tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190502822024-03-06T21:50:32.333-06:00Jess Riley WritesPlants, dogs, and yacht rock.Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.comBlogger479125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19050282.post-82188367440538242332022-04-29T12:37:00.001-05:002022-04-29T12:55:37.567-05:00I Once Was Lost ...<div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Calibri, "sans-serif"" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt;">Last weekend my college roommates and I rented a house in Door County—I hadn’t seen two of them in over two years, and it was such a lovely reunion. I haven’t laughed that hard in months…maybe years. I love these amazing women, and I’m so grateful we met (nearly 30 years ago!) </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjByEbaYSRoTZh4Q1Xm7yw2U1IbqFZRMwGyPYk9EEHVZ-2o6fyvUrnCu79L_zf6Lx2mIa1NOLX2Pc0u7YrnuTXsrbQ-7_zIQp87I7-50uz8vPPD3FJN0uvcTh0CQ3Ih2vecUq_vr0aEURSs9GXArbrrSw_bRJE0fkq-MYGPPzBiIa7J-7_rfw/s480/IMG_7906.JPEG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjByEbaYSRoTZh4Q1Xm7yw2U1IbqFZRMwGyPYk9EEHVZ-2o6fyvUrnCu79L_zf6Lx2mIa1NOLX2Pc0u7YrnuTXsrbQ-7_zIQp87I7-50uz8vPPD3FJN0uvcTh0CQ3Ih2vecUq_vr0aEURSs9GXArbrrSw_bRJE0fkq-MYGPPzBiIa7J-7_rfw/s320/IMG_7906.JPEG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">We're down one due to Covid--boo!</span></td></tr></tbody></table></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span face="Calibri, "sans-serif"" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span face="Calibri, "sans-serif"" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt;">We parted on Sunday, and the weather was mild enough that I decided to take a hike at Peninsula State Park. Get some exercise, get my nature fix; I had a state park sticker on the car and it was on my way, so why not? The first leg of the journey was uneventful—sunny skies, smooth trails, no other hikers whatsoever. Just me, a few chatty woodpeckers, and the crisp cedar forest. Bliss. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span face="Calibri, "sans-serif"" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOJkVZM_Bm4-ckM-mfs57_9jzW-XqJMUn1n6gY_oCNGw8ubh2NPhlIE1KdKank4zodIqXwle-09fTtJzGiYrIuEOFQgMsEKeCj7lQM5RsOW03Lr-3DP7-c6314yfIgENQU6s3jlI2T0YyweFsObSSWRJcArRiJUd0QZfarCxAcGrPeACSJxQ/s2016/IMG_2493.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOJkVZM_Bm4-ckM-mfs57_9jzW-XqJMUn1n6gY_oCNGw8ubh2NPhlIE1KdKank4zodIqXwle-09fTtJzGiYrIuEOFQgMsEKeCj7lQM5RsOW03Lr-3DP7-c6314yfIgENQU6s3jlI2T0YyweFsObSSWRJcArRiJUd0QZfarCxAcGrPeACSJxQ/s320/IMG_2493.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">The view from the top of the tower. ("I'm flying! Jack!")</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRZBsj0YkelUofKyDw_1YyvK6-UWxqSA_pmZks_WOinEvHXEdqllgOs7qk9MvI_KmB7ESmZ0gHAFYE0ZB3pRcsH5iZWrqabcdAAHRwOzHWAK2sxgjF62YJ4T5ipQfH0Xy7cNTcMcsDdgzNw4HMtSDdqeKQkw5HJPtHZ4CeSlA1TLT26WkI5g/s2016/IMG_2494.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRZBsj0YkelUofKyDw_1YyvK6-UWxqSA_pmZks_WOinEvHXEdqllgOs7qk9MvI_KmB7ESmZ0gHAFYE0ZB3pRcsH5iZWrqabcdAAHRwOzHWAK2sxgjF62YJ4T5ipQfH0Xy7cNTcMcsDdgzNw4HMtSDdqeKQkw5HJPtHZ4CeSlA1TLT26WkI5g/s320/IMG_2494.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Easy-peasy. </span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-UCwRQWK74cjAIBD5AeO_SsDjGtCu6EJ8LO1MOT9W24-uy_MCdnYOmNvs9-0Ptr06bkDNycnGpmplAcR9RUdCAfiiDIA_tzzoS4Nj7IFGJuL_7yBRI5wBSGSepqZbVQXnDtoReSYNF8gtdPVhEGm2zAPnk8c3n5ejhYSgypIA9x5aJ07SiQ/s2016/IMG_2496.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-UCwRQWK74cjAIBD5AeO_SsDjGtCu6EJ8LO1MOT9W24-uy_MCdnYOmNvs9-0Ptr06bkDNycnGpmplAcR9RUdCAfiiDIA_tzzoS4Nj7IFGJuL_7yBRI5wBSGSepqZbVQXnDtoReSYNF8gtdPVhEGm2zAPnk8c3n5ejhYSgypIA9x5aJ07SiQ/s320/IMG_2496.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Things are getting interesting.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">After 30 minutes I hit a fork in the trail and rather than continue on the “easy” leg back to the parking lot, I decided to take a longer route down to the shoreline, Robert Frosting it all the way.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">First mistake.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The trail narrowed and nearly disappeared. And now I'm hurdling and ducking fallen trees--whee! The flat trail dropped into a near-vertical descent, and I picked my way down a damp and rocky staircase, dodging gnarly-ass roots, slipping on wet rocks, and grabbing nearby tree trunks and branches to avoid tumbling ass over teakettle down the cliff.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii194K3uRpuZ8jtFo8oRGyWslrfAL4gAgkvS27FtRKvKKwXCYw0tuGnAwiUWXEI1SwTFfxqe00Txpc3LzX5oxkAKhPhxGdDUJelUIiJss2ndVZHwoMSNMkrWYxT6NGrOq2RkjcVgPtRTjk-E50jsZ1pluVJpdglYun_5WquTtJ_neDXMkvbA/s2016/IMG_2500.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii194K3uRpuZ8jtFo8oRGyWslrfAL4gAgkvS27FtRKvKKwXCYw0tuGnAwiUWXEI1SwTFfxqe00Txpc3LzX5oxkAKhPhxGdDUJelUIiJss2ndVZHwoMSNMkrWYxT6NGrOq2RkjcVgPtRTjk-E50jsZ1pluVJpdglYun_5WquTtJ_neDXMkvbA/s320/IMG_2500.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">I got a rock.<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjFnMKeOjIbBFfD2sADRMRRFHjmqx-0XB4PDOGKVn3vYfhYPZM9JYaHlYx9EKLbBSLUVuCkrxV8dhVYm4w_TY3KMDqvKG6fDN1nLb6dawMXr2W-u2ofqOVrwgnpdjqTqbgyKQTcBU42ic2ybFQMXHPNIS_fjFl4k-ICCdPE_Jj5SX3wfuNLA/s2016/IMG_2502.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjFnMKeOjIbBFfD2sADRMRRFHjmqx-0XB4PDOGKVn3vYfhYPZM9JYaHlYx9EKLbBSLUVuCkrxV8dhVYm4w_TY3KMDqvKG6fDN1nLb6dawMXr2W-u2ofqOVrwgnpdjqTqbgyKQTcBU42ic2ybFQMXHPNIS_fjFl4k-ICCdPE_Jj5SX3wfuNLA/w300-h400/IMG_2502.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Yeah yeah, cool tree but where TF am I?</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt;">Down by the water, the trail became an ankle-twisting sequence of slick, jagged rocks and roots and black mud interspersed with rushing streams and vernal pools. I was now on a Ninja Warrior obstacle course I did not sign up for. I began to encounter “Dial # for Emergency” signs at regular intervals. Clearly, this trail had a history of snappy ankle comebacks.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi41aiMGqbf4LmuTz_X9A_75dSerwKUy2d2UtC9WIrYGgLtAVXfm5czyyrWtH_CSsP_KxrPb4i5WkhS39rqk1g7zcX3OP1j_dQ6QPygHx-0RIDyMVkVX239BtmTyN9K2ZmwjYewF-EnDj8eqcS9BxkpTFlJ_ljOVH_r4J0DNAHwMDCTsVwqEw/s2016/IMG_2503.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi41aiMGqbf4LmuTz_X9A_75dSerwKUy2d2UtC9WIrYGgLtAVXfm5czyyrWtH_CSsP_KxrPb4i5WkhS39rqk1g7zcX3OP1j_dQ6QPygHx-0RIDyMVkVX239BtmTyN9K2ZmwjYewF-EnDj8eqcS9BxkpTFlJ_ljOVH_r4J0DNAHwMDCTsVwqEw/s320/IMG_2503.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Hello! Do you like wet socks?</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNV0gJsxpvdBi_LklwN_s5WFn75x8yxCvHB1IHeLFimLjRhfxes7XyjUqwa3U6saxQTugN_s0GtYEQoFiUXrsjSheOgt2bQg4FiL9oHfMkE72ljWUK0WTNCegvMgiFluPRlPCacOuHkW9oYprCVU0BAlbIcOVgpVu7bG_vTdnHtWb30gAQPw/s2016/IMG_2505.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNV0gJsxpvdBi_LklwN_s5WFn75x8yxCvHB1IHeLFimLjRhfxes7XyjUqwa3U6saxQTugN_s0GtYEQoFiUXrsjSheOgt2bQg4FiL9oHfMkE72ljWUK0WTNCegvMgiFluPRlPCacOuHkW9oYprCVU0BAlbIcOVgpVu7bG_vTdnHtWb30gAQPw/w300-h400/IMG_2505.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Awesome! Trolls and shit.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt;">I checked Google Maps on my phone—I was somewhere pale green. I dropped a pin to help a future search team find my decomposing body. I had visions of Burt Reynolds’ sharp, pink protruding femur and listened for the distant strains of banjo-pickin'. I’d been so focused on leapfrogging from rock to rock to forge more than 67 brackish puddles that I’d missed my turn. Sure, the scenery was gorgeous and I was accompanied by early spring butterflies and chickadees and it all smelled much nicer than Highway 41, but I wanted OUT NOW GODDAMMIT. The trail was gone, baby gone. I was completely off-roading it. The wind had gone from gentle breeze to ominous gale and the sun had been devoured by a black-hearted, slobbering forest beast.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj71RWGv5PddZbAlCacj9F4Qht3k92KAqkETn9AA9ZUyEQktoV7wX_kSTU-TDAQ6ma7RVgov--Id6VaI1U-6CC_hEsNhnKS1RiDncTJin2X2_cBu_ASEBjyhpsSrUPCAFvD2VsQclom6k87OOp2wF8qWVeU_FRHOktx1l_k6NCUq2VuTRckog/s2016/IMG_2506.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj71RWGv5PddZbAlCacj9F4Qht3k92KAqkETn9AA9ZUyEQktoV7wX_kSTU-TDAQ6ma7RVgov--Id6VaI1U-6CC_hEsNhnKS1RiDncTJin2X2_cBu_ASEBjyhpsSrUPCAFvD2VsQclom6k87OOp2wF8qWVeU_FRHOktx1l_k6NCUq2VuTRckog/s320/IMG_2506.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Definitely a gaping maw.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><span style="font-size: 11pt;">After the fourth emergency signpost I thought about turning around to retrace my steps; but I’d had to actually crabwalk over some big rocks back there, and my knees sent up a flare: hey numbskull, we’re middle-aged, remember? Anyway, the path had to end somewhere. Right? Maybe Iowa? Just then I saw some trail markers—and other hikers! I nearly sobbed with relief and hugged them but I was still too busy trying to avoid a compound shin fracture. Back in my car (up at the top of the cliff), my hips informed me that they would be filing a formal complaint. My Fitbit registered 60 flights of stairs and 101 minutes of panicked hiking.</span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBVV4AsFeyIRYCoqKJxQJ6pNuSxbyIhIBFlujzlWJCF4KAvJCVVRYN1hg8eTXHhmlPziojTux0-BNc8GMCiRqHcwv6GJQNf4s3LUVl7Ot_y7YYkXOSrYcEqMecTn9R6rT8MlXoDzEGA8qlOpULYibfAE2ASTgRczikMd0qN85sEIulXoxSfA/s2016/IMG_7909.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBVV4AsFeyIRYCoqKJxQJ6pNuSxbyIhIBFlujzlWJCF4KAvJCVVRYN1hg8eTXHhmlPziojTux0-BNc8GMCiRqHcwv6GJQNf4s3LUVl7Ot_y7YYkXOSrYcEqMecTn9R6rT8MlXoDzEGA8qlOpULYibfAE2ASTgRczikMd0qN85sEIulXoxSfA/s320/IMG_7909.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">Ha, wet toes are fun!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">So, to summarize: stay out of the woods alone and fuck Robert Frost; take the road that's positively littered with candy wrappers.</span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">Subscribe with Feedburner</div>Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19050282.post-63138830258282109852014-12-12T11:47:00.002-06:002015-01-06T18:48:57.057-06:00We are DONE Remodeling!!Some of you who know me may recall that we've been <a href="http://jessriley.blogspot.com/2013/03/more-home-reno-before-and-after.html" target="_blank">remodeling our house</a> since <a href="http://jessriley.blogspot.com/2012/01/great-remodel-of-2011-before-and-after.html" target="_blank">before any of us were born</a>. We've poured a driveway, torn down a shed, built a garage, sided, roofed, re-windowed, gutted the second floor, gutted the living room, and installed a pleasant little patio on which I have a semblance of privacy in which to drink my morning coffee.<br />
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Well, guess what? We FINALLY tackled the last two rooms: the kitchen and first floor bathroom / laundry. This was a massive project, and we hired a real-life design & reno company to manage it all. (Mosquito Creek in Appleton--they seriously rock, y'all.) It all cost more than J paid for the entire house back in 1997, so I've been questioning my decision-making skills and stress-eating way too many baked goods lately. (Hint: carbs only create more anxiety once you're digesting them.) BUT--I no longer have to look at this (apologies in advance for the horrid lighting):<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiOCWkdFbK-bpGNAVfTii3MKJ1Qf7_916wUsFfBN2ReC28ipodAZS4uT0esNRwB4lywhOHC1EANNJuyK6LR9cpW0P2UVsOoplKteEhEMuo_xvi_hKrcwkbLgcwb0Y8pkPWbqvu/s1600/IMG_0165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiOCWkdFbK-bpGNAVfTii3MKJ1Qf7_916wUsFfBN2ReC28ipodAZS4uT0esNRwB4lywhOHC1EANNJuyK6LR9cpW0P2UVsOoplKteEhEMuo_xvi_hKrcwkbLgcwb0Y8pkPWbqvu/s1600/IMG_0165.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Not overtly gross, but my only counter, which was like three inches long, ran into the window. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">More on that later...</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKip8DgIN5rqesYwm8TMRaysxUrReviO7tNXT0HVbPCnosCZaGGP8-_T8a0jzeLLWE6hmlhel5-gKgCn0JMydLOm9n220EP0KBOEHIr8O10VfMVE7J_mpilXUz_upOdnYOcsLw/s1600/IMG_0168.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKip8DgIN5rqesYwm8TMRaysxUrReviO7tNXT0HVbPCnosCZaGGP8-_T8a0jzeLLWE6hmlhel5-gKgCn0JMydLOm9n220EP0KBOEHIr8O10VfMVE7J_mpilXUz_upOdnYOcsLw/s1600/IMG_0168.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Hey, I have an idea! Let's put the fridge in this weird corner, practically in the living room, far away from the sink and stove. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Work triangle, Schmirk Triangle!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh18orAWvToQTyplLxTuAZXiTbLObvLFpKfu6lsBxT0XL1PXiiXawvkKu4sFXnEFCthU4f_d8I-DSjcnhYmmVAETkH_Mf5jTNVjrREg0c1Im5cbWyL9u2KU40KyHLGOre1JXCS/s1600/IMG_0171.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh18orAWvToQTyplLxTuAZXiTbLObvLFpKfu6lsBxT0XL1PXiiXawvkKu4sFXnEFCthU4f_d8I-DSjcnhYmmVAETkH_Mf5jTNVjrREg0c1Im5cbWyL9u2KU40KyHLGOre1JXCS/s1600/IMG_0171.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Love what you've done with the flooring, renters from 1920 - 1993! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">A squishy floor around your toilet is no cause for alarm whatsoever.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEcbmSVlGEeVQvvbi-OWni_6a6kSrJXIsSKmeSJOJOjCJq6Z9gS5jsA2e6AKi4cAbvjtn_CVV0CW168B-fpCTxf6OmNU9npmned86IKVt9rlnzpoU5QnUfULtcwWQzZufgceAS/s1600/IMG_0370.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEcbmSVlGEeVQvvbi-OWni_6a6kSrJXIsSKmeSJOJOjCJq6Z9gS5jsA2e6AKi4cAbvjtn_CVV0CW168B-fpCTxf6OmNU9npmned86IKVt9rlnzpoU5QnUfULtcwWQzZufgceAS/s1600/IMG_0370.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Whee! Everything's gone. Including my sanity. Also, see that window? We have to DRYWALL OVER IT, because the city passed an ordinance last spring prohibiting removal of any windows or doors without a variance. So from the street? You'll see a dark window. From my living room? You'll see cabinets. Can't wait to explain this when we try to sell one day!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOsQ6eJ_008ZKTxh0gAK46h4zE-QoGsy7GvkMHmgnaJh9WPhkH_E0ZhXzn6PHXzFOdtjz6FrDULx-7UsID_SUpfu0c9Tq8aHSzyU-IgaxQ0Hu0KVMoHjAXJ0rMRGoegzJ_nBQq/s1600/IMG_0372.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOsQ6eJ_008ZKTxh0gAK46h4zE-QoGsy7GvkMHmgnaJh9WPhkH_E0ZhXzn6PHXzFOdtjz6FrDULx-7UsID_SUpfu0c9Tq8aHSzyU-IgaxQ0Hu0KVMoHjAXJ0rMRGoegzJ_nBQq/s1600/IMG_0372.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">More scary stuff. This is where the toilet & tub used to be. We considered leaving it like this and just turning the house into a Haunted Dungeon ... could be a real moneymaker each Halloween.</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQZwqUSY2dfP_fBaao0mgggwfzbaNj4hyjYPGf_Md4I0e3RKOsV9MdJfr3Nk56PgFA3SYWbbOGVHwuQZLhDja3h9LaFO0NH2NT3ObAMxG0S0GLyzL_mRuEkNIdgDpoHRaQLQOK/s1600/IMG_0375.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQZwqUSY2dfP_fBaao0mgggwfzbaNj4hyjYPGf_Md4I0e3RKOsV9MdJfr3Nk56PgFA3SYWbbOGVHwuQZLhDja3h9LaFO0NH2NT3ObAMxG0S0GLyzL_mRuEkNIdgDpoHRaQLQOK/s1600/IMG_0375.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Daisy is confused. And collecting asbestos dust, probably. See that hulking shape behind the plastic? That's our fridge. In the living room. It's like my old dorm room again in there, minus the Yo-J mixers and garbage music. What fun!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYNYkOKVMPw-L46QEd7yTgbPVMuscjuZC2Wm0ajcH7Y9uWZH36_RQNBzwt6cPVtx-zPO1_zjs0NPtoD1Unnj1DcW_R7hKGJD95Y7r6QmUj9uk8oXELG5uYzRAimPUBKz_IQ-77/s1600/IMG_0501.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYNYkOKVMPw-L46QEd7yTgbPVMuscjuZC2Wm0ajcH7Y9uWZH36_RQNBzwt6cPVtx-zPO1_zjs0NPtoD1Unnj1DcW_R7hKGJD95Y7r6QmUj9uk8oXELG5uYzRAimPUBKz_IQ-77/s1600/IMG_0501.