Bonbons or books?

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Lest you think I’ve neglected my writing–imagining me sitting around on the couch eating bonbons–I’ll let you in on a little secret.

I’ve got 6, count ’em 6, picture books baking in the oven. (Figuratively, not literally. The paper would dry out and begin to burn if I really put the books in the oven. Burned books are not very pleasant to read.)

The upcoming books are (working titles all):
Monkeys on an Island – about monkeys, on an island
Library Cafe – about a couple who retire and buy an old library to turn into a bakery
Tea Party – four girls move into a new neighborhood and have trouble making new friends
Connor’s Pockets – it is easy to see what a little boy did during the day as he empties his pockets
Victorious Victor – a little boy has a problem with a monster under his bed
Pepper Curious – A curious schnoodle is on the trail of treasure

I am waiting for the illustrators to finish their work, which means that it is out of my control when the finished product will be available. It is hard to rush artists.

Except for one, Pepper Curious, which I will be illustrating with modified pictures.

Also, Gray Zone (my novel about cyberbullying that formerly had the working title Fair Game) is in the final stages of writing. It should be complete in just a few months, and then move on to the publishing process.

So there! I haven’t eaten a single bonbon, and I very much prefer a chair to my couch. Let that be a lesson to you.

Happy 2011

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A new year has begun!

It is time for us to put aside everything from 2010 and start anew–fresh. Gone are all of last year’s worries, trials, and heartaches. The new year has begun! The new year has begun!

What? Oh, hello Jupiterians, I didn’t see you there. Happy New Year!

No, of course I did not mean that I have no bills I need to pay.

Yes, I still need to work.

No, all the hungry of the world have not been miraculously fed and the homeless given shelter.

Wait, wait wait! Stop all the questions! I understand how confusing this all is to you, but please don’t overthink it. When I say we are leaving last years worries behind I mean…I mean…I mean figuratively.

No, I can’t explain it any better than that. I just want to send out a hope for everyone I know, from the bottom of my heart, that 2011 will be a great year. A year where wishes come true, worries are minimized, and dreams are realized.

What? Of course I don’t mean I want nightmares to come true! Only the good dreams. Besides, those are not the kind of dreams I mean.

What is that you said? Why is the bottom of my heart better than the top for sending out good wishes?

Sigh. How will I ever be able to explain the expression “from the bottom of my heart” to the Jupiterians? Maybe I won’t even try. Instead, I just wish you all a

Happy New Year!

Write a book in ____ days!

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I see the ads all the time. Buy this software, and you will be able to write a full novel in 90 days, 60 days, even 30 days!

I say, what’s the point? WHY would I want to write a novel in 30, 60, or even 90 days?

I LOVE WRITING! I adore sitting down in front of my computer, clearing my mind of all my cares and woes, and immersing myself in a story of my own making. It is the one place in my life where I have total control. And by total, I do mean total.

Need a little cheer–I simply add some humor to whatever I am writing.

Feeling nostalgic–those memories will really bring the page to life.

But best of all, if a character starts to develop that I don’t like, it doesn’t bother me in the least. With my handy-dandy delete button I can banish that irritating character from my life forever. Gone! Never to be seen again!

Now, where in life do I have that kind of power?

So I repeat, why would I ever, ever, want to rush the writing process! Be gone, you irritating Write a book in 30 day ads!

Boughten

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I noticed it a few years ago. My children, and their friends, would say things like, “I had boughten the coat last week.”

Boughten. Used as the past tense of bought, which was already the past tense of buy.

I tried to correct my children but it didn’t stick. They kept using the word over, and over, and over again.

Then, just the other day, a woman my age told me that I should go to a particular store because it was there that she “had boughten a wonderful gift” for one of her friends.

I sincerely hope the shock did not show on my face. I had assumed that the use of boughten was a kid thing, a way to differentiate them from the dull grown-up world.

I finished my conversation, and then rushed home to do a little research. Could boughten be a word? Could I have been wrong all these years.

With a pounding heart I turned my computer on and went to dictionary.com. With trembling fingers I typed in the letters that had offended me for so many years, b-o-u-g-h-t-e-n. Closing my eyes I hit the enter key, hoping and praying that I would see the words “no dictionary results” when I reopened them.

No such luck. I gulped, forseeing apologies to my children and years of being reminded of my mistake. My credibility was shot.

Or so I thought, until I took a look at the definitions listed.

I smiled. My credibility was safe. Even though the word was real, it was being used incorrectly. It was an adjective, not a verb. It most certainly was not the past tense of bought, or buy, or will go shopping.

Of course, I may not be safe for long. Languages are always evolving.

I guess I should have googled it sooner and facebooked the results to all my friends.

