Rumors of my death, dismemberment, infection with Ebola, or ISP troubles have been greatly exaggerated. Which is not to say that I haven’t appreciated all the emails I’ve been getting over the last few days wondering where the heck I’ve been. Muchas gracias.

Here’s what happened. I just took a road trip to upstate New York which was, if not a demonstration of Murphy’s Law, a demo of Murphy’s Law Lite. Almost everything that could go wrong did.

Let’s start with the leaving. I left last Thursday, and before I left, I wrote a lovely post about Shanna Swendson’s new release, Once Upon Stilettos, and about the fact that I wouldn’t be posting for a few days. Ahem. Never posted, the stupid thing. (It’s there now… right below this one.) I might have noticed this problem, but unfortunately, a sudden fire alarm forced SB and me out of our apartment building, where we were kept for several hours. By the time they let me back in, I was running so late that I forgot half of the things I was supposed to bring with me on my journey. Stuff like: pajamas, sleeping bags, hair dryers, and toothpaste.

I did, however, check email quickly (such an addict!), and I had one from my editor. Unfortunately, in my hurried response, I managed to give her the impression that my apartment had burned down.

Next, I hit the road, and though I successfully navigated the DC beltway, I soon found myself embroiled in a multi-hour standstill outside of harrisburg care of one jack-knifed tractor trailer. Fun. Finally arriving in Pennsylvania at my cousin’s place, I enjoyed a peaceful dinner and visit. The next morning (Friday), I bought a hairdryer, PJs, and toothpaste, borrowed some sleeping bags from my aunt, and eased my editor’s fears that I’d lost everything in a blaze.

I grab KidBrother#1 from the Ithaca airport (he flew in from Georgia) and head off to KidBro #2’s Girlfriend’s apartment. KidBro#2 and Girlfriend are the exact opposite of Packed to Move Out in Two Days. Also, they don’t have the internet access I was expecting. Much trouble ensues as KB1 (whose job is utterly dependent on internet access, as is internet community moderator) and I try to make do. Finally get slow connection enough to see I have day old email from agent wondering where I am. In my frustration, I respond with very harried sounding email. Agent calls: am I upset about something? Why, yes, packing to move –especially if it’s not my move — does that to me. No offense meant.

Commence several hours of non-packing while in guise of packing, interrupted every few minutes by my father, whom I love, but who has the unfortunate need to keep me regularly updated on mom and his progress on the interstate. Phone. Doesn’t. Stop. Ringing. Ever.

When it rings for the 35th time, I answer harriedly. Of course, is my agent. Agent has good news. (No, you don’t get to find out yet. But something good did happen this weekend.) I thoroughly convince agent I am not mad at all. Am in fact highly ecstatic.

KBs 1+2 and Girlfriend get in car to meet folks for dinner. On way, am caught by some stupid stupid totally unfair absolutely ridiculous reckin freckin speedtrap. Police clearly going for world record in ticket-writing, as does so with such rapidity that he’s gone and off to catch another hapless person going 13 over at the bottom of a hill before he’s even managed to tell me what my ticket is for and the charge. Grrrrr… my buzz from agent call is totally ruined.

Go to dinner. Dinner good. Convocation following morning (Saturday) is boring and drizzly. Still no internet access. We ship an enormous amount of stuff that belongs in apartment. That evening, KB2’s Girlfriend’s family arrives and we all go to dinner. KB2 and GF have booked reservations at a Japanese hibachi restaurant. Since Ithaca is a small town currently completely overrun with families looking for restaurants in which to dine, reservations are key.

This particular Japanese restaurant, however, does not seemed to have grasped the concept. How else to explain fact that not only were all the dining spaces quintuply booked, but they were willy nilly crossing out party members and hibachi/table preferences as we stood there watching them, then claiming that we’d called and made those changes ourselves. When we first arrived, we were the only people not seated. We checked in, and then were told that it would be a bit of a wait. Fine. As we wait, four other families come in. Fifteen minutes pass. One of the other families is given the nearest vacated table. Mom, KB1, and GF go off to see how that could have happened, which is when they discover hostess’s creative accounting. meanwhile, other family, who also came in after us, try to sneak towards table. Noticing this, I step in. Bleach blond skank-makeup chick says “I had reservations here since January.” I say, “how lovely for you. We were here before you.” Huge man with protruding beer belly sticks said belly in my personal space and says, “We’re taking this table.”