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">So I skipped over a bunch of stuff--including pictures of us weeping, necks permanently twisted at weird angles while we paint all of the walls, ceiling, and trim--to the finish line. Ta-da! </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0mF9MWd3Ce7zcw4nHGtysMwmD_tk7rKJ89in8sB_g1O4PUl8W2QYl7Dt3KxsCtHcK-bhrX0iPYzk2gArplDScVshIsLaCTub3Xn6Kh40Ca0kw3oz5WOPt9CH2zv5aU0ekBUyV/s1600/IMG_0503.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0mF9MWd3Ce7zcw4nHGtysMwmD_tk7rKJ89in8sB_g1O4PUl8W2QYl7Dt3KxsCtHcK-bhrX0iPYzk2gArplDScVshIsLaCTub3Xn6Kh40Ca0kw3oz5WOPt9CH2zv5aU0ekBUyV/s1600/IMG_0503.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">It's a real, live kitchen! Almost like one from the Hipster Farmhouse home decorating porn I subscribe to. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Your move, Pinterest.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi8hNhu5aaPo8-E6Ksi04nfmpzINk3bWB-1nZMEUf9Kqf4f7iCmPyEsUXZgZVl3FaGnp-V5uMyHVq6AlP64jRP7Xe3wkTQWTW-2swq10YVMQ3k0KMC5kA7x4tUHjHvMU3ixd2W/s1600/IMG_0504.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi8hNhu5aaPo8-E6Ksi04nfmpzINk3bWB-1nZMEUf9Kqf4f7iCmPyEsUXZgZVl3FaGnp-V5uMyHVq6AlP64jRP7Xe3wkTQWTW-2swq10YVMQ3k0KMC5kA7x4tUHjHvMU3ixd2W/s1600/IMG_0504.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">There is an extra hole in the counter near the faucet, but that will soon be filled with a cute lil' soap dispenser. Which is a way better idea than a plug of spackle, don't you think?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Also, <i>farmhouse sink</i>. Perfect for washing large heads of lettuce, cauliflower, fat babies, and Fiats.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0LXAhA4PpkiVcUgc-ROWGj3ESziw5mY8p8SsdSTnrGu-IJPkyhZpxjeEMi-g0ffILAUQVJf9bgz_USu8vIBYpliJsverVr37yVZMEqKIAhOhIdiHnp6J6XtogIbYDwz8OUzTP/s1600/IMG_0502.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0LXAhA4PpkiVcUgc-ROWGj3ESziw5mY8p8SsdSTnrGu-IJPkyhZpxjeEMi-g0ffILAUQVJf9bgz_USu8vIBYpliJsverVr37yVZMEqKIAhOhIdiHnp6J6XtogIbYDwz8OUzTP/s1600/IMG_0502.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Pull up a stool and watch me load the first dishwasher I've ever owned! Also, here's a bowl of fruit. Feel free to pet the counter. It's so shiny. Also, that <b><i>is </i></b>a picture of the Green Giant holding a birthday cake. </span><span style="font-size: small;">(Ho ho ho!)</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">In case you thought you were losing your mind.</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVqHCZ2W0h7Ryl7rtQ-kaGbtlZJjJnO9VsskZVOIQHFcNm0bAtY34zr3qW2iK2LreC4UqGj9ZzFYpyh9kWjAliNgwuK9olCgj8wv89Yp4s2VU2cUzZqgu3lGJviYQbdc8wOlsk/s1600/IMG_0506.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVqHCZ2W0h7Ryl7rtQ-kaGbtlZJjJnO9VsskZVOIQHFcNm0bAtY34zr3qW2iK2LreC4UqGj9ZzFYpyh9kWjAliNgwuK9olCgj8wv89Yp4s2VU2cUzZqgu3lGJviYQbdc8wOlsk/s1600/IMG_0506.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">J spent 7 hours refinishing this tub because he's a Super Hero. An extremely anal Super Hero named Never-Half-Asses-It-Like-His-Wife-Does Man. The tub was installed in the house in 1920 and badly neglected since. He painted the clawfeet with a tiny brush, in two colors. Fancy!</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDbtX1JsUpe-CZEc21RocRHtHKo0lZtmioALnpy5ROh3sBpHQyS3tQJLU0iYUVjB-LdgSEYBaAbXY2x93uYwxycKh-ssVIDqF0l0Z8BeAUQyyCA36raOFZXZZlUEyFVm6J9PU_/s1600/IMG_0507.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDbtX1JsUpe-CZEc21RocRHtHKo0lZtmioALnpy5ROh3sBpHQyS3tQJLU0iYUVjB-LdgSEYBaAbXY2x93uYwxycKh-ssVIDqF0l0Z8BeAUQyyCA36raOFZXZZlUEyFVm6J9PU_/s1600/IMG_0507.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Don't you want to take a bath in it? I do! I also kind of want to lick the chrome. Or play telephone with the handheld shower: "Hello? What's that? Your bathroom no longer makes you want to puke? Hooray</span>!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh492PT877Z_H4hxtGHJS0Tq-eQ1sQ1ofELwfz6yEZJIAkuJKodqE91FbhEOxK7BtRS2vgqYte2BPSWjRlvy3L19baDEfO5hD0QPXKjT1IGmCQmb8IhwuvYmETomZusGrW_9weJ/s1600/IMG_0508.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh492PT877Z_H4hxtGHJS0Tq-eQ1sQ1ofELwfz6yEZJIAkuJKodqE91FbhEOxK7BtRS2vgqYte2BPSWjRlvy3L19baDEfO5hD0QPXKjT1IGmCQmb8IhwuvYmETomZusGrW_9weJ/s1600/IMG_0508.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">We went into Lowe's to buy paint stripper and came out with these. Well, we came out with the receipt. It's important to tell an accurate story.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfIslynHhrTy-WIurFScuQ26OO0Xcyx0pxdEhW8Fd7e2P5OARzDPY6d60pv9WNoI0FRfeQ3CkYaBKZX0hPypNr4Sf86Wf-mGcbqFdAdLOjHde015NRsrsBfMvkFYTo7WDdhXm7/s1600/IMG_0509.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfIslynHhrTy-WIurFScuQ26OO0Xcyx0pxdEhW8Fd7e2P5OARzDPY6d60pv9WNoI0FRfeQ3CkYaBKZX0hPypNr4Sf86Wf-mGcbqFdAdLOjHde015NRsrsBfMvkFYTo7WDdhXm7/s1600/IMG_0509.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Why yes, that IS an Edison bulb! Also, do you like the tin of Shinola above the toilet? Just in case you forget the difference between ....? It's little touches like this that make it special. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I ordered that mirror on Etsy--an antique refurb that was actually my second choice. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">More on that later.</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC5xrptKsDBLFVd28HOOae_j4I16czmzgNOSpXMRJl6JtDZYHLN1nsCSC0cNCOODURz_H6zR00x5YHCwsMrRdnGX361-mJ1z56n0I5ZoLtiTVHu8E_ul7pjT-O52OcbmZ1LWSL/s1600/IMG_0510.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC5xrptKsDBLFVd28HOOae_j4I16czmzgNOSpXMRJl6JtDZYHLN1nsCSC0cNCOODURz_H6zR00x5YHCwsMrRdnGX361-mJ1z56n0I5ZoLtiTVHu8E_ul7pjT-O52OcbmZ1LWSL/s1600/IMG_0510.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">This is where the fridge used to be. Now, Bob Hope carrying a cake!!! And a bird's nest. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">(<i>Put a bird on it! Don't have a bird? Put a bird's ovum on it!</i>) </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">There are two pictures of cakes being carried in my kitchen, I just realized.</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisuR7XvVaANK6YwSvR4CcVd5oDNs1PHCEY992tc9w1PzyL5g9HZqWYw9ud4MUqXVl9hIYv4ih91U3NVIi03r0dpbxG05LjeHHitkbMSOkJYp7uUVcZArv3JR9x05XvgsaLICem/s1600/IMG_0511.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisuR7XvVaANK6YwSvR4CcVd5oDNs1PHCEY992tc9w1PzyL5g9HZqWYw9ud4MUqXVl9hIYv4ih91U3NVIi03r0dpbxG05LjeHHitkbMSOkJYp7uUVcZArv3JR9x05XvgsaLICem/s1600/IMG_0511.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ignore the ancient iPod dock and focus on the sideboard. It used to be yellow. We painted it to look all old and scuffed up and stuck a few felt pads under the left feet, because our floors still make you seasick. A fun game: release marbles at the edge of the kitchen. The person whose marble reaches Daisy's feeding bowls first wins a spoonful of tahini!</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK9Lod0hA_sz0qtJG0qNO_WzyaW1YRoVJrbXLJwY2Qc1LSXIe6Ms8QzG5Mzbs2St50MZlJvzgsTT-BlaSR56pgCcVcUg4YqW39GAPZAB5ddDVFg0IjfJTZxU7HhZDvH2Ep5MEs/s1600/IMG_0512.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK9Lod0hA_sz0qtJG0qNO_WzyaW1YRoVJrbXLJwY2Qc1LSXIe6Ms8QzG5Mzbs2St50MZlJvzgsTT-BlaSR56pgCcVcUg4YqW39GAPZAB5ddDVFg0IjfJTZxU7HhZDvH2Ep5MEs/s1600/IMG_0512.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Put them together and what do you get? Sensible flow and space to walk between rooms! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">WAY better than a huge refrigerator, amIright?</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So there you have it. We have essentially re-built the entire house. Next week some guys are coming to insulate and encapsulate and reinforce the crawl space (yeah, we still have that icky situation going on). And then we just sit back, relax, and enjoy our dream vacation to Botswana and Kenya, otherwise known as our functional, no longer disgusting kitchen & bath.<br />
<br />
PS: Does anyone want to buy a BRAND NEW <a href="http://www.rejuvenation.com/catalog/products/mendenhall" target="_blank">recessed medicine cabinet</a> from Rejuvenation, still in the original box and NEVER USED? We paid $550 for it and are asking $250. Couldn't use it because the plumbing stack from the second floor cut into the space I'd allotted for it above the new vanity. And you can't return medicine cabinets to Rejuvenation and I just learned a painful lesson about patience.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Subscribe with Feedburner</div>Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19050282.post-81619695144597590022014-07-10T12:52:00.003-05:002014-07-10T12:57:20.752-05:00Morning Visitor<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMZGdGVPLqIzZxg9InBeHHlRC798dyPKj1in9zojc7cv97DbnSHmRWIuC73tsBCaGuMS4MeEV4-hkk8OcrJNvPeKwYXMa0f36c2FU8jTVR4B4_lnmTZdUEU4Nysn_02PSFhR4j/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMZGdGVPLqIzZxg9InBeHHlRC798dyPKj1in9zojc7cv97DbnSHmRWIuC73tsBCaGuMS4MeEV4-hkk8OcrJNvPeKwYXMa0f36c2FU8jTVR4B4_lnmTZdUEU4Nysn_02PSFhR4j/s1600/photo+1.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Give me the treat already!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The last 24 hours have been pretty exciting here at the
Riley homestead. First, Daisy got her first-ever haircut! Isn’t she cute? It
only took us twelve years to make her appointment…and the groomer walked away
with all ten fingers and completely unbroken skin!</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix6G5tm-JZroXDF9GGEDhMcwhbMqI8yUy-UwCVcP28Va3B91HVAW0HHfxHFIPGzMEH6pU-_zdt_dYCD7Qu8eX-062h9tVIx1bUXI-H2umwlJvLOtra3TewS_Q2Vwgeazc1DsXh/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix6G5tm-JZroXDF9GGEDhMcwhbMqI8yUy-UwCVcP28Va3B91HVAW0HHfxHFIPGzMEH6pU-_zdt_dYCD7Qu8eX-062h9tVIx1bUXI-H2umwlJvLOtra3TewS_Q2Vwgeazc1DsXh/s1600/photo+2.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It looks like the carpet is 6 inches tall and has swallowed her legs.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfBf3-kR_BVj7B6mKR6397EeQqJAEUUS1k4kb4mFVEmq79-I8qOeG9DCTiyMZoHYEhQi-UzbZ3IWSQjcAp-ki_VzmPoHlTO5KIp_Fhct4mjwQ132r7az0PItMQypM3LLLeY4N2/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfBf3-kR_BVj7B6mKR6397EeQqJAEUUS1k4kb4mFVEmq79-I8qOeG9DCTiyMZoHYEhQi-UzbZ3IWSQjcAp-ki_VzmPoHlTO5KIp_Fhct4mjwQ132r7az0PItMQypM3LLLeY4N2/s1600/photo+3.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back fat roll!!! We never knew it existed...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7gqqPHfTLdQAQud_jTDKK923Oee03Bcb8NJB6o_LeOEFa6QYf22OTBpVNhg4yPrxQNRRpa6kV20Rqb2A9J31fEGX5USyrmSsJYU93JwJwN6O6hoOmKMta8bD4P8jQ7l6z9ABz/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7gqqPHfTLdQAQud_jTDKK923Oee03Bcb8NJB6o_LeOEFa6QYf22OTBpVNhg4yPrxQNRRpa6kV20Rqb2A9J31fEGX5USyrmSsJYU93JwJwN6O6hoOmKMta8bD4P8jQ7l6z9ABz/s1600/photo+1.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maybe this is the place ...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This morning I was doing my usual plant-watering routine
when I saw a very elderly man park in front of my house. He was driving a beige four-door
sedan. (What, you were expecting a bright orange Charger?) My front door was wide
open to let some fresh air & sunshine in, and I peeked out to see what was
happening. He shuffled up to my front steps and appeared to be admiring my
flowers up-close…I went out the back door to continue watering and looked up
just in time to catch him opening my screen door to walk right in my kitchen.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hustled right back in. “Can I help you?” Crap. This was
the second time an elderly person had gotten lost and tried walking into my
kitchen. And what if he’d gotten in? He
would have made himself comfortable on the couch, turned on the Xbox, and the
next thing you know we have a new roommate leaving Cheeto stains on the furniture and hanging the toilet paper roll upside-down.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGHens2i-zQmcW3_2kln2SFZI1EhvmqYcybjk7P4LBa-H7OKVQjO0cjvQlGlpR738I_Fz98v2_pF6dLmWZJf8CuGiLGhnlE9bPHvXuIYvue46iRsQzm6BRRPZM7A_BOwIDmBfz/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGHens2i-zQmcW3_2kln2SFZI1EhvmqYcybjk7P4LBa-H7OKVQjO0cjvQlGlpR738I_Fz98v2_pF6dLmWZJf8CuGiLGhnlE9bPHvXuIYvue46iRsQzm6BRRPZM7A_BOwIDmBfz/s1600/photo+2.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The scene of the B & E, minus the B.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The poor guy looked confused; he had to be ninety, maybe
264. He had an impressive hearing aid situation in place, with external ports
and docks and gizmos and antennae. “Do you know
Isabelle Somethingorother? I’m looking for 808 Eleventh.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, he was in the neighborhood, so to speak. But I shook
my head. “Let’s go out on the porch so I can take a look at some of the street
numbers a few houses down.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The back porch?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No,” I clarified loudly, “right here.” I peered down the
street and gave a rough estimate of where I thought his friend lived, while he
took a seat on the bench. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Where’d you get all these flowers?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Stein's, Stuart's, Hrnak's, all over, I guess."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Ever go to Allenville? Buy some sweet corn?" Turned out his son still runs the farm, selling sweet corn and strawberries
at local stands and the city farmers’ market. I promised I’d pick some up when it
was ready. We talked about the weather, and how much Oshkosh had changed in the
last 80 years (I was using my imagination here), and about how he lived at
Bella Vista senior retirement community. He apologized for his confusion.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Things are so different today. I just get mixed up.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It happens,” I said, thinking that one day it would
probably happen to me, too. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I forgot to bring the directions, so I’ll have to go back
and get them, I guess.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
The idea of him driving through the busy city roundabouts to get back to the "home" gave me heartburn, but he'd made it this far, right? I helped him back down the stairs and told him to DRIVE
SAFELY (with emphasis). Later I saw him still tooling around, doing a wide
U-turn at my intersection and holding up traffic while he looked for house
numbers.<br />
<br />
Sometimes you don't even have to leave the house to find the story. Sometimes it comes right to you.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Subscribe with Feedburner</div>Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19050282.post-31469956546336905242014-04-02T13:22:00.001-05:002014-04-03T13:02:57.868-05:00Peeking from the Grant WeedsAfter one of the most unpredictable grant seasons ever, I am busier than ever at work--hence the silence on this trusty old blog. I am making serious hay while the sun shines. I do miss the novel I started last summer, but I've been adding to the tidbit folder. Ideas are percolating. Other developments:<br />
<div>
<ul>
<li>We're considering remodeling our kitchen and downstairs bathroom this summer, after which we will have fully renovated our entire house. A human being can only take so much toilet so close to the kitchen for so long. <i>Developing story, stay tuned ...</i></li>
</ul>
