Letters, Words, Thoughts, Ideas, Stories...

A Date! A Date!

2012-01-20T08:29:00.000-05:00

No, not with St.Matt – though we'll be going out tonight to celebrate.

This is a date YEARS in the making. Years and so many pages and hours and words.

It's my RELEASE DATE.

READY? (and, by ready, I mean: do you have your calendar out and pen uncapped? Or, more likely, do you have your calendar app open and your thumbs poised to type?).

Sounds like a pretty good date, doesn't it?

*Things that make it even better? I get to share a release date with one of best friends in the world – Emily Hainsworth.

** Info on release parties and such will be forthcoming, but, seriously we've got some time. Even uber-planners like me don't have all the details hammered out 37 weeks early.

***If you don't want to miss any updates, make sure you *Like* my Facebook page

****Shamrock border from: http://imagesbyheatherm.wordpress.com/tag/shamrock/

Concentrated Doses -- In Memory of Morgan

2012-01-12T19:59:00.001-05:00

I met Morgan years before she was a name on my roster. I met her, unofficially, in the hallways of the elementary school where I taught because her older sister, Taylor, was in my class. These meetings were a shy wave and sweet smile on a little blonde peanut. They continued even after Taylor had graduated and moved on to middle school.

And then there was the June day I got my class list for the following September and saw that Morgan would be mine for an entire year. Which meant I got another year with her mother, too. For everyone who's met Jill, you know this was a bonus treat—though teaching either of the Mysza girls was its own reward; both are the type of polite, respectful, diligent, and kind student that you wish you could clone.

It was the spring that she was in my class when Morgan found out her brain tumor was growing. That it was malignant. This was the week the students came back from their spring break and I remember standing in my classroom after hearing the news. The kiddos were in art—and I just stood. Took a reflexive sip from the travel mug in my hand and then couldn't remember how to swallow the coffee that was growing bitter in my mouth. I spat it out in the sink.

For about a week Morgan, one of her best friends, and I were the only three people in that classroom who knew she was ill. Her friend and I cried. Pretty constantly. We'd excuse ourselves, or I'd find a reason to face the board for an extra few seconds before I turned around to face the class again.

When she was there that week, Morgan smiled. She laughed. She did her school work, and joked and chatted with friends. She continued to be the sunshine she was.

It was courage like I've never seen. This peanut with more composure in her pinky finger than I had in all of me.

Her attendance was patchy from then to graduation—dependent on her treatment schedule and how her body reacted to treatment. But when she was in the room, it was a different place—a better place. A happier place. A place full of tiaras, since that's how my class—both boys and girls—decided to honor her.

She was one student amid a group of 26, but she was the cornerstone of that class. When she wasn't there, we were thinking of her. When she was there, we wanted to be around her and soak up her presence.

Morgan was a keeper, and in the years after graduation she didn't leave my life. She never left my thoughts. I'd decided the day I heard her diagnosis that if the book I was working on at the time—one I hadn't even finished yet—were ever to be published, I'd dedicate it to her. Send Me A Sign and finally sold last spring and will be published next October. I'll never forget Morgan's excitement and enthusiasm when I told her about the dedication: "That sounds amazing. I can't wait to read it!" And I'll always regret that she'll never get that chance.

I'm sitting here right now on the night she passed away, cycling through all my memories of her and trying to make sense of it. Needing to make sense of it. Knowing there's no way to make sense of it.

Why take her—someone so young, so brave? Someone who unified a community and brought out the best in people. If my words aren't enough, check out the more than five thousand people who have supported her Team Morgan page. Sending prayer from around the country and around the world.

My heart is broken. And in my mind's need to find logic in the illogical, all I keep coming back to is concentrated doses. That some people live their lives in concentrated doses. Morgan was one of those people. She may only have had fourteen years, but her impact in the lives of others cannot be measured. Cannot be matched by many who lived a lifetime of a hundred. I was lucky to have known her, privileged to have been her teacher and her friend.

She is beloved. She will be missed. But more than that, she'll be remembered.

And when I remember her, it will be with a smile.

Focus!

2012-01-12T18:11:00.000-05:00

I am writing.

My mother-in-law is watching the twins and I am writing.

I'm writing out of my house. Out of my pajamas. And without one eye on the baby monitor.

I know this is a little bit a so what? How is that a big deal? Except it is for me. It's the first time I've done this in the fourteen months they've been mine.

Recently I commented on a handful of writer friends' New Years blog posts about my goal for the year: Focus, I said.

Which inspires a little bit of a *gigglefit* because Focus and I have never been friends. Just ask my parents or twelve years of teachers. Or the legions of Distraction Fairies who are always willing to pluck my attention away from the task at hand and lead me on a wild goose hunt—let's make cookies, organize the spice rack, is the mail here?, I should write a letter to my great aunt, did I finish Christmas thank you notes, oh! I meant to put the boys' photos in a new photo book. Let's Google ideas for formats. Let's Google character names. Let's open the WIP. Is there any coffee left?

What was I saying again?

Oh, yes, Focus!

I've long since accepted that I'm a Distraction Fairy magnet and I'm never going to rewire my brain to think in a linear fashion. But, what I can do is Focus on a task while doing it. While reading books with The Schmidtlets, I'm not going to worry about laundry or my word count. While spending time with Saint Matt, I'm not going to obsess about the length of our to-do list. When sitting at my computer during precious naptime, I will stay off the Interwebs and make the most of that time with my WIP. While on the phone with friends, I'm going to be less multi-tasky. The toys can stay on the floor for another few minutes and I can give all my energy over to listening.

And now, while sitting in this coffee shop, I will appreciate the baby-free writing time, stop calling to check-in every few minutes, and FOCUS on the words on the page in front of me.

Feeling Apocalyptic

2012-01-02T09:34:00.000-05:00

I was lucky enough to spend the moment 2011 gave way to 2012 at a wedding surrounded by friends and in formal wear. I'd almost, almost made it to 12 o'clock in my heels.

But when the countdown hit one and people cheered and toasted and kissed, the moment felt extra, extra exciting. And not just because of St.Matt's midnight kiss.

It's 2012.

Twenty-twelve!*

SEND ME A SIGN comes out in October 2012. So, this means it's FINALLY my publication year. How could that not add an extra sizzle to the ball-drop countdown?

Yesterday, when The Schmidtlets woke us up after not nearly enough sleep—5 a.m., really? Couldn't they tell we only got to bed at 2?—I had another moment of IT'S MY YEAR.

In which The Wild Imp says: Who needs sleep? And check out my cute Apocalypsie shirt? Auntie Em gave it to me.

I know that realistically, 1/1/2012 is only ONE day nearer to October than 12/31/2011, but it feels so much closer. And I've always valued feelings more than facts.**

So, Happy Twenty-Twelve!

And while you're waiting for October, do what I plan to do — keep yourself distracted by reading fabulous books by all the other Apocalypsies.

In which The Pip Squeak says: Go read Apocalypsie books RIGHT NOW!

What a fabulous year it's going to be!

In which The Schmidtlets demonstrate how 2012 has shoved 2011 out of the way and The Wild Imp goes splat.

*This is what we've agreed to call it, right? Not Two Thousand and Twelve?
**Much to the dismay of my sainted engineer.

Copyedits Colored Pencil Comparison - Updated!

2011-11-21T00:04:00.003-05:00

Copyedits! They're here!

I've been so excited about their pending arrival that I've had my colored pencils for weeks. I bought the erasable kind -- thinking I was soooo brilliant.

Until I tried to write with them.

Must. Press. Down. So. Very. Hard. And they kinda skip. It was like trying to be precise while writing with a crayon.

I handed one to St.Matt and without my prompting he said: "They're like writing with crayons."

"New colored pencils!" I demanded. Actually, it was less of demand and more of an exclamation. Perhaps a proclamation: "Let us buy ALL the colored pencils!"

And then I whined to Emily Hainsworth** that all my planning was for naught. She seconded my demand/exclamation/proclamation and suggested a comparison -- so all the credit for this brilliant idea goes to her.

I limited myself to five brands, because, let's be serious -- I've now got sixty-two colored pencils and I plan to use... ONE.

And, in a further show of self-restraint, I wouldn't let myself buy the Staedtler brand (even though they make my very most favorite revision pens EVER) because I didn't need a fancy pack for one pencil.**

To make this all scientific-ish, I sharpened each colored pencil with the same plastic sharpener. Wrote the brand, shaded, and signed my name with each.*** I used the same eraser to attempt to erase each -- and swiped it the same number of swipes (7 swipes).

Here are the results:

To be fair, these were more "erasable" when you used the attached eraser. They're also the hardest to write with & the least precise. Erasability is not worth it.

A little more precise than the erasable version... and just slightly less erasable.

The most erasable of the bunch. Decent precision. Tricky to sharpen -- the tip kept crumbling

This was my second favorite.

Least erasable but most precise -- go figure.

At the end of the day, excepting the Erasables, they're all fairly similar. I ended up deciding to use the Prismacolor because the local Michael's sells them as singles. St.Matt pointed out that if**** I happen to lose or break it, I can then go buy just another pencil, instead of a whole 'nother set.

I feel a sudden urge to write a lab report. Or do another experiment. I wonder if we have vinegar and baking soda.

Or Coke and Mentos!

No worries, we DO have safety goggles.

But I also have copyedits! Mayhaps I will put my scientific urges on pause until all my editing and STETing is complete.

UPDATE - The brilliant & talented Nova Ren Suma***** just told me: Copy editors use Ticonderoga or Col-Erase colored pencils... Others are too soft.

Oh. *looks at the half pencil left after one night of sharpening & resharpening to maintain a tip* This makes A LOT of sense. I've already ordered a pack -- they should be here tomorrow and then I'll add their photo to the collection.

Thanks, Nova!

UPDATE The Second - They're here ---


The precision! The erasability! Dream come true. I got so excited I cut off the last letter of my last name.

Which office supply should I test next?!******

* Actually, my brilliance should probably always be attributed to Miss Emily. I love her dearly. Maybe I'll send her 61 colored pencils for Christmas.

**Though if anyone has used Staedtler colored pencils and thinks they're awesome, let me know and I'll be all about getting them when it's time for book two.

***My signature is normally MUCH neater. I'm having a bad handwriting day -- possibly caused by post-birthday-party-too-much-sugar jitters.

****He actually said WHEN I lose or break it, I edited his statement to give myself the benefit of the doubt

***** Seriously, if you haven't read Imaginary Girls go add it to your Christmas list NOW. And then start behaving so Santa complies.

****** I mean, Sorry, I've got to go do my copyedits.

One!

2011-11-15T23:14:00.001-05:00

Why is it that sincere thank you notes are so much harder than ones you're indifferent about?

Today I sat down to write the most grateful thank you note I've ever written, probably ever will write, and the words just would not come.

The note was for the NICU staff at the hospital where the twins were born. A year ago St.Matt was on the first floor watching football and I was upstairs bedresting and reading --- and my water broke.

The Schmidtlets were two months early. They were tiny. I wasn't ready and they weren't either. Nothing in my years of babysitting or in our baby care classes had prepared me for incubators and feeding tubes and picc lines and lungs that kept collapsing and collapsing. Tubes and tubes and tubes taped all over my babies. Babies I wasn't allowed to hold. The Wild Imp – who wasn't wild, he was medicated and sedated into oblivion — I wasn't even allowed to touch because he was in so much pain.

And the NICU staff somehow held me together, gave me strength, taught me about gavage feeding, and breast-feeding, pneumothorax, and infant CPR. What every bell, alarm, and squiggly line on their monitors meant — how to tell a false alarm from an apnea or bradycardiac event. How to touch a preemie so that he wasn't over-stimulated and didn't hurt.

They were there to clap when St. Matt changed his first diaper. And to laugh when Asher managed to pee out the porthole on his incubator. They cheered with us when the boys began to self-regulate their body temps and we could finally dress them. Clothing, snaps, laundry!– this seemed like such a major victory at the time – and we all looked at the too-big size-preemie outfit and said "he'll grow into it."

And they've grown so big. They're so healthy. They're so happy and giggly. They're so mischievous and chatterboxy –-- no clue where they get that from.

I'm so blessed.

So appreciative of all the help, support and love the NICU staff lavished on us during our month-long stay.

I thought, way back a year ago, that I couldn’t possibly love anyone more than I did those palm-size babies.

How wrong I was.

Happy 1st birthday, Schmidtlets

Musically Minded

2011-11-08T13:04:00.000-05:00

For someone who couldn't carry a tune in a bucket with a lid, and can't clap to a beat for more than two consecutive claps, I've spent a lot of my life focusing on music lately.

First, the Schmidtlets and I joined a baby music class. They love it. The Wild Imp crawls all over the place, singing each new song with a new mom. (Thank you, other moms, for allowing him in your laps and hearts). The Pip Squeak, on the other hand, starts every class by clutching my shirt in both his chubby little fits. A few songs in, he'll pat my arm or leg along with the beat. A few more songs and he's clapping. By the end of last class he even crawled half the distance between me and our lovely teacher… but then he looked over his shoulder, panicked, and scrambled back into my lap.

Second, my lyric permissions for SEND ME A SIGN seem to be (finally) falling into place. I sent my signed contract for one song back this morning and am just waiting on the final copyright wording for the other. What songs are they? I'm not telling yet. Maybe soon, but not yet – I don't want to jinx anything!

Third, SEND ME A SIGN copyedits are coming any day now. And I know of no better way to get back into Mia's head than to listen to the SEND ME A SIGN playlists.

Here's a playlist peek for YOU:

— it's from wayyy back in my college years, anyone recognize it? I love the lyrics. Be VERY glad you're not here with me right now, because then you'd have to hear me sing along. (Sorry, Schmidtlets!)

Here, you can be anything. And I think that scares you...

Boo!

2011-10-31T09:12:00.000-04:00

Happy Halloweenie from some twins who are Teeny

Yes, they ARE dressed up like Winston & Churchill...

Hoping your Halloween is full of sugar and nothing too spooky.

SLOWED to a crawl? How inaccurate.

2011-10-12T11:05:00.001-04:00

I'm trying to decide if I should dust the cobwebs off my blog or allow them to stay as festive Halloween decorations.

Probably dust them… I don't do scary.

Last time I wrote that the twins were starting to crawl. At that point it was *wobble, wobble, move a few inches, beam at me.*

Now it's ZOOOOOM, CLIMB, STAND, FALL, WAIL – in the same amount of time.

Plus, The Wild Imp is stubbornly convinced that he can stand unassisted. He SO can't. He also believes it's a brilliant idea to hang from the top of the babygate and then fling himself backward.

I spend much of my day diving across the room trying to prevent traumatic head injuries. As a result I wear the bruises instead of him. Many, many bruises.

But, there's bedtime and naptime and my writing stays alive in these snatches of time. SEND ME A SIGN's revisions were approved and it's been moved on to copyedits (HOORAY!) and I just finished revisions on my second book as well. (Lots of Revision Skittles were consumed in the past two months. LOTS).

And my work in progress is a thing of love. I adore it. Everything about it. Even its writing playlist, which I have to stop myself from listening to when I'm not working on it.

The song I play most often is this one:

And while I won't tell you what it's about just yet, a HUGE hint is that this band's name would be a fabulous title for the book.

Author Interview -- Scott Tracey

2011-09-06T07:01:00.000-04:00

Interview with Scott Tracey

I'm pleased as pleased can be to have Scott Tracey, author of WITCH EYES, answering questions on my blog today.

Okay, so that's a lie. Scott is REALLY answering questions on the Apocalypsie blog today. On this blog, I'm answering the questions for him.

I keep telling Scott he should hire me to do all his speaking and blogging engagements for him -- If he did, this is a just a taste of the awesome he could expect.

For those of you looking for TRUTH -- head over to The Apocalypsies and find out what's really going on inside the head of Mr. Tracey. Warning: it's a very, very strange place.

1) Describe your writing routine?

Step 1) Put coffee in the coffeemaker

Step 2) Play a game of Bejeweled

Step 3) Check-in with Twitter – read a tweet about coffee – this reminds me to go turn the coffeemaker ON.

Step 4) Open word document

Step 5) Go bother Leah

Step 6) Fiddle with my writing playlist

Step 7) Pour coffee

Step 8) See if Twitter misses me yet.

Step 9) Create some words and sentences

Step 10) Rinse & repeat

2) Which character in Witch Eyes is the most similar to YOU?

Peyton the Princess. (page 70 for those of you with the book in front of you) I may look cute and adorable, but if you so much a blink at me the wrong way, I'll push you in front of a bus.

Just kidding.

Maybe.

3) You describe Witch Eyes as a modern day Romeo and Juliet with witches -- does this mean you're going to kill off all the best characters?

God, you don't pull any punches do you? What if I said yes and named names, Tiffany? Wouldn't you feel horrible about ruining the ending for all of your blog readers? Hmmm?

No, actually, it doesn't mean that at all. Book three, aka Princess Eyes ends with all of the characters being given a puppy and a cupcake. There are double rainbows, too.

4) If I suspect someone has witch eyes, what should I do?

Treat the situation the same way you would if there were a rogue bear or alligator on the loose. If you're close to the person, poke them in the nose and run away in a z-shaped pattern.

Otherwise: make no sudden movements. Avoid wearing yellow. Back away slowly. Maybe climb a tree and hide. If you happen to be carrying sunglasses, try tossing them to the Witch Eyed – if you're lucky, they may take the bait and leave you alone.

