even do-able. 

And now I need to go put away dishes but I'll be putting away a set of blue vampire fangs, a stuffed kangaroo, a Reeses's wrapper, some size 2T striped leggings, and a pencil sharpener before I leave the living room to do it.

Then I have to make a hippie wig out of brown yarn. Because my son changed his mind about his costume. Again. 

Vomit Elbow

Do you want that one hilarious blog post I thought of? Or what about that other one, the shoot-milk-through-your-nose one? Maybe you want the laugh-til-your-sides-hurt one?

Too bad. I can't remember any of them. (Imagine a mime face with a single grease paint tear rolling down it. Because that's how I'm picturing you.)


See, what happened is, I used to be funny but then my kids started puking. Like every day. And then they started doing it at  night. And coughing. Until they puked. And then after I washed a bunch of puke sheets, I wore out my funny bone. I think it's located near my elbow, right? Or in it? So I guess my funny bone got tennis elbow or something. Except I don't play tennis so I guess it just got vomit elbow.


It's fearsome, y'all. Vomit elbow will sneak into your room at two in the morning and cough in your face smelling like toddler puke breath and it will suck your funny out just like El Chupacabra. RUN!

I would like to hug the world.

SOOOOOOO many things have been  making me happy lately. They're little things and a couple of huge ones.


Like for example . . . I FINISHED ANOTHER MANUSCRIPT.


Whoo hoo!


And it was way too long and even the edits, which I normally loathe, have been going pretty well. I have to cut at least 13,000 words out and I've already knocked out 9,000. Yes!


And there's other good book news. For various reasons that turned out to be utterly stupid, I thought my Not My Type wasn't doing so hot. As it happens, I'm crazy. It's selling really well. Better than The List, even. And do you know what that means? DO YOU?


It means I GET TO KEEP WRITING! And that is what I want the very mostest. After happiness for my family and world peace.


Here's other stuff that's making me happy. See this apron?

The cute lady in the picture with me, my friend Sarah, made it. And it is PERFECT. Perfect length and on my right, if you squint, you can see one of two reasons why: the pocket. This is the perfect place to drop my iPod so I can listen to podcasts (especially This American Life) while I cook. Suddenly, dinner is less of a chore. And I can't hear the children, whose meltdown hour coincides with dinner prep hour. The second reason is the length. I have a couple of other great aprons that are shortish and the proportions look goofy on me. And this is just right.


I bought it. I bought two, actually. Because I believe in great causes and good deals. See, Sarah's little boy was recently diagnosed with Type I diabetes. And their family is in the incredibly tough position of not making enough money to be able to pay for his insulin but making just a little too much to qualify for any of the programs that would help subsidize it. The shortfall is $500. A MONTH. So instead of despairing, Sarah got right to work sewing and selling aprons. She just barely opened an Etsy shop that you can check out here or here. And since I've spent time pricing aprons on Etsy in the past, I can tell you that the $30 she charges is a great price. Plus, you can tell her what you want and she'll make it for you.


So go. You know you have an in-law or girlfriend, or co-worker who would love one of these for Christmas!


Here's a couple of more things that are making me happy. I bet you didn't know that I've been on the hunt for the perfect nude lipstick and gloss. I FOUND THEM!


Loreal Color Riche in Fairest Nude (I know, it's getting all PG-13 up in here)

(Not my lips)

And then the gloss. Urban Decay Lip Junkie in Wallflower. So basically I can stand around totally naked and no one will notice me? I don't know. But this stuff is extra awesome because it has spearmint in it and it feels like your lips are getting a massage for an hour after you put it on.

Which looks like this:

(Still not mine)

Also, buying this gloss proved once again that I can't say no to cosmetics when they're peddled by gay boys. Even when they're wearing more make up than I am.

Other stuff making me happy . . . good books I've read. Lola and the Boy Next Door by Stephanie Perkins (PG-13), In the Name of the Star by Maureen Johnson, Variant by Robison Wells. Yay!

Only the good die young

My dad only lived a month past his 60th birthday. Today he would have been 65. I'm doing things to help me remember him today. Wearing an LSU shirt, eating orange Tic Tacs and a Payday candy bar. And this, writing a list of 10 Things My Dad Taught Me.


