Under construction

I still don't like Scarlett, but Margaret Mitchell could WRITE.

I'm wondering if I can. Maybe. I don't know.

Sometimes. That's the answer. Sometimes I can write. Well, I mean. Write well.

I can write fast. But that doesn't mean it's good. And I've been blog quiet in the last month while I work on figuring out the difference. 

I'm nearing the end of a manuscript that is going faster than anything I've ever done, but I'll edit for three times the length of time it took me draft it if it I can also make it better than anything I've done.

I want to honor storytelling, but I'm cursed with the ability to think of words almost faster than I can type them. And because they fall out so easily, I don't always shape them the way that I should. I have worried about form over content, but now I am looking, looking, looking. Picking apart and weighing and testing the sound of things.

I don't know if I have this in me. I don't produce art. But I am learning about craft.

Taking a flying leap

I have tried and tried and tried to write the true rest of the story about my getting-an-agent story. But it doesn't feel right somehow, no matter how I explain it. So I give up. If you don't know already because you forget (as I do kind of a lot lately) that I even have a blog, I got an agent for my Hoarders meets Project Runway contemporary YA novel and getting an agent is a very hard thing to do and I'm excited about it. The story is here. 


The extremely abbreviated version of the rest of the story is this: when I realized I had a national market story on my hands, I got a little nervous because that was never my plan. Publishing in the national market didn't make sense to me. Dither, dither, dither. Finish the story or go back to the sure thing? Finally pray. Hear with clarity that I should submit to the national market. Freak out because suddenly I'm dealing with a test of faith. That won't make sense to most of you. *Shrugs.* It'd take a really long time to explain why. Trust me. I drafted that really long blog post twice.


I'll skip to the embarrassing part now. I really admire Janette Rallison. Love her books, admire her standards in her writing, would love to emulate her career. In the midst of doubt and "Why on earth am I doing this?" in regards to my national book, I approach her as almost a total stranger at the LDS Storymakers conference last May. I ask her advice. She listens. I cry. I cry some more. I feel completely stupid about crying so that makes me CRY MORE. This goes on for a half hour that she probably should have been doing other things. She is patient. She says, "Trust the Lord. Go for the national market."


I know this all sounds very dramatic. Just trust me that this was never about the book or being published nationally. It was about having faith to do something that made no sense. I'm not good at faith.


But I decided to exercise some. So I finished and things went really well. And it helped my faith a lot. And I realized something: it's probably not very important to the Lord that I publish in the national market. But I think it was very important to Him that for the first time in a very long time, I who have weak faith approached him with a question where He set me up to test and prove Him. And it was not a request for a favor, either. It wasn't a prayer of, "I really want this, please make it happen." It was a prayer of, "What do you want me to do?"


So He granted me an experience He's probably been wanting to give me for a long time but I was never asking the right question. And I learned from that. 


Trust me, it makes sense in my crazy head and only in my crazy head, I get it. 


I guess my only point here is to say a public thank you to someone who put up with an emotionally unstable woman for thirty minutes she didn't have to spare. And to say that I learned a lifelong lesson about listening to the spirit, and for that I thank my Heavenly Father.


And that's enough about the craziness. In other news, the finalists for the Whitney Awards were announced on Friday. My name is in there and I'm STOKED. Check out all the nominees and find some great new books to read here


And for more fun, the LDS Publisher blog has chosen finalists for the best book covers by genre from last year, and mine are in there. To check out all the covers and vote for the COVER you like best, you can check that out here. It's fun to browse.


Good Monday, everyone.

Bringing the dead to life.

November 12 is a death/birth anniversary. Five years ago my dad died. Four years ago my little boy was born on the very same day.


He doesn't know, of course. I don't think I'll tell him the story until he's much older. I say that like there's all these other stories I tell him about his grandad instead. I don't. I don't tell him much about my mom either, even though she died only two months later.


Kenny does. My little guy can pick my parents out of pictures. He knows they live in Heaven. He knows their ears were broken so they used sign language. And that might be it.


It's pretty sad. He's nearly four. He should probably know a lot more than that. But I don't know what to say. Somewhere in the back of my mind is this idea that I'll write it all down for him. And for my daughter. So they'll know that my mom was an incredibly talented artist and that my dad defied more odds than most people ever face in a lifetime. I tell myself I'll write down how my mom used to Indian leg wrestle us to see who had to take out the garbage or how my dad had an insanely green thumb and grew vegetables none of us would eat.


I tell myself that. I should be able to, right? I'm an author, for the love of Pete. This is my thang, isn't it?


But  . . . I can't. 


I don't know how. How do you take something as huge as the sixty years each of them lived and distill it into a story that your children can hold and read and somehow know them? I can't. 


I'm pretty good at knowing my limits. When I know that something is beyond me, I drop it in favor of doing something I can rock. I like to be productive. But this need to tell their stories . . . it doesn't go away. I'm the only way my kids will ever know my mom and dad. I truly don't believe my husband would fully understand me if he hadn't met my parents before they died. And my kids will be missing a key to understand a part of themselves, the part that they get from me, and that I got from my parents.


When the Casual Blogger Conference rolled around last time, I passed. I know my voice, I'm not trying to make money, and I don't care about growing my audience. But I kicked myself later. I missed out on meeting and hugging a lot of cool people I would never otherwise see. I swore to myself that the next time it rolled around, I'd be all over it.