5) Who would you cast as Braden & Trey in a Witch Eyes movie?

Trey:

Mark-Paul Gosselaar – aka Zack Morris from Saved By The Bell

Braden:

Joshua Jackson - aka Pacey from Dawson's Creek

6) What are you going to do on release day?

Didn't you hear? Witch Eyes was released a few weeks early by Amazon. All of a sudden people were emailing me to let me know their copies shipped – I guess it was too much awesome for Amazon to contain within their warehouses.

On my actual release date – September 8^th – I plan to eat lots of pancakes. And perhaps, if it is not raining, go to the local park and do some interpretive Witch Eyes dances.

Or, you know, maybe I'm celebrating by working on the sequel…

7) What is your good luck charm?

My WWE Champion Belt. It's shiny and it spins. When I'm having a rough day, I put it on. Did I mention it spins?

Clearly these are the answers Scott Tracey wishes he'd given...

You can find out more about Scott Tracey at his blog, or on Twitter. WITCH EYES officially releases this Thursday, September 8th. If you haven't already pre-ordered a copy, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?

Let's Make A Deal

2011-08-29T08:27:00.000-04:00

Bargaining with babies is hard. I thought the Schmidtlets and I had a deal: no learning to crawl until after I turned in my revision.

The Wild Imp had other ideas. And he is fast.

Baby A isn't yet crawling, but he's still mobile: rolling around like a top, scooting backward across the room, and calling: "Mama. MAMA. MAAAAAAMMAAAAA," if I dare to leave his sight. Better yet, the little wombat would like me to constantly be within reach of his chubby little paws.

Chasing and clutching aren't the best revision-companions. But that's what PEI was for. That's what the hours between bedtime and sunrise are for.

And I finished last Thursday.

Pressed *Send* on the e-mail to my editor – and then, before I could even gulp a panicked breath or sigh in relief:

THUNDER.

POWER LOSS

THE WAILS OF TWO WOKEN NAPPERS

Have I mentioned that one of the major threads in my book is superstition?

My first thought was one very like my main character, Mia, would have had: That was a very bad sign.

Later, after the twins had been soothed, the power restored, and my confidence petted by some Twitter support, I revised my thinking: That was a very good sign – if the power had gone out even a minute sooner, I would've been prevented from sending.

And we all know how little I like to wait.

Apparently the Schmidtlets have inherited that trait from me: The Imp is extremely IMPatient, and Baby A is currently calling my name.

Maybe we'll strike a new bargain: Ten more minutes of naptime in exchange for peaches at every meal.

*goes to buy peaches in bulk*

Prince Edward Island - A Photo Perspective

2011-08-19T20:11:00.000-04:00

Growing up, I summered in the land of Anne of Green Gables and Gilbert *heart-a-flutter* Blythe.

As a grown up, I don't get up there nearly as often as I'd like. For one thing, I now live six hours farther from the island. That's six hours on top of the TWELVE hour drive from my parents' house in Massachusetts -- where I'm sitting right now typing this post-vacation.

Our last trip was two years ago -- and what a difference those years have made:

Beach naps:

2009

2011

Hammock Time

2009


2011

Beach Walks

2009

2011

Packing:

Packing the car 2009

Actually, I don't have a picture of the car all packed this year. Probably because I was too busy holding two babies and checking off All The Important Items on our many, many travel lists while St.Matt scrambled around like a packing genius and got All The Important Items to fit.

Just picture mounds of stuff strategically packed. And me sitting in the backseat between two carseats singing songs, waving toys, and being generally entertaining while St.Matt chauffeurs and navigates. For. Twelve. Hours.

Is it next summer yet? I can't wait to go back...

Procrasti-baking

2011-08-07T16:13:00.000-04:00

These are too fun to be the product of Stress-Baking.

Rice Krispie Cake Batter Treats - recipe found HERE

Maybe they're Procrastination Treats? We leave for two weeks of vacation tomorrow –- a working vacation for me, since my revision is due at the end of the month – and I'm not packed. I haven't packed for the boys yet either.

Every time I look around our house, I can't help but feel like they twins need All The Things. And then I look at our car and panic.

Did I mention we'll be spending about 20 hours in that car over the next few days?

*panics*

And my head is totally in the Revision Cave and doesn't want to stop and think about whether or not we've packed the boys' sound machine or laundry detergent.

It's such a good thing I'm married to a saint. He not only remembers these things, but also that I have library books due before we get back, the boys' vitamin prescriptions needs to be refilled, and the memory card on the camera needs to be emptied.

AND, he went and photocopied my line edits last night. Because, let's face it, it's me – things just happen, and a backup copy never hurt.

So, nope, I'm changing my mind again. They're not Stress-Baking, or Procrastination Treats, they're Gratitude Goodies. I am so grateful his head's on straight when mine isn't.

***Also, I'm noticing a decidedly sugar-y theme to my posts lately – I swear I eat vegetables, too. Pinky promise***

A SWEET Winner

2011-08-01T12:45:00.000-04:00

The wonderful thing about being at a writing retreat set in a hunting lodge in the middle of the woods is… well, almost everything. There's great company, time and space to write, conversations that fuel creativity, discussion that challenge and stretch, and beaucoup laughter.

The downside of being at a writing retreat set at a hunting lodge in the middle of the woods was missing the Schmidlets. And, that every time someone entered my SWEET Giveaway, I had a new candy craving and no way to satisfy it.

· Whoppers & Bottle Caps! I hadn't thought about them in years.

· Twix! I used to try and convince my mother those weren't candy, but a form of granola bar.

· Milk Duds! Delicious and a handy way to tear out fillings.

· Licorice! I always bite the ends off Twizzlers & use them as a straw. Tasty & functional.

· M&M's are clearly the chocolate version of Revision Skittles – Wasabi peas are the healthy version.

· Peanut Butter Cups! I recently heard that these can be used to make S'mores – have any of you tried this? I need to ASAP.

· Kit Kat, Almond Joy and Heath lovers – I challenge you to try S'mores with your candies of choice too – make sure to report back to me with your results.

· And gummy-lovers (both sour and not), you people are my tribe. Let's all get together and ruin our teeth with chewy deliciousness.

Initially I had big fancy-pants plans about how I would choose a winner – writing all the numbers on gumballs and then filming the winning one coming out of the gumball machine.

But we don't have a gumball machine, I'm still in my pajamas, and am quite busy making up four days of Schmidtlet-snuggles. So, I defaulted to a random number generator.

Without further ado – the winner is: Loralie!

Rock your Revision Skittle Boombox with pride – I highly encourage recreations of the scene from Say Anything.

Thanks, everyone, for entering and stay sweet!

A SWEET Giveaway

2011-07-27T14:58:00.001-04:00

There are a few awesome things on my desk right now.

1) My Edit Letter! I think this makes it official. Well, MORE official. It also makes my head spin in the very best of ways.

2) A bag of Revision Skittles – No, I'm not sharing. I NEED these.

3) This fabulous Revision Skittle boombox.

And this could be yours. Well, not this one, it's mine. But there's another one downstairs still in its box that could have your name on it.

Music plays a large part in Send Me A Sign, and Revision Skittles played a large part in my writing of it – it seems only fitting that I should pair the two and give one of these away.

The boombox is made by Terracycle – and this is their description:

"Groove greener with this portable boombox made with up to 80% recycled materials. With its 3.5mm universal plug for you can play music from your iPod, iPhone, MP3 player, laptop, or computer. Batteries not required."

To enter – leave a comment below where you list YOUR favorite candy.

I leave tomorrow at early o'clock for the Goldblatt Agency retreat – aka Camp Barry – and let's just say that I'm having some major separation-from-Schmidtlet anxiety. Cheer me up by entering.

I'll leave the contest open until I get back and will draw a winner on Monday.

Good luck and stay sweet!

Author Interview -- Victoria Schwab

2011-07-22T09:42:00.000-04:00

Yup, those are bags of books.

Today I'm so excited to share my interview with Victoria Schwab. Not only is V a talented writer, I'm also lucky enough to call her my friend. *cues the chorus of "awwwww"*

Her book, THE NEAR WITCH, will finally be in bookstores in 10 short days. Read her answers below, and then go pre-order a copy for yourself -- better yet, just camp out at a bookstore. I'm sure they won't mind if you arrive now and don't leave until August 2nd...

1) You just spent a few months abroad, how did a change in scenery and routine affect your writing habits?

--It changed everything! I have always been an evening writer, haunting coffee shops, and suddenly I found myself in the suburbs of Liverpool, where the last café closed at 6pm, and the buses stopped running into the city center. I had to stay at home, and home was a house with eight other people! I had to become a morning writer, an afternoon writing, an anytime-I-can-focus writer.

2) I love the character names in NEAR WITCH. How did you come up with Wren, Cole and Lexi and the others?

--Names are, for me, foundational. I can't start seriously writing until I know a character's name, and once they have a name, I hate having to change it. Some names just kind of...come with the character, but others take days, weeks, to get right. Lexi came that way, as did Wren, I simply heard them having a conversation, and knew what they would call each other. But Cole was trickier. His a plot-based name, as people will see when reading. In fact, it's not even his real name.

3) If the local sub/hoagie/whatever-they-call-them in Nashville shop were to create a Nearwich what would be on it?

--Hahahahahah. Best question ever. A Nearwich would be made with a dense, hearty bread, the kind Lexi's mother makes, chicken, some moor berry jam, garnished with greens from Wren's little garden by the house. It might be held together by a single crow feather instead of a pick, and each sandwich would come, happy-meal-style, with a token from Magda and Dreska, a little pouch of herbs or a sticks-and-stone bird.

4) What has been the most fulfilling part of your author journey?

--The best part has been when someone reads, and not only enjoys the book (that's always heart-warming), but GETS it, gets exactly what I'm doing, connects with characters and reads the style for what it is. The setting is a player, the secondaries are sketched out, the feel is fairy tale vague, and it's all intentional. So when someone reads and GETS that, and loves it, it makes every other harder part of this journey worth it.

5) The scariest?

--Scary and thrilling go hand in hand some times, like when I learn someone has gotten the ARC, or that they're reading (especially when it's a friend or another author). And scary and stressful go hand in hand, like when I get a bad review, and am temporarily convinced that everyone will read it and think "Thank god I didn't pick that one up" (which they can't yet, because it's not out, but they can pull it from their to-read list). But I try to remember that reviews, the good and bad, are all part of the game I want to play. You can't be a published author without being published, and available, and when you put work out there, you're putting it out there to be enjoyed, and judged.

6) What are you going to do on release day? (I hope this answer involves lots of cupcakes and confetti.)

--Oh man, I honestly have NO idea. Probably pack! The Asheville to Nashville Tour starts the day after release, and I leave for NC at 8AM on the 3rd, so the 2nd will be equal parts FLAIL, SQUEEE, CUPCAKE, and DO I HAVE EVERYTHING?

7) What is your good luck charm?

--My good luck charm is actually a locket given to me by friend and fabulous author Leah Clifford (A TOUCH MORTAL). I flew up to visit her in Ohio last fall, and she was wearing this necklace, the locket of which was gorgeous, and looked like something straight out of a fairy tale. It had a tree, and a crow, and a small gem. And I told her it was lovely, and so "Near." She looked down at it and then back at me, and said, "You're right," and took it off and gave it to me. It turned out she'd ordered a different necklace, and been sent that one by mistake, and she'd been wearing it for awhile, waiting for the right person to give it to.

Have you pre-ordered yet? Or packed your bag for that bookstore camp-out? WHAT are you waiting for?!

10 Minutes, 8 Tips -- Advice for Writers

2011-07-20T15:05:00.000-04:00

Today I had the opportunity to participate in the Panel of Possibility for my local group of National Writing Project fellows.

It was only three years ago that I was sitting in their seats, squirming in the overly air-conditioned room. And squirming because I always squirm when I have to sit still for too long.

They've spent six weeks together, writing, laughing, getting scolded for whispering and passing notes (or was that just me?) and learning how to be better writing instructors for their students.

"Live like a writer" was something that we bandied about when I was a member of the Writer's Institute, but what does that even mean? Being open to inspiration? Taking time to write each day? Being willing to forgo sleep, laundry, bathing to get the words on the page just-right?

My job today was to talk about my path to publication and the opportunities that are available to them post-Institute.

In. Ten. Minutes.

Ten.

Clearly this wasn't going to be comprehensive. Or even more than puddle-deep coverage. And I had some extra incentives to keep it concise: I brought the twins with me and knew at any moment they could morph from adorable angels to adorable imps.

Even in a snack-sized serving, I wanted to make sure my talk was helpful. So I brought a handout. I love a good handout, don't you? I love a bad handout, too, because then if the speaker is boring, he or she has provided me with the prefect space for doodling or writing notes—which will hopefully keep me from getting scolded for whispering.

In ten minutes – or 8 steps, here are my suggestions for pushing your writing further:

1) Write. Make it a habit. Do it daily. Don't make excuses or allowances for anything that comes between you and putting words on the page. If you're not doing this, the rest doesn't matter.

2) Critique Groups – Writing isn't finished when you type the end. Give yourself a pat on the back, take a break, bathe, then revise. When you've finished revising, revise again. Repeat. When the idea of reading your own words one more time makes you want to vomit, it's time to borrow someone else's eyes and judgment. Joining a critique group or finding a critique partner is invaluable. Take your time to find the right fit – not everyone's opinion, writing or critiquing style will be a match for your own.

3) SCBWI – (Society of Children's Book Writers & Illustrators) consider joining a professional organization. They do a great job of hosting local and national conferences. Their newsletters and website are full of great information.

4) Conferences – SCBWI mentioned above, but there are many others. Look around online to find one that meets your needs.

5) Online support – A virtual cheering squad, a place to find answers, and to learn from others' journeys. A few to get you started: Verla Kay Blue Boards, Absolute Write Water Cooler, Query Tracker

6) Educate yourself – if you decide to take the next step and pursue publication, take the time to do your research. Nothing burns bridges with potential agents or editors faster than committing a faux pas that could've been prevented with a quick google. I recommend following a variety of industry blogs.

7) Get involved with the literary community – go to author signings and book events. Reach book festivals in the closest towns and cities. Get on the local school's visiting author committee and look for other ways to bring authors into your classroom or community (check out: http://www.katemessner.com/authors-who-skype-with-classes-book-clubs-for-free/ )

8) Read. Often. Widely. Prolifically. "If you don't have the time to read, you don't have the time or the tools to write." – Stephen King.

Which step resonates the most with you? What other advice would you give writers who are considering commencing a path to publication?

Thanks For The Memories

2011-07-12T19:21:00.000-04:00

Once upon a time I opened a book and read the words Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much and fell in love.

Maybe not with the opening line, and certainly not with those wretched Dursleys, but it was still the moment that marked one of my great book romances. I, like so many, many other readers, fell head over heels, why-can't-this-be-real, I-want-a-wand, where-is-my-acceptance-letter-to-Hogwarts in love with the world that J.K. Rowling created on her pages.

It's a world that's far too big to be contained between those book covers – and as the curtain opens on the last of the movies, I find myself (like so many other Potterphiles) reminiscing about what the books have meant to me.

* After years of bedtime stories and me passing books down to him, these were the first books my baby brother shared up with me. He passed away five years ago and a few of my copies are even more beloved because they were his first.

* These were the first books I shared with St. Matt – truthfully, I demanded he read the first one. He required no coercion for the rest of the series. They were also the first books that I made him take away and hide after Just one more chapter, A few more pages, and I'm going to set a timer and I'll stop reading when it goes off all failed to get me out of the book and onto my homework.

* When the first movie came out during my sophomore year in college I sweet-talked the local grocery store into giving us their Harry Potter / Coke display. The thing was amazing: the windows in Hogwarts lit up, Hedwig's wings flapped. It was also massive – at least five feet tall and four feet across. Despite living in a shoebox of a dorm room, I kept it all year.

* The photo above is from the party I had before the first movie – I forced a group of friends -- half who hadn't read the book-- to play Harry Potter Clue and trivia. I awarded prizes. We had cake -- which was supposed to have a Hogwarts decal, but ended up reading "Happy Birthday, Harry Potter" instead. It was still delicious.

* Senior year in college St. Matt, my best friend, and I absconded to London for a long weekend around Halloween. St.Matt was thrilled by the James Bond display at Harrods. J-bean loved the theater. The highlight of the trip for me was standing in Leicester Square in the freezing cold for hours watching the actors arrive for the world premiere of Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets.

* On one of the boys' first nights home, as we rocked and read them picture books, St. Matt looked over Baby B's head and asked, "So, how much older do they have to be before we can read then Harry Potter?"

I'm already ticklish with anticipation of exploring these stories all over again – getting to see them as new through their eyes.

What are some of YOUR Harry Potter memories?

Someone Please Hide My Ove-Glove

2011-07-07T20:25:00.000-04:00

I must not make muffins. I must not make muffins. NO MUFFINS, TIFFANY.

I'm meeting my stroller posse in about an hour for our 8:30 stroll, and I really, really, really want to mix up a batch of muffins. Maybe chocolate chip. Or apple cinnamon. Or, I know, blueberry using berries from the bushes in our backyard. They'd be delicious.

But I won't.

*sigh*

Hi, my name is Tiffany, and I'm a stress-baker. * Give me some anxiety and I will feed you food made from sugar, love and angst. But mostly sugar.

