Blah, blah, blah

Hey, I’m dedicating this post to Barb.   She just tore a strip off me at book club for not posting this week.  (Fine, she just asked me why I hadn’t posted—nobody’s crying themselves to sleep over my blog slacking.)  My lame excuse was that I’ve been busy with my WIP, but the truth is I just haven’t had a single funny thought in days.  Not that this has to be Jessica’s comedy hour, but nobody wants to read blah blah blah.  What can I say—my husband’s been out of town and my sense of humor has been dampened by only communicating with people who think the word “bum-bum” is the most HILARIOUS thing in the world. 

So here’s a rundown of my somewhat humorless week.  Brace yourselves:

• I finished my edits and sent them to my editor.   I’ve been  refreshing my inbox every ten seconds since then.  It’s crazy addictive.  I don’t recommend it.

• I got a very unfortunate haircut.  Luckily, I don’t like my hair enough in the first place to be all that sad.  I fixed it up myself with some dull kitchen scissors, and it looks much better now.  Two months and I should be back to socially acceptable.

• I celebrated Banned Books Week by hosting a book burning.  Just kidding.  I went to book club and talked about whether, when, and why violence is appropriate in YA, among other things.  Hooray for Hunger Games!  Definitely a bright spot in the week.

• Last but not least, I, um, got paid.  For writing my book.  It was surreal, and not at all ho-hum—the whole thing is still so unbelievable (I’m not just doing this for fun?)—but I celebrated by taking the aforementioned comedians for FroYo and the word “bum-bum” was said at least five times, just for laughs.  Clearly I need some tips on celebrating.  

What Would Carmen Wear?

Carmen is the main character in my upcoming novel VIRTUOSITY.  She’s a 17-year-old concert violinist, which means she gets to wear fabulous gowns like the ones you see on the red carpet.

So what would Carmen wear?

Not Exhibit A, B, or C.  That’s a guarantee.  And not anything Lady Gaga has ever worn or will ever wear.  Definitely not the meat dress.

And why am I wondering this now?  Because my editor sent me an email this last week full of gowns they were considering for the cover of VIRTUOSITY!  Imagine my joy, my glee, my freak out dance!

Thus far, being a writer has not been super glamorous.  (Unless you think writing bleary-eyed at 4:30 a.m. in footy-pajamas is super glamorous, and if so, try it and get back to me.)   So to be looking at pictures of real dresses that an actual live model was going to wear at a photo shoot was mind blowing.  

By the way, my editor, Anica Rissi, rules for letting me weigh in on this.  I’d heard not to expect to have input in my cover—most authors don’t—and I was okay with that.  Leaving things to the experts is smart.  My partially-functioning sprinkler system and dead dead lawn are evidence of that (sorry honey, you have other gifts).  I used to play chamber music for weddings, and I don’t know how many times I had a bride nearly ruin her nuptials by choreographing details she had no business messing with.  (And while my fifth bridesmaid is walking in I want you to play Ode to Joy, but then go back to Pachelbel’s Canon for the next two bridesmaids, and then when you see me, start playing Send in the Clowns, because it’s my dad’s favorite song. )  Think I’m joking about that last part?  Wrong.  I ACTUALLY HAD TO PLAY SEND IN THE CLOWNS WHILE A BRIDE WALKED DOWN THE AISLE.  Ask my mom, she was there, playing with me.  I lost a little bit of my soul that day.  Mom, if you’re reading this, back me up here because people never believe me when I tell that story.

Anyway, I was cool with leaving the cover art to the cover artists.

But then they went and asked my opinion, and the power totally went to my head.  How did I forget that I’m the girl who can’t shop for clothes without her sister there telling her what to buy?!   I wrote back with a lengthy explanation of why I loved my favorites.   I don’t know how much my opinion meant, but it probably meant considerably less an hour later when I sent a second email, in which I changed my least favorite dress to my most favorite dress.  Oh, credibility, where are you now?

