delilah s. dawson

behold the sekrit smellies

2012-01-28T21:06:00.002-05:00

Things are in the works. Marvelous things. SEKRIT THINGS.

I will tell you this:

1. Brooke at Villainess Soaps is a lovely person and a super talented perfumer.

2. I now smell like Criminy Stain and have nearly sniffed myself delirious.

3. There may be a way for you to enjoy these in the future.

4. Smelling my characters is ONE OF THE COOLEST THINGS that has ever happened to me.

Extrapolate from that what you will.

SQUEE.

I <3 you x1000, Brooke!

the rockin' rainbow

2012-01-26T07:22:00.004-05:00

So my Kindergarten-age spawn won the "Most Colorful" award in her school art show.

I can't really take any credit, aside from letting her use my "grown-up" watercolors. Just as they say the cobbler's children wear no shoes, so does this former art teacher's daughter receive very little art instruction. I've seen too many children her age forced into artistic conformity. It's so very heartbreaking when a seven-year old says, "My dad says I can't draw cats good. I'm a horrible artist!"*

So I only help my kids with art when they ask for it.

But shall I reveal what I believe to be the secret of successful art projects?

Use adult-quality materials.

If you give your kid the super-crappy 99cent Wal-Mart brand watercolor set and some computer printer paper, they're going to be disappointed and frustrated with their creation. It is simply impossible to create satisfying artwork using sub-par materials. When I taught kids' art classes, my supply fee was often a little higher than other teachers' fees, maybe $20 to their $12. And that was because I went to the art supply store and bought actual supplies instead of the cheap junk from school supply stores. Not the most expensive stuff, of course. But good enough that the children and their parents were always pleasantly surprised by the end result.**

That painting up there-- which was required by the school!-- was made using my own personal watercolor palette, one of my brushes, and a double-wrapped canvas. I just reminded her to wash her brush and dry it off on a paper towel in between colors and left the room. There was no discussion of what she was going to paint or how. That's simply what she did of her own free will.

And, honestly, I don't think my direction could have improved it a single bit.

* It was a joy, teaching that girl how to draw a cat and watching her gain confidence. She was a ginger with a fantastic smile. She gave me a drawing of a rhinoceros that I still keep in my studio and repeated my class for a year.

** Note that this doesn't necessarily apply to crafts. I think it's fantastic, giving your kids egg cartons and greeting cards and old buttons and just letting them go to town. I'm talking strictly about fine art-- watercolors, acrylics, colored pencils, pastels, oil pastels.

in which I keelhaul reality

2012-01-25T09:42:00.006-05:00

What do we do when we don't know what to do?

We put on a costume and pretend to be a steampunk pirate!

It's so much easier than coping.

YARR.

The shirt, Vixen corset, and green stagecoach skirt are from Damsel in this Dress. I was so pleased with everything I purchased from her that I've already ordered another corset-- a black and cream damask underbust to wear with my Steampunk Librarian costume.

The plum skirt is from Park Avenue Thrift store-- $4. The boots are Nine West and not period-quality, as they have zippers and pointy little heels. The hat uses a felt wide-brim hat from Target, purchased on sale for $9 and decorated by me.

One day, I'll do a post on its transformation. Today, I'm just showing off.

Notes on steampunk outfits:

1. They are very layer intensive.

2. There are lots of long, dangly laces that have to be tucked in.

3. They are rather heavy.

4. They sincerely depend on cool accessories, of which I don't yet have enough.

5. They are addictive.

6. Corsets really should return to everyday fashion.

wordles

2012-01-23T22:28:00.003-05:00

A list of things that are not words but should be:

weasely, rabbity, badgery, snuck, knelted, squonk, squee, argle bargle, fetchy, adorkable, snarkalicious, cakesy, slurpy, slugtastic, chonk, podingo, moar, LOLLERBALL.

Seriously. They're so extremely self-explanatory.

Also, the word steampunk is a word, so stop it with the red squiggles.

That's all. I'm angry at Justified and going to bed now.

Tomorrow: MOAR EDIT CAVE.

five minutes of my life

2012-01-21T17:33:00.005-05:00

biscuit: Why does the Grinch hate Christmas?

me: I don't know. Maybe Santa ran over his dog once?

biscuit: Or maybe his heart is too small?

me: Yes, I suppose it could be a congenital defect.

biscuit: I think Darth Vader had one of those.

t.rex: Or maybe his bottom is too flat.

me: Maybe his bottom is WHAT?

t.rex: His bottom. It... it kinda flat. And too big. And hairy. It make him sad.

me: But why would that make him hate Christmas?

t.rex: Maybe it itches more at Christmas?

me: *totally straightfaced* Yes, maybe the Grinch hates Christmas because his big, flat, hairy bottom itches too much on December 25th.

t.rex: Or maybe his house fell down?

me: What does that have to do with Christmas?

t.rex: I don't know. Maybe his mom died. Or Spiderman came to put him in jail? Spiderman put the Vulture in jail. Vultures are green. We saw some vultures by the bookstore one time. You wouldn't let me pet them.

me: What... are we talking about?

t.rex: The Grinch. The Grinch, mom. His TV fell down and he knocked the glass down all over the place and--

biscuit: SUPER GIRL TO THE RESCUE! *rides by on her scooter in a nightgown, sunglasses, Mardi Gras beads, and giraffe slippers*

t.rex: *chases her, waving a sword and a gun* SUPER PUSS IN BOOTS G.I. JOE IS THERE! REAL AMERICAN HERO! MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE!

biscuit: Okay, now it's time for the Noisy Horse Tap-Dancer Parade.

me: Wow. Just... wow.

my magic buns

2012-01-21T14:09:00.003-05:00

Last year, I swooned over those razors with the built-in shaving cream.

Because that's totally brilliant, right?

This year, I'm swooning over Spin Pins. If you wear your hair in buns as frequently as I do, they're a lifesaver.

And I made a video to show you how.

Warning: It's very badly done.

You can get 2 for $6 at Target or a package of 3 knock-offs at Hobby Lobby for $1.99.

Totally worth it!

where art thou?

2012-01-19T19:08:00.003-05:00

See that? That's my Writer Hat.

It has a feather quill pen and an ink pot. For all my steampunk writing adventures. In hot air balloons, I hope.

I have this other hat, you see. I bought it at Target, and the plan is to turn it into a pirate's hat through the use of ribbon and string and feathers and pointy things that I have no business using. That's why I found myself in Hobby Lobby today.

And that's where I had one of those tiny epiphanies.

I've been haunting art supply stores all my life. I know which brand of acrylic is better for painting canvas vs. paper and which India ink smells the worst and the only kind of tempera that doesn't crack on windows. I love to run my fingers over paintbrushes-- the expensive ones that I've never been willing to pay for. I love posing the wooden mannequins, looking at rows and rows of pristine pastels, and giving myself tattoos with the rainbow of Sharpies.

In short, I'm an artist.

Except that I'm not anymore.

I saw canvas on sale today and thought, "That's a pretty good price!"

And then I realized that I no longer want to paint. That I don't even think I'm a very good painter. That although I can draw better than most people and have years of training and experience, for the most part, I've left visual art behind to pursue my writing career. I'm a much better writer than I ever was as a painter, and when I find a postcard from one of my shows lying on the floor of the garage under a bed of leaves, I feel a little sheepish. For so long, I thought that I would become a great artist. But it never happened.

Instead, I became a writer.

I now feel about painting the same way I feel about guys I used to date. They were nice. They were great at the time and have much to offer the right person. But for me, it was never meant to be. Each time, I thought OH MY GOSH, THIS IS SO PERFECT. ALL MY DREAMS WILL COME TRUE! And only once did that actually occur, which is why I'll be celebrating my tenth wedding anniversary next May.

Art has become an ex-boyfriend.

I walk into an art supply store or a gallery, and I feel old, wise, smirky, nostalgic. "I've been here," I think. "I used to do this, too. I have been around this block. Good times." And I leave empty-handed and heavy-hearted, knowing that even if I travel that road again, everything will be different. Knowing that, deep down, it was just a stepping stone.

I like to imagine myself at sixty, taking a watercolor class. And the instructor will be someone much younger who will explain the color wheel and transparency and masking, and I'll just smile gently and think, "I know, honey. I know."

SOPA SUCKS

2012-01-18T06:30:00.001-05:00

I'm joining most of the internet in protesting yet another bill that was devised by clueless old men and giant megacorporations to strip of us our rights. Want to know more about how to fight SOPA and keep your favorite social media sites legal? Go here.

would you like to be wicked?

2012-01-17T15:00:00.002-05:00

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Wicked as They Come

by Delilah S. Dawson

Giveaway ends February 05, 2012.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter to win

Now you can, and over a month early. Whoever wins this ARC can be demandy, too, if they're one of my blog readers. I'll sign it, write secrets in it, whatever.

And if you're on Goodreads, you can add WICKED AS THEY COME while you're over there. Who doesn't love two-headed vampires and blood-sucking bunnies?

seriously, seriously WICKED

2012-01-16T17:20:00.006-05:00

See that bracelet?

It was a surprise gift hand-made for me by my dear and talented friend Stephanie over at Pinafores & Pinwheels. Here's her post about it, including how she made it. If you like sewing and crafting, check out her beautifully handmade clothes for kids, not to mention the purses and jewelry she makes as gifts, which can be seen on her blog. She's so amazing!

Needless to say, the only reason I've taken it off today was to gaze in wonder at it. It's got some of my favorite quotes *and* my book title on there, along with beautiful little cogs. And it fits. And it's so pretty and smooth. And just SQUEE.

See?

(photo from http://pinaforesandpinwheels.blogspot.com/2011/12/cuff-cuteness.html)

It makes me so happy I just about can't see straight.

And it's going to look great with my steampunk outfits.

And with the beautiful octopus necklaces my friends Heidi and Alice gave me and the pretty bead cuffs from Carrie. Seriously, y'all. I have the best friends.

Thanks so much, Stephanie! I love it, and I'm going to wear it until it just about falls off.

Totally made my day!

thanks, sevenly!

2012-01-14T09:05:00.003-05:00

I get to review a lot of really cool stuff for Cool Mom Picks, and I correspond with some seriously lovely people throughout the process. One of my favorite parts of working for my amazing editors is when a company or artisan I've reviewed sends a thank you note and I get a warm fuzzy from knowing I've helped a real person.

I received a thank you package in the mail from Ryan and the folks at Sevenly this week, and I am LOVING this shirt. It's soft, comfy, fits like a glove, and includes two of my favorite things: freedom and feathers. Plus, $7 from the purchase of every shirt goes to charity.

If you're looking for a cool shirt that does good in the world, check them out. They have a new shirt each week that's designed by an artist in relation to that week's charity.

Thanks, Sevenly!

The Creative Cycle Will Kill You, REALLY.

2012-01-13T14:35:00.001-05:00

For some reason today's blog post crammed itself down there below my steampunk costume post. So you can scroll down or click here to see why I'm like a balloon and craving Captain Crunch.

in which I blubber over a blurb

2012-01-12T11:35:00.003-05:00

You guys. YOU GUYS. I got my first blurb!

That's the short version. Here's the long version:

"WICKED AS THEY COME is as good as it gets! Delilah Dawson, I love your steamvamp world of Sang! And I long to hear super-hot bludman Criminy Stain whisper those three special words in my ear: 'Here's the sequel!'"

Thanks so much to Nancy!

Now, as my friend Stephanie says, "WORTHY OF A CUPCAKE!"

getting vaguely steamy

2012-01-11T13:53:00.005-05:00

I'm finally doing it!

I'm putting together steampunk outfits.

I want two separate ones. One a sort of Maid Marion/pirate and the other more of an adventurous librarian.

Oh, and I can't take decent pictures.

So first, we have Vixen corset, shirt, and stagecoach shirt from Damsel in Distress:

Or, for the full effect with my bad photography:

And the basis of the steampunk librarian:

That's a big plum circle skirt, white blouse, and black pinstripe vest.

I still need a leather harness, something to hold a pocket watch, and two seriously fabulous hats.

It's all about the accessories.

It's funny-- only in the last couple of years have I learned to accessorize my normal wardrobe.

Now I have to learn all over again.

Note to self: cogs, brass, octopi.

Question:

If you were going to dress up in a steampunk fashion,

what would your persona be?

Pirate, adventurer, inventor, diva?

The Creative Cycle Will Kill You

2012-01-11T13:13:00.004-05:00

First of all, you can thank my art degree and the glories of MS Paint for that fabulous image.

Second of all, the Creative Cycle will kill you.

But! And here's the kicker.

Only if you let it.

See, right now, I'm in the deflation part, which means that instead of doing anything useful, I'm haunting Twitter and Facebook, stalking Goodreads, shopping for corsets I don't need, and occasionally stealing glances at my Gmail waiting for a seratonin hit like a lab rat hooked up to a sugar dispenser. But that's part of my creative cycle. It happens every time. Let me explain.

1. First, there is the seed.

The idea. The spark. The inspiration that grabs your heart at 11:37 at night and makes you scribble on the back of a drugstore receipt with an eyeliner pencil. The idea fills you, expands you, makes you realize you can do anything! You dream, you chew it like a unicorn gnawing on magical glitter cud. You live in your mind until you have it all figured out.

2. And then you have to do it.

This is the doing phase. You have to write that book, no matter what. If you want to stay home in the same fleece pants for two weeks and eat nothing but calamari and never sleep, you do that. If you need to dress up and go out and sit at a place with free refills and drink coffee all day in your fancy boots, you do that. No matter what it takes, you do it.

And then it's done.

And for about twenty minutes, you feel overwhelming relief.

Then the next day comes, and you feel...

3. The deflation.

No energy. Honey badger don't care. You want a nap. Or maybe you should work? Should you look at it? Start the next revision? What if someone else is writing the same concept and finishes it before you do? What if an editor has a space for it and you miss it? What if THE WORLD BLOWS UP? So you look at it, and then you realize that...

IT SUCKS.