I stand even closer and say, “I’d like to see you try it.” Staring match ensues. He loses, since I can smile menacingly with the best of them. Skank says, “Let’s just go someplace else.” Good riddance. I should have saved my triumphant face however, because when he sees it, he gets nasty. He then looks at skank and says, “Just sit down.” She moves towards seat. I step in front of her.

Manager of restaurant starts to cry.

Skank says to me, “Why do you have to have such an attitude about this?” Can you believe that? Like I’m the one stealing tables and getting my fat boyfriend to attack women? I’m not denying I have attitude, but seriously. Hello pot, my name is kettle.

Manager, now sobbing openly, begs seated group now on dessert to move away from hibachi.
They do, wondering if skank and I will fight, and if so, is her bleached hair flammable, what with hibachi and all. And then the Manager, in a positively brilliant move, seats our groups TOGETHER.

Have you ever seen that whole Sharks and Jets thing? Yeah, like that. But with tempura.

Anyhoo, because KB2’s Girlfriend has a mouth on her and isn’t afraid to use it, Skank & Co. eat and run. GF’s family is a little shocked, and GF says that she’s never seen someone so aggressive about getting a table. Cross an Italian with an ex-waitress food critic, and this is what you get, methinks. And I’d already dealt with too much crapola that weekend.

Next day (Sunday) is graduation. Cornell is very hilly. KB2 graduates cum laude, and already has an awesome job and apartment. Very exciting. At some point, I hurt my foot. I have no idea how, but by the time I go to bed it’s throbbing muchly. Next morning, too. Unfortunately, that is the day (Monday) we have to pack entire apartment into back of parents’ rental van and my midnight blue Mazda3 hatchback, Nikita. (Nikita fits a lot of stuff, much more than anyone in family expected.)

Dad bandages my foot, and I try to stay off of it as much as possible, which is difficult considering that I’m the only one who realizes Nikita’s potential. I get all kinds of crap in there they didn’t think would fit. Eventually we are packed, drop KB1 off at the airport, and drive down to Pennsylvania. Before we get there, my foot is hurting so badly I can hardly press the accelerator. Or, of more concern, the brake. I switch places with mom. I sit there, nursing foot, as Mom, Dad, KB2 and GF (and uncle) unpack. Then we go to uncle’s house, where I chill with chardonnay, several icepacks, and family. Since it was still very early, I’d hoped to return to DC on Monday, but I coudln’t drive with my foot. Aunt pitches me a sleeping bag in cousin’s room and all insist they will wake me up early to go home.

Early is 8 a.m. I ice up, take a few advil, and hop in car, thanking all manner of deities for cruise control to take some of the pressure off. In process of drive home, am innocently eating a caramel to keep my strength up and realize that I’ve broken my tooth.

I’ve. Broken. My. Tooth.

I’m surprised I didn’t run off the road in shock. Seriously, this might be the worst time ever to break my tooth. The day after tomorrow, I am going to my fifth year college reunion, where I of course have to look breathtaking, not like a haggled-tooth hack. After that, I’m going to New York for a decadent writer’s — well, not weekend, but weekday — retreat.

Did I mention that I don’t have a dentist in DC? Grrrrr! Get on phone with SB’s mom and manage to lisp out situation. She promises she’ll see if I can get in with her dentist. Bless the woman!

Meanwhile, parents, bro, and bro’s girlfriend are enjoying champagne and pizz in bro’s new apartment before jetting off to Paris and Rome, respectively, for 30th anniversary and graduation trip… respectively.

I’m driving through hot traffic with a broken foot and a chipped tooth and a bag of dirty laundry. And then I hit 95, which is, you guessed it, shut down.

And that, boys and girls, was my weekend.

