Revisions.

My editor just sent me the second wave of revisions. So, in honor of this event I'm putting up some posters from Despair.com. They say it so well. In fact, you can make your own calendar out of their many sayings. I'm thinking about it. I'm also surfing the Internet for other job possibilities.



Oh, and here is another good one for writers:



Have I mentioned that I hate revisions?

Denver Trip /Technology strikes again

My school visit in Denver was great because I got to stay with my brother and his family. My nephew made me play Dance Revolution, and yeah, I pretty much stink at that. (Just what the world needed: one more way for teenagers to humiliate their elders.)

My brother let me drive his swanky BMW to the school. It had all sorts of bells and whistles I’m not used to. (For example it was keyless and the garage door opener was built into the car on the bottom of the rear view mirror.)

When I turned it on to leave in the morning I noticed the brake light was on. I sat there, looking for the emergency brake. I finally found it, but it was off. I tapped the brakes thinking that maybe I was supposed to do that as part of the whole keyless routine.

The light still didn’t turn off.

I called my brother’s cell phone, but got no answer.

I tried both of the brakes again then pushed a few random buttons.

The light didn’t turn off and all I could think was, “Great. The BMW makers have put a third brake somewhere on this car and I don’t know where it is, and I’m going to ruin my brother’s car when I drive it.”

Stupid new technology.

Well, okay, for those of you who think I’m an idiot for believing a car maker would put a third brake on a car—let me tell you about my new laptop. I still don’t know how to work it because there is so much new technology. Seriously. The spellcheck has been buried somewhere under all sorts of new functions. I can’t even find the ruler to make paragraph indentations. What was Bill Gates thinking?

So finally I had to drive off because I knew I would be late otherwise, and who knew when my brother would get out of his morning meeting. (Sometimes my husband’s morning meetings last into the evening.)

I drove, like 20 miles an hour all the way there. While cars whizzed by me--cursing, I'm sure--I tried to send them telepathic messages that it really wasn't my fault, It was BMWs for being too brake-happy.

Then I called my brother between every presentation because I didn’t want to have to drive home with the brake still on.

Finally I got ahold of him. It seems the BMW was just telling him it was time to have his brakes serviced. No third brake. The rest of you knew that all along, didn’t you? But then, the rest of you can probably play Dance Revolution too.

National Author Day

It's that festive time of year when everyone rushes to take down their Halloween stuff and put up their National Author Day decorations. Yes, pull out your Mark Twain centerpieces, your Jane Austen wreathes, and those life-size twinkly Bronte Sisters for the yard. Then let's all sing a few Thank-goodness-we're-not-in-school-anymore-so-we-don't-have-to-read-Hemingway-again carols.

And don't forget to send me your Author Day gifts. Remember, you can't go wrong with precious gems.

Special note to my husband: really, we've been married for 21 years so you ought to know by now that you can't buy Almond Joys, Snickers, or peanut M&Ms for trick-or-treaters and expect that they will ever see Halloween Night if I'm in the house. This is why you must buy the type of candy I don't like. I didn't touch the Whoppers.



There are obviously a lot of princesses at our house.



My oldest son wanted to be a vampire for Halloween. This is what happens when the girls at school start calling you 'Edward.'



Aren't they sooo cute?

IRA in Billings, Montana--how you know you're not a big author yet.

Are you beginning to wonder why all my blogs are about traveling places? So am I. When my husband told a guy at work that he had to leave—once again—to take his wife to the airport, the co-worker asked, “Who set up your wife’s insane schedule?”

My husband answered, “A woman with no concept of time or distance.”

Yeah, that would be me.

It’s pretty much turned into a blur of airports. I nearly missed my connection from Salt Lake to Billings because I was going over my presentation for IRA so intently that I didn’t hear them make any boarding calls until they were yelling, “You-whoo, Janette Rallison—where are you?” This is the same sort of concentration that is to blame for making me miss picking up my children from school, and well, the time I nearly burned my kitchen down. (Long story. Different blog.)

The presentation went well, I guess, but it didn’t say who I was in the program so I don’t think anyone actually knew I was an author until they walked into the room. In fact, I was pretty much an invisible author for the whole time. When I asked the people working at the IRA desk if I was supposed to go to the authors’ dinner on Friday, they told me it was just for “the big authors”.

Have I ever mentioned that at times being a writer feels just like junior high all over again?

Anyway, I think the people in my class enjoyed my presentation. I gave them all a free book. I wanted someone at the conference to remember that I was an author.

The most crowded place on earth.

Without stopping to unpack from my Houston trip, I jumped in the car with the family and headed to California. We and some of our good friends had decided to take a two day vacation at Disneyland. Neither of our families had taken vacations during the summer and so we were overdue. Plus, we reasoned, Disneyland wouldn’t be nearly as crowded in October as it was during the summer.

Ha, what optimistic fools we were!

It was crowded. And we’re not talking just a little crowded. You know all of those Armageddon movies where vast crowds are fleeing destruction? That’s how crowded it was, but with added benefit of a herd of impatient, hyped up children to look after--and without the meteorite hurling toward the earth so that you could think, “Well okay, this sucks big time, but at least it will all be over soon.”

Nope, we’d paid more money for this trip than our first car cost, which meant we had to stay there and fight the crowd to get our money’s worth.

(When I got home and looked at my pictures I realized that most of them were just of the kids standing in various lines--which actually makes sense since that was 90 % of our Disneyland experience. So here are our vacation pictures!)











Oh look, we finally made it to a ride.

There are no pictures of me with my arm around Mickey Mouse because A) the line for pictures was too long and B) after waiting for an hour just so my daughter could have three minutes on the Dumbo ride, I was ticked off enough that I probably would have smacked one of Mickey’s ears clean off.

And it got worse after 6:00 when California Adventure closed and all of the park hoppers came over to the Disneyland side. You literally had to hold onto your children so the crowd brushing past your shoulders didn’t peel them away from you. It was so crowded then, that you couldn’t even make your way to the rides let alone contemplate how long you’d have to stand in line before you actually got to touch one. At that point we just gave up and left.