In the past month, while waiting to announce, waiting on CP notes on my WIP, and now waiting on my edit letter I have made: 3 coffee cakes, 1 peanut butter pie, 1 angel food cake, 2 batches of cinnamon buns, and 2 types of cookies. ** Then I force fed everyone around me.***

Thank goodness for baby food. Steaming, pureeing, and packing up pint-sized portions of fruits and veggies is almost as good as mixing up a batch of snickerdoodles. I spend so much time cutting and peeling and planning baby meals that I should probably add it as a hobby on Facebook. And, I'm not going to lie, I get an absurd amount of satisfaction out of opening up my fridge and freezer and admiring all the neat rows of colorful glass containers. If the zombie apocalypse happens tomorrow, the boys will still have an ample supply of organic peaches, carrots, zucchini, acorn squash, sweet potato, avocado, pears, apples, banana, spinach, beans and peas.****

Mmmmm, stress tastes like spinach. It's delicious!

Which will come in handy when I begin revisions and naptime becomes Sacred Writing Time instead of What Shall We Cook Today? Time.

Until then I will (try to) resist the urge to make play with sugar and butter. I will hang up my apron, stopper my vanilla and have St. Matt hide my cookie sheets.

NO MUFFINS, TIFFANY.

What do YOU do when you're waiting? No, seriously, leave me a comment and tell you what you do – I could use some alternatives since we've run out of freezer space for baby food.

*St. Matt suggests I amend this to impatient-baker, but I say NO. Impatient-baker doesn't roll off the tongue nearly so well. Some people were just not designed to wait. If God decided to include a half-dose of patience when he created me, who am I to question that?

**And for some unknown reason, my baby weight hasn't just melted right off

***I haven't heard any complaints.

**** Please note that in my version of the apocalypse, we still have electricity. Also note that I am not asking for the apocalypse, I'd prefer that waits until AFTER I get to see SEND ME A SIGN in bookstores.

I'd Like To Thank The Academy...

2011-06-29T13:14:00.003-04:00

When I can't sleep at night, or when I'm waiting in line at the grocery store, or on hold with the cell phone company I mentally compose acknowledgement pages. I assume that actors write practice Oscar speeches in much the same way.

It occurred to me the other night – while pacing our bedroom at 1 AM with a teething and not sleeping Baby A – that soon I'll get to write an acknowledgements page for real. And the thought might have made me emit a wee-squee and squeeze him a bit too tight, thus waking him all-the-way up and adding another twenty minutes to my rocking him to sleep.

Of course I spent the time mentally drafting thank yous.

You'll have to wait until next fall (and buy the book) to read my for real acknowledgements with the scores of people who helped me get this far. (I love you all!) BUT – my gratitude-meter from the past seven days is currently tipped to overflowing – I need to acknowledge some of my lovelies or I'll implode from appreciation.

Thank you to:

* Everyone who offered support and congratulations – I did a little dance each time my phone buzzed with a tweet or email or phone call or Facebook post. If I could send you each a cookie and a hug, I would.

* St. Matt!

* Tiffany Emerick – librarian extraordinaire – who had my book on GoodReads within minutes of hearing the news. Thank you for accompanying me to a zillion book events over the past few years and telling me after each one That's going to be you some day.

* Scott Tracey & Courtney Summers – for being my sanity throughout this crazy process and reading countless drafts of my synopsis and bio.

* Emily Hainsworth – For… everything: wearing your lucky shamrock pj's, dog grooming whilst listening to me chatterbox, and the daily refrains of I can't wait until you're an Apocalypsie too.

* And to the Apocalypsies for being so welcoming.

* Team Sparkle for always filling my inbox full of ~*~'s and !!!'s

* Always, always to Joe Monti – the maker of dreams-come-true. Thank you for not putting me in time out for asking Can I announce yet? twelve million and two times.

* … finally, to the Schmidtlets for being ever-ready to participate in celebration dance parties, and for taking an hour-long nap so I had time to write this.

It's a WONDERFUL Thing

2011-06-21T16:38:00.000-04:00

When I was a wee imp my father used to tuck in bed at night and sing me to sleep with:

"The wonderful thing about tiggers is tiggers are wonderful things! Their tops are made out of rubber. Their bottoms are made out of springs! They're bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, pouncy
Fun, fun, fun, fun, fun! But the most wonderful thing about tiggers is I'm the only one"

This bedtime routine often ended with us getting scolded – his choice of lullaby more likely to result in me jumping on the covers than dozing beneath them.

Lately this song has been looping through my head. I swirl and twirl and bounce the Schmidtlets around the house and improvise my own lyrics:

"The wonderful thing about book deals, is book deals are wonderful things…"

We bounce and trounce and flounce and giggle, this modified song amping up to its conclusion:

"And the most wonderful thing about book deals is your momma just got one."

I'm thrilled to announce that Agent Awesome, Joe Monti, has sold my debut novel, a contemporary YA to Emily Easton at Walker Children's for publication in Fall 2012.

When everything's going your way, you have everything to lose. Or do you? SEND ME A SIGN is a tragicomedy about Mia Moore, a superstitious 17 year old, who had crafted the perfect senior year – only to watch it collapse around her. This debut will take you on a Magic Eight Ball journey where the outlook appears to be not so good. Does it have a Happily Ever After? I better not tell you now…

I'm so excited to begin working with Emily and to share my book with YOU!

Have I mentioned we're bouncey, bouncey, bouncing?

A Good Life

2011-06-07T17:06:00.000-04:00

Yesterday the boys woke up at 4:45. They were fussy all morning, feeding off my own nervous energy.

We were visiting the elementary school where I've taught for the past seven years. My first visit since I left in October to go on bed rest. My first visit with the twins.

My first visit since resigning last month.

There were many things whirling in my mind: fears of germs, nap schedules, diaper changes, did I remember binks-Winston-Churchill-teething rings-diapers?

But my mind was most focused on how would I feel returning. Would I sit in the parking lot daunted by the eight months that have passed since I crossed that threshold? Would I feel left out, overwhelmed by all the experiences, jokes, and events I've missed while holed up with the twins? Would I remember my students' names? Would I regret my decision? Would it feel like good-bye?

When I actually pulled in the parking lot I didn't pause to feel anything. There was a stroller to unload, two sleepy babies to settle.

And it was school. My school. It was a parking lot I've crossed a thousand times, a front office I automatically pause to chat in.

School was school. It felt like I'd never left, like I could step through the door of room 202, pick up the pen on the SmartBoard and resume teaching where I left off.

Except my students are a whole lot bigger than they were eight months ago.

I loved my job. LOVED it. Adored my colleagues and felt privileged to work with the students. It challenged, inspired, energized and fulfilled me.

I will miss it.

BUT.

This morning the boys slept in, we played, cuddled and lazed around and then went to a playdate with the Schmidtlets still in their pajamas. I drove there grinning and so grateful – I love this life. Today and tomorrow and next week-month-year is a combination snow day and summer vacation.

I am so lucky. So blessed. And so thrilled to be able to stay home and saturate myself in baby love and memory-making and writing.

Asher is giggling in the baby sling while I type this. Brad is napping with Churchill and smiling in his sleep – revealing a spot of spinach I missed when wiping his face after lunch.

When he wakes up we've got a baby dance party scheduled.

I can't think of a better song than this one --

It took me 6 months to realize this?

2011-05-16T08:06:00.000-04:00

Writing with infant twins is hard. In other shocking news: water is wet, books contain words, new mothers lack sleep.

Maybe it's that sleep deprivation that kept me from realizing this fact until now. After all, I've had the Schmidtlets for six months.

Everything has changed in that last six months – I can spend hours watching little fingers grasp little noses as they try and get their thumbs in their mouths. Or in each other's mouth. My world fits in the palms of those little hands and I'm wrapped around each of their little fingers. Often literally – they're both very good at clutching my fingers, shirt, and hair.

It's not solely an issue of detangling myself from their grasps, and it's not just a where's the 25^th hour in my day? issue either. It's an escapist one. It's a first draft dilemma.

The revision part of my brain isn't broken. I worked on revisions while I was still in the hospital. But that book is in Agent Extraordinaire's hands.

And I'm faced with blank screens and ideas that need to be translated from thought bubbles to words on a page – and this is where the hard begins.

Drafting for me was always full immersion. I'd interrupt myself while having a conversation to say "what about…" or "what if…" and then scramble for my keyboard. I'd have 4K Saturdays while St. Matt watched or played tennis. I'd stumble into bed just hours before my alarm because I was being carried along by an avalanche of words. I'd watch my word and page counts rise with delicious pleasure. The real world seemed almost secondary or less tangible than the one in my head – as if it were the layer under which I super-imposed my story.

Well, baby spit up is tangible. And wet and smelly. Baby cries and giggles aren't to be ignored. And while I'd like to put on my WIP playlist after the Schmidtlets are asleep, it clashes with the ceaseless repetition of the classical playlist on their sound machine. Or the tinkling of their mobile. I can't tune those out, can't shut the baby monitor off – and can't close out this world to escape into one of my own creation.

So I've had to work around this, find ways to invite the babies into the world of my head, and find ways to incorporate that world into my reality.

Baby A's definition of bliss is snuggling in my lap, so I've spent hours reading and singing pieces and scenes to him. I just try not to take it personally if he falls asleep. *makes note: scene needs more tension *

Baby B is a mover. He inherited his fidgetpants from me – so I settle both boys in their stroller and we head out on the walking paths. They watch trees and hunker down for naps and I brainstorm, scratching hasty fragments in the notepad I keep in the stroller for this purpose.

And the simultaneous nap? It's as elusive as a unicorn and just as magical, but when it occurs, I take advantage. I may not be able to fully immerse myself in the world in my head – but with a reality this adorable, I'm not sure I want to.

Speaking of simul-naps. There's one occurring right now –- time to go unleash some words.

Maybe I Should do the Laundry...

2011-03-21T13:08:00.001-04:00

Meet Churchill.

The frog, not the baby - that's Brad.

Here's his brother, Winston.

Hippo = Winston, Baby= Asher

The pictures above represent approximately 0.5% of my photo collection of Schmidtlets with Winston and Churchill. The babies are Very Attached To Them.

Naptime isn't naptime without Churchill tucked under the chin. And tummy time doesn't work well unless Winston is within reach.

W & C are exposed to much loving and drooling, so last night unbeknownst to me, St.Matt decided to throw them in with the baby laundry.

This morning I went on the Great Churchill Hunt – called St.Matt – and eventually located both of them In The Dryer.

Winston is fine.

Churchill is crispy.

He must've gotten stuck to the vent, because he is definitely dryer-fried.

I took this pretty calmly – much calmer than overdue-for-his-nap Brad. I figured I could order a replacement and have it in a few days. Naptime until then might be a little rough, but it was a short term problem.

I even thought I'd be SMART and order a Back-up Winston and Back-up Churchill.

BUT.

Churchill has been discontinued.

I can order as many Winstons as I want.

BUT.

Churchill – crunchy, need-a-replacement Churchill – is discontinued.

And I can't even find another one on Ebay. I thought you could find ANYTHING on Ebay.

A much-chagrined St.Matt called Pottery Barn Kids customer service. I bet he was calm and steady. The e-mail I sent them included lots of !!!!'s and HELP! and the line: Please save my naptime.

BUT.

Even as I have this Mommy Crisis, I also have perspective.

It's a toy. He's 4 months old. This is more upsetting for ME than it is for HIM.

I know this moment is heightened by having sent my finished manuscript to Agent Extrordinaire, Joe Monti, this morning. Because everything seems more panicked after pressing *send*.

I know that even if Crispy-Churchill can't be salvaged. Even if Pottery Barn Kids can't hunt down a leftover Green Frog Thumbie, and even if one never appears on Ebay, Brad will be fine and I haven't failed as a mother.

Even if it feels like it every time his lip quivers.

You'll let me know if you come across a Churchill, right?

***UPDATE*** We have a Replacement Churchill being shipped from Ohio and a Backup Replacement Churchill coming from Florida. Thank you so much, Awesome Pottery Barn Customer Service! *exhales*

Almost equally exciting - my cousin-in-law told me about the wash-in-a-pillowcase secret (thanks, Melissa!) now St.Matt can continue laundry-duties without fear!

Something to Celebrate

2011-02-24T07:18:00.001-05:00

I discovered recently that not everyone dyes their milk pink for Valentine's Day, or green for St. Patrick's Day. This baffles me. Excluding those with dye allergies, why wouldn't you?

I'm a big fan of celebrations. For big things, I know how to make a BIG fuss… but I like to make a BIG fuss for little things too.

Each year in my classroom I read the kiddos Byrd Baylor's I'm in Charge of Celebrations because I love the narrator's mentality of searching out the extraordinary in the ordinary and finding a way to honor it.

With writing I honor the start of each new project by buying a set of my favorite pens - Staedtler Triplus Fineliners. And don't forget about Revision Skittles -- they're a tiny celebration for every page completed.

Babies are made for celebrating. Everything they do is miraculous; they are snuggle-sized bundles of magic and love. And each day they grow, learn and change. If I don't stop and celebrate their discoveries as they happen, it will be too late.

So St. Matt expects the phone calls at work:

Today Asher cooed at the ceiling fan.

Brad just rolled over onto his side – twice!

Oh my head, Brad's learned how to smile, and he hasn't stopped doing it all day.

Did you get the pictures?

When I sing Twinkle Twinkle to Asher and twinkle my hands, he twinkles back.

Guess what?! I was burping Brad, and every time I patted his back, his wee little hand patted mine.

We celebrate the ounces they gain and the clothing they outgrow. St. Matt celebrates when they sleep through the night… I mostly want to wake them up and cuddle.

And today we celebrate something momentous – they are 100 days old.

I know that celebrating a baby's 100^th day is a Korean and Chinese tradition, but I'm borrowing it. These past 100 days have been filled with more love and happiness than I have any right to deserve, but they've also been tinged with some terrifying moments too.

The twins were two months early. They were little. They both had trouble breathing. And maintaining steady heart rates. They spent their first month in the NICU. They're both still on apnea monitors that go off with heart-shattering regularity and send St. Matt and I flying across the room to check for color changes and chest movement.

That first month left some physical scars on them and emotional ones on me.

It's not possible to gaze through the Plexiglas of an isolette at the mess of gauze, tubes, wires, sensors and bandages covering your newborn and walk away whole.

After just looking at those pictures and writing those words I had to wake little Brad up, snuggle him close, and reassure myself that he's nearly tripled in size and is thriving.

So today, we will celebrate. 100 days. They may be little, but it's no small accomplishment.

And tomorrow?

We'll celebrate then, too.

Have you heard?

2011-02-14T07:18:00.000-05:00

I love fairy tales, believe dreams come true, and the sign above my writing desk reads And they lived happily ever after.

Last night I watched Enchanted… again. Today I get to see a fairy tale unfold in the life of one of my very most favorite people.

It started Once Upon A Time, back on November 16^th, 2010.

The same day my dreams were coming true and I was becoming a momma for the first and second time, my crit partner and one of my best friends was offered representation by her dream agent.

Have you heard what resulted from the twins' Auntie Em, aka Emily Hainsworth, signing with Mary Kole?

If not, I suggest you check out what Publishers' Weekly has to say. (4th story down)

I could not be more thrilled! Through to You is one of the most unique and haunting stories I've read –- it wouldn't be fair if you were deprived of the opportunity to say the same.

And, if you'll permit me to stretch this theme just a tad further, this isn't Emily's happily ever after.

This is just the start of her adventure, her Once Upon A Time.

I can't wait to see the rest of her journey.

TWO-Minute Update

2011-01-25T13:55:00.007-05:00

I'm living my life in twos right now.

Two bassinets perched at the end of my bed.
Two binks to locate when they drop from two little mouths.
Two bottoms to diaper and two million loads of laundry to keep them covered.
Two distinctly different cries that correspond to two very different personalities.
Two downy heads to kiss and two sets of ears to fill with whispers of your mommy loves you so very much.

Two little Schmidtlets who are two months old!*

Baby A & Baby B – aka Acorn & Bean Sprout – aka Asher & Brad, arrived on November 16^th.

Since then they've been busy making St.Matt and me the two happiest people in the world.

*which means this post is two months overdue, but in my defense, they were two months early in arriving.

The Nursery that IS

2010-11-01T11:22:00.001-04:00

Back before there were Schmidtlets, we used to refer to their room as the NTB: Nursery To Be. It was my favorite writing room -- how can you beat whiteboard walls?

But they're not my whiteboards anymore -- and I've spent the past few weeks fussing over every other detail of the NTI. You'd be surprised that it's possible to spend 12 hours researching knobs, but when you're Bed RestLess, why not?

So, mayhaps finishing the twins room became a minor obsession. Thank God for the internet, which made assembling the room a snap… well, a snap for ME.

St. Matt and my in-laws had to do all of the hard labor I lay on the daybed and supervised – while my bed rest bodyguard went into stealth mode and scrutinized every move I made.

Without further ado, I present the Schmidtlets' room!

But just because the room is ready, doesn't mean the twins are. Stay put, Schmidtlets!

Sticker Charts and Schmidtlets

2010-10-26T09:41:00.003-04:00

I've always been a rules girl. Sticker charts were made for people like me. If I set the table I got a sticker. If I made my bed I got a sticker. If I went a whole day without a time out in the Naughty Chair, that was worth at least three stickers.

