Tera Lynn Childs, awesome author of Oh. My. Gods. and Goddess Boot Camp, is holding an Olympics-themed contest. I donated a copy of TMI, which is part of a prize pack with Tera’s two books. How could you go wrong? Check out her latest blog entry for details on how to win. If you scroll down, you’ll see that there are more giveaways, and all contests run through the end of the Olympics (February 28).
For all you aspiring authors out there, I’d like to direct your attention to an outstanding web site strung with many pearls of writing and publishing wisdom. It’s called Kidlit.com and is powered by the fabulous Mary Kole, a writer and literary agent at Andrea Brown, one of the best agencies in the country.
While Mary’s interest and focus is on publications for younger readers, much of her advice is useful for anyone trying to get published. She answers questions from writers about how to submit their work to agents, how to deal with rejection, and why the wheels of the publishing industry turn in such creaky, funky ways. She did a series of posts a couple of months back about revision (so, so important) and is always stressing the importance of patience, a must-have trait for anyone dealing with the publishing world. It takes patience to craft and complete a great story, even more patience to polish it umpteen million times, and yet more patience to wait and see if agents and editors are interested. And if they are (oh happy day!), there will be yet more waiting to see your labor of love hit the shelves.
Axl Rose was totally right about that patience thing.
I regularly get questions from people about how to get a book published, and I’ve started directing everyone to this site. I’ve learned a ton from Mary, and if you’re interested in getting published, you will, too.
1. Michael Jackson: It was the moonwalking.
2-3. Keanu Reeves and River Phoenix: Is this photo not man-tastic?
4. Matt Damon: Ooh, he was so cute in School Ties.
5. Kate Winslet: I’m not afraid to admit to a girl crush. Can ya blame me?
6. Christian Bale: I’m all over the sit-ups scene in American Psycho.
7. Orlando Bloom: Is he still getting work? He should be, with those cheekbones.
8. Dave Navarro: He carries off the eyeliner so well.
9. Jack White: No offense, Jack, but it’s more about your voice and your guitar playing.
10. Robert Plant: I’m on a huge Led Zeppelin kick right now. The hair is almost as good as the voice.
Notice the trend toward musicians? What can I say–I’m a sucka for boys who sing, dance, and play the guitar.
I was an alto in the junior high choir. One day, for my own amusement, I passed around a note that said, “Look at the footprints on the ceiling.”
They all totally fell for it.
Ag. I got the flu (on my little girl’s second birthday, no less), which really threw me off my groove. I’ve noticed this happens to me every few months, right when I feel like I’m finally getting organized. I’m exercising regularly. Cooking tasty, nutritious dinners and freezing the leftovers. Writing thank-you notes in a timely fashion. Cleaning out my closets and hauling bags to the Goodwill. Catching up on email. Preparing for world domination.
And then…I get sick.
Chaos ensues for a week or two, and after I peek out from under the covers and survey the rubble, I realize I’m pretty much right back where I started.
Okay, not entirely. I mean, it normally takes more than two weeks for my closets to become pits of disaster.
The exercise thing really frosts my cookies. It’s so hard to get back into a good routine after being sick. I don’t want to push myself too hard, yet the longer I wait to do my yoga, the softer I get and the harder it’ll be when I finally do it again.
I know, wah, wah, wah. There are far more serious problems I could have. I know that. At the same time, I have a right to be annoyed, don’t I?
I don’t have time to be sick.
Here’s a story pulled from the archives of my old blog, where I referred to myself in the third person as Babs. Enjoy!
One weekend, when Babs was in tenth grade, she and her mother found themselves in the midst of the most amazing sale at Target. The Misses department was overflowing with incredible bargains. Denim jumpers for $3.29! Burgundy mock turtlenecks for $2.09! Jeans! Cotton sweaters in jewel tones! Stupid red wooden clogs with heart cut-outs! Babs had a $20 bill in her pocket from a recent baby-sitting stint, and she was determined to make it go as far as possible.
As Babs and her mother frantically sifted through the racks, they came across a plain straight black skirt made out of sweatshirt fabric. When Babs tried it on, the hem fell well below the knee. It looked classy. The orange tag on the skirt glowed with the beautiful price of $1.00. There wasn’t even a question.