Enter the Story at Home conference in SLC and its blogging track. I thought, "Ah! NOW I can meet and hang out with my blogging friends." But then stuff started coming up, logistical stuff, and I was like, "Not this time either."


But I changed my mind again. Because I'm not doing the blogging track. I'm going to learn about how to write a family history. Specifically, my dad's history, to start. I'm going to learn how to make him come alive again for my two littlest ones in a way that they can maybe feel like they know him, so that they can see him in themselves, and love him even in his absence.


You should come. Whether it's a family story or your own personal one you need to figure out how to tell, whether it's just so you and I can finally meet and hug, or whatever your reason, you should come. It's the cheapest conference I've heard of: $79. Seriously . . . come.


(Here's the info: This super cool conference for blogging / storytelling / personal and family history /writing is happening March 8-10, 2012 in Salt Lake City.  It's called The Power of Story @ Home, and it's sponsored by Cherish Bound, Family Search, and the Casual Bloggers Community.  This is a link to their website.)

In which I feel sorry for others . . .

I blogged today at my writing blog. The little follow widget is working now for those of you who wanted to follow me there before, so feel free to hop on over and click it. And by that I mean hop on over and click it.


Anyway, you can go see why I feel pitied Robison Wells and Sarah Eden by clicking here.

Bloghopping

You know what I always do when I have way too much to do?

I find one more thing to do.

Um, do you think this is coded into female DNA?

Anyway, here's the thing about this blog. It is my happy place. I come here to rant hang out. I've got lots of like-minded friends who stop by to visit me. This is good and makes me happy.

But did you notice the name of my blog up there? Write Stuff. And that's what I do on this blog. It's also what I originally meant this blog to be about: writing. Only, then I got bored with talking about that all the time and then this blog became something else.

Right now, though, my brain has gone all writing haywire. And I find myself wanting, even needing, to have conversations about writing to let it all out. However, I kinda still don't want to do that here. Here is still for about shoes. And kid vomit. And how I got ripped off by this one infomercial (oh, I cannot make the spelling on that look right to me) because I was delirious, but have now decided I don't mind. I guess I need to tell that story. Wednesday, maybe.

Here's where doing yet another thing I don't have time for comes in. (You thought I forgot, I know. While senile dementia is a certainty for me, I've still got twenty years before I worry.) I'm taking a tentative step toward publishing in the national market and it occurred to me that I need a proper author blog for that. Only it's me, so there won't be anything proper about it. But it will be author-y. And write-y. And I've only got three posts up but they discuss things like how Melanie Jacobson is ruining my life. Or at least harshing my mellow.

So if you're one of my writer friends (i.e. Annette, Jenny P, Susan, Becca, Chantele, Maggie F, etc.), would you mind hopping over there and waving hello? And by that I mean click the follow button? I'm still only posting three times a week but it will be twice here and once there. I need the outlet to pour out writing thoughts, yes. But it's not really fun to talk into a void.

Anyway, I kind of hate my template there but it'll do until I figure out what I do like. Or rather, I know what I like. I just have to figure out how to go about getting it done.

I digress.

Duh. It's me.

She's IMAGINARY.

(Click here and post a comment for a chance to win a copy of The List. Last day! Winner chosen tomorrow.)


Annie at Regarding Annie (a consistently funny and well-written blog, btw) tricked me into answering some random and assorted questions with her powers she borrowed from her super agent husband. If you want to read another (short) silly interview, head on over and take a gander.


I went out for a little GNO last night and I feel the strong urge to declare the following publicly and emphatically:


Dear Everyone, 


I am NOT Ashley Barrett.


Love,


Melanie.


P.S. YES, I'm totally sure. I made her up. That's how I know she's not me.


Now that close friends are finishing the book, I'm hearing the following things constantly:


1. I stayed up really late to finish it. Thanks a lot. (You're welcome.)
2. I really need to make that grilled sandwich. (Yes, you do. It's as good as it sounds.)
3. Ashley sounds just like you.


Well, yes. She does. She sounds just like me. But she is the main character least like me of the four I've written. Trust me. I know Ashley and I know me. I'm telling you the truth. I really am an expert on this particular subject.


It's kind of funny, to be honest. I'm having to cope with the author reality of people trying to find pieces of me in my book. It's unnerving and slightly uncomfortable but totally fair. However, Ashley STILL isn't me.


For those of you who have or will read The List, let me give you what a video gamer would call an Easter Egg. Kind of. I'm going to post Ashley's list that started herwhole mess and tell you what she has in common with me and what has nothing to do with me.