I'm not going to say I never tried to manipulate this system (comforter pulled up over a tangle of sheets never works, does it?) but this method of rule à reward had always worked well for me.

Um, it still works well: Revise one page, get one Revision Skittle…

Which is why bed rest baffles me.

I've followed the rules. I spend all of my time confined between the headboard and footboard of my sleigh bed or down on the couch in a flurry of pillows. Bathroom visits are a field trip – but only require a couple dozen steps. Food is the same: St. Matt emptied and carried our wine fridge up to the bedroom and stocks it daily with a large enough food and liquid selections for a woman who's carrying at least quintuplets.

All that's required of me is that I stay put – and the payoff is healthy babies who also stay put.

Which is why bed rest baffles me.

I've done my part…

… the Schmidtlets don't seem to want to do theirs.

I may gripe a bit and I may complain of BedRestlessness, but, in truth, my role is easy. I've got an engrossing WIP to play with, shelves of books we've stockpiled (I read seven last week alone), TV's with DVR, friends a few keystrokes or phone digits away, and a saintly, saintly, truly saintly husband who has gone out of his way to envision things I might want, before I've even dreamed them up.

What's not easy: knowing I've followed the directions with NASA precision, and the results aren't in my control.

We've started steroid shots to advance the Schmidtlets' lung development. We've started packing our hospital bag. We've started prioritizing the to-do list for the what-if?

Preparation is great, of course, but it doesn't change anything. It doesn't grant me a second more of pregnancy if the twins decide that NOW is when they want to arrive.

But they haven't picked Now, or Now, or even Now and every second they continue to grow is a blessing.

So, stay put little ones. The world is waiting to love and cherish you, but it will still be waiting in a few weeks. And your momma will put extra stickers on your sticker charts if you make it a month or more. Stay.

Do not pass Go. Report directly to BED

2010-10-18T18:41:00.000-04:00

My last day of school was Friday. I've spent the past seven weeks very conflicted about today – the battle of exhaustion versus my desire to teach. I wasn't surprised to discover that I woke up this morning feeling a little lost soul-ish.

I spent the morning as a flitterbug -- popping from one task to the next without accomplishing much of anything. Any progress I might have made was hindered by Biscotti. She's been a wee bit overprotective as of late; she will not let the Twin Belly out of her sight. Today she added a new trick: doing her dangdest to herd me back to bed.

I should've listened.

This afternoon we had our first NONstress test. They hooked up monitors to capture the babies' heartbeats and a third monitor to my uterus. In typical Bean Sprout fashion, he showed off for the doctors by doing all sorts of barrel rolls and squirm-worm maneuvers. And in typical Twin Belly fashion, my uterus reacted to his movements by having what I thought were Braxton Hicks contractions.

They weren't. Apparently they're the real deal. And regular.

The doctor took one look at my printout and announced: Bed Rest.

St. Matt and I exchanged a look that said everything: But wait! We're not ready yet. It's my first day off work. You said I'd have some time to run errands and take it easy. I was going to make cookies tonight. We were going to walk the dogs. I have plans tomorrow. We have plans this weekend. We're NOT Ready.

Out loud we said, "Okay, what do we need to know?" because none of that matters. And we'll do just about anything to make sure these two little boys stay put and stay safe for as many weeks as possible.

So now I sit. And wait. Thursday AM's our next NST and I'm hoping for better results.

In the meantime, Biscotti, bodyguard puggle extraordinaire, is thrilled that I'm taking her advice and lying down. If a puggle could gloat, that's what she'd be doing, from her supervisory post at the foot of my bed.

A Practice Separation

2010-09-30T09:24:00.001-04:00

Today my class was supposed to be going on a field trip that includes a nature hike and sploshing around in a river, picking up slippery rocks and looking for macroinvertibrates. I wish there was an emoticon that truly captures the look my doctor gave me when I asked him about it. Part: Are-you-serious? Part: Don't-even-dream-of-it. Part: Do-I-have-to-chain-you-to-a-couch-and-feed-you-a-diet-of-Common-Sense-&-Caution.

Outcome: I won't be going; apparently nature trails and river explorations are not acceptable activities for people who can no longer see their feet. So I took the day off… and woke up to it bucketing out and the trip being postponed.

I am not handling this well. My parent chaperones received four different e-mails with instructions for today (& then cancelling today) – and this was only partially due to baby brain causing the omission of important details like WHEN they should show up at school. I also called the substitute at home twice to give her directions and left her two sets of plans: one for the trip and one for in case the trip was cancelled. My cell number is circled in red in case she runs into any questions. Not that she'll need it, the kiddos in my class this year are the definition of angelic.

And here I sit, at home, fighting the urge to pick up the phone and call in to my classroom to make sure there are no last minute questions. Did I mention that the school day only started 15 minutes ago?

If I need to, (once I finish typing this) I will sit on my hands. Hide my phone. Go outside and pace the backyard --- *looks out window*. Maybe not that last one. And, er, maybe I shouldn't hide my phone. With baby brain it's likely I'll never find it again.

I will not, however, call, e-mail, or go visit the school to check on the kiddos. Will. Not.

Can you sense that I'm having some separation anxiety? There are two weeks until I have to walk out of my classroom door and teach myself not to look back. After October 15^th, they are not MY class anymore.

Once the Schmidtlets arrive, I know I'll be far too enamored with my bundles of baby to miss them. But it's the interim weeks, the couch rest leading into bed rest weeks, that keep me up at night.

I'm not a sitter. I'm not a TV watcher. I'm not a do-for-me-what-I-can-do-for-myself girl. And more than all that, I'm not good at good-byes or letting go. Each year I cry at elementary school graduation as my kiddos prepare to leave for the summer and middle school. This year I'll be the one leaving, and I need to learn to be okay with that.

So today is practice. And just in case I've forgotten the reason for all this sitting, I've scheduled an ultrasound for this afternoon. One look at those squirmy Schmidtlets on the screen and I'm sure I'll find all the strength I need to park my Twin Belly on the couch. It'll be a great reminder to stop looking backwards and to look forward to a time when those babies are out of the Twin Belly and in my arms.

St. Mohawk

2010-09-08T20:11:00.000-04:00

So, I have haircut issues. I have other issues, too, but today's post is about my haircuts.

I don't like them. I mean, I like them fine when I'm the one getting my haircut. Other people? Sure, cut it off, perm it up, straighten, highlight, dye it stripey, shave in swoops.

I guess I should clarify, I have St. Matt Haircut Issues.

This is not a new thing. It harkens back to the first summer we were dating, when he'd gotten a haircut before coming to visit me in MA. Only, he didn't warn me first.

I should clarify some more. St. Matt only really has three hairstyles:

Short on the sides, a little longer on top. Generic boy.
The I'm-too-lazy-to-get-a-haircut stage that drives him crazy, but I openly encourage because it leads to Option 3:
Curls! Which drive him more crazy, but which I love, Love, LOVE.

Okay, back to summer 2000.

So, this boy shows up on my parents' doorstep and wants to hug and kiss me. Granted I'm loopy on pain meds because I just had ankle surgery, but I nearly fall off my crutches trying to back away from him. *Stranger Danger!* Where was my curly-headed boyfriend? Who was this guy with ears?

This is where the haircut issues originated. They haven't abated. Since then we've come up with a coping method: I require multiple reminders of any forthcoming haircuts; I'm also allowed a moment to *absorb* my husband's new appearance before he approaches.

And he doesn't take it personally when my reaction is always, "I'm not quite sure I like it."

Friday was haircut day. I walked in the house and he did the required *freeze in place* so I could examine and adjust.

And since he knows my haircut history and has only ever had the three hairstyles, he took it in stride when I said, "I don't know, you look different."

"I'm still me." This was offered with a Saintly grin and arms extended for a hug.

"No, something's different. It's not right." I continued to circle him.

Saintly sigh. "You always say that. Wait until tomorrow when I shower and style it. It's fine."

I gave him a wary nod of agreement and tried my best not to study him all night.

Saturday morning things did not look "fine." They were still different.

"What did you tell the barber?"

St. Matt frowned at the mirror; even he could see something wasn't quite right. "I said, The usual. Short on the sides, longer on top."

It is short on the sides and longer on top. That much I have to agree with. But, the sides are shorter than usual short. The top is longer than usual long. And the sides climb higher on his head than normal. They climb SO high that they're invading the top's territory.

This is when we realized the truth about his haircut: it's an Accidental Mohawk.

Since reaching this epiphany, I haven't even attempted to hide my glee.

First, the sight of a mohawked St. Matt is enough to reduce me to instant gigglefits.

Second, I know someone who'll be reluctant to head back to the barber anytime soon.

Say hello to a curl-headed winter!

An Infestation of Adorable

2010-08-23T17:38:00.003-04:00

Casa Schmidt is being invaded! Thankfully it's the cutest infestation that's ever occurred. Baby things are slowly taking over: there's a pack 'n play box under the piano; a boppy blocking the bookshelf; two highchairs and two car seats stacked in our family room. And the NTB – forget it, I won't open the door for fear of tripping over the baskets of blankets, clothing and toys waiting to be organized.

Sometimes they arrive at a trickle: a box waiting on the porch when I get home from a puggle walk or a gift bag from a friend when we meet for lunch. Other times it's a deluge, like this weekend when I went to MA for my first shower. A car packed to the brim with boxes and bags and a long drive home full of "Bruschi, that rattle is NOT for you. Leave it!"

As the piles of baby stuff and my twin belly grow, the growth takes on new meaning: this is real. Soon the Schmidtlets will be sitting in those seats, wearing those clothes.

It occurs to me, this whole process of being spoiled rotten/stuff accumulation is a lot like planning a new book and getting to know the characters and the world.

Sometimes facts come slowly – they pop up by surprise – but instead of a FedEx man at the door, it's a moment of Wow, my heroine's hair is curly or my hero used to be studly jock, but he's not anymore. I add these to my character profiles where facts accumulate in piles, while I try to figure out if they're significant – and, yes, curly hair IS important in my WIP – or even if they're true.

Knowledge also comes in a flash flood; I'll wake up with a scene fully formed in my mind, or come back from a swim with a major plot point resolved.

In both instances, I'm forever changing my mind. Bumpo seat? Baby pod? Neither? I read reviews, ask advice from mothers and add and remove these items from my registry. With writing, there's the same vacillation. The include and delete. Rewrites. The long e-mails to CP's and bracketed comments of [cut this? Or amp up? Ahhh! Decide later!]

But neither process is overnight – and they aren't to be rushed. I want those Schmidtlets to stay just where they are for a few months yet. They're not ready and I'm not ready for them either. (Um, cribs… we need to get those).

My WIP's not ready either. We're still getting to know each other. The better I understand my characters, the more realistic they'll be on paper. Real people are many-faceted, and the most realistic and resonant characters I've read have been equally complicated.

Getting to know them isn't logical, sequential or predictable either. Just like with the baby presents, I can make a list of the things I need, or in writing's case, need to know (appearance, history, motivations, desires), but it's often the unexpected facts and gifts that are the most meaningful.

So my world is being invaded with swaddling blankets and itsy-bitsy onesies. With personality quirks and characters' favorite expressions. My house is full and my mind is busy. I'm making sure my laptop isn't buried beneath bassinets or baby slings and trying not to confuse plot post-its with thank you notes.

I know life's about to get crazier, but when I look around at the Infestation of Adorable or stop and reflect upon my WIP, all I can do is smile and whisper a thank you that I'm blessed with such rewarding chaos.

Reflections from Camp Barry - Cabin A102

2010-08-11T20:15:00.003-04:00

I'm home from Camp Barry and slowly emerging from post-travel hibernation. I miss the buffets full of chocolate bread. I miss the pools. I miss the heat lamps in my hotel room bathroom.

But mostly, I miss the people.

And not just because roommate extraordinaire, Jenn Reese, saved me from taking Will-Ferrell-in-ELF type showers by figuring out how to activate the upper showerhead. Or because Liz Braswell told me the greatest fact about pregnancy, which will carry me through these next five months. Or because Charles Vess *doodles* so beautifully that I was too busy watching him to ever demonstrate my own mad skill with daisies and interlinking hearts. Or because I feel so much more capable of handling the Schmidtlets after spending hours discussing them twins with Pat Smith and Beth Fleischer. **

These were all wonderful moments. But they were just part of the BIGGER wonderfulness that is Camp Barry.

So, no, it wasn't the buffet.

It was the buffet full of chocolate bread and meals where we lingered like college freshmen, too busy talking and sharing ideas to realize how much we were stuffing in our faces.

And it wasn't the pools.

It was the late night pool sessions where I laughed hard enough to worry that this might be the night I didn't make it to the bathroom in time. (Seriously, Club Med, bathrooms close to the pools is not a new idea).

Okay, I'm not going to lie, the heat lamps in the bathroom were pretty sweet. Especially when it's 1:30 AM and you're shivering in a cold wet bathing suit because you forgot to turn down the A/C.

But the thing that made Camp Barry magical was the people. The intense conversations and debates, the jokes, the stories, the sharing. Being surrounded by such a creative, sincere, and inspirational group of individuals for four days was an experience that cannot be replicated.

At least, not until next year.

** I could go on and mention a special memory with each of my fellow campers, but my mom taught me it's mean to brag about The Awesome Quotient of your friends... even when they're Really Freakin' Awesome.

This IS A Post About Italy

2010-08-04T22:31:00.007-04:00

I leave for the airport in 9 hours for the Goldblatt Agency retreat. I still haven’t packed – this surprises no one – and I still haven’t blogged about the Italian adventures that took place between my last two airport experiences.

Some of you have been demanding photographic evidence of the trip – and pictures of the Twin Belly. I can satisfy both requests simultaneously – and quickly – and then go pack!

Sorrento – and a Twin Belly! That’s because after 48 hours after WE got to Sorrento, our luggage finally caught up with us. I’ve never been so happy to change clothing.

Capri – The island is gorgeous. And hilly. LOOK how hilly. I was a brave little trouper and made it DOWN the hills, but we need a taxi to cart the Twin Belly back up.

Naples – There are castles in Naples. CASTLES.

Castles make me curtsey.
And, no worries, St. Matt came, too!

Packing. Now. Really.

This is NOT a Post About Italy

2010-07-22T16:24:00.005-04:00

So, I tell you we're having some babies, I accept all of your congratulations, and then I disappear again. Bad Tiffany!

I was actually unplugged and off-grid for a ten days, enjoying a "babymoon" in Italy with St. Matt. And believe it or not, I didn't go through Petunia-withdrawal or whine about missing my laptop – not even once. *pats self on the back*

And while there are plenty of Italia stories to tell – look! I even included a teaser picture – today all I can think about is names.

Baby names.

When I'm writing a story I go crazy picking the perfect names for my characters – they have to match temperament, appearance, background, etc. But luckily, I know the character before I know the name and if I need to change it halfway through the book, that's what the "Find and Replace" command is for.

Not so much for the Schmidtlets in my belly.

And right off the bat, there was going to be none of this "Baby A" and "Baby B" business that the doctors insist on using. We weren't even in our car, and I certainly hadn't recovered from the news it was twins, when I was already paling and saying: "Now we need twice as many names."

But, seeing as we had a good four months before we'd find out gender, interim names were a must. St. Matt suggested Alpha and Beta…

What can I say? He's an engineer.

I countered with Alcott and Bronte and was resoundingly shot down. Why? Because, as St. Matt so wisely realized, "You're going to get attached and want to actually name them that."

He was right. Later that night I woke him up: "Alcott's kinda cute, isn't it? For a girl? We could call her Ally for short."

So you can see why NON-NAME interim names became essential.

After a week of what-about-this? and what-about-that? We settled on two: Acorn, and Bean Sprout. (See how they're still A and B words… St. Matt is SUCH an engineer).

But now there comes a bigger problem. REAL names…

I have post-its of possibilities everywhere. I've just about worn out Baby Name Voyager. In Italy – look, another teaser picture – I stopped St. Matt at every playbill and construction sign so I could read the names of contractors and actors.

He's learning not to get too attached to any name, because as soon as we find something we both agree on, I change my mind.

I'm learning not to wake him up in the middle of the night when I come up with potentials – because the interrupted-REM answer is always, "No."

The fact that we've got roughly five more months to find the perfect combinations of first and middle names has not prevented me from lying awake and whispering ideas at the ceiling. Or turning to the bookshelf beside my bed and scanning for ideas.

… you know, now that I think about it, Bronte's kinda cute, too.

An Explanation and An Announcement

2010-07-05T21:03:00.004-04:00

It's been a heckofa long time since I blogged. Normally I don't make excuses for blog lapses; you just can assume I've been: A) busy B) lazy C) uninspired or D) held hostage by a band of wild sixth graders who insist I grade their personal narratives thisveryminute.

This time my blog-absence was absurdly long. But I have a good reason.
TWO very good reasons:

Baby A
&
Baby B

St. Matt and I are expecting our first children -- twins -- early next winter.

Go ahead and jump up and down in glee for me -- the doctor says *I'm* to refrain from impish dancing. Do you know how hard it is to refrain from impish dancing and other hijinks when you're this elated? WICKED HARD!

And while the Schmidtlets (lettes?) will be the very best things to happen to us, they are also terrible nausea-monsters. I've spent most of the past 3 months in varying shades of green.

Luckily green is my second-favorite color.