</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>I've started my seedlings! Far too early, it seems. Every so often you can hear a soft, wistful sigh coming from beneath the grow lights ... it can only be the kale, looking longingly out the window.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjIUwY3MrjV7EwjgOcA1wZ5SUcSHnHjSldN_AkE-HCvDuR9D69_Wvk8jNrj88fZlmbnSkUv7WkmP8E_J_HEwOLPNilWLdjWLP_rXdciQhygJ9x7edEgoC0RqtotdPgAXeXEscA/s1600/10148308_10152277024944487_324590167_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjIUwY3MrjV7EwjgOcA1wZ5SUcSHnHjSldN_AkE-HCvDuR9D69_Wvk8jNrj88fZlmbnSkUv7WkmP8E_J_HEwOLPNilWLdjWLP_rXdciQhygJ9x7edEgoC0RqtotdPgAXeXEscA/s1600/10148308_10152277024944487_324590167_o.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>We have something new to yell at in the house! It has one eye and watches us whenever we enter the living room. <i>"XBox, turn! On!" "Xbox, go home!" "Xbox, choose this person! Off. TURN OFF!" </i>We've named it Hal (because 2001 and utter lack of imagination), and it's only a matter of time before it develops self-awareness and kills us in our sleep.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>I met with my Dad's freshman comp students two weeks ago after they read <i><b>Driving Sideways</b></i> as part of their required coursework (Teehee! Nepotism!) I also got a sneak peek at their response papers after my visit. Here are three of my favorite excerpts:</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div>
<div>
"After finishing up <i>Driving Sideways</i>, I thought it was an overall good book. It is a book more on the ladies side, but once you start reading there's no turning back (and it's required)."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"When Jess walked in the classroom, she was nothing as I pictured her to be. She was so pretty, nice and open about everything.* I thought she was going to be a little stuck up because she was an author but I was completely wrong" ... "I already told my mom she needs to read this book over the summer."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Jokes like this are exactly my type of humor. The other day I was gibing a man for his hair style. I looked at my friends and said, 'Look, it's ChangesoneBowie.' I swear he looked exactly like David Bowie, but no one understood the reference. Leigh and I would have shared a laugh at that one."<br />
<br />
"I just never knew of anyone that was an author ... and Jess seemed almost too human, too regular to be writing a book."<br />
<br />
"Instead of selling this novel back to the school at the end of the semester, I plan on keeping it to offer to others for a fantastic read."** </div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
~~~~~</div>
<div>
So that's the news from Yawn City. Back to the Grant Cave for me. Got to chase the million-dollar donuts...see you in June, kids!<br />
<br />
<i>*I love that student!!!</i><br />
<br />
<i>**I have signed the same book multiple times, because some students sell their inscribed books back at the end of the semester. Yeah. </i></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Subscribe with Feedburner</div>Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19050282.post-62819401187916498012013-12-01T19:47:00.000-06:002013-12-01T19:47:04.730-06:00Gifts for Writers. (Hint: They're Not Books This Year)Posting with the <a href="http://girlfriendbooks.blogspot.com/2013/12/writerly-gifts-by-jess-riley.html" target="_blank">Girlfriends </a>today, on gifts for writers and cutting-edge technologies. (Note: this no longer includes the Neo Alphasmart. Sounds like a fun learning toy for intelligent kids, right?) Stop by and tell us what you write on, what you want for Christmas, what you're giving the writers on your list: Skin-thickening cream, a unique little personal crisis (for inspiration), Famous for a Day treatment (it's like a spa day but far more entertaining).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwriFZlFEYcspopDXPG1YcjIZoo7vhzz16hT1g1UeQU2e0d-vJbZtAo4j_GwCyw-VI1_pd2abcDwuEQ1nBcSE9h6T0NWajRKdZ_Oo77yAZELyyLI3oB6A1MmKiPXU5yjcqxqbx/s1600/Neo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwriFZlFEYcspopDXPG1YcjIZoo7vhzz16hT1g1UeQU2e0d-vJbZtAo4j_GwCyw-VI1_pd2abcDwuEQ1nBcSE9h6T0NWajRKdZ_Oo77yAZELyyLI3oB6A1MmKiPXU5yjcqxqbx/s320/Neo.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"My name ... is Neo."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Subscribe with Feedburner</div>Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19050282.post-13790951945885980112013-11-21T13:28:00.000-06:002013-11-21T13:35:47.169-06:00Cat in a Cold Stone Cistern (Which is really the opposite of a Hot Tin Roof.)<br />
<br />
My parents live in an old farmhouse they bought at a real estate auction in the early eighties for a song. What song, I don't know--maybe it was that old favorite, "You Will Never Stop Remodeling This House (and one day your son's friends will Saran Wrap a dead possum to the porch)."<br />
<br />
Anyway, it's a farmstead, which means it came with a garage, outbuildings, and an actual barn with hay and Official Farm Stink<span style="font-size: xx-small;">TM <span style="font-size: small;">in the actual barn</span></span><span style="font-size: small;">.</span> At the time, a local farmer still housed his cows there and pastured them in adjacent fields; the fence that ran the eastern length of our front lawn was electrified. An electric fence, oh what fun! I still have an eye twitch from that game.<br />
<br />
Because it's a farm, there are lots of cats roaming around. This is just how it is. They're not pampered indoor cats with immunizations, sterilizations, toys, and fully functional limbs. Nope. It's a rough life for a farm cat--at least it used to be. I can't tell you how many abandoned litters I tried to hand-raise when I was a kid, only to have most of them ultimately crawl behind major appliances to die, which is a memorable day in any eleven-year-old's life.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizOLcfUvAkKm_HHH1knQKJWq70kja3Qp6xutfvayagmGMMAzz_RskFtp8fbGMWrfmPs1992DIFpq0CZFoHUDDN5CL2e5qJ9GiUKocHTWznBtvGZQ4eer78aaufnJzVWfdsfxbi/s1600/IMG_0219.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizOLcfUvAkKm_HHH1knQKJWq70kja3Qp6xutfvayagmGMMAzz_RskFtp8fbGMWrfmPs1992DIFpq0CZFoHUDDN5CL2e5qJ9GiUKocHTWznBtvGZQ4eer78aaufnJzVWfdsfxbi/s320/IMG_0219.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"This kitty smells funny!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Anyway, there is now a fairly stable herd of cats at my parents' homestead. (I don't know what you call a large group of cats--a flock? Gang? Audience?) And most of them get along just fine. My mother nurses the sick ones as best she can, taking them to the local vet as needed. The latest to need such treatment was an adorable kitten named Molly, who was originally named "Malcolm McDowell," after the actor in <i>A Clockwork Orange</i>. I'll let you digest that for a moment.<br />
<br />
After Molly's visit to the vet, she was allowed to recuperate in the basement. Recently, my mother went down to feed Molly, but the kitten was nowhere to be found; beyond some disembodied meowing, she could have vanished into thin air. Turned out Molly had gone exploring and gotten trapped in the old cistern adjacent to the basement. (What's a cistern? A kind of well where old timey folks stored rain water. A good place to bury the bodies in modern times.) My mother cobbled together a kind of stick/fishing line device to try and rescue the kitten, but the entire contraption fell into the cistern.<br />
<br />
(<i>Hang on ... I'm having a Baby Jessica flashback ...</i>)<br />
<br />
"I was so heartbroken," my mother continued. "I was ready to crawl into the hole to rescue her, but I wouldn't fit. You could hear the kitty just meowing and meowing, and it was so sad. Dad said it would probably take four days to die of thirst down there. I was too depressed to even listen to <i>Garden Talk</i> on Saturday morning."<br />
<br />
Well, there's no way my mother was going to endure four days of progressively sadder / softer meowing and another week without <i>Garden Talk</i>, so my parents called A Guy (we all know A Guy, right?) who helped secure their barn's foundation and is good at "lifting rocks and things." The plan was to strategically remove a few of the rocks cemented into the wall between the old cistern and the basement so my mother could crawl in and retrieve the lost kitty, but it turned out that would put the entire house's foundation at risk. <br />
<br />
Plan B: <i><b>cut a hole in the ceramic tile floor in the kitchen</b></i>, which covers the cistern. So The Guy strategically cut into the tile floor, and there was the kitty! My mother lowered an old sheet into the hole, hoping the kitten would claw its way up, but instead it just rubbed its head on the end of the sheet. So, The Guy <b><i>made a tiny ladder </i></b>from some wood scraps, and the kitten eventually clambered up. <br />
<br />
"The bad news is, there's a hole in the kitchen floor," my mother added. "The good news is, Dad's going to make the hole bigger--"<br />
<br />
(I interrupted here with an outburst of laughter.)<br />
<br />
"--and turn the old cistern into a root cellar, with a trap door in the floor to get in."<br />
<br />
Jesus, this is getting long. I don't really have a good way to end this story, other than to say: <b>a)</b> the cat made it--yaay!; and<b> b)</b> let's hope a small child doesn't fall down the hole before the trap door is installed. <br />
<br />
THE END.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Subscribe with Feedburner</div>Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19050282.post-45012943636689804342013-11-05T14:04:00.003-06:002013-11-05T14:06:52.314-06:00Is Your Husband Trying to Tell You Something?<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
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From time to time, J comes home from work with a box of “product.”
It’s a perk of the job. These freebies have included cases of paper towels,
toilet paper, dinner napkins, full-sized boxed tissues, travel-sized tissues, disposable hand
towels, and pre-moistened “cleansing wipes” when you have a sticky poo. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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It’s a little like Christmas any time he comes home with a
giant bag o’goodies. <i>What will it be today? What’s in the box? Will it be
anti-viral tissues in Hanukah-themed boxes? Paper towels that smell like cinnamon and pork? </i>Now, I don’t mean to humble-brag, but last night J brought home 24
bottles of feminine wash.<br />
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVbiW403EmDoA4H-9FRWoqetcFeFHJs8CbNXUuuqHrwKdjq00rE6S7b4cJUvmP2PX5_ScsAKhXCXg4jWF9KzxnWyY2qQpMiKCGbH4sFkmNgNvXNApsR16V7hU8r_D5VIMMK_Hs/s1600/IMG_1808.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVbiW403EmDoA4H-9FRWoqetcFeFHJs8CbNXUuuqHrwKdjq00rE6S7b4cJUvmP2PX5_ScsAKhXCXg4jWF9KzxnWyY2qQpMiKCGbH4sFkmNgNvXNApsR16V7hU8r_D5VIMMK_Hs/s320/IMG_1808.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> <i>#feelingblessed! #Parabenfree!</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He introduced the day’s haul by eloquently saying, “I don’t
know what you’re going to do with it, but it’s wash for your coochie. I guess you
squirt it in your hand and just kind of wipe it on?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>#soromantic! #justkindof!</i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ladies, has your husband ever come home from work with 24
bottles of feminine wash? I know I let personal hygiene slide from time to time
when I work from home, but this is more than a hint. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is like signing your scurvy-riddled cousin up for the citrus fruit of the month club. This is like
mailing your ex-boyfriend a case of extra-small condoms and a tube of Abreva.
Or like offering a coworker with severe halitosis a stick of gum, bottle of Scope,
package of floss, sample-sized toothpaste, gift certificate for a SonicCare
toothbrush, and full-color, framed caricature of him or her walking through a
car wash with his or her mouth wide open.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I started to make a list of things a person might do with 24
bottles of cooch cleanser, but this is all I could come up with:</div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><br />
<b>1) Offend every woman on my Christmas gift list</b>.<br />
<b>2) Start a hilarious new chain letter.
</b><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
I
guess I’ll have to research the ingredients. Can I wash dishes with this stuff?
Do laundry? Give my dog a bath with it? (She’s already endured many indignities
as a pet in the Riley household, what’s one more?) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
While
I’m figuring out what to do with 24 bottles of cooch cleanser, I have a grant proposal to finish. Also,
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/All-the-Lonely-People-ebook/dp/B009Z4WCF8/ref=pd_rhf_gw_p_t_1" target="_blank"><b><i>All the Lonely People</i></b></a> will be re-launched NEXT WEEK with a new cover, special
sale, and a giveaway. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
And if you would like to give an <b>autographed paperback copy</b> of any of my three novels to a reader on your holiday gift list, please <a href="mailto:jess@jessriley.com" target="_blank">email me</a>. Ten bucks for each signed book, including postage (Sorry, U.S. addresses only.) I'll get the signed copies to you ASAP! <i><b><br /></b></i></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Subscribe with Feedburner</div>Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19050282.post-65096882553525876732013-08-09T00:00:00.000-05:002013-08-09T08:00:03.042-05:00Pearls of Wit and Wisdom from Our Nation's FutureThe other day I was digging through some old files and I stumbled across some old anonymous journal excerpts from my Dad's college students. They're freshmen, and one of their assignments is to maintain a journal about their first year in college. Some of the things they write are hilarious, insightful, sometimes heartbreaking, cringe-inducing, and utterly (and perhaps unfortunately) relatable. I picked a few gems to share below. Enjoy!<br />
<br />
~~~~~<br />
<br />
"I went tanning today and burned the shit out of my skin. Gotta love it. Go skin cancer!"<br />
<br />
"I think my roommate hates me. Almost everyone hates me. At least my boyfriend kind of likes me at times."<br />
<br />
"God, I feel so fat. Damn the fucking freshman 15. What is that shit
all about? I still need to lose about 10 pounds. I want to be either a 7
or a 9. I haven't been that since the 7th grade."<br />
<br />
"The Brewers
are in the playoffs. Yay! I had a good/terrible weekend. I dumped Dustin
early Sat. morning. I have never cried so hard in my life."<br />
<br />
"To his credit, he was completely hammered."<br />
<br />
"Maybe it's me, but I can't stand it sometimes."<br />
<br />
"To
make a long story short, we started kissing, kissing turned to
touching, and touching turned to penetration. I regret that night, but
regrets are just reminders of our mistakes. I don't think anything like
that will ever happen again. I was a thief. She was a virgin."<br />
<br />
"I really want to be either an author, interior designer, coach, wedding planner, or a photographer, it's hard to tell."<br />
<br />
"I'm
starting to realize that a lot of college girls are quite slutty. Not
that I'm complaining, but yes, even I get sick of the one night stands. I
really hope I can find just one decent girl on campus."<br />
<br />
"Can someone tell me why I attract the ugly girls. I was at this
party this weekend and I was talking to this group of girls, most of
them very good looking, when a girl comes up and starts grabbing my
nuts. I don't know her at all. I was scared and she wasn't good looking
at all."<br />
<br />
"I sit there, literally sit there with my thumb up my ass."<br />
<br />
"Today is Nate and I's one year and nine month anniversary."<br />
<br />
"I
called my teacher for alcohol class. Wow, does he seem like an asshole!
