delilah s. dawson

a morning with t.rex

2012-02-27T10:42:00.003-05:00

5am

t.rex: I WAN OUT. I AWAKE. I HUNGY. G.I. JOE DA MAN.

me: It's 5am. It's night time. Go back to sleep.

t.rex: NOOOOOOOOO!

me: *collapses on his bed and falls into coma*

t.rex: *lays down, pats my head, rubs snotty nose all over my face crooning the theme song to G.I. Joe until 6am*

*intermission*

9:31am

me: I should probably consider showering. I smell like con.

t.rex: I WANNA WATCH A MOOBIE.

me: Okay. Which one?

t.rex: Rapunzel Transformers She-Ra He-Man Shrek with Puss in Boots Sky High.

me: Choose one.

t.rex: NO I WATCH ALL DA MOOBIES.

me: Choose one, or no movie.

t. rex: PUNZEL PUSS.

me: Okay. Here's Tangled.

t.rex: NOOOOOOOOO I WANT SKY HIGH!

me: Too bad. You get Tangled.

t.rex: *has fit*

me: *puts in movie, waits for him to settle down and become catatonic*

t.rex: (5 minutes after start of movie) I HUNGY.

me: It's 9:30. You've already had two breakfasts. You can have a cheese stick or a banana.

t.rex: NO DAT'S GOSE. I WANNA BAR.

me: You can't have a bar for breakfast. You get one bar a day, when Sister gets home from school, or else you turn into an annoying little granola bar junkie who poops sand.

t.rex: I WAN TWO BARS.

me: You can have some toast.

t.rex: I DON WAN TOAST. I JUST WAN BUTTER.

me: You cannot eat a stick of butter.

t.rex: DEN I WAN A SPOON FULL OF JELLY.

me: You are the most ridiculous human being I've ever met, and you're only 3.

t.rex: NO I NOT. I AMB FIVE!!!!!!

me: Awesome.

t.rex: ALSO I AM PUSS IN BOOTS DUKE AND YOU ARE KITTY SOFT PAWS SCARLET. *gives best hug in the world* I WUB YOU, EVIL KITTY SOFT PAWS SCARLET.

me: I love you, too, Evil Puss in Boots Duke.

t.rex: AND SISTER IS LADY JADE AND DADDY IS EVIL FLINT AND KIKI IS HE-MAN'S CAT.

me: Wait. What are you wearing?

t.rex: I BEING HE-MAN. HE DUDDN'T WEAR PANTS. HE JUST WEAR UNDERWEAR AND GALOSHES AND HAS A GUN. *gesticulates at crotch like I'm a moron*

me: I think you are deeply confused.

t.rex: NO I IZZN'T! I AM HE-MAN! BY THE POWER OF GREYSKULL, G.I. JOE IS DERE! A WEEL AMERICA HERO! G.I. JOE DA MAAAAAN! *charges off in Thomas the Tank Engine underpants and blue monster galoshes with a pistol holster around his waist and a Clone Trooper gun in hand*

me: Well, maybe I can get something done now...

*CRASH IN OTHER ROOM*

me: *sigh* Maybe not.

I'm joining the steampunk Dark Side

2012-02-25T19:54:00.003-05:00

Steampunk Darth Vader?

Not my father.

Still, very awesome.

As was AnachroCon, the alternative history convention I went to in Atlanta today. Seriously, everything about it was fantastic. I met so many wonderful people, saw amazing costumes, heard cool music, and caught one entertaining panel by the artisan who did the leather armor for some of the Saw and Resident Evil movies.

More tomorrow.

As for now, I just took off my corset for the first time since 8am.

That means it's cookie time.

help pick my steampunk costume for AnachroCon!

2012-02-22T21:14:00.009-05:00

Please help me.

I'm going to my very first steampunk con this Saturday, which means I'll be wearing a costume for the first time. And... here's where the clockwork deer gets caught in the headlights.

I don't know what to wear.

I have 3.5 outfits photographed. I can mix and match the pieces and am not 100% sold on any one look. I also know that a big part of steampunk is accessorizing, and I don't have a lot of those yet. Hence, the con. There's even a hat-making class!

So, if you will, please let me know what you think would look the best for AnachroCon, an alternative history con in Atlanta. Mixing, matching, head shaking, and suggestions are all welcome.

Brown and black.

Kinda steampunk pirate. Needs accessories.

Steampunk libarian, shirt open.

Same, shirt closed.

Available pieces:

purple/gold pirate corset, brown steampunk corset

white renfaire blouse, black renfaire blouse

white collar blouse, brown and white engineer blouse

big circle skirts in plum, tan, black

stagecoach skirt in shiny green

Halp!

what, pray tell, is a geek?

2012-02-22T13:48:00.005-05:00

(Um, that is?)

I was asked a fascinating question at my Writers Group last night. After several of us laughed until we cried at one man's short story about Dragon*Con, a confused woman in her forties simply had to know.

What is a geek?

The word used to have negative connotations. Originally coined to describe a sideshow freak who bit the heads off of live chickens (honest, ask Wikipedia), it was synonymous during my youth with nerd, dork, and neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie. No one would ever have admitted to being a geek, back then.

But the term has resurfaced and is now considered by many to be positive. I like this definition the best: A person with a devotion to something that places him or her outside the mainstream. This could be due to the intensity, depth, or subject of their interest.

I admit to being a geek and consider it a badge of honor.

I'm a Star Wars geek. A steampunk geek. A book geek. A Firefly/Joss Whedon geek. A Harry Potter geek. I love Battlestar Gallactica and Dune and Starship Troopers and Star Trek and Labyrinth and Lord of the Rings and the X-Men and the Avengers. I like zombies and vampires and werewolves and pirates. I never stopped dressing up for Halloween.

In short, I like being a geek.

We're like a club. A club of people who may not love all the same fandoms but understand and respect each other's obsessions. We're kind of like the Masons. We have secret passwords. Subtle hand gestures and turns of phrase that spark a feeling of fellow geekdom.

