I can't believe I haven't made a bigger stinking deal about this, but as I mentioned back in March, I'm a finalist in the RWA's RITA award, in the YA category. I couldn't be more thrilled, especially since I share the card with two writers I really like, Tina Ferraro and Tera Lynn Childs.

Over on her blog, YA Fresh, Tina is giving away copies of all three nominated books!  Coolness! Go and read the post-- all three of us posted what we would have pitched if given the others' titles. For example, for Tina's book Hot to Hook a Hottie, I said: "A carefree summer fishing trip goes horribly awry when..."  Well you just have to head over there and read for yourself.

Then comment to enter. Tell her I sent you. ;-)

Woot! I'm home.  I'm cuddling with my puppy who has had a WONDERFUL time staying with her grandmother, but MIGHT have missed me like I missed her.

I love to travel, but I don't like leaving my stuff behind. I think this is why I like driving trips--because I can bring more of my STUFF.  This is a trend that has gotten worse over the years. I'm not sure if it's a product of my getting older, or just having more stuff. Because I don't mind leaving home. But I miss my stuff. My chair, my brand of tea, my brew of coffee, my brand of detergent...  (I am, needless to say, not one of those people who can use whatever shampoo/soap/lotion they have at the hotel.)

So I was eager to get back home. All the same, I hate leaving people. I get this weird sinking sad nostalgia--I always have, ever since I was a kid. I would always cry when it was time to leave a fond place, even when I knew we'd be back eventually--the ranch, my grandmother's house, wherever. It wasn't that I didn't want to go home (because I've *always* been fond of my stuff). But there's always that weird feeling that it's going to change while you're gone, when you really want to keep everything in that magical stasis.

Question of the day: Did you guys have a favorite family vacation spot that you went back to on an annual, or at least regular, basis? We would go down to the ranch in Refugio county (where I ended up living, eventually), but we'd stay  in Port Lavaca and go down to the beach at Port Aransas. Mr. RCM used to go to Red River with his family. What about you guys? 

I used up all my deep, philosophical insight (no really) on my guest blog post over on Lucienne Diver's blog.  So you should go read it.  Because the only thing I could think of to write for MY blog this this morning was the joys of sharing a refrigerator.

1) Someone is always eating your stuff.   I know that when you're married, what's yours is mine, blah blah blah. But seriously. When I take a break from writing at midnite and go to the freezer to reward my work with a spoonful of Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream, I want to find some Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream, and not the crappy fat free stuff that no one likes.

2) People don't put things back in logical order.  The refrigerator is designed for certain stuff to go in certain places. It works better that way. When you stick stuff in all havey cavey, one can't find it, or one thinks one is out and buys more (see below), and two, it makes a cluttered, messy fridge and gives me a headache. (And yes I do have a spot on the couch where no one can sit but me. Why do you ask?)

3) People don't use the last of something before opening a new one. I looked in the overcrowded fridge door the other day, and there were THREE open jars of salsa. "What's wrong with this picture?" I said. "Well," says Mr. RCM, "I opened a new jar by accident."  Me: "And the third jar?"  Him: "I think that's old."  Me: "So why not throw it out?"   (THe same could be said for the extra open jar of jalapenos, can of adobo, and the jar of salad olives which is mostly just pimento.)  Which leads me to...

4) The useless amount of product left in the jar/bottle/carton so that the offender will not have to be the one to rinse out the container for recycling. This also goes for leftovers left WAY too long, because throwing them out  would mean washing the container. And people get away with it, because they get pushed into the back of the fridge and hidden (see point #2).

5) No matter how redundant the contents, they are never exactly what you need. This morning I went to make myself some cereal, and we have FOUR cartons of milk and a bottle of some kind of liquid yogurt stuff my mom bought.  One is dairy milk, which I can't drink that much of, and of the three kinds of soy milk, none are appropriate for my cereal--they're all flavored. *grumble*  So everyone has their own milk but me.

Which is, of course, what spurred this extremely whiny post on the hazards of cohabitation. And of course you know *I* have absolutely no annoying, passive aggressive habits that make me hard to live with.