Oh, it’s not that bad, I guess. I did see my family, which is always fun, and my brother, who clearly rocked his university experience. I drank a lot of champagne, got some good news from my agent, and SB’s mom’s dentist was in fact able to get me in at 5 p.m. to fix my tooth. And I made lasagna so SB doesn’t starve when I leave on Thursday for a week.

But if my foot is really hurt, walking around New Haven and Manhattan is going to be a bitch.

Grrrrrr…

I’m super-excited for today’s GCC tour of Shanna Swendson and her new release, Once Upon Stilettos. Not only is Shanna a buddy of mine, but I’ve been waiting for this book, the second installment in her Enchanted Inc. series. I read the first when it came out last year. Since I’m now working on a sequel in the series myself, I couldn’t wait to see how Shanna handled the challenge.

And I’m pleased to relate that OUS had everything a good sequel should — deepening and developing relationships, more of the characters we know and love, more info about the “big bad,” and a few monkey wrenches thrown into the rules we only thought we knew.

This installment tests Katie’s mettle when her magical immunity, the kind of anti-superpower superpower upon which Swendson’s series is based, begins to falter. Since Katie’s job at Magic, Spells and Illusions, Inc. is based upon her uniquely non-magical properties (she’s so unmagical that magic spells won’t even work on her, so she’s the only one who can tell if people are using illegal magic), it’s a tough situation. While reading, I found myself wondering what I would do in Katie’s position. There are definitely some sticky ethical issues going on if you have a job that requires a certain skill and you don’t have it, especially when it’s an issue of life or death. Because Katie’s defining character trait has always been her supreme practicality, I would have thought she’d tell someone straight away. I know I would have. It’s definitely a testament to how much it meant to her to be working at MSI, that our heroine would undertake such a risky proposition in order to stay there. There were a few times that I just wanted to grab her and shake her! Had she lost her famous no-nonsense ‘tude along with her magical immunity? Of course, once she does open up, things catch fire and I wound up loving the last part of the book. The payoff is worth the wait!

But it makes me wonder: would I have had the patience to root for Katie through what was arguable a pretty unheroic act if I hadn’t seen how much MSI had meant to her in the first book? Or, if I hadn’t read the first book, would I have found Katie’s secret-keeping a little easier to believe, since I hadn’t seen how practical she had always been before? I discussed the book with another reader who hadn’t read the first one; she didn’t think at all that it was odd that Katie would keep her secret — after all, have you seen the rent in Manhattan? Girl needs a paycheck, qualifications or no. (Talk about practical!) Another reader who had read the first said she thought the same thing. that Katie was being as practical as ever, what with the tough job market and all.

But it’s an interesting debate nonetheless. Are you able to make riskier choices with series characters because the reader is more likely to have “known” them and loved them longer? Or are you even more constrained by series characters becuase people who think they “know” them have definite ideas about how your character should act, even if it’s not your idea? After all, after your character is out in the world, it only marginally belongs to you. Everyone else gets a take on him or her as well.

Anyhoo, pick up a copy of Once Upon Stilettos (and, while you’re at it, Enchanted, Inc.) and decide for yourself. Or, just pick up a copy because Owen is very very very very hot.

Very hot. And has a killer apartment. That’s all I’m going to say. What with spoiler warnings, and all.

(H.O.T.)

Oh, crud! I got so distracted by all that “what authors look like” chatter yesterday that I forgot to announce the winners of the ARC giveaway. Let me rectify that, and make it up to my loyal blog readers by giving away not one, but TWO copies, as chosen by Sailor Boy:

Madison Reece
(PS: Madison, SB was bowled over by the whole “two chapters” idea…)

Lanie
(PS: Lanie, Sailor Boy says he wants photographic proof of that Undie thing… oh, and congrats on being the only person in all of New Zealand to score a copy of this thing!)

Winners, please email me (at the address listed in the little pink box to the right) with your mailing address.

Everyone else, there will be many more giveaways in the coming months.