But I think one of the greatest things about geekdom today is that we've in effect taken it back from those who mocked us when we were younger. Oh, you think I'm a geek? I am, and I'm proud of it, and I aim to misbehave. So run along to your socially acceptable sports. I'll be over here talking costume plans for Dragon*Con.

Even after we attempted to explain our geekery last night, I still don't think she understood it. Because if you completely understand it... you're one of us. At the table, we had a tinker geek, a drama geek, a history geek, and two all around scifi/fantasy geeks. And that one lady-- the normal one? She was outnumbered. And that's okay. Geeks don't make fun of people for not being geeks.

Think you're a geek? Awesome!

Don't think you're a geek? Awesome!

Don't understand why I would cop to being a geek? That's okay, too.

Because I have this theory. I think everyone has some little area, some subject interest outside the mainstream. Whether it's cooking with hog jowls or making your own jewelry or collecting expensive sneakers, there's probably a little geek in you, somewhere.

And you never have to come out of the geek closet. We're not going to call you out. We're not going to give you away. We're just going to wait for that day that your eyes shine with obsession and smile, knowing that deep down, you're one of us, too.

Anyone else want to cop to geekdom? What's your flavor?

we can rebuild her.

2012-02-21T08:07:00.004-05:00

Lasik: THE REAL DEAL

1. During your annual eye exam, mindlessly say something about, "I wish I had Lasik, SIGH." When your optometrist points out that he had Lasik and loves it, begin to think that your grandmother might be wrong. Lasik could be a viable option and not a one-way trip to Blindsville courtesy of a knife-wielding maniac, especially if you go to the Dr. Woolfson, who did Lasik on the Atlanta Falcons. Those guys would totally beat him up if his work wasn't perfect, right?

2. Schedule an appointment at your optometrist's Lasik specialist. Do lots of research. Specifically avoid the descriptions of knives and lasers and eyeballs.

3. Go to the appointment, go through lots of tests, and learn that you're a perfect candidate and there's no reason to wait.

4. Wait.

5. Do insurance research and figure out the smartest way to handle expensive surgery.

6. Schedule the appointment and be really surprised that they're just like, "Great, see you then!" without any mention of, "AND BRING YOUR SEEING EYE DOG, HA HA!"

7. Get really excited. Psych yourself up. Wear glasses for three weeks and realize how much you hate glasses and how you're almost blind while driving. Schedule childcare and freak out and show up to your appointment in a cozy sweater and ass-kicking boots.

8. Wonder why the office is empty and the receptionist looks worried.

9. Try not to cry when they tell you your surgery was rescheduled and no one bothered to tell you.

1o. Try not to scream when you realize that you're going to have to wait another month and reschedule ALL THE THINGS and re-psysch yourself up.

11. Make everyone else reschedule ALL THEIR THINGS so you can have surgery tomorrow. Feel smug and worried and annoyed.

12. Show up at 10am. Almost fail some weird test that involves widening your pupils, which even you can't control. Put a towel over your head and pass the test and take 10 more tests and convince your nurse to read your book.

13. Go into a room and sit in a circle with a bunch of strangers who can't see each other because none of them are allowed to wear glasses or contacts. Have numbing drops put in your eyeballs. Feel your eyeballs go numb. Wear a blue surgical hat, blue booties, and a little green sticker on your forehead that tells them who you are and what they're supposed to chop up on your eyes.

13.5. Decide you need to use the restroom. Be unable to find it. Have a nurse lead you. Accidentally spray mouthwash all over your hands instead of soap because you can't read the pump bottle. Find your way back to THE ROOM by touch.

13.75. Wonder if the other blind people recognize that you reek of mouthwash.

14. Watch everyone else go into a secret door AND NEVER RETURN. One by one, they disappear. Realize that this situation is a lot like that hunch you got at Epcot in 5th grade that every now and then, they dumped someone off a ride and they died in a tangle of animatronic teeth. Get nervous. Try not to yark.

15. They call your name. You smile. You go in THE DOOR.

16. The room is dark, with several operating stations set up. You lay down where indicated and hope your little green forehead dot is accurate.

17. Things start moving very, very quickly. No one tells you what is happening, and you realize that this is because if you knew what was about to happen, you'd stand up and run like hell. All you see are gloved fingers, machines, and flashes of light. Consider bolting but realize that you are too blind and also not a wuss. NOT A WUSS.

18. They tape your eyelids to your forehead. You think CLOCKWORK ORANGE OMG!

19. They squeeze down your eyeball with a plastic frame. You start screaming inside.

20. Lights flash. Things go dark, then bright. You look into the Eye of Sauron and want to scream ONE CANNOT SIMPLY WALK INTO LASIK. You feel like you're in a scifi movie. You do everything they say, because you know that if anything goes wrong, you will never, ever be able to do this again. You smell your own cornea burning, and it smells like a curling iron singeing hair. Then you see the doctor's fingers brushing your eyeball with a paintbrush, and you realize this is possibly the most surreal thing that will ever happen to you in your entire life.

21. They release the eyeball frame, untape the eyeball, and start on the other eye, and you realize that the second one is both harder and easier than the first, because you know what's going to happen, but IT SUCKS.

22. Repeat 20.

23. More eyeball painting.

24. They help you up and take your picture in your fabulous hair net and forehead sticker and some very stylish sunglasses so that they can post it on Facebook and maybe you'll win an iPad and you're all, FINE, WHATEVER, I AM SO MESSED UP RIGHT NOW.

25. Then you realize you can read the clock across the room.

26. YOU. CAN READ THE CLOCK. ACROSS THE ROOM.

27. You think about crying with joy, but your eyes feel like a cat scratched them open and took a gritty crap therein.

28. You are told not to look at a computer screen for two days, even though it's your livelihood, escape, and entertainment.