Ashley's List of 25 Things to Do Before She Gets Married

1. Climb a mountain (ZERO interest in doing this. None. Never done it, never will. Unless it will bring world peace, but I'd need that in writing.)
2. See a show on Broadway (Me, and a lot of people. Love it. On my personal bucket list. Did it. Doing it again this summer.)
3. Sing karaoke (Her fear of doing this something I totally share.)
4. Read all the standard works (I did this as a teenager. This is just something I could see someone putting on a list of this kind.)
5. Get a master’s degree (Maybe someday. I'm indifferent. This is an Ashley thing.)
6. Study abroad (It would have been fun, but it's not a huge regret. This is an Ashley thing.)
7. Serve a mission (An Ashley thing, and a lot of people.)
8. Learn to make sushi (I HATE sushi.)
9. Own a pair of Laboutins (Couldn't give a . . . fig. I think $700 shoes are stupid. And no, i don't care if that just offended you.)
10. Complete a triathlon (Absolutely not me, but it's a lot of other people. File under the climb a mountain thing. No way.)
11. Snowboard on a black diamond trail (Nope. I had try snowboarding on my personal list and I did it. But this had more to do with something I thought someone from Utah might want to take a stab at.)
12. Read a Russian classic (On my list. Struggled through a third of The Brothers Karamazov a couple of years ago and decided that I'll just have to die with this undone.)
13. Learn to surf (Nope. It's fun to watch. Part of me thinks it would be fun but part of me instinctively understands that I won't even get close enough to getting it right to enjoy it in the least. Also, I'm a bad swimmer.)
14. Visit Europe (Definitely on my list, and a lot of people's, and it's done.)
15. Do a humanitarian project (Yep. This one I have in common with her, too. I totally want to serve a humanitarian mission with Kenny when we retire. And by we, I mean he.)
16. Get a sports car (Nope. I rock a minivan and I like it.)
17. Have a summer fling (Uh . . . no. I never put that on my list. NEVER.)
18. Take a cruise (Yep. Did that. I think most people would want to do that.)
19. Skydive (HECK, NO! NO to this more than mountain climbing and triathlon running combined. NO.)
20. Learn a foreign language (Maybe. I guess I'd like to learn. Not a big deal but it would be fun.)
21. Publish a poem (Nope. Maybe when I was 18. Yeah, that's actually more the case. This is one of the things 18-year-old Ashley and 18-year-old Melanie have in common.)
22. Learn to play guitar (Not really. I'd like to magically know how to do this, but I don't really want to, you know, learn.)
23. Be a movie extra (Yeah, I've thought about it. I'll never get around to it, but the idea is fun.)
24. Try internet dating (Um, duh.)
25. Learn to tango (Yeah, me. It looks fun.)
    
    
    So while there's definitely some overlap between me and Ashley, most of these things are items I would bet a lot of people have on their "bucket lists". So let me restate for the record, and I have a feeling this won't be the last time I do, Ashley Barrett is NOT me. She's cool. But she's not me.
    
    
    There you have it. You can go read in peace now.

Life's a Beach!

Well . . .

It's here. IT'S HERE!!!

I can't believe it. But it is. My box of books arrived on Friday and I waited until my husband got home before I tore into it and held that thing in my hot little hands.

And now begins the month-long celebration as well as me trying to get the word out, because I'm a first-time author and we desperately need help with things like this.


First, to celebrate!  If you'd like to a chance to win a copy of my book, just click over here and leave a comment on my friends Jen and Autie's blog, iCandy Handmade. They have craft and sewing projects so cute I'd hate these girls if I didn't already really, really like them. Jen is one of my test readers and she keeps me in check. "No way, Melanie! Do NOT allow her to bake him cookies! That is such a cliche!"


Go ahead, I'll wait. All you gotta do is leave a comment and we'll pick a winner on Saturday.


Second, to spread the word. I'm a little odd in that I'm not super interested in getting people to come read my blog. I'm not trying to make money off of it, I have lots of blog friends I already enjoy, and I'm always pleased to meet new blog friends, but the point of all this isn't to get blog followers. It's to get the word out about my book. We'll start with the prizes, and then I'll tell you how you can win them.


First, this is my book:

Definitely not the first time you've seen it if you know me even a little bit. I love this cover. Love it.


Now, here's the thing. I don't know where this picture was shot, but it looks an awful lot like Huntington Beach, which is where the story is set. So this week's theme for the give aways is: Life's a Beach! Everything I give away will be connected both to the book and to the beach this week. You can be enlightened even as you score swag. Dope, right? (Yes, I totally just said that. I also run around saying, "Know what I'm saying, yo?" to my husband who does not find it as funny as I do.)


First prize up for grabs: A sweatshirt. Why? Beach fashion, my friends. In HB, everyone wear flip flops. Yes, you are a freak if you don't. When you're a couple of blocks from the sand at any given moment, it just makes sense. Also, you remove your shoes to go in most people's homes around here (see: sand). Flip flops make it easier. (Also, it's totally normal to walk into the grocery store and find half the women there shopping in "Daisy Dukes with bikinis on top." And no, I'm not exaggerating. Strangely enough, Katie Perry got that right.) But sometimes, like right now, the air is a tad cool, especially for the early morning jogs and the sunset strolls when the wind blows in off the ocean and it's chilly. It's never cold enough for coats (and I have some gorgeous ones I never wear), but sweatshirts are a staple. I'd say it's a toss up whether you're going to see more Hurley shirts, or Huntington Surf and Sport shirts. I think I'd give the edge to HSS (which, by the way, appears as Beach Sport Warehouse where Ashley's cousin Dave works in The List.) Now you can win your own HSS hoodie in a color and size (large) to please girls or guys:

Also up for grabs is your choice of one of these t-shirts (both mediums). I can't find a pic with the right colors, but it's either this one except in charcoal gray with light gray graphics (the reverse of the picture):

Or this one, only in a nice, crisp white, whichever you like: 

Next, in HB you'll see the hibiscus motif. Silk hair flowers, t-shirt graphics, seat covers for Jeeps, beach cruiser decals. Oh, and awesome handmade jewelry, like this necklace made by my stunningly gifted and blindingly handsome husband, Kenny:

You'll be able to pick your color, and whether you want a dark inlay or the reverse. There are two of these up for grabs this week. (You can also turn it into a cool key fob.) Now, Kenny surfs and that influenced his original design of the next necklace you can win. It's called the Monterey:

I know. You love it. Me, too.