What do you expect, though, he's there to punish us for what we've done
and 'educate' us about our 'problem.' How about this: I don't have a
'problem.' I drink for fun!"<br />
<br />
"I have a 5-7 page research paper coming up. I'm doing it on Charles
Manson and his awesomely fucked-up life. Hope it goes well."<br />
<br />
"I had breakfast for the second time since I've been here. Then I had gay as fuck Biology."<br />
<br />
"I have no idea who I am even. Oh yeah, I got my belly pierced today!"<br />
<br />
"Studying seems to pay off."<br />
<br />
"Mom
picked me up and on the way to Clarks she told me she might have lung
cancer...She's not trying hard enough to quit smoking....Anyway
Halloween was good. I was a cereal killer."<br />
<br />
"So I met this girl the other day. She's alright, nothing really
spectacular, kind of just someone to fuck around with until something
better comes along."<br />
<br />
"I was just thinking today about one way
that I changed since I've been in college. I don't hate gay people
anymore. Most women like gay guys so they can hook you up fairly
easily."<br />
<br />
"As of right now I have a boyfriend. I HATE that word & I hate
the fact that I do have one. It seems once I get what I want, I want
something else. I just like the chase, I think. I just don't know what
to do about all of this."<br />
<br />
"College would be much better if an education wasn't involved."<br />
<br />
"This
is going to be my first weekend not drinking since I've been here, and I'm more excited for the weekend than I've ever been."<br />
<br />
"Journal assignment: What am I passionate about? I am passionate
about sex. I have had sex with 33 girls now and I just love it."<br />
<br />
"I
feel like I have to be the mom in this situation. My own mother is
being childish and ridiculous. She is only thinking about herself. Why
would she find someone else to bring into this fucked up family? Part of
me wants to warn the guy and run a million miles the opposite way of my
mom. I don't even know this guy and I'm trying to protect him."<br />
<br />
"Today I just felt like getting in a fight with my boyfriend Justin, so I did."<br />
<br />
"My roommate found her phone. THANK GOD!!!!!"<br />
<br />
"It's amazing how much we don't know."<div class="blogger-post-footer">Subscribe with Feedburner</div>Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19050282.post-16201009857528353722013-08-03T15:18:00.004-05:002022-04-29T12:44:25.016-05:00Gnomes, Fairies, and General MayhemWe had such a fabulous response to Samantha Stroh Bailey's giveaway! Congrats to Ananda. When I say "Check's in the mail!" it means "Ebook's in your inbox!" Let's make that a thing, k? This will be a regular feature on the blog, so stay tuned for more cringetastic author teen memories and giveaways in the future.<br />
<br />
In other news, <a href="http://www.onmilwaukee.com/ent/articles/jessrileyqanda.html" target="_blank">OnMilwaukee </a>gave me one of my favorite interviews ever, and you can read it <a href="http://www.onmilwaukee.com/ent/articles/jessrileyqanda.html" target="_blank">here</a>. There are still ten days to win one of FIVE signed copies of <b><i>Mandatory Release</i></b>: just "like" my <a href="https://www.facebook.com/JessRileyAuthor?ref=hl" target="_blank">Facebook </a>author page <a href="https://www.facebook.com/JessRileyAuthor?ref=hl" target="_blank">here</a>. I don't post that often, usually to highlight a friend's book release, link to an interesting article now and then, the odd excerpt or recipe, that sort of thing. Nothing too spammy. Zero photos of politician peen, guaranteed. Random drawing from all the "likers" on August 11.<br />
<br />
Also, if there are two things I've learned in life, it's that my nose will run any time I jog on a treadmill, and also that my dad will wear a T-shirt completely at odds with his activity du jour. Case in point, last weekend he wore a tee featuring a screenprinted picture of Charles Bukowski above the quote, <i>"It's not that I hate people. I just feel better when they're not around."</i> to the crowded <b>Fairy and Gnome Festival</b> at Bookworm Children's Garden in Sheboygan.<br />
<br />
Truly, it was a festive day, as evidenced by this photo of my niece and nephew.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXzT0149aUa_uLWYLUFiyq8U5DGcI9lkymNMvNRyNvpuoYgGXS5oqOnM3A8-QKQWMtvgq9RRO6CepPmCALSq66xHDC_UIwRbgN_PCvhWrFUTDWEw8buyoqNmqqkful4i1UwOWe/s1600/BookwormGardenshappykids.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXzT0149aUa_uLWYLUFiyq8U5DGcI9lkymNMvNRyNvpuoYgGXS5oqOnM3A8-QKQWMtvgq9RRO6CepPmCALSq66xHDC_UIwRbgN_PCvhWrFUTDWEw8buyoqNmqqkful4i1UwOWe/s400/BookwormGardenshappykids.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The happiest children on earth.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br /><div>
Auntie Jess nearly derailed the day when, like a total idiot, she removed the straw from a juice box before her niece could do it herself. Luckily, ingenious Grandma stuck the straw back on the box with some chewed gum, restoring darling niece's desired DIY opportunity for straw/juice box detachment, and calm again pervaded the universe. <br />
<br />
Happy ten-year anniversary to my patient, supportive, best-sport-ever husband; I still can't believe you've put up with me for this long.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_YOqSzdApCDjip71VbnzwY_akUwBc-Abl2TSt-HktsDTrnEjzK1F2mUEwlHW07xRDvAKCfYDrjRZuqCUH-WALf6Uf3FXYm5gMDTKlqREV-G4m3q0anGn0pjituKVVPCUZX_8t/s1600/JJat+the+lake.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_YOqSzdApCDjip71VbnzwY_akUwBc-Abl2TSt-HktsDTrnEjzK1F2mUEwlHW07xRDvAKCfYDrjRZuqCUH-WALf6Uf3FXYm5gMDTKlqREV-G4m3q0anGn0pjituKVVPCUZX_8t/s400/JJat+the+lake.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Showing off my non-manicure and weirdly highlighting the Nike swoosh.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I *am* working on a new book, but at my current rate, it won't be out until 2023. Not to mention that reading other books outside is much more fun than writing them in my dumb house. Here Daisy joins me, looking in my direction only because there's a squirrel on the fence behind me. She typically has her back to me, which is Terrier for "I Show You My B-Hole Because You Can't Tell <i>Me </i>What to Do...also, I'm still ashamed from when you clipped dingleberries from my hinder."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgDgmGOt3-QmkZhrPwUSErxvYfVcXFpYBHD-Ob6GXWJuAQPPa_KTE3XpTjY0lukmv5YjNHjKYNgm-z1XtrLMmLZKN8KMGVqhATELWF04s4w5gvo6US8Nl1LUjNI6Ez0TcetqkK/s1600/Daisy+and+the+squirrel.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgDgmGOt3-QmkZhrPwUSErxvYfVcXFpYBHD-Ob6GXWJuAQPPa_KTE3XpTjY0lukmv5YjNHjKYNgm-z1XtrLMmLZKN8KMGVqhATELWF04s4w5gvo6US8Nl1LUjNI6Ez0TcetqkK/s320/Daisy+and+the+squirrel.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's hard to look you in the eye...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
And here's some good news: one of our goldfish has survived in the pond for more than a month! Let's go celebrate by getting ice cream and later listening to me complain about how the older I get, the more lactose intolerant I become. Ciao!</div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Subscribe with Feedburner</div>Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19050282.post-64886759994931973342013-07-30T10:18:00.002-05:002013-07-30T10:18:56.658-05:00Now Presenting: Samantha Stroh Bailey<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhAj7OeojzL_WJstNIeIQo7HCvgL6Zew8sj93PZhrGRz7u6IhqCecH6RRZqGDQdGRkNHa5C56ZB-G4r6oHWVeb2KJHMlq7iL8D9-OwmPzi8emb4NZy6N9xGmNy1-LDt0ObJLI6/s1600/FLNov22Bigpaperback.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhAj7OeojzL_WJstNIeIQo7HCvgL6Zew8sj93PZhrGRz7u6IhqCecH6RRZqGDQdGRkNHa5C56ZB-G4r6oHWVeb2KJHMlq7iL8D9-OwmPzi8emb4NZy6N9xGmNy1-LDt0ObJLI6/s320/FLNov22Bigpaperback.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<br />
I am thrilled to have on the blog today the adorable and sweet Samantha Stroh Bailey; her charming debut novel <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Finding-Lucas-ebook/dp/B007VIIU6A/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1374593085&sr=1-1&keywords=finding+lucas" target="_blank"><i><b>Finding Lucas</b></i></a> was released last April, becoming<i><b> </b></i>a word-of-mouth sensation. <br />
<br />
She's giving away an e-copy of <i>Finding Lucas</i> to one lucky reader; as always, <u>just leave a comment with your email and you're entered to win</u>! Entries open until <span style="color: red;"><b>Friday, August 2.</b></span><br />
<br />
And now, on to the <strike>interrogation </strike>interview: <br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;"><b>1) Tell us about Finding Lucas, and what inspired you to write it.</b></span><br /><br />I always get my plot ideas late at night just as I'm falling asleep. So, one night, I was lying in bed and thinking about my "friends with benefits" from high school and early university. I hadn't seen or spoken to Jack in almost ten years, and I wondered where he was and how he was doing. I'd never thought of him as the one who got away, like Jamie does in Finding Lucas. But, Jack had been a big part of my life as I navigated my late teens and early twenties, and I wanted to know that he was happy. Suddenly, I realized so many people must wonder "what if" about their exes. With Facebook and Twitter, it's much easier to find them. And Finding Lucas was born.<br /><br /><i>Can you ever really go back to the past?<br /><br />After five long years of living with Derek, her former bad-boy-turned-metrosexual boyfriend, Jamie Ross finally reaches her breaking point. She's had enough of his sneering disdain for her second hand wardrobe, unusual family and low-paying job as the associate producer of Chicago's sleaziest daytime talk show. When her new boss plans a segment on reuniting lost loves, Jamie remembers Lucas, her first love and the boy she'd lost ten years earlier. Spurred on by her gang of quirky friends, Jamie goes on a hilarious, disastrous and life changing hunt to track Lucas down. But are some loves best left behind?</i><br /><br /><span style="color: blue;"><b>2) What one piece of writing advice resonated most with you?</b></span><br /><br />Keep writing. I've been writing for thirty years, and though it does take me a long time to finish a manuscript (I have two young kids and own a freelance writing/editing business), I never stop writing. I'm not always happy with what I write, but I keep going until I am.<br /><br /><span style="color: blue;"><b>3) If you had to design a menu around Finding Lucas, what three dishes would be featured?</b></span><br /><br />Steak, for sure. Both Jamie and I share a love of meat, and I think a huge T-bone, medium rare, with a Caesar salad, topped with crunchy croutons and shaved parmesan is a must!<br /><br />Jamie's mom, Leah, and stepmom, Katie, are both in the field of holistic wellness. So, a dish featuring quinoa, sprouts and a ton of veggies would definitely be on the menu.<br /><br />Because Jamie works for a sleazy daytime talk show, another dish would have to be fast food. Unhealthy, full of grease and fat, this "dish" would represent the stories Jamie produces on "Tell It Like It Is."<br /><br /><span style="color: blue;"><b>4) Always feared, always entertaining: share your favorite cringe-worthy teenage memory.</b></span><br /><br />This is totally cringe-worthy. Well, in high school, I wasn't the most attractive of teens. I had glasses, braces and no boobs (thankfully, those came a bit later and then promptly disappeared after I had kids). There was this guy who all of the girls were in love with. I thought I was being subtle when I stared at him in the halls, even timing the seconds between stares on my watch. Yeah, well, I wasn't as subtle as I thought. One day in the school cafeteria, filled with hundreds of students, the object of my affection stood up and yelled, "Would somebody tell that ugly girl to stop looking at me?" Before you wince too much, I did get my revenge. Years later, I saw him in a bar, and having no clue who I was, he asked for my number. I gave him the wrong one.<br /><br /><span style="color: blue;"><b>5) If you could have any superpower, what would it be?</b></span><br /><br />This is an easy one. I'm only five feet tall. Well, okay, barely five feet tall. So, I would love the superhero power to stretch to five ten whenever I felt like it. I could finally see over people's heads in movie theaters, wear pants that I don't have to hem with duct tape (duct tape has so many uses), and people wouldn't pat me on the head anymore.<br />
~~~<br />
Thanks, Sam! Isn't she great? Don't forget to enter to win a copy; this one's such fun!!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYxZiuc-z88dqXJKGVPY1JjnPUUCUOue2cZWsVYvmSPpBz_AyGIHTj8owGIXNdzGGChUunjdEkJMag0GD_tfCADaX1SyX3hJheS37Dplg3AkVvxNCgmSYlVsceq6uLDfgnEYnp/s1600/samheadshotauthorcentral.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYxZiuc-z88dqXJKGVPY1JjnPUUCUOue2cZWsVYvmSPpBz_AyGIHTj8owGIXNdzGGChUunjdEkJMag0GD_tfCADaX1SyX3hJheS37Dplg3AkVvxNCgmSYlVsceq6uLDfgnEYnp/s200/samheadshotauthorcentral.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<i>Samantha Stroh Bailey has been a writer ever since she could pick up a
pen. In fact, she even sent her first manuscript, Freddy the Flame, to
publishers when she was ten years old. After 15 years of teaching ESL to
adults, including at the University of Toronto, she decided to live her
dreams of being a fulltime writer and editor. Now the owner of Perfect
Pen Communications, she not only gets to write novels, but also writes
and edits for magazines, websites, businesses, students and other
authors. Her work has appeared in Now Magazine, The Village Post, Oxford
University Press, Abilities Magazine, on mommyish.com and many other
publications. Samantha also has a Masters of Education in Applied
Linguistics. She lives in Toronto with her husband and two children.
Finding Lucas is her first novel. </i><br />
<br />
<i>You can find Samantha on her <a href="http://samanthastrohbailey.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">Blog,</a> Twitter @perfectpen, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Samantha-Stroh-Bailey/420736011289684" target="_blank">Facebook,</a> <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13641194-finding-lucas" target="_blank">Goodreads</a>, and her Business Website, <a href="http://perfectpencommunications.com/" target="_blank">Perfect Pen Communications</a>. </i><b>Finding Lucas</b><i> is available on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Finding-Lucas-ebook/dp/B007VIIU6A/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1374593085&sr=1-1&keywords=finding+lucas" target="_blank">Amazon US</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Finding-Lucas-ebook/dp/B007VIIU6A/ref=sr_1_1_bnp_1_kin?ie=UTF8&qid=1374593116&sr=8-1&keywords=finding+lucas" target="_blank">Amazon UK</a>, and <a href="http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/Finding-Lucas/book--wfpLcDV6keHZR-T80qCUg/page1.html" target="_blank">Kobo</a>. <a href="http://perfectpencommunications.com/" target="_blank"><wbr></wbr></a></i><div class="blogger-post-footer">Subscribe with Feedburner</div>Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19050282.post-43190126762421710372013-07-25T13:00:00.000-05:002013-07-25T13:00:01.460-05:00A Tale of Two Johns<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Hi! Sorry to disappoint those of you who came here expecting
me to share titillating anecdotes about how I secretly put myself through
college as a call girl. This obviously didn’t happen, for several reasons.
First, a basic analysis of my student loan debt would show that my part-time
college jobs paid just enough to cover beer, pizza, and purple hair dye. Second,
you have seen my house, right? If I’d been a “high end” hooker in college, I’d
live in a much nicer house with a hot tub. Or at the very least, I’d have a permanent
scar and/or limp and an impressive collection of chips from Narcotics
Anonymous. Third, gross.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, feel free to click off the page, creeps.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">*Whispers*</span> </i>Are
the creepy guys gone yet? Thank God! <i>*brings out the string cheese and
Triscuits*</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today I want to talk about publicity. Wait, don’t run away!
Have a beer. Relax. It’s kind of a funny story. Anyway, I fracking HATE self-promotion.
Hate it more than war or cilantro or adults that use the word “selfie.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">The challenge is that</span> my latest book is a bit of a tough
sell. Because, prison much? (And infidelity and toxic friends and horrible
secrets and paralyzed sex jokes and racial imbalance in the criminal justice
system and 80s hairbands and a scruffy little dog named Avis, after the car rental
company.) To help get the word out, I’ve employed some macro-level stuff. <i>*Barfs
at own use of word “macro.”*</i> This included hiring a publicist, booking a blog
tour, and yelling about my shit on Facebook and Twitter and then running away with the
cold sweat of self-loathing clinging to my torso. </div>
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<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh89VXz4oy1FB_n-a6g8oeGzMveSkbrtT-8jZu77CjoNtru6N7RXHans8iVdyIhL5E2FEpvP9GwXAm2TxBr0ls5sMWCE7EkGjfsoC9qdsCsSvffRnR8Z_fJv20YUTp1NiWbf4Vl/s1600/2013-07-21+09.59.27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh89VXz4oy1FB_n-a6g8oeGzMveSkbrtT-8jZu77CjoNtru6N7RXHans8iVdyIhL5E2FEpvP9GwXAm2TxBr0ls5sMWCE7EkGjfsoC9qdsCsSvffRnR8Z_fJv20YUTp1NiWbf4Vl/s200/2013-07-21+09.59.27.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first sunflower to bloom in my yard.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All of which may or may not be working. So it’s time to
shake things up, get micro, reach out and touch someones who enjoy books
remotely like mine. I decided to visit the Amazon sales page for Jonathan
Tropper’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This is Where I Leave You</i>,
because I feel (hope) that readers who like his novels will also like mine. I
scrolled through the five-star reviews, looking for a few kind souls who may be
open to reading and reviewing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mandatory
Release</i>. Ultimately, because most people are afraid to connect their email
addresses with their reviews (I can’t imagine WHY), I ended up with two guys
named John. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I emailed both the same brief, kind-of-grovely pitch,
explaining who I am and why on earth I was writing to them. I heard back from
John #1 almost immediately: “No, thnaks.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not even enough interest to spellcheck his rejection.
However, I heard from John #2 a few hours later. He said it sounded right up
his alley and he enjoyed the four sample chapters he read. He finished by
saying I didn’t even have to send him a free copy, because he wanted to <i>help
support my career. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Seriously! My first reaction was, <i>Wow, people can read four
sample chapters online? </i>My second reaction was, <i>Thnak you, Thnak you! </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So there we have it, on the micro-level. A tale of two
Johns. One a vaguely dickish poor speller, the other a kind soul who restored my faith in human generosity, all on the same day. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Goodreads JT fans, you have been warned. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
PS: If you post an online review and <a href="mailto:jess@jessriley.com" target="_blank">email </a>me the link by
<b>August 10</b>, I’ll enter you in a drawing for a <b>$25 Amazon gift card. </b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve also got bookplates—I’d be happy to
inscribe one for your paperback copy, just let me know if y’all want one. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With sticky backs, like John Goodman on July 18.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Subscribe with Feedburner</div>Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19050282.post-62654685641585721072013-07-22T00:30:00.000-05:002013-07-22T00:30:04.179-05:00Now Presenting: Dina Silver!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEichT6VKwW6P1O1xjdD3B9ldM-h2uBsDbo1Ho2QkHUF6GbVQwi97n9AsCXNe1IrT0yynOnIIJFT4ntsGqUSgJNF2h3wZvgiBWN_GV0bnAfJWwA6iebblcumccbbXuLqTjOzvb57/s1600/FindingBliss_81_Corbis-42-24114389.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEichT6VKwW6P1O1xjdD3B9ldM-h2uBsDbo1Ho2QkHUF6GbVQwi97n9AsCXNe1IrT0yynOnIIJFT4ntsGqUSgJNF2h3wZvgiBWN_GV0bnAfJWwA6iebblcumccbbXuLqTjOzvb57/s320/FindingBliss_81_Corbis-42-24114389.jpg" width="213" /></a>I am so excited to showcase today the beautiful and hilarious Dina Silver, whose third, heartstring-tugging novel <i><b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Finding-Bliss-ebook/dp/B00BFICI6K/ref=tmm_kin_title_0" target="_blank">Finding Bliss</a></b></i> came out last week. Dina is one of the rock stars of the indie publishing world, signing as an in-house author with Amazon last year. She's sweet, inspiring, and she's worked her ass off to get to this point. She is offering one lucky reader a <span style="color: red;">signed paperback</span>--just leave a comment about how <u><i>you</i></u><i> </i>find bliss. And don't forget your email address so we can get you your copy if you win!<br />
<br />
<br />
<u><b>What it's About: </b></u><br />
<i>Chloe Carlyle has always longed for the perfect family. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Growing
up with an alcoholic single mother, she has seen her share of heartbreak
and disappointment, and is striving to build a new legacy for herself.
After graduating from college, she takes a job working as a summer girl
for the Reeds—a wealthy, accomplished family that personifies her
American dream. Her summer takes an unexpected turn when the Reeds’
eldest son, Tyler, the star quarterback for Notre Dame, shows up and
turns her life upside down.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>An ambitious young woman with a
wry sense of humor, Chloe never imagined herself as the type to succumb
to the looks and charms of the hometown hero, but she falls hard for
Tyler, and is devastated when they part ways at the end of the summer.
As she heads off to law school, Chloe tries to convince herself this was
just a fling, but she can’t quite get over him. It’s not until Tyler
contacts her out of the blue late one winter night that everything
changes. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>After doing everything in her power to build the
perfect life, Chloe soon learns that there are things beyond her
control. She must draw on inner reserves of strength as her life takes
unpredictable—and sometimes heartbreaking—twists and turns, and she
finds herself faced with decisions she never thought she’d have to make.