Doesn’t matter.  I trust the people at Simon Pulse—they make gorgeous covers.  And I've decided that if I ever have the need for a red-carpet gown, I’ll go straight to Lady Gaga for her raw meat dress.  She clearly knows her fashion.  Classy.

2 Lists

I’m still in my editing cave, the grass needs cutting, the other novel needs writing, and the kids are starting to smell weird.  And yet, I’m blogging.  Don't worry, I'll be brief.

Dumb Writing Habits I Should Do Something About

1. Eating while I write.  On the one hand, it makes writing WAY more fun, but now I need an exercise bike with a ledge for my laptop just to balance things out. 
2. Feeling guilty if I’m writing while my kids are awake, and feeling guilty if I’m not writing while they’re asleep.  It’s an exhausting amount of guilt, really.  I don’t recommend it.
3. Not having my head in the PR game.  When people find out I’m a writer they expect me to have something intelligent to say.  I usually set them straight with comments like, “Did anyone see the Bachelor Pad last night?  Yeah, that ruled.”   And then I realize I should maybe try to say something smart so people want to buy my book, but by then it’s too late.
4. Worrying about disappointing my family and friends with my writing.  You’d think I’d be over it at the ripe old age of 31, but I’m not.  I start worrying and then I see the delete button and then....
5. The internet.  Oh, you tempting she-devil, you. 

My Blog Posting Formula

1.       Write something

2.       Ask my husband to read it and give me his opinion

3.       Listen to his opinion

4.       Yell at him

5.       Begrudgingly implement his suggestions, because they’re pretty good

6.       Apologize for yelling at him 

*Note: #6 is optional, as in, sometimes I just think I should really apologize and that seems to work well enough.

**Another Note: I didn't follow this formula today.  He would've said something like, "Maybe you should just wait to post until you have time to write something good..."

If Only I Could Grow This

Behold, the playoff beard.

The principle is simple: once your team is in the playoffs you stop shaving and you don’t shave again until they win the Stanley Cup.

Behold, the revisions ponytail.

I got my first set of revisions from my editor last week (yay!), and I decided this would be the hairstyle that would see me through to the end.  I do wash it occasionally, but then it’s back to the ponytail.  To be clear, this is in no way necessary.  I have time to do my hair.  And it's not like the revisions are so traumatic that I'm too distraught to hold a blow dryer.  Just like I’m not too distracted to make a real meal, but my family has been eating scrambled eggs and cereal for dinner for a few days now.  I'm just making it special. 

The editing itself has been fun, and no, I'm not even lying.  My editor’s suggestions are incredible so far, pretty much exactly what the manuscript needs.  Plus, it’s been a long time since I’ve looked at VIRTUOSITY so re-reading it has got me excited all over again about seeing it published. 

Oddly enough though, doing revisions has made me stress over my work-in-progress.  I guess seeing VIRTUOSITY get cleaner and tighter makes me notice how rough the first draft of my wip is.  I just have to remind myself how much rewriting and editing went into getting the first one up to where it is now.  First drafts are hard.  After that, I can rewrite and edit with a smile on my face, but getting that first draft down is almost physically painful.

I’m not sure how long the revisions will take.  Around here, people are hoping not too long because the gym teacher hair is getting old.  And I don't want my kids to get scurvy.  But, as I explained to my husband (a former hockey player), no self-respecting athlete would shave his playoff beard just because it started to smell funky.  Therefore, I will persevere.

Signing Things

I signed my book contract last week!  It was kind of surreal.  I sign my name all day long, but it’s usually just giving Mastercard permission to come take my firstborn child if I don’t pay 19% or 56% or who knows, maybe  83% interest on whatever I’m buying.   But a real contract with a real publisher! Yikes!!!

I’ve only signed a handful of important things in my life.  I guess my marriage certificate was probably fairly important.  The deed to my house.  Maybe my kids’ birth certificates, but after that, I’m drawing a blank.  Unless of course the waiver at that bouncy house place was really as crucial as they pretended it was, which I don’t believe for one second.  (And as if I’m not suing if I break my collarbone anyway…)

Here's what it looks like.