1. No one can get in your way. No one.
2. The gospel is true. If you can understand that you're a child of God, that will be the permanent bedrock of your testimony.
3. Never leave a good bargain unpurchased. Even if you don't need it.
4. Change the oil in your car regularly or you're an idiot.
5. When someone needs help, help them. Without conditions. Just do it.
6. Let people help you. They really actually want to.
7. Education is the great equalizer.
8. The ability to teach is a gift. Use it, and teach what you love.
9. Star Trek: Next Generation  is the greatest show ever made. 
10. Being the dad your daughter can talk to is one of the most valuable gifts you can give her.


He was so awesome, you guys. So awesome.

Saying "Cheese!" and also "Sorry!"

Reminder, check out Fire and Ice book reviews for the second to last chance to win Not My Type.


All right, so I know I've been pretty absent in the blogosphere. I've been getting some posts up but not commenting nearly as much as usual. That's kind of normal for me (I'm learning) when I have a new book come out because life is hectic. But this time, I'm also so close to finishing a new manuscript that I can taste it. Therefore, I've been writing twice as much as usual (literally) every day for days and I'm giving up other things to do it. Like commenting. And proper hygiene. And The Practice because that show is dumb now.


I'll be coming back around soon. But now you know: you don't have body odor. I just have poor time management skills.


There's been other busy stuff, too. Like more book signings. And my son turned twelve. Here's my (lame) photographic evidence. 

This is about right:

 Sad you can't see this darlingest girl's darlingest pigtails but look closely at the right side of her head and you'll catch a glimpse.

 When given a choice between a great face/fat tummy pic and a constipated face/no tummy pic,

constipated face will win.

Me and my friend Becca at my Saturday book signing. I miss her!

 Me and one of the coolest ladies I know, Sarah. More about the apron on Wednesday, but how much do you LOVE it?

Swag

There is muchness to report and I SHALL, beginning tomorrow with photos and everything! 


In the meantime, I did a sort of funny guest post over here at Fire and Ice Book Review Blog. Also, it's your second to last chance to win my book, so run on over and leave a comment. It's easy.


Hasta la manana, y'all. (I'd do the squiggle thing if I knew how.)

The most expensive book signing EVER.

All right, tomorrow is the last day to enter to win my new book Not My Type by commenting on my last post here (for those too lazy to scroll down. Geez).


Uh, and I'm signing books from 11-1 tomorrow (Oct. 8) at the Ensign Books in Temecula. As always, I'll have fudge.


So, book signings.


Many of you have been to them for some author. Some of you have been to mine.


I really like book signings. Also, I kind of hate them.


I have done several now. Not a lot compared to most authors, but I'd say at least a dozen. So here's the deal: Not ONCE has it ever been worth the money. Not even close. But then again, that's not really what a book signing is about.


Let's take an April book signing I did. A 90 mile round trip (gas + $14 in tolls), the cost of the fudge I make and bring ($10), plus I like to buy a book at the stores where I sign ($14). That day, I bought paintings for my kids' Easter presents ($80). Oh, and I got a speeding ticket on the way there. ($450.) And I sold 4 books, two to people I knew.


Minus the speeding ticket, that's kind of the norm. I know, you'd rather poke your eyes out with pencils than spend your entire Saturday six weekends in a row doing the same.


The thing is, when I sell a book through a store, I make a little over a dollar a book, and I only get those dollars twice a year in my royalty checks. I'd have to sell A LOT of books to pay for just the gas money of getting to the closest LDS bookstore which is over 20 miles away. And I have not ONCE broken even yet on a single signing I've done. 


The most books I've ever sold at a signing is the one I did in Utah a couple of weeks ago. That was in the 20 something book range. And every single person who bought one was someone I knew at least a little. And um, that was a $200 plane ticket to get up there, plus a car rental.


So that's the part I hate. Really hate.


Then why do them? Just because it's expected? No. They're still a potentially smart business decision. Because bookstore visits aren't really about selling books to the random customers who come in. It's about building a relationship with the store owners and booksellers who work there so that mine is a book they keep recommending even when I'm not there. 