Even more lucky is the fact that The Queasy is finally, finally starting to pass.

Until it's completely gone, however, I'll keep rocking my sea-sickness bracelets and wearing a pea-soup completion with a smile. They're the latest trends, you know.

This blog has moved

2010-05-01T21:21:00.001-04:00

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Pay It Forward Interview: Heidi Kling

2010-04-02T08:20:00.003-04:00

For my last days of Paying it Forward, I'll be interviewing authors who have books coming out this spring. While I feel like this week is going so fast, I'm sure Chelsea and Heidi are counting down the interminable minutes until their release days! Hopefully you've taken some time this week to visit some of the other writers' blogs (links below), and let yourself be inspired and encouraged by their publication journeys. There are more than 70(!) writers participating, so clear some time for blog-reading.

Heidi Kling's book, SEA, releases on June 1oth and has one of the most stunning covers I've seen lately. The story sounds equally amazing and after reading Heidi's story and passion below, I'm sure you'll be joining me on the pre-ordered list.

1 . Tell us about your book.

Sea is a romantic adventure story about a fearful California teenager's
life-changing trip to a post-tsunami Indonesian orphanage. Ultimately, it's
a love story about hope after tragedy. (Longer version on my website:
heidirkling.com

2. Can you tell us a little bit about your road to publication?

I found an interested agent at a "Speed dating agent event" in
S.F.--after hearing my pitch. Sea wasn't finished, and we had a trip to
France planned so I actually finished the draft there. I ended up not going
with that agent, but after I finished and polished the book, I asked an
author contact of mine via MySpace for a short-list of YA authors she heard
good things about. She suggested five. I queried them all. My agent wrote
me back right away requesting a "full" of SEA--other things transpired, and
she offered representation. We had multiple offers within two weeks. This
SOUNDS like it was a quicky thing, but I've been writing since I was 17,
earned both my BA and MFA in creative writing, wrote several "drawer"
novels, had queried and been rejected for past projects. SEA, from it's
very inception, felt like it would be for me "the one". And it was!

3. Was there ever a time you felt like giving up? Why didn't you?

I would never have given up on trying to publish SEA. I felt (and feel) so strongly that the story of survivors of a natural disaster, especially teen and
child survivors, don't have a voice in literature or in film--especially
after the news cameras go home and the hype goes away. I feel SEA gives
them a voice. Plus, so many teens and adults feel lost and don't know how
they can find their way back. It's very important to me to be optimistic
and hopeful and I think traveling with Sienna (who feels lost and hopeless)
to Indonesia is a good thing. It was a good thing for me. My point is, I
would never have given up on this book. I would have kept trying and
pushing until it sold.

4. I wouldn't have survived querying/revisions/submissions without...

... my eternally optimistic nature, my incredible support team (husband, friends, online network)and the knowledge that with hard work and some luck we can all find our happy ending.

Now that you've enjoyed Heidi's interview, click here for more inspiration: Lisa and Laura Roecker, Beth Revis, Leah Clifford, Victoria Schwab, Kirsten Hubbard, Susan Adrian, Dawn Metcalf, Kim Harrington, Carrie Harris, Amy Holder, Kathy McCullough, Suzette Saxton and Bethany Wiggins, and Elana Johnson.

Pay It Forward Interview : Chelsea Campbell

2010-03-31T22:43:00.004-04:00

For my last two days of Paying it Forward, I'll be interviewing authors who have books coming out this spring. While I feel like this week is going so fast, I'm sure Chelsea and Heidi are counting down the interminable minutes until their release days! Hopefully you've taken some time this week to visit some of the other writers' blogs (links below), and let yourself be inspired and encouraged by their publication journeys. There are more than 70(!) writers participating, so clear some time for blog-reading.

Chelsea Campbell's book, The Rise of Renegade X, releases on May 11th. While I haven't been lucky enough to read it yet, I've been assured by multiple, taunting ARC-readers that I will adore it. (meanies!) After reading about Chelsea's determined and bumpy publication journey, I'm sure you'll be joining me in line on 5/11 to pick up your own copy.

1. Tell us about your book.

The Rise of Renegade X is about a teen supervillain whose plans to go to a prestigious supervillain school are ruined when he discovers his long lost dad is a superhero, of the good-deed doing, rescuing kittens out of trees type. And as if that wasn't bad enough, then he has to go live with him for a while and meet his superhero half siblings and prove that, despite his genes, he's 100% villain, or else he'll have to stay with his superhero fam for the rest of his life (or until he turns 18, whichever comes first).

2. Can you tell us a little bit about your road to publication?

I wrote Renegade X in a month, but getting it published was a long, dark road that took about a year and a half. (Well, to find a publisher. When the book actually comes out in May, it'll have been nearly three years since I wrote it.) It was clearly the best book I'd ever written, and one of my writing friends was convinced it would get snapped up right away. I SO wanted that to happen, but I'd sent out so many books over the years and always been disappointed that, even though this felt like The One (for reals this time), I didn't want to get my hopes up.

Well, I sent it out to agents, including one who still had the last book I'd written and hadn't rejected me yet (even if it had been 6 months -__-). My query letter got over twice as many requests for material than any of my others had, but still everyone said no. Then finally one day, I status queried the agent who now had two of my books and hadn't responded, and she liked it! She liked it better than the first book I'd sent her, which she'd actually read! (And yes, you read that right, I'm not exaggerating, she *liked* it. Not loved.)

So anyway, I signed with her and waited on submissions. We got some responses right away, all rejections. Months went by, and we got a few more rejections. I sent her another book, and after a few more months, she sent that out. When I tried to find out which editors still had Renegade X, she just said "it's still out there." O__o By this point, I was starting to have misgivings, but put them aside because I wanted this so badly. Then several more months went by, no word from her at all, and then I queried her on where she'd sent my books, who had the old one, who had the new one. No response. A week later, I tried again. No response. The next week, I tried calling. Twice. But no answer, and no response to the message I left. No matter how much I wanted and agent, and no matter how many long years it had taken me to get this one, I knew that if she wasn't sending out my books, then she was just getting in my way, because it meant I couldn't send them out either. So I did something that wasn't easy and fired her. (She was relieved.)

It turned out she'd only sent the new book to one publisher, and she sent me a slightly inaccurate list of pubs who had rejected Renegade X or who had just never responded after having it for months. (???) Well, at least I had a list, but Renegade X was used goods. It had been shopped around by an agent who hadn't sold it, and that's the kiss of death for hopeful manuscripts. At this point, everything in my life was going wrong and especially this. I'd wanted to be published so bad I could taste it for a decade and a half. (I started young, but I was serious about it, if not naive and delusional.) I wasn't writing anything new, and my energy for the struggle was running out. Things were at their darkest, and I was ready to give up.

But there were two books that really influenced me. One was Oh, the Places You'll Go! by Dr. Seuss, where he says not to be in the Waiting Place (I was definitely there) and the other was It's Not Easy Being Green, a collection of quotes and anecdotes about Jim Henson. One of the anecdotes was about how he wanted to work at a TV station, but they turned him down. He saw an ad on the wall saying they were looking for puppeteers, though, so he went home, made some puppets, and came back. They hired him, and, well, you can see how puppets worked out for him. The moral of the story was, don't take no for an answer. So that's what I decided to do.

But I felt like a failure, and I was ready to give up. I'd come so far, worked so hard over the years, and I'd gotten so close to my goal--only to completely miss it. The uphill climb was too steep, and I wasn't going to make it. But before I threw in the towel, I made one last effort. I sent The Rise of Renegade X to a small publisher, not really expecting anything to happen.

And then, a month later, they wanted to talk to me. About my book. The editor was interested, but he wanted revisions. I took his notes and added another 20k to the book in about a week, sent it back, and waited. A few weeks later, I had an offer. Someone actually wanted to publish my book!

My writing friends told me I needed an agent. I'd had an agent, and that hadn't worked out so well, so I wasn't eager to get another one. Plus, getting an agent was hard. I'd struggled for years, and all I could get was an agent who only *liked* my books and didn't talk to me. Why go through all that again? But my friends insisted I both needed an agent--a good one--and that, with a pub offer in hand, I could actually get one.

I got some recommendations and ended up contacting Holly Root at the Waxman Agency. She loved my concept. (Loved!) And she wanted to read the book. Well, a few days later, we talked on the phone for longer than I'd ever spoken to the old agent. (Not kidding.) She got my books. She loved Renegade X. We laughed, we talked, and overall just clicked. It was a dream-come-true moment, and I signed with her, and she's been awesome ever since.

Anyhow, I gave her a list of the editors who had rejected Renegade X, and she felt it hadn't been properly shopped, and before accepting the offer I had on the table, we sent the book out to a few more pubs. That's when I got the offer from Egmont. They loved the book and wanted to publish it! I accepted their offer almost exactly 18 months after finishing the book. It was a long journey, and there were a lot of dark moments, but it all worked out in the end.

3. Was there ever a time you felt like giving up? Why didn't you?

Yes! Lots of times. I think every aspiring writer goes through cycles of "I'm just going to quit writing," but then you don't really. You just want to test what it would feel like, to see if you could quit and still live with yourself, but of course you can't. I had a lot of moments like that. But then there was the time close to the end of my journey where I really did want to quit. I was out of hope and couldn't make myself care about writing anymore. But as you can see from my above answer, everything suddenly turned around at the last minute and all worked out, just when I thought it was never going to be.

4. I wouldn't have survived querying/revisions/submissions without _________________.

My crit group/writing friends. They always believed in me, even when I didn't.

Now that you've enjoyed Chelsea's interview, click here for more inspiration: Lisa and Laura Roecker, Beth Revis, Leah Clifford, Victoria Schwab, Kirsten Hubbard, Susan Adrian, Dawn Metcalf, Kim Harrington, Carrie Harris, Amy Holder, Kathy McCullough, Suzette Saxton and Bethany Wiggins, and Elana Johnson.

Pay it Forward Interview: Trish Doller

2010-03-30T19:31:00.007-04:00

At noon today, we'll be half way through Pay it Forward interview week -- it's going so fast! Hopefully you've taken some time to visit some of the other writers' blogs (links below), and let yourself be inspired and encouraged by their publication journeys. There are more than 70(!) writers participating, so clear some time for blog-reading.

Today I'm lucky enough to be interviewing the lovely Trish Doller. I found her story of perseverance and pot holes to be courageous and motivational, and I'm sure you will, too.

1. Tell us about your book.

My first book is called MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY, a YA romantic comedy about a spoiled, rich girl who gets sent on a cross-country teen bus tour after failing her U.S. History final. She misses the bus in New York City, sending her on an even bigger adventure. It's been on submission to publishers since July 2009, but has yet to find a home. In the meantime, I've been working on my next book, which couldn't be further from MY WAY. It's a boy-centric, military-themed YA about a young Marine returning from a deployment to Afghanistan. The tentative title is THE NEW NORMAL.

2. Can you tell us a little bit about your road to publication (finding an agent)?

My road to publication has been filled with potholes--and orange construction barrels. I finished MY WAY in September 2007 and started querying agents in early October. I was fortunate in that I found my agent, Kate Schafer Testerman, by Thanksgiving 2007. She was in the process of starting KT Literary, so we waited to go out on submission until February 2008. Within a few weeks we sold the book, but my editor lost her job in budget cuts and my deal died in the pipeline. I made some revisions and we went back out on submission in July 2009, but we haven't seen the same success we did the first time around.

3. Was there ever a time you felt like giving up? Why didn't you?

I feel like giving up all. the. time. But we came close enough with MY WAY that I believe my time is coming. As much as I love my first book, my second just might be the book of my heart. So I can't give up.

4. I wouldn't have survived querying/revisions/submissions without _________________.

I wouldn't have survived querying/revisions/submissions without my agent, who talks me down whenever I'm feeling frustrated, and Suzanne Young, who is my biggest cheerleader. Oh, and Godiva raspberry-filled chocolate.

Now that you've enjoyed Trish's interview, click here for more inspiration: Lisa and Laura Roecker, Beth Revis, Leah Clifford, Victoria Schwab, Kirsten Hubbard, Susan Adrian, Dawn Metcalf, Kim Harrington, Carrie Harris, Amy Holder, Kathy McCullough, Suzette Saxton and Bethany Wiggins, and Elana Johnson.

Pay It Forward Interview: Susan Adrian

2010-03-29T21:05:00.006-04:00

Hello on day 2 of Pay it Forward interview week! Hopefully you've taken some time to visit some of the other writers' blogs (links below), and let yourself be inspired and encouraged by their publication journeys. There are more than 70(!) writers participating, so clear some time for blog-reading.

And *cough* MY *cough* interview is going up today at: http://leahclifford.livejournal.com/ . Go check it out. There's a Mia- haiku involved...

Susan Adrian aka the inspiration behind all those Twitter "tiara days" is a champion cheerleader and beacon of positivity. With all the good karma she's spread, she's due for heaps in return. Watch out for her name in the upcoming years, you'll be seeing it.

1. Tell us about your book.

SALVAGED is the book I'm working on now, and I'm SO excited about it. Here's the basic blurb (I always do one of these while I'm writing the first draft):

Sixteen-year-old Annika (Annie) has never used a computer or a cell phone. She's never watched TV, slept in a real bed, or kissed anyone but Xander. Until now.

Annie's always lived in The Community, an ultra-environmental commune tucked in the canyons of San Diego, led by her idealistic, maybe-crackpot dad. What they can't grow or raise they salvage from the wasteful people of "the wild". You'd be amazed what you can find back of a restaurant. But Xander runs away with Annie's sister Zilla, and Dad sends her to drag them back.

To find them Annie has to venture into the wild by herself, into an alien culture of excess. When she crashes a company picnic she meets Bryan, a cute, rich boy who thinks she's homeless. She lets him think it, lets him help. All she needs is a couple days to get Zilla and Xander.

But once she finds them, Annie's not so sure she wants to return, much less force her happy-go-lucky, impulsive sister back under the strict Community rules. The wild is much more complex and captivating than she imagined. And there's Bryan, who's also just a tiny bit captivating. But if she doesn't bring them home soon, Dad will come after them himself. And the last time he brought a runaway home...that's the one thing Annie won't let herself think about.

Can Annie be salvaged? Does she want to be?

It's a real challenge to get the point-of-view right--a girl who has none of the cultural knowledge most teenagers are drenched in. Of course that challenge is what makes it fun.

2. Can you tell us a little bit about your road to publication (finding an agent)?

Like most other writers, my road has been--and continues to be--decidedly unsmooth. My first book was a historical, set in Chaucer's England, with a 16-year-old protagonist (always the YA!). I got some strong agent interest, but no takers. So I wrote a straight-up contemporary YA, a juicy mix of all my favorite stuff, all my passions. I could tell the difference, between writing what I thought I should write and what I *loved*. Fortunately my agent, the fabulous and sharkly Janet Reid, loved it too. Even though that book didn't sell right out of the box the way we wanted it to, I'm SO glad I wrote it, and that it led me to Janet.

3. Was there ever a time you felt like giving up? Why didn't you?

Of course! I think every writer has those crippling moments where the possibility enters your mind--where the rejections and the doubt monsters get so loud and hurtful you consider just Not Doing It Anymore. You can't face the battery of rejection that is this business without that feeling. The trick is to let yourself feel that way...for about 10 minutes. Then go talk to some of your writer friends and get support. Let their encouragement soak in. And then realize, if you're meant to be doing this--if you've got writing in you--you'll keep doing it anyway. It'll pop out somewhere. You don't HAVE to keep trying to get published, but I have a feeling you probably will. Just like I will. I want others, especially teens, to read and enjoy the stories I have to tell.

4. I wouldn't have survived querying/revisions/submissions without ___?

My writer friends. They are there for me every single day. I don't see how I could do any of this without them.

Now that you've enjoyed Suze's interview, click here for more inspiration: Lisa and Laura Roecker, Beth Revis, Leah Clifford, Victoria Schwab, Kirsten Hubbard, Susan Adrian, Dawn Metcalf, Kim Harrington, Carrie Harris, Amy Holder, Kathy McCullough, Suzette Saxton and Bethany Wiggins, and Elana Johnson.

Pay it Forward Interviews: Linda Grimes

2010-03-28T21:51:00.006-04:00

Welcome to Pay it Forward interview week! Here and all over the writer blogs (links below), you'll be drenched in inspiration and encouragement from others' stories about their publication journeys. There are more than 70(!) writers participating, so clear some time for blog-reading.

Linda Grimes is like my literary, wise, big sister - she signed with her agent about a month before I signed with mine, so before I do anything I stop and ask myself "What would Linda do?" And then I double-check by asking her, too. She's brilliant, lovely and has wicked wit. Enjoy!

1. Tell us about your book.

IN A FIX is a comically sexy...no, sexily comical...no, wait -- oh, all right, it's a bawdy paranormal mystery centered around Ciel Halligan, a do-gooder who just wants to help people, and maybe make a small profit doing it. (A girl's gotta eat.) From a family of "aura adaptors" -- human chameleons who can project the appearance of anyone they touch -- Ciel is perfectly suited to step into her clients' lives and fix their problems for them. As them. Too bad she's not quite as adept at fixing her own.

2. Can you tell us a little bit about your road to publication (finding an agent)?

I'm at the agented-but-still-unsold phase. If you're reading this, you're doing exactly what I did--engaging in the online writing community. The information available at the click of a mouse is amazing. Sites like agentquery.com, as well as the blogs of individual authors, agents, and editors, are incredible resources. Read them!

