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October 28, 2004
Strippen Kaart
From Michelle, in the Slagroom...
Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Is it a nekkid card game?
No!
Strippen Kaart is...
A ticket for the Dutch public transport system!
How it works:
1. Buy card (available in stations or most supermarkets) with 15 little strips on it.
2. Climb aboard either tram, bus or metro. Whatever takes your fancy!
3. Puch strip card in machine, using appropriate number of strips (depends on how many zones you are crossing--city center area is 2 strips).
And voila!
Machine punches time on strip card and it's good to travel on any mode of public transport for 1 hour from that time.
And one great thing about it--you can use it in any Dutch city.
I love the Dutch!
Michelle, off to the UK for the weekend--see you Monday!
Posted by Michelle at 8:39 AM | Comments (0)
October 27, 2004
Shutter Bug
Lani, writing from the swank digs in Seattle...
I slept for 10 hours last night. Ah. Nirvana.
Last night we went to Elliott Bay Books in Seattle, and a couple of girls from my Chick Lit RWA chapter came by (Hi, Christina! Hi, Shannon!) and we had a great time. I wanted to kick myself for not bringing my camera - I'll be sure not to forget it again!
Anyway, I did have my camera at other times, and since - despite the forementioned 10 hours - my brain is still al little fuzzy at the edges, I thought I'd share with you the highlights of my trip. So, here we go...
Well, that about covers it. I must get another cup of coffee (so hard to find here in Seattle!) and maybe even possibly get some work done. Thanks so much! Hope I'll see some of you at the events!
Posted by Lani at 1:16 PM | Comments (8)
Galleys: the love/hate relationship
Alesia, from Halloween party central...
I hate galleys. No, I’m not talking about the tiny kitchen on a boat kind of galleys, although I probably wouldn’t like those much, either, given that I’m claustrophobic and get a little carsick. So tiny boat kitchens would probably send me screaming to the nearest porthole.
But, I’m actually referring to the complete manuscript of your book that your publisher sends you as a last chance to catch any mistakes/typos/whole chapters that were inadvertently stuck in the wrong place by somebody drinking vodka at the typesetters . . .
Well, that last thing only happened once.
First, I will say right up front that I love and adore and feel totally fortunate to even have the chance to HAVE galleys to complain about!! I’ve dreamed of being a published author my whole entire life, so I should dance happily through the house clutching my galleys, right?
I did, the first time. But now it’s just painful. . .
The problem is that I’ve already read SUPER 16 about a zillion times. So, I kinda know what happens. And what the jokes are. And how it ends.
Which sucks the fun right out of it.
Copyeditors don’t like it when you make up words, by the way, so my teenager’s vocabulary always winds up coming back to me looking pretty bizarre.
Plus, I have another chance to look at my own writing and think, hmmm, that’s AWFUL. Or, more rarely, Hey – that’s pretty good. Or, even: hey, what if I change this whole chapter?
(FYI - Publishers don’t like it if you change an entire chapter at this stage. We’re talking about hand-written little notes they have to input.)
Plus, by now I see what I think I wrote. It’s a Gestalt thing, I think. So I’m not even sure I could catch all the typos. Sadly, I’m enough of a perfectionist that I have to try . . .
Back to work.
Hugs,
Alesia
Posted by Alesia at 1:08 PM | Comments (1)
October 25, 2004
Why I don't yet have, and may never, ever have...
From Michelle, in the Slagroom...
...a car!
Not because I am suddenly anti car, because I'm not, and, in fact, I developed quite close relationships with my previous cars...
But two fairly big reasons for this carlessness might be:
1. Parking is at a premium in the city center. Went to view an apartment the other day with a view to buying it and the cost of the garage was, gulp, $25,000 - $30,000 on top of the purchase price!
2. Gas costs, wait for it, wait for it...$8 per gallon. Yes, this is absolutely true! Although it's actually $8 per gallon in the UK and is probably a bit more than that in the Netherlands...
So if you ever take a trip to Europe and wonder why (a) cars are smaller, and (b) average number of cars per family is less, you now know the answer!
New Year's Resolution: cycle everywhere even in 70 mph winds (still working on cycling without hands...)
Love Michelle, who is trying to convince herself that cycling is the new driving!
Posted by Michelle at 11:14 AM | Comments (1)
I Heart Warner
Lani, from the swank digs...
Well, I made it to Portland just fine, and the flights were lovely. I got bumped up to First Class (woo hoo!) and it was a lot of fun bringing the white trash element that so few First Classers get to experience.