In the comments trail of the last post, someone said:

(1) You talk so much here about fellow writers’ appearances and how beautiful they are. (2) It’s apparent from your own pictures that you’re very attractive as well and that must certainly help when people come to get a book from you or the author, Gina, you mentioned. How much does this mean for a writer? Obviously your writing still has to be good, but what do us “Plain Jane” authors do to publicize ourselves more when we can’t fall back on natural beauty like so many of the people you mentioned here from BEA. (3) Are looks a hindrance when trying to write in a certain genre? (4) Do you advice writers who get bought to do a makeover, lose weight, get a tummy tuck to hide the three kids you’ve birthed? (ha!) It’s certainly something I fear since I’m anything but glamorous (my husband and kids think I am, of course.)

(1) Wow, first of all, do I talk about how people look a lot? Well, okay, Barack Obama… but I don’t think I’m alone here. That man is seriously smokin’ and seriously smart, and also a U.S. Senator, and those things lend a very definite air of attraction. (Cf. JFK.) And I suppose I mentioned Gena, but I think that was because the lady doth protested WAAAAAAY too much about not getting a chance to fix her hair pre-signing due to flight lateness and I was publicly ribbing her about how she looked stunning even without her curling iron, which, I do these things, because we’re buds and you know, fellow League of Extraordinary Gentlewomen. But when I talk about what writers look like when I meet them at BEA, it’s mostly because before I met them, I had no clue what they looked like. Of course I think finding out what they look like in person is one of the cooler things about actually meeting them in person.

I think any time you meet someone that you know a lot of through some other medium, there is a moment when you coincide what you thought they looked like in your head with what they actually look like. It’s that whole, “Yeah, Marky Mark is so much shorter than I thought he’d be…” moment. I think that the effect is strengthened with writers. At least movie stars and rock stars and stuff you tend to see on television, so you at least have a clue what their facial features are like. Ever meet a radio DJ? Meeting a writer is kind of like that. I read and fall in love with the works of writers and most of them, I wouldn’t know from Adam if I saw them on the street. It’s always interesting to see how well they match up to the way we’ve pictured them (or not)! Like a few years ago, when I met James Patterson? Don’t laugh, y’all, but in my head, he looked exactly like Morgan Freeman. Um, wrong.

(2) Nothing. I think it means absolutely nothing. I don’t think anyone came to pick up a copy of my book because they thought I was cute. I can’t stress this enough. I actually am not really interested in going into it again. Nobody buys books because of what the author looks like. People go to movies because the star of the movie is pretty– there’s that whole joke about turning down the volume and just watching pretty people on film. But that doesn’t work for books. Books are just black text on white pages. So what an author looks like doesn’t matter one little bit. And no writer is “falling back” on what they look like at all. Absolutely, positively, not one bit. Because a book is just words, and it has to stand on its own. The only writers at BEA that seemed to draw folks in any large number were celebrities (the line for Jim Belushi was out the door!) or famous authors (ditto Charles Frazier). I was lucky enough to discover a few famous authors signing on the DL (or at least, discover them before the masses did) and didn’t wait in a long line for Dave Barry, Geraldine Brooks, or Holly Black. And when I met HB, I got to add to my list of “Reasons to be Jealous of HB” a second reason, right behind “1. Frickin’ amazing writer” I put “2. Wears eyeliner like no one’s business.” I must admit a seething envy towards anyone who can figure out eye makeup. I’m hopeless.

(3) It might get a bit sticky if you’re trying to write a beauty manual. Of course, I could be wrong — as long as you know how to make other people beautiful, right? Other than that, see above re: black text, white page.

(4) Holy Scott Westerfeld, no way! One thing you will not be seeing on Diana’s Diversion is a suggestion that anyone get plastic surgery (except for in the case of oh, disfiguring burns or cleft palates or etc.). Which is not to say that I think it is in your best interest to go into any kind of public situation looking slovenly. Take a shower, brush your hair, wear a smart outfit. You know, the usual.

Don’t focus on the wrong stuff. Worrying about what you look like is totally not important in this business. Write well. Just write well.

(Note: Drawing for ARC winners tomorrow!)

