That’s me, today. Unfortunately, I am headed toward an island that’s being hit by a tropical storm.

Travel luck strikes again.

Pray for a swift break-up or movement of Tropical Storm Alma. Kicking myself.

In other news, I received my first trade review for Rites of Spring (Break) and boy is it spoilerific! So filled with spoilers, in fact, that this is all I can share:

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(My pal Vicki is starting on a quest in the fabulous world of manuscript submissions — head on over and wish her luck! Sailor Boy and I are heading on our own adventure this weekend. It’s entirely possible that we’re nuts, but here goes.)

I’ve been meaning to post about this for a while (in the sense that I’ve had this jpg on my desktop forever), but I keep forgetting. Who here has read the Shopaholic series? I had a really tough time with the first one, in that is scared the daylights out of me. I didn’t go to Starbucks for a month.

Now, I’ve never been in credit card debt. School loan debt? Yes, ridiculous amounts. Credit cards: not so much. I use my card in place of cash and pay off the balance every month. In fact, the year I graduated from college, this was a major problem, since my $500 limit wasn’t quite covering my monthly needs in Manhattan, and the company was refusing to up my limit, as I was “not a good credit customer.” I had no idea what they meant, since, according to what my parents had always taught me — I had great credit. Turns out, having great credit does not make you a good customer of the credit card company. So my friend convinced me (and it took a lot of convincing) to leave a small balance on my card for one month. Lo and behold, they upped my limit several thousand dollars.

Yes, it’s a ridiculous world we live in. Which brings us back to Becky Bloomwood.

Unlike a lot of chick lit heroines, I couldn’t get behind what I viewed as her extremely self-destructive behavior. I couldn’t identify with her, which I believed was the kiss of death for a book in this genre. However, I found her adventures hilarious, and I kept reading. And that’s when all that fancy lit analysis that had put me in school loan debt came flitting to the surface and I realized that though the Shopaholic series was packaged as chick lit, it was actually social satire. Becky Bloomwood was not an “everywoman” heroine like Bridget Jones or Amy Haskel. She was, in the literary sense, a clown. Not Helena, but Bottom.

Once I realized these things, I enjoyed the series much more. In fact, I loved it. Kinsella’s writing is brisk and amusing, and her take on the credit crisis is funny because it’s so spot on. My favorite was Shopaholic and Sister, where we got the fabulous foil of the frugal sister, Jessica. Though not quite as unkind to frugality as she is to shopaholism, Kinsella does have a few barbs toward those who make it a religion.

So now they are making Shopaholic a movie, starring Isla Fisher, who I think is a great choice, as she played such a fabulous clown in Wedding Crashers. (No, I haven’t seen her in anything else.) I’ve heard that they are relocating the film to New York, which is a wee bit appalling, since I think that of the two, Shopaholic is way more relentlessly British than Bridget Jones’s Diary was. All the stores she shopped in and the upper-class git she dates named Tarquin of all things, and etc. But I guess they can just change Liberty’s to Barney’s or whatever.

No, what really gets to me is the clothes. Listen to a description of a standard Becky Bloomwood outfit:

I’m wearing all black — but expensive black. The kind you fall into. A simple sleeveless dress from Whistles, the highest of Jimmy Choos, a pair of uncut amethyst earrings. And please don’t ask how much it all cost, since that’s irrelevant.

In this scene, she also states that she’s spritzed with Chanel.

The point is, Becky’s wardrobe is classic. She’s all about brand-print scarves and cashmere sweaters and designer black dresses and Armani suits.

And then this is what they put her in for the movie:

Well, they got the clown part right, at least.

Seriously, what’s with that? I heard the costume designer is the same chick who did Carrie on Sex and the City, which is pretty obvious, but Becky is not Carrie. She doesn’t dress like Carrie. She’s not a Carrie knock-off. I don’t think Becky Bloomwood would ever wear this outfit. I’m hoping it’s some sort of elaborate dream sequence.

Keeping my fingers crossed.

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Lovely, lovely day.

I may have mentioned that I was dog-sitting this weekend. I have serious dog envy, folks. Now, I’ve known Gracie for seven or eight years now (a fraction of the time I have known her human, who is my best friend) so we understand each other pretty well. Gracie is gorgeous (she’s a random-breed that, back in Florida,would have been called a “Florida red dog” and we keep seeing “Gracies ” all over town), well-behaved, spoiled rotten, and a little princess. She sits around with her paws crossed. And she growls whenever she doesn’t get her way, deep in her throat, like a little lion.

