Now That You Mention It...

You All Have a Job

When I first started writing my book, I did it for myself. A selfish goal of cracking myself up, writing the book I wanted to read and proving to myself that I could write 80,000 words.

And it's easy for writers to remain in their own little cocoons, forgetting that there's other people out there, forgetting that our words do reach people, forgetting that we have a public platform, albeit somewhat small.

So I'm going to use it. While this blog usually chronicles my writing journey and dunce-y motherhood moments, I'm using it today for something that's bigger than me. Something a lot more worthy of attention than mishaps at Chuck E Cheese.

Earlier this month, I received an email from a reader, Victoria, asking for my help. She has a sixteen-month-old daughter, Gwendolyn, who has been diagnosed with Spinal Muscular Atrophy (SMA). SMA is the #1 genetic killer of infants, and 1 in 40 people unknowingly carry the gene. The life expectancy is two years old.

No known cure, but the National Institute of Health has selected SMA as the disease closest to treatment of more than 600 neurological disorders. Researchers estimate that we are only a few years from treatment and/or a cure.

In her email to me, Victoria wrote:

"Over the last eight months, I have grown accustomed to feeding tubes and medical machines filling her nursery. I have even come to terms with the knowledge that I will most likely lose my baby before she reaches the age of two...well, some days any way."

There is landmark legislation, the SMA Treatment Acceleration Act, currently sitting in Congress that, if passed, would provide researchers the resources needed to make that last crucial step.
Victoria and her husband started an online petition www.PetitiontoCureSMA.comas a grassroots effort to gain national support for the SMA Treatment Acceleration Act. They already have over 50,000 signatures.

Go sign it.

I did.

Go now.

Dream a Little Dream of...A Better Plot?

I am a product of the late '80s/early '90s. I can say that with complete confidence. Black bodysuits tucked into jeans with or without a belt, skirts with bike shorts underneath (that my mom never let me wear b/c she deemed them "trashy) puffy-paint and hypercolor t-shirts, and jeans tight-rolled and covered in neon splatter paint (with matching denim jacket) all mean a great deal to me.

To further illustrate my point that I am a child of this fabulous era, I was driving into work this morning and heard the song, "Rock On" and immediately recalled the movie, "Dream a Little Dream." Oh, how much I loved that movie and oh how crappy it was. Starring "The Coreys," if memory serves, it's about a teenager and an old guy who switch places, a la Freaky Friday. But there are all these weird metaphysical rules like the guy's wife is trapped in a dream or something. And they have to do Tai Chi to switch bodies.

Or something like that.

I'm pretty sure you'd have to be stoned to understand the plot.

There's also an AWESOME "dance sequence" in the movie where Corey Feldman dances like Michael Jackson to impress a girl. And instead of calling local law enforcement, she like totally makes out with him.

Despite a pretty decent soundtrack, the movie is spectacularly craptastic and served only to quench young girls' thirst for The Coreys. Except they were both kind of old and ugly in this movie, so it wasn't awesome at all.

Of course, none of this will prevent me from ordering the DVD on Amazon.

Second Child? Try Literary Child.

So I finally realized this weekend that my son has reached the age where people deem it acceptable to ask, "So when's the next one?"

It happened a little bit when he turned one, as that seems to be an important milestone for thinking about the second one--I wouldn't really know, since I was too busy enjoying my eight hours of sleep, glasses of wine and allowing the cat to use the baby monitor as a pseudo-mouse toy.

But now that he's eighteen months, people seem to want to know WHEN we are having the next child and WHY don't I know and DON'T I want my kid to have a close sibling, etc.

And yes, of course. I do. It's just that I'm enjoying being a human again. Not to mention I fear the wrath of God I'd see in my kid's eyes as soon as it registers that there's another little human competing for attention. He would quickly teach himself to use the internet and post an ad on craigslist: "Baybee 4 Sail. Fwee 2 gud howme."

Not to mention the other "baybee" arriving in bookstores June 9th. I will wrap the pretty pink book in a Miracle blanket and place it in a cradle swing and relish how well it sleeps through the night.

The Post You've Been Waiting For

 So, I heard back from my Fab Agent late last week and...she liked the revisions to Book Number Three!! Just so you're brought up to speed, this is my "faery" book, commonly referred to (by me) as This Book Rulez and Has Irish Stuff In It.

My agent is taking some time to wrap up a few outstanding projects, and then we'll start submitting it! Woo Hoo! Yet just thinking about being on submission again is enough to induce some major nerves. Last time, I was on sub for a few months before getting an offer, so I know things could be slow moving. And with publishing experiencing the same JACKED UP crap that every other business is, it could take even longer.

