Hello, I Must Be Going

by Susan McBride

I've been part of the Stiletto Gang for just about four years, and it's been an absolutely wonderful experience. When Maggie asked me to guest blog in 2008, I had no idea that it would turn into a regular gig. I had once sworn I wouldn't do blogs again because it involves more time than you'd think; but she convinced me that twice a month at Stiletto was completely doable.  Oh, yeah, and she assured me the group was comprised of the nicest bunch of women you could ever hope to meet.

She was definitely on the money about the "nicest bunch of women." It has been a real pleasure dealing with such a helpful, considerate "gang," and I have so enjoyed getting to know everyone better, through emails and through the always entertaining and insightful daily blog posts. I'm not sure I'm going to miss writing my two posts a month (with Emily coming along and deadlines galore, it was getting hard coming up with fresh ideas to expound upon!); but I will miss being a Stiletto chick. Luckily, the Stiletto ladies have become friends whom I intend to bug even after I'm officially off the blog as of June 1. So I won't give them a chance to miss me!

Thanks also to my friends and dear readers who've commented on my posts through the years and who've supported me behind-the-scenes in so many ways. I feel fortunate to have connected with you through my words, and I hope to see you elsewhere, perhaps on Facebook or just via emails now and then. It is reassuring to know how many kind and caring people there are in the world when sometimes reading the daily news headlines makes me wonder how much goodness still remains.

For now, I'm looking ahead to Emily's birth in June, to October (aka Breast Cancer Awareness Month) when my HarperCollins e-book about my breast cancer experience is released [In The Pink:  How I Met the Perfect (Younger) Man, Survived Breast Cancer, and Found True Happiness After 40], to February of 2013 when my next women's fiction book for HarperCollins, The Truth About Love and Lightning is out, and so much more. Even when I try to calm things down, life feels crazy-busy, and I'd like to savor each moment as much as possible. I'm fortunate that I'll be able to stay home with Emily while I work and, when I need to get out, we've got both grandmas in town. So we're pretty well set!

My heartfelt thanks and best wishes to the ladies of the Stiletto Gang. You have made my time on this blog something special, and I will always think of it fondly. Hugs and kisses!

Oh, the Places She's Gone!

by Susan McBride

I was thinking today about all the places I've gone with Emily already, and she hasn't even been born. And I don't just mean trips taken, though she and I will be heading to Kansas City this weekend where I'll speak at that Komen affiliate's Pink Promise Brunch.

No, Emily hasn't been to Paris or even Disney World in my belly (although I went to the World's Fair in New York when I was in the womb, and my mother still likes to tell me how being pregnant allowed her to cut in front of everyone in lines--see, I was helpful even before birth!).

But Emily has been in a hyperbaric chamber (that was in February after our old furnace leaked carbon monoxide into our house)....

     

She's been on TV (she already loves the folks at "Great Day St. Louis," I can tell)....

She helped me teach a workshop at the Missouri Writers' Guild's conference and got to meet bestselling author Claire Cook (Emily's secretly hoping Claire will write a sequel to Must Love Dogs called Must Love Cats)....

 

She was with me when I spoke at the Maplewood Library (and she received two knitted baby hats from Mary Garrett, one with a Blue Note on it and another that looks like the top of a little red apple)....

And when I received the "Survivor of the Year" award from the St. Louis chapter of Susan G. Komen for the Cure (pink is Emily's favorite color)....

 Then she was feted with gifts at a baby shower ("Oh, Mom!" she sighed as I took a bite of a teething ring, just to check it out)....

I just hope she's having fun, doing all these things before her due date. As much as she kicks, I'd say she's having a ball. Or maybe she's trying to tell me, "Quit talking so much and moving around so much, Mom!  I'm trying to get a little rest here!"