Poignant, heartfelt, and emotional, Finding Bliss is a reminder that you don’t have to live a fairytale life in order to have a happy ending.</i><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;"><b>1. Tell us about Finding Bliss--what inspired you to write it?</b></span><br />
<br />
<i>Finding Bliss</i> is a spin off of <i>One Pink Line</i>, and tells the story of, Chloe, who was Grace's best friend in OPL. Chloe grew up with an alcoholic mother, and has sort of always longed for the perfect family. The story begins as she's about to start law school, and follows her through those years and into married life and as she struggles to have children.<br />
<br />
I really wanted to challenge the HEA concept with this book, and give readers something to ponder in the end. Hopefully I did!<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: blue;">2. What do you find most challenging about the writing life, and how do you cope?</span></b><br />
<br />
For me, it's creating the story from beginning to end. Once I have it plotted out in my head, it usually flows onto the page pretty easily.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: blue;">3. Who are some of your author idols?</span></b><br />
<br />
Oddly enough, I'm in a complete true crime frenzy right now and reading everything by Ann Rule and Joe McGinnis. I'm also an old school Jane Austen goober. <br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;"><b>4. What songs would be on the Finding Bliss playlist?</b></span><br />
<br />
I love this question! Hmm…I think Chloe would listen to Maroon 5 and Fall Out Boy. Sort of angsty rock, but not too hard.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: blue;">5. What teenage memory makes you cringe?</span></b><br />
<br />
Putting concealer on my lips, then covering them in a pink-frosted Loreal lip gloss.<br />
<br />
Thanks Dina! <span style="color: red;"><b>Entries remain open until Thursday, noon CST.</b></span> Because why not? Enter soon, and enter often, because you want this book!!!<br />
<br />
~~~ <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrYDUgwa1o3ivK9yZcJaEAiJzn-oh0JHr5NYuon4ruJ_WYLdu8ifdnaF2Lzb2K4Jok7SRh58GmAYHo6weNz-RGzhrUfDXYAGpSyyba8uKUkzO07Ca6_Bx76DKgo79ZLmzsKt7p/s1600/dina69.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrYDUgwa1o3ivK9yZcJaEAiJzn-oh0JHr5NYuon4ruJ_WYLdu8ifdnaF2Lzb2K4Jok7SRh58GmAYHo6weNz-RGzhrUfDXYAGpSyyba8uKUkzO07Ca6_Bx76DKgo79ZLmzsKt7p/s200/dina69.jpg" width="171" /></a></div>
<i>A graduate of Purdue University, Dina Silver has spent the past fifteen
years feeding her red wine habit by working as a freelance copywriter in
the advertising industry. After seeing the bulk of her professional
prose on brochures and direct mail pieces, she is delighted to have made
the transition to novelist. She currently lives with her family in
suburban Chicago. Additionally, she enjoys cheese fries, reality TV and
talking about herself in the third person.<br /><br />For more riveting information, visit dinasilver.com
</i><div class="blogger-post-footer">Subscribe with Feedburner</div>Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19050282.post-88430266229285566512013-07-19T10:29:00.001-05:002013-07-19T10:38:50.138-05:00More Book Hijinks from Your Favorite Schlemiel<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Whew. Another release week in the rear view mirror, and this
one was a doozy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Launch day is always a
roller-coaster: will people buy my book, if they do will they LIKE it, will I
stumble across a terrible review that will emotionally cripple me for days … It’s
a bit like watching someone juggle your newborn baby and a live
chainsaw.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">We’re all works in progress, and I’m no exception. Always
learning valuable lessons. This year, I learned two very valuable lessons—perhaps
the most important one about vetting something you read at an author event. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I was honored to participate in this year’s Fox Cities Book
Festival, at which I read a scene from my novella <i>Closer Than They Appear.</i> It’s
a cute little tale about missed connections, featuring two characters who meet
at the same stoplight every morning during their commutes. I write from each
character’s perspective, male and female. You should know that I don’t believe
in tidying up the male point of view. Guys are crude. They’re raw, real, and
warped, if they’re being honest. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(This
is important for the story.)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">The scene I chose to read was from my male character’s point
of view, and he’s in a particularly miserable, heart-broken frame of mind at a
bar with a friend. Oh, and did I mention it takes place in Oshkosh, the city in
which I live? (This is also important for the story.)</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">So I’m reading, and everyone is laughing and enjoying
themselves. <i>Excellent! </i>I think, and file the piece away for another day. I
whistle a jaunty tune on my way home.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Fast-forward to Tuesday night, launch night, and I’m giving
a chat in Oshkosh at a fundraiser for the Winnebago Literacy Council. <i>I know, </i>I
say to myself, <i>I’ll read the same piece that got such a great reception at the
Book Festival! It takes place in Oshkosh; people will like that. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is the best idea I’ve ever had!</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Literacy Council is a terrific organization, and that
night they introduced five young men, recent refugees from Burma, Ivory
Coast, Uganda, and Pakistan, to showcase and put faces on the great work the council is
doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re sitting in the front row,
listening to me very politely. I finish my author spiel and begin the reading.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">And I get to the part on the very first page where my main character,
annoyed at being jostled around while trying to order a drink, says to his
friend, “<i>Jesus Christ, <span style="line-height: 115%;">remind me why we came here again? I feel
like I’m in some third-world country waiting for bags of rice to be tossed out
the back of a United Nations truck.”</span></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">A few people laugh in a kind-of shocked way, like
you do in church when an elderly woman in the pew behind you audibly farts. My
blood turns to ice in my veins. Oh dear GOD, how did I forget about this line? I
very nearly stop reading. There are almost fifty faces staring at me, waiting
to see how this plays out, waiting for the juggler to drop the chainsaw on the baby. A small voice in my head says, <i>No—you have to keep
going. Own it! Be real! And never, ever write from the male point of view again!”</i> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">I continue, and so does the fun, because soon we get
to three song references that are totally unfamiliar to the crowd, followed by
a reference to “Pretentious Asshole Bingo,” which I forgot to set-up before the
reading, and a reference to an ex-girlfriend who used to send really dirty
texts.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">I begin to feel faint. I’m sweating profusely. The
words feel like rubber in my mouth. Ah, and then I remember how I end this scene:</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;"> ___</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> </i>From somewhere behind him: “Hey, if it isn’t Steinbeck 2.0!”</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Zach
gritted his teeth and manufactured a smile for the second time that evening.
“Matt Nelson. What’s up?”</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Matt
Nelson was another local writer. Privately, Zach always tacked a GD to his name,
as in, “GD Matt Nelson.” It stood for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Grammar
Destroyer</i>. He’d self-published a thriller last fall and now routinely
posted screen shots of his Amazon ranking to his Facebook feeds: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cracked the top 100! I’m on fire!</i> “Dude,
just sold my forty-thousandth copy of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Archer
Falls</i>. Can you believe that shit?”<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Forty-thousand
people actually paid to learn that you can’t tell the difference between
they’re, there, and their. Jesus wept. </i>“Hey, congrats.”</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Still
writing?”</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Yeah,”
Zach said, thrilled he actually had a positive update to share. “I just sold my
novel, actually.”</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Matt’s
smile hitched ever so-slightly. “Oh yeah? That’s great! Who picked it up?”</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “It’s
a small indie press. They specialize in gritty, urban fiction.”</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Huh.
I thought your book took place on a farm. So what kind of advance they offer?”</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Zach
took a swig of beer, growing increasingly uncomfortable under GD Matt Nelson’s
scrutiny.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> “Not much, but they do a great job with their authors.”</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> But
Matt had stopped paying attention. “Hey, I gotta split. Just saw Kara Peterson.
Chick’s got nipples like fuckin pencil erasers.” He grabbed his beer and
disappeared into the crowd.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> After
he left, Zach let out a strangled sob. “How can such a gross human being win at
everything?”</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Josh
craned his neck to see where Matt had gone, wearing a vague expression of
curiosity. It looked like he was trying to solve a sexy riddle. “Pencil
erasers. Huh.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;"> ___</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">Did you get that?</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="line-height: 115%;">"Chick’s got nipples like fuckin pencil erasers.”</span></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Did I mention that two of my nice young audience members in the
front row were from Pakistan? </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I looked around for a box I could crawl into, or maybe a
bathtub of vodka, or a candle I could light myself on fire with. Finding no such retreat, I ended with a vaguely mumbled, “Um,
so it’s kind of colorful. Just a fun little thing.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">OH MY GOD SHUT UP SHUT UP. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">People clapped politely. Some were still laughing (with me? Nah,
probably totally at me). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My whole body is
still unfolding from a nearly semi-permanent and disabling cringe.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">So the lesson here is: something that plays well in Peoria
may not play as well in Albuquerque. Check your audience and triple-vet
anything you share before you get up on stage. And write something new as quickly as possible, if only to scour your latest shenanigan from your brain.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">(Thank you, everyone, for the support and kind words this week; you kept me from soaking in that bathtub of vodka, which actually sounds kind of relaxing now that I think about it ....) </span></span></i></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Subscribe with Feedburner</div>Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19050282.post-20177412798939459142013-07-14T22:00:00.000-05:002013-07-15T09:31:05.703-05:00Let's Make it Official, Kids: Mandatory Release is Here<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6RE3SqRmZRFYX8PqPk51EAArfZe43ag7CSS17qnB-adAilAIriZZvy-T9LT01w-fpL5fjALSE1oPCdyyp4FEGGm8OOfNu8TR2qTRIUU0WYqEogJYlmFoXmnH4E8C1rqt4pTjc/s1600/boxobooks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6RE3SqRmZRFYX8PqPk51EAArfZe43ag7CSS17qnB-adAilAIriZZvy-T9LT01w-fpL5fjALSE1oPCdyyp4FEGGm8OOfNu8TR2qTRIUU0WYqEogJYlmFoXmnH4E8C1rqt4pTjc/s320/boxobooks.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I spy, with my little eye, A BOX OF BOOKS!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Hi! How are you? I'm a nervous wreck, thanks!<br />
<br />
Well, I could whip myself into a neurotic frenzy over the last bottle of discount ranch dressing on double coupon day, so take all of this with a grain of salt. <br />
<br />
But I'm distracted, which leads me to do things like wish my husband's late aunt a happy birthday on Facebook. You know how this works. You see the birthdays up there in the corner, and you absently click through them all (<i>Happy birthday, Dave! Have a great day, Eleanor! Enjoy your big day, Steve!</i>), get your daily post-liking frenzy out of the way, and then you whisk your palms together and head off to tackle the day, feeling so accomplished. Just look at everything you've already achieved. Maybe you'll work out. Shave your legs in the shower! Make a home-cooked meal for dinner! And--could it possibly be--actually get some writing done? Oh, the joys! Your day is a rainbow-hued quilt of possibilities sewn with spun gold. One hour later, you get a call from your beloved husband: "You wished my dead aunt happy birthday on Facebook."<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8RLfCcdytn09sEniIMFnoloizpklhErwVDfQYwklWYSUZ5io-bo2SVhOR4GvnKP-Hln7wgnLoKyaQU3zzrSOqP8EjOavjF9sxEinneyKr83OV-kNvoPyk5o6_5JycotFAJ5w1/s1600/bagosdoritos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8RLfCcdytn09sEniIMFnoloizpklhErwVDfQYwklWYSUZ5io-bo2SVhOR4GvnKP-Hln7wgnLoKyaQU3zzrSOqP8EjOavjF9sxEinneyKr83OV-kNvoPyk5o6_5JycotFAJ5w1/s320/bagosdoritos.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Individually-bagged Doritos. I told you I was neurotic.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And you crawl under the couch and die a little and eat an industrial-sized bowl (the bowl you'd give your kid to puke in if he stayed home sick from school and you had a kid) of stale granola with chocolate soy milk and can't stop shivering.<br />
<br />
Also, you have a book in the "soft-launch"* phase on Amazon, the book you've been working on for 14 years, the book that people cock an eyebrow over when you explain the plot ("It takes place in a prison? And the main character is a guy in a wheelchair? And it's a really weird love story with a sex scene and everything? But it's HILARIOUS, trust me!") and people are finding it and buying it which is awesome, but you haven't made it official and you're already feeling slimy and spammy as hell for uploading your cover art and linking to blog reviews on Facebook and just want to crawl back under the couch again and where did you leave that spoon, anyway?<br />
<br />
So yes, let's just make it official and put me out of my misery. <span style="color: red;"><b><i>Mandatory Release </i></b></span>is now available on all platforms: high and low diving boards, ceremonial award stages, all of them. Also <span style="background-color: yellow;"><a href="http://amzn.to/12E2NOc" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="http://bit.ly/15woYKn" target="_blank">Kobo</a>, <a href="http://bit.ly/13MIZ0q" target="_blank">iTunes</a>,</span> and <span style="background-color: yellow;"><a href="http://bit.ly/15woWSP" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a></span>. I'm also giving away two signed paperback copies on <a href="http://bit.ly/174nwyf" target="_blank">Goodreads</a>, if that's your flavor of choice. I love this book, I miss these characters, and there's something in it to offend just about everyone, so let the games begin!<br />
<br />
If you'd like to celebrate with me, I'll be doing a reading at <b>Becket's Restaurant in Oshkosh on Tuesday, July 16 from 5-7 pm</b>--it's a fundraiser for the Winnebago County Literacy Council, so we won't get TOO out-of-hand. Unless it's decided by popular vote.<br />
<br />
A lovely woman in a book club I met with last week asked me what happens at my launch parties, and here are your multiple-choice options:<br />
<br />
<b>a)</b> I sweat through my dress and have trouble remembering the word "orientation."<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvEmHh_HYkzF4Y5C3gI6l12RZruNxiuON6twndQiNcs1V1-mDHLkuDkktHWh4J-qi9W1NX-Xh1qptNPaFoQflc_oy8CHj2kVll8LDimJOc42DjrlVuB5OdR2Ck4Dgg19SIZ60R/s1600/genesimmons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvEmHh_HYkzF4Y5C3gI6l12RZruNxiuON6twndQiNcs1V1-mDHLkuDkktHWh4J-qi9W1NX-Xh1qptNPaFoQflc_oy8CHj2kVll8LDimJOc42DjrlVuB5OdR2Ck4Dgg19SIZ60R/s320/genesimmons.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gene Simmons? Is that you? (Guy in front: "We're number one!")</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>b)</b> A bunch of us end the night at the gay bar AND the strip club.<br />
<br />
<b>c)</b> Everything I eat gives me diarrhea except cheese and wine, which works out fine because those are my two favorite food groups.<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading. If I could buy all of you ponies and peonies, I totally would.<br />
<br />
*Soft-launch is just a fancy way of saying <b>1)</b> that you've uploaded your book and haven't announced it yet; and <b>2)</b> you're playing some kind of kinky sex game with a Nerf replica of the space shuttle.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Subscribe with Feedburner</div>Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19050282.post-11166819833387224152013-07-09T13:48:00.001-05:002013-07-09T13:49:28.074-05:00Now Presenting: Dana Bate!Congratulations to Bonnie, who won a signed copy of Brenda Janowitz's <i>Recipe for a Happy Life</i>! Let's keep the party rolling with more recipe-related reads:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiGutZ7tm0Tq_CIS-IgYnUVUfRUw3kotl6unA7-l_lBNrF5D7kh4QTBdBKH3vrN9e6yHOQRV2w-HSVzLf5rPfX9-_ufFVuKRAp92iK-53dZ64Wfn1Xasx8jPiFt_4m95LO6wWC/s1600/Supper-club-thumbnail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiGutZ7tm0Tq_CIS-IgYnUVUfRUw3kotl6unA7-l_lBNrF5D7kh4QTBdBKH3vrN9e6yHOQRV2w-HSVzLf5rPfX9-_ufFVuKRAp92iK-53dZ64Wfn1Xasx8jPiFt_4m95LO6wWC/s320/Supper-club-thumbnail.jpg" width="208" /></a>Today, I'm so thrilled to present <a href="http://www.danabate.com/" target="_blank">Dana Bate</a>, whose first novel <span style="color: red;"><b><i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Girls-Guide-Supper-Clubs-ebook/dp/B008Y3RC6K/ref=tmm_kin_title_0" target="_blank">The Girls' Guide to Love and Supper Clubs</a></i></b></span> released this past February. This is an absolutely adorable book, so clever and funny. She and I share an acquiring debut editor, Jill Schwartzman, who obviously has excellent taste. Dana is giving away one signed paperback copy to a lucky reader--I'll pick a commenter at random this Friday at midnight. <b><span style="color: red;">Leave a comment with your email address to win! </span></b><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;">1. Tell us about <i>The Girls' Guide to Love and Supper Clubs</i>--where did you get the idea?</span><br />
The book is about a twenty-six-year old woman named Hannah Sugarman who is having a quarter-life crisis. On paper, she seems to have it all: impressive job, brilliant boyfriend, famous intellectual parents. But all Hannah cares about is cooking, and unfortunately, no one takes her passion seriously. So when her relationship falls apart, she decides to start an underground supper club out of her new landlord's town house – a secret venture that is both wildly successful and highly problematic, given that it isn’t exactly legal. Suffice it to say, not everything goes as planned.<br />
<br />