The thing is, even that wouldn't be enough to drag me into spend the bulk of my Saturdays for a month in a bookstore, feeling foolish at my little table while half the people in the store try not to make eye contact with me. (What? You thought this was GLAMOROUS? Ahahahaha!) But there are other parts of this equation that make it totally worth it.


First, the booksellers and store owners generally love books and that leads to some really fun conversations. I often get to tell them who in the market I'm reading lately and get their opinions on which books I should try. I can't be talked into doing boring things for money. (Yeah, I realize that's the luxury of having a stable household income). But fun? Yes, sign me up! That's because I value my time over my money. (Again, I know that's a luxury.) And talking about books is definitely fun.


Second, the strangers. The strangers are fun to talk to because when I can tell they aren't going to be into my book, if they're in the fiction section I still see it as a challenge to find them a book they WILL like. That also leads to a lot of fun conversations.


Third, and my tied for first favorite part, is the rare times that a stranger comes specifically to see me. They've read my book, they want the new one, they want my signature on their copy, they just want to say hello. SUPER EXTRA fun. I'm not actually sure I can explain in words how cool that feels and why. It's validating, yes, but it's a little more than that. It's kind of like they come in because they feel like they've connected to me, because something in one of my stories feels familiar and real to them, like I understand them, and I feel happy that I could do that for them. It helps me feel like what I do is worthwhile and it matters.


And then fourth, my other tied for favorite part of book signings are the people I DO know. Because when they show up it's always a great time to chat and catch up. I get to see people I haven't seen in a really long time because of these signings. But what most of them don't realize is that it's a vote of confidence, and a lot of times, during signings where ten people in a row have blown right by my little table to grab their copy of 17 Miracles without so much as glancing my way , I really need the pick-me-up of someone stopping in to say hello TO ME. I value that so much.


So . . .


I think I have about four book signings to go before I worry about this for the next book. But as long as I've got my bowl of homemade fudge and fellow bibliophiles to chat books with, that's all right by me.

Dumbest giveaway in the world.

(This is one of the most airheaded giveaways I've ever done, but stick this whole post out to find out how to win a copy of my new book, Not My Type. All right, continue.)


The problem with asking people to review my book is that they might ask me to review theirs. Publicly. And I might hate it. And it could go very, very poorly for me. As did the last review I posted for a book that wasn't my favorite. Ack.


So when Jolene Perry was like, "Sure, I'll review your book. Wanna review mine?" I was like, "Uhhh . . . yes?" And I had this really weak smile plastered on my face. Which is sort of stupid because Jolene lives in Alaska and  it was an email exchange, anyway.


I'm sure you've figured out by the very fact that I'm even telling you all this that it turns out I had nothing to worry about. The Next Door Boys by Jolene Perry is her debut novel and it's a great read. I don't do long reviews because I don't want people to bounce away, so here's what you need to know in one of my patented World Famous Two Sentence reviews: 


The Next Door Boys has a main character who is wonderfully flawed and utterly sympathetic and lovable. The whole crew in this story is kind of awesome but in a completely believable way; this is great LDS fiction that you will enjoy spending a few hours with.

What? That was a semicolon; therefore, it was still a two sentence review.

You can read what it's about here. And check out the super cute cover: 

You can click to buy it here or here.


And then of course, THE GIVEAWAY.


Here's the thing. I got all excited about helping Jolene promote her book. And sometimes I have these really good ideas. But they're more like really "good ideas" because I have them at night and then in the morning, they make no sense at all. So I was like, "Yeah, I'll totally review your book! Ooh, and we can do a giveaway of my book to get people to read yours!"


You know what? That really does make perfect sense when it's late and you're sleep deprived. But now I have no idea what I was thinking when I offered her that. *Shrugs.* She was kind enough not to point out that I'm a crazy person though, and so here goes a very ridiculous giveaway.


In the book, the main character, Leigh, spends some time coming up with the most perfect costume for a masquerade ball. And since it's Halloween time, your entry to win MY book (oh my gosh, SERIOUSLY, this giveaway could not make LESS sense) needs to be your favorite Halloween costume you ever wore. Just tell me in the comment trail and that counts as your entry to win. (Jolene, I'm so sorry. This really seemed brilliant on no sleep. WTH?)