So long as she's not annoyed by the clickety-clack of my keyboard since I've got revisions still to finish, a nonfiction e-book for HarperCollins to write about my breast cancer experience, and a rewrite of my young adult mystery for Random House. All due this year. Kind of like Emily (who should be making her grand entrance in about eight weeks...although she could show up in as soon as five weeks, said my doctor yesterday!).

Late, Late, Late Night Programming (aka This Is A Paid Advertisement)

by Susan McBride, Pregnant Insomniac

I just can't seem to sleep through the night any more (as if I ever did).  Nearly eight months pregnant, I plump three pillows beneath my head and have three smaller pillows positioned at various spots to support belly, back, and knees. Inevitably, I have to get up to pee and disentangle myself from said pillows and covers. By the time I return to bed and reposition everything, I'm often wide awake.

So that I don't keep bugging Ed, I put on slippers and glasses and head downstairs. I free the cats from the basement, feed them, and fix myself a bowl of cereal (yes, even if it's four o'clock in the morning).  Then I plunk myself in front of the boob tube, snuggled in a blanket, hoping somehow I'll fall asleep on the couch.

Instead, I find myself fascinated by all the advertising. I'm trying to figure out what all the endless half-hour and hour-long commercials say about our society since most focus on a few things:  our weight and getting into shape, our undergarments, and stopping that dreaded process of aging.

If I was so inclined, I could order the Pilates chair for which "All My Children's" Susan Lucci is the spokeswoman. Or I could call 1-800 to purchase any number of Zumba fitness packs, weights that vibrate, or that all-in-one gym that Chuck Norris and Christie Brinkley swear by.

But perhaps I don't need all those workouts, not if I listen to the infomercials that insist my lumps and bumps are purely the result of ill-fitting undergarments. Apparently, if I order some magic bras--and a whole lot of Spandex to suck in the rest of me--I will lose several dress sizes without doing any exercises except those required to tug all the too-tight undergarments over my lumps and bumps.

And have you seen those T-shirt extenders that come in four different shades?  You pull them up to your waist so they cover the butt crack and belly exposed by your low rise jeans. With one of those belly bands wrapped around you and your shirt atop it, no one will ever know that your pants don't fit. They'll just think you're super trendy, going for that layered look.

My favorites of all are the lotions, potions, creams, and cosmetics that swear they will take years off our faces, remove spots, tighten saggy skin, and turn us into Cindy Crawford. Not only does Cindy peddle her own formula--created by some fabulous dermatologist in France that she's been seeing for twenty years who grows magical melons--but she's got lots of celebs endorsing it as well. I've seen Leeza Gibbons (formerly of "Entertainment Tonight") and Joan Lunden (once co-host of "Good Morning, America") espousing the virtues of skin pick-me-ups, too. And then there's Victoria Principal, who tells us about her "Principal Secret," which I think, by the looks of her, has little to do with moisturizer and more to do with lots and lots of cosmetic surgery.

Though I have been tempted by that shampoo-less shampoo called Wen that Alyssa Milano swears by, I've managed to refrain from ordering anything during my late, late night TV viewing. Now if there was an infomercial for instant home delivery of chocolate-chocolate chip ice cream with bananas on top, I'd have that number on speed-dial.

The Joy of Being Pregnant (and the Less Enjoyable Things, Too)

By Susan McBride

Now that I’m in my seventh month with Baby Emily due in late June (although my mom keeps saying, “No way you’re going to make it ‘til then!”), I thought I’d scribble down the fun stuff--and not so fun stuff--as I see it so far anyway.  It’s definitely been a new experience full of the unexpected, like the incredibly itchy rash I put up with for nearly six weeks before I broke down and took Prednisone; the pregnancy rhinitis that makes it feel like I have that Mucus Family from the TV commercial living in my throat; the swelling that can make my feet and ankles resemble puff pastry; the exhaustion and brain fog; and all the other reminders that I’ve got another being that’s taken me over.  Still, I wouldn’t trade any of that for the world, because the end result—a baby!—will be so incredibly worth it. If there's one thing I know for sure, it's that this pregnancy has certainly renewed my faith in miracles. After going through a bunch of bumps in the road these past five years, it’s awfully nice to be reminded of the good surprises life can bring!  And I can't imagine any surprise better than this. 