1. Got there bright and early. (9:30 on the dot) to meet editor (the cutie to my left) for breakfast.
2. Wandered around until editor showed up. parking in DC is so not fun.
3. Collected a few fun books, including the kind of “I almost died in the wilderness and this is how I got out” non-fic my mother goes gaga over.
4. Met Maria V. Snyder, author of Poison Study, and snagged two ARCs of the sequel, Magic Study (not to be confused with Justine Larbalestier’s Magic Lessons!) — one for me, one for Sailor Boy’s mom.
5. Had bagels with editor.
6. Considered stalking Barack Obama.
7. Walked around with editor. realized I am absolute novice when it comes to working floor of BEA convention hall. Kerri taught me the ropes, though. Seriously, my swag has increased exponentially.
8. Got ready for signing. Met a journalist from PW.
9. Hung out with debut author Simone Elkeles (How to Ruin a Summer Vacation, FLUX). Picture at right.
10. Signed books. Signed sooooooo many books. Obviously need to work on my signing hand. Still a bit sore. Met a lot of hometown booksellers from DC, which was great, a few people I know from online, and a lot of folks looking for a fun read for the plane ride home. Many people picked up a copy for their daughters, wives, or the bookseller at their store they thought would most enjoy the story. I even met a man (Barry Lyga, author of the much touted upcoming Astonishing Adventures of Fan Boy and Goth Girl - and yes, robin, he said you sent him) whose friend was in the first female tap class of Skull & Bones. How cool is that? I heard a lot of “trials of travails of my daughter, who is applying for college.” I sympathize with those folks. Tough few years…
Also a lot of Ivy League representers, and even a woman who took two copies for the alumni reunion next week (I’ll be there). Here’s a picture (Simone took pictures of me signing!)
11. Stopped by the Ellora’s Cave booth one last time (they were already breaking it down) to chat with my old boss, Susan Edwards, who now works in publicity at EC. I do so love my Ellora’s Cavemen calendars. Great as gifts. (And once again, Kerri knows from the swag!)
12. Exhausted and totally weighed down, headed home to sleep and read the thousands of pages of books I collected.

1. Brought a backpack. This is very important, as allowed for most of the the following…
2. Discovered that there was a whole, special section for autographing upstairs in the “children’s publishing and Ellora’s Cave” section that she had not known about.
3. Met Simone Elkeles and the Flux crew, including Andrew Karre. Got a “new literati” pin.
4. Met a brand-new agent looking to build her list at a hot agency. Oooh, secrets, secrets… Here’s a hint. She shares the same last name as a very famous award winning female author. No relation.
5. Went with aforementioned brand new agent to meet M.T. Anderson, author of L.A. Times Notable book FEED. Met M. T. Gushed appropriately. (This chonicler did so enjoy the Anderson. If you like the Westerfeld, try the Anderson. That’s all I say.)
6. Became the brunt of vaguely bigoted jokes at another signing. Laughed uncomfortably in case the guy was just talking out of his ass and got the heck out of Dodge.
7. Stumbled across a Geraldine Brooks signing of the TPB of Pulitzer Prize-winning MARCH. despite much respect for Jim Belushi, was disappointed that there wasn’t more love for Brooks as measured by line in front of Brook’s booth as compared to Belushi. Discovered that Brooks has English accent.
8. In line for Brooks, met two lovely ladies from bookstores in VA who had both read SSG ARCs and loved them. Gave them card to invite them to set up signings.
9. Went to a signing with Maureen Child and Miz Zachary.
10. Visited the Yale Press and saw a buddy’s book in their catalogue. refrained from talking to much about the role they play in SSG. Did, however, mention SSG.
11. Met up with Gena Showalter, who of course, as usual, looked drop dead gorgeous, despite protestations of delayed flight, broken hair accoutrements, blah blah blah blah, beautiful, beautiful, red-streaks-in-hair gorgeous, slim lovely beautiful. Also, hungry. Gena signed, Diana procured for Gena French fries. Gena, in turn, noted that her book, Playing With Fire, was dedicated to Diana. Diana decided to mention Playing With Fire as often as possible on blog. Considered new saying in which anything heretofore considered cool might now be considered Playing With Fire. May have potential.
12. In line for Gena’s and Heather Graham’s signing, met another bookseller, who actually is in spin class with very good friend from Diana’s former place of employment, Hung out and chatted.
13. More booksignings. Procured handfuls of signed books, mostly in the “self help” field, including The Seven Minutes Difference, by Allyson Lewis, and Ballsy, by Karen Salmansohn. I think I totally could get into self-help.
14. Got a signed book by Sherri L. King, one of the few EC authors who made it to BEA. Also got an Ellora’s cavemen calendar. In other news, got an ARC of Elizabeth Haydon’s new book, which like, mine, has a collectible, “different” cover.
15. Got in line for Holly Black. Early. Phew. Got a signed copy of Valiant, to add to my collection of Valiant. Introduced myself to HB (yes, Justine, I did mention NB) and pointed out how I think, post-Ravus, that there’s no reason that troll romance shouldn’t be every bit as popular as vamp. HB and her editor (handler?) agreed. HB is very pretty. I want eye makeup lessons from her. And writing lessons, but I may settle for eye makeup.
16. Saw a poor unnamed bestselling author being forced to regurgitate lines from the movie made from his or her book for the benefit of a news camera. Now understand why unnamed bestselling autor is always rolling eyed in videos made of said author.
17. Went to chill with Gena and Susan Grant in the Harlequin booth. Gena spoke to Jill Monroe on the phone, who says hi to everyone at Diana’s Diversions, and reminds them to pick up a copy of Share the Darkness. I think she also promised me a drink, and something about a first born child. Unclear. Seriously though, it was a great Blaze. Tres romantic. Give it a whirl.
18. Went home, my feet so sore I could hardly make it up the steps to the metro.
19. Put my feet up for a few hours then met my lovely, lovely, wonderful, gift-from-God editor, Kerri.
20. Ah, dinner with Kerri. Did I mention the part where she’s like… the best? What did we talk about, you ask? Oh, secrets, secrets…