IN A FIX is actually the book I wrote to keep myself busy while giving my first novel--the one I cut my teeth on--a little distance. The plan was to play around with something light and funny as a kind of writer-ly palate cleanser before I dove into revisions on the first book. Turned out I liked my diversion better, so I decided what the heck, did my online research, and sent out a few queries.

Initially, I got some positive feedback, but mostly of the "I like this, but it's not quite for me" sort. Kept sending out more queries, a few at a time, trying to gauge the response and tinker accordingly. I didn't want to use the scatter-shot method of mass querying, because frankly I thought it would confuse me. So I researched every agent I approached, via both the internet and by peppering my writing buddies -- the ones a little farther down the road to publication -- with annoying questions. I got to know the agents as well as I could without stalking them, just to reassure myself ahead of time I would be happy to have them if they decided to offer.

Waiting for replies from only a few agents at a time can take a while, but I was determined not to find myself in the position of hearing back from someone and wondering, "Huh? Who's that?"

In the end, it was Twitter that came through for me. I started following Michelle Wolfson, Agent Extraordinaire (@WolfsonLiterary). She was so funny I knew I had to try for her. Sent her a query and got a response back right away (apparently Michelle appreciates "bawdy"). After reading my partial, she asked for an exclusive while she read my full. Since some other agents were already reading the full too, I couldn't give it to her. But Michelle was the one who blazed through it -- that made me feel wonderful, I have to tell you -- and DM-ed me on Twitter that she'd like to call me. (And to think, I almost didn't start a Twitter account because I thought it would take too much time away from my writing.)

I was over the moon. Deep down, I'd already decided, after exchanging emails with Michelle as she read my full, that she was the one. She "got" my story, and asked intelligent questions about it. When she called, I was even more certain--she was every bit as funny on the phone as she is on Twitter. But what I really appreciated was, she didn't blow sunshine up my...um, nether region. She didn't make extravagant promises of instant publication. She just explained how we would work together to get my story out there, and I liked the sound of what she told me.

Right now, we're in the revision process, trying to apply enough spit and polish to the manuscript to convince editors it's worth publishing. We'll start submitting soon, and then the waiting will begin again. (Has anyone mentioned how much waiting is involved with writing? This is why it's good to have more than one project going at a time. Writing something new beats the heck out of twiddling your thumbs.)

3. Was there ever a time you felt like giving up?

Honestly? Not really. Oh, there've been low moments, like the time I got a rejection from an agent I hadn't even queried. The agent I had queried liked my book, but it wasn't... quite ... for her. Still, she thought it had enough commercial appeal to show to the head of her agency, who apparently also saw the commercial appeal, but sadly wasn't taking any more clients at that time. (At least, that's what the original agent told me. Maybe she thought it sounded better than "The other agent thought it sucked, too.")

I call that one my "bonus rejection."

Well, I figured if I could survive a two-for-one bonus rejection, no piddly little single rejection was ever going to deter me. And ... well, I'm stubborn. Sure, rejections sting. But ultimately you realize they aren't personal. You take whatever is helpful from them, ignore the rest, and keep on moving. The only way you can really lose is to stop trying.

4. I wouldn't have survived querying/revisions/submissions without:

My fantastic group of fellow writers and crit partners, who've given me support at every step along the way. Thanks, guys! And, of course, chocolate. Oh, and the two-cherry Manhattans made for me by my wonderful husband, Bob, aka the theater god. They help too.

Now that you've enjoyed Linda's interview, click here for more inspiration: Lisa and Laura Roecker, Beth Revis, Leah Clifford, Victoria Schwab, Kirsten Hubbard, Susan Adrian, Dawn Metcalf, Kim Harrington, Carrie Harris, Amy Holder, Kathy McCullough, Suzette Saxton and Bethany Wiggins, and Elana Johnson.

Pay it Forward Interview Week

2010-03-28T21:11:00.003-04:00

We've all had those Little Engine That Could moments, where we're telling ourselves, "I think I can. I think I can," even though the Doubt Monster is desperately trying to add an "n't" to the end of that mantra.

This week, YA writer blogs across the net are being sprayed with Doubt Monster repellant in the form of the Pay It Forward Interviews. The brain child of Elana Johnson and Lisa and Laura Roecker this blog interview chain/web focuses on stories of writers at different places on the publication path: from the newly agented to those anxiously counting down the days till their first novel releases.

On my blog, you'll be able to hear stories of five wonderful writers:

3/29 Monday: Linda Grimes

3/30 Tuesday: Susan Adrian

3/31 Wednesday: Trish Doller

4/1 Thursday: Chelsea Campbell

4/2 Friday: Heidi Kling

I hope you stop by each day to see what these talented women had to say. I'm sure you'll find their journeys as inspirational as I do.

And you can find my interview on the fabulous Leah Clifford's blog on Tuesday – she made me write a synopsis in haiku form. I'm not sure I've forgiven her yet.

Wherever you are on your path to publication, I hope you find encouragement in all the interviews this week and apply the collective wisdom to your courageous journey.

Next time that Doubt Monster attacks, remember: patience and perseverance.

I think you can. I think you can.

Revisionland

2010-03-07T16:58:00.001-05:00

Confession: I love revising. Love it.

Don't get me wrong, I love drafting too – the suspense of becoming acquainted with new characters and the surprise of figuring out what they'll say and how they'll react. ª

I get the whole Girl Scouts' song "Make new friends…" but I've never had a problem with "but keep the old."

Revisions *contented sigh* are like going home to my friends-since-elementary-school, sitting on a porch and drinking apple cider while we chat and chat.

It's familiar. It's comfortable. And it's engaging. Uncovering new layers, ambitions, motivation. Tightening and interweaving. Discovering threads of nuance I'd already included that need to be enhanced.

Give me colored pens, a large bag of Revision Skittles, and a quiet place to work and I'll stay happily sequestered until St. Matt or the puggles demand some attention or life intervenes. Emerging for bathroom breaks and refills of my mug and Revision Skittles, pausing for Inspiration Walks, Inspiration Workouts and Inspiration Bubble-baths, my mind is full of beloved characters and trouble spots in the manuscript.

And even when I'm away – 26 sixth graders demand a lot of my attention and energy for much of the week – there are scenes and scenarios bubbling away on the back burner of my brain.

So when I'm lacking on Twitter, slacking on my blog and being a delinquent about returning phone calls, don't worry. I haven't been kidnapped by pirates, gotten lost in the woods or come down with an incurable strain of porcine flu.

I'm just ensconced in my revision-cave, sugar-fortified, ink-stained fingers, scribbled-across pages and a smile.

Be back soon.

How to Eat A Cupcake - Team Sparkle Style

2010-02-09T22:29:00.007-05:00

The SCBWI winter conference was last week in New York. I was there, as were fellow Team Sparklers: Susan Adrian, Emily Hainsworth and Victoria Schwab… and more than a thousand other writer-people.

It was wonderful.

Just ask Susan:

Victoria:

Emily:

Or Nova Ren Suma, who we dragged away from her deadline to come conferencing with us.

In fact, because they've already done a fabulous job summarizing and describing all the wonderful people, books, laughter, wisdom, and hijinks we discovered, I don't feel the need to re-state it. Procrastination WIN! I will just add this:

How to Eat A Cupcake – Team Sparkle Style.

…because it is a widely accepted fact that all the best writing is fueled by sugar.

If you've never tried my less-mess sandwich technique, you're missing out. Run, don't walk, to the nearest bakery and procure yourself a cupcake.

Then, once the sugar-jitters have faded, sit down and write some sparkly words.

You can thank me later.

Puppy Penalty: An Excess of Adorable

2010-02-08T19:16:00.005-05:00

My Super Bowl pick from yesterday: Anyone but Peyton Manning could win.

I'm sure he's a very nice man, but I don't like him. At all. My dislike of him is rabid in a way I normally reserve for the Yankees. That commercial where he dons a wig and refers to himself in third person as "6'1", laser, rocket arm"… *gags*

So, on a year where Peyton was playing and my own dearest Tom wasn't, I was okay with anyone but Indy winning. *

On years like this one – years where my own red, white, and blue boys aren't on the field, I tend to sulk and pout. My interest in the pigskin championship wanes to the commercials between the plays and finding ways to get annoyed at the announcers.

Enter THE PUPPY BOWL.

To the Animal Planet employee who decided America would be interested in watching hours of puppies frolicking in a green pen with football shaped toys, I salute you.

I watched the whole thing yesterday. Twice. Apparently it isn't possible to overdose on adorable.

The Puppy Bowl is also an excellent place to find additions for your List-Of-Future-Dog-Names. What do you mean you don't have a List-Of-Future-Dog-Names? Start one right now. Add Garbanzo, Tater Tot, and Yums.

I want a puppy with each of these names. Actually, I want those puppies! This is the dangerous part of Puppy Bowl. By the time the half-time kittens come on, I'm convinced I need to adopt the entire starting line-up.

Who can really resist a face like these?

Well, besides curmudgeon-y St. Matt who says "Two puggles is more than enough."

Come on! The non-Peyton team won. Doesn't that mean I deserve a victory-pup?

All photos are courtesy of Animal Planet's website, and, if you missed it or need a puppy fix, here are some highlights of the "game": http://animal.discovery.com/videos/puppy-bowl-vi/

*See, I'm showing restraint by not mentioning my compounded dislike of Indy because of Adam Vinitari. I also didn't mention the Oreo commercials.

The Saint and Sensibility at the Austen Exhibit

2010-01-18T08:43:00.005-05:00

Like many of the important things in my life, Jane Austen is something I learned from my sister. Unlike Lip Smackers, New Kids on the Block, and training bras, Austen is not something I've outgrown.

I stumbled on Austen accidentally; my sister's anthology of Jane was the thickest book on her bookshelf. I was at a middle school age when big books = better, so I smuggled it out of her room while she was at a cross country meet and probably would've have gotten away with reading and returning it… if I hadn't gushed how much I adored Jane Austen and Elizabeth Bennet and Oh-My-Darcy, in front of the owner of the book.

"Your sister is sense, and you, Tiffers, are pure sensibility," my father said with a laugh. This might be the most profound and truest statement he has ever uttered and I grilled him about it while we drove to the bookstore to purchase my own copies of the books. I hadn't gotten to Elinor and Marianne yet and was trying to determine if Dad was complimenting or insulting me.

Neither. He was stating a fact.

Another true fact, my sister may have recovered her anthology, but Austen was firmly entrenched in my life.

How disappointing it is, however, that The Jane has never been able to infiltrate St. Matt's heart. He's accepted that she pre-dates him in mine. He knows he'll have to see every film version of each of her novels. {Let's pause for a moment and offer a sigh to Mr. Colin Darcy-Firth} He even took the initiative and came to me when Becoming Jane arrived in our little town theater and asked, "So, 7:00 show or 9:00 show?"

Even proofreading each draft of my college thesis: Conjugal versus Consanguineal: Relationships in Austen* did nothing to spark an interest in his saintly heart. Finally, after I made him watch The Jane Austen Book Club and pointed out how Grigg was my very-most-favorite character and he was a boy and read Austen and wouldn't-he-at-least-try-reading-one, St. Matt relented. VICTORY! I must say, my pout was exceptionally adorable that day.

Not one to waste a moment, I scrambled for my copy of Northanger Abbey. "It's got danger and excitement and it's in this creepy gothic setting," I gushed as he nodded and got leashes to take the dogs out.

This would not do. He'd said he'd try reading Austen. I wanted him to try reading Austen now!

So, I waited inside the door with the book in my hand and as soon as it opened and the puggles-bounded in, I began: "No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy, would have supposed her born to be a heroine…"

I continued reading as he walked around the downstairs turning off all the lights, while he climbed upstairs, brushed his teeth, put on pajamas, and climbed into bed.

"One more chapter?"

He turned off the lights.

Yet, king among men that he is, he voluntarily spent Saturday squiring me to the Morgan Museum to see A Woman's Wit: Jane Austen's Life and Legacy .

I swooned and drooled over each of the display cases, pausing between contented sighs to admire a photograph of Mr. Colin Darcy-Firth, and staring open-mouthed at the drawings of Isabel Bishop who captured the characters exactly as they look in my head.

St. Matt patiently studied the drawing of her contemporaries and amused himself by trying to decipher Miss Austen's handwriting – he was disappointed to discover the first five lines he decoded were informing her sister, Cassandra, about a lovely piece of lace.

I left the exhibit all smiles and spinning. St. Matt left with a saintly grin.

"Now do you want to read her?" I asked, as I skipped out to the sidewalk.

St. Matt tugged me out of the path of speed-walking pedestrian and laughed. "No. Thank you, but no. Not at all."

But before my lip could quiver or fold downward into a pout, St. Matt had twirled me round and added, "But, that exhibit was not nearly as bad as I expected. I enjoyed it."

A girl can hope. And dream. And plot.

I'm sure St. Matt's already working on his counter-strategy. I may be sensibility, but he is sense, down the very logical core of his Austen-free heart.

*I think this was the title of my thesis. It was lost in The Great Un-Backed-Up Laptop Meltdown of 2005 and I have not gone back to Lehigh to search down the bound copy. Do they have a bound copy? *sobs*

Pre-Order-Palooza

2010-01-02T16:31:00.010-05:00

I'm not going to do a New Year Resolutions post. I'm certainly not going to put in writing that I intend to blog more in 2010 – though I do – or post the mental lists of goals that are growing ever-longer in my head.

Instead, I'll post my list of books coming out in 2010 that I am truly, truly impatient to read. Squirmy, fidget-pants impatient. Exasperated sigh, is-it-release-day-yet? impatient. IMPATIENT!

Some Girls Are by Courtney Summers (1/5)

All Unquiet Things by Anna Jarzab (1/12)

After Ever After by Jordan Sonnenblick (2/1)

Eleventh Grade Burns by Heather Brewer (2/9)

Gone by Lisa McMann (2/9)

Heist Society by Ally Carter (2/9)

Scarlett Fever by Maureen Johnson (3/1)

Before I Fall by Lauren Oliver (3/2)

Dragon Factory by Jonathan Maberry (3/2)

The Dead-Tossed Waves by Carrie Ryan (3/9)

Brightly Woven by Alexandra Bracken (3/23)

Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake by Sarah MacLean (3/30)

This World We Live In by Susan Beth Pfeffer (4/1)

Will Grayson, Will Grayson by John Green & David Levithan (4/6)

Radiant Shadows by Melissa Marr (4/20)

Sisters Grimm Book 8: The Inside Story by Michael Buckley (5/1)

The Kane Chronicles, Book One: The Red Pyramid by Rick Riordan (5/4)

White Cat by Holly Black (5/4)

The Rise of Renegade X by Chelsea Campbell (5/11)

Spirit Bound by Richelle Mead (5/18)

Perchance to Dream by Lisa Mantchev (5/25)

Sea by Heidi Kling (6/10)

Only the Good Spy Young by Ally Carter (6/15)

The Grimm Legacy by Polly Shulman (7/8)

Linger by Maggie Stiefvader (7/20)

Jealously by Lili St. Crow (7/29)

Guardian of the Gate by Michelle Zink (8/1)

Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins (8/24)

Clockwork Angel by Cassandra Clare (8/31)

Ascendant by Diane Peterfreund (9/?)

Wired by Robin Wasserman (9/14)

Rot & Ruin by Jonathan Maberry (10/5)

Behemoth by Scott Westerfeld (10/?)

Fixing Delilah Hannaford by Sarah Ockler (fall '10)

The DUFF by Kody Keplinger (fall '10)

So, what have I forgotten?

I'm sure there are heaps more that should be on this list. Meanwhile, St. Matt is looking hopefully at its brevity and making a New Year's Resolution that this will be the year he figures out a way to convince me to buy less books…

Good luck to him.

~Happy 2010~

p.s. Books I foolishly overlooked or didn't know about 'til later - I'll add in orange. Books I've read will be changed to purple.

Some Books Are... Important

2009-11-22T19:20:00.002-05:00

Apparently I read books by Courtney Summers before parent-teacher conferences. This was never something I planned, but I read Cracked Up To Be last spring before portfolio conferences and here it is, the night before I spend 10 hours telling parents all about their kiddos, and I'm curled up with an ARC of Some Girls Are.

I stopped a third of the way into the book and sent her an e-mail: "I find myself terrified to stop reading & equally terrified to continue." Then I paced the NTB for a full 30 seconds before picking up the book again.

When I came up for air the second time (it had gotten dark out and I needed to turn on the lights) I realized why this book is like a punch in the gut.

Courtney's writing is honest. It's vivid and so tangible it seems like you can reach out and touch the characters' pain. Or maybe their pain reawakens an echo of your own. High school isn't pretty, it isn't easy… no matter how pretty the students are or how easy Those Few make it seem.

As I immersed myself in Some Girls Are I couldn't escape connecting with the characters or seeing strains of myself in them – all those things that mean the book is well-written and absorbing. But, if you think seeing yourself in these characters is a good thing, you haven't read the book yet.

Which is not to say anything bad about the book – it's gorgeous and brilliant in its realism. Summers is, as always, my hero in her ability to show the things I'd rather not look at, think about, reflect on. She's genius at it.

Thank God for her.

Read it…

…And remember those times in high school when making it from your locker to homeroom was too exhausting. Not because you were up late studying, but because you didn't know what you'd find there.