Got it? To promote Jolene's book, The Next Door Boys, you're going to comment on your favorite costume you've ever worn for Halloween. Because that's connected to HER book. But then somehow you win MY book.


Ah, crap.


All right. I shall now play.


I have two. When I taught 8th grade, my students would ask me every year what I was going to dress up as for Halloween. And every year I told them I wasn't going to dress up because I had to dress up every day and this was the one day a year I got to wear my OWN clothes. And then I'd show up that day as a witch. And they'd be like, "You said you weren't going to dress up . . . OH!"


And then another year, in a I-have-five-minutes-to-come-up-with-something frenzy, I threw on a bathrobe, stuck a curler in my hair, fastened on my pearls and smudged my lipstick. DESPERATE HOUSEWIFE. Easiest costume I ever did and it also got the most laughs.


All right. Your turn. You have until Saturday night. GO! (If you already have my book, you can win a wood piece of your choice from Kenny. As in a small wood piece. None of you can claim any bowls. I have dibs on ALL of them. ALL THE BOWLS.)

Cliff diving

So yeah. We were standing at the precipice. Or rather I was. And trying to figure out if it made any sense at all to fling myself off.


Cue the insomnia and craziness and a downward spiral that culminated with me under my bed covers on a Sunday afternoon, completely undone from all the worrying and thinking. And then, Enter Husband.


I feel like I keep saying that Kenny is amazing. And a lot of you hear that as white noise. But it's not. I don't say it because it's the nice wifely thing to say. I say it because it is the STONE COLD TRUTH. He's incredible.


And he gently started talking me down. And he said a lot of things that were soothing and uplifting and encouraging. But he dropped a little pearl that stuck out. He said that I write books that give a lot of women a chance to escape hard situations and allow them some laughter and relief for a few hours. He said that it was really important for me to keep doing that because it was a blessing for them.


Me. I, the maker of meringues.


I do that? Could he be right? Because if he was right, if beyond making people laugh I actually delivered a tender mercy that God needed someone to have, then . . .


I should keep writing and stress a lot less about it all.


So I treasured that pearl, that single shiny thought, and then just two days later, I got an email from a stranger.


This isn't unusual. People often track me down through my author website and send me emails. "Loved your book!" "You're funny!" It makes me feel very narcissistic and ridiculous sometimes, but I'm not going to lie: fan mail is incredibly fun.


But this was something different. This was an email about The List, a book that I definitely did not write with the intention of setting the world on fire. I wrote it for fun, because I thought it might be fun to read. And it's about Not My Type where I tried to share a very personal feeling I have about the transformative power of gratitude, but of course it's done with very little seriousness. And this is what the email from a total stranger said in a week where I wondered if it made sense for me to do what I do and where my husband had been close enough to the Spirit to suggest an answer. The writer said: : When I read The List I laughed at myself realizing how many of the situations Ashley had with Matt were just like ones I've had with my ex-boyfriend. Then this new book was more than an enjoyable read. My break up was long and hard and I'm still getting over it. It's not easy but after reading Not My Type I was able step back and reevaluate, a lot. I feel like you were inspired in your writing, at least for me. I can't wait for more of your books to come. Again thank you for your books. They have entertained, edified and educated in ways I didn't think possible. You are amazing and so are your books!


So I cried. Of course. I do that way more than people would think for someone with snark hardwired into my genetic code. And it's over super cheesy stuff too, but that's another post.


This is a post about how Heavenly Father prompts to use the talents He gave us, and then sustains us when it becomes hard to use our talents, because they matter. They matter because WE matter to Him and He uses us to get to each other, to speak to each other in ways we need at very specific moments. And so sometimes, I make people laugh when they really, really need to. And I help them to think, even. 


Yes, I feel good when I get to write. But others feel good sometimes when I get to write too, and that's why I'm supposed to be doing it. It's so humbling that it makes me want to rip open both of my published books and tear through them to make sure I've used my talent wisely. Did I do right by the gift He gave me? I hope so. But I can definitely work to do better in every new book. And to never, ever be so silly again as to think that this is or ever was about ME.