When Babs got home, she dumped the large bag crammed with cheap shirts and jeans on her bed and fished the black skirt out from the bottom of the pile. She put it on and studied herself in the full-length mirror. The skirt nicely silhouetted her still-developing hips and made her look even taller than 5′8″. Everything was great. Babs wore the skirt to school the next day with her favorite black and white checked blouse and her red rose ribbon pin attached to the top button by her collar.
No one noticed her new skirt. Babs was a little disappointed by this, especially since her mother had gushed about it over breakfast.
Something had to be done.
Now, before this story goes any further, it should be known that Babs harbored a nasty little habit before she reached legal adulthood. When she was three, she took a scissors to her hair and fashioned quarter-inch bangs. At age five, she tried to shave her face just like Daddy did, only to decorate her plain white turtleneck with irregular red polka dots. And of course, her mother will never let her forget the afternoon in 1983 when she took every sweatshirt in the house and hacked out the neck and shoulders for the “Flashdance” look. With a cutting tool in hand, Babs was a holy terror. She liked to chop.
So when Babs got home from school that day, she immediately headed to her mother’s sewing closet and snatched the high-quality imported German scissors from their sleek brown case. Then, she retired to her room and went to work.
The next morning, Babs’ mother stared in horror as her daughter seated herself at the breakfast table.
“I don’t like what you’ve done to your skirt,” Babs’ mother said, getting up from the table.
Babs smiled. Mission accomplished.
When Babs arrived at school, everyone noticed the skirt this time. Babs had fashionably paired it with a black sweater, black tights, and made a headband out of this cool batiked silk scarf with lots of red and pink in it. The only real flaw in the outfit was her shoes. Babs had foolishly chosen her black patent leather flats with bows on the ends to complete the ensemble. Fortunately, no one was paying much attention to her shoes. As for the skirt, it was about a foot long. Babs was not planning to bend over that day.
On her way to her first class, Babs spied a knot of the bitchiest clique of seniors.
“Nice freakin’ outfit,” Candi muttered.
“Cha! Skank-o-rama,” agreed Brandi.
Since everyone in this group was wearing jeans so tight they looked painted on and had bangs at least 6″ tall, Babs let these comments stand on their own. She walked into biology and was greeted by several cat calls from the boys and hostile glances from the girls.
Later, in the locker room, a couple of Babs’ acquaintances approached her and told her that her outfit was so, so….well, black, really. Babs smiled and thanked them for the compliment. In English class, De
We’ve all been there. One of our friends thrusts a hardcover into our hands and says, “You have to read this.” And you’re thinking, “Hmm, yeah, maybe.” I try not to be that friend, insisting that people read things just because I liked them. I’m very careful never to say, “Omigod, you’ve never seen [insert name of awesome movie here]?!” Like it’s a personal failing not to have seen that movie.
I don’t do that.
All that being said, I very strongly urge to read My Invented Life by Lauren Bjorkman. Note, I didn’t say you have to. I won’t be that pushy. But let’s say that by not reading it, you are seriously missing out.
Ah, how I loved this book. It’s the story of Roz and her sister, Eva, two very different girls trying to figure out who they are in a small California town. But it’s more than that. There’s Shakespeare, in the form of a school production of As You Like It and Bjorkman’s highly clever interpretations of many of the Bard’s best quotes. There are secrets. Who is gay? Who is straight? Who gets the guy? Who gets the girl? Bjorkman left me guessing right up to the end.
My Invented Life is written in such a fresh, funny voice that I often found myself envying Bjorkman’s talent and wit. It was a good kind of envy, though. The kind that inspires me to be a better writer. I could go on and on (and I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if I did, right, Lauren?), but the book really speaks for itself, so do yourself a huge favor today and pick up a copy.
It’s February, which means that Valentine’s Day is coming up. Stumped about what to get your sweetheart? Here are some suggestions:
1. Skydiving lessons
2. A ham
3. Deodorant with a little note attached that says, “Hint, hint!”
4. Fire insurance
5. A schnauzer
8. A chest freezer full of beef pot pies
9. A PedEgg
10. A copy of TMI
When I was four, I proposed to a boy down the street. His name was Donovan. He said no. I bit his cheek and rode home on my Big Wheel.