The last thing up for grabs is another t-shirt, only this is for an activity that's a close cousin to surfing: skateboarding. I'm putting up a t-shirt from OC Ramps, the premiere skateboard ramp company in the industry. Tyler, the owner, is the coolest. He and Kenny are in a band together. Anyway, it'll be a youth size and trust me, your kids will be all over this. It's got some Cali cool cred, big time. My son wears his ALL THE TIME. It's a little disgusting, actually. But that's boys for you.

I know, I know. Your head is spinning. So how do you win all this cool stuff? Well, like I said, for the book all you have to do is comment on the iCandy post.

For the rest of it, you'll need to do at least one of the following things and you'll get extra entries for each additional thing you do. And I'm making it super easy for you with each thing, okay? 

1. Like my Facebook author page. Click below. That's it. No further action required. You don't have to tell me you did it. 

2. Click here and go visit my author website. Sign up for the newsletter to prove you were there. You'll only get it twice a year and the first one won't come out until the fall. You don't have to tell me you did it. I'll know. (Bonus for you: while you're there, you can read the first chapter of my book.)

3. Grab a button and throw it up on your blog. It's in the sidebar. Comment and tell me you did it.

4. You can blog and link to my website (not my blog, my website, although I'll give you points for linking to my blog if you'd just rather do that), then comment and tell me you did it.


And that's it. I don't need you to Facebook or Twitter about it, because ( and I'm just being honest here) . . . I tune that stuff out when other people do that. Unless you really want your friends to win cool stuff, then knock yourself out, but I'm not really tracking those, so you can just do it because you're being nice to your friends or something. And if I figure out that you did it, then I will think you are awesome for doing so. How's that for #winning? This week's contest ends Saturday.


Anyway, I'm so excited. It's waking me up out of sleep, my kids think I'm a rock star, and people are saying nice things about my writing. 


Guys, I'm living a dream come true!

I TOLD you so.

Ah hahahahahahaha!!!!!!


Some of you think my delight in the Mormon Bachelorette is crazy. But it's so FUN. And now, I get to say I was ahead of the curve on a trend because look what showed up on LDS Living today:


This story. See? I  know a good thing when I see it.


Read it. Go. Now. It's awesome.


Notice this all grew out of Huntington Beach, CA where my new book The List is set, because it's a really fun place to be single and LDS. Have I mentioned my book? Here:

And I just finished writing my fourth one which means I'm ready to start my next one, and guess what it's going to be about? THE MORMON BACHELORETTE. I already interviewed Erin Shelton (who is awesome, love her) and got all kinds of inside info that started the plot wheels turning in my mind. 


Having said all that, it's Friday, so let's briefly discuss the Mormon Bachelorette, shall we? Okay, so Kimberly at Temporary? Insanity says it's Melanie for the win (not me. Melanie C, duh, otherwise my husband might have hurt feelings). And I like her best but I don't know . . . that date with Jane in New York may have the edge. (Or was that just the music in the video that made me feel that way?) Except Melanie C is moving back here soon from Ohio, so maybe it will be her, after all.


Oh, and my publisher sent me a link to this article in The Mormon Times and I opened it to find my face staring back at me: 


"Melanie and a bunch of other much classier people talk about Valentine's Day."


How fun is that?


Happy Friday, everyone. Oh, and Happy VD, too. No, I mean, Happy Valentine's Day. Kenny and I are celebrating early by going to see A Midsummer Night's Dream tomorrow which (shockingly) I have never seen staged, and by all accounts this production is excellent. Yay! Our very first date was to see Twelfth Night so I like the idea of passing this holiday with Mr. Shakespeare. (Dear Kenny, don't buy me a Valentine's gift this year, okay? I officially absolve you. Unless, however, you feel strongly that you would like to treat me to some Golden Spoon tomorrow night. That is all the gold I require, thankyouverymuch.)

Q-tips, please.

Some people call it karma. In our family, we call it earwax.


When my father-in-law was a kid in school, he noticed that the boy in front of him had a bunch of earwax in his ear so he teased him. Then guess what happened? The very next day, my father-in-law had earwax coming out of HIS ear. And now he doesn't tease people any more. I haven't heard him tease anyone the whole time I've known him.


But that's beside the fact. We're talking about earwax. Or karma.


A few months ago, I read a book from an author I like. And I was kind of let down by what I would term a little bit of the "sloppiness" I found in this book. It wasn't awful, but it wasn't as good as it should have been. Or as good as I've known her to be. There were little things, like metaphors that were too forced, words that were repeated that didn't need to be, slightly clunky dialogue tags. But it was distracting to me sometimes.


I mean, really, is it so hard to double check for some editing basics?


Ha.


HA HA.


I just read through what's called a press copy for my first novel. It's where it's all typeset exactly like it's going to look on the page. I was equal parts elated and horrified. Elated because it's one more step toward holding my very own real book in my hands. Horrified because it was riddled with mistakes. And here's the thing: I have read through it at least six times, start to finish. At least five other people read through it and pointed out mistakes. My EDITOR went through it. And still, there were mistakes. Not even grammar things or typos. Just stuff like using the word "wobbled" twice in two pages. Or overusing the word "just" even though I took a bunch of them out. Or saying something like, "She felt like the feeling in her legs was gone." (Or something similar and almost as bad.)