Okay, the things I love about being pregnant (in no particular order):

1. I can eat six times a day and no one says, “Haven’t you had enough? Put the bagel with peanut butter down and step away from the counter.” 

2. Going shopping for large shirts because I’ve outgrown my smalls and mediums is actually a positive thing. 

3. Feeling Emily move!  I just love the sensation of her squirming around, kicking, poking, twisting. It’s so reassuring, and I feel like we’re communicating.  She’ll poke me, and I’ll rub that spot and say, “Hey, baby!  How’s it going?”  It’s our own Morse code.

4.  Ed is in charge of cleaning litter boxes (although I have gloves to wear when it’s an emergency, although that’s only happened a handful of times).

5.  I never feel guilty when I sit down, put my puffy feet up, and rest.

6.  When I say, “After I turn the guest room into a nursery, I’m re-doing the living room,” Ed doesn’t bat an eye. (I’ve made a point to show him all the articles about pregnant women nesting.)

The things I (occasionally) whine about:

1.  I pee every 15 minutes.  Okay, maybe not that often, but it sure feels like it. By my ninth month, no doubt I’ll know the location of every public restroom in town.

2.  I can’t find a comfortable position to sleep. Every time I try to turn, it’s like moving a bowling ball around and requires readjustment of pillows, sheets, night gown, etc. Then by the time I’m settled down again, I have to pee.

3.  I can’t see much below my belly. Shaving has gotten very scary. The only time in the past when I nicked myself this much was when I was about thirteen and handed my first Daisy razor.

4.  It’s hard to gauge distances between my belly and anything. I’ve run into more bathroom vanities, kitchen countertops, doorways, and grocery carts with my baby bump than I can count. And every time I do, I stop and ask Emily, “Are you okay in there?” 

5.  Ed doesn’t want me going for pedicures as he’s afraid of my breathing in fumes from the salon and using equipment that other people’s feet have used.  And trying to give myself pedicures just isn’t the same, particularly since I have a hard time seeing my toes much less reaching them.

6.  Not being able to go outside and work in the yard and garden. I honestly miss pulling weeds, trimming plants, and digging in the dirt.  Not only is getting my hands in dirt a no-no (for the same reason I’m not supposed to clean litter boxes, the dreaded toxo!), but it’s very uncomfortable bending and squatting to work. So I think the green things around our house are going to look a little wild this year!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go pee, get something to eat, put my feet up, and engage in a little mommy-baby Morse code with Emily.  I think she’s trying to tell me which car seat she’d like me to order.

Things that Make Me Go Argh: Underwear with Bows

by Susan McBride

I'm still on deadline for my latest book (currently being called The Truth About Love and Lightning), and I'm frantically trying to get it done by next week. So when I reached in my Idea Bag for a blog topic, I realized I hadn't refilled the darned thing in a while. Which made me go, "A-ha! Why don't I write about something that makes me crazy? I could even explore another real-life irritant during the next frantic deadline, too!" Perfect. So today's rant involves, yes, underwear with bows.

As a pregnant lady with an ever-growing middle, I've had to go shopping for bigger sizes in just about everything lately. So the other day, I found a nice pack of maternity underwear that I was hoping wouldn't cut off the circulation in my thighs. They were good colors, too: standard white, gray stripes, and even a saucy leopard print. But when I opened the package, I realized the danged things had bows on the front. Those silly little bows that have appeared on my bras and panties since--oh, gosh--my whole life.

Yes, I probably appreciated them when I was eight or nine, maybe even eleven. But as I got older, I began to wonder what the point was of putting bows on the front of grown-up women's underthings. Does anyone really like them? Are they supposed to make us think back on our youth and feel like girls again? If so, it isn't working. It just irritates me, having to find my nail scissors to carefully cut them off.