There are plot holes. Characters that have issues. Messed up view or tense. You've completely forgotten that chapter 1 centered on the heroine being an only child while her brother becomes a main character in chapter 4. The motivation is off. The pacing is off. The bit with the robots is FLAT OUT. There's so much work on this rotten piece of trash that it will never become anything more than a crap smudge on a thumb drive.

And that right there is what will kill you if you let it.

You can't let yourself forget that you have reached the bottom point of the creative cycle. The PMS of the menstrual cycle of your mind. If you can get through this bit, it's all downhill from there.

Because one day, you think... maybe I'll look at it again. Maybe it's not too bad.

So you decide to do the hard part.

4. You look at it. And you fix it.

You lay it out, graph it out, and the holes are easy to see. You know how to make him more likable, her more real. You know exactly how to amp up the excitement in the middle. You can fix it, and it will be good.

So you go back to work. It's not manic and panicked and frenzied. It's measured. Intelligent. Planned. Fulfilling. Logical.

And when you're done with the careful work, you've come full circle.

And it's done.

The hard truth is that making something of value takes time.

It takes excitement, hard work, patience, pain, an acceptance of criticism, and a dedication to making it right, no matter the cost. I didn't understand that, when I was younger. I thought things could spring fully-formed from my head and be perfect.

They can't. Not for me. Not for anyone.

So don't let it kill you. Don't even let it get you down. When you hit the point of deflation, do whatever you must to get past it, even if that involves going to bed for three days with a box of Captain Crunch. It's a natural part of the process, of the cycle.

We are creatures controlled by chemicals and muses and gods and monsters and things we'll never understand. The one thing in our power is choice. You choose to create. You choose to strive.

And when things get hard, you choose to go on.

a morning three-way

2012-01-10T07:05:00.003-05:00

A morning three-way conversation with my children, that is.

t.rex: I tink dere are bad guys here.

me: At the bus stop? Why do you think that?

t.rex: Because dey are dark. You no can see dem.

me: What do they want with a bunch of sleepy parents and kids?

the biscuit: Um, maybe you're forgetting my piggy bank? And all my JEWELS?

me: Sweetheart, bad guys need more than $3.72 and some plastic gems. They want billions and

billions of dollars.

the biscuit: What about my computer?

me: The one that plays a Barbie song?

the biscuit: Oh.

me: Yeah.

the biscuit: Is that my bus?

me: Yep.

the biscuit: Oh, BORING. I hate P.E. day!

me: Hate is a very strong word that we don't use. But I hate P.E., too, so I guess that's okay. Have a good day. I love you!

the biscuit: Bye! I love you! Weebles wobble, but they don't fall down!

me: Duly noted.

t.rex: It is time to pick up Sister?

me: No. She's not even on the bus yet.

t.rex: Then it is time to eat oatmeal?

me: Yes. Let's drive home and get you some oatmeal.

t.rex: MAYBE DAT IS PRINCESS LEIA?

me: I'm pretty sure that's Kai's mom.

t.rex: NO, DAT IS PRINCESS LEIA ON HOTH!

me: This isn't Hoth.

t.rex: IT PRETTY COLD.

me: I'm not wearing shoes. It's not cold.

t.rex: DAT IS STILL PRINCESS LEIA.

me: And what is Princess Leia doing in our neighborhood at 6:53am, walking home from the bus stop?

t.rex: SAVING US FROM DOZE BAD GUYS I JUST SAW.

me: Wow. You totally brought that one around full circle!

t.rex: YETZ. I AM YOUR LEADER, DUKE. DO WHAT I SAY.

me: Not a chance, dude.

signage

2012-01-08T18:33:00.005-05:00

See that? It's one of my proudest possessions. A mint condition, hardbound, first edition of the Pennyroyal Edition of Alice in Wonderland, signed to me with warm regards from one of my all-time favorite illustrators, the marvelous Barry Moser.

This was my first signed book, and here is the second.

A signed copy of The Black Doll's Imbroglio by Edward Gorey.

Not personalized, as he was dead by then. I found it at the Gorey shop in New York in 1994, and even though one of my children ripped the dust jacket, she yet lives.

See? I can be merciful.

My third signed book is a copy of Misty of Chincoteague by Marguerite Henry.

And when I started writing and meeting authors, my collection really expanded.

Note: The yellow My Little Pony is Skydancer, who was a gift from author Seanan McGuire. I should have asked her to sign the pony's bum before mailing.

Since I stopped collecting Breyer Horses in middle school, I haven't really collected anything until now. It feels good to gather beautiful things, one by one, to open them and remember what it was like to meet an author I admire. Each of these books tells a story I won't forget.

Recently on Facebook, one of my favorite authors, Matthew Stover, said he wanted a signed copy of my book, and that was possibly the most flattering and twitterpatering thing I've ever heard. I'm still fanning myself. Of course, he has to sign my battered copy of Heroes Die, first.

Anybody else have a signed book they cherish?

my first review!

2012-01-06T10:50:00.002-05:00

*****

I woke up this morning to find the first ever review for WICKED AS THEY COME!

5 out of 5 stars.

That's FIVE STARS!

It's here, if you'd like to read it, but it contains many SPOILERS, so BEWARE.

The ARCs have gone out, and I will now spend most of the day googling the book and holding my breath. So I'll probably be pretty dizzy until, oh... April.

There are mixed opinions on whether authors should read their reviews, but I just couldn't help myself. I really appreciate Lexie's thoughtful, thorough, and above all interesting response. She feels the same way about the characters that I do, and that tells me that I'm doing something right.

I know there are going to be bad reviews and meh reviews, and I'm trying to steel myself for them. For now, I'm just smiling really big.

happy net karma ahoy!

2012-01-05T21:25:00.003-05:00

So a fun thing just happened.

1. Litreactor.com wrote an intriguing article about B&N ditching the Nook.

2. They did an image search for "broken Nook" and found my picture from this post that I wrote on my 33rd birthday.

3. They used it at the top of their article. Me! With crossed eyes! And a Nook that looks like a bustier sprouting from zombie Gertrude Stein.

4. The delightful Kate Hart identified me and pointed the article out to me via Twitter.

5. I was flattered, so I commented with a couple of link drops.

6. The Litreactor folks kindly gave me credit for the image and even PUT UP A BIG OL' PIC OF MY BOOK COVER WITH LINKS.

7. I squeed and told everybody I know about it, because it made me feel FAMOUS.

This is how the internet is supposed to work.

People sharing information with the kindest intentions,

and then spreading it all over the place like glittery marmalade.

I now have a warm fuzzy.

Thanks, Litreactor!

the latent violence of bibliophilia

2012-01-04T10:41:00.004-05:00

me: (working in studio)

t.rex: (HUGE CRASH IN LIVING ROOM!)

me: Dude, what are you doing? Are you okay?

t.rex: GO 'WAY. I BUSY.

me: (runs to living room anticipating trouble)

And what do I see?

The scruffy little nerfherder pulled down every book on the kids' bookshelf.

me: WHY DID YOU DO THAT?

t.rex: I WAS LOOKING FOR PING POG PIG. IT MY FABRIT BOOK.

me: Dude, it's over there on the floor, where you left it yesterday.

t.rex: OH, OKAY. I READ IT NOW. OINK OINK SNORT I LIKE TO JUMP I PING POG PIG DUKE BANG BANG I SHOOT YOU!

me: You're a violent enigma wrapped in trouble wrapped in bacon.

t.rex: READ DIS TO ME, OR I SHOOT YOU, TOO.

would you guys please do me a favor?

2012-01-03T18:41:00.005-05:00

So I have a book coming out this year...

Believe me, I'm as surprised as you are. Not only because I actually lived up to my potential for once, but because I somehow managed to write sex scenes even though people I actually know are going to read them.

Like maybe my kids' teachers. Or my aunt. Or kids I used to babysit.

And I might be slightly freaking out.

Anyway.

If you haven't, I would be overjoyed and obliged if you would "like" my author Facebook page since I'm trying to swallow my own terror and do the self-marketing thing.

As we count down to the release date, which is March 27, I'll have news to share about giveaways, possibly some freebies, and a book launch party we're planning in north Atlanta where I will blush a lot and snarf cupcakes and red wine and just thank everyone a thousand times.

And I'd love it if you (and you and you) would be there.

In the spirit of how this blog started out, here's a quote from my morning:

kids: I WANT THE BIG BOWL!

me: You know what? The big secret is that the oatmeal tastes the exact same no matter which

bowl you eat out of.

biscuit: My secret is that I sleep in my underpants.

t.rex: MY SECRET IS DAT YOU CAN NEBBER PLAY WIT MY TOYS.

me: I think you guys are missing the point about the oatmeal.

t.rex: I TINK YOU ARE MISSING DA POINT ABOUT NOT PLAYING WIT MY TOYS.

so that explains a few things.

2012-01-02T10:24:00.006-05:00

Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I was born.

Technically, it was 1977 and Atlanta, but whatever.

Most little girls of my generation grew up wanting to be Barbie or Cinderella or Cheetara from the Thunder Cats. But my childhood idol was a purple cat who sang in a nightclub.

See, there was this movie called Banjo the Woodpile Cat. It was one of Don Bluth's many animated films in the late 70s and early 80s that made children cry by showing what happened if you disobeyed your parents or had the bad luck to be an orphan.

In this case, a small and naughty cat named Banjo runs away from his stern parents and ends up nearly dying 60 times before an older cat mentor named Crazy Legs (voiced by Scatman Crothers) tells him how to get home. The part I remember most is when Banjo and Crazy Legs went to a sort of speakeasy/cathouse where three fabulous and colorful cat sisters sang a song.

Now, to be quite honest, I haven't seen this movie since I was 6. I don't actually remember which cat in that picture above is Zazu. I just remember that she was glamorous, sparkly, oddly colored, oddly named, sang well, and seemed to have a hell of a lot of fun.

And that's who I wanted to be.

When other kids on the kindergarten playground would lay claim to being the mommy or the big sister or Jem or Princess Leia or the girlfriend from Thriller, I was always quick to yell that I was Zazu. And no one else had any earthly clue who Zazu was, so I would go play quietly in a corner, shaking my tail and pretending to be a rebellious purple cat and singing sleazy nightclub songs.

Personally, I think that explains an awful lot about my childhood. And my adulthood.

Anybody else have a weird childhood idol?

how to make a DISCO BEAR

2012-01-01T18:47:00.004-05:00

1. Obtain a bear-shaped container of animal crackers.

2. Eat all the animal crackers. Not all at once, though.

3. Blow the dust out of the container, but do so in a way that makes animal cracker guts lodge painfully in your eyeballs. Or you can skip that step. I didn't.

4. Put some glittery Christmas ornaments in there and shove a bunch of Christmas lights around them in a way that vaguely reminds you of intestines.

5. Realize that you have no idea what to do with the plug

6. Shove the top down anyway.

7. Plug in and cause a huge fight between your children over who gets THE DISCO BEAR.

All in all, I'd say it was a success.

Special thanks to Ericka for giving us a plastic bear full of snacks.

resolute.

2011-12-31T20:22:00.002-05:00

2011 was incredible year for me, even if I don't know what a vuvuzela is and failed to occupy anything but my Ikea Poang chair.

Here, therefore, are my New Year's resolutions:

1. Be kinder.

2. Kick more ass.

3. Wear more things that are not jeans.

4. Sell another book.

5. Have as many adventures as possible/get out of the country at least once.

6. Obtain either a top hat or a bowler hat.

7. Get back on the slow carb train.

8. Sell as many copies of WICKED AS THEY COME as possible.

9. Make more of an effort to see friends instead of descending into a hermit cave of fleecy pants, laptops, and tumblr.

10. Read ALL THE BOOKS!

Anybody else making their resolutions tonight?

on jeans

2011-12-29T20:18:00.003-05:00

Sometimes, I think I would like to throw out my entire wardrobe and wear nothing but steampunkery and things that Penelope would wear in the movie Penelope that is about a pig-nosed girl who wears wonderful coats and loves James McAvoy.

And yet I never do.

I never even attempt either of these aesthetics.

And I finally figured out why.

JEANS.

I spend 99% of my out-of-the-house time in jeans. Comfortable, good-looking, go-with-everything, great-with-boots, do-not-require-ironing-or-dry-cleaning jeans.

So I just need to figure out a way to make jeans steampunk, and I'll be set.

(These are the things I think about in the night.)

on prying things apart

2011-12-27T22:57:00.003-05:00

I read this article today, and it made me think. It's about an artist who composts dead horses and uses their skeletons to create beautiful sculptures. I understand that some people are squeamish, and as someone who once joined PETA and wrote a ten page paper instead of dissecting a frog, I suppose I can get that. But I embrace it, so long as no live creature is harmed in the process.

See, I wanted a horse all my life.

When I was little, I used to dream that on my birthday, I would wake up and find a black horse tied to a tree outside or snarfing oats in the unused half of our garage. That never happened.

When I was 17, I went to France with a student exchange program. One night, I told the waiter, "This is the best steak I've ever had!" In French, of course. He replied, again in French, and with a very French expression of disdain, "It's not steak. It's horse."

I kept chewing and said to myself, "I always wanted a horse."

I figured that, like that Monet I touched before they threw me out of the museum, at least the horse would be merging with my atoms, be part of me forever.

Years later, a friend invited me to her barn. Her husband taught vet science at a local college, and they ran an equine rescue organization, and they were going to euthanize a horse and dissect it for his vet students. The poor animal was toothless and blind and starving to death and could barely walk. I have never seen a more pathetic creature, and my heart just about broke, watching its legs wobble beneath it. They gave it a shot, and it went all dreamy and fell.

Part of me was scared and sad, thinking that something I had always wanted had just died at my feet. But as the process continued, I found myself transfixed. I had always liked animals so much that I would never do anything to hurt them. But with the cruelty removed from the process, I was free to see the beauty of what happens under the skin. I saw the inside of a cataract. I held a piece of trachea. I saw the inside of a stomach, the gleam of bone, how very tiny the parts of the ear are. I saw how very large a horse's heart is, what it takes to move blood through those giant, majestic bodies.

Because the horse was dead, I wasn't blinded by my lifelong wish for a horse. It was no longer my dream; it was an object, albeit one we tried to honor and learn from. Instead, I saw how very pretty and magical and breathtaking it was on the inside.