It's the kind of thing most readers won't notice. But I will notice. Most other writers will notice. It's mortifying.


But it's kind of a done deal on some of this stuff at this point. So I guess I'll just deal with it and learn for next time.


But man, earwax sucks.

IT'S HERE! IT'S FREAKING HERE!

I am delirious with joy (totally NOT an understatement) because I FINALLY get to show you my book cover for The List. It comes out in March and I just got the go ahead today to show you something I've been keeping quiet for six weeks.

Are you impressed I kept it under wraps for this long? You should be. It was killing me! But I just got permission ten  minutes ago to debut it, so here it is, my book cover!!!!!

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! (Yep, I love it!)

And from the back cover:

Ashley Barrett doesn't want to get married. At least, not anytime soon. She doesn't care how many of her friends and family members and fellow churchgoers had weddings before they finished college--the last thing she needs in her fun-loving twenties is the dead weight of some guy. And that's why she created The List. By the time she completes all twenty-five goals---from learning a language to skydiving to perfecting the art of making sushi---she'll be more ready to settle down. Maybe.


This summer in California is a prime time for Ashley to cross two things off The List: Learn to Surf (#13) and have a summer romance (#17). And Matt Gibson, the best surf instructor in Huntington Beach and the most wanted guy in the singles ward, is the perfect man for the job. Ashley hatches a plan to love him and leave him before heading off to grad school in the fall (#4 get a master's degree). But when Matt decides he doesn't like the "leaving" part, Ashley's carefully laid plans are turned sideways. Now Ashley faces an unexpected dilemma: should she stick to the safety of The List, or risk everything for a man who might tie her down---or might set her free?

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.

Stick it to me

You guys are always asking questions, you know that?

And I loves it, so I'll answer three more.

First, Debbie at Suburb Sanity wants to know why she's late to everything. Uh....

Well, Deb, I don't know how to break this to you but: you have kids. It's a universal truth that each child you have means that you should automatically deduct five minutes from any scheduled on-time arrival. By my calculations, that means you're probably twenty minutes late on average to everything. Take heart, though. Now that two of them are off to college, you may see that average dip back down toward ten minutes.

Susan and I go way back to college but we reconnected on Facebook and then through blogging. She says she remembers that in college, I was really smart and really nice (the smart part is true) but she doesn't remember me wanting to be a writer and she wonders if that was always the plan.

In a word, kind of. My main dream was to be a teacher, which I was. Yes, I was that nerdy that I wanted to grow up to be an English teacher. I told close friends that I wanted to write a book someday but it wasn't something I was actively trying to do. But then, sevvvverrrrralllll years later, I met Prince Charming and Someday happened. I had the time to write and I did and then I got published.

Lastly, several of you wondered after Monday's post if we're moving.

Uh huh. But not until the summer. Right now we're scouting. We've metaphorically been all over the map. We considered Austin, Texas for a while, then took a long hard look at Northern California and as much as we'd rather not go with our third choice, the signs seems to be pointing to south Orange County. I'll do a post on it in more detail, but no, gentle readers (and DeNae). No one missed an announcement.

We're just about to be five people living in a cute two bedroom beachside condo and at some point, it's time to consider a living situation that does not consign one of our children to living in the closet. And yes, one of them currently does. Even though it's roomy. We need to move before he figures it out and starts holding it against us.

I hope you all enjoy your morning. I'll be spending mine doing an oh, so entertaining three hour fasting glucose blood test which I'll probably pass because this is third kid in a row that's put me through this. However, I have a minivan with a DVD player and electric outlets and a plan to use them. Between my three (four?) separate needle sticks at one hour intervals, instead of sitting in the lab waiting room watch the parade of human misery file through for their own blood tests, I'll hang out in the van watching Veronica Mars season two on DVD, writing, and reading. Suh-weet. Don't cry for me, Argentina!

When we're sharing, we're happy. . .

If I were a smarter woman, I'd have answered your questions a few (like five) at a time, just to ensure myself future blog fodder for many posts to come. But I'm not smart. I'm pregnant. All previous intelligence has been eroded by estrogen. Or progesterone. Or whatever is causing the brain synapses to misfire.

Actually, they aren't even misfiring. They're not sparking at all.

Anyway, I'll have the answers to your last few questions when I return to my regular blog schedule next week. I bet you didn't even know I had a schedule, did you?

In the meantime, I had a very Merry Birthiversary and thank you to all of you who wished me one. I now own a bread machine that crouches in its unopened box and mocks me. Maybe tomorrow, Bread Maker. I got lots of other lovely little things to play with, use, or simply admire and I am well-content. I am not a cat person and don't identify with felines in any way but I admit, the image of a fluffy white kitty, fat and sassy, festooned with a shiny bow and resting on a satin pillow is an apt image to describe me right now. I am deliciously spoiled.

I even gave myself a gift this week. I wrote a page I am genuinely pleased with, one that when I re-read I thought, "Hm. Maybe I can write."

I"ll share it with you. It may not make very much sense to you because you don't know the characters, but I offer you lagniappe, an expression we use in Louisiana when we throw in a little something extra for you.