The beach was much more relaxing. If you’re going to California. I highly recommend the beach. But if you’re interested in the Disneyland experience, well, just go stand in an airport security line the day before Thanksgiving. It’s about the same thing, but less expensive.

Houston Trip--see it's not just me.

Some of you think that I make up all of those embarrassing moments that I stick in my novels. Some of you think that those sort of mishaps don't happen in real life. Well, not only do they happen, but apparently they are contagious--spreading from me to people I associate with, sort of like a bad cold, but with less hacking and wheezing.

I'm sure this is the only reason that things went down in the Houston airport like they did.

Tami Norton, fellow writer, friend, and Houston resident volunteered to play hostess while I was in Texas for a school visits, book signing, and schmoozing with SCWBI folks. It was raining in Houston when Tami went to pick me up and she was worried she'd be late picking me up, so she sprinted through the airport. Unfortunately she was in flip flops and there was a leak in the airport roof. When she ran over a puddle she did a very graceful and lady-like, I'm sure, slip-fall-kerplunk into the puddle.

The problem with landing in a puddle is that it leaves an incriminating wet spot in a place where you really don't want wet spots. Tami had to back her way up into the parking garage, dash to her van, and then spent the next few moments half dressed and waving her pants in the air in an attempt to dry them out. I told her it would have been even better had say, her husband's boss walked by, or perhaps the local clergy, or an old boyfriend--well really, the possibilities are endless. In my mind she still got off lucky.

But anyway, I just wanted to let people know that it isn't just me that these type of things happen to.

Despite the haphazard beginning, Houston was a lot of fun. The homeschoolers and Cook Middle school were great. Blue Willow did an excellent job for my book signing, and SCWBI folks rock. I already want to go back.

Tami and I also spent some time brainstorming for her new novel. How's it coming, Tami? I'm going to bug you until it's done!

Chicago trip

I am way behind on blogging about my travels, which matches, incidentally, my being behind on cleaning, organizing, updating my website, and well, just about everything else. One day I’ll master the art of not sleeping and then I’ll get all caught up. Until then I’ll just keep being behind.

So now I'll write about my Chicago trip—which incidentally and amazingly I didn’t get lost at. Not even once. Of course this is probably because I rented a car with GPS. But still, it is amazing none the less when you consider that I once got lost from a hotel lobby to my room.

I presented at Anderson’s YA conference and met very cool people like Christopher Paul Curtis Bud, Not Buddy Sherman Alexie The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, Sonya Sones What My Mother Doesn’t Know Christopher Crutcher whose books are all put on the American Library Association Best Books before the ink dries, and Robert Sharenow, who wrote the book: My Mother the Cheerleader (which isn’t about cheerleaders, by the way.) He is also Vice President of Nonfiction and Alternative Programming at the A&E network, which means that he know Dog the Bounty Hunter. For some reason that I can’t explain myself, I absolutely love that show. (I am one of the few people in the world who doesn’t have cable so I only watch it when I’m in hotels, which it turns out is quite often. Go Dog go!)

It’s always fun to travel and meet other authors. It amazes me that people who are so famous—like Christopher Paul Curtis—are such nice, down to earth people. He told some really funny stories about his early years writing and working in a factory. I guess I remember back in school when all the pictures of authors showed a bunch of stern old men with pipes who looked frighteningly scholarly.

I have yet to meet that type of author. Which is a pleasant surprise.

Suprise School Visit (DC part 3)

While I was in DC I did five school visits to fabulously brilliant children. (The fact that they liked my books is proof positive of their brilliance.) However, I must say that the most memorable was the surprise visit I did to my old fifth grade teacher’s class. The librarians and I sneakily set it up without him knowing anything about it.

They told Mr. Kuykendall that all the fifth grade classes were required to go to a reading and writing seminar in the library. He has been teaching for nearly forty years so he wanted to skip out of the seminar, but they were insistent.



He walked into the room and glanced over at me with absolutely no recognition. (Some of you may be surprised to learn that I’ve changed since the fifth grade.) In his defense he told me later that I didn’t hold his attention because he quickly realized that every important person at school was in the library (including the district photographer). What was the principal doing at a reading and writing seminar?

Then he looked at me again, and it all sunk in.

I would have felt really bad if he’d actually had a heart attack before my presentation—and I suppose I should have thought about that before I surprised a sixty-one-year old man. But he survived the shock and had a good time listening to my presentation.



I had many good teachers, but Mr. Kuykendall will always be my favorite. He is one of those really extraordinary teachers that other teachers hate because he sets the bar so high.

He was an especially good teacher for me to have in fifth grade because up until that point I had pretty much just day dreamed through school and saw no point to changing my ways. Mr. K made me believe I was smart though. My grades went from C’s to straight A’s that year. He also told me that I was going to be a writer one day. He bought me a blank book and told me to write a story for him so that after I became a published author he could tell people he had my first book.

So he does, but don’t get excited because I guarantee you I wasn’t a child prodigy and it’s nothing that you’d ever want to read—unless you want to read bad writing in order to feel good about yourself. It might work for that.

I told his current fifth grade class all about this and they agreed that he is a marvelous teacher and thought my old class picture of him was hilarious. (Have to love those 70s shirt collars which could double as hang glider wings.)



Afterwards another teacher covered his class and Mr. Kuykendall, my husband, one of his good friends, and I went out for lunch. It was nice to get caught up and spend some time together. As far as school visits go, that one will always be one of my most memorable.

It's Here!

I’m interrupting my DC blogs (I have one more-and it’s the best.) to bring you this important news flash:

Revenge of the Cheerleaders is in stores now!

Run to the nearest bookstore and demand your copy. Yell out my name while you do, as this would be great publicity for me, especially if you were, say arrested, and they used my name in the headlines of your home town newspaper.

You will especially love this book if you a) have taste or b) loved the book, All’s Fair in Love, War, and High School because this is a companion book. Yep, I had so many people email and ask me to write more about these characters that I did. Of course this book also stands alone, so if you didn’t read All’s Fair this book will still make sense.

Here are some book details:


Chelsea’s school year has taken a turn for the worse. After being dumped by her boyfriend and humiliated at the pep assembly by her younger sister’s boyfriend, Rick, she’s just concentrating on avoiding any other major embarrassments.

