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September 29, 2005
Flitten en Flirten
From Michelle, Flirten in Rotterdam...
Flirten Met Hoogmoed En Vooroordeel. My favorite new Dutch words of the month. But just don't ask me to pronounce them, LOL. Owkey - go on then - I will!
Roughly, it's Flirten Met Hoechmood En Voroooooordale (well, nearly - the "g" sound in Ducth is more like someone clearing the back of their throat than "ch" but I have no idea how to write that down, LOL).
Well that's all well and good, Michelle, but what does it actually mean, I hear you all anxiously cry? Why are these your favorite new words?,
Well, it means...
Flirting With Pride & Prejudice!
I am so excited to be in the same anthology as Lovely Lani and Adorable Alesia (as well as all of the other fab authors in the book), and I can't wait for our October flirtenfest with Jennifer O'Connell, Joyce Millman, Teresa Medeiros, Beth Kendrick, Shanna Swendson, Jill Winters and Laura Resnick!
Also, I have a brand new contest featuring Flirting With Pride & Prejudice over at michellecunnah.com. Check it out if you get the chance!
In the meantime, my mother and auntie came over for a vist and I decided to take them to Amsterdam for the day so we got to the train station in Rotterdam, bought our tickets, the train came in bang on time, we got on and found three seats together, settled ourselves for the journey, and then...
Yes, you guessed. The train suddenly (possibly due to me being on it) developed a disfunction and it was cancelled so we had to wait for the next one.
Honestly, sometimes I wonder if someone in Train Central has it in for me. I really do...
Michelle
Posted by Michelle at 11:11 AM | Comments (2)
September 28, 2005
Flirting!
From Lani, batting her eyes like crazy, and getting a small headache...
Hello, ladies! I'm under pressure, under deadline, under the table, under EVERYTHING it seems so I only have a small moment to tell you what we've got planned for October!
As you know, Alesia and Michelle and I have all contributed to Flirting with Pride and Prejudice, an anthology on Jane Austen and her classic book. And next month we've got ten - count 'em, ten - copies to give away! Details forthcoming, but I had to tell you we've got some GREAT guest chicks lined up for next month, all contributors to Flirting. Jennifer O'Connell, Joyce Millman, Teresa Medeiros, Beth Kendrick, Shanna Swendson, Jill Winters and Laura Resnick are all going to grace us with their presence in October and our theme next month will be, what else, flirting. It's gonna be great fun, but you have to show up to win!
I'll unveil the details of the giveaway on Saturday... be sure to come back and check it out!
Posted by Lani at 12:32 PM | Comments (2)
September 27, 2005
What’s your SECRET OBSESSION?
From Alesia, curious
Still deadlining, but THE END IS NEAR. Literally. The part where I get to type “The End” is near. Okay, actually, I already hit that point, but the part where I’m done with rewriting the middle of the book is nearly finished.
[NOTE TO ASPIRING WRITERS: Never kill off a character we love in a book that is predominantly humorous. It’s okay in a thriller, but damn hard to balance a death with your characters yukking it up about jelly donuts or anal probes.]
Naturally, I needed a break to answer the burning question: WHAT’S YOUR PERVERSION? [Bad Cherries, no biscuit, for making me surf ‘net on deadline.]
So my questions to you are:
1. What’s your perversion? (I’ll admit mine had unnatural hobbit fancying . . . although I’m really more of an Aragorn luster-after)
2. Speaking of Aragorn, who is the movie character in a recent movie you’d most like to:
a) take to dinner?
b) take to bed?
(I’m having pretty high probabilities that the entire crew of SERENITY is my answer to a – and, what the heck, probably B, too)
Please come out and play! Don’t make me sic my unnatural hobbits on you . . .
Hugs,
Alesia, who can at least write THE END here
Posted by Alesia at 9:38 AM | Comments (2)
September 26, 2005
In Which I Am Exiled To A Very Sketchy Internet "Cafe"
From Megan, September's Guest Literary Chick!
I planned to write a very exciting blog today, as my finale here at the Literary Chicks. I thought about what to write all week-- and I was leaning toward a blog extolling the virtues of Santa Barbara, California, where I just spent a delightful weekend at the Santa Barbara Book & Author Festival. Santa Barbara may be one of the nicest places I've ever visited, and I would move there tomorrow. (Except I can't afford to so much as stay in a hotel there, which makes me slightly concerned that I would be unable to purchase, say, the gorgeous L-shaped estate I saw this morning. Right on the beach and everything! Or even a more modest place nowhere near the beach.)
But I can't talk about any of that, because my computer died (in a spectacular fashion, I have to say--it's almost impressive, or would be if I did not now have to cough up the money for a new computer) and so I am writing this blog while seated in an a sketchy sort of internet "cafe" on Sunset Boulevard.
Not the nice part of Sunset Boulevard, let me hasten to add. Not the Boulevard you might know from song and Hollywood lore, but the infinitely less pretty section. Here, there is only singing to the beat of one's own drummer, accompanied by the voices in one's head.
There are shenanigans going on all around me, which I am attempting to ignore. Actually, what I am attempting to do is transmit a sort of authorial glow, the way all the turtle-necked poets do in coffee houses. So far, this has attracted no less than three people to my little table. They wanted, in order: access to the computer I am clearly already using, access to the space behind my computer for murky reasons muttered into a shirtsleeve, and an explanation of life as we know it on this mortal coil. (I'm just guessing on the last one; that guy was speaking in tongues, and maybe also in iambic pentameter.)
Time is running out. I mean that literally--there's a bright red counter just above my left hand, and what it is telling me is that I type v e r y s l o w l y.
It's amazing how quickly I can be inspired to write when there is a clock monitoring me. I may have to incorporate this knowledge into the writing of my next draft.