But this isn't about that. This is about the five star hotel in which Warner has put me up. Me, I'm a coach/Motel 6 girl, so walking into my room and finding a full honor bar and this....
a plush stuffed bear which has been in this room, I'm sure, for quite some time and I'm certain has witnessed things I'm not anxious to pay $32 (!!!) to cosmically attach to myself
... was just a teensy bit of a culture shock. I also am completely incapable of sticking Warner for $5 for a bag of peanuts, so the honor bar isn't being touched, but still... I have one. That counts.
If you're in Portland, catch me at Powell's tonight! I'll try to give these little mini-updates as I can...
I have an honor bar. :::snicker:::
Posted by Lani at 9:20 AM | Comments (8)
October 24, 2004
Up In The Air
Lani, about to get on a plane, nervous as hell...
Well, I'm on my way. Almost. If anyone here is in Portland or Seattle, check out my webpage and stop on in and see me for one of the events!
What is it about planes that terrify me so? Perhaps it's that, despite the fact that they are statistically the safest form of travel, every air incident from serious turbulence to crash-boom-bang gets so much media coverage you could raise a child from baby to college before they're done talking about it? Perhaps it's those tiny little aisles and those tiny little seats that create a sense of being packed in like cattle for the slaughter? Perhaps it's the inherent hostility in the flight attendants, and the scary makeup shield/botox-induced expression inhibition that's so creepy?
I don't know. Possibly, just possibly, the problem might be my inherent psychosis. But why look inward when it's so much more comfortable to look outward? I mean, really? Why?
So, I had all kinds of cute ideas for today's entry, but decided to write it today when all I can think about is the plane going down, down, down and now I'm all out of funny juice.
I. Got. Nothin'.
So, in the blogging tradition of referencing blogs past when You Got Nothin', I'm gonna give you something I wrote in July of 2003, before attending my first ever RWA national conference. This is the reason why, despite the multiple public appearances I'm going to be making on this trip, including a television appearance, my nails will be as pitiful as they ever are.
Enjoy! Light a candle so that my plane doesn't crash and/or so that I suddenly gain the mental capacity to travel in the safest known manner without freaking out the whole time. Thanks!
My First Manicure
Sounds like a playset for little girls, doesn't it? I'd be surprised if there wasn't something like it on the market. But no, this was a real, adult manicure in a real, adult world.
See, I'm not the girly type. I'm not remotely fashionable. I like a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt anyday. But I'm going to NY (T-minus two days) and I thought I should get my nails done. And, as I am not typically girly and not typically adept at this sort of thing, and since God has a terrific sense of humor, He sent me directly to Jennifer.
Jennifer... hmmm. I'm not sure where to start. I think I have to start with the hostile rolling of eyes at the receptionist who brought me over, a receptionist who was sweet and smiling and just adorable. I didn't take this as a good sign.
Then, Jennifer and I sit down. She starts working on my nails. She asks what conference I'm going to. I say a writer's conference.
Big mistake. Should have told her I was a potato farmer.
"Will you write my biography?"
I laugh. She doesn't. Oh, God.
She starts filing my nails. I'm worried. "I think someone needs to write a book about a fat woman who can't get a job because she's fat."
I look at the ceiling. Jennifer is easily 300 pounds. Which is fine. I'm a little worried because her nails are haggard and chomped to the quick, but it's like that old adage about choosing the hairdresser whose hair is bad, because it means that the other one did her hair. That doesn't make sense, but you know what I'm talking about.
I'm grasping at straws. I try to change the subject.
"So, have you been doing nails long?"
She shrugs. "Three weeks."
Ahhhh. I relax. I realize I've just pissed $35 away and there's really nothing to be done about it, so why not take the experience for what it's worth? We start to chat. She insists again that I write a book about a fat woman who can't get a job. She tells me that she pretty much had a receptionist job over the phone, but when she showed up in person, they told her it was filled.
I nod. I smile. I try to be accommodating, but I don't know anyone who has ever hired over the phone. Maybe she had a good shot over the phone, but if they didn't say "You're hired" which they didn't then she wasn't. But still. She's got my nails in her hands. I am sympathetic.
And then she tells me about being a PE teacher, and how she lost her job as a PE teacher because the male PE teacher felt that a PE teacher shouldn't weigh 300 pounds. I express no opinion on the subject, because really, if she could do the job then what does it matter? I hum noncommittally and before I can respond, I see her yelling at a woman who just sat down with another manicurist to have her nails done.
"Don't think I don't see you, Debbie! Be careful, I might take that personally!"