29. You are handed an iPad and asked to log in to Facebook, and you are deeply confused.

30. You go home and spend the rest of the day on sleeping pills and muscle relaxers with plastic shields taped over your eyes.

31. You wake up at 4am and peel the plastic off your eyes and realize your eyelashes are stuck together like Aeon Flux and you drizzle eye drops in them until they open and you realize that YOU CAN SEE. YOU CAN SEE EVERYTHING. YOU CAN SEE THE ALARM CLOCK FOR THE FIRST TIME IN YOUR LIFE, AND IT IS AWESOME.

32. Ten days later, you realize Lasik is one of the top 10 best decisions of your life.

2012-02-20T17:33:00.003-05:00

Life moves pretty fast.

If you don't stop and look around every once in a while,

you might miss something.

For example, right now?

I am looking at a kid with the flu,

which means time is moving veeeeeery slowly.

And barfily.

Much like Ferris Bueller, I need a day off.

Stop laughing.

iCUP

2012-02-19T17:40:00.006-05:00

Every year, I paint a mug for Dr. Krog.

He eventually breaks it.

Which gives me a reason to paint one for him the next year.

So I present this year's mug.

"Back off, man! I'm a scientist!"

Because, technically, Dr. Krog is a scientist. A statistician.

And, secretly, he's always wanted to be Dr. Peter Venkman.

The crowning touch.

I can't let him get too comfortable, can I?

state of the blog union

2012-02-17T07:39:00.005-05:00

It occurred to me yesterday that I might be doing you a disservice.

Some of you are here for this:

And I keep shouting about this:

Which is only natural.

I mean, I started this blog over 1100 posts and four years ago when I had a new baby and not much to do. My pictures were of a frazzled mom and a chubby little girl, and I ranted about motherhood, society's wrongs, and trying to find yourself after becoming a mom.

And then I got pregnant and ranted about pregnancy. And then I had another baby and blabbered on about the perils of having two children and losing weight and, again, trying to find yourself.

And then? I found myself.

And you guys were here for that, too. I talked about writing my first book, about querying, about failing, and failing again, and then, after much hard work, about succeeding. Sure, every now and then, there were cute conversations or photos of t.rex and the biscuit hugging each other or beating each other with lightsabers, but the tone of the blog definitely began to change.

And now here we are. I have a five-year-old and a three-year-old, and writing has become a full-time job. And I think I may have gotten a little too excited about the time leading up to my first book launch. When I scroll through the blog, all I see are picture after picture of a half-naked vampire dude and me squealing about things that most of you probably don't care about. I've been sharing what makes me excited right now, but I'm guessing that not many of my 329 followers can relate.

So I want to know. If you're still reading, what do you actually like to read about? Why do you come here? Would you keep coming here if it changed?

This blog started out as an escape for me, as a way to share and connect with people and remember as much as I could of the dizzying years of early parenthood. I'm so grateful to everyone who read then, who reads now, who comments and tells me I'm not alone.

I hope you'll keep coming here.

I hope I'll give you a reason to do so.

a hat, a brooch, a postcardactyl

2012-02-16T08:25:00.003-05:00

So I need to make a hat out of postcards, a sandwich board out of my poster, and some sort of corset out of my remaining cover flats.

Then I'll really start self-promoting.

But silently.

These guys are en route (via dirigible) to Captain Donna and the fine folks at Clockwork Couture, to be sent out in their packages of luscious steampunk goods. Thanks to Clockwork Couture, and thanks to Pocket for whipping up such lovely cards!

on dialing it to 11

2012-02-15T08:59:00.006-05:00

I used to have this ritual.

Every evening, just after dark, I would go upstairs. I took off my boots, put on ridiculous pajama pants, twirled my hair up in a bun, and took out my contacts. And then it was time to relax.

As soon as I switched from contacts to glasses, the world went from sharp and alert to dull, comfortable, and safe. It was like being wrapped in a cocoon, a blanket. With my glasses on, I had a limited sphere of vision. The edges were blurry, and it signaled my brain to chill out and go to sleep. I've been wearing contacts since I was 15, and I can't even remember much about life before then.

But now!

Now, after Lasik, everything is different.

My vision is perfect, sharp, clear. All day long, whatever I'm doing, I can see. Every evening, I find myself standing in the place where my contact lens case used to be, feeling like there's something important I need to do.

Every day now, at least ten times a day, I think, "OMG, I need to take out my contacts before they disappear under my eyelids and I have to pry them out with chopsticks!"

And that part of my life is gone.

Which is awesome and amazing and miraculous, don't get me wrong.

But it's really freaking weird.

My world is dialed up to 11 constantly now. I can't turn my brain off. I feel... superhuman. Like, you think of how awesome it is that Superman can fly and is super strong, but he probably jerks doorknobs off of doors and breaks people's ribs when he hugs them. Once you make a permanent change like this, no matter how wonderful it is and no matter how it improves your life, you have to alter your way of thinking.

Which, personally, I dig. I want my brain to stay active and constantly making new connections. So although, in a sense, I've lost a source of comfort, I'm excited to know that the world is full of new possibilities.

As Oscar Wilde said, "To be on the alert is to live; to be lulled into security is to die."

Here's to being more alive.

And to hopefully developing X-ray vision and other useful superpowers.

a beautiful thing

2012-02-14T17:03:00.003-05:00

Those are the two main characters in Wicked as They Come as imagined by the oh-so-talented StrangelyKatie. I've tried again and again to capture Tish and Crim, but alas... my own creations elude me. I can draw them much better with words than with a pen... or a digital tablet. Thanks a lot, art degree!

And speaking of beautiful things, today marks the one-year anniversary of my book deal, and I can't imagine how I could possibly be happier.

Thank you, everyone. Thank you, world. Thank you, fate. Thank you, family. Thank you, writing friends. Thank you, agent. Thank you, editor. Thank you, copy editors and publicist and cover artist and beta readers and writing group and reviewers and bloggers and soon-to-be-readers.