And I mean "carefully." It's like a surgical operation getting those effing bows off bras and underwear without making a hole in the front and unraveling things. I think they sew them on with their super-industrial machines, certain that women everywhere would be destroyed if they ever fell off.

Back to my maternity panties with the bows. Seriously? I am in my sixth month of pregnancy. I have already gained 25 pounds and weigh more than my skinny husband. My a** now qualifies as booty and/or junk in the trunk. The increased size of said a** is not a gift to me (although I won't vouch for Ed). So I would prefer not to put a bow on it.

Okay, I feel better now. Whew! Thanks for letting me vent. But if you'll excuse me, I have surgery to perform on three pairs of new maternity underpants.

What Are the Odds?

by Susan McBride

As a 47-year-old woman who's five months pregnant (and who did it the old-fashioned way), I'm glad I didn't read the statistics before Ed and I tried to have a baby.  I saw an article today where fertility experts basically said the possibility of someone my age getting knocked up without medical intervention was "slim to none."  I'm thinking part of the reason behind these so-called experts coming up with that hardly encouraging response was that they're all in the fertility game.  They want older women to think they need help (aka, they need to spend loads of moola) to conceive. I'm glad I listened to my ob/gyn instead of those geniuses.  Basically she told me, "If you're still having your period regularly, you've got a shot."  My internist threw in this tidbit, "If you still get cramp-like pains in the area of your ovaries between periods"--something called, and I'm not kidding, the schmertz--"you're still ovulating." 

I had both, and my ob/gyn did a blood test called FSH, which some doctors use to gauge fertility levels, and mine was nice and low (the lower, the better in this case).  All systems seemed to be go, which gave Ed and I hope that it could happen.

Let me backtrack a minute by saying I'd been through some rough stuff in my early forties, as some of you already know, namely dealing with a breast cancer diagnosis at 42 and all the scariness that entails.  I had fallen in love and married a younger man, and I really hoped at some point I could make him a daddy.  I didn't have chemo so I didn't go into early menopause with my treatment.  But it also meant I couldn't possibly do hormone therapy to get preggers without a lot of risks.  So we opted not to do that, figuring we'd leave things up to nature. 

At 46, I found out I was pregnant after I missed a period (or two) while working on a deadline, planning a fundraiser, and dealing with my mom's breast cancer diagnosis. Unfortunately, things didn't look very good from the start.  We didn't see a heartbeat on the sonograms when we should have. I miscarried at about eight weeks, on New Year's weekend of 2011.  Not the best start to a new year I've ever had, that's for sure.

My belly in January!

"You'll be more fertile for the next two years," my doctor promised, urging us to keep trying despite how devastated we felt. Ed and I still had the attitude that if it's meant to be, it'll happen.  So we didn't give up.  Honestly, we just tried not to think about it, moving forward in our lives, keeping busy.  Until the day after my birthday in mid-October of 2011 when I found out I was pregnant again.  This time, I waited to go see my ob/gyn until I was pretty sure I was around eight weeks.  We saw a heartbeat on the ultrasound immediately, and Ed and I cried and laughed like a couple of fools. On the 20-week anatomy scan early in February, we learned that we're having a girl. So nice to be able to talk to my belly and call her "Emily" now--although I'm still fond of "Peapod," too. 

I'm not sure what those fertility experts would think. They'd probably dub me an anomaly or something.  Although when I Google "pregnant at 47" and check out messages in over-40 chat rooms, it looks like I'm not alone.  Seems like plenty of women are getting pregnant naturally beyond our supposed expiration dates. I wonder if they get questions, too, like "weren't you menopausal already?" or "you must've had donated eggs, yes?"  Um, no and no.

I remember when some researcher came out with the odds of a woman over 40 getting married. I believe the statistic said we had a better chance of being killed by a terrorist than finding a mate. Yet another area where I don't fit the mold since I met Ed a few weeks after I'd turned 41.