Looking at it, I realize:

1.        I have the signature of a 15-year old.  I want it to be messy and artsy and worldly, but it’s not.  You can read all the letters, and if I intentionally scribble in the middle it just looks like I had a mini seizure.  Note the second signature.

2.       My name is confusing.  Am I Hispanic?  I wish.  I only know four or five words in Spanish and they can all be found on the Taco Bell menu.   I just married well.  (Side note on the confusing—I had my first child in Miami and every single doctor or nurse coming through the delivery room door did so talking to me in Spanish.  I was ready to throw a cup of ice chips at the next person who said Senora Martinez, como esta?  As it turns out, me+pain=shocking intolerance.)

VIRTUOSITY’s tentative release date is for October 2011, which means I have about 13 months to get a cool signature, on the off chance I get asked to sign a book.  Maybe a tube of red lipstick would be a better idea and I can just kiss every book I see, whether I wrote it or not.  Wait, I just pictured myself getting kicked out of Barnes and Noble for making out with all the books.  Beautiful.

Speaking of signatures, I found this the other day.  It was stuffed into an old book.

I can’t believe I’m posting this.  No, that’s not my maiden name—Wilson is the last name of a guy I really liked, and no, I’m not saying when.  Fine.  It was in COLLEGE, and I didn’t even date the guy!  We hung out for about a month one summer, and from that I extrapolated my new name, our wedding colors, the names of four children, and the decorating scheme for our house.   So again, WHY AM I POSTING THIS?  Because apparently, I have no shame.  And also, finding it slammed me back into my teenage years, which for a YA writer is a good.   I like to think I haven’t really matured much beyond 19 anyway, but occasionally I get a good reminder of the crazy optimism that I love about this age, which makes me want to go work on my next novel. 

Random and Unrelated Portion of This Post:

Who wants naked stick figures?  I know, you’re thinking I’m a liar.  In the manifesto (a few posts back) I said no nudity, but actually what I said was limited nudity.  I found this on the back of a shopping list while looking for my son’s social security number this week.  I thought, “Why is this shopping list from forever ago in my son’s file folder?” and I almost threw it out.  Then I saw it.

His first stick figure.  He was the kid who would rather eat a crayon than put it to paper, so I remember being amazed when he actually did this.  And then I looked closer.  Are all the vital parts there?  Sort of.  A head, no arms, but 2 legs, and what’s that?  Oh yes.  Everything is accounted for.  The fundamental man.

What's that again?

I never re-read books. It's not a policy or something I'm actually advocating, but at any given time I feel like there are at least thirty books I want to be/should be reading, so re-reading doesn't even occur to me. This week, however, I'm throwing caution into the wind.

 
The showdown: Anne of Green Gables vs. Handmaid's Tale.  It's not really a showdown--I'm not comparing them. That would be stupid.  I am, however, alternating chapters just for pure shock value.  It's like going back and forth between hot chocolate and a Slurpee.  That hurts my teeth just thinking about it.  I'm reading them both as research for the novel I'm working on.  (I know, if you've read both of these books you're thinking "what the?" and honestly, so am I right now.)

It's been about 20 years since I read Anne, and 10 since Handmaid, so it's kind of a relief to still be loving them both. I'll recant if that changes, but for now it's nice being able to tell myself I have to be reading both of these books.  Makes me have warm fuzzy thoughts about being a writer.

See the Zhu Zhu Pet? After totally alienating the animal-loving population in my first post (probably not smart), I decided to show my soft and cuddly side. I got these for my kids and they rule. The kids love them, and they barely even know they aren't alive. Best part: they don't poop every five seconds like the real guinea pig we used to have but had to give away because the smell was driving me insane.  See?  I'm not a terrible person.  There's room in my heart for a chirping, battery-operated  friend with an "off" switch.  Next week I'll post pictures of the plants I'm intentionally killing right now.  They're just so freaking needy...

And now for the totally random part of this post:

I saw this ad for Disney auditions in the newspaper today, and my knee jerk reaction was, "Yay!  Now I can be a Disney Princess!  This is the best part about living in Orlando!"