And I mean when ever she doesn’t get her way. Like, after I’ve taken her for her evening walk, if I dare to refill her water bowl before getting food in her dish. Or if I wake her up past her bedtime. Or if I sit on her side of the couch. Or if I don’t scratch her neck for the appropriate number of hours.

Love that dog.

But alas, her humans came home today, so I am again petless.

This morning I went to the Library of Congress, and I got my research card, which I find rather more exciting than you might think about the whole “getting a library card” process. Strangely enough, it was a far more simple process to get into the Library of Congress than it is to get into my own local library. But the LOC Madison building is this vast, windowless, monolithic slab of marble downtown, where every floor is zoned in colors and the staff give directions like “walk to the end of this hall, then turn right, walk to the end of that hall, go past all the reds, and when you hit the blues, that’s where Room 140 is.”

The main LOC building is one of my favorites in all of Washington.

After I got lost trying to get my card (process is simple, fun, and organized), I got lost trying to find the lecture hall where Melissa Marr was speaking about folklore and incorporating same into modern stories. Great speech. I know she’s a once and future teacher, and I can see why — she’s such a natural. I always sound like a doofus when speaking to strangers.

Or even not strangers. I completely forgot my whole spiel at my wedding — all I got out was “I’m so excited to marry you — let’s do it right now!” Still kicking myself over that one.

I was one of the few non-librarians present, and I had a great conversation with the librarians about manga, and steampunk, and why publishers change formats mid-series. Afterwards, the man in charge of the presentation invited me to lunch, so I got to hang out with Melissa, a few librarians, and a Lit PhD candidate, and learn more about her upcoming projects and Harper. Rebecca, the student, is writing a thesis on Rumor Theory, which I wish I’d gotten to chat with her about more, since it sounds so intriguing.

Also, a great band name.

This afternoon, I had a nice long chat with my YA editor about the final tweaks on Rampant, the state of romantic comedy, unicorns we have known, whether or not SB should read my books, and Rites of Spring (Break) — OUT IN A MONTH!!!!!! — an ARC of which she read on her vacation. (She’s a fan — not an editor — of my adult books.)

I’m a little scared of my two editors ever meeting. That much awesome in one place would surely cause a rift in the space-time continuum, right?

Then I had pizza with my best friend, her husband, and Gracie. She was very sweet to me, perhaps trying to show her humans what a good babysitter I was. Or, you know, apologize for the growling.

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One of the really nice things about WordPress* is that I can write blog posts in advance and them schedule them to appear, so on days when I can’t check in — not even to change something from “draft” to “published” — we can already have posts raring to go. Just think of it — there will be no more two-week long dry spells like in January, where you heard nothing as I sludged, enfeebled and sick with some sort of named British flu bug (the Brits like to name every “thing that’s going around”) across the continent of Europe in search of the perfect settings for Rampant.

Speaking of Rampant, I got an email from a friend today reminding me that she’s been waiting for this book for over three years, and she still has to wait another 12 months. And I feel for her, truly I do. I feel for her decidedly more than I feel for the person who was standing behind Sailor Boy in line at the cafeteria three years ago when he was describing the book to one of his classmates, and who said, “What is this book called and where can I buy it?”

I often wonder about this complete stranger, and whether she will remember the 1L talking about his girlfriend’s fantasy novel and connect it, sometime in 2009, with Rampant. That would be nice, I think.

Meanwhile, both she and my friend are going to have to wait a year. Because no, I don’t have the ARC. I also can’t promise anyone one, since I don’t know if I’ll have giveaway ARCs in my possession. And it wouldn’t be for a couple of months, anyhow. When I know, you’ll know. Promise.

I am, however, making a single, self-made ARC, which is neither easy nor inexpensive, but that I promised to someone very special so he could read it on his upcoming vacation. He had to beg a lot.

And he’s my dad. So if you aren’t my dad, share a comparable amount of genetic material, or are currently married to me, the answer is no. Sorry.

Currently, there are seven people who have read the full manuscript: Me, Kristin (HC editor), Ruta (HC), Deidre (Agent), Carrie, Justine, and Marley. Actually, there may be more at Harper; I don’t know. And there’s someone else at the agency reading it right now. But that’s it.