Remember the time in bio freshman year when you flipped through a friend's FiveStar organizer to write her a note and found the "Things I hate about Tiffany" list. And because you were too busy remembering how to make your lungs function, you just shut it and velcroed the tab across the cover and never read it, or confronted her, or did anything but feel guilty and wonder who else had seen it.

Remember the times when you weren't the victim but the tormentor, because the guy you crushed on liked someone else, so it felt like your right to hate her. More than right, it was your duty. What's so great about her? Did you hear…?

We were or are or will be part of that system. And as I turned pages and saw myself in those words, I marveled that any of us make it out unscathed. I wonder how deep the marks go.

And as I sat there wondering, my e-mail blinked with a new message. It was from My Court, the one of my high school days, not the one who authored this book. My Court had stumbled upon a blog I'd written back in April about life and high school and such.

Her comment made me smile. Made me remember the day we spent throwing handfuls of loose glitter at my bedroom ceiling, while laughing so hard we couldn't stand up, and singing lines from "I'll back you up" when we caught our breaths again. Some of the glitter stuck to the clouds we'd painted, but most of it ended up on us. We went out to dinner like that, giggling as we shook our heads and freed cascades of hair and sparkles.

It is a perfect memory. High school has those, too.

And on the nights when I used to lay on my bed staring up at the ceiling wondering what my future held and how I'd ever get there, I could see those clouds and smile.

High school is hard. High school is painful. But if you're really, really lucky, you don't just graduate with scars and marks, but with those perfect memories and friends who can look you in the eye and sing comfortably out of key:

Do what you will, always
Walk where you like, your steps
Do as you please, I'll back you up

THAT is what I wish for all real-life Reginas, Lizs, Michaels, Jeanettes, Martas, and even the Karas and Annas. I want everyone to have someone who sees them with glitter in their, hair, paint on their face, in old, ratty clothing and suggests they go out to eat at the most teen-frequented restaurant in town. And I want them all to agree without hesitation– because they want to – because they're loved, respected, accepted, and safe.

Everyone deserves that. If I could bottle it up and distribute it with hugs, I would.

Since I can't… I'll do the next best thing: tell you to read Some Girls Are (release date January, 5, 2010) and let it change you.

Falls and Marks

2009-11-08T20:01:00.002-05:00

I fell during my run today. One stride I was rushing forward, chattering to St. Matt about an amazing book I'd read yesterday and admiring the foliage; then I was launched into sideways Superman dive, grating over leaves, roots and twigs. I'm sure it was very graceful.

I popped up, shook my limbs, shrugged at a suddenly pale St. Matt, and resumed my run and the conversation: "And it was so consuming; I couldn't turn pages--

He interrupted to point out that I'd given him yet another heart attack and to repeat: "Don't look at your leg. No. Don't. I said DON'T look at it."

I have a weensy issue with blood. Okay, it's a major issue. Bruises, however, inspire macabre fascination. My new hobby is watching my legs turn purple.

But it isn't painful; it isn't even unexpected. I fall A LOT, especially on a trail run – and trail runs in the autumn are their own brand of treachery: tree roots and holes stay hidden under a layer of leaves, just waiting for their opportunity to send me sprawling.

Yet, despite four (is it five?) sprained ankles, countless scrapes, and bruises from indigo to lilac, there's no keeping me off the trails.

A straight out, straight back road run? One where I'll know each step that takes me away and brings me back to the start? Boring.

I prefer runs just like how I prefer my books: full of the unexpected. They'll have a start, they'll have a conclusion, but the moments in between should be an adventure.

I want my heroine to dare to turn left at the fallen log, just to see if it is a real path. I want her to start running up a hill whose peak is hidden by trees – not knowing if she'll have the stamina to reach the top, or even how far away it is. I want split second decisions: stay by the stream or turn toward the covered bridge. And challenges: fording puddles, striding through mud, sliding up a rain-slick hill. She should stop short to avoid spider webs that appear inches from her face, pause to pat the occasional dog sharing her path, and be willing to get her feet wet and her legs muddy. Scratches from that pricker-bush incident should be worn with pride.

It's these books that stay with me; the ones where I can't predict what the hero or heroine will do next. The ones whose characters take risks, do the unexpected, but never forget to notice the beauty along the way. They fall, get back up, continue their adventures.

These books fill my head with questions and what-if's. They linger in my mind and are book-bullied into others' hands. These are the books that leave marks on me long after The End.

But unlike trail runs… the marks don't require band-aids.

Twitter-cation Comes with Umbrella-Drinks, Right?

2009-11-01T19:34:00.003-05:00

It feels weird not to check Twitter before bed.

This the tweet I almost posted last night – before I remembered that in order to do so, I'd have to log-in to Twitter.

Immediately afterward I debated whether I was allowed to read e-mail notifications of DM's. (Can I?)

This could be a long week.

When I saw Nova Ren Suma discussing a Twitter-cation last week, I thought, how sad! I'll miss her and Tiffany Trent's commentary. Then others climbed aboard and I thought, how brave.

Last night Tye and Victoria asked me if I was in, and, demonstrating my absolute inability to resist peer-pressure, I caved.

It feels weird.

My mind automatically forms sub-140 character soundbites:

Who was the idiot who decided orange and cranberry belong in the same muffin?

Confession: I have officially eaten more Revision Skittles than we distributed to trick-or-treaters.

Has anyone read GIRL IN THE ARENA? I like the story, but am struggling with the lack of ""marks.

How will I share my excitement about the new Jesse McCartney song "Body Language"? Or confess my St. Matt-mocked crush on him? Or share how I caught St. Matt humming the tune after I played it on repeat for an hour. *gigglefit*

The worst part, however, will be not knowing what's going on with everyone else. So if you could all e-mail me regular updates of your day, that'd be great. I won't even limit you to 140 characters.

Why I Don't Watch Scary Movies

2009-10-08T22:31:00.002-04:00

I was driving by myself to meet friends after school one day this week. As I neared a normally-busy intersection, I was startled to realize my car was the only one in sight in all four directions. In the ninety seconds between this stop sign and my arrival at the next intersection – a five points crossroad with traffic lights – I'd convinced myself there was one explanation for why I hadn't passed a single person or vehicle….

The zombie apocalypse had started.

I locked my car doors, gripped my steering wheel with white knuckles and tried to persuade myself not to run the red light. Peering out my windshield at the sidewalks, I found apocalyptic proof in the windowboxes of mums, the cornstalks tied to porches, and pumpkins on front steps.

By the time I reached the restaurant my breath was coming in hiccups and my pounding pulse had turned my face and neck all sorts of splotchy red. When my friends asked if I was okay, I took a deep breath, looked around at the street – now milling with people pushing strollers and carrying briefcases and shopping bags – and nodded. How could I begin to explain that I'd envisioned zombies overtaking our sleepy town at 4:00 on a sunny Tuesday afternoon?

My imagination is overactive. Like Max's in Where the Wild Things Are or Harold's in The Purple Crayon. This isn't such a bad thing when dreaming of princesses or unicorns, but a mere mention of those things that lurk once the lights go off and they become tangible and terrifying.

I've always been this way. My father taught me a passage from Dune while I was in elementary school and each night as I took our dog out before heading up to bed, I'd whisper into the darkness:

I must not fear.
Fear is the mind killer.
Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past
I will turn my inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain

Halloween is a challenge for children like me. We pick the friendly costumes –- I believe I was a puppy on four separate years. We skirt the houses with spooky décor and haunted music – no candy bar is worth the trauma. We seek out friends who won't laugh if we scream, or cry, or want to go home early. And despite all of these preparations, there's always that older kid hiding in the bushes with the bloody mask, or the parent who's cut a hole in the bottom of the candy bowl, so when you reach in to take a Tootsie Pop, she reaches up and grabs your hand. The bowls I sent flying with candy scattered everywhere, were so not my fault.

Family stories debate whether it was Child's Play the movie or just a preview I happened across early one morning when I was seven and up too early for my own good. It doesn't really matter if it was a two-minute ad or the whole film, because the result was the same: my younger brother's My Buddy doll made me hyperventilate. We had to get rid of it.

In middle school I watched Poltergeist at a Halloween party. I have slept with my closet door shut every single night since then.

For the most part, as long as I avoid scary situations, everything goes well, but some times scary sneaks in. In high school, scary was suddenly "cool." Despite parental warnings and don't-you-complain-when-you-can't-sleep threats, I went with a group of friends to see Scream.

I didn't complain to my parents, but after they went to bed, I turned on every light in the house and waited for my older sister to come home from her date. Then I begged to sleep on the floor of her room. And whined further until she let me turn her closet light on too – of course the closet door had to be shut.

And scary movie DATES? Disaster. Guys tended to love that I gripped their hands with all the strength in mine. The fact that I flinched against their shoulders, buried my face in their shirts, and shrieked – that was 'adorable.'

But afterward? Linger in a car for post-movie conversation and kisses? Had they seen the same movie I had? Cars are not monster-proof. And when they walked me to my door, all I could think about was getting safely on the other side of it and throwing the deadbolt. And, if I'm going to admit I'm a wimp to the level of infinity, I might as well confess the ultimate scary movie date blunder.

Um, I bit someone. Not like a vampire. It was just that my hand was being held and I needed it to cover my eyes. My frantic tugging was interpreted a sign to hold my fingers tighter. On the screen a knife had been unsheathed; blood was imminent. I was in a state of panic where words were not an option, and in this state, applying my teeth to the back of his hand seemed completely logical.

There was not a second date.

St. Matt and I have seen one scary movie together. Make that ½ a scary movie. Less than an hour into the film, I decided I'd had enough. I told him I needed a breather, released his hand from my circulation-stopping death grip, and ran for the lobby.

I headed for the cardboard marquis of a Disney movie, planning to stare at cartooned innocence until the credits played. Before I reached it, someone grabbed my arm from behind. I screamed. As every patron in the lobby turned toward the white-face teen in front of The Tigger Movie display, I turned and found St. Matt suppressing a grin.

"You're scared. Let's go back to campus," he said – holding out his hand. How could I not kiss him right there in the lobby? (And marry him four years later).

So, I read scary stories during daylight hours. My jack o'lanterns have smiles. My Halloween decorations are cute instead of creepy. The only Stephen King I've read is On Writing and you can cross Zombieland off the list of places you'll run into me.

If, by some miracle, you manage to drag me to a scary movie someday and I bite you, please keep in mind that this isn't a sign of the zombie apocalypse. Just let me cover my eyes and no one will get hurt.

Better yet, meet me in the lobby after it's over. I'll be the one hiding behind the G-rated marquis and repeating I must not fear in a voice that's slightly quivery.

Show me the Marshmallows!

2009-10-03T11:08:00.007-04:00

In class last week, I showed the kiddos this video*.

When it was over and the giggles subsided, I asked them why they thought I'd shown it. (Sometimes I'll show them something with no real motivation in mind, except to see what they'll guess, but this was not one of those times).

"To show that if you wait, things get better?"
"Yeah, patience is important."
"Nope."
"It's like in writing, you need to keep working when you're stuck."
"Nope."
"You're gonna give us marshmallows?"
"Nice try."

Since it was snack time, the kiddos' eyes shot towards the baggies of Cheez-its and containers of carrots waiting on their desks. "Can we have a hint?"
"How many words were spoken in video clip?"
"16?"
"Not a lot."
"So did we know what those kids were thinking and feeling?"
"Oh yeah!" Nods of agreement, animated recounting of favorite parts.
"How?"
"The way they acted. Like the kid who sniffed his marshmallow."
"And the one that licked it."
"I like the kid who won't even look at it… but he's still holding it to make sure it doesn't go anywhere."

"So, even without saying: I am impatient, you could tell how they were feeling?"
Nods and my-teacher-is-a-moron eye rolls.
"And in real life, do you need your friends to tell you that they're annoyed or scared or surprised?"
"No."
"Because you can tell from their actions and body language, right? Let's try something. Show me what you look like when you're angry."
Grimaces and giggles.
"What about surprised?"
Gasps and louder giggles.
"Hmmm, because in your narratives I'm seeing lots of I was so mad and Mom looked sad. How could you show me that instead of telling me?"

As the pieces clicked in their heads, they reached for their notebooks with eager fingers and waited for their cue to head off and write.

Before I could give it, a hand shot up: "Mrs. Schmidt, is this how you can always tell when someone needs help in class – even before they ask?"

"Exactly! You show me you're confused with your expressions and actions. And because teachers are psychic…"

We all need this reminder sometimes; it's easier to tell than show. That night I went home and checked my own new WIP for places I'd taken telling-shortcuts. And of course I found some. We all do. I found myself trying to rationalize: how many ways can there really be to show fear? Sorrow? Anticipation?

Then I thought back to the video I'd shown my class: There are 11 kids who face the marshmallow test. They each express their frustration and impatience in a unique way. Why would the characters in my story be any different?

When I eliminated the excuses and shortcuts, I found myself doing a lot more reflecting -–how would each character show his/her emotions? The more time I spend thinking this way, the more I learn about my characters.

… And soon, just like with the kiddos in my class, there's no need for the characters to raise their hands and tell me how their feeling, because I know exactly what they'll say or do when faced with a surprise, a challenge, an obstacle.

Now, excuse me while I go make Indoor S'mores.**

*Thank you, Julie Weathers, for posting the link on Twitter
**I dare you to try watching that video 8 times in a row to count the number of kids and not come away craving marshmallows.

Class Meetings and Kanye

2009-09-19T11:51:00.009-04:00

Each year room 202 has a defining moment.

It's the instant the kiddos change from a rag-tag group of individuals who happen to have the same teacher to a class. The Schmidties.

Some years they're united by a sense of accomplishment. Some years a tragedy forges a bond that can't be broken by graduation. Some groups are lucky; they ease into a sense of cohesiveness just because they have similar temperaments and motivations.

This year's moment happened today. And before it did, I'll admit – I was nervous. My kiddos this year are eclectic. They're quirky. They're individuals who are proud of that individual status. And all of these things are to be valued and respected… but they weren't engaging with each other. They were too busy noticing each other's differences and setting themselves apart. Too busy isolating within their niche or established friends.

They weren't rude to each other – they just didn't seem to have a use for or need to acknowledge their classmates.

This couldn't continue. I want a collective. I need a community. A grouping of isolates wasn't going to create the type of learning environment in which any of them would thrive.

I knew I'd have to get creative. And I did.

Today's class meeting centered on respecting others' differences. With little introduction other than, "Some of you may have seen this before. I want you to watch this video clip and notice how you react to the people's actions," I played the video of Kanye West interrupting Taylor Swift's acceptance speech at MTV's Video Music Awards.

And I watched their faces as they became outraged – or crumpled. We watched the video a second time. This time we paused to discuss how Taylor felt at each stage.

1) Thrilled. Proud of herself for having accomplished her dream.
2) Excited that someone she respected had joined her on stage.
3) Defeated.

They had such insight into Taylor's response: noting her change in posture from tall and animated to slumped and curled in.

One pipsqueak piped up, "No matter what, that award's never going to be as special to her anymore. It's ruined."

Another said, "It's like watching a balloon get popped."

And they got my point. They shared times they'd been proud of an achievement and been disrespected

"I read this book that was really hard and someone said they read it in third grade."
"I got an A on a hard test and someone called me a nerd."
"My team won a tournament and someone teased me for not playing much."

"I just don't get why Kanye would be so rude," was a common sentiment – and I didn't have an answer for them.

"Why do we sometimes make fun of or keep away from others who are different from us?" I asked.

*crickets*

"I wish… I wish that Kanye had gone on stage and sang with Taylor Swift instead," said one idealistic kidlet.

And my final point was set up perfectly. "I know. How awesome would that have been? Even though they have such different music styles, can you imagine what they could accomplish together?"

As the class nodded their agreement, I played the remix below:

(Thank you, Makaio )

And they danced. Together. And encouraged each other's zany moves.

In the last 30 seconds before dismissal, I paused the music and told the group – acting as a group for the first time – "We have 28 different individuals in this room. We all have different talents. Can you imagine what we can accomplish if we're willing to work together?"

Cheesy? Perhaps. Unifying? Definitely.

As they drifted off to safety jobs or waited for their buses to be called, they didn't sit in their seats – they clumped up. Talking. Listening. Engaging.

Schmidties, I'm excited for Monday. It's going to be a good year.

Fearless but not ENDless

2009-09-14T20:52:00.004-04:00

Technically the summer's been over for a few weeks now; I just haven't wanted to admit it. I ignored Labor Day. I overlooked the crisp apples at the local farmer's market. I pressed past the aisles full of Halloween candy.

But on Saturday it was only in the 60's. It's hard to pretend it's still summer while curled under a blanket wearing a fleece.

But how can it be over? (I say this despite having completed my 9^th day of school).

LUCKY MIA's over too… at least this stage of it. And that's a hard truth to accept. I still wake up with words on my fingertips and itch to insert self-indulgent chapters to the MS. I hear songs and add them to Mia's soundtrack. I miss the story. I miss the characters. I spent more time with them than anyone else this summer.

And how can it be over? (I say this despite the kitchen dance party that commenced when I read The End for the final time).