I have no idea how I made it through last time.

Oh. Right. Probably being a gazillion months pregnant and then having a newborn child to care for. One who had colic. And didn't sleep through the night until six months old. That probably helped pass the time.

Anyway, in honor of Agent bestowing up on Book #3 the green light, I will now reveal the actual title of the book.

Ready?

It's Ethereal Girl. (Or, as my husband likes to call it, Eth Er Al Gurrl. Because he thinks it is funny to talk like a hillbilly.)

But you can still call it This Book Rulez and Has Irish Stuff In It if you like. It does have a certain ring to it.

Kenny Chesney = Total Loser

Am I the only one who thinks that Kenny Chesney sounded like a total douchebag when he disputed rumors that he's gay by proclaiming he's slept with "over 100" women?

Nice. Way to prove you're so NOT gay by claiming to be a male whore. All it does is pretty much confirm my suspicions that he is, in fact, gay.

One of my favorite Irish singers, Brendan Loughrey, wrote a hilarious song titled...(wait for it)..."F*** Kenny Chesney" based on a personal experience with him. Cracks me up every time.

If You Were There Saturday Night, I'm Kind of Sorry

My weekend in Wisconsin was fabulous, albeit too short like always. The weather was beautiful, yet not exactly Winter Carnival-ish. Yet people were still skiing, so my hubs and I enjoyed lounging in the ski lodge wtih a couple of beers and laughing at everyone barreling down the mountain and wiping out. There was something very off about my husband and I eating fries and chili and drinking beer while laughing at people doing physical activity, but what can I say? That's us in a nutshell. We were all, "Man, those people look tired. And kind of sweaty. 'Nother round?"

Toddler Child behaved himself quite well the entire weekend--save for a brief spazz out while we were at dinner Saturday night. During which I let him army crawl around under the table and eat food off the floor while I wolfed down my burger. Because I am one of "those" parents now. The parents let their kid do whatever the hell he wants for a few minutes so they can eat dinner. The kind of parents I used to roll my eyes at and whisper "...so rude."

Whatever.

So now I'm back to reality and research for Book Numero 4. Movie Star Life? I haz it.

Wisconsin Springtime is Early, Yo!

Is it just me or has this been the longest week ever? GAH.

My life is hilarious. I booked a trip up to Wisconsin for Lake Geneva's annual Winter Carnival, looking forward to enjoying skiing, snowboarding, snowmobiling and all of the fabulous winter offerings. Reality? It's going to be 50 degrees. In Wisconsin. In February. And while I'm not complaining about the warm weather, it's just another perfect example of Life = Opposite of Whatever is Intended.

But 50 degrees or 5 degrees, I will be enjoying some good Midwestern beer, cheeseburgers and dark wood paneling this weekend. Because there is no outside temperature that will make beer taste bad. 

In an effort to pass the time while I wait on book news from my agent and editor, I've been reading everything I can get my poor, tired fingers on. I figured reading other people's books would serve to be a good distraction.

Oh, rly? (Said in the creepy tone used by that grey haired guy on Dateline who Bill Heder imitates on SNL)

(If you are my husband, please do not read any further. I know you have barely recovered from me re-writing Book #3, so you probably won't want to hear what follows.)

I was reading a book last night and Fabulous New Idea came to me. So. Instead of relaxing, enjoying all the books I've been meaning to read, I've got TWO new book ideas having a Cage Match for my creative attention in my brain. Book #4 and Book #5, people. Good, but not exactly relaxin.' And both are just challenging enough to make me wonder if I can pull them off.

I forsee lots of Chinese takeout, Pizza Hut and a house resembling a meth lab in my future.

Totally Existential

One down, one to go!

I submitted my second book to my editor yesterday so let the fingernail biting continue! Being the superstitious writer that I am, I'll share the title after it's accepted for publication. But here's a hint: there's an SNL joke in it.

In all honestly, though, I really love this book and think (hope!) my editor will too. It was great to continue Clare's story and spending time with these characters again felt like a fabulous reunion. Being about a year in the life of a working mom, this is probably the most "personal" book I've ever written, since many of the emotions Clare experienced were parallel to mine. Which is kind of funny, since when I wrote it, I was on maternity leave and hadn't even gone back to work yet. I let the book sit for nearly a year before I edited it, and was able to add an additional layer of emotion into the story.

Basically, this is my long-winded way of saying I think my second book kicks seven kinds of ass.

I'm waiting to hear what my agent thinks of my revisions to my third book, still jokingly referred to as This Book Ruelz and Has Irish Stuff In it.

To everyone out there who thought a writer's life was glamorous? Negative. The publishing world equals like fifteen acts of Waiting for Godot.