Nearing the end

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I am so excited! I only have 2 more chapters to go, and I’ll have Fair Game finished.

Only…well..I won’t be calling it Fair Game.

It was only a working title anyway, but it does bug me a little that just 2 days ago I saw a movie advertised with my working title. Any chance I had of keeping the working title went right out the door.

So now I have to come up with another title.

But at least I am almost done! I am sooooooo excited!

The good deal

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I just paid $5.00 for a single sheet of paper with 3 paragraphs of writing. Not good writing, mind you. The grammar was bad and spelling atrocious, but it was writing.

I nearly didn’t. I almost walked by, allowing a busy schedule to override my responsibility to help others.

Luckily, I turned back and talked to the woman who was standing on the corner outside Wholefoods, holding a loose stack of white paper. She told me she had written these poems to sell.

As an author, how could I refuse her? I understand how difficult it can be to put your thoughts and feelings down on paper, hoping for acceptance. So I did the only thing I could, I emptied out my pockets and gave her all I had with me.

Which is how I came to buy a single sheet of paper with 3 paragraphs of writing for $5.00.

It is just possible that I helped a fellow writer. It was a very good deal.

Have you seen it?

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It is fantastic, wonderful even!

It is not so much that I was included in the article from the ISchool–although that really makes me happy–but look at who else is in the article. What great names I get to share the page with. (I am too excited to think, so that sentence will remain clunky.)

Again, I have to say it! I’m ecstatic!

What? Oh, I guess I should give you the link.
http://ischool.uw.edu/feature/alums-continue-tradition-books-youth

Go take a look!

Tears of writing

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This is the very reason I will never, never write a horror story. When I write, I live whatever I am writing. It plays out like a movie in my head, only it is much more real than the typical movie playing in a person’s head.

Today’s writing included the saddest thing I have ever written. Maybe it affected me so much because I rarely write sad scenes, but I had a flash flood of tears that made it necessary for me to top long enough to go get a tissue.
Whew! I am glad that is over. Or at least, over for today. I am nearing the end of the book. I will need to revisit that scene again when I do the next set of rewrites.
Next time, I’ll have tissue ready. Or maybe an entire pillow, just in case it hits me the wrong (or right) way and I really start to sob.

Halloween on my street

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I live on darkest, spookiest, scariest street in the neighborhood, perfect for Halloween–unless you actually enjoy seeing cute little kiddies in their costumes begging for candy.

None of my neighbors decorate very much, most keep Halloween decorations to a bare minimum. As a matter of fact, after 10 years of being the only house on the block to decorate, this year I caved in to peer pressure (aka got lazy) and put out a single lit pumpkin. Just like everybody else.

And so I made my street the perfect Halloween location. Dark, gloomy, and spooky. No orange lights flickering on the doorsteps. No cutouts of witches in windows. No tiny tissue ghosts hanging from tree branches. No creepy music punctuating the air with ghoulish howls and ghostly wails. And most importantly, no trick or treaters.

What am I supposed to do with the punch bowl full of candy I have by the door?

I wonder if Jupiterians like candy.

Dear Diary

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Dear Diary,

I know it should not bother me, but it does.
I know I should not care, but I do.
I know I should forget, but I can’t.

Always, always, I try to be supportive to those around me, especially family members. So when they let me down, it bothers me, I care, and I cannot forget.

I remember meeting an author when I only had my first book out. I was ecstatic when she told me that her mother was so proud of her efforts as an author that the mother had immediately bought 20 of her books and passed them out to all her friends.

In my family, it is quite different. Not only do I need to buy the books for my family members, but only half of them took the time to read them.

I truly appreciate that my husband, four daughters, sister, and niece trusted me enough to read my books. I love them all the more for the support they give me.

I poured my heart into each of the books. I spent hours upon hours agonizing over every sentence, crafting each book to tell the story I want to tell. These 4 books represent 7 years of hard–but extremely satisfying–work.

Each book contains a substantial chunk of me. So if the books are set aside unread, not important enough for the reader to take the time to crack open the cover, then I am the one left forgotten on the dusty shelf. I am the book, and the book is me. We are too intertwined to be separated.

So I know it should not bother me, but it does.
I know I should not care, but I do.
I know I should forget, but I can’t.

Added November 1st:
(Note to reader) Reader? What! You are reading a private diary? How could you?
Don’t worry, I’m only kidding. Even I could not be foolish enough to write a diary on the Web and expect it to be private.

That said, I think I need to clarify a little. So there is no confusion, I should mention that my complaint about family does not apply to everyone. For example, my sister and her daughter not only purchased and read my books, but they talked about them to other people! You can’t get any better than that.

And of course, my husband and daughters have read everything.

That’s all for now!