Debbie turns and makes excuses. "You were busy!"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Jennifer returns her attention to my nails, for which I am grateful, because at the moment she's scraping the surface in such a way that's making my teeth stand on edge, and I really want her careful attention lest I go home with nine nails instead of ten. She looks up at me, and I see a smile. At least it's what I suspect Jennifer thinks is a smile. It comes across as a half-grimace.
"That's my boss. She's great."
Ahhh. I have not the slightest doubt in my head that Debbie waited for me to sit down before getting her manicure.
The horrid scraping is done, and the primping begins. I soak, like Madge. Jennifer harasses Debbie a little more. I'm grateful for the break. Jennifer returns and starts rubbing my hands, insisting that I'm a hair's breadth away from carpal tunnel syndrome. If this were true, I'd hardly be surprised by the news, but given Jennifer's general disposition, my jury's still out. I have a feeling that in Jennifer's world everyone is a hair's breadth away from some horrid fate.
She asks me what I want. I say a French manicure. She says everyone has a French manicure and begins looking through her plastic bin of colors. She pulls out pearlescents, and pinks, and tawny mauves. I say that I really need something to go with everything I'm wearing, which is quite a variety. I have a navy blue outfit, a royal purple, a beige...
"Beige!" she screams. "You're a winter!"
I'm a little startled. Jennifer's hair is pulled back in a hasty barrette. No makeup. No manicure of her own. She's wearing a t-shirt and a pair of Wal-mart quality aqua blue Capri's with a white flower print. All of this is fine by me; I was relieved when I saw her. I'm not comfortable around people whose appearance is always flawless; I'm a hasty barrette type myself. I had relaxed assuming I would not be hearing words like "You're a winter!"
I had been mistaken.
Jennifer huffs at me. "How do you wear beige?"
I smile, but I can feel that my face is tight. "I put it on and leave the house."
She rolls her eyes. "No, I mean, aren't you all washed out?"
I shrug. I don't really care much about that stuff. Obviously. This is my first manicure. Likely my last.
Jennifer again turns to her biography. She is in earnest. I stumble. "I'm a fiction writer," I say.
"I guess I could write it," she says. "But then it would be an autobiography, right?"
I nod. I ask about her life, wondering if there's anything to the biography thing. There isn't. She grew up in Oregon, had a baby at 22, and moved to Alaska at 29. She wants to build a cabin outside of Big Lake, away from people. Aside from the possible line about fat discrimination, there's nothing extraordinary about her story, especially not in Alaska. It's not surprising the number of people who come to Alaska because they don't like people.
After rejecting all the horrid colors she suggests, we are doing a French manicure. I discover why she didn't want to do it.
"I'm not very good at this," she says, as she moves from one lumpy white tip to the next. She does not, however, apologize. It's my fault. I insisted on the French.
I am surprised. Not by her, but by myself. Typically, I am annoyed by angry, whiny people who believe the world owes them something because they're here. I have little patience for sulking, and by the time I cross Jennifer's path, she's well on her way to being a lifetime member of Sulkers 'R Us. Nothing in her life is good. Nothing is right. I tell her her daughter, of whom she has a picture on the table, is pretty and she shrugs. I say it must be nice to work there, since she seems to like her boss so much, and she shrugs. I point to the bright side; she shirks a shoulder and shields her eyes.
I give up and remain silent for much of the rest of the manicure. But still, I'm not annoyed. I'm not bothered that my first manicure, days before a conference, is going very, very poorly. I'm not bothered that she's angry. I'm not bothered that she's rude to others. For some reason, I'm sad for her. I'm sad that she's living a life where all she sees is the bad stuff. I'm sad that, for whatever reason, whether it's her own fault or that of others, she's so bitter that there's no joy in life at 35. I'm grateful that I didn't go the same road. I'm grateful that I have joy, so much of it I can hardly believe it. You can attribute this to my choices versus her choices, and to an extent that's true, but I also know that I've been very lucky, and I believe that much of the space in that gulf between us is there because of the grace of God.
The lovely receptionist rings up my charges. I tip well for my flawed manicure.
As the day progresses, the manicure grows on me, with all its uneven patches, with all the lumpy white at the tips. I find I like flaws, I enjoy them. They are interesting. They are complex. To be perfect is to be assimilated; to be imperfect is to be unusual. A flawed manicure says about me exactly what I want it to say; that my priorities are not tied up in how I appear.
It could also be argued that a flawed manicure says I'm simply too addled to realize it's bad. Since this is not altogether an unfair assessment of my character, I accept it. It's worth it to maintain my flaws. After all, if Jennifer had been stick thin with glorious hair and beautiful nails, I would have probably forgotten her name by now.