I think art and writing can be a little like that, too.

Sometimes, people are in so much awe of the artist or the artwork, the book or the author, that they're afraid to get their hands messy. I remember, years ago, wanting to be an artist so very badly and just sitting for hours in front of a canvas, wishing for a lightning bolt of inspiration. I used to listen to the soundtrack from the 1998 Great Expectations, thinking about this scene and wishing to hell that I could feel that mad fury, that passion for art. Wishing that I had that kind of inborn style and obsession.

But I never did.

And I was too afraid to try it and mess up. Too afraid to do the wrong thing.

Writing is the same way. You can't be too much in awe of great books, of a huge sheaf of papers. you can't get ten pages into a first draft and decide that it sucks, that you'll never be GRR Martin or JK Rowling or Jane Austen or Haruki Murakami or insert your favorite author here. You have to want it so badly that you're willing to get your hands around what you want, even if it's broken, and rip it wide open and lay its flaws and beauties bare, and then you've got to keep going and reach in your hands and fix it all.

I'm not saying that you should go dissect a horse. I'm saying that sometimes you have to watch your dreams die before you can figure out how to make them come true.

The way I always wished to feel about art is now the way I feel about writing. I finally have that passion, that obsession, that drive. And you know what? Every single one of my books includes a horse.

Some dreams never die.

a year's worth of nookie

2011-12-26T08:30:00.006-05:00

“If you don't have time to read, you don't have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that.” ~Stephen King

Read this year on the Nook: (42)

MAKING WAVES by Tawna Fenske

SHATTER ME by Tahereh Mafi

HEART OF STEEL by Meljean Brook

THE NIGHT CIRCUS by Erin Morganstern

LOLA AND THE BOY NEXT DOOR by Stephanie Perkins

SUPERNATURALLY by Kiersten White

HOW TO BE BAD by E. Lockhart et al

FOREVER by Maggie Stiefvater

THE DARK ENQUIRY by Deanna Raybourn

HEARTLESS by Gail Carriger

HOURGLASS by Myra McIntyre

THIRTEEN REASONS WHY by Jay Asher

THE GIRL IN THE STEEL CORSET by Kady Cross

GLIMMERGLASS by Jenna Black

DIVERGENT by Veronica Roth

INVINCIBLE SUMMER by Hannah Moskowitz

CITY OF FALLEN ANGELS by Cassandra Clare

LAND OF THE PAINTED CAVES by Jean Auel

CRYER'S CROSS by Lisa McAnn

DEMONGLASS by Rachel Hawkins

WICKED LOVELY by Melissa Marr

DELIRIUM by Lauren Oliver

MATCHED by Ally Condie

THE IRON QUEEN by Julie Kagawa

THE IRON DUKE by Meljean Brook

SHADOWFEVER by Karen Marie Moning

DREAMFEVER by Karen Marie Moning

ASCEND by Amanda Hocking

TORN by Amanda Hocking

SWITCHED by Amanda Hocking

ANNA AND THE FRENCH KISS by Stephanie Perkins

DASH AND LILY'S BOOK OF DARES by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan

WHITE CAT by Holly Black

DARK ROAD TO DARJEELING by Deanna Raybourn

SILENT IN THE SANCTUARY by Deanna Raybourn

SILENT ON THE MOORS by Deanna Raybourn

SILENT AS THE GRAVE by Deanna Raybourn

BRIGHT YOUNG THINGS by Anna Godberson

HUSH MONEY by Susan Bischoff

WISDOM by Amanda Hocking

THE IRON DAUGHTER by Julie Kagawa

THE IRON KING by Julie Kagawa

Conclusions:

1. When I find an author I like, I'll devour everything in their series and all their future books.

2. I favor paranormal YA and paranormal romance. Normal bores me; I want an escape!

3. I buy a lot of books based on Twitter hype and liking the author on Twitter.

4. I am rarely disappointed in books found via Twitter.

My favorite Nook books this year: ANNA AND THE FRENCH KISS and LOLA AND THE BOY NEXT DOOR by Stephanie Perkins, DASH AND LILY'S BOOK OF DARES, THE NIGHT CIRCUS, everything by Deanna Raybourn and Gail Carriger, everything by Meljean Brook.

My least favorite Nook books: LAND OF THE PAINTED CAVES. I've been a huge fan of Jean Auel since I first read CLAN OF THE CAVE BEAR in middle school, but this book was painful to finish. A fantastic reminder that no matter how big you get and how many books you sell, you still need a sharp editor to remind you that NO ONE CARES HOW TO HARVEST CAT TAILS.

Note: This list does not include the MANY, MANY books I bought and read via hard copy, because there's an 8-foot tall Christmas tree blocking my studio and bookshelves. It also doesn't include books I borrowed or bought and didn't finish, of which there were about 5. I'll do a round-up of hard copy books next week.

Further note: Erin Morgenstern, author of NYT bestseller THE NIGHT CIRCUS, will be at Fox Tale Book Shoppe in Woodstock, GA on January 27. If you haven't read it, YOU MUST. Magical, lyrical, evocative, sweet, and otherworldly. Highly recommended, by me and by people whose taste is actually lauded.

exploring gender differences through cultural celebrations involving trees

2011-12-25T09:15:00.004-05:00

So there's girls.

Pink, zebra stripes, jewels, Rapunzel, a first dollhouse.

And then...

There are boys.

I foresee a lot of dead imaginary bad guys in our future.

Our Christmas morning was magical, and we hope yours was, too.

happy hooligans!

2011-12-24T15:38:00.004-05:00

It's Christmas Eve. You know what that means.

I've eaten nothing but frosted sugar cookies and pigs in blankets for two days and am almost done writing The Big Racy Scene for the steampunk Robin Hood book. We went to our local indie bookstore to see Santa, and the boy picked his nose in Santa's lap while the girl wore a cat ear headband and hid behind another kid. There's a lightsaber fight happening in the kitchen, and I'm threatening to bring Twinkies to a potluck tonight.

And, oh, yeah. I have, like, fifty bajillion gifts to wrap and 10 bags of denim to fill with deer corn and sew shut.

It's beginning to look a lot like outright panic.

That's pretty much how I roll.

Happy Holidays, everybody!

regarding the blog redesign...

2011-12-22T16:09:00.003-05:00

I've tried at least 10 banners today, and I'm pretty sure I'm going mad.

I'm finding it impossible to communicate "I'm a serious writer" while simultaneously admitting to being quirky, unruly, and impish. There's not a font for that, really.

I hope the clockwork dodo will do for a while.

ACK. Work is hard.

input needed. no bears needed.

2011-12-21T11:22:00.003-05:00

Things are a little different around here.

A bit grayer.

I'm combining this blog and my stylish but utterly unused writing blog. I'm trying to merge my personality as a blogger and my personality as a writer, and I'd like to know if the new look *works*.

I mean, I love duck and I love cake, but they don't combine well.

Can you imagine a cake with webbed feet? Me neither.

I'd love to hear your thoughts and advice on the new color scheme and layout!

*

I think this explains it.

2011-12-19T08:58:00.003-05:00

The next post down is all about things not to do on Twitter, but I decided an infographic might work better.

The only problem is that if you're the bear, you're not reading this. You're sending me auto-DMs to get a follow-back so I'll buy your bear book.

how to twit

2011-12-19T07:59:00.005-05:00

1. Join up with a purpose.
It's not like Facebook, where you just show up and make fun of your high school friends and dead dictators. You need to be there to talk about something you like. For me, that's books and publishing. I know other people who are in there for marketing, for food blogs, for Disney, for hockey. But you need a reason to communicate, an ice breaker to start conversations.

2. Post an avatar.
When you join Twitter, your default avatar is an egg. No one follows eggs or talks to eggs. Everyone hates eggs. But your avatar is tiny, so choose something interesting, clear, and intriguing, preferably not something that looks like a porn star. Unless you are a porn star.

3. Choose an @ name that doesn't sound like a spammer.
Spam accounts on Twitter tend to have lots of numbers, lots of capital letters, or could possibly be the name of someone in a foreign country trying to trick you. Recent annoying people spamming my account include QriiOCpquom1 and FredericaHauz348Q2.

4. Don't follow a bunch of people but never post.
You will look like a spammer.

5. Don't post a bunch of links to your book/blog/website and nothing else.
People will think you *are* a spammer.

6. Don't follow people and immediately @ them with a link to your book/blog/website.
At that point, you *are* a spammer.

7. When someone follows you, don't send them a generic or automatic Direct Message.
If you'd like me to unfollow you, send me a DM along these lines: Thanks for the follow back LOL!:-) Check out my book HOW TO SPAM for Kindle LOL!

8. When you follow someone and they do not immediately follow you, NEVER send a DM demanding that they follow you immediately.
That's a recipe for being unfollowed/blocked, my friend.

9. Don't be boring or complain constantly.
I mean, complaints are parts of social media, but your tweetstream should be a mixture of interesting updates, retweeted posts that you found amusing or helpful, and conversations with other tweeps. When someone follows me or joins a conversation and I'm considering following them, I look at the first 3 tweets in their stream. If those 3 tweets don't entice me, I don't follow. That's your first impression, right there.

10. Don't follow, then unfollow, then refollow someone hoping for a follow.
That's like walking up to someone and saying, "Hi, want to hang out?" And they look at you and say, "Sorry, I don't think we have a lot in common." And then you walk out the door, wait five minutes, and walk back in, then say, "Hi, want to hang out NOW?" No one falls for this gambit.

11. Remember that the whole point of Twitter is to have conversations.
On Twitter, the best advertising you can have for your book/product/brand is by being so interesting, helpful, or funny that people retweet you or recommend that others follow you. If you're annoying, repetitive, disrespectful, or whiny, no one will ever want to read what you're saying. People are pretty smart, and hitting them with 20 links a day to the same thing doesn't come across as socially savvy. It's spam, and we know it. Entice us. Intrigue us. Help us. Join us.

*

geek stories: the worst New Years ever

2011-12-18T09:47:00.003-05:00

Remember all that flap about Y2K?

I do. But mainly I remember it as The Worst New Year's Eve Ever.

I was at my first post-college job, and I hadn't yet grown savvy to certain social conversations. For example, when your boss asks if you have any New Years plans, you say YES, or else you will be babysitting.

I stopped at Publix for supper-- a sandwich, a Cherry Coke, and a box of cupcakes for the kids, because I hadn't yet connected sugar with insanity in those under the age of 20. Back in the car, I was depressed at being single and not knowing anyone and annoyed at myself for getting hornswaggled into babysitting. I was driving fast, singing along with Cowboy Mouth, drinking my Cherry Coke.

And that's when a German Shepherd ran out into the road, right into my car.

It was the most sickening crunch ever, and I squealed my brakes and ran off the road into a field. It was dusk, and it was cold, and I was covered in Cherry Coke, as was my brand new purple Honda Civic, Trigger. I walked up and down the field, venturing into the woods as far as I could see, calling, "Here, doggie! Here, boy! Please tell me I didn't kill you, because I'll never be able to live with myself!"

But I never found the dog, and I never found any blood. I even stopped in the same place the next morning, but there was no sign that anything had happened.

I spent Y2K near tears on my boss's couch, wishing that I had a boyfriend and just regular friends and the ability to lie so that I could have spent that night being depressed on my own terms in the basement apartment where I was living. I woke up in my boss's spare bedroom the next morning with a lion on my chest.

Okay, so it was really a ginger Persian cat *shaved* like a lion, but it was surprising nonetheless.

And what did I learn?

1. Always make plans for New Years or learn to lie about it.
2. Don't drink Cherry Coke.
3. The world didn't end on Y2K.
4. It's good to have friends.
5. Keep your dogs inside.
6. If you have a ginger Persian, you should shave it as a lion.

If you live on King Road and your German shepherd came home hurt almost twelve years ago, I'm so sorry. Please consider an electric fence.

*

my otherwhere

2011-12-17T19:18:00.004-05:00

So there are certain things that happen again and again in my dreams, so much so that I've started to think there's some strange, parallel universe. Like I have my own Neverwhere, but it's more of an Otherwhere.

In the Otherwhere, there are black tattoos up the inside of my left arm. There's a raven holding a key on a ribbon, a swirling line of forgotten punctuation like the pilcrow, and a series of red-winged blackbirds taking flight. There's a room I go to sometimes where the walls are made of parchment and are scrawled with all the words from poems and books I never finished. The doors are draped in red velvet with gold tassels, and the bed is a twin on the floor with sheets the deep purple of an emperor's robe.

In my dreams, there are bizarro versions of some of the places I've lived. There's a Dark Athens with twisting streets and the best bookstore in the world, not to mention a coffee bar where the espresso machine is shaped like a copper clockwork penguin and the barista wears a domino mask and is dressed like a mime. There's a bizarro mall where all the mannequins have been stripped down by strange mallrat people who believe zombies have taken over the outside world. And there's a tower-like college dormitory much like the one from Hogwarts where I keep all of my things stored in steamer trunks in case I need them. I often forget I'm in school, and when someone tells me I'm about to fail, I laugh and go to my dorm room to feed my goldfish.

I find pets that I've forgotten, skeletal snakes and dusty rats and dried-out fish tanks and my poor guinea pig who was bitten in half by my roommate's puppy. Sometimes he's been taped back together with duct tape and whistles for lettuce and monkey biscuits, and other times, he's just like I found him the day he died, in two easy pieces connected by intestines, like the slinky dog in Toy Story. One time, I put him on my head like earmuffs, and he whistled a song.

My least favorite dreams are about being chased by shadow things, things I can never escape. One time, Abraham Lincoln was chasing me around a baseball field with an axe, and I just ran around the bases again and again.

When I was little, my mom told me that dreams were the mind's playground.

Recently, I came to terms with the fact that I do some of my best work on the playground.

I'm listening, Otherwhere. Tell me more.

*

build your own OMIGAH, IT'S CRIMINY PONY!

2011-12-15T14:50:00.002-05:00

If the male lead in my book was a My Little Pony, he would look just like that.

Build your own My Little Pony right here.