And thank you, Strangely Katie, for the perfect Valentine.

p.s. She takes commissions, and her rates are unbelievably reasonable.

p.p.s. Would anyone like an actual, physical belated Valentine? I'm thinking of sending some out...

big phone pimpin'

2012-02-13T07:37:00.003-05:00

As it's 2012 and I'm a big-time author, I decided I needed some bling for my phone.

We're talking big pimpin', as the kids say.

Awwwww, yeah.

If anyone would like a similar sticker for their own post-2005 tech gadget,

please hit me up in the carpool line.

I'll be the one listening to a boombox and writing with a fountain pen.

meditations on burning corneas

2012-02-12T09:25:00.002-05:00

The 10 Worst Things about Lasik

1. The actual surgery was like a flashback from Clockwork Orange.

2. Did I mention that I smelled my own corneas burning?

3. I haven't been able to write for three days.

4. I had to spend an entire day in bed, asleep.

5. Then I had to spend two more days not driving, being fed and coddled, and napping constantly.

6. My eyelashes got all stuck together last night while I was asleep, and I woke up at 4am and couldn't open my eyes, and I dreamed I was that chick from Aeon Flux, but I couldn't chase the plasticky German scientist because my superhero eyelashes were malfunctioning.

7. I keep finding myself standing in front of my contact lens case, feeling confused.

8. I have an entire box of unopened contacts left over. THEY DON'T REIMBURSE FOR THAT, YOU KNOW.

9. I can't wear eye makeup for a week.

10. The world has now seen what I look like in a poofy blue hat and funny sunglasses.

Oh, wait. There are really on 3 bad things on that list, aren't there?

I guess that leads us into the...

TOP 10 AWESOME THINGS ABOUT LASIK

1. Numbers 4 through 7 above.

2. I CAN SEE.

3. No, really. I can see. I can see all over the place. I can read the alarm clock. I can read the drawings on the fridge. I can drive without blurry bits in my peripheral vision. I'll be able to scuba dive and swim and ride horses, all while SEEING.

4. I CAN SEE.

5. I CAN SEE SO GOOD, Y'ALL, OMIGAH. 20/15 vision.

6. There's still a little bit of blurriness around light, and it feels all religious and glowy, like someone should be singing a chorus in the background whenever I gaze out a window.

7. Now I can write again. I just have to blink a lot and put in eye drops.

8. Next time I go on a plane, I won't have to wear my glasses and then lose them and find them and get off the plane and put in my contacts in the airport bathroom before I meet people. So I should probably go on a nice trip soon to test that out.

9. I CAN SEE.

10. For the first time since third grade, I feel that I'll actually have a chance when the zombiepocalypse comes. Well, except for in regards to my thyroid, but whatever. I'll get a lot of exercise, running from all the zombies.

In conclusion: LASIK IS AWESOME.

And Dr. Krog is awesome for taking care of me and the wee monsters for three days. He's a trooper. And he brought me almond croissants, too. That's love, y'all.

another dream come true

2012-02-11T09:49:00.002-05:00

Yesterday, they drew on my eyeballs with Sharpie, then taped down my eyelids and... then there were lots of flashes and clicks and the smell of my corneas burning.

Then I went to sleep for 17 hours.

Now I can see.

I've needed glasses since 3rd grade. I wore glasses from 6th grade to 10th grade. Ever since, it's been contacts every single day.

Now, for the first time in my life, I can read the alarm clock from across the room.

Thank you, Dr. Woolfson. Thank you, mysterious and possibly insane inventor of Lasik. Thank you, Dr. Krog.

Finally, when the zombies come, I'LL BE READY.

the abs I always wanted...

2012-02-09T12:30:00.001-05:00

...are on Criminy Stain.

He looks good. He smells good.

In 52 more days, you'll get to read about *all* the things at which he excels.

Ahem.

Until then, you can come over and stroke his abs with me.

And dream.

Much thanks to my publisher, Pocket/Simon & Schuster,

for sending this utterly delicious foamcore poster.

Look for him at the launch party and, hopefully,

various cons around the South.

And on my kitchen island.

Lasik at 2pm. Wish me luck!

This is my first pre-arranged post. I suspect tomfoolery will occur.

I will blame Criminy.

a glimpse of the carnival

2012-02-08T07:12:00.003-05:00

Oh, squashblossoms.

I had so much fun last night that I don't even know where to begin.

The launch party for BLOOD AND BULLETS by local urban fantasy author, tattoo artist, and all-around nice guy James R. Tuck was a *FANTASTIC* success. Loads of folks came out to buy a book, get it signed, and listen to several local authors James was generous enough to invite out just for the purpose of reading their work.

And I am honored to be one of them. So that picture? It's my first public reading of WICKED AS THEY COME. I read an excerpt of Tish's first fortune telling practice in which we learn that the strong man is being plotted against, the horse-faced girl has a secret under her hat, and the lizard boy just needs some hand lotion.

I met so many wonderful people, and I was thrilled to see so much support for local authors. My friends Heidi and Betty came out, not to mention some of my talented pals from the Red Door Writing Group, including Ericka, Crystal, Seth, and Kevin. Thank you all so much!

Readings, signings, hand-shaking, card-handing-out-ing, and red wine were followed by the best pizza I've ever had at Vingenzo's, a marvelous Italian restaurant just a few doors down from FoxTale Book Shoppe in Woodstock, GA. I will definitely be making a date for another Pugliese.

In the words of Zoe Soldana's character in Center Stage, "THAT WAS THE MOST FUN I'VE EVER HAD!"

Thanks so much for inviting me, James. And thanks for having us, FoxTale. And thanks to everyone who came out to support local authors and an independent bookseller.

Now just make sure to come back on March 30 at 7pm for more excerpts, books, sexy vampires, cake, and wine at the WICKED AS THEY COME launch party. James is hoping to be there, too, so you can get a copy of BLOOD AND BULLETS signed while you're at it.