Posted by Lani at 10:38 AM | Comments (0)
October 23, 2004
Bestseller lists and petting zoos
Alesia, from Fall Festival central...
So, my agent told me that I hit my first bestseller list with SHOP ‘TIL YULE DROP. I jumped around the house, hooraying and dancing a bit, and then finally broke down and called the housecleaning service.
What does success mean to me? Not having to clean toilets any more!!! Yippee!!!
Last night we had two different Fall Festivals to attend (one at each school), and hooboy the excitement! Pony rides, carnival games, petting zoos, fair food, and bags of candy and the kind of little plastic prizes that make underpaid workers all over the world sit in their factories and wonder what the heck Americans DO with all that crap???
And to think, in the days BC (before children), I used to start getting dressed to go OUT at the same time we got HOME last night . . .
It’s just sad. I asked Navy Guy about it.
Me: Do you remember the days when Friday night meant a romantic dinner out and a movie or dancing or something totally adult?
Navy Guy: No.
Me: Sigh. Me neither.
But I had so much fun at my writer’s conferences. That’s when I get to be the non-Mommy me again for a week or so at a time. . . and the pink leather jacket and chick lit corset purse came out, trust me.
Tonight is Boo at the Zoo night, which more than likely has nothing to do with scaring wild animals (or the reverse). Do I live a wild, glamorous writer life or what? I wonder if I can wear pink leather to the zoo . . .
hugs,
Alesia
Posted by Alesia at 11:34 AM | Comments (0)
October 21, 2004
Fortunately/Unfortunately
From Michelle, in the Slagroom...
Hello my lovelies!
Well, I'm finally back from my 2-week hiatus of Hardly Any Internet Cafe! Hardly Any Internet Cafe because (a) I went to America, and (b) I've been cutting a swathe through Dutch red tape...I'm finally "real!" It's true!
Owkey, so I don't yet have (a) a permanent apartment (but I've begun the search), (b) a home Internet connection (will get that when I get a permanent apartment), or (c) a home telephone number (will get that, you guessed, when I get a permanent apartment). But I do have a tax number and a bank account! Two small steps for me, two giant leaps for realpersonkind!!
Was so excited, went down to Dimples bar last night to celebrate with friends Jef and Dan!
Moving swiftly back to my wonderful trip to America, here's a teeny little recap...
Unfortunately, on my way to Amsterdam's Schiphol airport to get my plane to the USA, the train was delayed by 40 minutes because...there was a cow on the line. Don't worry about the cow--she's fine (and I know this because I asked). She just thought that the grass on the train tracks would be good for breakfast...
Fortunately, because I hate being late, I'd left home far too early and was still at the airport 3 hours before my flight was scheduled to leave.
Unfortunately, when I arrived in Newark airport I discovered that my makeup (owkey, so it's washable fake tan) had leaked all over my flight bag and the entire contents of my flight bag. A trip to the ladies' bathroom to clean up all the goop ensued. Half an hour later...
Fortunately, the NJRW conference was completely fabulous! I got to hang with a lot of great people, and in particular two of the loveliest, nicest people I know--you guessed--Alesia and Lani! The Literary Chicks all in one place together (or should I say "all in the bar together?")
Unfortunately, during our workshop (no, not in the bar) I managed to pour ice all over Alesia whilst attempting to pour her a glass of water.
Fortunately, Alesia instantly forgave me. She knows how clumsy I am and loves me, anyway.
Unfortunately, when I arrived back in Amsterdam I discovered that there was a general transport strike, which meant, of course, no trains back to Rotterdam...A cab from the airport to Rotterdam costs apx $150, sigh. I know this because the very kind lady at the information desk told me so.
Fortunately, as I took my place at the back of the very, very, very long line for cabs (this was an extremely looooong line, just in case I didn't make it clearer), the guy in front of me turned around and said "Excuse me, miss" (in Dutch, obviously) "I'm travelling to Rotterdam. Are you travelling to Rotterdam, too?"
So we shared the ride and the costs. Yeah!
Back next Monday with Why I Don't Yet Have a Car and Why I Might Not Actually Get One.
Have a great weekend everyone!
Michelle
Posted by Michelle at 9:55 AM | Comments (1)
October 20, 2004
DVR me, ASAP
Lani, writing from the glamorous closet...
It's official. I have arrived. On a Greyhound, but still.
(The bus, not the dog.)