So, make me feel better.  What does your roommate, significant other, parent or sibling do that drives you nuts?  Go ahead and dish. I won't tell on you.

In honor of the release of Lucienne Diver's novel Vamped, the Shooting Stars are giving away a whole prize package.  There's a quiz involved, so brush up on your vampire lore, and head over to enter.

The prizes? Signed copies of the aforementioned Vamped, Prom Dates From Hell, by yours truly, and the first book in the Morganville Vampires series, by Rachel Caine. Plus a glow in the dark bumper sticker*, PLUS a Goth trivia board game. I wonder how Lisa would do on that?

I'll be giving away a copy of Lucienne's book next week. I was going to do it this week, but though I thought I ordered two copies of Vamped from Amazon (one to keep, of course), I accidentally ordered two copies of this. So, I guess you know what else I'll be giving away soon.

--
*Probably similar to the one on Rachel's car, which is how I identified her when I blew past her on the highway a few weeks ago. True story. We live in the same major metropolitan area. Her car is distinctive in the first place, but the "Morganville" sticker narrowed it down further. I was driving Mr. RCM's POS Ford, so I was too embarrassed to make a spectacle of myself by honking and waving.

 (The Cherokee is pretty distinctive, too, having been through a hard former life as a Ranch Vehicle. There's a story about how I'd had it a week when a cow leaned against it and made a big dent. Then I dropped a stage platform on the bumper. I also loaded it up with the set for a festival play, and drove all the way to College Station with a giant dragon head on the roof rack. That Jeep has seen some action.)

I spent the weekend at the DFW Writer's Conference, and it was a good one. I can say that because, except for teaching classes and lending my shining, celebrity presence, I didn't have anything to do with organizing the thing. The conference committee worked extremely hard to pull off an excellent conference. Multiple tracks of programing from a wide range of authors and other professionals, six agents taking one-on-one pitches, two lunches with entertaining speakers, a wealth of information, smoothly run, despite inevitable hiccups... Kudos to those guys.

The next conference, by the way, is set for April 9-11, 2010.  Mark your calendars.

I spoke on Writing for Teens (Even if you Aren't One).  I joked on Twitter that this meant I had to pretend I know what I'm doing. As people have asked me to speak on this subject, I've had to retroactively figure out what it is that makes Prom Dates From Hell (et al.) a good *YA* book. Because I just wrote a book *I* wanted to read. So it's only the 'writing for teens' part that I feel like a bit of a fraud. But not really, beause I *have* done a lot of research into it. Just after the fact. I *do* know what I'm doing as far as writing a good book is concerned.

I hope Mom doesn't read that. There's a Dutch word for the curse you give yourself when you say that you're good at something. I really did grow up being told by my mother that I was brilliant and could do anything, but I should never compliment myself, or I would curse myself and lose whatever I'd just been bragging about. No wonder I'm so neurotic. Which is why I joke about these things. Because promotion is all about telling people how great you/your books are, and I guess I'm trying to dodge the curse by equaling things out!

Yes, promotion is hell for me. Though I'm not special. The keynote speaker at the conference was Bob Mayer, who mentioned in his speech that on the Myers-Briggs Personality test the "writer" type is the polar opposite from the "marketer" type. One more reason why writing is something of a masochistic profession. 

Seriously.  The other irony is that, despite the 'flaky artistic type' stereotype, a lot of writers tend to be Type A control freaks. We like to write because on the page we have complete and utter control of the universe.  It's like being God and Dungeon Master combined. But if course where the *business* is concerned, once you have polished and edited and turned over your book... you really have zero control. You can do marketing, and you can Twitter, and do blog tours and everything else you can do to build buzz--which, don't get me wrong, does help--but ultimately, you have no control over whether Meg Cabot or Stephanie Meyer (or both) are going to release a book with your *exact same title* the week after your book comes out. :-)

Writers have to LOVE to write. Otherwise, it's not worth it. Very few of us get paid enough to make it worth all the stress, angst and hassle. But most of us would do it for our own pleasure even if we weren't getting paid. (Which is why I respect writers who write only for themselves or their friends. Amateur golfers strive to improve their prose. I know many amateur writers who work just as hard to step up their writing, even if they have no desire to be published professionally.)