But before I get booted off this computer station (the shirtsleeve guy really wants to get between me and this wall, and as Jennifer Aniston said on Oprah, what you resist persists-- which in this case I'm taking to mean Shirtsleeves can have the freakin' computer) let me announce the winners of my giveaway! Two signed copies of Everyone Else's Girl (which isn't even out yet, but which they had at the Santa Barbara Book and Author Festival this weekend-- I made a scene and took pictures when I saw them, I'm not embarrassed to admit) and two signed copies of English as a Second Language. (I don't actually have any copies of Everyone Else's Girl yet, so there'll be a little bit of a lag, but I'm expecting them any day now!)
The lucky winners are:
Marci Laskin
Kim Westgaard
Suzanne Evans
and Julia Blanco
Congratulations! And thanks so much for entering! Email me (megan@megancrane.com) and give me your snail mail addresses! You can give me a preference (if you have one) for the books, too, although if there's too much demand for one over the other, I may have to resort to a scientific rendering of eenie-meenie-miney-moe.
It's been so much fun to be here at the Literary Chicks. A million thanks to my generous hostesses, and let me leave you with this parting advice: back up your hard disk.
Posted by at 6:30 AM | Comments (1)
September 24, 2005
My stupidity ate my blog
From Lani, about to go out the door...
Hey, all! I had a funny blog today. A really funny blog. I would say bordering on hilarious, but I know I can only take these little lies so far before people are no longer willing to indulge me.
But it was definitely bordering on cute.
Anyway, I got distracted by something (probably something under 4" demanding waffles, but, you know, I'm not blaming anyone) and I turned off my computer without saving and :::poof:::: Bye bye, Bloggie.
And now I have to go and do revisions and write a proposal and I'm going to do it all day in a coffeehouse with a sofa where they won't yell at me for sitting there for eight hours and they keep the espressos coming. I haven't actually found this coffee house yet, but I'm optimistic.
Have a lovely day, and for those in the path of Rita, my thoughts and prayers are with you.
Posted by Lani at 9:37 AM | Comments (4)
September 23, 2005
It's an upgrade thing
From Alesia, in need of upgrades
My birthday is quickly approaching, and I tend to approach this time of year the way other people look at New Year's Day. A time for resolutions and life changes. A time for deep thinking. Or, when I'm on deadline, a time for thoughts of utterly shallow upgrades.
For example, the weight thing. And the way two years of sitting on my butt being a writer have made me look like this. But I'd much prefer to upgrade to this.
Also, I may have previously mentioned that I'm a rabid car chick. And yet I'm stuck with an old and practical car that looks a little like this. But I'd much prefer to upgrade to this.
Then there was the whole travel thing. In the old days, I used to travel like this. But now I'm heading to NY in December to visit my editors and agent and I'd much prefer to upgrade to this.
Finally, my office on deadline pretty much looks like (and I can't even blame it on my sweet Daisy pug) this. But I'd much rather it looked something like this.
It's all about the upgrade. Definitely soon, AFTER the deadline . . .
Hugs and happy weekend,
Alesia
[NOTE: This was written a couple of weeks ago as the deadline stockpile post and (with a couple of edits) posted today, so I'd like to add my (and those of all the Literary Chicks) sincere best wishes to all in the path of Hurricane Rita. Please stay safe.]
Posted by Alesia at 9:18 AM | Comments (0)
September 22, 2005
My New Best Friend!
From Michelle, Revoluntionized in Rotterdam...
So, a while back as you all know - because I went on and on and on about it in detail and at length - some horrible, thieving, nasty, bad person with a pair of metal cutters ruthlessly stole my Brenda!
I was desolate. I was gutted. Misery was my middle name. Oh, but Brenda was so much more than just a, you know, inanimate metal and rubber bicycle. She was my Lifeline, my Best Friend, My Compadre. My Supermarket Helper. Sniffle. Yes, I know it is silly to get sentimental about insentient things, but you know what Brenda's loss also meant, don't you?
It meant that every single bit of shopping arriving in my apartment now had to be procured on foot and carried home by hand, instead of by bike and in saddlebags. To be specific, on my foot and by my hand.
And because the Dutch are generally tall and I am not, this has involved dragging home heavy, extra large and extra long supermarket bags that have to be held up at an elbow/wrist ratio of nearly ninety degrees because if I were to let my arms relax the bags would trail along the ground and something breakable would get, um, broken. Not a pretty sight, I can tell you.
Well, no more!
I now have Dolly The Shopping Trolly! My Two-Wheel, Twelve-Dollar Shopping Marvel! Heaven in the form of a large plastic wheely carrier with a pull-along handle.
Yes, I can now procure more than one day's worth of provisons in one trip to the supermarket. I can now comfortably wheel home twice what I could carry and not have to worry about floor-dragging supermarket bags. My life is now complete!
Yes!
Michelle, Rapturous in Rotterdam
Posted by Michelle at 5:49 PM | Comments (2)
September 21, 2005
TV Crushes, School Projects, the Good Luck Dresses and Freakin' Comments
From Lani, going for it with the Hodge Podge Blog...
(Okay. Keep up with me. I'm dumping all the stuff I've been meaning to get to, but could never justify doing a whole blog about. So hold on to your oh shit handles, we're gonna be taking the corners fast.)
I usually don't take online tests. For one, they're typically lame. Two, they're typically inaccurate. Three, they're typically written by people who really don't care that they're either lame or inaccurate. But this one, I couldn't resist.
| Your 80s Heartthrob Is |
 |
It doesn't give me one of those long paragraphs about why Jason Bateman is my 80s heart throb, though, which I find a little disappointing. But really, I wasn't that into him in the 80s. When I'm into him is now. Michael Bluth? Hemma hemma.
Which leads me to two other things I've been meaning to tell y'all about. Well, less things, more crushes. TV crushes. Of the... shall we say... unusual kind.
For one, I have a huge crush on Alton Brown. Yeah, I said it. The Guy from Good Eats. I'm sorry, but smart is sexy. Smart and cooking? Yow-za. When I first started watching, I was sure he was gay and I felt like it was such a waste. Come to find out, he's not only not gay, but his wife produces the show. Lucky woman.