1. Got lost. Convention centers are very big.
2. Didn’t bring a bag. Thought we’d get them like at RWA. Bad move.
3. Went to the RWA booth and said hi. They totally didn’t accuse me of being difficult. So that’s good.
4. Got a whole stack of those “little book of” and “little BLANK kits.” Free! Whee!
5. Stopped by the Bantam Dell booth, where they have my picture on the wall. Was instantly set upon by the publicity staff, who are very friendly and wow, oh-so-photogenic. There should be a publicity staff calendar. Was so taken aback by how quickly they recognized me that I became very shy. Me. Shy. Let’s stop and think about that for a second. Okay, that second’s over.
6. Went to the Harlequin booth, where I met up with Tracy Farrell (who remembered when I kidnapped her at Spacecoast) and Matrice Hussey, who, bizarrely, remembered when we met in a bathroom in New York in 2003. And no, it wasn’t because I pitched her or stuffed a manuscript under her stall door or anything like that. I think it’s because the line was so long that we discussed sneaking into the men’s. Got a signed copy of a new Linda Lael Miller hardback.
7. After lunch, the true collecting started. I am now the proud new owner of quite the array of swag, including, but not limited to:
8. Two new Medallion novels
9. Three Spice novels (I met MJ Rose) — signed
10. Three Harlequin romances — signed, including the new Marcia King-gamble, which I’m so excited about.
11. The debut Nightwalkers book
12. A Toxic Avenger novel signed to “Diana, the goddess”
13. Maximum Ride, the sequel to Maximum Ride, and a Maximum Ride T-shirt.
14. A whole little packet about Endymion Spring
15. Here’s the kicker…. the audio to Peter and the Shadow Thieves, read by Jim Dale, signed by Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson. Which means…

I met Dave Barry! To understand what that means, you have to consider the fact that I am a comedy writer from Florida. It’s like the Gospel.

And I totally brushed elbows with John Grisham. My elbow was right there. Next to his elbow. And we were standing under another picture of him, which means, that were someone to have taken a picture in that moment, it would have been a picture of me flanked by two John Grishams.