Without further ado, a page from my work-in-progress:

The best thing about church starting after lunch was the chance to sleep in on Sunday, which meant the sound of “Crazy Train” shrilling earlier than it should have irritated Sandy even more than usual. With a grunt, she groped through the pile of random paper scraps and magazines littering her nightstand to seize the offending cell phone. She tightened her grip on it, wishing for a split second that her fingers were wrapping around her mother's neck instead.


“Yes?” she grumbled.

“Good morning, Sand Dollar. I hope you weren't sleeping.”

“No, this is my wide awake morning voice,” she said, the evident frogginess in it underscoring her sarcasm.

“Well, it’s a beautiful day. You should probably thank me for waking you in time to enjoy it.”

She cracked an eyelid open far enough to see that the light coming through her window was weak and watery, definitely not a harbinger of a “beautiful” day. “I don’t know what health spa you’re calling me from, but I guarantee you it’s not in the same weather pattern as my apartment.”

“Oh,” her mother said, sounding nonplussed for a moment. “I’m in Sedona and it’s gorgeous here. You should really—”

“I’m not going to visit and I’m not awake enough to find a polite way to say that. Move on.”

“I just thought—”

“Magdalena, is this why you called me first thing in the morning? Because if it isn’t, could we just get to the point?”

Her mother was quiet for a moment and she felt a twinge of guilt for her abruptness. Magdalena cleared her throat and complied. “Since you don’t seem to want to come to me, I thought I’d come to you,” she said brightly. Too brightly. Sandy suspected her mother’s forced cheerfulness was designed to distract her from pointing out that she wasn’t invited.

Lingering guilt and sleep deprivation overrode her survival instincts for a moment and she found herself conceding ground she knew she would regret. “Sure. I’ll check my schedule and see when it looks clear.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” her mother trilled. Trilled! It had to be the crack of dawn in Sedona and she was still alarmingly chipper. “You’re too tied to that Blueberry of yours.” I-phone, Sandy corrected silently. “I already got a ticket. It’s all taken care of.”

That warning prodded her to wakefulness. “And when are you coming?” she asked.

“Tonight! Isn’t it wonderful?” More trilling. Sandy wasn’t taking the bait.

“Magdalena, this is the worst possible week. I have a hearing on Wednesday and I have to focus on that. I can’t take any time off.”

“Don’t worry, darling. If I had to wait for you to not be busy, we’d never get to visit. I’ll just stay in the background, quiet as can be. I can practice ‘spirit stillness.’ I learned about it in our focus and centering workshop yesterday.”

Feeling a flood of New Ageism about to crest, Sandy stepped in to stem the tide. “I promise to find time next month, maybe during the cherry blossom festival out here. I hear it’s gorgeous. But if ever there was a week where I will literally not have enough hours in the day, it’s this one. Just get a voucher. I’ll pay the cancellation fee.”

“I don’t know where all this negative energy you have is coming from,” her mother said, sounding wounded. “I just want to see my only baby girl. It’s been months and you haven’t accepted one invitation to come and visit. Well, I’m not willing to be a stranger so I’m actualizing my dream of a healed relationship between us by coming to see you. Am I really so terrible that I can’t even just make myself part of your backdrop for a few days?” Her voice sounded suddenly small and sad and somewhere inside, Sandy’s guilty conscience throbbed in a way that she knew wouldn’t quit until she gave in.

“All right,” she said, sighing. “But I’m warning you, I’m up against one of the craziest weeks of my life.”

“Sounds like I’m coming at just the right time then,” her mother said, sounding all smiles once more. Sandy smothered another sigh. Magdalena clearly wasn’t getting it.

“Give me your flight information,” she said. “I’ll be there.”

When she ended the call, she could already feel the first pulses of a headache behind her eye. Not the start to the week she’d been hoping for. At all.

Stupid answers, cont'd

Kazzy wants to know what kind of toothpaste I use. I kick it very, very old school. I use the Crest paste that does not whiten or remove tartar or do anything more than baking soda and water would. That's what my dentist told me to use. It's surprisingly hard to find a toothpaste without all the bells and whistles. My second favorite after that is that kind that Emeril advertises. I don't remember the name but I liked the vanilla mint kind.

Terressa wants to know my favorite brand of chocolate. Great question! I really like the Trader Joe's milk chocolate bar right now but I always have a pound of See's chocolates on hand as a writing incentive. I fill it with all my favorite pieces and I never share. No one else is allowed to touch it and even I can only touch it if I've written at least a thousand words in a day. Needless to say, I've thrown some really bad crud down on paper some days in order to get my chocolate. And I don't mean that literally because I do all my writing on my laptop but that doesn't have the same ring to it and I'm a writer so I had to make the image work, see?

I will answer both Kelly O's and Aunt Linda's question the same way: I think you both know the answer to those questions. Let's let any of my other relatives who read my blog continue to live their dreams by not revealing the answer here, shall we?