That’s when Rick and his band debut their new album, complete with a whole set of songs bashing cheerleaders. Chelsea’s humiliation has reached a whole new level now that everyone is walking down the halls singing the words to “Dangerously Blonde.”

It’s time to make Rick pay. All he wants is to win the High School Idol audition, so he can be on his way to rock star fame and fortune. But with the help of her best friends, Samantha, Aubrie and Rachel, Chelsea is going to steal his victory right out from under him.

The characters from All’s Fair in Love, War and High School are back, only this time it’s payback.



Happy reading!

Janette

DC Blog - Part 2

One of the benefits of going to DC to do school visits was that I was able to spend some time taking in the sights. And there are more things to see in DC then a person could see during a year. I know this for a fact because I lived in Silver Spring, Maryland when I was in fifth grade, and my family did indeed spend every weekend sight seeing. I was dragged to every Revolutionary and Civil War battleground in existence. If some early American pilgrim had nailed together a shack somewhere, I saw it. And no, I didn’t appreciate it at the time. But now I wish I could move back east for a year just so I could drag my kids to all the same places.

Anyway, here are a few of the highlights from the trip.

Here is Janette at the Smithsonian gem collection touching amethysts and coincidentally developing a craving for new jewelry.



Oooooh, something like this would be nice.



Here is Janette by the capital building, and no, she doesn't actually lean to the left.



Here is a picture of Janette’s husband by one of those statues from Easter Island.



The placard told us about how the people there spent all of this time and effort to erect statues of their important ancestors. This had some meaning for them, though we’re not sure what. Probably some primitive ritual. What simple-minded folk they must have been—then we went off to visit statues of Jefferson and Lincoln. Quite impressive, eh?


I just had to include this picture. We will list it among the silly signs we’ve seen in our lives.



I visited five different schools during my trip Roberto Clemente Junior High, Chester Middle School, Herndon Elementary, Herndon Junior high, and Candlewood Elementary. They were all exceptional. I have to say I’m really impressed with the librarians and kids I’ve met.

School visits in D.C., part 1

I’ve just come back from an amazing week in DC area. So amazing, that I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to fit it into one blog. I might have to put it up here in installments just like Dickens novels. (But with a lot less description and shorter sentences.)

The first thing: Virginia and Maryland are filled with big beautiful trees. They are everywhere. If you picked a spot and walked 100 yards in any direction, you would run into trees. As we were driving down the freeway, my husband—who grew up in Virginia—kept pointing out spots to me. “That’s the area where my scout troop camped out one year.”

I looked and saw what I’d seen along the highway for the last hour—trees.

In Arizona the only thing along the highway is rocks. Sometimes the highway people get creative and then there will be decorative rocks. I know of one place where there are colored rocks that form the shape of a lizard. There is also the occasional bush or small tree, but these were also placed there for decoration and have a drip system attached to give them water. I’m pretty sure I’ll never see any boy scouts camping along the highway while driving in Arizona.

Because of the lush vegetation back east, there is a large assortment of darling wildlife roaming around. While I was staying with my sister in Herndon, Virginia there were deer grazing in her back yard. I saw blue jays and fluffy tailed squirrels frolicking around. Even the road kill was cute—raccoons and foxes. Arizona is quite lacking in the cute wildlife category. We have lizards and scorpions. Trust me; it just isn’t the same to see these in your yard.

Ex-boyfrined stories are up!

Since I’ve been running a "dish dirt on your Ex" contest, it only seems fitting that I tell some stories about the lucky (and unlucky) guys from my past. Really, as I sit here thinking about it, I realize that most of my exes were truly nice guys. I suppose this comes from trying to date nice guys in the first place. (I only went for the bad-boy type once, and then ended that relationship pretty quickly. I wanted to spend my time with guys who inspired me, not ones I had to reform.)

Still there were a few memorable guys.

The worst: David K, who broke up with me right before I went off to college. Yeah, that was a lot of fun. I spent my first night at college crying myself to sleep and wondering what was wrong with me. What a great way to start your adulthood and impress your roommates. Which is why he wins the Supreme Jerk award from my past. Hadn’t he ever heard the idea of letting long distance relationships die an easy, natural death?

Runner up: Ben C who acted like he was totally into me and then after we’d been dating a couple of weeks asked out my roommate. That’s class for you. Luckily neither I nor my roommate liked him too much (All brawn and no brain) so at least we both learned quickly what type of guy he was.

The Good Ex-boyfriend: Hmmm, it’s really hard to choose one since as I said before so many of the guys I dated were really nice. There was Eric Brown who liked me even though I met him under false pretenses. A friend of mine and I were pretending to be twins at a dance (because so many people had previously told us we looked alike—this is the sort of thing you do when you’re 16 and your names are Jeane and Janette).


But then after concocting this tale for an entire week, I realized I liked the guy, wanted to have a relationship with him, and had to come clean and tell him the truth. (And you people wonder where I get my plot ideas from.)


There was John Stucki who so miraculously popped into my life when I was a sophomore—and was so teenage-girl-dream-perfect that his presence alone convinced me that God loved me. One day I’ll have to write an entire essay about him. His story is definitely the stuff fiction is made of. I don’t have a picture of him. I used to have one in my wallet, but when I went to college someone stole it out of my purse. That was how good looking he was.

There was Stuart Hirschfeld, who I completely absolve of asking Jessie Lipe to prom instead of me, because after I moved away from Washington he wrote me faithfully—more faithfully than any of my girlfriends, I might add—all the way up until I got married. In an odd twist of fate, about a year ago he found my website, we caught up on old times, and I sent him all of his letters. So many were journal entries really, that they belonged with him.


And lastly there was Devon Felsted—who took me to prom that year when Stuart went with Jessie. He still lives in my home town of Pullman, Washington and so for Revenge of the Cheerleaders, which is set there, he was my contact for all things Pullman. I was constantly besieging him with important questions like: Is the Baskin Robbins still there? How many pep-assemblies do the students have during a year? He even read the completed manuscript for accuracy. How many ex-boyfriends would go to all that work for you?


