I’ve always been the way I am. Honestly, it wasn’t until I was in my young twenties that I heard the term ‘goth’ (from a goth, no doubt) and realized, “Hey…there are more people out there who love black, live free, and have a taste for all things macabre.” It was a pretty cool you’re-not-alone-on-the-planet moment. But I’m not this way because it’s hip (and yeah, I know it’s not hip to say hip, but I’m against trends and I’m expressing my individuality…also, I’m a complete dork). I just am. This is me. What you see is what you get. I love vampires, spiderwebs, spiders (well, some spiders), bats, Halloween, full moons, black clothes, fishnet ANYTHING, and discussing what really might be going bump in the night. I’m not a terror cookie (someone who dons goth gear because it’s trendy). And it’s amazing that my weirdness has a title, because I’ve always been this way. And I’m happy about it…in an occasionally mopey way. (Incidentally, I hope you’re happy with whoever you are too)

But then this meteor came crashing down into my life. See, I needed a little handbag for my trip, something simple (I’d die for something coffin-like or bat-like or something, but alas…). So I Google for a black bag (apparently the size I want is called a “wristlet”), find a simple enough one for a decent price, buy it, and it gets here lickety split (again…I’m a dork). So I take it out in public to beat it into submission (like I do all of my trip-related belongings…it’s a thing I have. I have to use it before its intended trip or else it doesn’t feel like mine). Well, before I know it, I’m stopped by this blonde, tan, pink-wearing JenniferLoveFelicityDesperateDawson’sHousewifeCreek person, who squeals a question so high pitched that I had to ask her to repeat it, as I am not a canine. So she did. “Is that a Vera Bradley?” Oh no. Oh no, no, no. “It’s a bag,” I say. She blinks, taking a moment to register that I’ve spoken. I swear I can see the gears turning behind her shiny eyes. Then, that cheerleader snarl that I’d been waiting for and she points out the zipper pull with the mark of the Vera Bradley brand. Apparently, I bought something trendy.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

So now, I hate my new bag and wish bad things on it. That is, bad things that do not involve becoming lost while holding my money.

So apart from loathing a piece of fabric, today I’m busy with…well, nothing, really. Huh. Go figure. I could pack, I suppose…

How hard can it be to pack a suitcase and stay packed? Apparently, pretty hard. In the last week (now, mind you, my loyal minions, that Auntie Heather tends to pack her bag about a month in advance of a trip and she is now down to just over a week) I’ve packed my bag four times. But there’s, apparently, this lil worm that lives in my ear, who’ll tell me that I should really wear that jacket I packed or wouldn’t that top look great for tonight? It tells me not to pack any make-up or to hastily unpack certain shoes. So here I am, just over a week away from the Backspace Conference…and I’m only half packed. Bleh.

My desk is clean, though, which can only mean one thing–Auntie Heather is on the verge of a two week no-writing binge. It’ll be tough (they always are), but once again, it’s time to clear out the mental cobwebs. I’m on the verge, you see, because I’m ever so close to sending that Wonderland outline to my agent (just need a quick look-see from my darling CP). The conference should make time fly by…you know, what with all that talk of writing. (hoo boy) It’s an addiction, I swear. But I can do it. Just need something to read. (Actually, I have an ENORMOUS To-Be-Read pile in my closet, so I’m good)

Oooh! Plus! On July 27th, I’m headed to my local library to meet Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson, authors of Peter and the Starcatchers and Peter and the Shadow Thieves. Cool, huh? I thought so.

Beyond that….I’m packing. Again. Then unpacking. Then re…I think you get the picture.

Owie. My neck hurts. I slept crooked the other night and ever since…owie.

But pain’s not standing in my way, oh no. Today I’m working on that Wonderland outline and, surprise! I’m really liking what I see. Hopefully after a few more tweaks it’ll be fit for my fabulous agent’s eyes. I really hate outlines and have questioned my sanity several times over since I offered to write one. From now on, I think I’ll just write the book first–200 pages are so much easier than 17.

Why? Because in 200, I can fly by the seat of my pants, listen to my characters, be surprised, not focus. It’s a lalalalala approach (until revisions, anyway). But with 17, I have to think and focus and question and it’s much more like actual work. Ew. So…no more outlines. Let me rephrase that: no more outlines unless my fabulous agent or amazing editor want an outline. Then, I’m happy to write one. (Well, not really, but shh!)

Plus! I came up with the most amazing idea for a new book. But…I’m not telling anyone until I talk to my agent about it (well, okay, so hubby and CP know), so I don’t jinx it (okay, so I’ll likely tell my sister too–but that’s it, I swear!). Huh. I just realized that I can’t tell anyone that hasn’t read Ninth Grade Sucks. Bummer.

Ah well. Off to Wonderland!

Well, according to my reader, my Critique Partner, my hubby, and that little voice at the back of my head (it sits next to Vlad), Ninth Grade Sucks is finished. Last night I tweaked one final scene and emailed it to my agent. So cross your fingers, minions. I’m pretty proud of this book. Hopefully, my agent (and later on, my editor) will be too.

Haven’t I been bad this week? Hardly any blog entries at all. Shame on me! And the sick thing is, I have little reason for it, beyond a completely fried brain. I leave for NYC in two weeks (oh crap, less than two weeks!), can’t seem to keep my bag packed, and have had the worst nightmares about this trip. Last night’s was a doozy. Neil Gaiman showed up and was spreading rumors about me. So everyone started pointing and whispering. It was awful. And Neil is a god, so it really bummed me out that he was saying nasty things about me. Stress? Lil bit, yeah.

I’m currently compiling a list of potential reviewers and interviewers, so if you (or someone you know) are a book reviewer or author interviewer (yeah…I know) and would be interested in reviewing Eighth Grade Bites or interviewing me, drop me a line and I’ll see about getting you on the list. Because some day very soon, I’m going to have *faints* ARCs.

Whoa. I just had another one of those “I’m being published!” moments.

Rain follows me. Now, that’s normally a cool thing. I love the rain, have been known on occasion to dance in it, go puddle jumping, and encourage the neighborhood kids to have water fights in it (hey…they were already wet). I love it.

But when I really, really want to see fireworks (which I do–there’s something very cool about fiery bursts against a black velvet sky), it would be nice if the rain would back off. *le sigh* Ah well, maybe tonight.

So I’ve tweaked Ninth Grade Sucks and sent it on to my Critique Partner for one final viewing before sending it off to my fabulous agent. The outline for Beyond the Looking Glass is currently laying (lying?) on my desk, staring at me with an incredulous look. “Why aren’t you working on me instead of blogging?” Well, that’s simple…blogging is easier.

Last night (in lieu of watching fireworks *le sigh*) I started packing for the Backspace Conference. I’m excited, nervous, happy, hesitant, and curious about the whole thing. Not only do I get to meet my agent, my editor, and my CP in person (along with many wonderful friends), but I get to experience a taste of NYC, somewhere I’ve never been before. Plus, I get to see how author’s panels work–something else I’ve not yet experienced. I’m sure I’ll pick up tidbits that are good to know for the near future.

Anyway, back to packing. So much of my beautiful, unique clothes/makeup/jewelry are staying home, all for want of professionalism. Blech. Who ever thought I’d be a corporate goth? But I’m pretty pleased with my choices…at least they’re black. And I’m carrying a coffin…so that’s something. And my luggage tag is a skull. You know what? This blog entry just crumbled. I have no idea what I was meaning to say.

Huh. So…yeah.