But be careful-- it's seriously addictive.

steampunk beiber - bieber = STEAMPUNK

2011-12-14T20:52:00.004-05:00

This is what I love about the world.

You can take something I seriously don't care about:

Justin Bieber's steampunk Christmas video.

You subtract the Bieber.

You add MOAR STEAMPUNK.

And then you get this amazing video, which I've watched twice now.

Joy to the world indeed, yo.

we interrupt this squeeing for a quick ? - betas?

2011-12-13T23:52:00.003-05:00

If you acted as a beta reader or crit partner on WICKED AS THEY COME, nee BLUD, please let me know!

I have listed: Ericka, Carrie, Debbie, Austin, Charis, Kathy, and Janet.

Sybil? Beth? Krista? Were y'all in on it?

I can't find it all in my notes. ACK.

I... think we're pretty close to the deadline. Speak now or... forever... I'll feel like an ungrateful ass.

Back to my regularly scheduled, ultra-gummy squeefest down below.

GALLEYS!

2011-12-13T14:01:00.004-05:00

I'd like you guys to think that this is what I looked like when I opened the package on my front porch and found five galleys of my book.

Calm. Collected. Professional. Unflappable.

But... I didn't look anything like that.

The first photo was screaming...

The second photo was gummy.

Like, seriously gummy.

Like, bouncing here and there and everywhere,

high adventure that's beyond compare gummy.

And then, after jumping up and down for twenty minutes,

I finally captured that first photo.

But inside, I'm screaming and gummy.

It's my first galley, y'all.

My book is a book.

The cover's not on yet. But the words are there.

And that's what's really important, right?

If you see me any time soon, expect that I will shove this light blue book in your face and yell, "OH MY GOD, SMELL IT. IT'S REAL," and then I'll grab it back and yell, "DON'T GET STAINS ON IT, YOU WALKING APE! I'VE ONLY GOT FIVE."

One step closer to my dreams.

snippets

2011-12-12T18:37:00.004-05:00

Life moves pretty fast.

I take all these pictures, thinking,

"If I don't blog about that, I'll forget it, and I don't want to forget it, even if it's silly."

So here are a few of the random photos on my camera.

Things that make little sense and will never show up in the albums.

Snippets.

Elf on the Shelf?

No way.

That little voyeur can stay in the armoire.

We have a different sort of holiday vigilante.

Ginger.

This is the gingerbread man who's been amusingly terrorizing our house.

He swings from chandeliers, climbs trees, and lines up all the shoes.

My daughter is half in love with him. And half terrified.

Kind of like Twilight, but made of ginger.

These are my new fleece pants.

I have never worn fleece pants before.

Now... I may never wear anything else.

My other pair features polar bears in bobble caps.

If you haven't worn fleece pants before, do yourself a favor.

Go buy some. They're only, like, $10.

Buy the silliest ones you can.

You will fall in love with them. You will write sonnets to them.

Oh fleecy pants / thou art to me / the fuzziest thing / that I could see

Like clouds of love / upon my legs / the bastard child of marshmallows and L'Eggs.

They're that good.

This is my eyeball.

I'm getting Lasik in February.

I'm giddy. The thought of waking up in the middle of the night and being able to see the alarm clock is so exciting I just about can't stand it. Not to mention not having to juggle contacts and geek glasses on airplanes. And the ocean! I'll be able to swim *and* see!

When asked my eye color, I say, "Lake-ish."

Or hazel. Depending.

They have a surgery now that can turn your eyes blue. When I was younger, I used to think that if I prayed hard enough, I would wake up with blue eyes, and I would be the prettiest girl on earth. Then I read THE BLUEST EYE and decided I was a horrible person who really had things pretty good and could not complain.

Sometimes, I still dream that they're blue.

please read.

2011-12-11T16:50:00.004-05:00

Not this post.

I mean, yeah, do that. But you've already clicked on it, so in that big game of I GOTS MORE CLICKS!, I guess I would be winning a little more, if I ever checked on that sort of thing.

Honestly, I don't care what you read.

I just wish people would read more.

Our entire family went to our favorite movie theater this morning, the one where you push a button, and people bring you food. FOOD WHILE WATCHING MOVIES. IT IS BRILLIANCE.

I ran out to the restroom, and when I came back, I was utterly arrested by one of the many previews playing in the lobby. It was the longest, prettiest trailer for The Hunger Games, and I've only ever seen it at about 4 inches wide, and my computer went possessed in the middle and started chanting backwards.

So on a big flatscreen, it was riveting.

"Can I help you?" a teen worker asked.

"Nope. Just mesmerized by the preview."

She glanced at it. She looked perplexed.

"What's it for?" she asked, and I ignored her grammar to stare at her.

"The Hunger Games."

Blank look.

"Based on the bestselling books by Suzanne Collins. They're phenomenal."

Shrug. "I don't read."

"But it stars Jennifer Lawrence, some cute teen boys, Woody Harrelson, Donald Sutherland, Elizabeth Banks, Stanley Tucci, Lenny freaking Kravitz, and the ever delightful Wes Bentley."

Blank look. "Is it a movie?"

And I swear to gosh, it took everything I had not to jump up and down and scream at her WHY DO YOU EVEN WORK AT A MOVIE THEATER? IS THERE EVEN ANYONE IN THERE? ARE YOU RUN BY MICE WITH LEVERS?

I mean, yeah, not all movies or all books apply to everyone. But how could you not know about The Hunger Games at this point? The book is an international bestseller that's crossed genre lines past teen girls to teen guys and adults of both genders. The movie has been splashed all over MTV, the Superbowl, Yahoo news, everywhere. You can't get on a subway or a bus or airplane without seeing someone reading it.

And, well... it's been playing right in front of you at your place of work ALL. DAMN. DAY.

So I guess this is my plea.

Read something.

I don't care what. I don't care if it's old or new. I don't care if it's on an e-reader, your smartphone, from the library, from the used bookstore, or fresh off the shelf at Barnes and Noble. I don't care if it's popular, little-known, or has the picture of a shirtless guy on the cover, because that's nothing to be ashamed of. Just read something that makes you feel more alive, that transports you to another world, that makes you remember that there's more to life than Angry Birds and the mall and watching football on TV.

It's almost impossible to read something and remain the same person. It's impossible to read and not think. Even if you hate the book or the character, you're thinking about it. And there's always another book out there, waiting for you.

You don't want to be that dead-eyed girl, sitting two feet from THE AWESOME and so dull that you're not even vaguely curious why there's a spaceship flying over a girl with a bow and arrow who's suddenly on fire.

Like The Hunger Games? Hate it? Think it's silly to read books written for teens? It doesn't matter.

Just read something.

But... I recommend The Hunger Games.

the writer's toolbox: on having a compass

2011-12-10T15:26:00.005-05:00

No, silly. Get your head out of the gutter!

I'm referring to the compass.

Criminy uses one in WICKED AS THEY COME,

albeit a somewhat magical version. You need one, too.

Have you ever tried walking in a straight line? Like in a big field, or a forest?

You think you're going in the right direction. But one of your legs is inevitably shorter than the other, or you have a hump, or you broke the heel on your fantastic shoe.

It is a simple fact that even if you start out walking straight, you end up walking in circles.

That's why we have maps. And compasses

Because wanting something isn't enough.

You have to have a plan. You have to keep checking back, looking at where you are and where you should be. You have to get back on track when you stray.

For this reason, I have a scale and an outline.

I don't live by either, though.

Sometimes, I do that mangy diet that no one likes. Sometimes, I skip dinner. Sometimes, I eat an entire pan of brownies or Rice Krispy Treats in one day.

Like today. Burp.

But every morning and every night, I step on the scale, and that number sits in my head, consciously and subconsciously. Sometimes, the scale makes me put down the cupcake and drink three cups of hot green tea. Sometimes, the scale makes me smugly pull a cupcake out of the freezer and jam it down my gullet at midnight while cackling madly. I don't hate myself or regret delicious meals or get on the treadmill, but I do make plans to do better.

And writing is like that, too.

Part of my process involves being open to possibility, dreams, half-asleep nudgings, scribbled notes, and bits of songs. But all the time, in the back of my head and the front of my manuscript, there's an outline.

Here are the characters. Here is where they'll go. Here are some scenes. Here is the ending.

Sure, there are surprises along the way. Sometimes, new characters pop up, and I'm completely delighted with my fickle muse. Sometimes, things go bad. Way bad. They get out of control, and people die, and I'm as surprised as I hope you'll be. But always, there's the outline, and when I come to a crossing point, I can figure out where things need to go next.

Without a compass, whether in writing or life, I get adrift. Without a goal, I don't know where I'm going, much less where I should be. With a GPS or Mapquest, someone is constantly telling you exactly what to do next, and while I need that sort of direction in driving, I don't want it anywhere else. Ever.

So that's my advice today: check your compass.

(tumbleweeds) (space)

2011-12-08T07:07:00.004-05:00

Yep. I'm quiet again.

That's because I'm writing.

When I'm revising or editing (which are entirely different things, by the way), I can get pretty chatty. But when I'm hammering out a first draft, I'm a silent as space. I'm constantly thinking, rolling ideas around, chewing on 'em like a cow's cud. When I'm driving or sitting or eating, I'm dreaming, and that doesn't leave a lot of room for blogging.

Take last night, for example. I turned on Joss Whedon's Firefly and zoned out. Since my main character is partially inspired by Mal, watching one of my all-time favorite shows is actually considered RESEARCH, so I was WORKING, and it was also considered work when I stole downstairs and opened Dr. Krog's World's Biggest Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and ate half of one.

Um... Merry Christmas, buddy.

In any case, I tend to watch my favorite episodes of Firefly the most often. Shindig, Serenity 1 & 2, Jaynestown. This time, I watched one of my least favorites, War Stories. And that's when it hit me-- the ending of the book. The twist. The perfect fait accompli. There's a long way to go before then, but now I can't wait to see that scene come to life.

If you're not a Firefly fan, then I ask in all honesty, WHY THE HELL NOT? It's the best show ever, even if it was canceled after one season. A unique twist, amazingly complex characters, interesting story lines, and a hell of a lot more humor than you get with a laugh track. I mean, SPACE crossed with COWBOYS and a little sprinkling of CHINA? Not to mention it's almost-- ALMOST-- steampunk in the mixing of technology and simplicity. Spacepunk, maybe.

The story is great. The writing is phenomenal.

But it's the characters that really create the magic.

If you're a writer, and you're having trouble fashioning complex, well-rounded, true-to-life characters, I can't think of a better exercise than just settling back with the Firefly DVDs and enjoying the hell out of yourself. The good, the bad, the tics, the costumes, the voices. It's all there, just like it was in Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

So, in conclusion, watch that one, too. In fact, just buy yourself the complete Joss Whedon collection and settle in for a long Winter's nap. Just as art students go to museums to sketch masterworks, a writer could do a lot worse than to find a show that really speaks to them and watch it religiously. Fall asleep to it. Let it sink into the ol' subconscious and thrash around a little.

And maybe one day, you'll realize that watching Firefly has become part of your career.

And that, my friends, is shiny.

Back to the trenches.

on writing: focus on the positive

2011-12-05T20:18:00.004-05:00

You know how sometimes, you decide to turn your negatives into positives?

Like when you're in a job interview, and they ask you your greatest weakness, and instead of saying SPIDERS, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, SPIDERS, you say, "I'm just too much of a perfectionist" or some other load of complete bullsh*t?

I'm learning how to do that.

I have a short attention span, get bored easily, and chase shiny things like a cat with a penlight.

I'M BEING CREATIVE AND FOLLOWING MY MUSE.

I tend to get obsessed with things. And obsess over them. Obsessively.

I'M DRIVEN.

I really like to eat cupcakes and brownies.

I'M BEING KIND TO MYSELF WHILE I WRITE.

I hate cleaning. And laundry. And picking up after other people.

I'M FOCUSING ON MORE LUCRATIVE WORK. FOR THE GOOD OF THE FAMILY.

I love shopping online for boots and coats and hats.

I'M CULTIVATING MY BRAND.

I like talking to people on Twitter and Facebook.

I JUST TOLD YOU: I'M *CULTIVATING* MY *BRAND*.

I need excuses to take long, bubbly baths in the middle of the day.

I'M ENTERING A TRANCE STATE TO SOLVE PLOT PROBLEMS.

In short, pretty much everything I do that's horrid can be translated into a positive in my career as an author.

IT'S THE BEST THING EVER.

Only nine minutes until the brownies are ready.

take me down to fangirl city

2011-12-04T17:44:00.004-05:00

DIANA GABALDON TALKED TO ME.

She's the author of one of my all-time favorite books, OUTLANDER. The book that taught me that romance wasn't necessarily a bad word, when it came to literature. The book I recommend to *everyone*. The book I've read so many times the cover has fallen off. The book that, when I started writing, I thought, "I'll never be able to write anything that amazing, but I'm damned well going to try."

AND SHE TALKED TO ME ON TWITTER.

I'm just going to be over here, not blinking.

SQUEE.

the big, bad, bloodthirsty Christmas tree

2011-12-01T07:14:00.005-05:00

We may be unruly around here, but boy, do we love getting our Christmas tree the day after Thanksgiving. And we don't take it down until the day after New Year's. We want to squeeze every bit of holiday cheer out of the next month as we can.

And apparently, I want an excuse not to go in my studio/library during December. That's the yawning black door behind the gorgeous tree. My books are in there. And my wrapping paper. And the thermostat.

Brrrr!

But wait, you say. What's that on top of the tree?

It's a star, I answer, but my eyes have a crazy gleam. So you look more closely.

This tree, you say. It's emanating hotness.

Lights do that, I say with an impish wink.

You edge closer. Drag in one of the dining room chairs. Climb on up.

And this is what you see.

That's right.

It's my book cover.

On the Christmas tree star.

Because, like I said, we keep celebrating long before and long after the rest of the world.

Happy Holidays, hot steampunk vampire.

You're getting extra blood and a magical pocket watch in your stocking this year, not to mention a lump of coal. For being naughty.