Didn’t I tell you they were nice?

So now that I’ve gone strolling down memory lane (and thought of many more stories I’ll have to tell at some later, more extensive time period) check out some other people’s Ex stories on my website.

Advice for the rejected author

A friend of mine from a writing list just had her manuscript accepted by her editor and then rejected by the editor's boss. She asked how the rest of us handled these sort of emotional setbacks. This was my advice:

I go for lots of chocolate. (Does that surprise anybody?) Then I think about the movie, Happy Feet. Apparently somebody okayed that movie--which in case you haven't seen it, and I don't know anyone who saw it and liked it--is about a tap dancing penguin who is ostracized because he can't sing, and tap dancing is weird. (Well you can't blame the penguins for thinking that actually.)

So he goes off in search of aliens to find out the reason why the fish population is decreasing, he's captured and put in a zoo, then released when the general public finds out he can tap dance (as opposed to selling him to the circus which is what would really happen.)

He teaches the rest of the penguin population to dance and this somehow means that people get the message to stop fishing and leave more food for the penguins. They didn't really go into the logistics as to how people deduced the meaning of this message. (Maybe they saw the penguins and thought, "Ugh! Massive tap dancing! Somehow I just lost my appetite for eating fish!")

After thinking about Happy Feet for a few minutes, it makes me realize that perhaps those Big Wigs upstairs okaying and vetoing stories really don't know what they're doing.

So don't worry about it. Someone else will love your story.

Janette, who hardly ever eats fish so can't be held responsible for starving penguins.

Worst first line contest winner--yes!

In the same spirit as the 2007 Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, one of my oldest and dearest writing friends, Kerry Blair, sponsored her own worst first line contest. The prize, besides a vintage copy of Bulwer-Lytton’s most famous work: The Last Days of Pompeii, was a fabulous six-figure cash award. (The figure is – you guessed it – $000,000!)

I am bursting with pride (sort of) to tell you all that I won. Or as my husband put it, “So this proves without a doubt that you can write badly?”

Yes, it does.

If I never receive another writing accolade (and to tell you the truth the accolade shelf in my den is pretty empty except for those World’s Best Mom pictures the kids occasionally draw me) this one will make me happy.

Here is my winning entry along with some pretty good runner’s uppers. (Or however one phrases that.)

Alicia's lips were bright red--the exact color of that little button on turkey timers that pops up when the turkey is done--only Alicia never knew that, because she was a strict vegan and just made tofu turkey on Thanksgiving, which of course doesn't have an actual little turkey timer button, but everyone else who saw her thought, "Ahh, the turkey is done."


He was in love with her, loved her like he loved lasagna, not just any lasagna, especially not the vegetarian kind, but the meaty juicy savory kind with extra cheese, and he could tell by the way her face flushed like steaming marinara sauce underneath a thick layer of melted ricotta that she must feel the same way; he only hoped that their love didn’t end like his love with lasagna always ended, filled with excruciating pain on the toilet.


Lucy’s brown eyes were like two chocolate chip cookies, only burnt and made with mint chocolate chips used rather than milk chocolate, making swirls of dirtied-green in her dark and stormy glare for only a moment ago she had received the heartbreak of her teenage life; “CHAD IZ N LUV W BRT-NY” came the ominous text from her best friend followed by an obligatory “R U OK?” Lucy was sure she would never love again.

Revisions are coming

My editor told me that he is finishing up his revision notes for The Last Wish and will send them off to me today. He said they won't be extensive, but hmmmm, if that were the case, would it really have taken him four months to get them to me? I mean, I wrote the novel in less time.

I guess we'll see. Lucky for the Fed Ex guy, he's not required to stick around while I open the package. (And you always wondered why they rang your doorbell and then fled the scene. They're used to delivering revision notes to authors.)

Here's another thought (one that's much more cheerful); The good folks over at Reader's Digest Magazine who are always offering handy dieting tips say this: Nuts have healthy fat. Always keep a few in your pocket to stave off hunger.

So true. I like to keep my nuts wrapped in chocolate. It works every time.

What's in a Name?

I was just eating some dried plums. I am pretty sure these used to be prunes, but apparently ‘prunes’ isn’t an appealing term anymore. Who wants to eat prunes when we could be eating dried plums?

In this spirit, I am renaming some things in my life. I am no longer going gray. My hair is turning platinum blond. My house isn’t a mess. I’m demonstrating to my family (and any neighbors who happen to pop over) the truth of the Second Law of Thermodynamics. Therefore, I am a law abiding citizen. Lastly, I am not, as some people claim, a crazy cat lady. I am artistic. And I’m Catwoman. Yeah, that’s much sexier.

A Great Book Signing

As faithful readers of my blog know, (Hi Mom!) last Friday I did a book signing with very cool author Tina Ferraro (Top Ten Uses for an Unworn Prom Dress). It went great. And if you could hear the tone of my voice, which you can’t unless you’re either psychic or schizophrenic, you would hear me saying this with a small amount of surprise. Because I’ve had so many sad and lonely book signings (Okay, there haven’t been that many, but once you have a few they stay very firmly planted in your memory.) it’s always a pleasant surprise when things go well.



Thank you, my friends for showing up so I didn’t look bad in front of the book store personnel! (This is what really counts. I can now hold my head high the next time I walk into that Barnes and Noble.)

A ton of people from my old Gilbert neighborhood showed up and it was so nice to see them again after being away for 8 years. In fact, I think from now on I’ll say that the best book signings are like funerals—-because all sorts of people from your past turn up to pay their regards. Of course they also had to pay money, and I wasn’t buried at the end, so there are some obvious differences with this metaphor, but you get the idea.

My next book signing will be at Changing Hands Bookstore in Tempe on November 17th. Mark your calendars. And there will be no need to wear black or bring flowers.

All In a Day’s Work.

Today was another typical writing day. I wrote a few pages on my new story. (Tentatively called: The Fairy Godmother’s Guide to Saving Troubled Teenagers.) I looked up gopher facts on the internet, called a gold coin company, called the post office to check postal rates to Ireland, weighed a gallon of milk on the bathroom scale, and did some math.

