SUBLIMINAL MONDAY: Hotter, Sexier, & WAY More Attractive

First of all, how do you like the new "blog do?" I took my blog to the spa and after much fussing, snipping, curling, and nail-polishing, this is what the professional stylists came up with. Do you like it? Isn't it hotter, sexier, and WAY more attractive? [Um, is the Earth flat? Is it possible to eat only one Dorito?]

Secondly, I have a deep, thought-provoking, heart-wrenching question: What do you do when you're in like, but not in love with your wip? Do you drop it like a high-school boyfriend with a really bad zit, or stick with it like an annoying song you can't get out of your head? [Midnight at the Oasis.]

I'm enjoying writing my new book, but I'm not ecstatic about it. Then again, I'm not sure if I'm ever enthralled with my first drafts. Each time I write a book, I tell myself to take notes about how I feel so next time I'll realize my neuroses are normal. ["Normal neuroses" is an oxymoron.] Inevitably, I plum forget to take those notes, so I'm left with my usual self-doubts. [My capacity to remember is akin to Rush Limbaugh's capacity to make sense or Ann Coulter's ability to be kind.]

What to do? This is the first time I have an agent to bounce ideas off of, and she loves when I ask for advice. [If I call her one more time, she said she'd take a restraining order out against me.] Her suggestion for me to do what I think is best and to trust my creative process is nonsensical. Doesn't she realize that by "advice" I mean for her to tell me exactly what to do as if I was three years old? That I need her to pretty much write the book for me? [For the love of all that is sane in this world, don't they teach this stuff in agenting school?]

IN OTHER NEWS...
I love the winter Olympics - A LOT - but now they're over - AGAIN. I look forward to them with heart-thumping anticipation every four years, and then they turn their back on me and walk away, just like Timmy Preston did in 8th grade. [Eff you, Timmy Preston!] Why can't they continue until the next one begins? Would that be too much to ask? [Too much to ask - you mean like expecting nice folks to trudge through these delusional SUBLIMINAL MONDAYS posts? Then, yes, it's WAY too much to ask.]

Here's my Olympic Review: The snowboarding was mind-blowing, downhill was death-defying, short-track was thrilling, and the figure skating was sublime. That's pretty much all I can say, since there were some sports I didn't watch or simply don't "get," but I won't mention them here since that shows little or no class, and I'm all about the class. [Curling, biathalon, cross-country.]

So, now, I can't believe I have to wait another four, long, depressing, unforgiving, irreverent, never-ending, menacing, hypnotic, psychotic, erotic [a girl can dream, can't she?] years before the next winter Olympics begin. Would it really be too much to ask to simply have them every year, or every month, or every other Sunday? [For those of you who are still reading I have two questions. 1) Why are you still reading? Don't you have a life? and, 2) Don't you agree? Wouldn't it make more sense to have the Olympics every other Sunday? Okay, that's four questions and this is not a Passover Seder, but I'm hoping you get the point.]

And, I'm sure most of you know Canada won the gold in hockey. Standing on the podium receiving their silver medals, Team USA looked like their moms had collectively been hit by a bus. I tweeted about how these athletes are role models and their unsportsmanlike behavior effects kids all over the world [blah, blah, blah]. Many agreed with me, but some [crazy, insane losers] did not. Those who disagreed, thought the players were only expressing their feelings "in the moment" - that it was a devastating loss and they, being macho hockey players, were seriously pissed off. [Poor, little professional hockey players who make millions of dollars every year doing what they love. So sad, that.] My take is this: these guys are NFL players. They can handle loss. Don't we teach our kids, "It doesn't matter if you win or lose, it's how you play the game?" AND.....a silver medal is SO not losing!!!! [Unless you come in second in say, a city-wide speech competition in say, Denver, in say, 1992, that you're sure you'd win, then second place seriously sucks. I mean, theoretically speaking.]