4-hour everything

2011-11-29T19:33:00.003-05:00

(If you're one of the readers who complained about my proselytizing The 4-Hour Body, you'll want to skip this one. I recommend hanging out here, where things are guaranteed to be hilarious.)

I'm back on the slow carb train and already down 4 pounds in 4 days. Thanks to Tim Ferriss, I'm starting to like the number 4 even more. My synesthesia is okay with that, as it's 2+2, 2x2, and 2^2. But, more importantly, he has a new book coming out. It's all about cooking, learning, and kicking even more ass.

And we'll be buying it. You can pre-order it now for discounts wilder than wild horses.

(You can pre-order my book, too. It's currently 20% off at the Simon & Schuster website, but it probably won't help you lose any weight, unless you decide to go on an all-blood diet. Those Bludmen are rather svelte, I tell you.)

Ahem.

If you're into slow or no carb, here's one of my favorite recipes.

UNICORN BLOOD

Heat 1 cup of unsweetened vanilla almond milk. Add 1 packet of 100% stevia. Steep a Celestial Seasonings decaf Sweet Coconut Chai teabag for five minutes and squeeze all the chai goodness out of the bag.

You'll almost believe it's a real chai latte.

Back to your regularly scheduled unruliness.

the sleeper has awakened

2011-11-28T20:33:00.005-05:00

A long, long time ago, I was immensely pregnant and preparing for motherhood.

But guess what? You can't prepare for that. For what it does to you. Huge, hormonal, sleepless, weepy, and, let's face it... kinda crazy. And not in a good way, at least for me.

I still remember buying two albums that summer: Stadium Arcadium by the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Plans by Deathcab for Cutie. I listened to Tell Me Baby so many times and so loudly that it was the only thing that would calm my daughter during her first, freaky weeks on earth.

Forget You Are My Sunshine, lady. Gimme Anthony Kiedis.

And then a magical thing happened.

After my daughter was born, I forgot about music.

Seriously. I listened to the radio in the car. I probably put in a CD here and there. But I didn't buy music until 2009, when my son was finally old enough to let me get more than five consecutive hours of sleep.

Until I woke back up.

I was in the car with both kids on a Sunday morning, and I heard this song.

This song.

It was unbelievable. Like nothing I've ever heard, except maybe Ravel's Bolero, but it was gritty and poetic and powerful and filled with longing and fury and things I hadn't felt in years. And I waited for the deejay to tell me who or what it was, but THEY DIDN'T, and so I was also infected with that same longing and fury. I went home and googled what little I could remember about the lyrics.

Midnight? Something about midnight? Standing near a streetlight?

CRAP.

I couldn't find it. I went crazy.

And then, oddly enough, Facebook crowdsourcing saved the day.

That song was Sometime Around Midnight by The Airborne Toxic Event.

I bought that album. And then I bought Mumford and Sons. And the Civil Wars. And Iron & Wine. And The Veils.

That first Airborne Toxic Event Album? That's also when I started writing.

When I woke back up.

Last night, I saw The Airborne Toxic Event at the Buckhead Theater in Atlanta. It was everything I hoped it would be. They were more than incredible. They rocked every bone I have, and I screamed the words and thumped my feet and had little goosebump tingles just rippling all over my skin.

I saw Morphine in Athens in 1999. And then I didn't see another live show until this year. Now I'm hungry for it, for the pounding drums and the lights and the fury and the energy and the excitement and the poetry. I'm hungry to be there, live, watching people create something so powerful and moving. I have no music skills, but when I'm at a show, screaming the words to my favorite songs, it's as close as I'll ever come to being part of the magic.

And so I say to you, in the words of Paul Atreides,

THE SLEEPER HAS AWAKENED.

the turkeys take on Savannah

2011-11-26T14:54:00.011-05:00

I always wanted to take a carriage tour of Savannah.

Okay. To be more honest, I wanted to take a carriage tour and leap onto the back of the Percheron and cut the harness straps and take off at a gallop.

But I didn't want to get my amazing brother-in-law and fabulous niece in trouble, so I stayed in my seat.

Most of the time.

It was marvelous, you know. I highly recommend the fantastic tour guides, comfortable carriages, and gorgeous horses of Historic Savannah Carriage Tours, and especially with the Dread Pirate Robert or his daughter Becca as your guide.

He dresses in character, knows all the best stories, and even brings a sidekick.

That's Noah.

On Thanksgiving, I got to chew on the toes of his brother, Oliver.

Or at least that's what it looks like.

Um, why am I smoking that parrot?

Anyway, the entire family enjoyed our private tour with niece Becca at the reins, which included a trip to Starbucks, a stop at a gourmet cupcakery, a quick drive-by of Santa's carriage, a complete tour of the settings in the YA book I'm revising, and a meeting with a mummified squirrel named Isaiah.

Yes, that's right. I ate CUPCAKES on a CARRIAGE with a PIRATE and his PARROT.

Pistachio cupcake with almond buttercream icing. Not my best photo, but I had just spent two days in the car and a hotel room with my children, so you're lucky fire wasn't billowing out of my nostrils.

Also, the kids had a fabulous time.

The boy wore his pirate hat and proclaimed it the BEST DAY EVER.

Of course, the night before, he proclaimed the walk to the hotel carrying his backpack the BEST THING EVER, so I wouldn't really trust his taste.

The girl was also over the moon.

And the views were gorgeous.

It was the perfect day. Perfect weather, perfect temperature, perfect company.

Hello, Spanish moss. Hello, pretty buildings.

Hello, people who gawked at the carriage full of pirates and parrots and laughing girls.

I figure we were a pretty good advertisement. Anyone who saw us would think we were having THE TIME OF OUR LIVES.

Which we were.

I was an only child, unless you count the Boston Terrier we got when I was 11. But now, I have a brother and a niece, and it is FANTASTIC, because they are SO COOL.

Not only did I manage to marry my favorite person, but I also married into a family almost as strange as I am.

So that's a good Thanksgiving.

I have a lot to be thankful for. But especially pirates and fine adventures.

best. day. ever!

2011-11-25T19:48:00.002-05:00

See that?

That's the Dread Pirate Robert.

Why am I with a pirate on a carriage?

It's a good story. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow.

Cupcakes, parrots, and zombie squirrels feature prominently. Promise.

a tree of turkeys

2011-11-24T11:25:00.002-05:00

For Thanksgiving, I found 3 turkeys in a tree:

Today, I'm grateful for loving family, great friends, and a wonderful life.

Here's to living the dream!

Happy Turkey Day, y'all!

now we are 3

2011-11-22T22:12:00.006-05:00

At this exact moment in 2008, I was the only ponderously pregnant person sitting in the theater for the opening night of a little movie called Twilight. Surrounded by screaming fangirls and one tremendously embarrassed boy, I began having contractions.

Unfortunately, my water didn't break during the movie and send them all running away, screeching.

Fortunately, the next day, this happened.

"It's okay if he's kind of an uggo," we said. "He'll grow out of that, right?"

Um...

Maybe?

Fast forward to three years later.

He's about to be three.

THREE.

Looks like he's out of that awkward phase.

Happy Almost Birthday to my favorite goofball,

the guy who gives the best hugs ever,

and who is also very strong because of his muscles.

When you were nine months old, I came out of my mom-coma and started writing. I haven't stopped since. Now I have a book coming out next spring.

Something tells me it's going to be a lot easier to push out into the world than you were.

Thanks for stretching my mind, son.

But most of all, thanks for the hugs.

on character

2011-11-21T19:48:00.003-05:00

The sass. The double leopard print. The stance. The stare.

My daughter already has more style at 5 than I do at 34, and I love it.

I've been thinking a lot about character lately. I think it's been missing in a few of my books. I fall in love with an idea, and I frantically bang out the book, and I revise, and I juggle drafts back and forth with beta readers and my agent. And one problem keeps coming up.

The characters aren't real enough.

It doesn't matter how much you like the story if you don't love the characters. It can be the best road trip in the world, but if the person driving is boring as hell, who wants to go?

So I've started really trying to think hard about making my characters real. It's not enough to have blond hair and brown eyes. I need to know if their fingernails are square or round, how they hold their fork, what they think about reality TV, when they learned that Santa wasn't real. They need to be as real as people.

Part of the struggle, I think, is that I have always been so scared about being liked. As a child, I found it hard to make friends. I didn't want to be too weird or too loud or too smart or too this or too that, because I was afraid someone wouldn't like that about me. Only recently have I been able to more fully accept my quirks... and my faults.

Characters have to be like that. An absence of traits doesn't make them more likable or inoffensive; it makes them bland, and the reader feels that lack, that place where the writer holds back. Characters have to have flaws, and they have to mess up. They have to be like us, like real people, a conglomeration of good and bad and strange and gross and annoying and funny. They have to have weird stories from when they were six and almost blinded themselves with a bullwhip.

There's a certain level of fearlessness involved, for the writer. You have to give up that fear that someone isn't going to like your character. Because guess what? No matter how great someone is, there's still someone out there that can't stand them. And the characters that I've loved best have been just as broken as the real people I love best.

So that's my assignment: Spend more time crafting characters with depth.

When I was younger, I thought I knew everything.

Now I'm pretty sure I don't know squat.

But that's part of my character, too.

twinge

2011-11-19T11:20:00.002-05:00

Guess which movie we saw last night?

That's right. The very erudite one about a king with a stutter who falls for a mute woman battling cancer on the brink of war.

It was awesome.

looking at my day

2011-11-18T16:19:00.005-05:00

I think that sums up my feelings about today. Here's a rundown:

* wake up at 6:11

* grumble

* drink coffee

* moar coffee

* drive to bus stop barefoot

* deliver other child to preschool, where his Native American name for the Thanksgiving Feast

will be "Indian Bear" and decide it's not worth fighting about

* enjoy a cinnamon roll and coffee at a haunted restaurant

* send an email to a lawyer acquaintance requesting book research help on proper wording for legally killing debtors

* learn they have blocked Facebook on their wireless for being "inappropriate"

* get all pissy over censorship and vow to complain loudly later, on Facebook

* get a haircut to cut off all the green but then don't actually cut it all off

* pick up Indian Bear and have lunch with Grandma Indian Bear

* pick up other child at the bus stop, where she honestly and without irony asks me WHO LET THE DOGS OUT? NO, REALLY? NO ONE WILL TELL ME.

* return home to complain about censorship and do 1000 things

* only accomplish 2 of those things

* sit anxiously in front of the computer until it's time to go see... an intellectual movie about... not vampires

* realize that I have 1 book to beta, 3 books to revise, 1/2 a book to write, and a really fantastic book to read

* it's by Meljean Brook, and it's called Heart of Steel, and it's the sequel to The Iron Duke, a steampunk romance so fantastic I actually named my car after it

* decide to ignore all the other stuff and just go read

* also, I'm hungry

* and I forgot what this list was about

* so I'm sure that's a big surprise

New haircut:

It's the same as the old haircut,

but with half an inch of teal on the bottom.

ohmygodineedthat

2011-11-16T19:17:00.004-05:00

Hell has frozen over, and monkeys are flying out of Wayne's butt.

I saw a perfume ad in a fashion magazine and said,

OHMYGOD; I NEED THAT.

For the love of all that's holy, not the actual perfume, as commercial fragrances tend to smell like burning plastic and drunk baby whores to me.

I want her necklaces.

I'm actually kind of obsessed with them, with that look. Like when I was in middle school and thought that if I just found the right t-shirt, I would be popular.

I never found that shirt, which is why I NEED THOSE NECKLACES, PEOPLE.

I think Ive found the nuggety one, but the tasseled one with the stars is utterly eluding me. I've been all over Etsy, Modcloth, eBay, Anthopologie, Polyvore, Shopstyle, Free People, and Urban Outfitters, and I can't find it.

Any other places I haven't looked?

tumbling

2011-11-14T10:37:00.007-05:00

Serendipity.

In one of those amazing moments where the universe aligns just right, I fell in love with five photographs on tumblr this morning.

The story is already forming in my head.

The next seed arrived early.

The next book is a YA, codename TUMBLING.

in which I get very blue. blueish.

2011-11-13T18:50:00.006-05:00

The problem with being terribly vain about your long, dark hair is that you spend your life being too chicken to do anything drastic with it. No crazy colors. No wacky strips. Nothing that involves-- GASP!-- bleach.

Until today.

Today, I went to Sally's and bought a Manic Panic bleaching kit.

Man, oh metal man, does that stuff reek.

But now I have teal hair.

In the immortal words of Sterling Archer, JUST THE TIPS.

It's a little more teal/less green than it seems in the pictures.

I'm not sure what possessed me to do it. Much like the Great Nose Ring Debacle of 2009, I just decided it needed to be done and did it. That was green, too, now that I think about it.

I've always had an impulsive streak, and I very rarely regret the things I do... just the things I wanted to do and didn't.

Now, I wish I had played with odd hair colors years ago.

Now, I'm just thankful to be at a place in my life where I don't care all that much about being judged for wearing a silly hat or a dramatic cape or putting teal streaks in my hair.

Now, I'm going upstairs to read a steampunk YA book I've been waiting to enjoy.

Now, if you like blue hair, you should go read DAUGHTER OF SMOKE AND BONE by Laini Taylor and then head out to Sally's. What have you got to lose?

They have purple and pink, too.

author pic outtakes

2011-11-11T15:14:00.008-05:00

So I thought I would share some of the outtakes of my author photo shoot. Not the really, seriously awful ones. But just the ones that crack me up. Like when I was rolling my eyes in a graveyard.

Like, OMG, GHOSTS. WHATEVER.

Or cracking up against a column.

That's what I look like in real life, most of the time.

Except for the column. It's not like I carry it with me for special occasions.

Or maybe I do. But where are my shoes?

WHERE ARE MY SHOES?

Whoa. Too much gum. Way too much gum.

But putting my elbows on top of freezing columns makes me SO HAPPY.

Seriously. It was about 30 degrees and windy, and that shirt was made of... um, fake silk. Like spiderwebs. Bright purple spider webs. Next time, I need to wear a cape.

More laughing. I mess up lots of shots by laughing.

I'm supposed to be serious and important, right?

Someone suggested I borrow a spaniel and a turtleneck for author photos.