That’s the thing about writing fiction. You never know what bizarre thing you’ll be researching next. It all came about because I have a leprechaun in the story who wants to be mailed to Ireland along with his pot of gold. The heroine first mistakes him for a gopher (thus I had to see how tall gophers are—5 to 12 inches for those of you who are curious, although to tell you the truth I’m wondering about the accuracy of the 12 inch gopher. I mean, I’ve lived in several different states with gophers. I have yet to see a foot-tall rodent strolling through my yard. Which I suppose is a good thing. They probably eat cats.)

After learning vital gopher facts, I had to call a gold place to see how heavy a pot of gold would be so I could calculate shipping costs. Wow, if you hadn’t realized it before: Gold is really expensive. One pound costs 9,489.60. The nice man at the gold place (hereafter called the gold guy) couldn’t tell me how much a pot of gold weighed, but he did tell me that gold is 20 times denser than water. So, you know in the movies when characters are throwing gold bricks around—it’s all lies. That’s right, Hollywood is not being accurate. Shocking, I know.

The gold guy said that if you had a brick of gold the size of a loaf or bread, (and wouldn’t that be nice since gold is 9,489.60 a pound?) you would not be able to lift it. I suppose that would make it hard to flee with it during an earthquake, hurricane or other natural disaster. So if you are shopping for gold, I wouldn’t recommend the loaf size bricks.

Since gold guy told me that gold is 20 times denser than water, I took a jug of milk (close enough to water) and weighed it on the bathroom scale. It weighed nine pounds. If the pot of gold were half the size of a gallon of milk, it would weigh ninety pounds. Which means that despite what I told my math teacher, I really did need to learn how to do story problems.

I then called the friendly folks at the post office and asked how much it would be to send a ninety pound package to Ireland. I did not mention that the package would also carry a leprechaun, because really, how much can those weigh? Besides, I didn’t want them to hang up on me.

It turns out—just in case you were ever thinking about mailing a pot of gold to Ireland—that they do not send ninety pound packages. Their limit is seventy pounds. Oh well, my pot of gold just shrunk because I am too lazy to call Federal express and see if they will do it.

And yes, these really are how details of a story are decided despite what my English teacher told me about how everything in a story is symbolic. (Don’t fret, literary lovers; Steinbeck, I’m sure would have called Federal Express. He was just that way about writing.)

Tomorrow is a new day. One just wonders who I will be calling next.

Book signing in Mesa/Gilbert AZ

Hey it’s that wonderful time of year when I do a book signing!
This not only gives me a chance to sign books for fans, but is also a barometer to see who my real friends are. Yes that’s right, friends of mine—we’ll see how many of you show up instead of going to the Donny Osmond concert. Okay, so I never had my own television show and I can’t sing. Still, you love me anyway, right? Right?

(PS Even if you don't like Donny Osmond--and you should, what's wrong with you? You have got to see his White and Nerdy video with Weird Al. Here's the link:
White and Nerdy)

The official date and time is Friday, August 24
6:00-7:00 (the official time is 6:00-8:00 but generally the crowd dies down after an hour and then the book store tells you that you can go home. So what I’m saying here is don’t plan on coming a 7:45, because if there isn’t a continuous stream of people, I probably won’t be there any more.)

At the Barnes & Noble at Val Vista dr. just south of US 60
(The official address 1758 S. Val Vista drive.)

As an extra bonus I will be signing with cool YA author Tina Ferraro who wrote: Top Ten Uses for an Unworn Prom Dress. I’m thinking the number one use should be to wear it to one of Stephenie Myers gala book events.

Ex-boyfriend Stories/ studies

Okay, first off I’ve had a few questions about when I’m going to put Ex-boyfriend stories on my website. I still have some coming in, so I’ll keep the contest open for two more weeks. Then it will be tell-all time. Bwahaahaahaa!

Now for another of my pointless observations. (I know you’ve come to rely on me for these, but really, my next blog will be on a writing topic.)

I heard a couple of DJs on the radio talking about a study that said parrots were as smart as five year olds. Ha! What this really shows me is that the people who do these studies don’t have children. Okay, granted maybe parrots can learn shapes, colors, and new words. Can they sneak Otter Pops out of the freezer, open them using only nail clippers, and then hide the evidence underneath the couch cushions? Never. Can they identify any product on the shelf with a Dora logo stamped somewhere on it and then using the powers of manipulation and a sweet expression convince adults to buy it for them? I think not. Can a parrot consistently hide the scotch tape so that you will never find it again? Well, I think you get my drift.

I know many five year olds and all of them are smarter than parrots. In fact most of them can operate the t.v. remote better than I can. Studies. Bah!

Kindergarten Update

For those of you who are wondering--no, I haven't succumbed to watching day-time TV now that my youngest is at school. However I have caught myself talking to my cats, so I can't claim to be completely well-adjusted. I mean, what's happening to me? She's only been gone a couple of weeks and suddenly I've turned into Doctor Doolittle. Like, I'm trying to provide couples therapy for my pets.

The dog: Woof!
Me: Stop bothering the cat.
The cat: Meow!
Me: I told her to stop, what else do you want me to do?

I am just some funky shoes and a purple scarf away from being an eccentric cat lady.

Cravings

Readers Digest, in one of their weight loss articles, wrote that the average craving only lasts ten minutes. I find that mine last much shorter than that. I mean, really, how long does it take to get the wrapper off an Almond Joy?

But besides all that, I love the playlist . . .

With all my reviewing of Harry Potter lately, I realized I have seriously neglected another important avenue of reviewing—specifically reviewing the music my husband just put on my Ipod. Now granted, he put the music on the Ipod unasked, just to be sweet and kind because he knows I am technology-challenged and therefore there is no way on earth that I will ever be able to figure out how to create a playlist. I’m still not even sure how to download songs from Itunes.

So kudos to my husband, who shall hereafter be referred to as TB (Technology Bob*), for his thoughtful gesture. However, after 21 years of marriage he still isn’t clear on the songs I like. You’d think he’d know my favorites since it's my habit to put on a CD to the exact song I like, hit the repeat button, and listen to the song play over and over again until the rest of the family is weeping. Then I take off the CD with a disgusted sigh and proclaim, “What’s wrong with you people? It’s a good song!”