But of course, if you do want to be published professionally, there's a whole other level of stuff you've got to do. Join a critique and/or professional education group. Go to workshops and conferences. Read books about writing and selling your book. Pay attention to what's on the market, and how books are selling.

Though ultimately, it comes down to the craft. What you write. DO you write?  Or do you just talk about writing and go to workshops and read books about writing.

Writers love to write. I guess that what *I* got out of the conference this weekend, being around such good energy from other writers is just that reminder. It's not just about being hungry to sell. It's about loving what we do.

So answer in the comments: What do YOU love about writing? What keeps you working at it, even when it's hard? Or if you're not a writer, about the hobby that you put your time and energy into improving (like golf, or art, or knitting).  And don't forget to tell me what part of the craft you're GOOD at already!

I'll draw a name from the comments to win a copy of the latest book I loved: Going Too Far, by Jennifer Echols.

Last night was my first live chat with fans/readers. The questions were excellent. Lots were about the book, but mostly how it related to my writing philosophy. Things like: do I consider age and content when writing for YA. How did I handle sending Maggie to college and keep it on the YA shelf. The problem of giving enough backstory from previous books to catch up a reader, without doing an info dump or spoiling the reader if they go back.

There were also HELL WEEK specific questions about the magical elements, the nature of the Sigmas, why sororities, and Maggie and Justin hooking up.

So, if you've read PROM DATES and HELL WEEK go here and read the interview and the comments with the questions and my answers. It was a lot of fun. The commenters had very good things to say about writing and books, too.  Great group.

Here's a teaser from the new book, The Splendor Falls, which comes out in September. (From the pre-copy-edited pages so don't be picky.)

#
     John caught up with me as I was looking for a break in traffic. “What are you doing?” he demanded. Behind him, I saw the doorman staring, like he’d never seen a girl with a broken leg try and cross Fifth Avenue mid-block before.

     “I’m going to the Park.” I shivered. It was mid May, and the evening air was still cool.

     John fingers gripped the flesh above my elbow. “You can’t wander around Central Park after dark by yourself.”

     The fact that my plan seemed perfectly reasonable should have been a sign I was a lot more drunk than I thought I was.

     “It’s barely dusk.”

     “Your leg is in a cast.”

     I looked down, not in surprise, exactly. The throb of my leg was constant, blending into the background of my misery. Then something would remind me, Sylvie, your leg is broken, and the ache came flooding back.

     Maybe I had reached that point with my emotions, too. I’d ground through the whole day, and now self-pity and passive aggression weren’t enough to distract me any longer. “I want to go to my dad’s bridge.”

     Something must have shown in my face. Tightening his jaw, John stuck out his arm and hailed a cab. He had the knack of a native, but I think it may have been my Day-Glo Orange cast that got results so quickly on a Saturday evening.

#


Don't forget!  If you're a reader of the Maggie Quinn series (or even if you aren't, but don't mind spoilers), I'm doing a live Book Blog Chat at Bria's Pages at 9 PM EST.  We'll be talking about the (RITA Nominated) second book in the series, HELL WEEK, and anything else that you want to ask me, as long as it's not a spoiler for Book 3. (At 9, Bria will post a new entry, then you can ask your questions in the comments, and I will answer.  No logging in required.

Okay, so I'm back from Seattle and I have a TON of stuff to share with you guys. Fun stuff that involves terrible pictures of me. You'll love it. But this came across my google reader this morning, and I had to pass it on while it's somewhat timely.

Tina Ferraro, who is one of my fellow RITA nominees this year, not only shares an editor with me, but our first books came out on the same day and were both prom related. Is it any wonder I feel some kinship with this author? She's also just cool. Anyway. Ten Uses for an Unworn Prom Dress is an awesome book, but one of the things it talks about is donating your prom dress (used or unused) to organizations that then recycle them.

So anyway!  Tina posted on her YA Fresh blog the link to Donate My Dress, a site that helps you find local organizations that will find a new home for your special occasion dress after you've enjoyed it.