Anyway, not one but two people, completely by coincidence, blogged about forging my signature on my books today. I'm not sure what it means, but I must say the odd convergence seems like a sign of portent. An omen, if you will. Which, it occurs to me, might not a good thing. I mean, a) the movie was not just regular bad but multiple a baaaaaaaad, and b) kids named Damien still freak me out, but, you know... any port in an apocalypse.
And I'll use that obscure TV quote to high-jump into my big news of the week.
I have digital cable.
With a DVR.
::: insert high pitched giggle here :::
Turns out, my Insane Local Cable Provider had a deal wherein the same money I currently pay for my cable modem (to said ILCP) and for my phone (to non-ILCP company, which apparently irks ILCP) gets me modem, phone (with unlimited long distance), and digital cable if I just stop divvying the cash and push it all across the table to ILCP. Of course, there are small echoes in my mind about evil conglomerates with Mr. Burns-style CEOs rubbing their hands together and saying "Exxxxxxcellent" as they take over the world one itty bitty soul at a time, but...
Dude. I got a DVR.
For those of you who don't know what a DVR is, it stands for Digital Video Recorder, which is basically a generic TiVo.
For those who don't know what TiVo is and who haven't been drooling over it for the last few years... well, it is to the TV geek what eating Haagen Dazs while having sex on silk sheets imported direct from silk sheet heaven would be to a normal person.
In a word: Nirvana.
Now, I used to be able to watch television like a normal person. A show I wanted to watch would come on, and I would sit down and watch it. Pretty simple life, and it worked for me.
Then... I had children.
Suddenly, there wasn't an ice cube's chance in hell I'd get an entire half-hour (shudder the thought of a full hour) to watch my shows without being interrupted for any number of petty requests ("Mom, I'm hungry!" "Mom, my toy/computer/body part is broken!" "Honey, I want sex!") from various family members, none of whom can seem to function without me for any prolonged period of time. And, as nice as VCRs are, there was no way I could organize the programming and the remembering to turn the power off and the swapping of tapes and the yadda yadda yadda of it all. So, TV sort of died for me, which was not a painless death. I love TV. Always have, always will. It was with a heavy heart that I chose my family over Scrubs, I tell you that.
Now, my world has changed. Yesterday, I flipped through an onscreen menu and chose my programs. Today, my lovely DVR recorded Dora the Explorer for the kidlets, an Angel re-run I haven't seen yet, West Wing and Lost. I've got Desperate Housewives on tap next, as I hear it's great, but I haven't been able to watch it as it doesn't air at eleven o'clock at night, the time things start slowing down at Casa Rich.
Except now... it does. It airs whenever I want it to.
I may never leave the house again. Which means I'm gonna have to find someone to sign all those books for me. Volunteers?
Posted by Lani at 11:48 PM | Comments (2)
October 16, 2004
The Big Vote
Lani, writing from the glamorous closet...
Okay, before I get started, I just have to say... I'm really diggin' Alesia's Patty stories. Of course, now I'm even more motivated to never join a gym, but to Alesia, I just have to say - you go, girl!
That is, as soon as you can move again.
Now, let's talk politics...
... or rather, let's kinda talk politics. The fact is, I gave up being educated on the issues a long time ago because - and what I'm about to tell you is both highly classified and painfully obvious - it's all a load of crap.
Yep. You heard it here first. Load. Of. Crap. At least the big elections are. The fact is, Kerry, Bush, it doesn't matter. The only real difference is hair. It's the local elections that matter most, and no one knows diddly about what's going on there because those people don't have the kind of hair we're seeing in the national race.
It's all about the hair. Trust me. Because by the time anyone gets to the point where they're getting the nomination of a major party for President, they've already sold their soul. All they've got left is the hair.
So... let's talk hair.
Kerry - mad props for height. I went to high school in the Big Hair '80s - an era in which an ambitious teenager and a can of Aqua Net could single-handedly ruin the movie-going experience for scores of people - and I've never seen anything close to that kind of acheivement. If only my breasts could defy gravity like that.
Oh. Wait. That should probably be a whole 'nother blog.
On to Bush... which is a devastatingly unfortunate name, doncha think?... I have to say, I'm diggin' the highlights. Loads of silver with gentle touches of gold. Kinda screams "Old Money," doesn't it? And let's face it, if we're gonna put a soulless bastard in the White House (which will always be the case until a woman runs for President, at which time it'll be a soulless bee-yatch), then I say, go with the highlights. Because the gravity-defying thing... kinda freaking me out.
But that's just me. And now for my politically unpopular sentiment of the day...