Speaking of pictures, as my friend Kathy Carmichael, Alfie Thompson (whose new book about using movies to ilustrate storytelling is fabulous and everyone needs to get their hands on it now now now), and I were going to lunch, we were on the up escalator and this guy coming down on the down escalator held up a camera and started snapping photos, and of course, my Pavlovian reaction to cameras… I smiled like an idiot. Later on he found me again (he was the convention photog) and asked me what was up with the smile… Long story short, I told him all about the erotica covers. I think I freaked him out a bit. Oops. See, all the OTHER cover models are at RT this weekend…

Oh, and at the end of the day, totally randomly, I ran into my old boss from the newspaper, who now works for Ellora’s Cave and looks phenomenal. It was so great to see her again. And it just goes to show you that just when you think that you’ve wandered into the biggest, most intimidating convention of your life, you can find an old friend.

The contest is still going on, folks. Keep commenting at Thursday’s post to win an ARC of Secret Society Girl. Note, this post that you are reading is NOT the post that is part of the contest. If you comment here, it’ll be nice and I’ll love you forever, but it’s not part of the deal.

Okay. Bed time for the tired author. BEA is not for the faint of heart or the uncomfortable of shoe.

So I’m catching up on my blog reading, and my buddy Colleen Gleason pointed me over to the recent dust-up at Smart Bitches about this whole selling-ARCs on eBay thing. (And my oh my, it was a dust-up, wasn’t it? There was some serious smackage going on there, and obviously some sort of feud with Maili and MJD that I couldn’t quite follow, but whatev.) Lots of opinions there. I didn’t post becaue I think my thoughts on the issue are much in line with Lani Diane Rich’s and her post did just fine presenting the matter. Go look it up if you care.

I came away from the blog with the impression that P.C. Cast personally paid to print out 30 copies to give to people who specifically requested them. Regifting in any form is always an ooky thing to witness, especially when one discovers it on a website. I think, in her position, I’d be taken aback. Miffed. Seriously miffed. Like, the kind where there’s blood.

But I know that in my case at least, ARCs were sent, unsolicited, to a whole bunch of folks — booksellers, PR people, whatever. (When I worked at the newspaper, we’d get a dozen or so a week, and we never even did book reviews at my branch.) In fact, I recently got a sublime and much-cherished (as in, I printed it out and read it aloud to Sailor Boy and anyone else who would stand still long enough) email from a bookseller who got an ARC, read it, enjoyed it, and is making it a staff pick come July. Boy, do I love this woman. But she didn’t know me, she didn’t know my book, and had my ARC not been sent out, I doubt that she would have gotten her hands on it. For my money, it was worth it to risk a few ARCs in the hands of people who wanted it off their hands in order to have the opportunity for an early read from someone who, given the chance, is going to recommend and maybe even hand sell my book to her customers.

Here’s the point in the blog where I resist doing the “priceless” MasterCard commercial.

Anyway, because I’m obsessive like that, I went ahead and searched for who else has an early copy of my book. Here’s what I found:

The eBay seller had TWO copies of my book. (S)he sold the first on April 22 in a heated, 13-bid auction for $25.04, which the observant reader will note is a full two dollars and four cents above the hardcover cover price. The second was sold on May 10 (someone who knows eBay better will have to tell me if this means the seller got another copy later, or just staggered the sales to help it look “rare”?) in an eight-bid auction for $27. 75, which is $4.75 over the cover price of the hardcover.

What does this mean? These people are paying basically twice the cost of your average trade paperback for a typo-ridden paperback. They are either collectors or they really really really really want to read my books. My vanity is hoping for the latter.

I also discovered that a copy of my ARC was found by a BookCrossing maven “in a hotel exchange library” in New Mexico. Wouldn’t we all like to hear the story of how it got there? As a long-time fan of BC, I’m tickled pink to see that I’m already an entry. Can’t wait to see what happens once it’s released!

What do I hope for these books? I hope that the people who read them love them and recommend Secret Society Girl to their friends and family and grocery store check out clerks and dental hygenists and gynecologists and meter readers and babysitters and girl scouts and hairdressers and secretaries and teachers and ballet instructors and people they pass on the street.

This weekend, I’m signing stacks of ARCs at BEA. I hope every person who gets one does one or more of the following: read it, love it, buy another copy when it comes out, recommend it to someone else. I know that’s a lot to hope.