I went to a book signing featuring five authors, and I couldn’t wait to rush home and read Allen Zadoff’s Food, Girls, and Other Things I Can’t Have first. Zadoff’s reading was so funny, and he spoke so candidly about his own struggles as an overweight teenager that I knew I’d love his book. I did. It’s the story of Andrew Zansky, the second heaviest kid at his school and the son of a caterer. Unlike most books that deal with weight issues, Food, Girls doesn’t focus much on how many pounds Andrew loses by the end of the story. Instead, Zadoff explores Andrew’s journey to find acceptance with his peers and, ultimately, with himself.
As I read Food, Girls, I kept thinking that this book was in many ways the brother companion to Carolyn Mackler’s The Earth, My Butt, and Other Big, Round Things. Notice the parallels in the kick-ass titles? Both main characters undergo physical transformations that end up being secondary to their mental shifts. Like Mackler, Zadoff’s message is sincere but never preachy and is summed up in one of my favorite quotes by India.Arie:
“No matter what anybody says, what matters most is what you think of yourself.”
Things I don’t need to do again, like ever:
1. Work at the Woolen Mills
2. Ask someone why they don’t like me
3. Eat sweetbreads
4. Apologize for the way I behaved in high school
5. Cut my own hair
6. Obsess over TMI’s sales rank on Amazon (and I don’t, now that I know how meaningless that number truly is)
7. Let the Wii tell me how much I should weigh
8. Take a toddler to a crowded hipster restaurant after her bedtime
9. Watch I Am Legend
10. Puke
Every October, my college has a campus-wide evening of blind dates. Officially, the event is called “Set Up Your Roommate,” but we all called it “Screw Your Roommate” and even got little screws in our mailboxes as a reminder.
Freshman year, I left myself entirely in the hands of my roommate. My date for the evening wasn’t at all impressed when I suggested we go to the 9:00 showing of Dirty Dancing in the science building, but he didn’t have any better ideas. The onscreen heat between Baby and Johnny failed to inspire my date and me, and we parted amicably at the end of the evening.
The next year, I was already in rabid crush mode by the time Screw Your Roommate came around. I had my sights on a freshman I’d met while baking cookies in one of the campus houses. He reminded me of a young Val Kilmer and always simultaneously raised his chin and eyebrows when he saw me.
It left me in a puddle of my own drool every time.
I’m sure my roommate (not the same one I’d had freshman year) would have been glad to set me up with Val Kilmer, but I was embarrassed. So I did what any girl does when she wants to go on a not-so-blind date with her crush: I called Val’s roommate and pretended to be my roommate.
My date with Val started off really well, and we were totally hitting it off. We went for a walk and got to know each other. Then we went out for sandwiches. Finally, we ended up back at his room, where he put on Dark Side of the Moon and dimmed the lights so I could admire the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling.
I was pretty giddy at this point and confident that we were about to make out. So I did what any girl who later writes a book called TMI would do: I told Val that I’d called his roommate and arranged our date. Val furrowed his brow slightly and said he was tired. Date over.
From then on, whenever I saw Val, he always said hi, but the chin-eyebrow raises stopped. And it was all my fault.
With this debut novel, Struts & Frets, Jon Skovron joins an esteemed group of authors who have created characters that I totally crush on. Sammy Bojar is a boy with a guitar and a dream of making a living making music. I knew I was going to love this book when I cracked the spine and saw that the first chapter was titled “Idiots Rule,” which is also a Jane’s Addiction song. Skovron creates a playlist with his chapters, winding his way through the Pixies, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and ending with Soul Coughing’s “So Far I Have Not Found A Science” (still stuck in my head). I urge you to pick up this book, and then I dare you to put it down.
I needed a blogging break, and now I’m back. Thanks for your patience, everyone.
So what’s new in Quigleyland? Let’s see…
Over the next few weeks, I’m looking forward to diving into another draft of my novel, seeing my parents when they come out to visit, and helping my daughter celebrate her second birthday. I’ll do my best to keep up my regular features.
When I was in fifth grade, all the popular girls wore Coca-Cola shirts, Guess jeans, and Reebok high-top sneakers (preferably pink ones). I was certain that once I procured this particular ensemble, world domination would be mine.
A few Christmases and birthdays went by, and I finally had all the requisite pieces. I stepped out in my outfit, which was teetering on the edge of out-of-date. As I walked down the hall past the popular girls, I heard the Queen Bee say, “Look, even Sarah has Guess jeans now.”