Unlike most people out there, I'm not gonna urge you to vote. I don't think we should urge everyone to vote. I think the people who have no opinion, don't know where the candidates stand on the issues or - gasp! - decide their vote on something really friggin' stupid like, say, hair, should just stay home and let the people who know what they're voting for go out and make the decisions. That's my plan, anyway. 'Cause the hair thing is really freaking me out.
Counting blessings - at least Al Sharpton isn't on the short list. shudder
My lawyer (hi, Alesia) will probably want me to state that my entries in no way reflect the opinions of my fellow Literary Chicks, their publishers, my publishers, booksellers, or anyone remotely associated with this website. Hell, most of the time my entries don't even really reflect my opinions, as I'm a shameless wise-ass, for those of you who hadn't noticed. So, all that to say, I'm kidding here. Seriously. Except about the don't-vote-if-you-don't-know-what-you're-voting-for thing. I meant that. And the soulless bastard/bee-yatch thing. Oh, and the freaky Kerry hair. But everything else, I was kidding. Seriously.
Posted by Lani at 2:40 PM | Comments (2)
October 15, 2004
Door-to-Door Art Sales and Quadzilla
Alesia, from aching muscles central...
Life in Florida gets weirder and weirder, even without the specter and memory of the Dreaded Hanging Chads:
We have door-to-door art sales.
Also, and I say this in all seriousness, I can hardly lift my arms to type after the Personal Trainer formerly known as Patty, now and forevermore Quadzilla, got done with me yesterday. I asked her at one point if she had any friends. (She claims she does.)
Yes, I realize the poor woman (who is actually quite wonderful) is doing her job and regretting the day she got stuck with a humor writer, but she smiles when I moan and says really, really bad words like “only twelve more.” So, in fact, she deserves me.
But, back to the art . . .
So the other night, I get this knock on my door.
Me: Hello? [and remember, I never would have answered my door in the evening to a strange guy, no matter how cute, except Navy Guy was home]
Art Guy: I’m just following up on that art.
Me: What art?
Art Guy: The art from the model homes. We’re just following up to see if you’d like to buy any.
Me: Um, Art? [ok, not all that eloquent on that particular evening]
Art Guy: Yeah. There’s a bunch of paintings of beaches and palm trees and stuff.
Me: [Realizing that the ‘and stuff’ meant he was not, in fact, the artist. As a creative person, I rarely call my books ‘and stuff.’ LOL!] Um, well, I guess we’re fine on art. Thanks for stopping by.
Now, I ask you. How odd is this? Door-to-door art sales?? Seems kind of hinky. What would be the writer equivalent?
Me: Hi! How are you this evening? I’ve got some spare chapters for sale.
Although, if I could do a joint marketing thing with those Girl Scouts and their cookies, I’d be a kazillionaire . . .
Hugs,
Alesia, off to bathe in Epsom salts or something
p.s. don't forget to check out my new contest on my website for a chance to win a chick-lit themed holiday ornament!!
Posted by Alesia at 5:53 PM | Comments (2)
October 13, 2004
Junior High Redux
Lani, writing in the small pocket of time while her mother hits the Wal-Mart...
Oh. My. God.
I'm. So. Tired.
Got back from the New Jersey conference and moved straight into a visit with my mother, who came up to get loads of video of her grandchildren and to escort me to my first ever reading/discussion/signing as a real, live published author.
Now, my mother's a lovely woman. Very sweet and kind. But she brought a video camera. On a tripod. Taped the WHOLE THING. Which, you know, is okay, except that I'm thirty-three. Isn't there a point where Mom should stop taping your events? Like, after the seventh grade? Can we have a ruling here?
All in all, for a first reading, it went pretty well. There were about ten people in the audience, and I personally knew six of them. Four were from my Central New York RWA group, so that was a hoot. I got a few laughs as I read Wanda's dialogue and looked stealthily around to make sure there weren't any children present. Next time, I'll announce ahead of time that some of the material may not be appropriate for children. Like, all of it.
I think possibly my favorite part of the evening would be when all my writer friends, grown women in their thirties and forties, waved at my mom and said, "Bye, Lani's Mom!" Another Jr. High moment.
I did, however, manage to not say anything too bad/embarrassing/inappropriate during the signing. Of course, my foot-in-mouth quota is usually directly proportional to the size of the crowd. So when, for instance, Chris Baty pulls in the big numbers during our mini-tour at the end of the month, I'll be sure to offend someone. Don't worry - there will be some good Lani-the-Doofus stories from that tour, I'm sure!
The Literary Chicks In New Jersey!
Michelle, Alesia and Lani partying it up at the "Put Your Heart In A Book" conference!
Posted by Lani at 9:36 AM | Comments (1)
October 11, 2004
Merry Christmas!! um, early.