Anyway, in honor of ARC readers everywhere, and in solace for those who won’t be at the big ARC free-for-all of BEA, I’m doing an ARC giveaway right here on Diana’s Diversions! This weekend, I will be giving away two copies (sorry folks, my supply is running way low) of the ARC of Secret Society Girl. One copy will be given to a person who comments on this blog post. One copy will be given to a recipient of the Secret Society Girl Newsletter. And you know what that means, don’t you boys and girls? It means that if you sign up for my newsletter and post, you have two chances to win!* You can sign up for the newsletter here:

Click to join SecretSocietyGirl

And, in case the thought of my lovely collector’s edition, original cover, typo-ridden ARC is not enough to tempt you, rest assured that there is some fabulous secret members-only info to be found on the newsletter very very soon.

Now, here is the catch: to be eligible for the “posting” ARC prize, in your post you must describe exactly what you are going to do with my ARC if you win. The juicier, the better. In fact, if you tell me that you plan to burn my ARC in a ritual fire in front of a captive studio audience of, say, 350 women in the 15-35 age range after stating “This is the most shocking, salacious, sexy, and sensational thing I’ve seen this century,” I may send you a hoodie, too.

Just sayin’.

*Only one ARC to each winner.

Doncha just hate it when your pop culture references won’t stay still? For example, are you aware that Humphrey Bogart’s Rick never ever, not even once, said “Play it again, Sam?” The actual line is “Play it, Sam. You played it for her, you can play it for me.” How many people have gotten that one wrong?

So last night, I watched Roman Holiday, to which I make a reference in my WIP. The reference involves capri pants, and wouldn’t you just know it… the one movie in which Audrey Hepburn does not wear capri pants…. (well, other than My Fair Lady). I thought she had it in her contract or something! So annoying.

Today’s GCC tour brings us Alison Pace, author of last year’s delightfully offbeat debut If Andy Warhol Had a Girlfriend, who once again, brings us dog lover’s chick lit. Man have we been having some serious dog envy here at Diana’s Diversions. First, Robin Brande starts bragging on her doggy camping trip, and now Alison is back, though this time, it’s pugs instead of schnauzers.

In Pace’s new release, Pug Hill:

To get into the most elite spot of Manhattan’s Central Park, there are a few stiff requirements: you must have short legs, a round tummy, a pig nose, and walk on all fours—or at least know someone who does! Pug Hill is a place for pugs and pug-lovers alike to bask in the camaraderie that comes from owning (or dreaming of owning) one of the world’s most cherished and irresistible dogs.

Oh, man! WANT PUPPY. WANT PUPPY SO BAD.

Okay, Diana. Several deep breaths, and you’ll be all right. In, out. In, out. First more book deals, then house with yard, then puppy. Stick to the plan. In the meantime, live vicariously through Pace’s books and her 12 puppy dogs…

Okay, now on to the part of the tour where I’m supposed ot ask questions of the blog tour person that somehow bring it back to the theme of my blog. (work in progress).

Let’s see what Alison Pace has to say:

Have you ever done anything really unlike you to belong to a certain group? What was it?

In college, when I was pledging a sorority, we had to carry spoons around and whenever we smiled, we would have to find the nearest patch of dirt, bend down, dig a hole in it, and “bury our smile.” I am pretty sure that falls under the category of really unlike me.

Has anyone ever told you a secret and you were dying to tell someone else but couldn’t betray the confidence? How did that work out for you?

Absolutely, and I’m happy to say that I kept the secret, which is probably the best way to go. It all worked out well.

If you were to start a secret society, what would be the qualifications for membership? What would be its purpose and secret rituals?

Hmm. Well I’m pretty sure that philosophically, I don’t believe in secret societies, (I loathed my sorority) so I’d probably be the absolute wrong person to start one.

What would you call your secret society?

The Everyone Can Join And It Isn’t So Much A Secret Society

What’s your favorite memory from college?

Meeting my best friend Jessica. We’re still friends today.

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Well, it’s an ongoing project. If anyone has suggestions for other questions, have at it. And pick up Alison’s latest book!