Seriously, I have many CDs where I haven’t even heard the rest of musician’s songs.

Anyway, so here are a couple of highly enlightened comments on the music:

1) You have to hand it to Rod Stewart. What other person could make a career in the music business with a voice that sounds like he is in perpetual need of a cough drop? That said, even a better voice wouldn’t save most of his songs. Most of them make me run shrieking to the radio in order to change the station.

That one that starts out, “Wake up Maggie, I’ve got something to tell you . . .” Ahhh! I’m shrieking now just thinking about it. Ditto for Forever Young; Do You Think I’m Sexy; (No, actually I don’t) and Young Turks. (Turks? What does that even mean? I’m envisioning little turkeys. And besides, does Rod Stewart ever even use the word ‘turks’ in the song or did he just through it into the title to confuse people?)

With all that said, a musician is bound to get lucky over the years and actually record a few good songs. I do like his songs, Some Guys Have All the Luck. (Probably because this was a remake from another artist) and The Rhythm of My Heart.

TB put Forever Young on my Ipod. (In his defense though, he may have been subconsciously influenced by the fact that I am forever whining about getting wrinkles.)

This is where being technology-challenged is a pain, because I don’t know how to delete the song from my playlist and now every time I hear it come on I may be tempted to throw my Ipod in a bucket of water in order to exorcise the Rod Stewart demons.


2) I love the song I Knew I Loved You Before I Met You by Savage Garden. I've listened to that song so often that not only I, but the entire family including the dog, know the words by heart.

So my husband put The Animal Song by Savage Garden on my Ipod. Granted it is a cute song. Catchy beat. The chorus is:

Cause I want to live like animals
Careless and free like animals
I want to live
I want to run through the jungle
the wind in my hair and the sand at my feet

The problem with the song is that it engenders way too much thought.

First of all, even though the guy supposedly is saying the word, “animal” it never, not once, sounds like the word “animal”. Listen to the song and I promise you will hear the singer say, “I want to live like cannibals.”

Which, you know, gives the song an entirely new meaning. Like yeah, I bet somebody is running through the jungle—running to get away from you!

The title: Savage Garden suddenly makes a lot more sense now, doesn't it?

Plus, even if he did write the lyric to say, “animals” what is he thinking? Has he ever seen the way animals live? I have a ton of animals and thus far I’m not very impressed with their lifestyle. What does the singer think is appealing—the way animals lay around on the floor all day, the way they lick themselves clean, or perhaps it’s the way they keep leaving half eaten lizards on my patio?

Sorry, Savage Garden, I’m happy to live like people.



*Not his real name, if you haven’t already guessed as much.

Potter Review--which parts made you cry? Spoilers abound

All in all, I loved the last book of the Harry Potter series. I really liked books 1-3, was disappointed in the way books 4 & 6 ended (I am not a big fan of tragic endings or killing off main characters.) and didn’t like book 5 much at all. I thought it had major plot problems. I just saw the movie though and really liked it. The movie captured perfectly what the book was aiming for and failed to produce.

So in my mind Rowling really redeemed herself with the last book. She--as always--did a superb job of world building and characterization. She turned Dumbledore into a rich, multi-dimensional character. Well, I won’t go into a list of all the things she did right. I’ll just say it was a long list. I didn’t even mind that many of my predictions didn’t happen because it was such a good story as it was. I really loved the fact that Rowling turned Harry into a Christ-like figure who had to sacrifice himself for the people he loved, and in doing so gained the power to defeat evil. It was wonderful and made me feel like I did when I read Narnia the first time. You’re reading thinking: No, no, no! And then: Yes, yes, yes!

It also explained and vindicated all of those times in the book (that initially I found very annoying) where Harry turned around and tried to help the people who’d just been trying to hurt and kill him. I mean, I was with Ron when he yelled at Harry while he tried to save Malfoy. Like, would you really give the person who has just been trying to kill you another chance to do it? But when I read the climax and realized what Rowling had symbolically done, I realized that Harry couldn’t have acted any other way. He was a savior not only for the good, but for everyone.

And I thought the whole thing with Snape was so powerfully poignant.

I cried in several places—and it always strikes me that some of the places where I cry in a book, the author probably didn’t intend people to cry. I wonder what it says about you—you know which parts make you cry. For example I cried when Harry, Ron, and Hermione were exhausted and couldn’t make their petronas and their friends came up behind them and did it for them. I was just so glad that Harry wasn’t alone for the final fight (like I thought he would be) but instead was surrounded by all of his friends. That was absolutely beautiful.

Anyway, I’m just wondering where the rest of you cried.

Okay, I read the book (Spoiler Alert, kinda)

Even though I said I wasn't going to read the latest Harry Potter book until I'd finished my short story (I'm about half way through writing it,) I did in fact read and finish the Deathly Hallows. I had to. It was self defense. People kept trying to tell me about it even though I expressly told everyone not to.

Example 1: My 11 year old son came home from school on Monday and asked if I'd finished the book yet. I said, "No."

He said, "Well a kid in my class told me some stuff that happened, but I didn't believe him and I wanted to know if--"

"Stop!" I told him. "Remember, you're not supposed to tell me about the book."

"Well the girls in my class said he was lying. They said--"

"Stop!" I said and had to once again explain my no spoiler in the house policy.

Example 2: I let my 13 year old son read it while I was working on my short story, dinner, etc, but the next day when I went into his bedroom to shake him awake, he rolled over and--still asleep--mumbled, "No, that's not the wand you use for defense."

"Ahhh!"

Example 3: I started reading the book while I waited at doctor's appointments, swimming lessons, etc. I had the book on my bed and last night my 13 year old came into to talk to me and started flipping through the pages near the end. "No way!" he exclaimed. "Does Hermione die?"

"Stop it! Stop it!" I yelled at him.

You'd think he'd know better than to say those sorts of things since I got mad at him for flipping to the last page of number six and yelling, "I was right! Dumbledore dies!"

Dumbledore wasn't the only one who nearly died after that. I was only half way through the book.