The idea came to me after I’d quit my job and moved to London with my husband for a few months while he worked on a project there. I had been toying with various ideas for a novel, when one morning I came across an article online about a woman called MsMarmitelover who hosted a secret supper club out of her London flat. Total strangers would come from all over and pay to eat her food, even though the whole operation wasn’t technically legal. I thought the idea sounded really fun – and risky – and that sort of became the launching pad for my novel.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;">2. Were there any things about the publishing world that surprised you?</span><br />
Oh, boy. Lots. I was definitely surprised at how slowly the publishing machine operates. I sold my debut in late June/early July 2011, and it didn't come out until February 2013! Apparently that's fairly standard, and the long lead time allows them to create an implement a publicity plan, but in the digital era it definitely feels very slow. I also didn't fully appreciate how much of the packaging and marketing would be out of my control. My original title was THE DUPONT CIRCLE SUPPER CLUB, but my publisher changed it to THE GIRLS' GUIDE TO LOVE AND SUPPER CLUBS because they felt the original title was too DC-centric. And the cover, while delicious and adorable, is a bit pinker than what I'd envisioned. But I'm not a marketing or PR specialist, so understandably I didn't get to make the final decision on those things. That's why publicity and marketing departments exist!<br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;">3. What teenage memory makes you cringe?</span><br />
Just one? Because I'll be honest with you: there are many. Several involve extremely questionable hairstyles and makeup choices. But one particular doozy of a memory involves a guy I briefly dated in the summer between high school and college. His friends called him "Mole Man" because he kind of looked like a mole, and the only reason I dated him was because when I met him, he told me I looked like a movie star (I do not). But who doesn't like a little flattery now and again? Frankly, after being the nerdy A student for so many years, I was thrilled to have a guy notice me. But he wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, and after we had a heated debate over whether or not the government had shot down JFK Jr.'s plane (he believed they had), I realized I had made a huge mistake. That I dated him almost the entire summer based mostly on his interest in me is not something I'm proud of.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;">4.Do you have any advice for aspiring authors?</span><br />
Write the book you want to write. Don't worry whether that book will make the New York Times Bestseller list or whether your friends or family will enjoy it. Write the book that ignites the fire in your belly and makes you excited to get words on the page. Tune out the haters, and write what you love.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;">5. Your protagonist is an amazing cook; are you as well? What's your favorite recipe?</span><br />
I love, love, love to cook. It is by far my favorite hobby. I have more cookbooks and recipe files than is probably necessary or recommended, so I'd be hard-pressed to choose a favorite recipe. But the carrot cake Hannah, my protagonist, mentions in THE GIRLS GUIDE TO LOVE AND SUPPER CLUBS is based on a real recipe, and it is *amazing.* I couldn't include it in the book for copyright reasons, but for anyone who is interested, you can find the recipe here: http://athomebysteveposes.wordpress.com/2010/05/16/commissary-carrot-cake-recipe/. It is divine.<br />
~~~~~<br />
Thank you so much, Dana! Isn't she terrific? <u>Don't forget to include your email address when you leave your comment</u>; as always, this is a spam-free zone, but I do need to know how to contact you should you win. (And you want to win this one, trust me.)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQCITQiEeo4MuzXEJgdU8eq9UT9NddtaWVeAf58jrdFhF67EeHdsf5oy4KWz_o8XBm5zw_BLJfCiah5OF9MCFh9pwpVg4fx6PrNEUTQ-D8Mf3IjmZd00pljoMD9HmQIp-C5Zkp/s1600/danabate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQCITQiEeo4MuzXEJgdU8eq9UT9NddtaWVeAf58jrdFhF67EeHdsf5oy4KWz_o8XBm5zw_BLJfCiah5OF9MCFh9pwpVg4fx6PrNEUTQ-D8Mf3IjmZd00pljoMD9HmQIp-C5Zkp/s200/danabate.jpg" width="161" /></a></div>
~~~~~<br />
<i>Dana Bate is a freelance writer and former Washington producer and
reporter for PBS's Nightly Business Report. She studied
molecular biophysics and biochemistry at Yale University as an
undergraduate and received her master's degree from Northwestern's
Medill School of Journalism. She lives outside
Philadelphia. THE GIRLS' GUIDE TO LOVE AND SUPPER CLUBS is her first novel.</i><div class="blogger-post-footer">Subscribe with Feedburner</div>Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19050282.post-1561892007594103772013-07-03T10:29:00.000-05:002013-07-03T10:29:04.791-05:00Now Presenting: Brenda Janowitz!I "met" <a href="http://brendajanowitz.com/Site/home.html" target="_blank">Brenda </a>via the fabulous circle of women bloggers and writers in the Girlfriends Book Club, and she is every bit as sweet, thoughtful, and funny as her writing implies. I adore her! She recently re-released her first two novels <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Scot-on-the-Rocks-ebook/dp/B00CN0SER6/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1372864701&sr=1-1&keywords=brenda+janowitz" target="_blank"><b><i>Scot on the Rocks</i></b></a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Jack-with-a-Twist-ebook/dp/B00CW23C6S/ref=pd_sim_b_4" target="_blank"><b><i>Jack with a Twist</i></b></a>, and her latest, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Recipe-Happy-Life-Brenda-Janowitz/dp/1250007860/ref=sr_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1372864701&sr=1-4&keywords=brenda+janowitz" target="_blank"><b><i>Recipe for a Happy Life</i></b></a>, was just released by St. Martin's Press this week! Brenda is offering one signed copy for a lucky reader--<span style="color: red;"><b>just leave a comment with your email address, and you're entered to win! </b></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnjWHTmvWTf8z2i3YwNaoMBod2tK0x107nroRQlsAfrox_DnAWuPEuUfvBTbEDoyY3IFMmhroMsrn8QvSSn0wRYDuEI69mInS0uNqclDheH0oKaz-977UlVDdBJRbUgN5OzvMj/s1000/recipe+jacket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnjWHTmvWTf8z2i3YwNaoMBod2tK0x107nroRQlsAfrox_DnAWuPEuUfvBTbEDoyY3IFMmhroMsrn8QvSSn0wRYDuEI69mInS0uNqclDheH0oKaz-977UlVDdBJRbUgN5OzvMj/s320/recipe+jacket.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDsZcY5BqxHYeOCVQnPGrJynhYyJorx-t4YUK3DY_M3_c8WzUERy2VqAqNTEepOHW1KEKDPtJFBcibNnyRa8m2e-X2OMEMELrOOBDNUFeWpIlCsEChV_X-BwOHrjCl_gGkY_Uj/s300/brendaj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><span style="color: blue;"><b>1) Tell us about RECIPE FOR A HAPPY LIFE. How did you get the idea?</b></span><br /><br />RECIPE FOR A HAPPY LIFE is about three generations of women with a culture all their own. When Hannah finds herself spending the summer with her glamorous grandmother, a widow six times over, at her sprawling beach-front Hamptons estate, she learns that there’s more than one recipe for happiness. <br /><br />A story of mothers and daughters, grandmothers and grandchildren, RECIPE FOR A HAPPY LIFE is a quirky story about correcting the mistakes from your past and trying to create a future for yourself. <br /><br />As for where I got the inspiration, that would be my own grandmother, of course! One summer, when I was single, Grandma Dorothy informed me that she would be renting a house in the Hamptons. No more of these silly share houses I was doing with my friends each summer. They were getting me nowhere (read: still single and over thirty). Instead, I was to stay with her and she would help me meet someone. The only problem with this scenario was that I was sure she’d meet a man before I did. She had sparkling crystal blue eyes and a killer figure. My own hazel eyes and good birthing hips were no match for her easy glamour and style.<br /><br />When she found out that a Hamptons summer rental costs more than the gross national product of some countries, the idea sort of fell apart. But it gave me an idea—what if a young woman spent the summer out in the glamorous Hamptons with her even more glamorous grandmother?<br /><br />Both of my own grandmothers really inspired me to come up with the character of Vivienne, the glamorous widow six times over. Neither was a widow six times over, but both of my grandmothers were very glamorous ladies. When I think of my childhood memories, I’m not likely to picture them in aprons baking cookies. I picture them in evening gowns.<br /><b><br /><span style="color: blue;">2) Does the book include recipes, and if so--which is your favorite?</span></b><br /><br />Alas, no recipes. But I did love the recipes in YOUR short story, CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR! I’m going to try the spicy peanut noodles and the nostalgia risotto.<br /><br />I usually cook by feel, so I don’t actually have any written recipes! But one of my biggest regrets in life is not writing down the recipe for my grandmother’s chicken fricassee. One of these days, I’m going to start experimenting and figure out how my grandmother made it so delicious!<br /><span style="color: blue;"><br /><b>3) What's your best piece of advice for an aspiring author?</b></span><br /><br />I have lots! Here goes:<br /><br />Keep writing! It’s so easy to get discouraged or feel like you don’t have the time to write. But like anything else that is important in life, you have to work at it and make the time for it. <br /><br />There will always be excuses to avoid writing-- I have no free time, I have little kids, I have big kids, I don't have kids yet, my job is too demanding, I need to find a job... you fill in your own. If writing is really your dream, make the time. Start with a writing class, and then find a writer's group. Once you commit to taking the time to write, you'll be able to find the time to put pen to paper. (Or fingers to keyboard, as the case may be.)<br /><br />Edit! Editing your work is almost as important as the writing itself. Sure, you’re telling your story, but it’s also important to consider the way that you tell it. You want your writing to be tight, elegant and polished. It can only get to be that way through careful and thorough editing. <br /><br />Develop a very thick skin. You’re putting yourself out there when you write and not everyone is going to love what you do. But that’s okay! You’re not writing to please everyone out there. You’re writing because you have a story that you want to tell. So start getting used to criticism and then see tip #1—keep writing!<br /><br /><span style="color: blue;"><b>4) What book(s) do you love that you feel should be more widely read?</b></span><br /><br />Oh wow. So, so many!! The publishing landscape has changed so much lately, and so many books are getting lost in the shuffle.<br /><br />I’m a HUGE fan of your work. I recommend it to all my friends!! <br /><br />I’m also a huge Elinor Lipman fan. I’m always shocked when I meet someone who hasn’t read THE INN AT LAKE DEVINE. That book changed my life! Without that book, I don’t think I’d be a writer today.<br /><br /><span style="color: blue;"><b>5) And--you knew it was coming--give us a juicy, horrific, shameful, cringe-tastic teenage memory. </b></span><br /><br />Hmm, isn’t that just about EVERY teenage memory? Oh yes, maybe that’s just me. There was one in particular that is still particularly cringe-worthy for me.<br /><br />Government In Action. Back in high school, it was my favorite club, what with my aspirations to be a lawyer, and eventually get into politics. Government. In. Action. Don’t you just love the drama of it? <br /><br />Needless to say, we fancied ourselves very serious politicos back then—so much so, that for our big “Model Congress” weekend that we hosted, we got our state senator to come and speak at the Opening Ceremony.<br /><br />We were thrilled. By getting him to attend, we’d accomplished something that no other Model Congress had done—we’d smoked them all. And, really, what else is an exercise in faux-politics but a fight to the death for total one-upmanship?<br /><br />After weeks of waiting, our big weekend finally arrived. We were mere minutes away from our Opening Ceremony and couldn’t help but notice that our grand display was missing one very important thing: our state senator. I was one of the five students in charge of the weekend, and as the minutes ticked away, we all began to panic and run around the high school, looking for our state senator. Where was he? Was he going to show? Or was this just an evil trick on the part of Oceanside High School designed to make us look like fools?<br /><br />I covered the parking lot and the gym and ran into one of my co-chairs just as I got back to the entrance of the auditorium. There he stood calmly with his father. How could be calm at a time like this? I was not calm.<br /><br />I began ranting and raving about our friendly neighborhood state senator in a most un-statesman-like manner. Where was he? How dare he do this to us? Does he have no loyalty to his constituents? Or his constituents’s kids, as the case may be? What a *&%$# no-good politician this guy must be! Those politicians are all the same! My co-chair interrupted me mid-rant and introduced me to his father—who turned out not to be his father at all, but, of course, our state senator. <br /><br />Is it any wonder that I scrapped the political career and became a writer?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDLuYIzO3uiBxlFT1_-JK-qJsB0mrXx6xuA9l_w95y_SY185OMchabarU_IOfXuwhgcfw_JIAXg2MnTETybv_wusxVfMvRR59iuBXYoYN-dptOq7TAFco7EUPFC0bG9SfxSoSH/s300/brendaj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDLuYIzO3uiBxlFT1_-JK-qJsB0mrXx6xuA9l_w95y_SY185OMchabarU_IOfXuwhgcfw_JIAXg2MnTETybv_wusxVfMvRR59iuBXYoYN-dptOq7TAFco7EUPFC0bG9SfxSoSH/s200/brendaj.jpg" width="133" /></a>Isn't she awesome! Thanks so much, Brenda! (And I didn't even pay her to say those nice things about my own books!) Don't forget to comment to win a copy of her amazing new novel (tell us a memory about your own grandmother...) Have a safe and happy Independence Day, everyone! No aiming the fireworks at your neighbor's house!<br />
<br />
You can find Brenda online at her <a href="http://brendajanowitz.com/Site/home.html" target="_blank">website</a>, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/BrendaJanowitz" target="_blank">Facebook </a>page, or follow her on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/brendaJanowitz" target="_blank">@BrendaJanowitz</a>.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Subscribe with Feedburner</div>Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19050282.post-61031909831356444592013-06-30T12:45:00.000-05:002013-06-30T12:45:08.203-05:00Odds & EndsEvery ounce of my creative energy is being sucked into my new novel, which is probably the hardest thing I've ever written. New genre, multiple POV characters, major world-building....but great fun. So to keep from horribly neglecting the blog, I'll be featuring some fabulous weekly author interviews and giveaways over the next month with <b>Dana Bate, Dina Silver, Brenda Janowitz, Samantha Stroh-Bailey</b>, and more. Stay tuned, y'all!<br />
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<b><u>What I'm reading: </u></b><br />
Laurie Notaro's latest, <i>The Potty Mouth at the Table.</i><br />
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<b><u>What I'm watching:</u></b><br />
We just saw <i>World War Z</i>, and I was pleasantly surprised! A smart take on the zombie genre.<br />
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<b><u>What I'm listening to:</u></b><br />
Anything and everything eighties on Spotify.<br />
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<b><u>What I'm eating:</u></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihf_M0_9w6zl3DNOgvjvBfodQNK-cAi1d_PJyKDSUXaBaiCqGpd70043ne_ojPJ9zd1KG7lRKNZk42EUO-y43ZgCc3xkKN4lbkqDhAEJcN4DotTY8nzU01gsTjqZqlo5eGX7jC/s1600/IMG_1807.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihf_M0_9w6zl3DNOgvjvBfodQNK-cAi1d_PJyKDSUXaBaiCqGpd70043ne_ojPJ9zd1KG7lRKNZk42EUO-y43ZgCc3xkKN4lbkqDhAEJcN4DotTY8nzU01gsTjqZqlo5eGX7jC/s200/IMG_1807.JPG" width="200" /></a>Yesterday I made a pan of homemade granola bars: Melt 1/2 cup agave syrup that the elderly bagger made fun of me for buying, 1/4 cup brown rice syrup, 1/4 cup brown sugar, and 1/2 cup coconut oil in a small saucepan on the stove. Pour it over the following, which you've dumped in a large bowl: 2 cups oatmeal, 1 cup Rice Crispies, 1/3 cup chocolate chips, 1/2 cup coconut shreds, 1/3 cup dried cranberries, 1/3 cup pepitas, 1/4 cup ground flaxseed, 1/4 cup hulled hemp seed, and 1/4 cup chia seeds. Mix well. (It was kind of a hodgepodge of everything I had in the cupboard.) Press into a 9x12 greased Pyrex pan, bake at 350 degrees for 15 minutes, and cut into bars when cool. Try not to inhale them all in one sitting.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Adorable things my two-year-old niece said recently:</u></b><br />
"Come on guys, it's time o'clock!"<br />
<br />
And, about Daisy: "Him so cute!"<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi83QgFq-93tjlidIRpBaNdunKvebDMfpWeV3qsognr5HYSAEhMajapU_lSHu0xmO_YZr4mqUG7NH7wTjGaRkj5JMW68cvX5PVDLhylr2EgrngGu5hFJczvhtO32B34mOMf_zIi/s900/IMG_0216.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi83QgFq-93tjlidIRpBaNdunKvebDMfpWeV3qsognr5HYSAEhMajapU_lSHu0xmO_YZr4mqUG7NH7wTjGaRkj5JMW68cvX5PVDLhylr2EgrngGu5hFJczvhtO32B34mOMf_zIi/s320/IMG_0216.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deceptively adorable.</td></tr>
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The 2013 season of Monarch ranching is also underway:<br />
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See those teeny white specks on the flower buds and leaves? In four weeks, they'll be Monarch butterflies, with any luck. (It took me only five years, but I finally learned how to use the macro feature of my camera.) <br />
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We're also on Week Two of our CSA pick-ups--strawberries, kohlrabi, sugar snap peas, lettuce, asparagus, potatoes ... and I've got to cut this blog short because J wants to drag me down to South Park to a car show. Which, as you all know, I'm hugely into.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Subscribe with Feedburner</div>Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19050282.post-11456903344349431212013-06-26T10:08:00.001-05:002013-06-26T10:14:59.306-05:00Now Presenting: Dee DeTarsio!Let's keep this party rolling with another author interview and giveaway! I am so happy to welcome the lovely <b><a href="http://www.deedetarsio.com/" target="_blank">Dee DeTarsio</a></b> to the blog today, to help celebrate the recent launch of her latest novel, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/All-Restless-Life-Live-ebook/dp/B00CYPZ8YM" target="_blank"><b><i>All My Restless Life to Live </i></b></a>(isn't that a fabulous title?) I "met" Dee online when she contacted me after reading <b><i>All the Lonely People</i></b>--turns out she's a fellow Midwesterner, and she's damn funny, with a huge heart to boot. (Did I actually just type "to boot?" Moving on...) <span style="color: red;"><b>Leave a comment below and you'll be entered to win a signed paperback copy of her new novel!!</b></span><br />
<br />
About <a href="http://www.amazon.com/All-Restless-Life-Live-ebook/dp/B00CYPZ8YM" target="_blank"><b><i>All My Restless Life to Live</i></b></a>:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikkLYsdwKEsqTKw88CJ6RDbc_XDlAGqZyf6vWfHbOcsCxdSrG7rOzAnCKBOLEYlm2wdbswYjRGnBRKCAkLArkVBhnGvY2OjgUjKTWQxz64G1cn4FHe9IZoM-elKKGGlmDfIdWL/s1600/AMRLTL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikkLYsdwKEsqTKw88CJ6RDbc_XDlAGqZyf6vWfHbOcsCxdSrG7rOzAnCKBOLEYlm2wdbswYjRGnBRKCAkLArkVBhnGvY2OjgUjKTWQxz64G1cn4FHe9IZoM-elKKGGlmDfIdWL/s1600/AMRLTL.jpg" /></a><i>Life is a soap opera, especially for Elle Miller, who writes for one.