The second of these crushes is Adam Savage from Mythbusters. He's so cute and he never quite gets things as right as Jamie does and I love the way those two feed off each other like brothers and he's just adorable. Reminds me a little of Fish, in that total absence of ego. And the show is so much fun.
So. Yeah. Those are my confessions. Got any of your own? I'd love to hear 'em. Speaking of hearing from you... no, wait. I'll get to it at the end.
Oh, also discovered today - the reason you never allow your husband to oversee your daughter's school project. Not that it's not accurate, but...
And, last but not least, I just put an auction live on eBay. It's my dress from the RITAs. I debated over putting it up, but hey 100% of the proceeds go to the Red Cross for the Katrina victims, so how bad could it be? Even if it makes $10, that's $10, right? And, it does have good luck cooties. Not guaranteed good luck cooties, I couldn't legally do that, especially since it's debatable whether good luck cooties actually exist, strictly speaking. But, in the interest of getting a little more relief to the people who need it, please feel free to forward the link to anyone you think might be interested!
***Update: They cancelled my auction. I have no idea why. They sent a letter explaining that it wasn't in line with their guidelines. I have no idea, but I'm too tired to argue it.***
Okay. Now. Commenting. Here's the deal, for those of you who are just tuning in. When Literary Chicks first started, we had unregistered commenting and I was spending easily half my site maintenance time weeding out the ones that wished to enlarge my penis (while I appreciate the thought, my penis - or the one over which I lord - is just fine, thanks), teach me how to play texas hold'em (just what exactly is the Big Freakin' Deal with texas hold'em, anyway?) and sell me a million carefully misspelled versions of Viiiiiiiagraaaaa and C-Alis.
Recently, it's come to my attention that the registering through Typekey is a little frustrating for some. Personally, I wish that someone would have told me, but as it turns out, you probably couldn't. Anyway, I've removed the forced Typekey registration for now, so go ahead. Try and comment. Make my day. ;) Sorry, every now and again I channel Dirty Harry. Can't really help it.
Also, it's come to my attention that some people might like a little more interaction. Do y'all want a forum to hang out in? We had one, only a few people came, and it was depressing to see the pinata hanging there all sad and dusty with no one taking a whack at it, so we killed it. If you'd like it back, let us know.
Okay. That just about covers it. Have a great day!
Posted by Lani at 6:00 AM | Comments (12)
September 20, 2005
So today I was rude to a clown
From Alesia, who also hates mimes
And before you say anything about DEADLINE STRESS or PMS or my obvious need for VALIUM, let me just point out that there is something creepy about clowns. SERIOUSLY creepy. Do you think it's just a coincidence that Stephen King wrote an entire book about an EVIL CLOWN OF DEATH???
And, really, if anyone of the rest of us went around DISGUISING OUR TRUE IDENTITY with really hideous makeup and fashion choices, wouldn't you wonder WHAT WE HAD TO HIDE?
Like a past history of axe murders??? And, before I start getting hate mail from the clown guild of America or something, let me just point out that HE STARTED IT.
We were in one of those buffet, family-style dinner places named something like WE KNOW YOUR'E TOO LAZY TO COOK FOR YOUR OWN KIDS or GET YOUR FOURTH PLATEFUL AND KISS YOUR WAISTLINE GOODBYE, and a clown walked by.
Naturally, I diverted the kids' attention to something else, so they didn't start waving and pointing or whining for little balloon animals. And, seriously, have you ever seen a SINGLE BALLOON ANIMAL THAT DID NOT LOOK LIKE AN OBSCENE OBJECT?
Freud would have a field day with balloon animals. (Caveat: Not that Freud wasn't a twisted, misogynistic freak. I'm just saying, maybe he wouldn't have been far off the mark with balloon animals.)
So, OF COURSE, our helpful server stops by. "Did you see CHUCKY THE CLOWN?" she says, ignoring my bared teeth and hissing noises.
[Now. Let's digress for a minute. CHUCKY??? The clown couldn't come up with a better name than CHUCKY??? As in the small, mutant puppet of movie fame who went around SLICING AND DICING PEOPLE INTO TINY, BLOOD-SOAKED PIECES??? THIS is the image you want to send to small children???]
Naturally, Princess and Science Boy [suddenly 'clowns are my friend Boy'] start clamoring for Chucky. I, being the responsible parent, see the CLOWN OF DEATH approaching and make a break for it and head for the carrot cake, leaving Navy Guy to deal with the clowns.
Except the clown follows me. And does that "LOOK HOW FUNNY I AM, I'M MIMICKING HER MOVEMENTS" thing.
The words CHUCKY, GET A DAMN JOB may or may not have come out of my mouth. That's all I'm admitting.
Alesia, the clown-o-phobe
Posted by Alesia at 6:52 PM | Comments (4)
September 19, 2005
In Which I Consider the Next (Maybe Not So) Great Thing
From Megan, September's Guest Literary Chick!
For some reason, I never saw Napoleon Dynamite in the theater. But ever since I heard about it, I’ve been dying to see it. High school angst? I’m there. Stir in some outcasts, misfits, and Eighties music? I’m in love. I thought it would be like the male Heathers-- and who can ever get enough of Heathers?
So I was already entertained as the credits started rolling, because I just knew this movie was going to be right up my alley, and every guy I knew waxed rhapsodic about Napoleon, and there was all that quoting that went on whenever the film was mentioned, and bring on the funny, I thought.
I hated it.
Okay, that’s not exactly true.
I just didn’t get it. I sat there for however long that movie was and learned nothing about the titular character. He just sort of appeared, hung out on my television—mouth breathing—and then the movie was over. I didn’t sense that he felt anything, particularly, about the things that sort-of-almost happened, so I didn’t either.
And I really hate when that happens. There’s nothing more uncomfortable than feeling shut out of a cultural phenomenon. (Well, I can think of quite a few more uncomfortable things, actually, but I’m being melodramatic here. My mother always assured me it was my most attractive quality.) The first time I remember this happening was when I saw Back to the Future. Somehow I didn’t see this movie until about three years after it took the entire world by storm. To put it mildly, it did not live up to the extended hype. For that matter, neither did The Exorcist.