And maybe some pizza afterward, if you're good. Because DANG.

Want to hear an excerpt? YOU CAN!

2012-02-07T11:50:00.004-05:00

Tonight, I've been invited to read an excerpt of WICKED AS THEY COME at the book launch party for BLOOD AND BULLETS, an urban fantasy by Woodstock author James R. Tuck.

Details here.

Leather, handcuffs, and tattoos are greatly encouraged.

As for me, I'll be dressed in black lace and reading a scene from the carnival.

There could be funny voices, including my famous British accent.

7pm, FoxTale Book Shoppe in downtown Woodstock, GA. Be there or be extremely square. Also, James is a bouncer, so he might mess you up if you don't show.

on glasses and mugs

2012-02-07T07:41:00.002-05:00

Age 6: I fell in love with coffee.

I'd had little tastes before then, always on vacation. A sip here, a sip there. Finally, while spending a week on my aunt's house boat, I was allowed my own small cup of coffee. It was tan, filled with too much cream and too much sugar, and it was hot and beautiful and delicious. I still remember sitting on the couch, feeling the wet touch of morning fog on my forehead and the edge of the boat under the ball of my foot. I felt so grown up and content, and it's as if the world slowed to a crawl while I drank. I wasn't allowed seconds.

I'm 34 now. The world still slows down when I drink coffee, always with too much cream and too much sugar.

6th grade: I got my first glasses.

I played softball and had been in a hitting slump for a year. They finally took me to the optometrist and learned that I wasn't dropping my shoulder-- I was going blind. I picked out two pairs of glasses. At first, I was excited, because I like change. Then I realized that glasses made me feel less pretty, gave me headaches, and narrowed my view of the world.

I grew to hate my glasses.

When I was 15, I got my first contacts and never looked back. Since then, I've really only worn glasses at home, at night, when sick. I've been wearing them steadily for the last two weeks, leading up to Thursday's Lasik.

I'm so excited I can barely function. To think-- I'll be able to watch a midnight movie! I'll see the alarm clock without squinting! I'll be able to wear heavy eye makeup!

And all they have to do is cut open my eyeballs for a little while.

If all goes well, that picture will be the last one you see of me in glasses.

Coffee forever. Glasses no more!

insert thing here

2012-02-06T17:47:00.002-05:00

I'm out of it. I have no idea what to blog about.

Anybody have a question? Want to know a secret? Or something?

In lieu of actual content, there's a better picture of my new steampunk corset.

In the background is one of the last paintings I did. It's called Goodnight Horses.

unruly rant: reading = fun + duh + mental

2012-02-03T17:21:00.004-05:00

My daughter brought home a "Reading Log" today.

And believe it or not, I'm pissed.

"Reading books is a sweet treat!" it says. And then it encourages my child to color in a cupcake every day that she reads a book. At the end of the month, I sign it, and she takes it back to school, and they give her a certificate for a child-sized pizza at Pizza Hut.

And you know what?

I threw it in the trash.

I mean, I get that we're not normal. I spend 95% of my free time either reading or writing. There are towering stacks of books in every room. And we buy books for the kids, too. I almost never turn down an intelligently worded request. There are books on the floor and the kitchen table and the stairs, books under their beds and in designated book boxes and stuffed between the car seats in my car.

No one in our house can walk three feet without encountering a book.

And I know that we're incredibly, incredibly lucky, and that not everyone has the access to books that we do.

But coloring in cupcakes and turning in worksheets and earning $3 worth of pizza? That's not how you turn a kid into a reader.

If you want your children to read, you buy them books. You read them books. You ask them to read books to you. You let them see you reading. You make sure that books are always around, waiting to entertain and delight. You make books into friends that you can turn to again and again.

You make books a priority and a fixture.

This worksheet is not a philanthropic way to encourage children to read. It's a great way to sell pizza to parents rewarding their kid for coloring in cupcakes. After all, your kid's pizza is free, but mom and dad and the other kids are going to want to eat, too. So basically, you save $3 on your kid's pizza and spend $30 on unhealthy food for the rest of the family instead of spending that money on, say, BOOKS.

So yes, books are a sweet treat.

But please don't pretend that your ad from Pizza Hut is encouraging reading.

I deeply resent the fact that public schools allow this crap into my life.

You know what's getting my kids excited about reading?

It's not pizza.

It's reading.

further steampunkery

2012-02-01T16:22:00.004-05:00

Sorry, but when I get a corset in the mail, I just *have* to post pics.

These things are like luscious, waist-wittling crack.

And, of course, it's by the lovely Michelle at Damsel in this Dress.

My first corset from her was a sleek, glistening, piratical thing, so I wanted something extra steampunky that would go with almost everything. I love how this brown one can be dressed up posh or dressed down for that "my airship just crashed and I need a ride to Constantinople" look.

After another trip to my favorite thrift store, I have a long khaki skirt with lace, this long black skirt, this engineer shirt, and a floofy black poet's blouse. Added to my plum skirt, white blouse, and black pinstripe vest, I basically purchased an entire steampunkable wardrobe for under $25. Well, and the corsets. But those are worth every penny.

Now I just need someplace to wear them to...

keke!

2012-01-31T14:53:00.002-05:00

Had my eyes dilated at noon. Three hours later, and my pupils are so big that I have a horrible headache and look like an anime character.

It went like this:

optometrist: Okay, so these drops will dilate your eyes. Do you need to do anything that involves reading today?

me: I'm a writer. All I do is read and write.

optometrist: Nothing else?

me: Sometimes I sleep.

optometris: Can you go home and take a nap?

me: Nope. I have two kids under 5.

optometrist: Bad news...

And then he put liquid poison in my eyes.

The worst part is that being on the laptop or reading makes a big ball of angry hatred pulse behind my eyeballs, so I have to go find something non-reading/writing to do. Something that doesn't involve bright light, focus, coordination, or concentration. I mean, I slipped on a Han Solo figurine while trying to do dishes and almost wiped out.