What are your thoughts? Do you agree with those crazy, insane losers or are you sane and agree with me? [If you agree with them, you've just joined The Crazy Insane Losers Club. Kidding. Not really. Sort of. Okay, not at all. Maybe a little.]

SUBLIMINAL MONDAY: Revelations

Is it just me, or are SUBLIMINAL MONDAYS arriving at warped speed these days? I'm fairly certain someone has messed with the fragile space/time continuum, and I'm not pleased. The reason this angers me is because, although it may not look like it, these posts do not write themselves. [In fact, small elves from Greenland write them, but I'll save that for another time.]

So, my friends, guess what? I'm back to work on a new story. [Sheesh, does this writing crap never end?] Awesome Agent is currently reading Draft #3, and I'm going crazy not editing. Therefore, TADA! new book to the rescue.

As I was writing this week, I had a mind-bending revelation: There may not be "magic" in this wip, and I mean that literally. I would've bet money that the follow-up to my first YA novel would also have a magical element, but guess what? I would've been wrong. [I'm sorry, are you snoring? RUDE!] So, what is my new book about you ask? It's about teenagers without special powers, other than their usual bitchiness, know-it-all-ness, laziness, sex-craziness, etc. that teens excel at. [I'm sorry, did I say, "teens?" I meant,"I."] Even though I'm only 4,200 words in, I'm already in love with my characters. They're fun, quirky, bossy, interesting, and conflict-ridden. And a few are just plain train-wreckish. [Like Tiger Woods or Sarah Palin. Or maybe Tiger Woods and Sarah Palin. Ohmygod, could she have been one of his gazillion mistresses? Holy Lipstick-On-a-Pig, Batman, I didn't think it was possible for my opinion of Tiger to tank any lower!]

Like many writers, I translate the drama I see in real life into fiction. I'm fortunate enough to be surrounded by a gaggle of teens. [Yes, they're called a "gaggle." Google "gaggle" if you don't believe me... Okay, fine. I made it up. I just wanted to say google gaggle.] Of course, I cut out about 99% of the bad words they use, because, really, who wants to read a book with the "eff word" in every sentence? [Larry Flint, Howard Stern, and David Duchovny, to name a few.]

And, don't faint, but I had another revelation this week. [Must be the extra chocolate I've been strategically adding to my diet.] I realized writing is akin to Olympic sports. Yup, you heard me right folks. Like Olympic athletes, we writers rise early in the morning [afternoon], exercise [Twitter, solitaire] and GET OUR GAME ON! [Write a chapter or two and take a nap.] Sometimes we even fall down [roll out of bed for a snack] leaving random body parts [words, sentences, entire chapters] strewn about, and get up and do it all over again the next day. In fact - and you can quote me on this - the stress we writers face far surpasses that of Olympic athletes. Why? Because they only do it once every four years, while we writers sometimes write four books in ONE year. You do the math. [You hate math? Fine, I'll do it for you. 4x4=16. You're welcome.] Like gold medalist Shaun White would say, "I'm so stoked, dude, cuz like, WRITERS ARE TOTALLY RAD!"

So, as you continue to watch world-class, Olympic athletes skiing, skating, bobsledding, or whatever-the-heck it is they do on the international stage this week, remember to give credit where credit is due: to the writers. After all, it is we who work our arses off [sit on our arses while we work] and it is we who never sleep [not counting night time and mandatory afternoon naps].

SUBLIMINAL MONDAY question: What is your favorite Winter Olympic sport? My fave is Figure Skating. [Will forever be in love with Torvill and Dean.]

SUBLIMINAL MONDAY: Meeting Awesome Agent - The Ballad of B & D

I bet you're wondering how my meeting with Awesome Agent aka Bernadette Baker-Baughman of Baker's Mark Literary went? [You're not? Fine. Be that way. I have no feelings.] It wasn't easy, people, let me tell you: It. Was. Not. Easy.

First of all, she was supposed to fly in on the Red Eye Tuesday night, but, guess what? The East Coast got slammed with the biggest storm in like a bazillion years. [That's not an exaggeration. It was a bazillion and three years since the last storm this big hit Philly, Baltimore, & DC. Google it if you don't believe me.] So.... plane canceled.