I felt this way during the later seasons of Sex in the City, too, when I hated Carrie with a passion, would have slapped her a good one had I found myself at her brunch table, and yet couldn’t turn around without bumping into another gushing article about how great her character was.
Another example was Everybody Loves Raymond. I can’t tell you how many time I sat through that show, trying to feel the love. It escapes me to this day. Desperate Housewives I find amusing, but eh. I watched the first episode or so last season, then forgot to watch it until the last two episodes, and quite frankly, I don’t feel that I missed much.
More recently, this happened for me with Lost. For most of the season, I suspended disbelief. And also patience. And still nothing happened. Flashbacks are not the same as character development, I decided. And—not to put too fine a point on it—I gave my heart to Alias long ago. I know perfectly well that the questions raised by the show will never be answered. The difference is, I’m invested in the characters on Alias and have been ever since Jennifer Garner cried in the pilot, so when entire seasons go by and I’m not entirely clear what happened, at least I felt something. With Lost I feel that Sayid is hot, and that’s about it. It’s just not enough.
And don’t go thinking I have an aversion to popularity, either. I’m a Harry Potter freak, listen unapologetically to Kelly Clarkson, and have yet to encounter a Nora Roberts novel I didn’t like.
The truth is, I want to believe in the next great thing. Don’t you?
Posted by at 6:30 AM | Comments (5)
September 17, 2005
Bow-chicka-bow-bow
From Lani, wishing for a fairy godmother with a magical Ambien prescription...
Check the time stamp on this entry. Yes, I'm up at four in the morning. Worse? I've been up since two-thirty.
Why? you ask. Is it heartburn? Sunburn? Rug burn?
Nope... but you're closest with that last one...
Not to be indelicate about it, but as it turns out, my upstairs neighbors are... amorous. And they have stamina. And a bed that is apparently right next to the wall. This has been my night.
thump thump thump
A pause. I almost fall back to sleep.
thumpthumpthump
Silence. I drift, my eyelids flutter, Colin Firth is wearing a three-piece suit, serving me tea and scones on a deserted island beach...
thumpthumpthumpthumpTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP
Sudden stop. I stare at the ceiling, fists clenched at my side like a Victorian bride. Surely, that's gotta be it, right? I close my eyes. I try to bring back Colin on the desert island, only this time I put him in silk boxers. Poor guy. That desert island is balmy. I'm just about to go back to sleep when...
thump thump thump
... aaaaaaaaaaand we're back where we started. At this point, I revved up the computer so I could tell y'all about it because... well. That's where you rank. You should be proud.
Anyway, although I haven't really spent much time talking to my upstairs neighbors, I can tell he's a considerate lover. Man, he was not gonna stop until she had her moment, he didn't care WHO HE HAD TO KEEP UP ALL FRIGGIN' NIGHT.
All I have to say is, if I see her in the laundry room and she's not smiling, I'm gonna knock her in the head with my big box o' Tide. Damn.
Posted by Lani at 4:07 AM | Comments (3)
September 15, 2005
Garden Gnomes
From Michelle in a Gnome-Free Rotterdam Appartment...
So, about garden gnomes...
I don't possess any garden gnomes, but that doesn't mean that I don't really have a secret fondness for them (as is demonstrated by the gnome theft incidents in Confessions of a Serial Dater) and something that I have noticed in Britain is that people either love 'em or hate 'em. But they're usually not ambivalent about 'em.
They say that real life is stranger than fiction, and when it comes to the garden gnome situation, "they" are absolutely right. How about this for reality...
Two years ago some residents in a Lincolnshire village woke up to find, mysteriously, that fourteen gnomes had mysteriously appeared in their gardens. Well, a year later those same residents mysteriously found more gnomes in their gardens and received mysterious unsigned letters asking them to find good homes for the gnomes. It's absolutely true, and if you don't believe me, well, check this out...
Also, two women in Scotland were recently arrested for stealing garden items including, mysteriously - you guesssed - garden gnomes! The police hastened to reassure the general public that every effort would be made to find good homes for the gnomes. Well, that's very, um, reassuring. And if you don't believe that, either, check this out...
But my ultimate fave gnome story has to be the naked garden gnomes...yes, naked garden gnomes! And if you go here you will see what I mean (or rather you won't because the gnomes have been clothed, LOL).
I think I need some garden gnomes in my life. Even though I don't have a garden...
Michelle, feeling deprived...
PS. You know how I went into a beauty salon last week and said "Cut it off" to the hairdresser, and how I loved my new haircut? Well, after I washed my hair and tried to style it myself, mysteriously I looked like this (except minus the beard part)...
Posted by Michelle at 10:58 AM | Comments (3)
September 13, 2005
In which I confess my secret supernatural fetish
From Alesia, the pop culture hound
Still deadlining. But I have to pop in to say that lots of friends have been discussing their favorite episodes/characters in the Buffy/Angel Whedon-iverse, and it’s prompting me to admit that I’ve always had a secret lustful urge for a scorching romance with some form of paranormal hottie.
Let’s face it:
Vampires don’t bother you during the day when you’re trying to work. Plus, if you marry one,
you never have to deal with the deadly dull “what’s for dinner tonight” issue.
Wizards, sorcerors, and other magical beings make housecleaning a snap. Let’s face it, unless you’re stuck with some form of apprentice Mickey in Fantasia, Magic Man can just wave his wand and the house is spotless.
Shapeshifters can serve double duty as pets, but no need for the pooper scooper.
Ghosts or corporeal beings that only you can see never make you jealous because some other chick is checking out your man’s butt.
Seriously, once you go paranormal, you never go back. And, speaking of paranormal, I’m excited to announce that I sold my very very very hot and spicy paranormal romance series, which begins with ATLANTIS RISING, to Berkley just last week. Because I have been an Atlantis-ophile since I was about six . . .