I'll give up summer. I'll even accept that MIA doesn't need an epilogue. But I'm not giving up my FEARLESS. The challenges I created and accepted this summer changed me. The never-back-down, what's-the-worst-that-could-happen?, scared-is-not-an-acceptable-excuse attitude I adopted still doesn't sit comfortably over my inclination to flee and retreat. But I don't care. I owe myself more than that.

On Saturday night, as I shivered in my fleece and sipped spiced cider, I took a deep breath and erased MIA from the whiteboard walls of the NTB.

Staring at the blank walls was scary. How to fill them? What to fill them with? Would I love the new project as much as MIA? Where to even begin?

I studied them all night, finally falling asleep beneath walls that mocked me with their emptiness.

And I woke with new, nervous words on my fingertips. My first marker strokes were tentative, made of shaky letters and timid bullet points.

But it's a whiteboard, mistake and changes wipe away with the swipe of a dusting cloth.

By mid-afternoon the wall looked like this.

And that fear and doubt? Replaced by hope and inspiration.

Who's up for FEARLESS FALL?

Mac the Book...

2009-09-12T09:49:00.007-04:00

There's someone I'd like you to meet. I can thank my good buddies at tech support, faux-James and faux-Jordan, for her appearance in my life. If they hadn't terrified me about another impending computer- pocalypse, I probably wouldn't have spent the next week waking up in a cold sweat and running down two flights of stairs to check on Huey.

It was time to get a Mac.

So I'd like to introduce you to my birthday MacBook.*

I decided to use a name from my someday-daughters-list to name her, because St. Matt has issued a double-thumbs-down-veto on this one anyway.

So, meet Dulcinea.

St.Matt pronounces it: Dull-sin-neigh-ah
I say: Dull-sin-knee-ah
Both are correct.

We'll call her Lucie for short.

And Lucie is fabulous! Besides being adorably decked out in a pink&green skin that I designed myself (I am far too proud about this), she WORKS!

Unlike Huey, Lucie will communicate with our wireless printer. I've been printing things Just Because. So… if you want some puggle pictures, let me know. Lucie also has a "SuperDrive." On Huey it's just a CD/DVD drive, but on Lucie, it's SUPER.

Did I mention she comes with a remote control? I love remote controls! St.Matt's first Mp3 player had one and I was ridiculously jealous. Never mind that he repeatedly pointed out mine was waterproof a much more practical feature, and that he didn't need a remote because the Mp3 player was strapped to his arm. I still wanted one.

And Lucie has one! I don't know what I'll do with it, but still… I have one.

If I disappear into a cloud of Laptop-Love full of unicorns and rainbows, I know you'll understand. (Yes, I'm quite sure that Lucie will be a new Distraction Fairy).

… Or maybe because I'm so infatuated with Lucie, my blog explode with posts…. Er, and they won't all be about lame-o things like how I learned to print and my so-far-just-fun-to-look-at remote control.

Promise.

*Whenever I say MacBook, I want to sing Mack the Knife. Does this happen to everyone, or just me?

8) Camping requires lots of STUFF

2009-09-09T18:50:00.002-04:00

8) Camping has lots of STUFF you can buy.

I kinda like this part of camping. Okay, I really like this part of camping. Along with all new pink and green river outfits, and my waterproof notepads, there was lots of new STUFF.

Like, my flashlight. It has FOUR settings. One of them is the Spinning Disco Lights setting. That is TOO COOL. Yes, everyone else had official looking headlamps. But my flashlight blinked Green, Red, and Yellow. Theirs did NOT.

And there are tents and sleeping bags and cup holders that float. And waterproof bags and sparkly helmets. And campfires that run off of propane tanks. And, did you know that you can buy ice in 18 inch cubes? This reminded me so much of Little House on the Prairie and the blocks of ices they cut from frozen ponds.

There are mattress pads that come in all sorts of colors and waterproof MP3 players (which I totally should have had b/c I stupidly brought Speedy the iPod on the river and he stopped working after day 1… he magically recovered once we were back in PA).

I just wanted to go in a sporting goods store and buy all of the gadgets and widgets and electronic things that look like they fell out of Westerfeld's UGLIES.

In fact, on our way home from the airport – before we'd eaten or showered or done anything prodcutive, I convinced St.Matt to detour to E.M.S. so I could just look at it all again.

He wouldn't let me buy any! Not even when I argued that there may come a time when we need a throw bag in our backyard…

Return to Lessons From the River

7) River trips have their own language.

2009-09-09T18:37:00.003-04:00

7) The Language of the River.

I spent a good part of the trip having no idea what anyone was talking about. This glossary should be about 12 zillion words long but A) I procrastinated in writing it and forgot most of them B) I tend to tune out things I don't understand, so...

Anyway, here is river-language, according to me.

Groover – A box that is pooped in. So I hear. Not that I would know. Ewwww!

High Side – A command that means throw yourself at whatever part of the raft Capt. D points too. I was glad we never had to actually use this command b/c I am convinced I would have overzealously thrown myself OUT of the boat and onto whatever obstacle we were trying to skirt.

Kubb – My new favorite beach game. It involves throwing things at other things and knocking them down. It also has a castle. I'm good at falling down. I like castles. I don't throw very accurately, but no one seemed to mind.

PFD – Personal Flotation Device. You and I know this as a "life vest." I called it a PDF by accident at least twice a day.

Master Blaster – It has a flame and makes the coffee. That’s all I needed to know.

Throw Bag – This is a bag that is, um, thrown when someone goes overboard. But before you throw it, you have to make sure that you hold on to one end…

Return to Lessons from the River

5) If you haven’t used your underwater camera in a year – check it before going shutterbuggy

2009-09-09T18:20:00.005-04:00

Doesn’t our underwater camera look cool?

I posed and hammed it up for all sorts of FEARLESS shots – I only learned to row the boat so that St. Matt could take photographic proof. I even took a picture of me completing one of Victoria’s dares. A photo of me cannonballing off of a moving raft into the river.

And I delayed writing this blog until I could go pick up the pictures and photo CD’s. You were all going to be so impressed…

But then the photo place had a machine malfunction and we couldn't pick up the pictures 'til last night. So we bounced in (okay, I bounced and St. Matt walked) and I proudly handed the woman our slip and her face fell. "Oh, yeah. About your order... We were going to call you..."

They're blank!

Two rolls of blank film.

72 frames!

How could that even happen? The camera flashed, blinked, advanced - shouldn't there be images? So I have my safe-on-dry-land Petunia pics, but any photographic evidence that I did more than pose on the banks of a river will have to come from my river compatriots. Guys? *

*And did they! Thanks Katie and Joshi for letting taking pictures that are GORGEOUS and letting me borrow them.

Return to Lessons from the River

Tiara Day

2009-08-27T13:32:00.003-04:00

I've been battling the End-of-the-Summer Plague (the doctor says it's a respiratory infection, I still think I'm allergic to the start of school).

It makes me sound less like this:

photo link

And more like this:

photo link

Did you notice what both of those images have in common? Stellar head-wear. Which is convenient because this Friday is Tiara Day on Twitter. A day full of positivity and sparkles that many literary tweople celebrate by displaying a bejeweled avatar. For more details or to enter a Tiara Day contest, see the Sparkle Queen, Susan Adrian's website.

'Cuz, who couldn't use a day of positivity, sparkles and tiaras? On the last Friday before school starts, I know I could.

If you're looking for me on Twitter that day, I'll look like this:

I hope Tiara Day brings you sparkles, good news and a surge of optimism and luck. I also hope it brings back my voice!

Start practicing your royal wave...

Why I Cried in my Classroom Today

2009-08-18T22:19:00.003-04:00

“Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened.” - Dr. Seuss

I was talking to another teacher yesterday and he was telling me he's ready to come back to school. "I hate the end of things – whether it's the school year or the summer – I get impatient to start what's next ."

I hate the end of things too, but for an entirely different reason. I hate endings.

I always hesitate before turning the last page of a truly great book – because I'm reluctant to say good-bye to the characters.

I've never seen the final episode for Full House, Wonder Years, Dawson's Creek, or Gilmore Girls because if the screenwriters choose to NOT give the characters a happily ever after, I didn't want to see it. I'd prefer the unknown to a resolution that would haunt me.

The end of the school year makes me cry – those kiddos will go on to great adventures, but I won't be in their day-to-day lives to see their triumphs.

But there's something particularly awful about the end of summer, because not only does it mark a new beginning, but it requires classroom set-up as well. I am not a visual-spatial person. The idea of setting up a single room so that it's functional for 28 people is beyond my scope. So each year I stand in the chaos of desks and boxes, folders and textbooks and I cry. Every year.

But why? I'm not a crier and even though I never believe it in-that-moment, I know it will all get finished and organized – or at least shoved away somewhere.

So why tears?

It's because of the NEW. I'm not crying for loose-leaf paper or post-it notes. Not even for that last desk that won't fit anywhere or the spelling book that's gone missing over the summer.

I'm crying because I'm worried about the NEW. My tears say: Hey New Kiddos I Don't Know Yet, I want this classroom to be perfect for YOU and I hope you like it and I hope you like me.

I know by late September I'll be able to tell any of these kiddos to find a spot for the index cards or a better way to store the extra copies of Time For Kids. They'll be telling me where they want to sit and how to rearrange the desks.

… but that first day, when we don't know each other yet, I want to offer them perfection.

I feel the same way about writing. I've been dreading and procrastinating about my next writing project. LUCKY MIA'S still on the walls of the NTB – even though I haven't needed those notes in months. I just can't bring myself to erase them yet.

What if I don't love my next project as much as I love this book? What if the characters don't resonate as loudly or keep me up at night with fierce wonderings? My outdated MIA-notes are a literary security blanket, they're a reflection of my endings issues. I don't want to let go.

But it's FEARLESS Summer, so I will. I spent yesterday afternoon making notes on potential next projects. I've got five vying for my attention, clamoring to be noticed. I used my big teacher paper and markers – I'm not ready to commit one to the whiteboard walls yet – and gave each story the chance to say "Pick me!" And they ALL did.

So, baby steps. I've got them on paper… I've hung the paper on the wall in the NTB.

Someday soon I'll be reaching for erasers – both in the classroom and the NTB – and in both instances I'll learn, as I always do, that while new may be scary… it's also so exhilarating too.

Virus Scan Wars

2009-08-13T20:14:00.003-04:00

You know the moving walkways at airports? And how if you walk against the motor, you make no progress? Welcome to my day.

It started when I tried to open a file. I just wanted to peek at yesterday’s revision. The file wouldn’t open.

So I tried another file I’d work on last night: a friend’s MS that kept me up way-too-late. It wouldn’t open.

I tried everything I could think of, but neither file would cooperate. All my other Word files were fine. Not the end of the world, but it was a waste of a night’s work and a good *nudge* to update my virus software.

Updated. Easy-peasy. Started a scan.

While I was waiting, I figured I’d open the latest version of LUCKY MIA and re-do the chapter numbering since I had two chapter 31’s and no chapter 3.

Only, when I opened the file, it didn’t look like my story. It was a dense mess of text.

All the formatting was gone: Single spaced. No indents. No italics. Nothing centered. Hard returns deleted. Comments gone.

A chaotic block of words.

*PANIC*

But not horrible, I figured I’d just open the file from the day before – I resave my MS each day as a separate file.

Clicked on LUCKY MIA 8-11: A chaotic block of words.

*Super-sized PANIC*

And thus began my adventures with online virus scan support, because when I looked in the scan log, it showed the software issuing ‘violation reports’ and ‘denying’ parts of Word*. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never found double-spacing so offensive that it should be banned. And while I may overuse italics, that’s hardly a reason to revoke my emphatic privileges.

Off to ‘tech chat’ I went. First I had Jordan, who based on his syntax and creative use of the English language, is probably not really named Jordan Carter.

Jordan was confident he could fix my problems. Until I followed his instructions and they didn’t.

Jordan: Please proceeds by restarting the computer.
Me: Will this fix the problem & restore my formats?
Jordan: I recommend that you restart the computer.
Me: But won’t that end our chat.
Jordan: The chat session will be terminated.
Me: But what if it’s not fixed?
Jordan: (who I imagine is now doing a gleeful dance that he will be rid of me). Please contact online support if you require any more assistance. Refer to chat #844671
Jordan: It was my pleasure to work with you. Have a nice day.

I restarted. It was a mistake. Upon attempting to log-in, Huey-the-laptop informed me that “Unauthorized Changes had been made to Windows.” He then told the changes would “Limit Windows Functionality” which was particularly scary since it had been less than functional before.

Forty minutes and an entire stress-eaten jar of macadamia nuts later, I was logged in. The problem was NOT fixed (darn you, Jordan!). I scurried off to online support again and was paired up with “James.”

“James” has even less understanding of the rules of English, and he also might have been cooking lunch or mowing his lawn or something, because he took for-ev-er to respond to my pleading requestions.

After reading the transcript of chat#844671, James told me to do the same thing Jordan suggested.
Me: I’ve already done that.
James: Re-read my directions. This is for the VirusScan Program not to scan the Microsoft program.
Me: I followed your directions. It takes different steps, but both you and Jordan instructed me to add Word.exe to my exceptions list. It’s there. I checked.
James: Is the problem fixed?
*I visualize a kid in an elevator here – you know the one that repeatedly presses the same button like that will make it travel faster*
Me: No.

James: I will send you instructions. You open up Wordpad or Notepad and copy them incase we get disconnected.
Me: Ready.
…. Long wait while James stirs his soup or clips his toe nails.
Me: All set! James?
James: *directions* including: Press the Firewalls and Security Options button on the left side of the screen.
Me: I don’t have that button.
James: Then do not press it.
Me: Um, done?
James: Please follow the directions to exit the program.
Me: Okay, I’ve exited the program.
James: I will send you direction to exit the program.
Me: It’s okay, I right clicked and exited. I don’t need directions.
James: *sends directions*
James: Let me know when you are ready to proceeds
Me: (wondering if he read my last messages and why James and Jordan both struggle with ‘proceed’ Are they really the same person? If I start a new chat, will I get John or Jacob or Joe?) All set. What next?
James: Does the problems still occur?
Me: *checks… chaotic block of text* YES.
James: The problem is not with our software. Contact Microsoft for assistance.

This is where I went into oh-no-no mode.

James: I recommend you uninstall the virus scan, system restore, reinstall.
Me: Will that fix the problem?
James: I will send you directions.

I uninstall.

Me: It says that I need to restart the system for the changes to take affect. Should I do this?
No answer.
Me: James? Also, last time I restarted, I had real problems logging back in. Will those be fixed?
Loooong pause. Perhaps James is walking his dogs. Maybe he could come walk the puggles, b/c they’re getting a little impatient with my crazed computer staring.
James: Proceeds to uninstall the virus scan.
Me: I did. It’s uninstalled. It says I need to restart.
James: Yes, restart.
Me: But what about the systems restore and reinstall?
James: Restart first. I will send you directions.
Me: So will this fix it?
James: Follow the directions.
Me: After I do the systems restore, it should be fixed, right? So then, when I reinstall, is it going to recreate the problem? Should I ‘exclude’ Word right away.
James: I do not recommend that.
Me: But last time, when I started a virus scan it messed up Word.
James: I recommend you try it first.
Me: And if it recreates the problem, I’d have to uninstall, restore the system, reinstall.
James: I recommend this.
Me: Is it worth the risk?
James: Yes.

Clearly, James is willing to play fast and loose with my files.

I save his directions. And restart…. you may have noticed that James never answered my question about whether or not I’d have problems logging-in. That was an artful dodge my tech-help friend. Crafty.

Log-in screen: “Unauthorized Changes have been Made to Windows”

Thus commenced a 45 minutes of a loop where I put in my password, it give me this message & restarted. Since I was out of macadamia nuts, I ate blueberries by the handful and paced. The puggles trailed me in my stress-induced game of follow the leader.

To switch things up, Huey began warning me that my version of Office may be counterfeit. No. It’s not. It’s the same version I had last night. The same version I’ve had for 2 years. Unless sneaky software bandits crept into my house between the hours of 3AM and 6AM, it’s authentic.

Finally! Success. And Word works too! Only, Huey tells me he has updates he needs to install and he wants me to restart…

40 more minutes of me pleading… really, it is authentic, I haven’t made unauthorized changes, I love you Huey, work with me… I’ll try not to abuse italics, I’ll use those special screen wipes you like… Sleep mode? You’ve got it!

Six and a half hours later, I’m back where I started: the same two files still don’t work. And my virus scan is now, not only out of date, but uninstalled.

I could reinstall it like James recommended… but then I’d have to restart.

*I do not want to identify the company for fear that they will send me ALL of their viruses, since surely they have plenty.

6) Braids are the ideal river hairstyle

2009-08-13T14:58:00.005-04:00

6) Just because it’s camping and there aren’t bubble baths doesn’t mean I couldn’t bring the pampering. Not only did I do my own hair, but I coerced the other girls into letting me French braid theirs in all sorts of ways. I owe them all a big THANK YOU, for letting me treat them like Barbie dolls - I think that playing beauty parlor was my way of bringing a piece of Tiffany to an entirely non-Tiffany environment.

I don't have any pictures of my own hair (see #5) but here's a great one of J-bean and Capt. D. Awww, adorable! See, you'd totally never guess that she hadn't showered in four days!

The twists and loops are great at hiding the hasn’t-been-washedness. How do I know? I got complimented in the airport on Wednesday, when I hadn’t touched shampoo since the previous Friday. I might’ve given that woman a strange look along with a thank you.

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