Sailor Boy has not read it. Nor has he read Rites of Spring (Break). I know, shocking. His argument is that he is present while I am writing it, and hears me alternately groaning or giggling about the process, so it’s almost like he already knows what happens. It’s a bit like being a fan of a baseball team without watching any games, but maybe he likes the uniform or something. He does promote it to random people in the cafeteria, after all.

But it makes me wonder about the friends and family plan. I encouraged everyone I know to read my first book. People who don’t generally read novels about cute co-eds who say “Dude” and talk about how Everything They Needed to Know About Relationships They Learned From Jane Austen.** People who don’t read novels, full stop. People who wouldn’t be caught dead with something pink, and that’s including their steaks. My dad and brothers read it. My uncles read it. Heck, my childhood dentist read it.

But I don’t think it’s a statement about me or our mutual respect and affection if they decline to read it. After all, I’m sure I’m not so keen on said dentist’s articles for the Journal of American Dental Health.*** It’s my job. Not everyone has to be “into” my job.

Let’s go back to my dad. Like most people , his first reaction to “I’m writing a book about killer unicorns” was best described as “Whaaaaa?” But once I gave him the full-court pitch, he became quite enthusiastic, and has maintained this enthusiasm ever since. He’s read all of my books, and has said, several times, that he’s especially excited about Rampant, which he thinks is “more his style” than the chick lit.****

Followed up by the repeated requests for the extra-special ARC for his vacation. Isn’t that sweet?

SB is similarly excited. He pitches the story to anyone who will sit still enough to listen. He did it today, in fact. But he hasn’t read it. Which is too bad, because I think that this is also “more his style.”*****

Should SB read my books? I don’t know, what do you think?

“Others” and explanations in the comments section.

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* Those of you who have emailed to say their offices block WordPress, never fear. It’s getting dedicated server space shortly. One of the not so nice things at the moment is my inability to get the poll thing to work on it. This will apparently also be remedied when I upgrade from the free version.

** I’d go ahead and claim this title/premise, but I’m pretty sure Karen Joy Fowler already did, and made a mint.

*** Disclaimer: I actually don’t know if my old dentist writes articles, or indeed if this publication even exists.

**** Keeping in mind, of course, that this is the man who named me after Mrs. Emma Peel (I narrowly escaped the moniker Leia.)
***** Keeping in mind, of course, that this is the man who, despite his constant reminders to pack light during our backpacking excursion through Oceania, thought nothing of bringing a complete omnibus version of The Lord of the Rings.

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Get ready… (a hint)

In other news, my friend Justine gave me a heads up as to a new review of Secret Society Girl on the Book Blog, Bookshelves of Doom. My favorite quote?

This book almost got me hit by a car.

Every writer likes to hear that one! Read the whole thing here!

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I know I’ve been a bad blogger, but the last few days have been so busy. For instance:

* I volunteered at the Smithsonian’s annual Zoofari
* I attended Sailor Boy’s high school reunion
* I watched Sailor Boy get yet another degree (our walls, they have no room for more diplomas… luckily, the Yale ones are both small and undiploma-y)
* I designed some very cool promotional items for the release of Rites of Spring (Break).
* I judged a contest for my RWA chapter
* I worked on ancillary matter for Rampant
* I reviewed a colleague’s most recent book proposal
* I worked on SSG4, which may have as many as up to seventeen sex scenes.*

And today, I’m going to New York for a get together at the YA Author Mansion. Of course it’s a real thing. Where do you think we get our ideas?
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* In response to a writer who told me, straight faced, that the difference between YA and adult was that adult books had sex scenes. Which, huh? I can think of many YA books with sex scenes. I can think of many adult books, including ones written by me, without. For instance, there is no sex scene in Secret Society Girl. I am, however, keeping mum on the content of ROSB.

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Cravenly stolen from Marianne Mancusi’s blog:

I could not stop laughing. This is every conversation I have with other writers every day on every writer list. What to do to promote your book that has nothing to do with writing books.

And, like a flake, I keep forgetting to pick the winner for the Narnia drawing of Sarah Beth Durst’s book. It’s….. BARRATT MILLER. Barratt, email me your address, and I’ll get that book to you when it releases.

The topic of process is an evergreen topic of course. Too bad Justine’s got it all cocked up. “Other writer are crazy…” Ha! No, she’s crazy. I’m right.