It took me a few seconds to remember:

A.  There are a whole bunch of Disney Princesses and I don't look ANYTHING like ANY of them.  No self-esteem interventions please, I like myself just fine, but seriously, no resemblance.  I'm probably closest to looking like Mulan, and I'm not even Asian.  I just have similar shaped eyes and am much more likely to be able to disguise myself as a man than as Ariel.  If you know what I mean.

B.  I'm not looking for a job!  I feel like I've got way too much on my plate right now, and I'm already dropping the ball in more than a few area.  Today's example:  I forgot that Wednesday was early day and wasn't there to pick up my brand new little kindergartner from the bus drop off.  That's right.  Worst mother ever.  One of the other mothers in our neighborhood walked him home for me, and I'm so embarrassed I want to curl up into a ball and read Anne of Green Gables without the electric cattle prod effect of Handmaid's Tale.  Who forgets their five year old on his first week of school ever?  In my defense, it was MY first early day too and next Wednesday I'll be extra special early.  The other mothers on my block are probably planning some kind of intervention for me right now.

I guess my take home lesson is it's probably not wise to go auditioning for Disney Princess gigs yet. Also, now that my kids have schedules, I should really start using my planner.

What My Dove Chocolate Just Told Me

I was thinking about motivation this morning, so I decided to turn to the geniuses at Dove for some wisdom.  That was probably a mistake.

Chocolate #1

Keep moving forward; don't look back.—Sally, Griffin, IN

My Analysis:

Pretty stupid.  Moving forward is only good advice if you’re going in the right direction, which you can’t really know unless you look back occasionally.  That said, I'm kind of amazed at the correct semicolon usage.  So, I guess, kudos to you, Sally.

Chocolate #2

Live from your heart.  It will never steer you wrong.—Sherry, Conway, AZ

My Analysis:

Wrong.  Five minutes of the Maury Povich show will tell you that there are a whole lot of people in America “living from the heart” and definitely not on course.  Unless needing multiple paternity tests for all eight of your children is on course. 

Chocolate #3

You go girl!  You deserve this! –Teresa, Arlington, KY

My Analysis:

I liked this one at first.  I do deserve this!  But then I started thinking: it’s only my third chocolate, but would I really deserve it if it was my thirtieth?  Or if I’d just kicked my neighbor’s dog?  I haven’t, but I’m just saying Teresa has no clue. 

Chocolate #4

If you can imagine then you can achieve.  –Colleen, Cherry Hill, NJ

My Analysis:

Too bland to even comment on.  I mean maybe, but so what?

Chocolate #5

Wear that perfect dress tonight. –Lisa, Morristown, NJ

My Analysis:

Best one yet.  It’s something I can actually do, and it might even make my life slightly better.  Now I just have to clean the chocolate off my face and go buy a new dress.

Slightly More Serious Thoughts On Motivation:

I had two violin teachers growing up.  The first one was a screamer.  I was just a little girl (age 4-11), but there were threats, insults, crying at my lessons, the whole crazy deal.  I worked my butt off to avoid getting in trouble, but sometimes crap got dealt out anyway.  Aside from being completely mental, she was an amazing violin teacher—worth toughing  it out.  But it was personality forming to say the least, and to this day I’m a little afraid of perfectly nice people who happen to have Polish accents.

The second teacher was the opposite.  I was older (age 11-18) and cared about impressing him, which was hard to do.  But he was never mean.  Every single week I worked like a maniac, which of course was way harder than I ever worked for the crazy lady.

It’s not rocket science.  Fear bad, positive reinforcement good, right?

Except now, as a writer, I could use a good dose of teacher number one from time to time.  Trying to impress my agent/editor/readers/family/etc. is kind of an amorphous concept, and impressing myself is even harder.  So if anyone wants to call me up on Wednesday afternoons (is it weird that I remember my exact lesson time over twenty years later?) and scream at me in broken English, I just know it would give my writing a boost.  I might even dedicate book #2 to you.  Also appreciated: any motivational tips that don’t involve me eating another entire bag of Dove Dark Chocolates.