Tears streamed down my face at warped speed for the next 24 hours until, VWALAH - Wednesday night Red Eye took flight! Yes, Maribelle, there is a God and her name is jetBlue. [I've no idea who Maribelle is, and if God existed, which I'm not completely convinced she does, her name would most definitely NOT be jetBlue. It would probably be something like Sasha or Ariella or Alexandra or Sasha Ariella Alexandra. You know, something with beauty, elegance, a little oomph.] Alas, my tears dried up like the Sahara after a wicked rainstorm, and joy began to creep back into the soft, slight creases on my face. [Okay, they're craters. Whatev.] Awesome Agent managed to fly 3,000 miles into the City Of My Birth, and now it was my mission to travel a mere 94 miles from Philly to NYC. No big woop, right? WRONG! In my humble town, we received 20 inches of snow atop the previous 15 inches that was dumped on us only four days prior. Three freaking feet of snow, people, three freaking feet of snow. So, guess what?

1) Honey plowed our driveway with our super-duper snow-blower for three hours and we still couldn't get a car out.

2) I couldn't get a cab to the train station.

3) Most of the trains were either not running, or seriously delayed.

So, AA was in NYC and I was, once again, crying at home in Philly. [Do you feel bad for me? Cuz you should definitely feel bad for me. Heck, even I feel bad for myself! This story is a real tear-jerker.] I was supposed to have dinner with AA, but I couldn't even get to my mailbox.

She wrote to me in an email, and I quote, "The force is strong with you, young Jedi. I believe that you'll make it. ANYTHING is possible."

Wow. She called me, Young Jedi. How could I so thoroughly disappoint my Master, especially when she'd traveled thousands of miles just to see me? [She had meetings galore in NYC. Dinner with me was, no doubt, a regretful afterthought.]

LIGHT BULB MOMENT! I could try to get into New York on FRIDAY! I checked the train schedules and paid the price of a plane ticket, but it was worth it, because I was on my way to meet my Master! The clouds parted, the sun shone through, the flowers bloomed, and Sasha Ariella Alexandra spoke to me. She said, "Good job, my young Jedi. The Force is most definitely with you!"

[BTW: For those of you new to my blog, if you were looking for a "meeting" here, AA doesn't mean what you think. AA stands for Awesome Agent. And, best of luck with your sobriety.]

So, after what seemed like a lifetime of tears and sadness and disappointment and sheer terror, I found myself on a bumpy, ice-lining-the-tracks train ride to NYC. [There wasn't even one scintilla of terror, I just thought I'd toss it in for effect. Did it work? Were you terrified? Good. Then, I'll give my bud Stephen King a shout-out. He's kind of green at the fear game - thinks it's "his calling" (such a Drama King!) and I believe strongly you've got to encourage the newbies.]

I arrived in Penn Station not much worse for the wear - a few hairs out of place, my make-up smeared, some drool on my chin from a much-needed nap - I mean crying for 24 hours wears you out! And then, as if in a beautiful dream, there was AWESOME AGENT! Amidst the millions of busy New Yorkers racing by, AA appeared in a black and white checked coat made of pure awesome. She walked up to me in slow motion and gave me a long, much-needed hug. I'm fairly certain Steven Spielberg hovered above in a hecidoctor [That's what my son called a helicopter when he was little. Isn't that cute? No? Oh, well, never mind then.] filming the most intense, history-making, literary moment EVAH!

We slipped inside an Irish Pub and got down to the business of getting to know each other in person. Phone calls, emails, tweets, and even Skype, don't begin to convey the magnificence of AA. She's exactly as I imagined - an angel sent from Heaven to help me along my literary path. She even has wings, I swear, it's true! [And, yes, Maribelle, the Pope is Jewish.]

