Ticking in my Head

Words: doing revisions...too hard to keep track...probably somewhere between 1 and 9000.
Caffeine: Morning cup-o decaf and midday decaf iced latte
Evil Calories: these little mini mint chocolate chip ice cream sandwiches from Trader Joe's. Except, I ate all of them, so the "mini" element was sort of lost on me.

I am extremely good at mulit-tasking. Sometimes I think it just comes from being female, and sometimes I think it just comes from being awesome. (It could come from all the caffeine, but, right now, I'm going with the "awesome female" theory.) But over the last week I've been working on two bits of writing simultaneously, and sometimes it feels a little strange. Like I'm trying to pull off wearing socks with sandals. In one corner of my brain I am going back and working out revisions to my "finished" book, and in the other corner of my brain, I am doing a little two-step with an outline for a new little do-dad of an idea. Both tasks are filling me with warm fuzzies, but jumping back and forth between the two tends to leave me a little dizzy. A cheery dizzy. But dizzy all the same. Of course, that could also be the spoonfuls of salted caramel I just inhaled. Or, perhaps, the heat and the nine million percent humidity (which, by the way, is giving me total 80's hair. M...M...M...Motoring...What's your price for flight...)

So, in order to keep everything straight, I went to Barnes & Noble to buy a very chic notebook where I can keep detailed notes. Then, when I got there, I realized I probably needed two notebooks, since I have two different ideas to sort out. I also found a pencil holder, binder clips, thank-you cards and an M & M cookie that were also essential to keeping things in order.

I know. You're astounded by my ability to organize. I get that a lot.

Look what I can do

Words: Up
Caffeine: Morning cup-o decaf
Evil Calories: Homemade peasant bread with either honey or Nutella. Every five minutes. Or so.

Who else here thinks mother nature accidentally drank her eye makeup remover again? Seriously, what is the with the weather? Last week I was freezing my cankles off, and now it's 80 and I'm sweating like a fat girl locked out of a donut shop. Just fyi...pregnant + heat = seventh level of hell. Ick. Just ick.

Anyway, in between hot flashes and Twinkie binges (I can't help it! They're spongy and full of cream!), I've finally breathed some life back into my food blog. A) because I love to cook and B) because it's a lovely distraction from all this querying. One cannot check their email every four seconds if one is kneading dough for cinnamon rolls or chopping vegetables for a stir fry, right?

Speaking of the querying - all I will say is that it's going much better than it did for my first book. Of course I've gotten my share of rejections, but I've also gotten a small handful of both partial and full requests. I even had one agent compare my little ol' book to one of my favorite books of all time, which I found shocking and incredibly humbling. Needless to say, I am a very lucky little bunny. Even if nothing ends up happening with this book, I know I caught the attention of a few agents, which can only help me on my next one.

Now, back to cramming my cake hole! So far, I only have a few entries in my food blog (which you can visit here), but with all my wild cravings and the hubby's exceptional photography, it'll be filled out in no time!

And so it begins...

Words: 4
Caffeine: morning cup of boring, lame-o decaf that tastes like toes mixed with stale cigarettes
Evil Calories: chocolate, chocolate, chocolate, chocolate, cinnamon roll, frosting, frosting, chocolate, chocolate, chocolate, bacon

Ladies and gentlemen, members of my devoted fan base (you there, mom?), esteemed sock monkeys on my "I'm too pregnant to fit into anything but my pajama pants" pants...the time has come. Yes. That's right. The book is done. I've gotten fabulous feedback from my beta reader. I've made changes, polished it up and threw some holy water on it. So there really is nothing more to do than query the ever living crap out of it.

I know what you're thinking. "That sounds like fun!" Well, then, there's something wrong with you. Because in order to query, you have to have this pesky little thing called a query letter, which makes most writers want to stick fondue forks in their eyes and cram their heads down the garbage disposal. My main problem with the query letter is that I have two paragraphs to relay a 95K word novel. I'm not an "in a nutshell" kind of girl. I've been writing this blog for almost three years. I have 217 posts. Can you remember one thing I've really said? Cuz I can't!

But, alas, the query is the only way to tap on the door, so I'm left to try and cram all the key points of my novel into those two dreaded paragraphs without sounding like a ferret on crack. And obviously, from my 217 posts about NOTHING, I definitely have a "ferret on crack" tendency. Have I mentioned that I'm currently with child and I cannot drink? I can't even enjoy a simple glass of Merlot to lessen the "ferret on crack" ratio. Luckily being pregnant makes me really tired, so that might help a little. Maybe it'll be more like "ferret after a knife fight with a Yettie". Much better. Yeehaw.

So, wish me luck. Or just send me chocolate. And olives. The green ones stuffed with pimentos. And some cheese puffs. And some fried shrimp. Thanks.

Me, me, me, me!