Alesia, from weird Publisher Time Warp land...
So here it is, early October, and my new . . . Christmas book . . . is out. LOL!! Yes, in the weird world of retail, now is the time to start thinking about Jingling your Bells and Decking the Freaking Halls, as Leah in my new book, SHOP 'TIL YULE DROP, would say. You can see an excerpt here, or buy a few copies for Stocking Stuffers, if you like!
While you're at it, you can send sympathy for my poor and tortured muscles . . .
Yes, today was PT Day. Also known as the day I met Patty, my new Personal Trainer. All week in Georgia (the fab Moonlight & Magnolias conference, NY (networking, shows, and avoiding criminals), and New Jersey (another killer conference), I've been stressing out about the Dreaded Body Fat Analysis.
Did it stop me from eating? NO!
But Patty was terrific. Such a professional! She didn't even collapse to the floor in a dead faint when she took my measurements (I almost did when I saw the numbers). She simply took me up to the machines and proceeded to work me into a heap of jelly-like parts.
It was fun, in a weird, Boy Am I Going to Be Sore Tomorrow sort of way. I even ate healthy food today (also weird, but good). So will there be progress?? Will our heroine reduce the size of her writer-stuck-in-computer-chair butt before it's all over?
Stay tuned for all the details on my transformation to Linda Hamilton in the Terminator. Or Angelina Jolie in the Tomb Raider movies (except without the 'defies all known laws of physics' boobs). And, hey, while you're at it, read SHOP 'TIL YULE DROP. It'll put you in the mood for, um, trick or treating?
hugs,
Alesia
Posted by Alesia at 10:29 PM | Comments (1)
October 8, 2004
I HEART NY!!!!
Alesia, from New York...
So, I hate to be a gushing tourist, but I love this city. I flew in Tuesday to do a little socializing with my editors and a lot of fun stuff with friends and it’s fabulous, fabulous, FABULOUS!!
Well, except for the crack deal in progress we walked by the first night, but hey – minor inconvenience, right?
Plus, I have two new book deals and a new appreciation for NY taxi drivers . . .
We saw WICKED (2nd time for me) and it is truly one of the best shows I’ve ever seen; even the second time around. You must see it – must. Plus, read the book by Gregory Maguire – it’s terrific in a very dark and funny way. The idea of the Wizard of Oz from the Point of view of the wicked witch is brilliant: “What kind of child steals shoes from a dead woman???”
We also went to MOVING OUT – the musical with all Billy Joel music and unbelievably hot dancers. With large thigh muscles. And great butts. And amazing abs. And, did I mention the thigh muscles?
Oh, yeah. I think there were women dancers, too.
I’m only hoping that all the walking I did cancels out the enormous amounts of food I consumed, or my new personal trainer is going to keel over in shock Monday at our first appointment, for the Dreaded Body Fat Analysis.
Did I mention those dancers and their thigh muscles???
Off to NJ and a writers’ conference – hope to see many of you there.
Posted by Alesia at 10:15 AM | Comments (1)
October 7, 2004
Social Implosion
Lani, writing from the glamorous closet, in her pajamas...
Well, we're off to the races. Michelle is in the air right now, on her way to New Jersey, and Alesia is in New York City, I believe. Me, I'm procrastinating packing because... well, that's what I do. I'm just that kind of girl. For those of you who are interested, all three Literary Chicks will be at the Doubletree Hotel in Somerset, New Jersey from 4p-6p on Saturday for the New Jersey Romance Writers Book Fair/Autograph Party. It's open to the public, so if you're in the area, come see us.
Now, for my "Lani Sticks Her Foot In It" story du jour....
So I was at Wal-Mart tonight because... well, I love Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart and I have a special relationship. There was a time when Target threatened to come between us, but in the end, I'm a Wal-Mart kind of girl. Target's just too pretty for me, too refined. I'll admit... every now and again I do have a dalliance with Target when I'm in need of an ego boost and want to buy something with that certain Target panache. But typically, Wal-Mart's my place. No pretensions at Wal-Mart. Just rolled back prices and aisles crunched so tight and so full that you can't get your cart past the big, honking support pole holding the building up without a pulley system and a vat of baking grease.
Tonight's Wal-Mart excursion, however, was different. Instead of leaving me with the self-satisfied knowledge that I saved eighty-three cents on a twelve pack of toilet paper, it made me realize something about myself.
I think I might be too low-class for Wal-Mart.