So TELL ME, PLEASE!! What’s your favorite kind of paranormal hottie?
Hugs,
Alesia, who should mention that Navy Guy is a spooky mind reader, so he counts, in case he’s reading this
Posted by Alesia at 5:46 PM | Comments (0)
September 12, 2005
In Which I Discover the Perils of Fiction
From Megan, September's Guest Literary Chick!
It’s just so embarrassing when you get caught crushing on fictional characters.
When I used to live alone, I would pop bucketfuls of popcorn and lie about on my couch, clutching tissues and weeping, variously, over Colin Firth, David Boreanaz, John Cusack, Josh Hartnett (why yes, he IS young), Jared Leto (circa My So-Called Life), Sleepless in Seattle—the movie which makes Tom Hanks hot, and I could go on and on and on here, but I’ll spare you and anyway, you probably have the DVDs.
And that’s just the visual crushing.
Because the truth about the insane amount of books I choose to live with (a friend once said the only place he’d ever seen more books was in a bookstore) is that I have a lot of literary love to go around. Here in my office, for example, are a few loves of my imaginary life: Jamie from the Diana Gabaldon books. Mr. Darcy, obviously, in both the original and Helen Fielding versions. Numerous Linda Howard heroes. All the Shannon McKenna super-alpha males. Detective Inspector Thomas Lynley. F’lar, rider of bronze Mnementh, whom I have adored since I was about eleven. Pretty much any Nora Roberts hero, because they’re all so sardonic. Sweet, sweet Morelli. Heathcliff. Nick from Jennifer Crusie’s Crazy for You. Again, I could go on here.
Now, however, that I have combined possessions and pets with another, these little crushes are witnessed. And, unfortunately, commented upon.
Yesterday, for example, there we were, innocently watching our first season DVDs of House.
Which, can I just interject, is my current favorite show. So well-written, emotional, and fascinating. It makes me want to race off to medical school so that I, too, can become a snarky diagnostic genius. (This coming from a person who barely made it through biology in high school and was forced to take Rocks for Jocks in my junior year to both save my GPA and fulfill my science requirement—only the power of fantasy could ever make me so much as consider medical school.) I can’t actually say enough about what a great show House is or how awesome I find the characterization. I wish I wrote it. Great, great stuff, and stars Omar Epps—who I’ve adored since he was in The Program, the best football movie of all time. Not to mention Robert Sean Leonard, who I was once in a play with, a million years ago, before he was in Dead Poet’s Society. (I should clarify that I was a member of a large, anonymous chorus while he was the star.)
And, you know, completely as an after-thought here, Hugh Laurie happens to be really hot.
Not just hot. There are a million hot guys. (Here in LA, there are even more than that, and all of them are happy to preen should you look at them.) Hugh Laurie as Dr. House is so much more than hot: he’s brilliant, sarcastic, funny, incisive, seemingly cold while occasionally kind, and I could really go on here, but I’m already in trouble.
There was this scene where Dr. House, who normally wears a sport coat, happens to be doing Important Medical Things in a t-shirt. Hello, arms! I thought.
And, apparently, said.
Oops.
“I heard you,” J. told me. “You’re busted. And believe me, there will be consequences.”
Be careful with your fiction, people. It can bite you in the behind.
Posted by at 6:30 AM | Comments (6)
September 10, 2005
Top Five Things I've Been Meaning To Mention
From Lani, who's apparently watched High Fidelity a few times too many...
Hey, all! I hope you're having a lovely Saturday, or if it's not Saturday when you read this, a lovely whatever-day-it-is for you.
I've got a number of things I've been meaning to mention, but have been forgetting, so here we go.
5. The lovely gals over at Writeminded are doing a giveaway which includes a signed copy of Maybe Baby and a signed pre-release copy of my November chick lit release, Ex and The Single Girl. Oh, and there's a ton of other cool things to win there as well, and you should go anyway, because them's some cool ladies. And their grammar is much better than mine.
4. Flirting with Pride and Prejudice, the anthology edited by her highness Ms. Crusie and which contains essays from all three literary chicks (that would be me, Alesia and Michelle for those of you playing at home) is available now! Isn't that cool? It wasn't supposed to be available until September 28th, but I've heard about it being at Barnes and Noble for a few weeks now, and it's shipping from Amazon, so go out and buy a copy! It's great!
3. Speaking of which, next month we're giving away 10 copies of Flirting with Pride and Prejudice, and we have guest blogs from a number of contributors to the anthology, including Jennifer O'Connell, Beth Kendrick, Teresa Medeiros, Laura Resnick, Shanna Swendson, Jill Winters and Joyce Millman.
2. For the writers in the audience, I'm contributing a manuscript critique of up to 30 pages of a manuscript and up to 5 pages of a synop to benefit the lovely and talented Larissa Ione, who lost almost everything she owned when Katrina came to visit. There are also loads of other cool author critiques and signed books up for bid, so please check it out. It couldn't go to a better cause.
1. Last but not least is our roster of upcoming guest chicks! We've got the wonderful, sweet and gloriously funny Whitney Gaskell on deck for November, promoting her new release, She, Myself and I! I can't wait - if you haven't checked out Whitney's blog, do. You'll totally get why we snagged her. She's fantastic! Also on deck in the next year are Brenda Scott Royce, whose debut novel, Monkey Love, releases from NAL in February and is so so so so good. Later in the year, we've got Susan McBride, Eileen Rendahl, Barbara Ferrer, Joshilyn Jackson, and Gemma Halliday! Squee!!! And those are just the authors we've confirmed - there will be more, and we'll announce as we go! And remember - every guest chick comes with a new giveaway, so keep coming back. We give away books ALL YEAR LONG.
Now, I ask you, what's better than that?