Words: yep
Caffeine: morning cup (decaf, but it still has a tiny bit of caffeine, right? RIGHT?)
Evil Calories: 4000 jellybeans

I know you've all been sitting around pulling your eyelashes out wondering what's been going on with me. I have neglected my poor little blog terribly, and, in turn, neglected my fan base (which is most likely been whittled down to my mom and that refugee princess in Uzbekistan who keeps emailing me wanting to give me a billion dollars.) But, for what it's worth, here's what's going on with me:

The book is done. Yes, I said done. Done, done and done. I'm actually really happy with how it turned out. I did a lot of rewriting over the last few months, revamped the beginning, cut some darlings from the middle, threw in a few knife fights for good measure, and I can honestly say it very much resembles what has been swimming around my brain for the last two years. Of course, the big struggle was finding some beta readers who would actually read it and get back to me (novel concept, I know), but I am happy to say it is currently out with one trusted source right now (who gave me great feedback and helped me tremendously with some English Professor details), and it will be going out to another trusted source in about a week. My goal is to start querying in mid-May, June at the latest. Call me delusional, but in the slight, slight, slight chance that it may win the attention of an agent, I need to it to happen before the beginning of fall, because come October, I will be out of commission for a wee bit. And by "wee bit", I mean the next 18 years. Give or take a year.

Yep. That's right. We are having yet another "cutest baby ever in the history of time". To go along with our other "cutest baby ever in the history of time". We're so excited. Mostly because we're really odd people with a bit of a "fly by the seat of your pants" approach to parenting, and the fact that the universe has deemed us fit to raise another is a huge compliment. Big ups to you, universe. We promise to teach this one to do The Robot and sing "Back in Black" in the middle of Target just as well as our little Z-man. We'll make you proud, universe. Or embarrass the hell out of you. You know, whichever.

And lastly, we're making a huge change in our household that is giving my creativity a serious high-impact workout. We're becoming Locavores. Have you seen Food, Inc.? Holy shit, is all I can say. You should see it. And then get ready to be afraid of your freezer. I actually purposely did NOT see it when it first came out because I knew this would happen, though I really had to NO idea how impactful the information would be. It was incredibly eye opening. But becoming a Locavore isn't exactly the easiest thing to do. It takes a lot of work (depending on where you live), a lot of research, and, for us, a lot of creative budgeting. So, I'm thinking of refueling my sad, neglected little food blog to track all of our adventures.

Cuz, you know. I'm so good at keeping up blogs. Makes perfect sense, right?

'ello, 'ow 're 'ou

Words: meh...
Caffeine: ask me again later
Evil Calories: Heath Bar cookies
Bad Reality TV: ANTM reruns

Oh, my poor neglected little blog. Thanks to my super-awesome writer friend Ray Veen, I'm finally giving you some much needed attention. Awesome guy Ray nominated me for a super special blog award.










Ain't it purty? So,in order for me to accept, I must:

1. Thank the person who gave you the award and link them.
2. Add the award to your blog.
3. Tell six outrageous lies about yourself and one truth.
4. Nominate six creative liars ... I mean, writers and link them.
5. Let your nominees know they've been nominated.

So, first, I'd like to thank Ray, who is totally my hero. He's an amazing, talented writer and his resilience and devotion to the craft is inspiring. Plus, he drinks Guinness and aspires to live in a castle with robots. See? Super cool dude.

Next, the outrageous lies and the one truth. I'll let you figure out which is which.
1. My dad works for a secret, highly classified department of the government. I know the truth about UFOs and have proof that Ryan Seacrest is an evil hybrid android hungry for deviled eggs and human flesh. When my sister and I were little, we had our fingerprints permanently burned off for security reasons. It kinda hurt, but they gave us blue Rocket Pops after, which made it all okay.

2. I once broke my pinky toe simply by sneezing and hiccuping at the same time. I later found out that this is very common.

3. I used to live a haunted house in New York. One night my Grandma was staying with us and she said I walked into her room saying I was scared and that I wanted to sleep with her. She said I crawled into her bed, but when she rolled over a few minutes later, there was no one there. Then corpses started floating in our pool and my sister got sucked into the TV.

4. My mother is obsessed with geese. She has a strange, ethereal connection with them. It's a beautiful thing to witness. Seriously, brings tears to the eyes, people.

5. I'm a total right wing conservative. Ann Coulter is my hero. Her soul is so blindingly pure. Like snow, really. One day I hope to be just like her.

6. The following are my favorite bands of all time: Offspring, Nickelback, Hinder and Puddle of Mud.

7. I hate traveling. Especially to Las Vegas. Worst. City. Ever.

Now, I know the six creative liars I nominate should be fellow bloggers, but I'm going to do things a bit different. Mostly because I have a Pop Tart in the toaster and don't have a whole lot of time. So, here goes:

Of course, I have to nominate my super fabulous sister, Amy Ellis. I'd also like to nominate my son, who doesn't have a blog but makes amazing shit up all time (ie. the cat ate my X-wing so we need to go to Toys R Us to get another one). Then there is my awesome husband, who tries to convince me he didn't delete my episodes of Barefoot Contessa off the DVR to make room for more racing shows on the Speed Channel. Next, I'll go for the barista at my Starbucks who claims he giving my non-fat milk when I know it's really 2% (don't worry pal, I'll send you my liposuction bills). Actually, I'd like to nominate him twice, since he always tells me to have a "super delicious day". That's just weird. And I don't believe him. I think he wants me to really have a fat, sour, bloated day. And lastly, I'd like to nominate Maggie, my dear friend from high school, who told me, after getting the worst spiral perm known to man, that my hair looked good. I'll never forget that. She's good people.