“They must not be cool anymore,” was the reply from one of her minions.
Ouch.
I haven’t said much about my new novel on this blog, but I’m the process of finishing a second draft (the first draft was not pretty, people). I’m still not ready to reveal too much about the book, but basically, it’s about a girl who spends a summer waiting tables at a resort when she’d rather be playing her cello at orchestra camp. Complications ensue.
It’s taken me forever to think of a decent title (I’m not revealing my current favorite because it may not fly in the end). Along the way, I’ve thought of many heinous titles, with some help from my husband. He’s good at that sort of thing. Here they are:
1. Mah Cello and Mah Fellow
2. Mo’ Music, Mo’ Problems
3. The Summer of Lies!!!
4. I Can Haz Beethoven?
5. Mean Girls Minus Lindsay Lohan
6. I Only Get Cell Reception Behind the Tool Shed
7. I Frickin’ Hate It Up Here
8. Stop Patting My Butt, You Dirty Old Man
9. Play Me Like A Cello!
10. Like Twilight, But At A Resort
Daisy Whitney, author of The Mockingbirds, a fab-sounding YA book due out next year, is offering up a signed copy of TMI. Watch her video blog for more details!
Do you live in the San Francisco Bay Area? Planning a visit there in the next week? Then come meet me! I’ve got five, count ‘em FIVE, appearances scheduled in the next two weeks. And at four of these events, I’ll be in the excellent company of several other young adult authors:
Lauren Bjorkman (My Invented Life)
Cheryl Renee Herbsman (Breathing)
Malinda Lo (Ash)
C. Lee McKenzie (Sliding on the Edge)
J.A. Yang (Exclusively Chloe)
I’ve read and enjoyed all of their books, so if you’re looking for a gift for your favorite YA fan this holiday season, consider these my picks (along with TMI, of course).
Note: Books will be for sale at each of these events. The Barnes and Noble venue was recently switched from Colma, CA, to San Bruno, CA.
December 5, 2009, 3-4 PM
Book signing with Lauren Bjorkman, Cheryl Renee Herbsman, Malinda Lo, and J.A. Yang
Borders
588 Francisco Blvd. West
San Rafael, CA
December 8, 2009, 7 PM
Young adult author panel with Lauren Bjorkman, Cheryl Renee Herbsman, C. Lee McKenzie, and J.A. Yang
Menlo Park Public Library
800 Alma St.
Menlo Park, CA
December 9, 2009, 12 PM
Young adult author panel with Lauren Bjorkman, Cheryl Renee Herbsman, Malinda Lo, and J.A. Yang
Petaluma High School
201 Fair St.
Petaluma, CA
Note: This event is open to the public, but visitors should check in at the school office when arriving.
December 12, 2009, 2-4 PM
Book signing with Lauren Bjorkman, Cheryl Renee Herbsman, Malinda Lo, C. Lee McKenzie, and J.A. Yang
Barnes and Noble
The Shops at Tanforan
1150 El Camino Real
San Bruno, CA
December 18, 2009, 6 PM
Young adult book club with lil ol’ me and no one else
Borders
Stonestown Galleria
3251 20th Ave.
San Francisco, CA
P.S. What’s that? You’re not lucky enough to be in the Bay Area this week and you still want to meet some cool authors? Done! Check out the other author events happening in New York, Chicago, and Toronto for Holidaze with the Debs.
In seventh grade, I was standing in line with my friend, Janie, in the cafeteria. As we neared the kitchen, we noticed an object hanging from the doorknob.
“It kind of looks like a balloon,” Janie said.
I squinted and peered closer. “Yeah, only it’s sort of clear. And the shape is weird.”
Janie and I fingered the mysterious balloon for a few moments and walked away, shrugging.
It wasn’t until years later that I realized we’d been touching a condom.
I spent part of Black Friday sitting at the front of Greetings and Readings, a popular bookstore and gift shop in Hunt Valley, Maryland. Based on a similar past experience, I knew that I would be largely ignored by the customers and that the people most likely to talk to me would be fiftysomething men, not exactly TMI’s target demographic.