(Ellen dropped the "n" in her name in hopes of finding a better ending
for herself.) When her laptop crashes, she borrows her recently deceased
dad's computer and gets way more than she bargained for.<br /><br />Elle
unravels mysterious communications from his computer, while her mom
decides to give Internet dating a try. As Elle tries to save her career
at I'd Rather Be Loved with a storyline featuring a trip through
Atlantis, she takes a trip to the Emmys, and finds herself in the middle
of a romance between a real doctor and a hunk who just plays one on
TV. Friends, family, and clues from "the other side" all help Elle
figure out the difference between living the good life and living a good
life.<br /><br />Fans of Marian Keyes and Jennifer Weiner will delight in
Dee DeTarsio's sparkling prose and lively dialogue as she takes readers
into the heart of women's lives. Filled with friendship, love, loss,
betrayal, and challenges that force her characters to find their place
in the universe, Dee's novels give us that hopefully-ever-after we're
searching for.</i><br />
~~~<br />
<span style="color: blue;">1) Tell us about All my Restless Life to Live. (GREAT title, by the way!) Where did you get the idea? </span><br />
I always wanted to be a soap opera writer. (Even though an 8th grade career aptitude test indicated I would make an excellent farmer’s wife.) Of course, I also wanted to marry one of my junior high crushes, Jim Flower . . . which would have made me Dee Flower! (I need to write that book someday.)<br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;">2) What do you find most challenging about the writing life, and how do you address it? </span><br />
Distractio . . . <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimU7Ku8dY7kT87QSKWDefM1nfEu8Lo9QSkRD011mouEfPYf9C6NJHH9qWJC8MMlowh4Ty4Dhzee14akFVXEBmp6ppz9RbXfqPJP41hM0_qe8v2BiRg6eai6nAwwIh9wJDTmZsN/s1600/Midol.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimU7Ku8dY7kT87QSKWDefM1nfEu8Lo9QSkRD011mouEfPYf9C6NJHH9qWJC8MMlowh4Ty4Dhzee14akFVXEBmp6ppz9RbXfqPJP41hM0_qe8v2BiRg6eai6nAwwIh9wJDTmZsN/s200/Midol.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="color: blue;">3) What teenage memory makes you cringe?</span><br />
I had Scoliosis and wore a Joan Cusack Sixteen Candles back brace. So, there I was, buying feminine hygiene surfboards. The gum-snapping cashier was clicking her extra-long fingernails on the register keys. “Aw, did you have an accident?” With every ounce of teenage angst I possessed, I shuddered. “Yes.” <br />
<br />
“What happened?” She wanted to know. And in that moment, when the universe decided, Nope, still not humble enough, I realized she wasn’t referring to the incident in my white Jordache jeans. There wasn’t enough Midol in the world. <br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;">4) Writing humor is tough, but you make it look effortless. What's your secret?</span><br />
I grew up in Ennui, Ohio, and only wish I had started taking notes earlier—some of the funniest people I know are from the Midwest. (Have you met Jess Riley?) I think it is constant fear of tornadoes or being trapped in a snowstorm that forges a delightful melancholy of the absurd. Plus, I come from a long line of teasers where NOTHING is sacred. (And yes, my whole family totally made fun of my back brace.)<br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;">5) If you could have any super power, what would it be? </span><br />
I wish my super power was the ability to get by on four hours of sleep. Who are those freaks of nature and how can I become one? I am all about the recommended eight hours, and occasionally experiment with nine! <br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">~~~</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Thanks, Dee! Okay guys, <span style="color: red;"><b>leave a comment below to win a signed copy of <i>All My Restless Life to Live</i></b></span>, telling us whether or not you watched soap operas growing up, and if so, which one(s)? <u>Don't forget your email address</u>! <b>You have until midnight on <span style="color: red;">Friday, June 28</span> to enter. </b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">~~~ </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVutsRmFKlHYcAruzlcP4yqW_OXDgofMZyy4BWFesCIZQubB-EbdcYoIWAlxwbFWjYzfSKAv42PAtHmxoLtRkF-18HHwrkCfzhO5ZFnEtiaMRlaIz7B20iDtGKhXqFYh5jmFVD/s1600/deedetarsioweb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVutsRmFKlHYcAruzlcP4yqW_OXDgofMZyy4BWFesCIZQubB-EbdcYoIWAlxwbFWjYzfSKAv42PAtHmxoLtRkF-18HHwrkCfzhO5ZFnEtiaMRlaIz7B20iDtGKhXqFYh5jmFVD/s200/deedetarsioweb.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
<i>DEE DeTARSIO is a TV writer living in southern California. After growing
up in Ennui, Ohio, and graduating from The Ohio State University she
vowed never to be cold again (in a tantrum more worthy of Suellen than
Scarlett) and ended up in Tucson, Arizona, producing the news for the
CBS affiliate, oddly enough called KOLD-TV. She moved to San Diego where
she worked in the SeaWorld entertainment department as a
producer/writer. (Penguins are mean!) She then became a producer/writer
for the NBC affiliate.<br /><br />Dee is the author of hopefully-ever-after
novels: THE SCENT OF JADE, THE KITCHEN SHRINK (both finalists in the
prestigious San Diego Book and Writing Awards), 'TIL SOMEBODY LOVES YOU,
ROS, and HAOLE WOOD, 2013 Next Generation Indie Book Awards Finalist!
Her new book is ALL MY RESTLESS LIFE TO LIVE. <br /><br />Though her mother
never beat her (that hard) and her father is not a celebrity, she
suspects one of her four sisters is a vampire. </i><div class="blogger-post-footer">Subscribe with Feedburner</div>Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19050282.post-90437855829090897992013-06-19T08:46:00.000-05:002013-06-19T08:46:15.919-05:00Now Presenting: Stephanie Elliot!!Today on the blog I am super-excited to welcome <a href="http://www.stephanieelliot.com/" target="_blank"><b>Stephanie Elliott,</b></a> one of my best friends, writer or otherwise, to celebrate the recent release of her debut indie novel, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/What-She-Left-Us-ebook/dp/B00C68XQJG/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1371648371&sr=8-1&keywords=what+she+left+us" target="_blank"><b><i>What She Left Us</i></b></a>: a tender, insightful story about the relationships between mothers and daughters and sisters. We've got redemption, forgiveness, family secrets, and hot guys to fall in love with: what more do you need?!<br />
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<u><b>About <i>What She Left Us:</i> </b></u><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigkr8feD49oP-XEL-v7zxZaIXLPQJhJpVGpdrS3X0GaFzcBqgA7KRLjdnXsixHpdTOBxwR4AWRhvxuDZm2c7-nxgLogBFNtjXtLKhRmh-scrHibWNMo_ePHkG_glFN8Yu-pLf0/s1600/whatshe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigkr8feD49oP-XEL-v7zxZaIXLPQJhJpVGpdrS3X0GaFzcBqgA7KRLjdnXsixHpdTOBxwR4AWRhvxuDZm2c7-nxgLogBFNtjXtLKhRmh-scrHibWNMo_ePHkG_glFN8Yu-pLf0/s200/whatshe.jpg" width="133" /></a><i>Jenna and Courtney are dealing with the unexpected death of their mother
in different ways. Jenna broke off her engagement to the man she
thought she'd love forever, while Courtney headed back to college to
take charge of a dorm-floor full of college students as a resident
assistant.<br /><br />Six months later, Jenna is fueled by panic over the
news that the sisters may have the same disease that caused their
mother's death and she makes an irrational decision - she packs it up
and heads to college to be with Courtney. The timing couldn't be worse
for Courtney, who's discovering love for the first time with Mitch, a
sexy guitar player who may just be off limits.<br /><br />Emotionally
unstable, Jenna wonders if she made the worst mistake of her life by
breaking off her engagement with Darren, and when he shows up to make
amends, she can't help but second-guess her decision. But then there's
Clay, the compassionate bartender at Klippy's who seems to understand
everything Jenna's going through. And those hazel eyes just seem to see
right through to Jenna's soul…<br /> <br />As the girls maneuver through
their unpredictable futures, trying to manage their new health risks as
well as tumultuous love lives, Courtney finds a disturbing photograph
that indicates there may be more to their family than she ever imagined. </i><br />
~~~~~~~~<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTp05e15au865N2ogsv2Flz9v2ASTEU3Sq0-ACa1530xvJUivcO0e4gtkcngPDWJYprKMKo5Sb36GN7AUTPObXuSGaeuZRQPecKnTu4BeUs4FBswPr0dvpITQLKaU20BZHxmk9/s1600/cellphonelot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTp05e15au865N2ogsv2Flz9v2ASTEU3Sq0-ACa1530xvJUivcO0e4gtkcngPDWJYprKMKo5Sb36GN7AUTPObXuSGaeuZRQPecKnTu4BeUs4FBswPr0dvpITQLKaU20BZHxmk9/s200/cellphonelot.jpg" width="142" /></a></div>
Steph (of the popular blog<b> "<a href="http://manicmommy.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Booking with Manic</a>"</b>) has got <u>THREE </u>copies of her novella <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Cell-Phone-Lot-ebook/dp/B0073WA85U/ref=pd_sim_kstore_3" target="_blank"><b><i>The Cell Phone Lot</i></b></a> to give away to three lucky commenters with e-readers. <span style="color: red;">Don't forget to leave your email with your comment! I'll randomly pick a winner on Saturday. </span><br />
~~~~~~~~ <br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;"><b> 1. Where did you get the idea for <i>What She Left Us</i>?</b></span><br />
The idea for <i>What She Left Us</i> actually came to me after I read Gwendolen Gross' <i>The Orphan Sister</i>,
which is about two identical twin sisters and the third odd sister. It
made me wonder about the dynamics of sisters and what it would be like
to grow up as individual 'only' childs... like if one child were 10
years old and then another child came into the family some way, some how
later in life, and how the family would turn out. (My sister and I are
Irish twins, the same age for two
weeks out of the year, so it was interesting for me to think about two
sisters kind of far apart in age as young children.) That was the
original idea, and the original title was <i>The Only Other Child</i>, but the story turned into something so much more than that after that first idea. <br />
<br /><span style="color: blue;"><b>2. What songs are on the <i>What She Left Us</i> playlist?</b></span><br />
This one
is easy because these are the songs that played in the background at
the bar, Klippy's, and the songs that Mitch played on his guitar.
Totally random.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7VBex8zbDRs" target="_blank">"Gravity" by John Mayer</a><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iWOyfLBYtuU" target="_blank">Florence and the Machine's "Dog Days Are Over"</a><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N5EnGwXV_Pg" target="_blank">"Your Body is a Wonderland" by John Mayer</a><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kqXSBe-qMGo" target="_blank">"Brown Eyed Girl" by Van Morrison</a><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aBUU7AOiiv0" target="_blank">"Stay" by Rihanna</a><br />
Sugar Hill's Rap
<br /><br /><span style="background-color: blue;"><b><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: blue;">3. What teenage memory STILL makes you cringe?</span><span></span></span></b></span><br />
OK, I was
16 and babysitting my 5-year-old brother. My mom was working and my
boyfriend was over. (For the record, my sister and other brother were
home and I probably told THEM to watch him while I was 'busy!) It was
summer and probably around <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1885974782" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ">11 a.m.</span></span>
My boyfriend and I were fooling around in my bedroom, with the door
locked, or so I thought. Yeah, that happened... my little brother walked
in on us and found me in a compromising position. We weren't doing
everything, but I was not wearing anything on top. Ugh, cringing right
now at the memory. It gets worse. He's 5 years old. Do I bribe him
forever and have to live the rest of my life doing what he says to keep
him from telling Mom. Oh yeah, it happens to be Mom's birthday. I decide
I have to tell my mom what happens before my brother tells her or he
makes my life a living hell. So, 16-year-old me tells my mom, ON HER
BIRTHDAY, what my little brother caught me doing. Mortifying. <br />
<br /><b><span style="color: blue;">4. What do you feel are the components to a fabulous book?</span></b><br />
Characters, plot, suspense. First things that came to my mind. What are yours?<br />
<br />
(<span style="color: red;">Me: "That Nicholas Sparks didn't write it, times three."</span>) <br />
<span style="color: blue;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="color: blue;">5. What super power would you wish for?</span></b><br />
A couple -- Read faster, write faster, and
have stretchy arms so when I'm sitting at the table I could grab
anything I wanted without having to get up.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPk5vlnzqNf0ogPBw_m7JWG41o56NEZz1AgOKnuy_m5bGX8ww3_n241D-7OokJ4YxIVkI-IpZj4uqMhJwffzK5QB69JDGPv0bLxFn3af2V_2fPcm0l9rjKBO4wR-bilm2-g2UY/s1600/steph.jpg.w180h180.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPk5vlnzqNf0ogPBw_m7JWG41o56NEZz1AgOKnuy_m5bGX8ww3_n241D-7OokJ4YxIVkI-IpZj4uqMhJwffzK5QB69JDGPv0bLxFn3af2V_2fPcm0l9rjKBO4wR-bilm2-g2UY/s1600/steph.jpg.w180h180.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
~~~~~~~~<br />
<br />
Thanks, Steph!!! I laughed out loud at the stretchy arms. Don't forget to include your email address when you comment--<b>tell us what super power YOU'D wish for!</b> Why not. You have until Saturday to enter--three copies of <b><i>The Cell Phone Lot</i></b> up for grabs, so you've got good odds!!<br />
<br />
Find Steph on <a href="http://twitter.com/#!/stephanieelliot" target="_blank">Twitter </a>and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/StephanieSteinElliot" target="_blank">Facebook</a>.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Subscribe with Feedburner</div>Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19050282.post-14816632709059681262013-06-12T11:36:00.000-05:002013-06-12T11:36:05.798-05:00You're Terrible.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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I am married to a very funny guy whose humor is
delightfully subtle. He’s incredibly laid-back, nonchalant, sweet, and
unassuming, and then BAM—he’s delivered the perfect, understated one-liner that
has me gasping for breath. Much of his humor is incredibly inappropriate. For
example, while watching <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Voice</i>, I’ve
averaged three “You’re terrible!” comments per episode in response to his
twisted jokes and observations. </div>
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<br /></div>
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A strong case can be made that I’m just as terrible, but we
balance one another here; two terrible people in the household at the same time
is too much. </div>
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<br /></div>
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At any rate, this is how it goes:</div>
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J: (warped, sick comment about some poor contestant)</div>
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Me: “You’re terrible!”</div>
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J: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“In a hundred
years, the future Ghost Hunters team will come through this house with their EMF
detectors and MEL meters and FLIR thermal cameras and discover a residual
haunting loop of your disembodied voice saying, ‘You’re terrible!’ over and
over.”</div>
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Me: (long pause) … “You’re terrible.”</div>
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~~~~</div>
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<b><u>Other breaking news</u>:</b></div>
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<br /></div>
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I have managed to recreate most of the 1,500 words lost in the new novel when my flash drive died last week, though something about the *new* version still bugs me. </div>
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My garden is waterlogged but mostly happy, and I'll do a photo diary soon.</div>
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I have been downsized at work, but there are many silver linings--we'll be tightening our belts, but I'll have more time to write ... hopefully the new material doesn't revolve around double coupon shopping trips or a taste-test of ALDI wines or cat food. </div>
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We are now 33 days from the release of <i>Mandatory Release</i>. I can tell because my insomnia and nervous pukey feelings have been increasing daily. If you'd like to help me celebrate launch day on Tuesday July 16, I'll be doing an <a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/595789050439531/" target="_blank">event at Becket's Restaurant in Oshkosh for the Winnebago Literacy Council's</a>. Reading, chat, and book sales from 5-7; tickets are $25 and include snicker-snacks. All proceeds go to support the literacy council.</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Subscribe with Feedburner</div>Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19050282.post-16468629314570512852013-06-05T09:34:00.000-05:002013-06-10T11:11:05.531-05:00Now Presenting: Amy Sue Nathan!<div>
<div class="im">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Today on the blog I'm so thrilled to be hosting <a href="http://amysuenathan.com/" target="_blank">Amy Sue Nathan</a>, debut author of a fabulous new novel, <b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Glass-Wives-Novel-ebook/dp/B009LRWJMA" target="_blank">The Glass Wives</a></b> (St. Martin's). Amy started the popular <a href="http://womensfictionwriters.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Women's Fiction Writers</a> blog two years ago, and it's a wonderful place to find interviews with some of the best voices in the genre today. Amy is a kind, generous, and talented person, and <u>she's giving away a signed copy of <i>The Glass Wives</i> to one lucky reader</u>--<b><span style="color: red;">just leave a comment below to enter! </span></b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Synopsis for <u>The Glass Wives</u>: </i></span></span><br />
<br />
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNCdVXW2wMftHuE-1dygNgXZzhy1JxasAuxQcpZDkFKUvYHJeVoTT3_r3w3T2L4K4HAPb86MOWtMFuBRQ3kO8hKYHIcM6rKB6g-SPdGM-NvSQct8XXULJV0TkY0wM-tLlAN67Z/s1600/TGW+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNCdVXW2wMftHuE-1dygNgXZzhy1JxasAuxQcpZDkFKUvYHJeVoTT3_r3w3T2L4K4HAPb86MOWtMFuBRQ3kO8hKYHIcM6rKB6g-SPdGM-NvSQct8XXULJV0TkY0wM-tLlAN67Z/s320/TGW+cover.jpg" width="212" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Evie and Nicole Glass share a last name. They also shared a husband. </b>When
a tragic car accident ends the life of Richard Glass, it also upends
the lives of Evie and Nicole, and their children. There’s no love lost
between the widow and the ex. In fact, Evie sees a silver lining in all
this heartache—the chance to rid herself of Nicole once and for all. But
Evie wasn’t counting on her children’s bond with their baby
half-brother, and she wasn’t counting on Nicole’s desperate need to hang
on to the threads of family, no matter how frayed. Strapped for cash,
Evie cautiously agrees to share living expenses—and her home—with Nicole
and the baby. But when Evie suspects that Nicole is determined to
rearrange more than her kitchen, Evie must decide who she can trust.
More than that, she must ask: what makes a family? </span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> ~~~~~~</span></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">1) What inspired you to write <b><i>The Glass Wives</i></b>?</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">
My life! In the novel, the main character is a divorced mom whose
ex-husband dies leaving her with two kids and a mortgage and a big mess.