We did an 8-minute vlog answering questions submitted by my dear followers. I will post that vlog later this week. All I'll say about that is that it's downright hilarious [think Chelsea Handler meets Lewis Black] and is filled with way-important literary tidbits. You will not be disappointed! [You may be bored, but you will not be disappointed!]

Until then, I hope your Valentine's Day was filled with love, and more importantly, chocolate, and that you're enjoying the Winter Games in Vancouver.

Go USA!

SUBLIMINAL MONDAY: Olympic Level Writing

Watching Olympic level figure skaters this weekend made me think about my writing. If these wonderful young athletes [16 years old? Are you freaking kidding me? I freaking HATE THEM!] can rise from slumber long before dawn and practice hours at a time from about five minutes after they burst from the womb, then why can't I write for 4-8 hours each and every day? [Because that would assume a thing called "discipline" which, if my bathroom scale could talk, would tell you is sorely missing from my life.]

My main problem is distractions. Annoying phone calls from Stephen King pleading for writing tips [who do you think helped him write, "On Writing?"] and emails from Hollywood film agents needing option and casting advice distract me and get in the way of my precious writing time. [Actual distractions include Twitter, spider solitaire, frequent chocolate breaks, and napping]. I've considered hiring an assistant to field calls from Stephen and Hollywood, but haven't found the spare time to advertise. [BWAHAHA! What would I have an assistant do - surf the internet for pictures of Ashton Kutcher to add to my collection? Hmm, not a bad idea...]

So, in order to step up my writing game to Olympic levels, I've decided to make some changes. After all, you do not become an Olympic champion overnight. Here's my game plan:

1) VLOGGING: I'm going to start vlogging. What is vlogging, you ask? It's video blogging. You'll click on my video and listen to me talk. Isn't that like totally mega-fabulous? [Snore.] I plan to have my first vlog up later this week.

In order to accommodate this leap into modern technology, I bought a Flip Ultra HD. Ain't she pretty? Yes, folks, I'll be imparting vitally important information about writing via the magic of a cell-phone-sized video camera. If you're nice, I may even serenade you with an original song or two. [More snoring.] Let me know what types of things you'd like me to discuss, and be sure to keep your requests G-Rated. After all, my parents read my blog religiously. [2-3 times a year when I visit them and guilt them into it.]

2) NO TWITTER 'TIL NOON!: In order to fully concentrate on my work, I'm not turning Twitter on until noon. Talk about a MAMMOTH sacrifice. [I get up at eleven, so it's really no big deal.]

3) EATING LESS SWEETS: I'm cutting back on my enormous daily intake of sugar. You may not understand how the intricate complexities of less sugar ties in with upping my writing game since this is quite a complicated physiological matter, so let me explain. [I've no flipping idea.] When you take life to a whole new level, you need less sugar. Less sugar = more sustained energy = more and better writing. I swear, this is true. [I made the whole thing up.]

So, there you have it, folks. My new regimen for upping my writing game: vlogging, no tweeting 'til noon, and less sugar. Pretty brilliant, eh? [About as smart as Sarah Palin discussing anything remotely political.]

Although, I think this plan is like totally amazing, dude, my husband's not impressed. Ever since he started training for his first marathon this coming May, he thinks he's all that and a bag of treadmill-shaped chocolate chip cookies Woohoo, big deal, he's running a marathon. [I couldn't run a single block even if a pack of wild wolves were chasing me.] I, on the other hand, am officially in intensive training to be an Olympic-level writer, which is way more incredible than completing a stupid 26.2 mile run. [Are you laughing? Do you think this is some kind of joke?]

So, my dear friends, I'm off to make Olympic-sized lifestyle changes so I can make Olympic-sized literary history. Anyone care to join me? [What? You wouldn't follow me if I were the last person on earth and was dropping $100 bills behind me?]

My special SUBLIMINAL MONDAY gift to you. Click on the link below and enjoy:

Favorite Olympic moment: Torvill and Dean skating their unmatchable dance to Ravel's Bolero, winning them the title of 1984's Olympic winners in ice dancing. Sheer perfection.