Later on, we'll expire, as we dream by the fire...

(I thought those were the correct lyrics to Winter Wonderland until about a year ago. Yep. I should really consider donating by brain to science.)
Words: shit-tons
Caffeine: midafternoon mocha
Evil Calories: Fudge, fudge and fudge. With a little fudge. Oh, and fudge.

First of all, since I know you're all planning to buy me Christmas presents, let's clear up any confusion. I do not need soap (or any incarnation of soap ie. body wash, body oil, body scrub, body butter, body brine, body engine coolant, body fertilizer etc). Nor do I need a dry heave-inducing sweater from the clearance rack at Sears. I know it's tempting because it's only 75 cents, but seriously, just walk away. I also have little need for a porcelain statue of a droopy eyed dog with a bonnet in its mouth. Yes, I know. I'm dead inside.

I do, however, need this:









Yes. It's a Princess Leia Polly Pockets fashion set. My favorite part is the little framed picture of Han Solo. Though, just between you and me, I doubt Princess Leia would ever have a framed picture of Han on her wall. That's just not how she rolls.

I would also settle for a Chia Pet, a Snuggie (zebra print, please) or the Clapper.

On another note, you all may (or probably not at all) be wondering what's going on with my writing. It's funny, because I notice that when I'm heavy into my writing, I rarely blog about it, and when I barely manage to eek out a paragraph over a three month span, I'll yap about my writing incessantly. So, read between the lines. I'm not talking about my writing. (Okay, well I am right now, but I'm just trying to make a point.) Not talking about my writing, meaning, things are moving, progressing, and I see something, sparkling off in the distance. Actually not in the distance. A lot closer than in the distance. We'll call it "just up ahead and slightly on the left".

SHAZAM! is all I have to say about that.

And lastly, I'd just like to take this opportunity to wish you, my faithful reader, bonnes fêtes, which, thanks to my awesome sister and her drive-by, ambush emailed French lessons, I now know means "happy holidays".

Sip a nice hot cup of coo-coo

Words: 1245
Caffeine: morning cup + midday cinnamon spiced tea
Evil Calories: Milkshake from the Sander's store at the mall. Don't know what came over me. I blame Jon and Kate Goslin. Just cuz.

You know what I love? The mall at Christmas. Yes, it's a complete zoo and the parking lots alone are like an episode of American Gladiators, but there's a certain charm to it that I cannot resist. Of course, I love the decorations and the music and hung over Santa who looks like he's going to honk Milwaukee's Best all over a set of triplets in matching pink dresses. But what I really love are the people. You know which people I'm talking about, right? The little old ladies in high water green pants with their purses strapped around their shoulders, triple knotted and bungee corded to their waists to stave off the pickpockets after the thirty-two cents in their wallets (I can make fun because I will be one of these goofy old bats one day). The dude in the mustard stained Tasmanian Devil Harley-Davidson t-shirt sucking on a Super Big Gulp as he gawks at the sale window in Spencer Gifts. The angry man in ill-fitting slacks and a comb over. No one knows what has made him so mad. You'd think relying on four wispy strands of hair to give the illusion of a full quaff would make you more of a "glass half full" person, but no. He's pissed, and dammit, and you best get the f!@# out of his way, pronto! Then there's the disgruntled MAC girl on her fifteen, stuck in line at Starbucks behind an elderly couple who look as if they haven't left their house since 1972 and want to know what "expresso" is. And then my personal favorite, the people who decide to have defcon-5 shit-fits on the poor, underpaid sales people. I know it's frustrating when your 50% off coupon from 1987 is no longer valid, but that's no reason to go all Gary Busey. You do realize there are people who live with war in their countries, right? Just pay for your crap and SHUT IT.

I'm sensitive because I was once one of these poor, underpaid sales people. I lived in the Bay Area and worked at a Gloria Jeans in the mall in my late teens. One Christmas, I actually had a woman pour a Mocha on me because we didn't have the cow-in-a-moo-moo sugar and creamer set she was looking for. And then there was the guy who told me I'd live a long, sad, lonely life and die in a gutter with rats eating at my eyes because I wouldn't call the Gloria Jeans in San Francisco (who we had NO affiliation with) and have someone drive a pound of Jamaican Blue Mountain to his mother's house in Berkley. Cuz, you know, it's totally normal for a coffee shop to make house calls.

I'm much happier now just being a distant observer of the coo-coo pants behavior. (Though...okay, I DID elbow my way into the line at Starbucks and made the tween in front of me paranoid about her weight just to get my hands on the last banana chip muffin, but that's it. Other than that, I've been totally sane.)