But have you ever tried to get a spaniel into a turtleneck? IMPOSSIBLE.

I think that one's my favorite. Weird monkey toes. bad angle on the shirt that makes me look pregnant. Apparently giving a speech about something.

FOUR SCORE AND SEVEN THINGIES AGO, STUFF HAPPENED. WANT TO KNOW MORE? BUY MY BOOK. IT INVOLVES VAMPIRE RABBITS AND CARNIVAL FREAKS.

THE END.

PIGBOTTOM!

2011-11-10T08:30:00.003-05:00

All day Monday, my son carried around a pink rubber pig from the Dollar Bin at Target.

"PIG BOTTOM SHOW YOU HIS BOTTOM!" he would shout, shoving the pig's pink bottom in my face as I did work or wrote on my book, pretending to be very serious.

"AWESOME," I would answer. "PLEASE TELL PIG TO TAKE HIS BOTTOM ELSEWHERE."

I told Twitter about this phenomenon, and Twitter responded as expected.

Pics or it didn't happen.

So my reputation was on the line. I had to find him.

He was gone.

We spent two days looking for the elusive PIGBOTTOM.

me: Son, where is Pigbottom?

son: He is napping. He is HIDING.

me: Yes, but where is he napping and hiding?

son: Pigbottom does not know where he is. It is a secret.

me: Yes, but do you know?

son: NO. He won't tell me.

Etc.

So what appeared in my face this morning?

PIGBOTTOM.

"Where did you find him?" I asked.

"He find hisself," son said.

"Where, though?"

"Behind the bookshelf. Where he live. Pigbottom like books."

A pig after my own heart.

sometimes, I get frustrated.

2011-11-09T18:37:00.002-05:00

That, followed by this.

50k into the WIP, a YA early dystopian called PAYBACK.

I will now fight my frustration with words.

PSA: dirty pool at JustFabulous

2011-11-07T12:29:00.006-05:00

You guys might remember these fabulous skull shoes by Iron Fist-- scroll down to drool.

I love them. I love almost everything Iron Fist produces. And that's why I joined a boutique deal site called JustFabulous. They had Iron Fist shoes for about 50% off.

Of course, the first round sold out by the time I got there. Yet, oddly, all of those Iron Fist shoes are still listed on the site, despite being totally gone. Frustrating, right?

When a new selection popped up, I bought the sugar skull heels immediately. Shipping was quick, I had a first-timer discount, and I was super happy with my shoes.

That should be the end of a happy story, a satisfying online purchasing experience.

But it's not.

Today I received an email saying that I had a credit for $39.95.

My initial thought was, "Yay! Maybe a friend signed up or something. I earned a credit!"

Further investigation revealed that they had simply charged my credit card as if I had purchased something. Now, one frustrating Facebook conversation and a few lame Twitter messages later, and their sneaky tactic is revealed.

If you don't go to their website in the first five days of the month and click a mysterious little box that says "Skip This Month," they automatically charge your card.

Granted, you have an entire year to spend that "credit". And it's frightfully easy to show up and click that button, once you've found it and provided you remember to do so during the first five--and arguably most busy-- days of the month.

But up until the email, I had NO FREAKING IDEA that in purchasing one pair of shoes, I had signed up for this "credit" service.

I DON'T WANT IT.

There was never a chance to opt out. I never read any message about it. And of course, as they keep telling me, it's there in the FAQ. But honestly, should I have to go read a FAQ to purchase a single pair of shoes? Did I give them permission to retain my credit card number, something I *never* do when online shopping? The answer, in my mind, is an unequivocal no. There was no box to check or uncheck; me giving them my credit card number became my unwilling compliance.

And that is not cool.

JustFab, you can tell me again and again to read your FAQ, but the point isn't that you're right and I'm wrong. It's that you use a sneaky trick against your customers, and now I don't want to do business with you.

Intead, I want to tell all 1500+ of my Twitter friends and 380+ of my Facebook friends about my bad experience.

Much like the BMG music scam that made my life hellish for three months in college, I became a victim because I didn't read the fine print and just assumed I was buying shoes. Fool me once, shame on you. You won't fool me twice.

And that's why I'm going to quit being furious about being taken advantage of and go write my book about what would happen if the fine print you sign for credit cards gave the bank the right to kill you.

They make fine print impossibly small and hard to decipher for a reason, folks.

Update: They called to apologize, further explain the FAQ, and offer a refund. I accepted the refund. I still do not agree with the business tactic, but I appreciate their attempt to make things better.

we interrupt this picspammery with toilet humor

2011-11-06T20:04:00.003-05:00

me: Son, why are you throwing pretzels in the toilet?

son: To keep my poops company.

me: Buddy, there aren't any poops in the toilet.

son: They coming soon. They waiting for the pretzels to get there, first.

me: Hey, Goose!

daughter: DON'T CALL ME GOOSE. I AM A SWAN.

me: Hey, Cygnet!

daughter: I AM NOT A CIGARETTE.

me: No, dude. A cygnet is a baby swan.

daughter: You can't prove that.

son: One day, I will put you on a hook and the crane will take you up so so high, and then you cannot come down.

Krog: Why would you do that?

son: So I can rescue you.

Back to picture ogling and whatnot. I said I would decide tomorrow.

Eep.

zoom out

2011-11-05T11:19:00.007-04:00

This choice?

IMPOSSIBLE.

Monday. I'll decide Monday.

Because I'm PROCRASTINATING.

Until then, here are the full-color, uncropped versions

of the images between which I'm trying to decide.

Now I just need to write a book awesome enough to get my pic in full color. =)

so this girl walks into a graveyard...

2011-11-04T16:57:00.010-04:00

...and has her picture taken.

Can you help me decide which one to use as my author photo?

These are all cropped down small and would appear

in the back of my book in black and white.

I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Which one should I choose?

Thoughts?

All images courtesy of Simon Effendi of Artistic Moments Photography in Roswell, GA. He does fashion, head shots, weddings, and family photos. Highly recommended!

Note:

#4 was kind of bothering me. It was pretty... almost too pretty. So I compared it to the original, and it's been doctored to make me, to be honest, prettier than I really am. Simon is super talented, because I'm just not that smooth and young.

So I wanted to put up the real #4, which is more honest and raw.

More me.

ANOTHER NOTE:

Replaced the beautifully airbrushed versions of 1 and 4 with the real me.

I... like my smile lines.

And Simon's photography is just phenomenal.

YET ANOTHER NOTE, BECAUSE I'M ALL ABOUT REVISION:

Here's #5. I didn't put it in because it was all handsy, but it's growing on me.

WHY IS THIS SO HARD?

That's what she said.

confessions from the bar(re)

2011-11-03T21:04:00.006-04:00

I once dreamed of growing up to be a ballerina.

And that hope died when someone told me, at a very young age, that I didn't have the right body type, which is a nice way of telling an eight-year-old that she's overweight. Thanks, Jean!

But I got over it. Still, one of my favorite rainy day movies is Center Stage, which chronicles the lives of young ballerinas at the American Ballerina Academy in NYC.

Can I relate to most of what happens in this movie?

HELL, NO.

Being thin, being an amazing dancer, going to a special school in a magical city, riding on the back of a handsome stranger's motorcycle, hanging out with Zoe Saldana on a ferry... not my life.

But I had a needlessly difficult day today, the kind where you doubt yourself and doubt the world and end up devouring your kids' leftover Halloween chocolate and thinking, "WHY DO I CARE SO MUCH? I'M JUST SUPPOSED TO WONDER AROUND, EATING FRUIT OFF OF TREES AND KILLING SMALL ANIMALS TO MAKE A SHIRT. I'M JUST A DAMNED DIRTY APE WITH AN ENORMOUS HEART, AND NOTHING IS ACTUALLY WRONG, AND THIS IS RIDICULOUS."

And the same thing kept coming to mind, every time I started the downward spiral. This quote, from Center Stage, which I haven't seen in a year, since my VCR broke.

"You don’t like him very much, do you? I don’t blame you. He’s impossible. Headstrong, egotistical, arrogant as all hell. The thing is, you’d be hard pressed to find any choreographer or company director who isn’t like that.

The unwise dancers blame them; “He didn’t like me, she was unfair, I should’ve had that part.” The smart ones know where to look when things get rough.

It isn’t there. (Lays hand on barre) It’s here.

No matter what happened in class, in performance, last week, five minutes ago. If you come back here, you’ll be home."

And so I came home, to my barre, by which I mean my writing. I've written 8 pages today on the newest book, a YA quasi-dystopian. Writing is my escape, my comfort, my drug. When I'm making up stories, I'm not worrying or overthinking or feeling sorry for myself. I'm being the root of who I am, and it feels good.

I'll never be a ballerina, but I can dance with words.

a few of my favorite things

2011-11-02T22:24:00.003-04:00

I had author photos taken last Saturday by long-time photographer friend Simon Effendi of Artistic Moments Photography in Roswell. Simon has been shooting me since 2005, and he never ceases to amaze. Although I just got the disk today and he hasn't had time to perfect the shots, I just had to share the photo above.

It will never make it to a book cover, but it includes three of my very favorite things: my sugar skull heels, my lucky owl necklace, and my beloved car, The Iron Duke, named for the steampunk romance by Meljean Brook.

No wonder I'm smiling, even though it was about 30 degrees and my nose was falling off.

In a couple of days, I'm going to count on you guys to help me choose which photo to use. And, if you're lucky, I'll show you a couple of the hilarious outtakes, although I don't think Simon caught the one where I knocked over a tombstone.

take cover!

2011-11-01T15:05:00.002-04:00

No, really. Take one. They're like tarot cards.

Except that they all tell the same fortune.

And I can't tell it to you until next March.

These are cover flats, which I didn't even know existed until I learned that they were beautiful, shiny, and on their way to my house. They are basically a replica of the exact book cover, down to colors, words, ISBN, and the deliciously raised-up letters, and they are often used for marketing purposes. I'll definitely be taking them to a few of my local indie bookstores.

But what to do with the rest of them?

First, I snuggled them.

Then, I took the above picture and put it on my Facebook author page.

Then I thought about placing the cover flats in the bathtub and rolling around in them naked, like Scrooge McDuck.

Then I thought about how I would inevitably have to take pictures of that or no one would believe me, and the pics would get around to my family, and I would have to clean the bathroom first, and, yeah, NO.

Then I thought about making a dress with them. I nixed that when I remembered about paper cuts.

So I ask you guys: What do I do with these cover flats?

skelefamily fun

2011-10-31T21:38:00.003-04:00

So that's going to be on the cover of the Christmas calendar this year.

I hope we don't give my grandmother a heart attack.

But I always want to remember our first all-family costume as carcasses.

Halloween is my favoritest.

Dressing up like a weirdo is actually ENCOURAGED.

Even for adults.

Plus, I got to wear a big coat, birthday boots, and striped stockings.

Here's to hoping everyone had as fantastic a holiday as we did.

Happy Halloween, y'all!

the secret

2011-10-31T08:09:00.004-04:00

Me as Mia Wallace, 2004*

I wrote out this long blog post.

And deleted it.

I want to say something important, and I think shorter will be sweeter.

The secret to writing a book,

having a great Halloween costume,

or just flat out reaching your dreams is all the same thing:

Don't be afraid to make a complete fool out of yourself.

That's all.

Now go dress up and do something fabulous.

Just like The Rock.

*also known as "The day I realized I wasn't meant to work in a cube",

because everyone kept saying that they liked my haircut, but I had a booger.

guess that 80's movie costume

2011-10-30T09:37:00.004-04:00

The face glitter didn't show up, and I totally futched with the photo to make it prettier, but can anyone guess what my subtle Halloween costume was?

Hint: Despite the high hair and overdone eyes, NOT SNOOKI.

the narwhal is here with your tea, madam

2011-10-28T16:07:00.006-04:00

I am a simple woman.

Simple things make me happy.

One of them is this tea, which is only available during the holiday season. But you know how Trader Joe's is-- once it's gone, you're screwed, left to scramble on eBay for overpriced lots of bagged tea that has somehow ballooned from $2.99 a box to $9.99 a box with $20 shipping, but you have to buy it anyway because you know you can't go 9 more months without it or you'll start fighting hedge lions and talking to imaginary bartenders, but in a bad way, and you should have bought more than five boxes this year, fool.

So I bought three boxes yesterday. Just to start out.

And it's AWESOME. Not only because it tastes phenomenal and is hot and cozy and perfect and decaffeinated. But also because THERE'S A FREAKING NARWHAL ON THE BOX.

Oh, and know what else makes me ridiculously happy?

The commercial that kept popping up while I was out with my high school friends.

Anybody need a travel catheter? It comes with free hand sanitizer.

For when you're GIVING YOURSELF A CATHETER.

Dear God, if you exist:

Thank you for Narwhal Tea and Travel Catheters.

Amen.

putting the fun in you guys are still funny

2011-10-27T00:54:00.004-04:00

These guys have been my friends since about 1994. I think. I lose track.

We once did an independent study on British humor, which meant we played a lot of pool while watching Monty Python and broke one of my windows while beating a Cabbage Patch Kid like a pinata.

I get to see them about once a year, for about 2 hours.

Totally worth it.

Also, I think I owe someone $13 for a Diet Coke, 24 shrimp, and some Malbec.

Next year, the brownie sundaes are on me.

I think of myself as a very fortunate person in many respects, and knowing fun, intelligent, and hilarious people for nearly 20 years is one of those respects. Even if they still call me Missy and make fun of my arm hair. Except for Meggo, not pictured, who only says really nice things about me and is therefore extra awesome.

Thanks for driving all the way home, guys. You rock.

See you next year.

In Iceland.

Over some moose testicles.

putting the "fun" in funeral

2011-10-26T07:57:00.005-04:00

So I went to a funeral on my birthday, and even though it's dialing the morbid up to 11, I want to say a few things.

When I die, I don't want people to sit around a church and read Bible verses I didn't care about. I don't want some strange fat lady to put a black fleece vest on over her secretary outfit and sing religious songs that I've never heard. I don't want a preacher reading off a card, pretending like he knew me. I don't want everyone to stand around in a parlor in ugly and uncomfortable shoes, making awkward conversation and not eating scones. And I definitely don't want people to pretend I was any better than I was.