Personally, this is a form of recycling, and I'm 100% in favor. I have gotten some beautiful dresses in resale shops, and even at Goodwill! But even consignment shops (where the seller gets some money for the item) can sometimes be pricey. So my "outgoing" dresses all go to places that find homes for them at little or no cost to the new wearer. I even donated my wedding dress!  Why keep that in my closet when it can make someone else feel like a princess!  Share the love, baby.

I know a bunch of you will soon have dresses that you partied the night away--whether it's at prom or spring formals or whatever. Consider passing them on to someone who will love that dress as much as you.  And if you go to the YA Fresh blog, you'll see details on how, if you send Tina a copy of your donation receipt, she'll send you a signed copy of her book. Didn't I say she was cool?

I put this in my Twitter last night, but I’ll post it here: Shout out to Sarah and Anna, who came to the con last night JUST to meet me. Y’all are adorable.   

I’m already planning a return trip to Seattle/Portland/Pacific NW, and I swear I’ll publicize I’ll do lots of public stuff.  Still new to all this, and I don’t think of things like, oh, there are people who will want to meet me.  At the risk of sounding disingenuous, I’m still sort of bemused at this idea. Not because I’m not awesome, because I am. But there’s this part of me still not used to people far far away (i.e., people who I have not strong-armed into it) reading my books. I know, I know. It doesn’t make sense. It’s that thing of what your head knows vs. “Hey, someone in Canada has heard of me!”

Also, I’m not getting to see much outside of the hotel yet.  I’ve been getting tantalizing glimpses of trees and mountains every time I ride the (glass) elevator. (I did venture out to Denny’s last night with some friends.  I think cons are required to pick a hotel within walking distance from a Denny’s.  This is in the unwritten Code.)

NorWesCon is different from what I’m used to in Texas. It’s much bigger, for one thing. And the costumes!  They tell me I haven’t seen anything yet--Saturday is the big costume day. But there’ve been some gorgeous ones. Lots of faux fantasy renaissance stuff, many brave men in kilts (It’s cold here, y’all.).  And lots and LOTS of Steampunk.  I love the Steampunk stuff, because I love the Victorian-esque-ness of it.  If I wasn’t clinging to some remnant of professionalism, I’d be all over this one corset/vest/jacket thing I saw in the dealer’s room.

As it is, I’m very inconspicuous.  A quiet little mouse in my Star Trek sweatshirt that Maggie teases me about. Believe it, it’s true.  Though I am…surprise! …in the bar. The coffee bar! But I’m sitting here by myself. Being QUIET and just… observing. It’s kind of fun, actually.

Today I’m paneling on all kinds of social issues. How did that happen?  Fantasy as social commentary, gender roles in SFF… oh, and deconstructing the Mary Sue. That’ll be fun. And I’m moderating “Bad Science in Science Fiction.”  

Let’s see if I can get the WiFi to work so I can post this.  I need a coffee refill so I can go be insightful and brilliant on all these social issues….

In keeping with Friday's post, you will notice that Monday's post is a day behind. There was some sad stuff going on around me this weekend. Two of my friends--one friend from church, and the other the husband of my BF CAS--lost their mothers. They've been on my mind and in my prayers a lot.

I just couldn't be flippant yesterday. I had been grumpy for completely unrelated reasons, and I was going to post about THAT, but nothing makes you realize you're grumpy for no reason like hearing someone else's bad news. It *really* puts someone eating the last of the ice cream into perspective. And, having lost a parent at a (relatively) young age... I don't know. It made me introspective.

I've mentioned that it can be weird living with a parent when you're an adult. Mom and I are both rather young for such an arrangement. And sometimes I'm not fit to cohabitate with one person (see above re: Mr. RCM eating my ice cream), let alone two.  Mom and I are  both headstrong and neurotic in completely opposite ways, which of course makes things fun. But I'm glad she's around, and if her living with me keeps her around longer, then I'm grateful I'm in a position where I CAN take care of her. What's a little life complication. :) Keeps life interesting.

Now I have to go close my office door and turn up the stereo, because her singing and talking to herself in the other room is driving me crazy. Grateful, but crazy!