Over the course of two hours, I signed four copies of TMI, which I now know isn’t a bad number at all for a relatively unknown author doing this kind of event. However, in retrospect, there were several things I could have done to increase sales:
1. Worn a Baltimore Ravens jersey
2. Placed Ravens merchandise on the table next to my books. The snowmen wearing Ravens hats and sweatshirts were especially popular.
3. Shouted “Go Ravens!” at regular intervals
4. When asked what TMI was about, answered, “Oh, a girl who really loves the Ravens.”
5. Gotten a Raven to come in and sign copies of TMI
6. Claimed to be Ray Lewis’s sister
7. Put a flat screen behind me showing the Raven’s latest game
8. Brought my husband and brother along so that the three of us could dress up as Edgar, Allan, and Poe, the Ravens’ mascots
9. Set up a kissing booth next to my table with Ravens cheerleaders
Seriously, was anyone in this store interested in the actual books for sale? The customers were all clustered around the display of Ravens merchandise like a bunch of starving people at a pit beef stand.
After a rousing evening with friends, my man and I were in the supermarket shopping for snacks. I really wanted Old Dutch potato chips, and my man didn’t. I was wearing lipstick, so I kissed the box of chips and said, “Ha! Now we have to get them.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
My iPod contains much secret shame.
1. Britney, Britney Spears
2. The Essential Journey, Journey
3. Times Makin’ Changes: The Best of Tesla, Tesla
4. An astonishing number of Sheryl Crow albums
5. Gold, ABBA
6. Both volumes of the Boogie Nights soundtrack
7. Make It Big, Wham!
8. The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert soundtrack
9. Singable Songs for the Very Young, Raffi (okay, it’s for my daughter; otherwise, I wouldn’t have it. Seriously.)
10. Fire, Electric Six
The town I grew up in didn’t have a lot to offer teenagers. There was no coffee shop, no mall, no roller rink, no mini golf course. Some kids hung out in the Hardee’s parking lot, but that wasn’t a practical option during winter, which lasted five months. The parking lot wasn’t my scene, anyway.
I clearly remember the winter of my sophomore year. I had very few friends that year, and two of my siblings were still toddlers, which meant that the living room was a sea of toys, Cheerios, and Disney videos. That was not my scene, either.
No, my scene was my room. Pretty much all I did was sit on my bed listening to Pink Floyd’s The Wall and playing solitaire. With real cards–we didn’t have a computer.
Now when I think about how many hours I wasted slouched on my bed, I cringe. I could have been writing a novel.
Things I’m Bad At
1. Volleyball. I’ve never seen anyone worse than me.
2. Showing restraint with baked goods. I try to limit myself to two cookies a day, but I often fail.
3. Cooking rice. I know, what could be simpler, right? But I’ve screwed it up many times.
4. Not taking things personally. Especially someone else’s bad behavior, which usually has nothing to do with me. Still, when people are rude or grouchy, my knee-jerk reaction is, “Oh no, what did I do?” This could be a sign of self-centeredness.
5. Remembering what people do for a living. It’s funny because I have a great memory for names and dates, but when I meet someone for the first time and they tell me what they do, it usually goes in one ear and out the other. No idea why.
6. Functioning on very little sleep and irregular meals. My body is highly intolerant of poor treatment.
7. Waiting for people to respond to my emails. I am not patient, and the longer it takes someone to get back to me, the more I worry that it’s because I did something wrong (see #4).
8. Forgiveness. I’m getting better, but I still have a long way to go. This book helped.
9. Juggling. I dated the president of the juggling club in college, and even that didn’t help.
10. Ballroom dancing. Sorry, but I want to lead.
I have an aunt who is only ten years older than me. When I was eight, I was at my grandma’s house, and I decided to snoop around my aunt’s bedroom. I opened up her desk drawer and found a little black spray bottle. Thinking it was perfume, I spritzed it on my wrists, rubbed them together, and held them up to my face.
Right away, I knew something was wrong. My eyes began to itch, and my wrists were on fire. I ran to my parents and showed the them the bottle. My dad started laughing, but I didn’t see what was so funny. He told me the bottle contained pepper spray and that some people carried it with them for self defense purposes. My dad also said that he’d had to walk into a room clouded over with it when he was in the army.
I got in the shower to relieve the stinging in my eyes and thought to myself, “I’m never joining the army.”