Carrie wants to know about sharing (Justine recently wanted to know the same, vis-a-vis word counts), which is interesting, because I’ve recently been taken to task for not doing enough of that around here. Am I not a writer? Then should not at least the occasional post contain some sort of tidbit about the writing I am ostensibly doing?

Unfair. They do.

But, in the interest of filling readers in, should they be curious, here’s a global update:

I’m finished with the revisions for Rampant, and I’m waiting for the next step. The book, as I mentioned recently, will be out in summer of 2009. This might be the only book I’ve ever written where I was still in love with it after the revisions were done. Usually, doing revisions is like being stuck in a small room or car or tent (you know, for those of you who lived the hobo’s life in Australia or New Zealand) with someone you care about deeply whose little foibles and personal habits start to grate on you after a while and then it’s like you need. To. Get. Away. From. Them. For a little while.

And then, after a certain amount of time, you see them again, and you love them again. But with this book, I still love it. We had some rough moments in the tent, but I don’t think we need some personal space right now. Curious.

I’m working on all the release extravaganza stuff for Rites of Spring (Break). That book will be out in 39 days. Preorder now! I love this book too! (It’s been ages since I finished the revisions.) I’ve can’t wait for other people to get to read it and see what I have in store for Amy & Co.

I’m writing the fourth secret society book. There is no title. There is also no word count meter. Sorry.

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A few days back, Candy of Smart Bitches, Trashy Books, posted an excellent rant about this post on Pharyngula about the preponderance of mass market vampire romance.

Basically, PZ Meyers knows nothing about the topic, but is curious (though he pushes buttons instantly by writing it off as “formula fiction” from the word go). Things really go off the rails, however, in the comment thread, which I have only skimmed, but in skimming, agree with Candy’s sum up, which is brilliant, and goes like this:

I am also fascinated–FASCINATED–that Harlequin has become shorthand for romance, all romance, the way it has, since books published under the Harlequin/Silhouette imprint cover only a very specific niche of romance. It’d be as if, in attempting to define ice-cream, somebody didn’t address the ingredients, or the characteristics that make ice-cream, well, icy and creamy, but instead chose to refer to it solely by a rather slapdash association of flavor and brand name, sometimes resulting in rather jarring juxtapositions if you know ice-cream well. “My mom’s a huge fan of Breyer’s Phish Food, but I just don’t get it–the thought of eating bits of unbaked chocolate chip cookie dough in ice-cream makes me want to hurl,” sez somebody, and it’s all I can do to not leap up like an obnoxious bastard and say “DUDE, Phish Food is Ben and Jerry’s, and for the love of God, it doesn’t have chocolate chip cookie dough anywhere in it, and really, YOU OBVIOUSLY DON’T EAT ICE-CREAM AND THEREFORE ARE UNQUALIFIED TO COMMENT ON WHAT WE’RE EATING, AND I’M GOING TO JUMP ON YOUR HEAD BECAUSE YOUR NEXT COMMENT IS OBVIOUSLY GOING TO BE HOW EVERYONE WHO EATS ICE-CREAM IS A FAT WHORE. SEE HOW I’M JUMPING ON YOUR HEAD? JUMP. JUMMMMMP.”

Hmmmm, who pointed something like this out before? Oh, yeah: me. Just apply the Harlequin Rule, Candy. If they conflate an entire genre with one publisher’s enormous, but necessarily limited series of books (which they have no doubt not read, as some of them are flatly fabulous), then they automatically lose their argument.

As for the argument at hand, namely, “where did all this paranormal romance/urban fantasy/vampire stuff come from,” I have my own ideas, too numerous to do justice in my allotted blogging time this morning, but I shall attempt:

1. No, it wasn’t Twilight. Sorry. It wasn’t even Twilight in YA, though that book’s success has certainly been a big push. But every adult pub (and most YAs) was clamoring for paranormal romance and urban fantasy (which Twilight is decidedly not, it’s a straight up romance) long before Twilight ever appeared. And Twilight effectively ended the vampire buy in at most YA houses, because it was pretty tough to compete. Now the big scramble seems to be for the “next creature.”

2. I strongly believe the current confluence of paranormal romance, vampire books, and urban fantasy is a “perfect storm” situation. It’s popularity in several distinct genres that have merged and created an enormous tidal wave of popularity. The people complaining in the threads of each post above have their taste, and hate it when the other genres intrude. If you got into urban fantasy through Charles De Lint, you probably dislike the people who got into it from Buffy. If you got into it through Buffy, you may hate the folks who came via Christine Feehan. If you got into it through romance, you probably hate the stuff that’s Lint inspired. And yes, publishers ARE publishing things that you (or someone else) might decide belongs on THIS side of the Fence as THAT instead.