So you see, I had to read it before anyone else could say anything more about the story. Right after I finished I went downstairs, found my 13 year old and said, "You're right. Hermione dies."

It serves him right.

I'll review the book next blog. All in all I loved it, but there were parts that bothered me, like how come she never explained who the baby was? Did I miss that somehow?

My baby started kindergarten today.

I've been looking forward to my new found free time, but still I cried after I dropped her off at her class. Which was especially bad because I had to stop by the grocery store and pick up milk. Oh well, let the customers wonder, I always say.

Then I came home and watched The Nanny while I ate breakfast. My daughter has only been gone for hours and I've already slipped into the masses who watch daytime TV. The commercials they show during this time slot are especially depressing because they are all adds to help you become a message therapist or a medical assistant. Basically they say, "I stopped being a loser who stays home watching daytime TV and made something of my life; you can too!"

I think I need some chocolate.

Reason number 7 to write: meet cool people

Okay, it’s probably optimistic on my part to even post a blog when I know the whole world is busy reading the next installment of Harry Potter. (What? You’ve already finished? You overachiever. I haven’t even started the book yet. I’m not going to let myself read about Harry until I’ve finished writing a short story which is due August 6th and which, coincidentally, I also haven’t started.)



Anyway, I thought I’d tell you about one of the perks of being a writer. Specifically that you get to meet all sorts of neat book people. Seriously, writers, librarians, and teachers are some of the nicest people you’ll ever come across.

I just spoke to Jim Blasingame’s YA novel class at ASU and it was lot of fun. I have said on occasion (generally cynical occasions) that sometimes I feel like I’m working very hard to become good at something that no one cares about anymore. So it’s nice to talk to people who are excited about books. Plus Jim said I looked young enough to be my daughter’s sister, which incidentally is why one day he’ll show up in one of my book dedications. You just don’t forget men who say those kinds of things.

Side note: Jim has the coolest office because it is filled with books. My office is also filled with books so I felt we were kindred spirits until someone pointed out that all of his books were alphabetized. My books—well, not so much.

We then went out to lunch with Don and Alleen Nilson, delightful people, who both teach at ASU and have been involved in the book world for some time. In fact Alleen founded ALAN. How cool is that? I would love to someday be able to say I helped found an organization so I have been thinking about appropriate ones . . . Hmmm. Maybe CCLA: Crazy Cat Lady Anonymous: a group for all of those people out there like me who’ve been accused of hoarding cats. Or maybe something along the lines of LA: Late Again: a group for people who have no concept of time and thus are habitually five minutes late for everything. Or I bet I could start a group for technology challenged people called INRMFTCJDLM: It’s Not Really My Fault—The Computer Just Doesn’t Like Me.

I also got to meet Laura Walsh who was involved in the Mesa Writing Project, which was a class about teaching teachers how to teach writing skills. A very necessary skill for kids to have. You can read more about that at: http://community.uui.asu.edu/features/mesa.asp

Anyway, I consider myself lucky to be able to rub shoulders with so many cool people—people who still care very much about reading and books.

Potter Predictions

Since everyone is eagerly awaiting the next Potter installment, I thought I’d test out my psychic powers and make some predictions.

First of all, like everybody else, I think that Snape will prove himself to be a good guy after all.

I think Wormtail will do a Darth Vader and switch loyalties in the last book.

I think any and all adults who could help Harry will be killed off so Harry will have no one to fall back on. (It was the reason Dumbledore had to go.) With the exception of Snape and possibly Hagrid—-one of them will most likely become the new headmaster at the end of the book.

And most of all I’m hoping that we’ll find out that it’s actually Neville, instead of Harry that the prophecy is about. I think Harry will horrifyingly fail at killing Voldemort and at the last minute Neville will step in and do the deed himself. (At least that’s how I’d write it.)

I also think that Harry will have a chance to see all of the characters who’ve died before and make peace with them. (Either from this side or the next—although I really hope he isn’t killed off in the book.) I’d love it if they all came back to life but that is probably too cheerful for J.K. Rowling. She seems very fond of funerals lately.

Oh yeah, and of course Ron and Hermione will end up together. I’d like for Ginny to be killed off as I found her extremely annoying in the last book, but I doubt that will happen.

I also predict that my editor will do absolutely no editing on my manuscript until he finishes the novel--in the book world this is sort of a holiday where everything shuts down. I should finish a couple of projects before I read the book, but I probably won't because I don't want anyone to tell me how it ends and what are the chances of avoiding that?

I'll have to stay in my room, unplug the internet, or just hold my hands over my ears and hum loudly.

My New BFFs

The BYU Symposium for Young Readers was incredible! Every single speaker was amazing: Ann Cannon, Stephen T. Johnson, Suzanne Fisher Staples, and Gary Paulsen (And of course me. I frequently amaze myself.)

The conference planners had been trying for 20 years to get Gary Paulsen (Hatchet, Brian's Winter, Snow Dogs, and like 197 other books) to come and speak. I think he was worth the wait. He told the funniest stories about his dog team. Now I want to go on the iditarod. Well, except for that according to Gary they don't have porta-potties along the race route. And yes, I asked him, and yes he gave me an incredulous stare. But really, women have to think about these things.

My first meeting with Gary was at the book signing. Before they let the crowd in I waved hello at him and he came over to introduce himself. I told him that my kids had enjoyed Hatchet, but that my son had been disappointed that Brian never got to kill anyone with the hatchet. My oldest son really only likes books where someone is stabbed or eaten by a dragon.

Gary laughed and told me maybe he'd put that in the next book. (So see, I am doing my best to improve the quality of literature everywhere.)

It was a lot of fun to meet so many teachers, librarians, and people who loved writing and reading. I met people from Utah, Wyoming and Arizona. I think my favorite thing though was hanging out with the other writers at lunch. They're all so nice, talented, and wise. Stephen and David blew me away with their artwork. Anne has been locked outside her house in her underwear--something which surprisingly I have not done yet. Suzzane has lived in all sorts of exotic places which I'd love to visit--although maybe not right now, since they are currently shooting at each other in Afghanistan. Chris Crowe, Mike Tunnell and Jim Jacobs did a fabulous job of pulling everything together.