So... what's left?

oh my, indeed.

2012-01-30T10:42:00.003-05:00

I'm so honored and excited to see Wicked as They Come included in this hawt ad for the March edition of RT Magazine, one of the biggest venues for romance book reviews in the world.

Plus, Wicked includes both vampires *and* circus freaks, so that's a lot of bang for your buck.

Heh.

In other writing news, here's what I'm working on, two months before my first pub date:

* planning the launch party (Friday, 3/30, 7pm, FoxTale Book Shoppe, Woodstock, GA)

* writing an e-novella in the Blud world while listening to a lot of Gotye

* getting ready to write the second half of Blud book 2, out in Spring 2013

* wearing and loving the custom Sang scents from Villainess Soaps

* putting together steampunk costumes for Anachrocon and Dragon*Con

* networking and hoping to get involved with local lit festivals, cons, and book groups

* writing guest blogs and doing author interviews-- so much fun!

* planning to invite interested readers and friends from all over to participate in street teams to spread the Wicked word and receive perks like signed books and... other things I haven't dreamed up yet.

If anyone has a good idea for promoting the book, please let me know! I'd love to be on debut author panels at conferences within driving distance of Atlanta, have Skype chats with book clubs or writing groups, and do any sort of author interviews or guest posts on related blogs with followers who would be interested in steampunk paranormal romance.

Self-promotion:

It's scary, and I would rather be eating frozen cupcakes.

behold the sekrit smellies

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

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

I will tell you this:

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

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

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

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

Extrapolate from that what you will.

SQUEE.

I <3 you x1000, Brooke!

the rockin' rainbow

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

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

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

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

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

Use adult-quality materials.

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

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

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

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

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

in which I keelhaul reality

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

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

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

It's so much easier than coping.

YARR.

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

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

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

Notes on steampunk outfits:

1. They are very layer intensive.

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

3. They are rather heavy.

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

5. They are addictive.

6. Corsets really should return to everyday fashion.

wordles

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

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

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

Seriously. They're so extremely self-explanatory.

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

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

Tomorrow: MOAR EDIT CAVE.

five minutes of my life

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

biscuit: Why does the Grinch hate Christmas?

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

biscuit: Or maybe his heart is too small?

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

biscuit: I think Darth Vader had one of those.

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

me: Maybe his bottom is WHAT?

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

me: But why would that make him hate Christmas?

t.rex: Maybe it itches more at Christmas?

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

t.rex: Or maybe his house fell down?

me: What does that have to do with Christmas?

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

me: What... are we talking about?

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

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

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

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

me: Wow. Just... wow.

my magic buns

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

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

Because that's totally brilliant, right?

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

And I made a video to show you how.

Warning: It's very badly done.

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

Totally worth it!

where art thou?

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

See that? That's my Writer Hat.

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

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

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

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

In short, I'm an artist.

Except that I'm not anymore.

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

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

Instead, I became a writer.

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

Art has become an ex-boyfriend.

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

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

SOPA SUCKS

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

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

would you like to be wicked?

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

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Wicked as They Come

by Delilah S. Dawson

Giveaway ends February 05, 2012.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter to win

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

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

seriously, seriously WICKED

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

See that bracelet?

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

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

See?

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

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

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

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

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

Totally made my day!

thanks, sevenly!

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

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

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

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

Thanks, Sevenly!

The Creative Cycle Will Kill You, REALLY.

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

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

in which I blubber over a blurb

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

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

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

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

Thanks so much to Nancy!

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

getting vaguely steamy

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

I'm finally doing it!

I'm putting together steampunk outfits.

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

Oh, and I can't take decent pictures.

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

Or, for the full effect with my bad photography:

And the basis of the steampunk librarian:

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

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

It's all about the accessories.

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

Now I have to learn all over again.

Note to self: cogs, brass, octopi.

Question:

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

what would your persona be?

Pirate, adventurer, inventor, diva?

The Creative Cycle Will Kill You

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

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

Second of all, the Creative Cycle will kill you.

But! And here's the kicker.

Only if you let it.

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

1. First, there is the seed.

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

2. And then you have to do it.

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

And then it's done.

And for about twenty minutes, you feel overwhelming relief.

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

3. The deflation.

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

IT SUCKS.

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

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

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

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

So you decide to do the hard part.

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

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

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

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

And it's done.

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

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

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

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

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

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

a morning three-way

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

billions of dollars.

the biscuit: What about my computer?

me: The one that plays a Barbie song?

the biscuit: Oh.

me: Yeah.

the biscuit: Is that my bus?

me: Yep.

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

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

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

me: Duly noted.

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

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

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

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

t.rex: MAYBE DAT IS PRINCESS LEIA?

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

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

me: This isn't Hoth.

t.rex: IT PRETTY COLD.

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

t.rex: DAT IS STILL PRINCESS LEIA.

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

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

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

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

me: Not a chance, dude.

signage

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

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

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

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

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

See? I can be merciful.

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

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

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

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

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

Anybody else have a signed book they cherish?

my first review!

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

*****

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

5 out of 5 stars.

That's FIVE STARS!

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

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

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

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

happy net karma ahoy!

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

So a fun thing just happened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is how the internet is supposed to work.

People sharing information with the kindest intentions,

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

I now have a warm fuzzy.

Thanks, Litreactor!

the latent violence of bibliophilia

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

me: (working in studio)

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

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

t.rex: GO 'WAY. I BUSY.

me: (runs to living room anticipating trouble)

And what do I see?

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

me: WHY DID YOU DO THAT?

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

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

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

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

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

would you guys please do me a favor?

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

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

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

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

And I might be slightly freaking out.

Anyway.

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

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

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

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

kids: I WANT THE BIG BOWL!

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

bowl you eat out of.

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

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

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

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

so that explains a few things.