Seriously, deal with it. A publisher is not going to define a genre to suit your own personal individual taste.

3. If I were to give an opinion of why the genre/s are so popular right now, I would say it was a combo of the following:

a. The non-human men populating most paranormal romance are the natural extension of a readership who longs for the “alpha male” fantasy, but don’t really buy it in normal contemporary settings. Nowadays, most men who act like the guys in romance novels would be considered psycho stalkers in real life. Thus, they are not the boys next store. But stalk it up to some paranormal soul mate/pack instinct/blood lust non human thing, and readers will accept it.

b. The stripe of urban fantasy stories that have the kick ass women with paranormal powers is due to the zeitgeist of kickass heroines. They are the descendants of Buffy et al.

c. The above are not mutually exclusive.

d. Also, people are very scared of real life stuff right now, so it’s fun to escape into magical scaredness of monsters instead of real scaredness of everything else in the world. Same reasons horror movies are in.

My YA novel, Rampant, can be (loosely) defined as urban fantasy, in that it is fantasy, contemporary, and takes place in a city. Thus, urban. If I had to pick a path from which it came, I’d point at Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It doesn’t have that “all powerful paranormal male” which I think is such a huge draw in the genre, but it does have strong women with supernatural powers dealing with same. It’s also not about folks (for the most part) on the edges of society, which is, I understand, the liminal, Lintian influence one see in many current works.

I do believe there’s room for us all. It’s unfortunate when one stripe of the trend is seen as ruining other stripes, or less worthy, or etc. I prefer to think of it as paths that lead to one another… or heck, to go with that ice cream metaphor again, as Neapolitan ice cream — many flavors, one box. Eat whichever one you want, or all of them together!

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So apparently I’ve been tagged by Allison Winn Scotch. These are the rules of the tag:

1. Pick up the nearest book.

2. Open to page 123.

3. Find the fifth sentence.

4. Post the next three sentences.

5. Tag five no people and post a comment to the person who tagged you once you’ve posted your three sentences.

Like Allison, the closest book to me at the moment is the manuscript for Rampant. No, seriously. I feel kind of weird about that, since I don’t usually post snippets of unpublished work at all. So yeah, a world premiere, as it were:

“Has anyone been able to figure out who sent her here?” She looked at Phil.

“And get shivved for our efforts?” Phil asked.

Not entirely sure that makes a lick of sense out of context, but there it is.

I’m not really into tagging. So anyone who would like to do this may. Let me know you have!

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Finally got the chance to kick back with a few novels. I’d been in a bit of a dry spell, not just behind in my reading, but also failing to find a book that really set me off. I don’t know about you, but I tend to read in spurts. If I get my hands on a really good book, it just makes me want to read more. If I read some novels I’m so-so about, I tend to put books aside and check out the Netflix queue. Thankfully, this past week, I got my hands on some great ones. All debut, too!

WAKE, by Lisa McMann. Hypnotic page turner about a girl who involuntarily and uncontrollably gets sucked into other people’s dreams. Spellbinding and sweet love story. I was initially skeptical, because of the strange, distant tone employed in the novel, but it didn’t take me long to get sucked in, much like the main character. Really enjoyed.

It’s apparently the first in a series. I am very curious to see what is next, because I must admit, it felt like a deliciously self-contained novel.

PRIVATE ARRANGEMENTS, by Sherry Thomas. Another Bantam Dell author, I just kept hearing the buzz about this book, and I picked it up while out indulging in my favorite addiction at the Boston Borders with buddy Maureen McGowan. Well, the buzz is all deserved! Fascinating and inventive historical romance. A reunion story, too. My favorite kind. What I really loved about this book was that it’s a cure for all those silly “big misunderstanding” kind of books. Yes, the couple is estranged after the hero decides that the heroine is an unforgivable bitch. But she actually did what he accused her of. Nicely done. Goes right in there with “favorite historical romances I’ve read recently” The Book of True Desires, by Betina Krahn, and The Companion, by Susan Squires.

Your turn! Tell me about any good books you’ve read recently!

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PS: I totally forgot to draw a winner for the Sarah Beth Durst book the other week. Oops! I blame deadlines. You have until Tuesday to enter at that post, and then I’ll draw.

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