That happened to me in 2004. But, I turned the truth inside out and
upside down to write fiction because I wouldn't write about my real life
kids or our real hardships. It was fun to write with "what if" in
mind. </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="im">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">2) Who are some of your author idols?</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Judy
Blume, Margaret Atwood, Alice Hoffman. But really my idols are the
authors around me who are talented and generous who I'm proud to call my
friends. </span></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">3) What teenage memory makes you cringe?</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I
wore a lot of blue and pink eye shadow. I had very long nails and very
tight jeans. Oh c'mon. It was the early 80s and it was awesome. </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="im">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSU3RgtoRzrXpf_lSwKni432VfHWRXqPPkYH4kQSXLRGtT2Vtgyd_5Pj_QaTFtV_1NaTFmAS70lafZuqEwbYDGuXwZccgkUiJYTIGEU5qAB9SxNfIEMhsKb7u_EWZ4_LXvtvvx/s1600/AmyNathanMediumFile-200x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSU3RgtoRzrXpf_lSwKni432VfHWRXqPPkYH4kQSXLRGtT2Vtgyd_5Pj_QaTFtV_1NaTFmAS70lafZuqEwbYDGuXwZccgkUiJYTIGEU5qAB9SxNfIEMhsKb7u_EWZ4_LXvtvvx/s200/AmyNathanMediumFile-200x300.jpg" width="132" /></a><span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">4) What advice do you have for aspiring authors?</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Don't
give up. You can't have a book published if you don't write it, rewrite
it, rewrite it again, polish it, and put it out there for others to
critique. </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="im">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">5) You’ve been asked to bring a dish to a summer potluck. What’s your Go-To Recipe?</span></span></span></div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Now
that's when I cringe! The best thing anyone ever brought to one of my
backyard barbecues was a bag of ice cream novelties for dessert. I
thought it was so clever! And it was so much fun to just pass around the
bag and let everyone pick their own treat. If I had to cook and it was
summer, I like feta, watermelon, and mint (or basil) on skewers. </span></span></div>
<div>
~~~~~~</div>
<div>
Thanks, Amy! (I too LOVE Judy Blume, Margaret Atwood, and Alice Hoffman...) Don't forget to leave a comment <i>that includes your email address*</i> below to win a SIGNED COPY!!! Tell us YOUR Go-To summer potluck recipe. You have until midnight EST, Friday June 7 to enter. </div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<i>*Don't worry, I won't spam you, but I do need to get a hold of you if you win!</i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: red;">UPDATE: Contest closed. Congratulations Jess Bair! </span></i></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Subscribe with Feedburner</div>Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19050282.post-11461559279567411552013-05-29T08:46:00.000-05:002013-05-29T08:50:08.027-05:00It Came from 1991A lot of truly angsty things have been happening here lately, most of which I'm loathe to blog about (there's enough depressing stuff on the news)...but I WILL be posting at the <a href="http://girlfriendbooks.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Girlfriends Book Club</a> on Thursday about "Writing through Trauma," so head over there for a bit of TMI and such.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I've got new author photos (whee!) and behind-the-scenes activity underway before the launch of <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17878329-mandatory-release?auto_login_attempted=true" target="_blank">Mandatory Release.</a> Two fabulous author blurbs are in, and I can't wait to share more on all of this. In the meantime, if you add it to your Goodreads queue, I'd be ever so grateful! (Just click on the cover to the right.)<br />
<br />
But you know what's REALLY been on my mind lately? All of the horrible movies I dragged my long-suffering high school boyfriend to. (Can I end with a preposition there? Ah, who cares.) How many seventeen-year-old guys do you know who would have patiently sat through:<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>1) Hook.</i><br />
<i>2) Dying Young.</i><br />
<i>3) Sleeping with the Enemy.</i><br />
<i>4) My Girl.</i><br />
<i>5) The People Under the Stairs.</i><br />
<i>6) Regarding Henry. </i><br />
<i>7) A Few Good Men.</i><br />
<i>8) Wayne's World.</i><br />
<i>9) Candyman.</i><br />
<i>10) The Last of the Mohicans.</i><br />
<i>11) A League of their Own.</i><br />
<i>12) Patriot Games.</i><br />
<i>13) Single White Female.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Do you notice a trend there? Right. With some exceptions, they are all movies that post-menopausal women and men with Low T might enjoy.<br />
<br />
(A bright note among the garbage was <i>Silence of the Lambs</i>, but we saw that in the theater on EASTER SUNDAY, so I still had to make it all weird.) <br />
<br />
And then there were the movies I picked when we rented a flick: <i>The Fisher King. Dead Again. Fried Green Tomatoes. Driving Miss Daisy. King Ralph. The Prince of Tides. Thelma and Louise. Rush. L.A. Story. Far and Away. The Hand that Rocks the Cradle. Malcolm X. Of Mice and Men. A River Runs Through It. Shining Through. Unlawful Entry. </i><br />
<br />
Seriously. Why not just spin the wheel and skip over the interesting years, landing right on "cholesterol medication, reading glasses, receding gums, and you may want to reconsider attending that comedy show because you now have a shady, unreliable sphincter." We were sixteen and nearly eighteen!!! Practicing to be sixty and eighty!!! <br />
<br />
I don't know why all of this came to mind earlier this week. Maybe I'm getting contemplative as I get older. Maybe I caught the beginning of <i>Sleeping with the Enemy</i> on OWN and it triggered something in me other than <b>a) </b>gratitude that I hadn't married an abusive yuppie; and <b>b)</b> amazement at how young Julia Roberts looked in that film. Regardless, that boyfriend of two and a half years was exceedingly patient, and it still blows my mind how easygoing he was when it came to Things I Wanted to Do, including break up the week I got to college because like 95% of my girlfriends at the time, I wouldn't be ready to love a truly nice guy until I grew up a bit first. <div class="blogger-post-footer">Subscribe with Feedburner</div>Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19050282.post-43063358664956828852013-05-06T13:06:00.001-05:002013-05-06T13:07:14.291-05:00Now Presenting: Leslie Lehr<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMrmbVjG9QP2-40IHiMe9QJ-aM0SlSO0dPwMMxFMBGGJMCiT5ZBLHrUB0SvAQ3wvQxbSOQV41LNFEjxFPOfSZu0gUo3XCOVf6Ww0Y-3jlxEaY4n7yMGYLDO5XLzlIEbpM7KzLe/s1600/LEHR_Bookcover_May2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMrmbVjG9QP2-40IHiMe9QJ-aM0SlSO0dPwMMxFMBGGJMCiT5ZBLHrUB0SvAQ3wvQxbSOQV41LNFEjxFPOfSZu0gUo3XCOVf6Ww0Y-3jlxEaY4n7yMGYLDO5XLzlIEbpM7KzLe/s320/LEHR_Bookcover_May2013.jpg" width="212" /></a>I'm so happy to have the luminous, TALENTED Leslie Lehr on the blog today to celebrate the release of her latest novel, <em><strong><a href="http://www.amazon.com/What-a-Mother-Knows-ebook/dp/B00B2AO76U/ref=tmm_kin_title_0" target="_blank">What a Mother Knows</a>: </strong>a<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">n
unsettling, emotional and suspenseful novel of the unshakable bonds of
motherhood, in which Michelle Mason not only loses her memory after a deadly
car crash, but can't find her 16-year-old daughter, the one person who may know
what happened that day. But the deeper Michelle digs, the more she questions
the innocence of everyone, even herself. A dramatic portrayal of the fragile
skin of memory, <strong>What a Mother Knows</strong> is about finding the truth that can set
love free.</span></em></div>
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">NYT Bestselling author Caroline Leavitt called it an "achingly moving suspense drama. Dark and unsettling, but with a ray of hope like a splash of light, and a knockout ending you won't see coming."</span><br />
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Leslie has stated that it will be a few years before her next novel is available, so savor this one--I know I plan to! </span><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1) What inspired you to write <i>What a Mother Knows</i>? <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When
my daughter was in middle school, she started crying at night, every night -
and I felt so helpless. I imagined the worst. I wrote an essay called
“Parenting Paranoia” that Arianna Huffington excerpted in her book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">On Becoming Fearless</i>. But I was still
afraid. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Then I had jury duty
on a manslaughter case in which two women were suing the driver of a car that
crashed into a sports bar and killed their sons. We had to decide on the value
of their loss. And so, in the worst of what-ifs, I started worrying about what
my daughter’s value was to me, who I was without her…and how far would I go to
protect her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2) Who are some of your author idols?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Different novelists
inspire me for different reasons. Starting out, I idolized Carolyn See,
Margaret Atwood. and Isabelle Allende. I love current authors who combine beautiful
language with solid storytelling, like Leslie Schwartz and Carolyn Leavitt. I
love Jane Porter for writing as if she’s my best friend telling me a story. I
like Heather Gudenkauf and Jillian Medoff for sucking me into their worlds and
making me race to the end. I love Megan Abbot for being so snarky and Megan
Crane and Emily Griffin for making me smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And I’m loving all the authors in the Girlfriends Group Book Club – so
much diversity and talent like you, Jess, in this one group, it’s hard name
everyone! I do favor women authors, not just because I can relate, but also
because I do think it’s harder to carve out writing time, let alone a career. </span></div>
<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">3) What teenage memory makes you cringe?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Tumbling down the
stairs in front of my first date and his hunky big brother, who was driving us
to the Eighth Grade Dance. My girlfriend sewed a new dress for me<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>- a short flowered number – and I had a new
pair of platform shoes that I forgot to buckle. I’d been crushing on this boy
for months and was so excited that he asked me instead of a girl with bigger
boobs. I thought I’d make a grand entrance when he arrived, and did I ever. He
ended up being my boyfriend all through high school, but I could never look his
big brother in the eye.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></b><br />
<strong>4)</strong> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Are you a cat or dog person?<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Both. I adopted a cat
and named him Puppy when I started out on my own, because my apartment didn’t
take dogs. My younger daughter had several kittens - Buttercup, then Cupcake -
a friend asked of number three would be named Cup ‘O Soup. But they died
tragically, so my older daughter adopted a black lab and named her Scout after
the girl in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">To Kill a Mockingbird</i>.
When she left for college, I was traveling a lot, so we gave her to a family
with another dog to play with. (We see happy pics of her on Fb all the time.) Both
of my girls made up for it by adopting dogs as soon as they moved out after
high school. It drives me crazy, but they love those dogs, so what can I do? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><strong>5)</strong> </span><strong>What advice do you have for aspiring authors? <o:p></o:p></strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1.
Read!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2.
Love the process, that’s all you have control of.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">3.
Lock your refrigerator.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">4.
Write something good enough to make your family proud, but don’t let the
thought of your family stop you from writing something good.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">6) If you could have any super power, what would it be? <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I would like to zap
my kids from afar to be happy and safe all the time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
~~~~<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbK9Ell4390kK8Zs3X71ogVrUIS8O21VAFCSzKhF-ymAjufJQcD2ZYWCoBxBtJrAtSP9P7t_gjZ-8UqB5FGat5ybsT5jDEWys2pmXiVVvoFiKoMiZx_vRF0_QDIhseaLzR_kyW/s1600/LEHRauthorphoto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbK9Ell4390kK8Zs3X71ogVrUIS8O21VAFCSzKhF-ymAjufJQcD2ZYWCoBxBtJrAtSP9P7t_gjZ-8UqB5FGat5ybsT5jDEWys2pmXiVVvoFiKoMiZx_vRF0_QDIhseaLzR_kyW/s200/LEHRauthorphoto.jpg" width="200" /></a>Isn't she lovely? Leslie is a prize-winning novelist, screenwriter, and essayist; <em>What a Mother Knows</em> is her third novel. She's also incognito as "Chemo Chick" in Karen Rinehart’s breast cancer blog, <a href="http://sickofpink.tumblr.com/"><span style="color: #47601a;">Sick of Pink.</span></a> <strong><u>Book clubs, Leslie would LOVE to Skype with you after you read <em>What a Mother Knows</em>!</u></strong> (Which you're going to do, right???) She's got a beautiful website (<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://www.leslielehr.com/" target="_blank"><strong><span style="font-size: small;">www.leslielehr.com</span></strong></a><span style="font-size: small;">); you can also find her on Facebook (</span><a href="http://www.facebook.com/authorleslielehr" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: small;">www.facebook.com/<wbr></wbr>authorleslielehr</span></a><span style="font-size: small;">) and Twitter (<span style="color: darkgreen;">@leslielehr1).</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"></span><br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">Subscribe with Feedburner</div>Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19050282.post-6116307249118580042013-04-14T13:44:00.000-05:002013-04-14T14:02:59.541-05:00Gearing UpIf you're an avid reader of this blog (stop laughing), you may have noticed a few changes to the layout. Yes, things are happening! A new header is in the works, and I'm also going to tackle my disaster of a website in the next few months.<br />
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Spring cleaning, yes, but also because I'm gearing up to launch <b><i>Mandatory Release</i></b> this July. *breathes into a paper bag* I have cover art, and I am DYING to share it with you all....soon enough. Julie Metz designed it, and guys: she did the cover for Judy Blume's <b><i>Summer Sisters</i></b>. Recognize any other names in her <a href="http://www.metzdesign.com/bookcover-portfolio-pg1.php" target="_blank">portfolio</a>? She's amazing, amazing. More on this soon...<br />
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<b><i>Mandatory Release</i></b> is "officially" my third novel, but I actually started it fourteen years ago, under a different title, with a different plot and different characters. I've read the opening chapter at several book events years ago, so some of you may remember it.<br />
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I don't know if other authors are like this, but my novels feel sort of like my children; I always worry, at least a little, when I release them into the big, wide world. But with <i>Driving Sideways</i> and <i>All the Lonely People</i>, I felt they could take any kind of heat. Strangely, the book with the toughest setting and darkest themes and most vulnerable, honest, and raw characters is the book I'm most protective of. It's the book closest to my heart. It's the book that felt like opening a vein and bleeding onto the page.<br />
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<b><i>Mandatory Release </i></b>features my favorite character ever; if you liked <b><i>Driving Sideways</i></b>, I basically took Leigh Fielding, gave her a spinal cord injury, a crush on a coworker, mild anger issues, and a job in a prison. Oh, and I made her a guy. Okay, that sounds a little weird. But I think you're going to like Graham. He's got a sick sense of humor, lots of hope, and lots of heart.<br />
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It's a crazy mash-up of dick lit and women's fiction, written in alternating POV chapters. Maybe my tagline can be, "Throws like a girl, writes like a boy." My editor said it reminded him of Tom Perrotta, and I had to lie down when I heard that because <b><i>The Wishbones</i></b> is only one of my FAVORITE BOOKS EVER.<br />
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So. New author photo next week. Cover reveal soon. Blog and website overhaul underway. Final copyedits in process. <br />
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If you're in the Appleton, WI area this <b>Wednesday April 17, I'll be at the Little Chute Public Library at 6:30 pm, for the <a href="http://www.foxcitiesbookfestival.org/" target="_blank">Fox Cities Book Festival</a>.</b> I'm not sure what exactly I'll be talking about, but bring some questions--let's play "Ask Me Anything!" (Er, sort of.) <br />
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<b><i>Sneak Peek:</i></b> Yesterday I created a playlist featuring songs that would be my soundtrack for <b><i>Mandatory Release</i></b>. There's one key song that I didn't include, because if I did, I'd give a huge plot point away. I was all proud of how I figured Spotify out until I saw that a few songs didn't make it over on the embed, so you'll just have to pretend "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7xzU9Qqdqww" target="_blank">Pursuit of Happiness</a>" by Kid Cudi, MGMT, and Ratatat is there. Also, if anyone wants to make MR into a movie? I always thought "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QqZ0Sdz_V40" target="_blank">Vaya Con Dios</a>" by Les Paul and Mary Ford would be a fun backdrop to a riot scene. Just sayin'.
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<iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="380" src="https://embed.spotify.com/?uri=spotify:user:jrwrites:playlist:6zq3O4JZ3tU06RIXzWV16C" width="300"></iframe>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Subscribe with Feedburner</div>Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19050282.post-14482744719366714812013-04-02T06:00:00.000-05:002013-04-02T06:00:08.219-05:00Bad School Musical
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Spring is in the air, and for me that means Grant Crunch
Season: late nights, poor personal hygiene, sleepless nights, and the attention
span of a cricket born in a fuel refinery. </span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I was a kid, I liked spring a lot more. Except for our
spring concerts. Every year, my entire elementary school put on an all-school
musical in the gymnasium. The themes changed annually. When I was in second
grade, we sang “Up, Up, and Away” and “The Trolley Song” for a
transportation-themed musical, because there’s probably nothing more exciting
for young girls than singing about cars, planes, trains, trucks, boats, and
motorcycles. The next year my class dressed up like ragamuffin orphans to
sing “It’s a Hard-Knock Life” for the school’s version of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Annie</i>. We did <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Sound of
Music</i> in fourth grade, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Peter Pan</i>
in fifth grade.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was during that performance that the second-ugliest
picture of me ever was taken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Look at
this! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em><strong></strong></em></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em><strong>Music Teacher:</strong></em> “Hey kid, you have a nice, fat head and look like
a prepubescent boy. Want to be Captain Hook?”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em><strong>Me:</strong></em> “Sure! I’ve always wanted to wave around a plastic hook
hand while singing an off-key solo before a hot, crowded gymnasium full of parents
forced to sit on hard, metal folding chairs. I'm going to look so awesome in that hat!”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next year could have been somewhat redeeming. Our sixth
grade class (the far-flung Eden Elementary contingent) would meet all the other
sixth grade classes from Campbellsport at the annual 6th Grade Spring Camp experience--sort
of a “meet & greet” before they threw us together in the junior high
blender the next school year. </span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And we were sure to make a great first impression with our
medley of Beach Boy tunes. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We earnestly practiced for weeks. Everyone had a part to
play. Me? I pretended to ride in a car, bopping my head and doing some kind of
hand motions to “California Girls” with three other kids from my class. We
sounded awesome. We were so psyched. The day of the camp performance arrived,
and we donned our surfer shorts, pastel tops, Swatch watches, leis, and dorky smiles.
Each song had a carefully choreographed dance routine, accompanied by piano. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jazz hands may have been involved.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The other sixth grade classes? Lip-synched to Bon Jovi in acid-washed
jean jackets and sunglasses. They were accompanied by a boom box and somehow, a
kick-ass laser show. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one was told to
smile. No one flashed jazz hands, but there may have been some rudimentary
break-dancing.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Afterwards, we felt as if a trick had been played. At least
I did. I’d spent years lip-synching into the mirror in my bedroom, only to
never have the opportunity to publicly display my talents. Lip-synching was actually an option? As was
maintaining some sort of cool factor in the critical weeks before the first day
of seventh grade?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Also, it’s a miracle none of us were beaten. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fast-forward two years to the eighth grade spring chorus concert.
I vaguely recall singing a bunch of shitty rock songs (“R.O.C.K. in the USA” comes
to mind), and the show was to close with a stirring rendition of White Lion’s “When
the Children Cry.” All of us were supposed to sit on the edge of the stage, our
legs dangling into the void before the front row—to make it more profound or
intimate, maybe, or so the audience would have more difficulty seeing us…it’s
hard to say. Our chorus teacher revealed the true extent of some childhood head
injury when he said to us, “Everyone! Idea! Find a small child to bring with you for
our final performance. The kids are going to sit on your laps while you sing ‘When
the Children Cry.’”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Luckily, I had a three-year-old sister, so I was set. Others
begged to borrow children from babysitting clients. Some classmates simply couldn't find a kid to sit on their lap for the song and were summarily banished to the edges of the line-up, which made the rest of us hugely jealous and resentful. I can tell
you laps were urinated on, and children actually did cry. Beyond that, I've suppressed most of the memory.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> <strong><em>Behind the Music:</em></strong> every kid in that class (one of two required electives--it was that or band) had to select and sing a SOLO in front of THE WHOLE 8th GRADE CHORUS CLASS that semester. And when I say "every kid," I mean every kid: the jocks, the nerds, the farm boys, the cheerleaders, the burnouts, the shy bookworms, ALL of us in our awkward, tuneless, voice-cracking, middle school glory. By the time we'd selected our Top 40 sheet music, practiced at the piano with Mr. Krumbein, and actually sung the fucker into a microphone before nearly fifty of our peers, a kid peeing on your lap during a White Lion song sounded great by comparison. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In case you were wondering, I picked "Heaven" by Bryan Adams. I made my friend Pam sing "The Living Years" by Mike and the Mechanics, and I still can't believe what an evil bastard I was back then.</span><div class="blogger-post-footer">Subscribe with Feedburner</div>Jess Rileyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06987689969282168406noreply@blogger.com4