Sarah wants to know the plus and minus of being a CODA. Sarah is a very, very cool girl who is deaf with hearing kids. CODA stands for Children of Deaf Adults. If you're new-ish around here, she's asking me this because both of my parents were deaf. By far the biggest minus was that it affected my relationship with my mom. This was for a lot of reasons but some of the simplest ones were things like how I couldn't pick up the phone when things got tough at college and talk to her about them. It just wasn't the same going through a relay operator to discuss stuff like that. Maybe it would be different now with all the technology advancements like videophones but this was when email was still like, "What's that?" Instead, I would pick up the phone and call Pawpaw (my grandfather). So I always had someone to talk to; it just wasn't my mom. Variations of this played out in many, many ways over the years. The best part of being a CODA (although it takes getting older to appreciate it) is that it teaches you great communication skills, especially because of all the interpreting you do for your parents where you have to figure out what people are really saying. Also, I learned to be independent at a very early age and most of my CODA friends did, too. At first, it totally bugged me but now I really appreciate it. Also a bonus: people think I'm cool for knowing sign language.

Luisa wants to know when I decided that I knew the writing life was for me. Tricky question. I've always been a storyteller and come from a long line of storytellers. Before I even knew how to write, I would stand by the side of my father's typewriter and dictate poems that he would type out for me. I still have some of those and for age six? They're pretty dang good. I remember writing a scary haunted house story in eighth grade that got passed around during earth science every day in a spiral bound notebook and everyone waiting for the next installment each day. I remember writing a very Poe-esque short story as a junior that was published in our school literary magazine. I quit writing any kind of fiction in college and didn't have much to do with creative writing again until I began teaching it. It was a question of time. I taught eighth grade creative writing for five years and I kept thinking, "I ought to write a book." Actually, I thought that all throughout college too, but again...no time. It wasn't until I stayed home full time that I felt like I would be wasting a God-given talent if I didn't take a stab at it and so I did. I've never had literary ambitions. I just want to tell good stories that people enjoy. I write with a lot of humor and I write characters that I understand very, very well. I have no designs on the great American novel. I just want to entertain.

Ambrosia wants to know how I keep my house clean on bed rest. The answer is, I don't. It's a mess. And I'm not actually on bed rest so that's even worse because I don't have an excuse. I'd say my husband actually cleans almost as often as I do and he definitely does the dishes more. But I cook a lot and I DO clean. There just tends to be a day or two a week where I don't get to it and I don't care. My house is clean about 70% of the time and I'm fine with that as long as I know it's not bothering my husband AND as long as I don't have company coming. But I figure if they find me in a messy house and judge me, Oh well. They're probably dead right most of the time anyway. I accept that as a consequence of putting other things first sometimes.

CaJoh wants to know if I feel I've grown as a writer over the years and whether or not blogging has helped or hindered my writing style. First, I've grown as a writer FOR SURE. My voice as a writer is much more authentic now. I don't read my stuff and think, "Wow. That sounds impressive." I read it and think, "Yeah, that sounds like me," and it's hard 1) to write that way and 2) to recognize when you are and aren't doing that. So it makes me happy that I can. I'm sure blogging has had some effect on my fiction, but I'm not sure what. I can't point to a direct correlation so I don't know if it's helped or not. I can say that my blogging has improved tremendously in the 18 months I've been at it because I found my voice here, too. My first three months of posts are especially cringeworthy but I like to see that I've grown. What I express is ME now, not a persona I was trying to define, like it was sometimes at first.

Kimberly asked if having two books accepted for publication changed the way I see myself. I love this question. The short answer is no. The longer answer is that I definitely feel validated and I guess there's been a change in the sense that I feel like a Writer now, not someone who writes. I should do a post about that some time because it's a very key distinction for me. However, the reason I'd say mainly no is...

Well, this all going to sound very arrogant, but I've answered all these questions truthfully so far and to keep that up here is going to preclude false modesty. Here's the thing. I have a lot of personal fears about whether people will like and accept me but if you were trying to figure out whether to hire for me a job, I'd be able to break down for you with astonishing accuracy exactly what my assets are and how to best use me. I don't have many doubts about anything I tackle professionally because I know I'll do whatever it takes to master it and I'm a total sponge. I love learning new things. To be fair, I don't tackle things that I don't have an affinity for. Hence, I am not and will never be a rocket scientist, fashion designer or preschool teacher. I would totally suck.

Writing was a little unnerving at first but I was pretty sure I had the talent for it; I just worked very, very hard to soak up enough knowledge to make sure I also had the skill. I KNOW how to learn. I read, I went to workshops and conferences, I listened, I asked questions and I applied. Each of my manuscripts has shown me how much I'm learning and growing. Each of them shows me how much I still have left to learn. But I DO see progress and that's what I expect from myself. I'm following the same M.O. I've always had when it comes to professional goals.

I know, that's incredibly boorish, right? But you asked. I feel a real sense of accomplishment and pride in being a published author, but not really any surprise. It wouldn't occur to me that I wouldn't achieve a professional goal I set for myself. That's why the inevitable setbacks in my writing career are probably going to hit me harder than they will most people, but I just truck along worrying about what I can control, not what I can't. I'm sure I'm in for some kind of breakdown when things don't go right in my writing career, but I don't know when that will happen and I can't expend emotional energy worrying about it. In the meantime, just know that the moment I got my acceptance from my publisher, it was truly magical. It's a blessing to occupy a space in time where you are feeling your dream come true.

Migillicutty wants to know what kind of shampoo I use. I use Pantene. Sometimes I use Head and Shoulders when my scalp won't cooperate. And I use a fantastic Bumble and Bumble conditioner that actually helps with my incredibly dry hair.