Posted by Lani at 5:05 PM | Comments (2)
September 9, 2005
Must love TV
From Alesia, the pop culture hound
Okay, here’s the thing. I ADORE TV. When my lawyer friends were telling me how their newly-toddling children would never see a minute of commercial TV, and displaying their DVDs of BEETHOVEN FOR YOUR OVERLY-PAMPERED, EGOCENTRIC, PARENTS ARE THE TYPE WHO WILL ONLY FEED YOU TOFU PANCAKES, LITTLE GENIUSES, I was wondering how I could get the complete set of THE MUNSTERS and THE ADDAMS FAMILY for my kids.
I mean, what kid can claim he or she had a normal childhood who can’t break into song, on demand, with:
. . . A THREE-HOUR TOUR. A THREE-HOUR TOUR. [And a moment of silence for Bob Denver, please. How a man could wear the same shirt and pants for that long and make us love him is a miracle of acting and comedic talent.]
IF NOT FOR THE COURAGE OF THE FEARLESS CREW, THE MINNOW WOULD BE LOST. THE MINNOW WOULD BE LOST.
These days, I have a not-so-secret love affair with Stargate and Stargate Atlantis. I LOVED the very smart P.I. show EYES last season, so of COURSE they yanked it. I can’t WAIT for the Firefly movie SERENITY to hit theaters.
So tell me, while I’m deadlining (and is that even a word? If so, sounds suspiciously like MAINLINING. Or, worse, FLATLINING. All BAD words. Like ulcers in your STOMACH LINING. AARGHH.), PLEASE tell me: what shows are you looking forward to this fall?
hugs,
Alesia
Posted by Alesia at 9:59 AM | Comments (7)
September 8, 2005
Bad Hair Days
From Michelle in Bad-Hair Rotterdam...
So, bad hair days. You see this picture of me right here -->
Well, I don't usually look like that any more. Actually, that's a lie. I usually look like that until The Minute I Step Outside My Apartment and then the wind immediately rearranges my hair so that I look like The Mad Woman With No Hair Sense.
See, although it is hot in Rotterdam at the moment, never a day goes by (seems like) when it isn't really, really windy, because Rotterdam is on a major river and also very close to the North Sea, and today I decided that Enough was Enough...
Ever walked into a hair salon and said those immortal words to the stylist? You know the ones I mean, "Cut it all off."
Well, today I walked into a very trendy-looking salon and did just that. Here's what happened:
Sylist: "When you say 'cut it all off' do you mean in a non dramatic kind of way?"
Me (totally pissed about the hair/wind situation): "Let's go for dramatic."
Stylist: "When you say 'let's go for dramatic' do you mean that in a conservative-dramatic kind of way?"
Me (totally out of my mind): "Nope. Go for it. I mean it in a radical-dramatic kind of way. Make me a new woman."
Well, in this particular salon while the stylist is at work you are not in front of a mirror. At all. So you have no idea whatever the hell it is she's doing until it's too late.
Anyway, she chopped and chopped and chopped and chopped. And then, when she'd waxed and done a bit more last-minute chopping, she led me to the mirror and this is what I very nearly looked like (except not really because obviously (a) I am not blonde, (b) I am not a model, and (c) it's not me).
So, wind. Do Your Worst.
I love my new stylist!
Michelle
Posted by Michelle at 12:45 PM | Comments (2)
Megan Crane Giveaway!!!!
My apologies to Michelle for horning in on her blog day but HOLY CRAP, I'm an idiot. I was supposed to do the Giveaway Blog yesterday so that you, our Lovely Readers, can get in on this Megan Crane action.
And I forgot. I realize that's no surprise, but I still feel like an idiot. Anyway, to enter to win one of four signed Megan Crane books (we have four total up for grabs - two copies of Everyone Else's Girl and two copies of English as a Second Language) just send an e-mail to giveaway@literarychicks.comwith your name and e-mail address and you're in it to win it, baby!
And now, The Rules. And not those cheezy "How to get a man" rules either. Those are stupid. These rules are good rules. They probably won't get you a man, unless your postman is a hottie, but they'll get you the chance to win a book, and who doesn't love a chance to win a book?
One entry per person. You're all pretty good with this one. 'Nuff said.
Relatives of any Literary Chick, guest or otherwise, are not eligible. Again, we don't usually have a problem with this, but I still feel compelled to put it in there. I'm sentimental that way.
If you're under 18, get a parent's permission. Another rule we don't have a problem with. Actually, you guys pretty much just rock the house.
All entries received between today and Saturday, September 24th at midnight the sender's time will be eligible. Is that confusing? Okay. Let's say, it's Saturday, September 24th at 11:59pm your time. SEND THE E-MAIL! NOW! IN A MINUTE IT'LL BE TOO LATE!
How's that?
Method for choosing the winner:
I haven't really thought about this much. Hmmm... what should my random method be this month? Ooh! Ooh! Here. I have it. I'm gonna get a big-ass Wheel of Fortune-style wheel, and in each little triangle I'll put a name of an entrant and then just spin the hell out of it four times until we get four winners!
Big-ass wheels are tax deductible. Right?
Winners will be announced in Megan's final blog on Monday, September 26th and notified via e-mail within 7 days of announcement, but you know, we thought it'd be cool to be all, "Hey, Congratulations YOU!" on the site. It ain't fifteen minutes of fame, but it's all we got.
On a more serious, but still important note, none of your personal information will be saved after this contest is over. We won't be sharing it with anyone, we won't be using it for any purpose other than sending the winners their loot. Once this thing is over, we'll be like, "Who are you?" Seriously. But not in a mean, clique-y way.
Good luck!
Posted by Lani at 12:20 PM | Comments (1)
September 7, 2005
Better than Cats...
From Lani, whose cold heart might come in handy in Hell...
Not to start the article out on a bummer, but last October, our beloved cat Dashwood died. Diabetes. Very young. Wasn't pretty.
Then we got another cat, CWaP. In a coincidence that defies believability, on the very January night in which I rushed Sweetness to the hospital because she couldn't breathe, and was told to get rid of the cat because it would aggravate my daughter's lungs, CWaP ran away. We never saw him again. It wasn't until I went home from the hospital to get some things a couple days later that I even noticed he was gone. I assume someone picked him up and he's living fat and happy somewhere in this vast, 62-acre apartment complex.