I asked each of them to tell me what the most important thing they've learned about the business is. They told me that doing school visits is important, that I need to learn to promote myself, and not to write for awards. As Gary said, "That will kill you." He said he doesn't ever look at his awards because he doesn't want them to change his writing.

Gary also said some very colorful things about publishers, editors, lawyers, and the French. Have I mentioned that I love Gary? Really, if I could figure out a way to hitch up all my stray cats to a sleigh, I'd be there in Alaska with him in a minute.

Technology, My Old Nemesis

As usual, Janette is having technical difficulties. For some reason I don’t even try to figure out, my last blog posted twice. I thought I could delete the post, but no, I couldn’t find that button on New Blogger. I hand deleted the typing, hoping New Blogger was installed with psychic powers and would understand what I was trying to do—but well, you see the result. So now I’m being philosophical about it and have decided this is the computer’s way of saying it wants to hear more from me about the conference.

Okay then, one more point of interest in my last trip:
I did a book signing in the BYU book store where I worked twenty years ago. It was sort of a surreal experience. Even my old boss was still there. I’d like to report that while I worked there all those years ago in my spiffy blue vest, I had some sort of premonition that one day I’d be back as an author. But I wasn’t installed with psychic powers either. Once, when Orson Scott Card was there for a book signing which hardly anyone came too, I did think, “Boy am I glad that’s not me.”

Oh, if only I’d known how many times that would be me.

Luckily though, it wasn’t me at this particular book signing. I sold a lot of books. Hurray!

Fashion No-Man Land

I'm speaking at BYU's Symposium For Young Readers on July 12 & 13. It's going to be a great conference with impressive people like Gary Paulsen (who has so many Newbery medals that he probably uses them to decorate the Christmas tree). Anyway, I asked my contact there what I should wear and she told me business casual.

Hmmmm.

My wardrobe mostly consists of things that could pass as pajamas. Writers are all about comfort. I also have a lot of jeans, which probably is more casual than most businesses allow.

So I went out shopping trying to find something that would make me look like a professional. A lot of women my age are professionals so it shouldn't have been hard, right? If there were sound on this blog you would hear me sighing now.

Note to fashion designers. Women my age don't want to show our bra straps. Yes, I know it's all the rage for the younger generation but I'm afraid women in my generation will never feel comfortable showing our underwear publicly. We can't turn things that mortified us in junior high into fashion statements.

Also those large flowery prints, the ones that were big in the sixties and seventies--I still remember my mother wearing that kind of thing. How can I wear something I saw my mother wear and not feel old?

Isn't that the whole point of having fashion change--so you never have to wear the styles your parents wore?

Anyway, I didn't find much. Today as I packed I just threw a bunch of clothes into a suitcase and I'm hoping they'll look professional when I pull them out. Or maybe I can find something in the airport shops.

Hey Mikey, he likes it!

I just heard from my editor and he actually likes my new story! In fact, he liked it so much he wants me to write nothing but sad stories from now on. I have to keep telling him I can't do that because I am basically a happy person. I only have so much angst I can draw upon, and I think I used most of it up writing the last story.

But then again, you never know. I might get lucky and have tragedy strike me before the next book is due.

(No, I'm just kidding about that, Mr. Guardian Angel, Sir. Please don't leave your post. Knock on wood and all of that.)

Anyway, I'm breathing a big sigh of relief. Now I can be happy--at least until I get the bow-tied-one's revision notes. Despite what he says, I know from experience they will not be light. But hopefully they'll at least be possible.

Another Vegetarian is Born

I have a scene in my latest manuscript that I’ve worried about. In it, a five-year-old boy realizes that the turkey they’ve eaten at Thanksgiving comes from an actual turkey. This may sound strange to you, but I still remember finding out that the chicken we ate for dinner was the same thing as the chickens in my picture books. Talk about an unpleasant surprise. I blame this childhood trauma on Disney for making all of those talking cartoon animals. Sesame Street also shares the blame. Muppet chickens are unappetizingly cute.

My older kids have all gone through the same thing—that day of recognition, along with the accompanying outrage that meat is actually animals. This was always followed by weeks of them playing guess-which-animal-we’re-eating-tonight. It’s enough to discourage anyone from cooking. And it was nice, really, to tell them I didn’t know where hot dogs came from.

But the problem was, I couldn’t really remember how old the kids were when these events happened. Were they five, four, three perhaps? Five seemed so old to not know that chicken is chicken, fish is indeed fish, and yes Thanksgiving dinner used to say, “gobble gobble” just like in the picture books. And don’t ask me to explain chicken eggs, because I just don’t want to.

My editor, the bow-tied one, doesn’t have children. He probably won’t believe that a five year old doesn’t know what meat is.

I wanted to ask my five year old if she knew, but then again, I didn’t really.

Last night we had a chicken and rice dish. (See, I can cook some things without nearly destroying my kitchen in the process.) As we ate, my middle daughter forked through her food, examining it. She is convinced we are trying to slip something evil into her dinner and so she must be vigilant searching through it.

“What is this black thing?” she asked me.

“That’s a part of a mushroom from the cream of mushroom soup,” I told her.

“Hmmmm,” she said disapprovingly. Only she could even find a mushroom piece in the cream of mushroom soup. It ought to be called essence-of-mushroom soup or perhaps just thinking-about-but-not-really-using-mushrooms soup. I mean really, they must include about a half a stem in each can.

Since middle daughter still seemed unhappy about actually receiving something besides the ‘cream of’ part of the soup, I added, “Mushrooms are in mushroom soup.”

My five-year old held up a piece of chicken on her fork. “Where does this come from?”

“It’s chicken,” I told her.

“But where does it come from?”

“It’s chicken. It comes from a chicken,” I said.

Middle daughter leaned across the table and added, “Don’t worry. It wanted to die.”

Sometimes older sisters don’t really make things better.

“This is a chicken!” my younger daughter proclaimed indignantly. “Gross! I’m not eating it!”

So apparently five is about the right age.

We had pizza tonight, but I dodged the pepperoni question. It’s probably for the best. I’m not actually sure where pepperoni comes from.