So here's what I want: I want a funeral that's fun.

Go somewhere I loved, a park or a backyard or a pretty field. Wear whatever makes you most comfortable, even if it's jeans and boots. Especially if it's jeans and boots. Have a bonfire. Hook up my iPod and pump my favorite playlists. Bring my books and art and tell funny stories from 11th grade history class. Get drunk and dance around like fools. Bring your guitars and play music, or hell, just play a few rounds of Rock Band and celebrate my world-famous lack of any musical skill. Eat cake. Make each other laugh. Give away all my stuff to people who will actually treasure it.

If you want to celebrate my life, celebrate it like I lived it: with humor, with joy, with snarky comments, with pranks and movie quotes. With wacky.

And if you really feel like crying, turn on the Airborne Toxic Event's cover of The Book of Love, right at the end. Watch a slide show of photos of me laughing and pass out printed copies of my blog. Hold hands around the bonfire and get out one good cry.

And then go buy more of my books so I'll become a posthumous success.

But most importantly, have fun. Let that be my legacy.

Took down the pretty song as it was causing blogprobs.

Go here if you want to be F'ING HAUNTED BY MELANCHOLIA.

24 and 34

2011-10-24T18:58:00.003-04:00

Sometimes, I worry about getting older. But let's look at the evidence.

Here I am at my 24th birthday party:

And here I am at my 34th birthday party:

Things just keep getting better.

And not just because they finally started putting some stretch into boot cut jeans.

A lot has happened in ten years.

But the important things stayed the same.

Right now, I have everything I wanted back then. And more.

Better and better. Better than I ever hoped things would be.

Let's hope the trend continues.

Thanks to everyone for a wonderful birthday!

Thanks for the messages on Facebook and Twitter, the gifts, the fun.

Cheering on the Green Knight with wonderful friends.

Hanging out with family. Eating lots of cake.

It was a great weekend.

birthday rapture

2011-10-21T15:52:00.008-04:00

It's from Cakes by Darcy.

Dr. Krog gets one for me every year.

For example: 2010. 2009.

In 2008, he got there late, and the only one left had a witch hat on top.

And I was all, ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME SOMETHING?

But this one? It's perfect.

It's white, black, and red, just like my book.

And there is a book on top. Like I'm a real author.

Inside, it's even better.

Chocolate cake. Vanilla frosting. Just a touch of almond.

LOOOOOVE THIS CAKE.

And here's what I had for lunch.

A Vosges Leche chocolate skull

with pink Himalayan sea salt from my friend Heidi.

Birthdays aren't supposed to be healthy, right?

And speaking of beautiful things I want to lick...

OMG, this book.

It's part of the Penguin Threads series,

which are based on commissioned embroidery by artist Jillian Tamaki.

I won it in a Twitter contest from Penguin publicist

Gabrielle Gantz (@contextual_life on Twitter).

It's one of the most lush, beautiful paperbacks I've ever seen.

There's so much pretty today, friends!

That crazy Camping guy predicted rapture,

AND I AM HAVING SO MUCH RAPTURE.

you were good to me, 33

2011-10-20T20:28:00.003-04:00

That's right guys.

IT'S ALMOST MY BIRTHDAY.

Thus far,

PROS:

* 33 was pretty good

* I got some interesting news today on the book front

* we will be celebrating with jousting

* Dr. Krog ordered my Darcy Cake

* I have received one kickass gift

* my daughter made me a card that says I LOVE YOU MOMMY BE HAPPY

* my son said I'm pretty

* there will be hibachi

* Dr. Krog bought me two cute jackets and a pair of zippy boots

* I bought myself these fabulous shoes:

CONS:

* I have to go to a funeral tomorrow

* I can't wear my fabulous new skull shoes to a funeral

* synesthesia says 34 is a fugly number, although it's slightly better than 32.

I'll keep you updated as the birthday progresses.

on writing: skipping, stalling, and stalking

2011-10-19T09:33:00.004-04:00

Myth: Writers finish every book they start. Once you've been published, every book you write will get published.

Truth: BWAHAHAHAHA!

Guys, I've got to be honest. I've got 3 books just sitting in folders on my laptop, half-written and waiting. I've got one idea that obsessed me for weeks before a fatal flaw became obvious and I killed it. I've got AN ENTIRE BOOK that will never go anywhere because the idea is unsellable. It's just sitting there, written, the characters fully-formed and deep, a tremendously awesome title, ready to go-- and yet the book is a complete dead-end.

And just yesterday, I started another one.

The idea obsessed me. I tried to think of the three half-finished books, politely waiting their turn. Two of them even have my agent's blessing. But all I could think about was SHINY NEW BOOK. Things that happened, character quirks, scenes, lines. I wrote the first chapter of SHINY NEW BOOK. I went to Writers Group and used the assignment to write an awkward scene I'd been salivating over. I decided the main character wore only white undershirts. I knew the first sentence had to involve eating salad, because someone on Twitter said you could never start a decent book with someone eating salad.

In short, SHINY NEW BOOK totally cut in line.

And I hate line cutters. I hate quitting or stalling out or starting something and not finishing. I hate to think of things dangling, waiting, going nowhere.

But that didn't stop SHINY NEW BOOK from barging right on in.

And I know how this works, so I just let it take me away.

I went through my ritual. Open a new document in Open Office. Format the page, set the paragraphs, add in the indent to .5, write the title in all caps, insert page break, type "1.", and then ZOOOOOOM. We're off on another adventure!

I'm going to treat SHINY NEW BOOK as a NANOWRIMO book. You know, National Novel Writing Month, which is typically November? I'm going to aim to have a short and dirty first draft of 50,000 words by November 30. And that should purge the damn thing out of my suggestive and stubborn brain so that I can get back to those other books.

That's how art works, sometimes.

No matter what you're doing, what you should be doing, or how you've worked in the past, something consumes you. Overtakes you. Obsesses you. Demands precedence. And if you're the type to listen to your muse, you let it. There's plenty of time to finish those other things, and if they want to be finished, they'll start to seep into your subconscious, just at the right time.

They'll obsess you, too.

In conclusion:

If you love something, let it go. If it bothers the crap out of you, get a restraining order. If that doesn't work, just write it all down and hope for the best. You can sleep next year.

i, too, had a dream. it involved ice.

2011-10-17T07:03:00.001-04:00

Can anyone guess what that is?

Can you?

That's a circle of scarlet ibises, two frogs, and a firefly. They are ice skating.

HOW DID YOU NOT GET THAT?

Okay, just kidding. It was pretty trippy, even with a proper frame of reference.

That, friends, is DISNEY ON ICE.

Subtitle: Bean and Biscuit's Next Excellent Journey, Because Who Could Forget THIS?

And it was awesome.

Oh, and here's proof that I left the surburbs:

That's a REAL, LIVE SKYSCRAPER.

And, for the record, Centennial Olympic Park was pretty cool.

The show was pretty cool, too. From what I could gather, it was a three-part play about a woman suffering paranoid delusions. She wanted to make beignets, wear dangerous shoes, and communicate with the stars. At one point, she and her French friend turned into giant, ice-skating frogs and swam around world 3 from Super Mario 3. King Koopa looked an awful lot like a giant crocodile with a trumpet. The most impressive part involved aerial silks, and Rapunzel wrapped herself up in her hair and flew around.

I know that sounds insane, but IT'S ALL TRUE.

Also, my kid has awesome shoes.

And she spent her $20 on the EXACT same pair of plastic Cinderella shoes that she bought two years ago, which is actually pretty adorable. Except for all the clopping around on wood floors.

She clops a lot now.

And she spent the rest of her money on ice cream.

I got to eat the last of those Dippin' Dots. Once they had melted out of dottiness and were more Mushin' Mush. But it was still delicious. And then there was CAKE.

Conclusion: Love my kid, love our friends, loved our day.

Happy Birthday, Bean!

don't be a harpy

2011-10-15T11:47:00.004-04:00

Something magical happened this morning.

I was eating breakfast at ChickfilA when I heard a low humming. It built into a beautiful love song, a capella/barber shop style, by some young men. Their recipient? An old woman with white hair wearing a veil headband and a BRIDE sash. They sang to her, right there in the ChickfilA line, and she blushed like she was 16 and hugged them and took pictures with her iPhone. I don't know if they knew her and planned it, or if it was a random-type flash mob of orderly boys with lovely voices, or what. I just know that it was a beautiful scene that made my day and brought my daughter and I to our feet, clapping.

And then something horribly depressing happened.

"That's so rude," someone said. "I can't believe they think they can just interrupt our meal like that. Don't they know this is a public place? It's just so rude."

It was the woman sitting behind us with her husband and two children. They were about the same ages as my kids, but instead of being allowed to run and play in the indoor playground, they were sitting on the other side of the glass, tightly reined in by a loudly critical mom who had been complaining since they walked in. The booth was dirty. The coffee was burnt. The children-- IN THE INDOOR PLAYSPACE 5 FEET AWAY-- were horribly loud and mannerless, their parents negligent boors to allow them to, you know, PLAY IN THE PLAYSPACE.

I had held my tongue as she complained about my kids from four inches behind my back. After all, I've tried my best to give up the judging thing. I've been annoyed by other kids, too. Maybe she was just having a bad day or had a headache. And I guess they were pretty loud, but I just assumed that anyone who chose to sit on the other side of the glass knew what they were getting into.

My first instinct was anger. But then I just felt sorry for her.

What kind of person would actually get angry at four teenagers serenading an elderly bride? How dead do you have to be inside, how negative and wrapped up in yourself?

I saw magic. She saw annoyance.

And so I decided that I would add this saying to my personal list of quotes.

DON'T BE A HARPY.

I think I'm going to make a t-shirt.

And if anyone is ever thinking of publicly serenading me, I promise to blush like I'm 16.

fall fashion

2011-10-14T07:59:00.003-04:00

What does fall mean to me?

New jackets.

Fun sweaters and belts.

My first infinity scarf.

The Night Circus made me do it. I wanted black and white stripes.

And that's also why I wore this outfit today.

All black and white with one pop of red.

In the book, they wear red scarves.

But my red scarf isn't here yet,

so I wore a striped scarf and a red bracelet.

Fashion: IT'S ALL ABOUT LITERACY.

And if I can find the time later,

I'll take some pics of my new hats and boots.

I never cared about fashion until...

oh, about last year.

But now?

I love pretty things.

Having kids taught me to treasure the moments

when I am entirely myself,

without having to plan my wardrobe around

holding hands, wearing baby carriers, or

stuffing my pockets with tissues.

I might even wear a dress today.

Dare me?

the other kind of cougar + an art crush

2011-10-13T18:07:00.002-04:00

biscuit: Mommy?

me: I AM NOT THE MOMMY. I AM A TIGER.

biscuit: You are not!

me: I so am.

biscuit: But you have armpits.

me: Tigers have armpits.

biscuit: But tigers don't have toes!

me: Sure they do.

biscuit: You don't have stripes.

me: Excellent point. I AM A LION.

biscuit: You don't eat those deer-things.

me: You present me with an antelope, a dibatag, an oryx, or a gerenuk, and I WILL SO EAT IT.

biscuit: You don't have a mane.

me: LOOK AT MY LUXURIOUS MANE.

biscuit: YOUR MANE IS BLACK! Lions have yellow manes.

me: Fair point. I AM A BLACK PANTHER.

biscuit: You don't have green eyes.

me: I do so.

biscuit: You don't climb trees.

me: I DO SO.

biscuit: You don't have fur.

me: Check out my arm, dude.

biscuit: (visibly frustrated) MOMMY, YOU ARE NOT A PANTHER.

me: UNTIL YOU CAN PROVE OTHERWISE, I POSIT THAT I AM.

biscuit: UGH. I GIVE UP.

me: YAY! I WIN! I'M A PANTHER!

biscuit: Oh, Mommy. You are *so* weird.

Also, I have an art crush.

I want this guy to illustrate ALL MY BOOKS.

The paranormal romance about the steampunk Victorian circus caravan?

The middle grade about the all black-and-white world where they have to wear plague masks all the time and are chased by thylacines and eohippi?

The middle grade about the mice that live in the attic and are really people?

All of them. Illustrate ALL OF THEM.

You, sir, are the artist I wish I had been.

cross your ampersands

2011-10-12T15:06:00.003-04:00

Please keep your fingers crossed for me.

I can't tell you why.

But let's just say there are several hints in this picture

that you won't understand for at least a few months.

Onward to adventure, my friends!

an unruly education

2011-10-11T07:50:00.003-04:00

Looks like we had lots of similar reactions to Columbus Day yesterday.

Reactions along the lines of WHAT IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE and WHAT ARE THEY TEACHING OUR CHILDREN?

Which made me start thinking about banning books and censoring what our children are allowed to read. Banned Book Week was September 24 - October 1, and since most of the people I follow on Twitter are in publishing, it was a big deal. Lots of books that I love have been banned. Harry Potter. The Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian. The Hunger Games. Twilight. The Golden Compass. Not to mention loads of classics, like The Catcher in the Rye and Bridge to Terabithia, books that helped form me as a person when I was young.

So I thought I would share a few books that changed me.

Milestones in the life of a writer, if you will.

King of the Wind by Margeurite Henry- The first full-length book I read in one sitting in 2nd grade. Significant because I realized I liked books more than most of the kids I knew and that a story was the perfect escape.

Watership Down by Richard Adams - I saw the movie at the video store, and my dad wouldn't rent it because it was "too violent." Mind you, I'd seen JAWS and Piranha!, so I was desperate to know how a cartoon about rabbits could be worse than that. The school librarian wouldn't let me read it, as I was in 3rd grade and it was in the 5th grade section. So I "borrowed" it secretly and returned it when I was done. To this day, it's one of my all-time favorites.

A Wrinkle in Time by Madeline L'Engle - The rest of the class was reading something I'd already read in 5th grade, so the teacher gave me this one, a banned book. I still remember the way I felt when that folded up skirt explained time travel. My little mind was blown. Blown, I say!