And oh, my goodness, I have BLATHERED again. I'll save the last few questions for my next post. Tomorrow (or whenever Christmas Eve is for you when you read this) is my birthday and I'm going to be soooo self-indulgent. I'm not exactly sure how this is different from say, your average Tuesday, but I will say that I will consider each comment tomorrow as a birthday present from you to me and I thank you in advance. Merry Christmas, all!

Write Stuff.

I hit my first forty comment milestone today. (Okay, granted, the last one was mine.) All I had to do was write a post about lady parts. What is wrong with you people?

Moving on. . .

I apologize in advance for rambling. Just know, all these thoughts are loosely organized around the vague theme of "writing" because I started hatching a new novel on Monday.

Please note the emphasis on "loosely." I'm pretty sure I can't overstate that.

So I'm in love with this new novel so far but it's taken me to some strange places already. In the last two days, I've interviewed a lawyer about the nuances of the term "legal standing", the concept of a "term of art" and the conservative perception of private sector non-profit organizations. I've called City Hall to interview a council member about zoning hearings and used my best friend's connections to figure out where the LDS singles hipsters live and play in Washington DC. Oh, and I invented a gentrified neighborhood just emerging from urban decay that still needs a home somewhere in the District. Ah, the life of a writer. . .

Oh, I need to know what colors look good on a redhead of the Titian variety. Any ideas? She has blue eyes, if it helps. I have to dress her and I don't want to put her in something devastatingly stupid for a redhead to wear.

My husband has nightly rehearsals this week for our huge stake musical and so I'm using the quiet time in the evenings to get twice as much writing done as usual. It feels weird.

I found out that the word "booty" is acceptable to my publisher but the word "sucks" is not. (And Nancy cheers...)

I have characters named Sand Dollar and El Diablo. Oh, did I mention it's chick lit and not fantasy?

I'm feeling more sure that I'm still as funny as I think I am. I make no attempt to figure out how funny other people think I am. I'm good with making myself laugh because that's a very, very low bar.

I submitted my second manuscript first thing on Monday morning and now I get to sit and wait. I'm alternating between a fantasy where the evaluations come back with rave reviews and a nightmare where my editor revokes my contract. I tend to land on cautiously optimistic in between, though.

Also, Baby G has finally discovered his boy parts and is kicking it Al Bundy style all day. And that has nothing to do with writing. It's just part of the scenery around here.

It's a Win-Win. One for you, one for me.

You are invited to a meeting of the Brain Trust. (That means if you're reading my blog, you're in the Brain Trust. It's a super exclusive group.)

Here's the scenario:

Twilight is already taken so. . . I need a different title. Want to help?

I helped my friend Aubrey Mace come up with the title for her new book, Santa Maybe. Know what I got? A free copy. And I'm going to pay it forward. If you can help me come up with the new title for my book, YOU also get a free copy of Santa, Maybe which is out this month. I'll tell you all about the total cuteness that is her book in a minute.


This is the dealio. My editor emailed me yesterday to tell me that there was a big pow-wow back at the Bat Cave regarding my book title. Seems that even though I submitted the novel over a year ago, a novel that just came out from them last month has a similar title and so they need a new one for mine. The new title is the subject of some debate and ambivalence among the sales and marketing teams, the retail executive staff, and store buyers, so they wanted my opinion. My opinion is that I'm. . . ambivalent.


While I can't tell you the new title, I have full permission to get your ideas for alternate suggestions. I'll give you a blurb of what the book is about, plus the old title. I'll look at your suggestions for a new title and the one I like best will win the commenter a copy of Santa, Maybe.

Okay, the nutshell: Jessie is a twenty-something accountant working for a major software company in Seattle where she just got a major promotion. Her fun-loving roommate Sandy is constantly trying to drag her out to have a social life but Jessie resists, usually because she has too much work. Mischevious Sandy sets up a profile for Jessie (without her knowledge) on an LDS dating site. At first Jessie is ready to kill her--until she sees a profile for Ben Bratton. Long (but really funny and totally engrossing) story short, Jessie has to work through her hurt from a past relationship and broken engagement and decide it's worth not hiding behind her work anymore to make a go of it with hot, funny Ben. There's lots of texts and IMs and emails in addition to their dates, so it's definitely modern dating.

The original title was Click. All parties agree that this is a great title. It fits because of the whole mouse "click" internet dating thing, and because of how they "click" with each other. However, the novel that came out last month is called Right Click and since it was first, mine has to change.

The only thing I've come up with is something like Working it Out. It kind of plays on the workaholic element but with the right cover, it could come off as light and hip. However, I can't say I love it. So this is where you guys come in. I'd love your ideas/suggestions. You get a new book out of it. . .

This book:I got to read this when it was just a Word file on my computer, but I started re-reading it now that it's an actual book and I still LOVE it! It's a really fun Christmas romance about a girl named Abbie who, to appease her nieces and nephew, writes a joking letter to Santa asking for a husband for Christmas. Guess what shows up under her tree in the wee hours of Christmas Day? A hot guy with amnesia, dressed in his pajamas and intent on eating all her breakfast cereal. Thus begins Abbie's mission to figure out who her handsome stranger really is. There has to be a logical explanation, because there's no such thing as Christmas magic. Is there . . .?

She won the Whitney Award for romance with Spare Change this year, and with good reason. I like Santa, Maybe even better and I know you'll have a great time with it, too.

To enter: throw out your suggestions for a title for The Novel Formerly Known as Click.

Come on Brain Trust. Rock it, my pretties!