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

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

Technically, it was 1977 and Atlanta, but whatever.

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

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

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

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

And that's who I wanted to be.

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

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

Anybody else have a weird childhood idol?

how to make a DISCO BEAR

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

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

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

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

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

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

6. Shove the top down anyway.

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

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

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

resolute.

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

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

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

1. Be kinder.

2. Kick more ass.

3. Wear more things that are not jeans.

4. Sell another book.

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

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

7. Get back on the slow carb train.

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

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

10. Read ALL THE BOOKS!

Anybody else making their resolutions tonight?

on jeans

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

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

And yet I never do.

I never even attempt either of these aesthetics.

And I finally figured out why.

JEANS.

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

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

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

on prying things apart

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

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

See, I wanted a horse all my life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I never did.

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

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

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

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

Some dreams never die.

a year's worth of nookie

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

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

Read this year on the Nook: (42)

MAKING WAVES by Tawna Fenske

SHATTER ME by Tahereh Mafi

HEART OF STEEL by Meljean Brook

THE NIGHT CIRCUS by Erin Morganstern

LOLA AND THE BOY NEXT DOOR by Stephanie Perkins

SUPERNATURALLY by Kiersten White

HOW TO BE BAD by E. Lockhart et al

FOREVER by Maggie Stiefvater

THE DARK ENQUIRY by Deanna Raybourn

HEARTLESS by Gail Carriger

HOURGLASS by Myra McIntyre

THIRTEEN REASONS WHY by Jay Asher

THE GIRL IN THE STEEL CORSET by Kady Cross

GLIMMERGLASS by Jenna Black

DIVERGENT by Veronica Roth

INVINCIBLE SUMMER by Hannah Moskowitz

CITY OF FALLEN ANGELS by Cassandra Clare

LAND OF THE PAINTED CAVES by Jean Auel

CRYER'S CROSS by Lisa McAnn

DEMONGLASS by Rachel Hawkins

WICKED LOVELY by Melissa Marr

DELIRIUM by Lauren Oliver

MATCHED by Ally Condie

THE IRON QUEEN by Julie Kagawa

THE IRON DUKE by Meljean Brook

SHADOWFEVER by Karen Marie Moning

DREAMFEVER by Karen Marie Moning

ASCEND by Amanda Hocking

TORN by Amanda Hocking

SWITCHED by Amanda Hocking

ANNA AND THE FRENCH KISS by Stephanie Perkins

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

WHITE CAT by Holly Black

DARK ROAD TO DARJEELING by Deanna Raybourn

SILENT IN THE SANCTUARY by Deanna Raybourn

SILENT ON THE MOORS by Deanna Raybourn

SILENT AS THE GRAVE by Deanna Raybourn

BRIGHT YOUNG THINGS by Anna Godberson

HUSH MONEY by Susan Bischoff

WISDOM by Amanda Hocking

THE IRON DAUGHTER by Julie Kagawa

THE IRON KING by Julie Kagawa

Conclusions:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

exploring gender differences through cultural celebrations involving trees

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

So there's girls.

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

And then...

There are boys.

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

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

happy hooligans!

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

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

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

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

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

That's pretty much how I roll.

Happy Holidays, everybody!

regarding the blog redesign...

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

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

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

I hope the clockwork dodo will do for a while.

ACK. Work is hard.

input needed. no bears needed.

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

Things are a little different around here.

A bit grayer.

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

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

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

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

*

I think this explains it.

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

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

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

how to twit

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

geek stories: the worst New Years ever

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

Remember all that flap about Y2K?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And what did I learn?

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

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

*

my otherwhere

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm listening, Otherwhere. Tell me more.

*

build your own OMIGAH, IT'S CRIMINY PONY!

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

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

Build your own My Little Pony right here.

But be careful-- it's seriously addictive.

steampunk beiber - bieber = STEAMPUNK

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

This is what I love about the world.

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

Justin Bieber's steampunk Christmas video.

You subtract the Bieber.

You add MOAR STEAMPUNK.

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

Joy to the world indeed, yo.

we interrupt this squeeing for a quick ? - betas?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

GALLEYS!

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

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

Calm. Collected. Professional. Unflappable.

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

The first photo was screaming...

The second photo was gummy.

Like, seriously gummy.

Like, bouncing here and there and everywhere,

high adventure that's beyond compare gummy.

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

I finally captured that first photo.

But inside, I'm screaming and gummy.

It's my first galley, y'all.

My book is a book.

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

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

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

One step closer to my dreams.

snippets

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

Life moves pretty fast.

I take all these pictures, thinking,

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

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

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

Snippets.

Elf on the Shelf?

No way.

That little voyeur can stay in the armoire.

We have a different sort of holiday vigilante.

Ginger.

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

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

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

Kind of like Twilight, but made of ginger.

These are my new fleece pants.

I have never worn fleece pants before.

Now... I may never wear anything else.

My other pair features polar bears in bobble caps.

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

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

Buy the silliest ones you can.

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

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

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

They're that good.

This is my eyeball.

I'm getting Lasik in February.

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

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

Or hazel. Depending.

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

Sometimes, I still dream that they're blue.

please read.

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

Not this post.

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

Honestly, I don't care what you read.

I just wish people would read more.

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

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

So on a big flatscreen, it was riveting.

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

"Nope. Just mesmerized by the preview."

She glanced at it. She looked perplexed.

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

"The Hunger Games."

Blank look.

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

Shrug. "I don't read."

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

Blank look. "Is it a movie?"

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

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

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

So I guess this is my plea.

Read something.

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

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

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

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

Just read something.

But... I recommend The Hunger Games.

the writer's toolbox: on having a compass

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

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

I'm referring to the compass.

Criminy uses one in WICKED AS THEY COME,

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

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

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

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

That's why we have maps. And compasses

Because wanting something isn't enough.

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

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

I don't live by either, though.

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

Like today. Burp.

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

And writing is like that, too.