I know, I know. Wal-Mart is the one place where no one has to ever feel unworthy. That's the beauty of Wal-Mart. Any place whose advertising mascot is a bouncing yellow smiley face is the kind of place that's really not gonna look down on anyone.
Well... I may be the first. But then, I might be overreacting. You be the judge.
So, I'm walking up to Wal-Mart to grab some last minute items for the trip, and as I go in, there's a woman with a sign for Redemption Something-Or-Other - I'm thinking church, but I didn't actually read the sign - and it has a list of bake sale items. They're raising money for something, I have no idea what because I didn't read the sign, but I figure I'll toss them a couple of bucks. I'm sure, like everything else, that it's For The Children or some such etcetera.
So I walk up to her and smile and she asks if I'd like to buy any of the tasty treats they've got - pies, brownies, cookies, etc. - and I shake my head and smile, feeling benevolent, feeling gracious, knowing I'm going to give them money and not ask for a thing in return.
"No, thanks," I say, grinning, "my ass is way too fat as it is."
And her smile drops. Literally, right off her face, I heard the thud as it hit the ground. And I'm still holding on to my smile, keeping it pasted on my face, as I realize that I've just been crude with a Church Lady.
Usually, this kind of thing doesn't bother me. I've got a big fat mouth, and I'm used to the consequences. But for some reason, tonight, as I mumbled my way over to the jar and dropped the cash in, I felt like the biggest tool imaginable.
I mean, sure. She could have been a little more gracious about it, and had I realized that a kid was standing behind me, I really would have watched my tongue, but my question to myself is, Why? Why do I always say the exact thing that I know is going to be offensive? Why can't I just shut the hell up and let people continue on with their day, raising money with baked goods for Redemption and The Children?
Why? Why? Why?
Anyway, if you end up in New Jersey this weekend, and I say something to offend you, I apologize in advance. I am a walking social implosion, a faux pas on legs. Whatever I say, just know that a) I probably don't mean it and b) I'm an idiot.
And now, you've been warned...
Posted by Lani at 7:56 PM | Comments (4)
October 4, 2004
Lekker!
From Michelle, in the Slagroom...
Lekker, my favorite new Dutch word of the day!
New friend Stephen told me that it means delicious, or tasty, in a wine or hamburger describing kind of way. But it can also be used to describe...
...sex!
Other favorite new word of the day: Clazina Kouwenbergzoom
It is a street name. I have no idea what it means, or whether it has anything to do with cows, or zooming, but imagine being able to say that you live on Clazina Kouwenbergzoom? Lekker!
Tot Ziens!
Michelle, off to supermarket to buy something lekker for dinner
Posted by Michelle at 10:15 AM | Comments (2)
October 3, 2004
Why I Love Dutch Adverts...
From Michelle, in the Slagroom...
So I was watching some Dutch TV last night in my quest to better understand the Dutch language, and also because this is the Netherlands so a lot of TV is in Dutch. And I have to say that I think the Dutch make the most interesting advertisements in the world!
Here are my two current favorites...
Advert No #1
Picture this: There is a senior man on screen carefully making some sort of pretend fly thing--you know, the kind of flies that people use for fishing?
Anyway, as he's threading a needle to sew something onto the fly, there is a message on the screen which I think means "Can you do it by yourself?" or something like that, anyway.
Next, the senior man is loading up his fishing tackle into the car, and that same message flashes on screen again, "Can you do it by yourself?"
And so the senior man is now driving up winding roads in the countryside, and that same message flashes on screen again, "Can you do it by yourself?"
Finally, after a couple more shots of the senior guy doing stuff by himself, comes the penultimate image of the advert. It features a river, because the guy is fishing. It features a lot of other senior guys who are also fishing.
They are all naked.
Last shot: senior guy in hospital (still naked) with a hook and fly caught in his, um, derriere. The medical team are surgically removing the hook and fly. And that same message appears on screen again, "Can you do it by yourself?"
Haven't figured out what the advert was actually advertising, yet, but I'll keep you posted!
Advert #2
Picture this: two very attractive young people waking up after a night of passion. So of course they, too, are naked (but you only really get "back" shots of them).
They climb out of bed and find their underwear scattered in various places around the apartment.
Still practically naked, they hit the street and find more bits of their discarded clothing.
Not quite so naked, now, they hit the center of the city and find their skirt/pants/shoes.
By the end of the advert, they are in the office at work putting on their coats...
Hmmm, haven't figured out what this advert was actually advertising either, but it kept me gripped! Will keep you posted when I find out...
Tot Ziens!
Michelle, heading back to the apartment to watch more Dutch TV
Posted by Michelle at 8:02 AM | Comments (4)