Pet Sematary by Stephen King - I remember my mom devouring this book while suntanning in the back yard, and when I asked about it, she told me I couldn't read it. So of course I waited until she was done and secretly borrowed it. I had no idea things like that could be written-- sick, twisted, terrifying. It was delicious. And it gave me nightmares. And I loved it. That was 6th grade.

IT by Stephen King - Same as Pet Sematary. I was 13, and I thought it would be cool. It completely messed me up. I am still terrified of clowns, of rain gutters, of spiders. But as scared as I was, I COULD NOT STOP READING. Even at the time, I was amazed at the power of a story, of a good book.

My daughter saw the movie in Target yesterday and asked me about it, and I said, "It's the scariest thing I've ever seen, and you can't read it until you're at least 13."

Valley of Horses by Jean Auel - My mom gave me Clan of the Cave Bear, which was fascinating. I picked up the sequel at a used book store. I mainly remember reading it in the middle school library, getting to the first... scene... and thinking, OH MY GOD. PEOPLE DO THIS? DO THE LIBRARIANS KNOW I'M READING THIS? HAVE THEY READ IT, TOO? I think the most important issue here is that it was a gentler introduction to sex than the other kids' conversations, than music videos, than movies, than pornography. It was extremely explicit. But the relationship was warm, kind, caring, generous. It was a good way, I think, to learn about such things.

The Awakening by Kate Chopin - I read this in high school and felt like I'd found kinship in a book. And, of all the books I've ever read, it was almost the most damaging, because it gave me dangerous ideas that luckily didn't come to fruition. But do I think it should have been banned? No. No. No. The book wasn't the reason I wanted to kill myself. It just showed me I wasn't alone in feeling hopeless, like an outsider.

Outlander by Diana Gabaldon - One of my best friends and my long-time mentor recommended this one to me, and I thought, "Me? Read romance? HA FREAKIN' HA." But as with so many things, she was spot on. I bought this one in a used book store and read it so fast that I was back there before the doors opened the next day, sleepless and starving for the sequel. Outlander taught me that romance can be more than romance. It can be a gripping, well-written tale rich in historical details. It can be a saga, the story of people we come to deeply care about. Outlander was my gateway into quality romance that's more than romance.

And now, here I am, waiting for my first book to be published next Spring.

My dear hope is that, like Outlander, it's a romance that goes beyond romance, with a story and characters that will appeal to men and women alike. My dearest hope is that WICKED AS THEY COME will touch someone in the way that these books touched me. Not a huge, life-altering change, but maybe it will make someone reconsider the romance or paranormal genres. Or maybe it will provide them the escape they need from the frustrations of everyday life. I'll be happy if it just makes a few people smile.

Maybe, one day, it will even be banned.

Columbus, shmolombus

2011-10-10T08:29:00.004-04:00

biscuit: Mommy, why don't I have school today?

me: I think it's part of a larger plot to drive me crazy.

biscuit: No, really, though?

me: Well, it's Columbus Day.

biscuit: I KNOW THAT GUY. My teacher told us.

me: What did your teacher say?

biscuit: He found something.

me: Eh... not really. See, he lived in Europe, and his king and queen didn't know that there was land on the other side of the ocean. So they sent Columbus over here, and he landed in the place that's now the United States, and he stuck a flag in it and decided he'd discovered it.

biscuit: THAT'S WHAT MY TEACHER SAID!

me: Yeah, but buddy, people already lived here. The Native Americans had been here for thousands of years. They had towns, families, tribes. So is it possible to discover something that's already been discovered?

biscuit: Yes! No! But my teacher said...

me: Your teacher knows a lot of things, but she's not always right. You can't own something that someone else already owns. What if somebody walked into our house right now and said, "I FOUND THIS HOUSE! I OWN IT!"

biscuit: Then daddy would use jiu-jitsu on them?

me: Exactly. We wouldn't say, "Oh, okay. You found our house. You can have it. We'll go somewhere else."

biscuit: But I thought Columbus was good.

me: Eh... I think he thought he was good. But you'll notice there are a lot more white people running around than Native Americans. Columbus wasn't so cool to them.

biscuit: Oh, I REMEMBER them. They're called INDIANS.

me: Eh... let's just call them Native Americans for now, okay?

biscuit: But my teacher said...

me: Your teacher isn't always right. Remember when she told you that you should get her a present because it would be her anniversary if she wasn't divorced?

biscuit: YEAH, WE WERE SUPPOSED TO...

me: No, we weren't. The thing is, there are two sides to every story, and I think Columbus Day is one of the most ridiculous, horrible holidays on the planet. Half the people go to work or school, the other half don't, which means only half the people can do their job. There's no mail, which means my Harry & David gift basket won't be arriving. There's nothing to celebrate. It wasn't a real accomplishment. Or, at least, the accomplishment of sailing across the ocean was canceled out by the genocide. And now they're force-feeding it to you in school, and I have to basically tell you that your school, or your teacher, or your government is lying to you, which is a lot to take in when you're five.

biscuit: Um... so what do we do?

me: We relax and have a nice day off, regardless of why.

biscuit: Okay. I'll put on a dress and draw a heart for you.

me: That will officially make it the BEST COLUMBUS DAY EVAR.

for the dreamers

2011-10-08T16:00:00.002-04:00

Continuing a week where I squeal over things that make me happy,

I can't recommend this book highly enough.

It's magical.

Simply magical.

I know I take odious joy in awful movies and frivolous books, but this one is a keeper.

Beautiful, lyrical, deep, dreamy, luscious, with just a few token tears at the end.

It's about a magical circus that randomly appears and a star-crossed love that defies logic and reason. I bought it for my Nook, but I'll be buying it in print, too.

Whoever says print is dead couldn't be more wrong.

For something this spectacular, I'm happy to pay twice.

Signed,

a rêveur

what passion tastes like

2011-10-07T21:12:00.008-04:00

The primary reason for my trip to Oregon this past week was to visit the Harry and David factory and learn about what they do, which is grow pears, make candy, and craft gift baskets. But, really, it's so much more than that.

What makes them different is passion.

The man in charge of the candy kitchen isn't a faceless entity. He's Charlie, a 3rd generation chocolatier with a ponytail who has spent the last 30+ years of his life at Harry and David, dreaming up new ways to make sugar special. This is a man who, along with his team, went through over 160 trials before developing the perfect shade of pink on those breast cancer awareness pears up there.

And if you one day order their cashew toffee brittle, you can rest assured that I participated in early stage taste tests. It was fabulous but needed more salt, in my opinion.

One of the most fascinating discoveries for me was that people who work for big companies could still be completely passionate for their work. It's not just the artists and writers and musicians among us, toiling at home alone who feel driven and in love with their jobs. It's Charlie and Tim and Dom and Chrystina and Matt at Harry and David, too.

And they wanted to share their passion with us.

Instead of taking us out to a fancy restaurant, they coordinated an intimate and striking meal in the barrel house of RoxyAnn Winery, another place filled with people passionate about their work. Harry and David's Culinary Director, Tim Urban, made extraordinary sandwiches for us out of local artisanal beef, while Roxy Ann director Michael Donovan paired his favorite RoxyAnn wines with every course, each of which included Harry and David products.

And then there was the Roussanne.

It's not in the picture because I drank it all. Twice.

I've never had Roussanne wine before, but I've never tasted anything like it. Complex, sharp, sweet yet flowery and rich. I inhaled it so often that my seatmates began to laugh at me. The scent and taste were so amazing that it brought my synesthesia out to play, and I tried to describe it as an evening's spring rain dripping down a window onto that light-yellow clover I used to eat as a child.

For as long as I live, I will remember what that wine, what that dinner, made me feel.

Because these people felt passion for their work, I began to feel passion for it, too. Everything I ate and drank that night became a part of my story. The lights twinkling overhead, the smell of wine barrels, the sound of wind outside, plate after plate of amazing food.

We loved the Roussanne so much that even though it's not available for sale, they're going to send us a bottle. And do you know what I'm going to do with mine?

I'm going to invite my friends over for dinner soon, cut up a Harry and David Royal Riviera pear, put out some Rogue River Blue cheese, and break open my bottle of Roussanne.

I want them to feel the passion, too.

oh, pear.

2011-10-06T00:33:00.007-04:00

So... I won't be joining the ranks of the pear-dippers any time soon.

It didn't look so good, but HOLY CRADOODLE, it tasted AMAZING.

I was much better at all the other things we did today.

Sample delicious food at Harry & David? CHECK.

Stop the tour group in order to snap a photo of a painting of two lobsters fighting in Shakespearean kit? CHECK.

Note: LOBSTER HAS AN EYE PATCH.

Ahem.

Take a photo by the pumpkins while hoping that my luggage wasn't lost? CHECK.

Buy a hat, some new perfume, and an AMAZING almond marzipan cupcake from Larry's in Ashland, Oregon? DOUBLE-BILLION-GAZILLION CHECKS.

Have a delightful plane flight discussing books with a bibliophile named Barbara? CHECK.

Bond with a fellow Southerner over the fact that our route through the airport was so oddly deserted that we were waiting to hear either zombies or banjos, then go to Rogue Ales Public House for a kickass Kobe burger? CHECK.

In conclusion:

Absolutely adored everything about this trip from the people to the food

to the passion of everyone who works at Harry & David?

Want to stay in Oregon for another week?

Deeply dig peppermint-covered pretzels?

Be super happy?

CHECK.

adventures in Rogue Valley

2011-10-05T00:12:00.011-04:00

I want to remember this.

I know I say that a lot. I know I forget a lot. But I felt things tonight that I want to remember, so I will try to record them to the best of my deeply flawed ability.

1. I actually look like a grown-up sometimes. I felt like I was masquerading as a journalist today, but it turns out I actually *am* a journalist. I can legally call myself a writer. It takes a surprising amount of effort to remember I'm technically a grown-up.

2. Oregon is beautiful. Orchards are beautiful. Pears, dammit, are beautiful. And that piece of fruit, that simple pear, is a complex marvel. There is a man awakened at 2 in the morning who drives 20 miles to the orchard and sets fire to hundreds of smudge pots, just to make sure your pear doesn't die on the vine. There are fences set up to keep elks from tenderly lipping that pear off the tree.

That pear, friends, is a work of art.

3. Sometimes, I pretend to eat your oh-so-holy pear. So there.

4. There's also a barn. It is very pretty. On one side, there is a pear orchard. On another side, there is a plot of medical marijuana guarded by a stoned-looking dog. On another side is a boat, and beside the boat is a chicken coop, and chickens, and they're all standing under a pink umbrella. And that, too, is beautiful.

5. Sometimes, dinner is more than food. Sometimes, food is a gift.

Tonight, I tasted so many amazing things that my synapses feel like they're braided, curled and twined as intricately as honeysuckle. The red cow beef sandwiches and Roussanne, the cheese and cinnamon bread and rich, red wine. The smell of the air among the wine casks, the lights twinkling overhead. Talking to a third generation chocolatier who once lived in a teepee for two years. Discovering port for the first time and trying to put into words why it made me think of the soft, tender ears of puppies.

Ye gods, what a gift. Just having the time to experience such a thing. I am humbled.

And grateful.

6. Also, sometimes pears grow as big as a human head.

And then they are called FRANKENPEARS. And they look like this.

7. Lastly, I made my own gift basket.

I think it's important, to give gifts to yourself. And I can't wait to tear into my goodies when I'm back home, hundreds of miles away from the magic of Oregon and Harry and David

These trips are a gift. To myself, from myself, from circumstance, from the people who come together to make it possible, my husband and parents and all the strangers who become friends on a tour bus. Traveling and trying new things makes me feel so alive, so young, so invigorated. I find myself fascinated with things I'd never imagined before, with questions on bees and kaolin and popcorn varietals and wine casks. I find myself waking up, wanting to learn and soak up knowledge.

And then, sometimes I find myself half-drunk and smelling of skunk at 9:56 Pacific time, deeply grateful for everything. I look at pictures of my children and smile, thankful to my core for my family and also for the chance to remain a separate being.

This, this, this, always. Skunk smell and all.

could you be more pacific?

2011-10-03T16:47:00.009-04:00

Guys, I'm in the Pacific Northwest for the first time in my life, and even though I haven't left the hotel room yet, IT IS AWESOME.

I didn't do much traveling as a kid, but today, I flew all the way across our country, and I saw many fascinating things that, frankly, bored the crap out of me in school. But I admit it: geography is kind of cool, when you're experiencing it firsthand.

First there were the fields. Seen from the sky, they're pure art.

And every now and then, I saw one that looked like Pac-Man.

And then we moved into the mountains.

Not piddly, "rather a large rock" mountains like we have in Georgia. Big mountains. Rocky mountains. Manly mountains. Mountains that look like Mother Nature's unfolded laundry.

Next up, there were strange marshes that made me think of the Neverending Story, before Artax gave up and I started to cry like a little girl. They looked so untouched, so pure. I can't believe I got all geogra-swoony over a little ol' swamp. But it was so pretty. The guy in the seat next to mine probably thought I was a moron.

And then came the most mysterious sight of all.

I couldn't figure out what they were. But they were beautiful.

"What is that?" I asked myself. "Sand? Cotton? Desert?"

So I looked at the little in-flight map.

And I pushed my stewardess button, because I am a brazenly curious girl.

Just as I opened my mouth to ask, "What are those large, white, water things near Salt Lake City?", I abruptly smacked myself in the face and asked her a question about my luggage instead.

Because I swear to gosh, guys. I AM SMART.

Let's just say that I was very impressed with the salt lakes around that city.

Ahem.

But what was the most beautiful sight of all?

The lovely gift basket from Harry and David, because after traveling since 5am on nothing more than a donut and some coffee, I was starving.

Let me tell you, guys. Moose Munch? THE HYPE IS TRUE.

I can't stop eating it.

The pears are also quite nice.

So that's today's installment of Unruly Adventures.

reported to you live from Oregon while eating Dark Chocolate Moose Munch out of a bathtub.

Tomorrow: Visiting the Harry and David pear orchards and Moose Munch factory

on behalf of Cool Mom Picks, because my bosses are really awesome.