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

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

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

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

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

(tumbleweeds) (space)

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

Yep. I'm quiet again.

That's because I'm writing.

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

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

Um... Merry Christmas, buddy.

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

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

The story is great. The writing is phenomenal.

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

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

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

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

And that, my friends, is shiny.

Back to the trenches.

on writing: focus on the positive

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

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

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

I'm learning how to do that.

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

I'M BEING CREATIVE AND FOLLOWING MY MUSE.

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

I'M DRIVEN.

I really like to eat cupcakes and brownies.

I'M BEING KIND TO MYSELF WHILE I WRITE.

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

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

I love shopping online for boots and coats and hats.

I'M CULTIVATING MY BRAND.

I like talking to people on Twitter and Facebook.

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

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

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

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

IT'S THE BEST THING EVER.

Only nine minutes until the brownies are ready.

take me down to fangirl city

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

DIANA GABALDON TALKED TO ME.

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

AND SHE TALKED TO ME ON TWITTER.

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

SQUEE.

the big, bad, bloodthirsty Christmas tree

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

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

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

Brrrr!

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

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

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

Lights do that, I say with an impish wink.

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

And this is what you see.

That's right.

It's my book cover.

On the Christmas tree star.

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

Happy Holidays, hot steampunk vampire.

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

4-hour everything

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

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

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

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

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

Ahem.

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

UNICORN BLOOD

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

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

Back to your regularly scheduled unruliness.

the sleeper has awakened

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

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

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

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

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

And then a magical thing happened.

After my daughter was born, I forgot about music.

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

Until I woke back up.

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

This song.

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

Midnight? Something about midnight? Standing near a streetlight?

CRAP.

I couldn't find it. I went crazy.

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

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

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

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

When I woke back up.

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

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

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

THE SLEEPER HAS AWAKENED.

the turkeys take on Savannah

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

I always wanted to take a carriage tour of Savannah.

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

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

Most of the time.

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

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

That's Noah.

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

Or at least that's what it looks like.

Um, why am I smoking that parrot?

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

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

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

Also, the kids had a fabulous time.

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

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

The girl was also over the moon.

And the views were gorgeous.

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

Hello, Spanish moss. Hello, pretty buildings.

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

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

Which we were.

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

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

So that's a good Thanksgiving.

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

best. day. ever!

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

See that?

That's the Dread Pirate Robert.

Why am I with a pirate on a carriage?

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

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

a tree of turkeys

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

For Thanksgiving, I found 3 turkeys in a tree:

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

Here's to living the dream!

Happy Turkey Day, y'all!

now we are 3

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

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

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

Fortunately, the next day, this happened.

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

Um...

Maybe?

Fast forward to three years later.

He's about to be three.

THREE.

Looks like he's out of that awkward phase.

Happy Almost Birthday to my favorite goofball,

the guy who gives the best hugs ever,

and who is also very strong because of his muscles.

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

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

Thanks for stretching my mind, son.

But most of all, thanks for the hugs.

on character

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

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

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

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

The characters aren't real enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

When I was younger, I thought I knew everything.

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

But that's part of my character, too.

twinge

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

Guess which movie we saw last night?

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

It was awesome.

looking at my day

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

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

* wake up at 6:11

* grumble

* drink coffee

* moar coffee

* drive to bus stop barefoot

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

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

* enjoy a cinnamon roll and coffee at a haunted restaurant

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

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

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

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

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

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

* return home to complain about censorship and do 1000 things

* only accomplish 2 of those things

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

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

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

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

* also, I'm hungry

* and I forgot what this list was about

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

New haircut:

It's the same as the old haircut,

but with half an inch of teal on the bottom.

ohmygodineedthat

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

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

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

OHMYGOD; I NEED THAT.

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

I want her necklaces.

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

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

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

Any other places I haven't looked?

tumbling

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

Serendipity.

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

The story is already forming in my head.

The next seed arrived early.

The next book is a YA, codename TUMBLING.

in which I get very blue. blueish.

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

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

Until today.

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

Man, oh metal man, does that stuff reek.

But now I have teal hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They have purple and pink, too.

author pic outtakes

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

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

Like, OMG, GHOSTS. WHATEVER.

Or cracking up against a column.

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

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

Or maybe I do. But where are my shoes?

WHERE ARE MY SHOES?

Whoa. Too much gum. Way too much gum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE END.

PIGBOTTOM!

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

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

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

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

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

Pics or it didn't happen.

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

He was gone.

We spent two days looking for the elusive PIGBOTTOM.

me: Son, where is Pigbottom?

son: He is napping. He is HIDING.

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

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

me: Yes, but do you know?

son: NO. He won't tell me.

Etc.

So what appeared in my face this morning?

PIGBOTTOM.

"Where did you find him?" I asked.

"He find hisself," son said.

"Where, though?"

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

A pig after my own heart.

sometimes, I get frustrated.

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

That, followed by this.

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

I will now fight my frustration with words.

PSA: dirty pool at JustFabulous

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it's not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I DON'T WANT IT.

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

And that is not cool.

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

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

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

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

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

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

we interrupt this picspammery with toilet humor

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

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

son: To keep my poops company.

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

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

me: Hey, Goose!

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

me: Hey, Cygnet!

daughter: I AM NOT A CIGARETTE.

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

daughter: You can't prove that.

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

Krog: Why would you do that?

son: So I can rescue you.

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

Eep.

zoom out

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

This choice?

IMPOSSIBLE.

Monday. I'll decide Monday.

Because I'm PROCRASTINATING.

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

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

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

so this girl walks into a graveyard...

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

...and has her picture taken.

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

These are all cropped down small and would appear

in the back of my book in black and white.

I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Which one should I choose?

Thoughts?

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

Note:

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

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

More me.

ANOTHER NOTE:

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

I... like my smile lines.

And Simon's photography is just phenomenal.

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

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

WHY IS THIS SO HARD?

That's what she said.