Use my hands, Lord. Please.

Cliffhanger

Don't you hate it when I'm all, "I'm going to tell you a story!" and then I don't?


So I owe you a story.


I believe I mentioned something about a slight breakdown a couple of weeks ago. I am fine, by the way. But the episode produced a tiny gem of a moment that I have polished and re-examined a few times in the last two weeks.


I'm a writer. Either I'm a writer, therefore I'm neurotic, or I'm neurotic, therefore I write--but I'm not sure because I've been both since as long as I can remember. Writing won me essay contests. Writing won me my college scholarships. Writing got me my job.


But I always wrote for a reason. It wasn't really the story-telling kind of writing. Because I'm a pragmatist. I do things that make sense. Sometimes. And when I do things that don't make sense, I get upset at myself because I can clearly see they don't make sense and then--VOILA! Le Breakdown.


So I wrote but I didn't do much storytelling. Still, I would always say I was going to write books because I love telling stories. I grew up listening to my grandfather, one of the greatest storytellers to ever live. And you can't spend more than a few minutes with me before I tell you some kind of story. It's almost compulsive.


And this idea that I should write a book was almost compulsive, too. But for a long time I didn't write. A whole space of years between the birth of child number one and the career and the marriage and the caring for of ill parents and the planning of funerals and . . . I did not write.


But it felt like I should Write. A story.


I don't know. It's that thing we're all brought up with: if you have a talent, share it. No squandering under bushels, y'all. Bushels bad. Bad, bad, bad.


And finally I had time. A second baby, no job to worry about each day. But I didn't write an epic. No big old weighty work with a meditation on life and death wrapped in some layered family drama. That's steak and fingerling potatoes in a rich burgundy wine sauce. No. I produced a . . .


Well . . . a confection. Not even a rich one. More like a meringue, as in lemon. Slightly tart. Definitely frothy.


Those are the stories that come to me, probably because those were the ones I liked to climb into on exhausted Friday nights when I was single and too tired to date because I'd been caring for a kid and my parents and 150 other people's kids in my classroom all day. Or at least I used to read those, until it got too hard to find ones in the national market that weren't, um, filthy.


And so I wrote the kind of book I couldn't find. There were a few fun ones in the LDS market. But a very few. Most of the romances were more issue driven, not utterly silly like mine.


It was fun. I felt good about finally using my talent after the nagging feeling I'd had for years. And I wrote a book. And it was accepted. And then I wrote another. And another. And then a fourth. And then my first book actually came out. And being an author became more than writing. It was suddenly all about marketing and . . .  anyway, it was fine. It wasn't my favorite part of the job, but I'm good with people so none of that stuff was hard.


But it was very time consuming. From the time to draft a book to the time to edit it while trying to hit a deadline on a new project and then launch a book while trying to hit a totally different deadline and then OH YEAH BE A MOM. That.


And my husband was so super supportive through it all. He cheers for me when I hit writing goals, celebrates my milestones with me, brags about me to all of his friends, tells me what an amazing writer I am all the time, praises me, wants to know how my stories are going.


I'm so lucky.


But when this new book came out three weeks ago, I was also feeling incredibly guilty. Yes, this is a "hobby" I actually feel prompted to use. And yes, I get paid a little. My oldest has some shiny new braces, courtesy of my August royalty check. But this all costs A LOT of time. Book signings, conferences, critique groups, and the writing every single day.


So I stood on the verge of a new book release, which kicks the madness up crazy high for about a month, and I wondered, Is this all worth it for a silly meringue? Meringues don't change the world. Meringues don't even feed people. Steaks in rich sauce feed people. Potatoes feed people. Not so much fluffy pie toppings. What am I doing?


And here's the thing. This is super long already, but I've already written this whole thing, so I'm going to do you nice people a favor and cut it in half and post the rest tomorrow to give your heads a rest. So since I've been rather steak-y today instead of my usual meringue (and we're reading that as in lemon meringue, not dancing a merengue, right?), if you would like a tart dessert, may I recommend Regarding Annie? You will enjoy her. And I'll be back tomorrow with my whole watchamacallit? Point.