At least that's what I like to believe, because a CWaPsicle? Not a nice picture.
Anyway, since then, we've had to rethink our approach to pets. Basically, until Sweetness is cleared for pulmonary takeoff (so far, so good) we can't have anything furry. We started with goldfish, two gorgeous little swimmers we didn't get a chance to name because Light dumped the entire jar of goldfish food right into the water about five minutes after we got them settled in their new home. Turns out, fish are kinda finicky. They get all stressed when forced to breathe their own food for fifteen minutes while a loud woman frantically changes the water and yells at her kids. Within a few days, to no one's surprise except possibly their own, both fish went belly up.
Not to be daunted, and since I had the aquarium and everything, I asked around about fish that are hard to kill and was told to get a Beta. So I did. His name is Chester. But I have to keep him in my room because... well, just because he's hard to kill doesn't mean he's impossible to kill, and Sweetness and Light have never been known to back down from a challenge.
So, basically, all this to say... I have two kids desperate for a pet who can't really have one. Bright side, they're creative. A few months back, Light adopted a pear.
Yes. That's what I said. A pear.
It was a Bosc pair, all brown and... well, not really furry, but it was brown. At any rate. Light decided it was her pet. She cuddled it and petted it and slept with it and someday her prom date will hear about it. Finally, as the pear was moving into that gray area between healthy snack and compost, I got it away from her and threw it in the garbage like the cold-hearted wench that I am.
Oh, right. Like you'd let your kid sleep with a decomposing pear. What was I gonna do, have it taxidermied? So far, Light seems to be bearing up under the strain.
Not to be outdone by the Pear Incident, however, is Sweetness, who adopted a pistachio shell.
Yes. That's what I said. A pistachio shell.
One day, we were on our way inside from the car and she bent down in the parking lot and picked up a pistachio shell.
Me: Ugh. Sweetness. Put that down. Yuck.
S: Oh! It's Shelly! It's my new pet, Shelly! I love Shelly! (holding it out to me) Look! Mom! It's Shelly!
Me:
Then she proceeded into the house, aglow with pleasure as she petted the shell which someone likely spit out of their moving vehicle.
Of course, as time went by, eventually, Shelly found its way into the garbage as well. Oh, don't look at me that way. It was a pistachio shell. Just because a six-year-old calls something a pet doesn't make it not garbage. You call me after your kid adopts a banana peel. Then we'll talk.
The great thing about being six, though, is that reality really bends to your will. As it turns out, Shelly has a big family. We visit them when we go to the grocery store. And every now and again, when we're walking, Shelly will find us.
Yes, you heard me right. Every randomly discarded pistachio shell in the state of New York is a potential Shelly. Sweetness sees it, yells, "Shelly's come back!" and we take it home, and eventually, I throw it away.
Anybody know of any hypoallergenic cats? Aside from the creepy bald ones? Anyone?
Buehler?
Posted by Lani at 6:30 AM | Comments (4)
September 6, 2005
Jewels in our mouths
From Alesia
To sink into the mires of the mundane, it has been a damn hard week to write comedy. I wish I had Lani’s gift for bad jokes, but my humor tends to run to the dark and twisted when I’m surrounded by devastation. Since, in spite of everything that is happening, I have a deadline the 15th (and the book is not quite done), I’ve tried to be funny on the page this week.
It SO didn’t work.
So I retreated. Retreated to the mindlessness of unpacking boxes. Retreated to the comfort of reading books I’ve already read – one of which was ANGELA’S ASHES, by the brilliantly funny and poignant and true Frank McCourt.
The book didn’t win a Pulitzer for nothing – a child's hope, shining through utter desolation, pulls you into his world. This is the book I kept in mind when I wrote my own nonfiction book, because if you reach for the truth down deep in your gut and pull it up past your heart, you’re maybe, just maybe, a writer. And I like to set star-high goals, because the act of reaching for them helps me grow.
One line from the book played in my mind over and over this week. It’s when young Frank is in the hospital after he nearly dies from typhoid fever. He reads a book of English history, and there is a two-line bit of Shakespeare:
I do believe, induced by potent circumstances
That thou art mine enemy.
Frank says: “I don’t know what it means and I don’t care because it’s Shakespeare and it’s like having jewels in my mouth when I say the words. If I had a whole book of Shakespeare they could keep me in the hospital for a year.”
Imagine this: A child so desperately poor that he’s literally starving, alone in the hospital, and words written on a page are jewels in his mouth.
My own small gift, from God or the Muses or the lights in the universe that are really aliens with mind probes, is to make people laugh. And yet – and yet. And yet I don’t even know how to begin to be funny on a week like this. Isn’t a book written solely to entertain superfluous, frivolous, the worst kind of wasted effort?
I wrote to one of a handful of people I can trust to tell me the unvarnished truth, my wise and kind agent. I said, “I think I’m going to start writing serial killer books, because it’s awfully damn hard to write comedy these days.”
Within minutes, he wrote back: “It’s because it’s so damn hard to write comedy these days that you need to keep getting us to laugh.”
And you know what? He’s right. The funny books, the ones that entertain me and make me laugh and cry and smile and tell my friends about them, those are the ones that help me get through tough times.
Because laughter, like the words of Shakespeare, is like having jewels in my mouth. I want to thank all of the writers who make me laugh and give me jewels in my mouth and heart and mind. I’m going to send boxes of books to a shelter, in addition to financial aid to relief organizations.
And then I’m going to sit down at my keyboard and try again.
Hugs and prayers for everyone affected by Katrina,
Alesia
Posted by Alesia at 9:04 AM | Comments (1)
September 5, 2005
In Which I Witter On About Gas Prices, Sort Of
From Megan, September's Guest Literary Chick!
It takes very little for me to wax political, but since I’m just a guest here at the Literary Chicks, I figured I’d leave the politics to Jon Stewart and concentrate more on, say, me.
More specifically, on how rising gas prices have destroyed my favorite refuge: my car.
I grew up in suburban New Jersey, in a preppy little town no one ever heard of, surrounded by much bigger ones famous for all the malls the New Yorkers flock to on weekends—not to mention all the stereotypes everyone else associates with Jersey. What this meant in practical terms was that I did not wear spandex, no one I knew was even tangentially related to any Mafia types, and the hair in town was only sprayed high when sullen teens of questionable sexuality were trying to access their inner Lead Singer of the Cure. (What can I tell you—it was the Eighties.) And there was nothing to do, especially if you were too cowed by your mother to experiment with creative hair and/or ripped and torn clothing. (Which I was. And am.) So to escape the tremendous horror of my adolescence—and it was such a horror, I assure you, that I felt compelled to fill at least ten black-and-white notebooks with Very Bad Poems detailing the experience—I drove. In big, rambling loops around my hometown and the surrounding county.
Every day after school, my friend Josie and I would climb in my parents’ old Chevy Caprice and take to the open road. (Okay, it was the not-so-open suburban road, but we didn’t know the difference.) We made scratchy mixed tapes of songs we felt explained our souls, smoked Marlboro Lights, stalked our crushes, and were free for a brief window between 2:45 and 6:00pm.
In college, I would leave my pretty campus behind and take to the roads of upstate New York, winding around and around the Hudson Valley where Ichabod Crane was said to have ridden after the Headless Horseman. On some nights in autumn, with the stars bright and cold, believe me, that story seemed way too real even from inside the car. The treacherous Taconic Parkway, narrow and terrifying, was better than a rollercoaster as we roared down to New York City. The arterial roads that cut through the “city” we lived in let you shoot through the place at top speed. My best friends and I cocooned ourselves in the car, still listening to mixed tapes, still smoking and stalking, and still free. For whole days at a time.
My favorite time to drive is at night, and my favorite road out here in Los Angeles is Mulholland Drive. Snaking through the mountains, the whole city spreads out before you on one side, the Valley on the other, and it’s as close as you can get to flying without leaving the ground. And the best part about being a grown-up is that I get to be free all the time, and I don’t need songs to explain my soul. (Although I like it when they do.)
Except at over three dollars a gallon and rising, you might be better off chartering a plane.
Frankly, I feel for the sullen teens. Freedom just got pricier.
I’ll be here all month—at the end of which, I’m giving away two copies of my new book, Everyone Else's Girl (out in October, so there might be a lag) and two copies of my first book, English as a Second Language.
Glad to be here, and happy Labor Day!
Megan
Posted by at 6:30 AM | Comments (2)
September 3, 2005
My special talent
From Lani, all about the bad jokes...
I have a special talent. Well, it's not that special, and it's not really a talent so much as a mammoth ability to ignore reality. But, it works, so I go with it. Basically, I am the person who can make random humorous small talk in the midst of almost any tragedy. This may sound cold-hearted, but I say nay. Here's why.
When I was 12, my father died. Suddenly. Out of the blue. From nowhere. Suddenly, gone. It was very tragic. All sorts of horrible things and the ripples are still rippling in my life now, 23 years later. The one thing that I remember is that every time anyone looked at me, anytime anyone spoke to me, it was always with that hushed voice, that "I'm so sorry for your loss," pity, and I really hated that. Sympathy is one thing, but pity makes me nuts. There's something in the pity which insinuates that whatever tragedy you're experiencing, you're totally incapable of handling it. That sucks, and it makes you feel like crap. Even worse is the fact that people who pity you mean well, so you can't even blame them.
Anyway, I would have killed for someone to have told me a bad joke. My dad was huge with the bad jokes. He especially loved puns. Used to make me cringe. I'd have given my Atari (if you're too young to know Atari, don't tell me) for one person to have just said, "So a priest, a rabbi and a gecko walk into a bar..."
So, ever since, that's been me. When tragedy strikes I do what I can which is useful - do what I can to help, make a donation, bake a bundt... okay, so I've never actually baked a bundt, but you know what I mean - and then it's Hammer time. So, in the face of the horrible tragedy in the Gulf Coast, here we go.
And a warning. I wrote this joke myself. It's completely original, and very, very, very bad.
This priest, this rabbi and this gecko walk into a bar. The priest plunks a fiver down on the bar.
"I'll have an Irish Whiskey."
The bartender takes the fiver and serves him up. "There you go, Father."
"Bless you my son."
The rabbi plunks a fiver down on the bar.
"Manischewitz, please."
The bartender takes the fiver and pours the wine. "There you go, Rabbi."
"Mazel tov," the rabbi says.
The gecko plunks down a fiver. Before he can place his order, the bartender pockets the five and starts to walk away.
"Hey," the gecko says, "I didn't place my order."
"Yeah," the bartender says, "and I didn't save shit on my car insurance."
See? Told you it was bad. And that's just what this tragedy needs. A really, really bad joke.
And it just so happens, that's my special talent.
Posted by Lani at 7:35 AM | Comments (7)
September 2, 2005
And yet more tragedy
From Alesia
It seems like so many of our posts this year have been about tragedy. Today, just going through the motions of the routines of life seems muffled by the overlayer of sadness and the dark mirror of horrendous suffering in the aftermath of Katrina.
School physicals? NPR reports of the desperate straits of the hospitals in New Orleans.
Orientation at elementary school? USA Today article on the tens of thousands displaced from the schools and colleges there.
The money’s on the way to the relief organizations, but it never feels like enough. Images of death and destruction are made even more vivid by our memories of the recent tsunami. Mother Nature is in her Bitch phase, and our defenses aren’t up to her fury.
All of our thoughts and prayers here at the Literary Chicks are with those of you affected by this horrible tragedy. I hope aid flows more quickly and the rebuilding process can begin soon.
Hugs,
Alesia
Posted by Alesia at 1:15 PM | Comments (0)