Which is why I'm not a fan of all these goofy studies telling us the averages for all kinds of things from dating to diseases to babies.  I figure we'd all be better off if we'd just ignore them and live our lives the way we want.  Who the heck wants to be average anyway???

What's in a Name?

by Susan McBride

For many years—and many books—I’ve had the pleasure of naming characters. It’s sort of like the appetizer of the writing process, at least for me. It’s something I do early on, when I’m still conjuring up what the story’s about. And it’s fun, too. What’s better than picking the perfect moniker for your protagonist and the entire cast surrounding her?

I’ve never plundered a phone book or a book of baby names (although I know other writers who rely on them). The right names always seem to appear magically. Almost as if the characters name themselves.

But before this pregnancy, I never had the opportunity to name a real person. Oh, I’ve named plenty of cats (fur-babies, I call them). But human kids? Nope. Not until a week or so ago when we found out the sex of our child on the anatomy scan (it’s a girl!).

Like many women on the planet, I had favorite names stuck in my brain. It’s so wonderful that now I can actually use my most favorite of all: Emily. Pretty, huh? And her middle name will be Alice, after Ed’s mom. Emily Alice. How nicely it rolls off the tongue!

I’ve already had a friend remark what a good old-fashioned name that is, and I told her that old-fashioned was back in style. Anyone else watch “Tori & Dean?” They named their daughters Stella and Hattie.

Tori and Dean aside, most celebrities don’t seem to go for anything usual. Take Jerry Seinfeld and his wife Jessica who named one of their children “Shepherd.” I remember at the time someone on “The Today Show” remarked that, in Hebrew, “Shepherd” meant “Yes, please, I’d love a wedgie.”

Rob Morrow from the TV show “Numbers” has a child named Tu Morrow. Get it? I’m envisioning her playing the lead in a Broadway production of “Annie” one of these days.

The Naked Chef Jamie Oliver and his wife must’ve gotten into the cooking sherry when they stuck a daughter with “Daisy Boo.” Their other child, “Poppy Honey,” was likely inspired by a salad dressing.

Does anyone know who Shannyn Sossaman is? She’s supposedly an actress, but I have a feeling she got more press from the announcement that she’d named her baby “Audio Science.” My bet was on “Compact Disc,” so I lost about fifty bucks on that one.

Of course, there’s always Apple Martin, daughter of Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin. I heard they really wanted to call her “Apple Martini,” but they were just one letter shy. Dang it. I hate when that happens. A good alternative would’ve been “Doc Martin,” but did they listen to me? Nooooo.

Bob Geldof of “Live Aid” fame and his wife Paula Yates might have chugging apple martinis when they came up with these doozies for their darlings: Fifi Trixibelle, Peaches Honeyblossom, and Little Pixie. You have to wonder how those kids felt when their teachers called their names to check them into class.

A recent study showed that kids with the easiest names to pronounce are more likely to succeed in life. I can see how that could be helpful.

Sometimes I think George Foreman had it right. Just name every kid “George,” and you’ll make it easy on everyone. Although you have to wonder what happens at Thanksgiving dinner when someone says, "Hey, George, pass the gravy!" Do they all dive for the gravy boat at once?

P.S. For more on celebrity baby names, check out this page on the Babyfit web site.

How Making A Book Is Like Making A Baby

By (the almost five months’ pregnant) Susan McBride

I’m following Maggie Barbieri’s lead this week. On Wednesday, she talked about how dieting and writing are linked. Since I’m not dieting (um, quite the opposite) and am lacking in fresh ideas to blog about, I thought I’d discuss how similar pregnancy and writing are. Yes, I’m serious. Not that writing books gives anyone swollen ankles, sleepless nights, or giant bellies (wait a minute, yes, it can!); but there are lots of ways conjuring up a literary baby and creating a human baby are quite alike. 

1) Both take a certain amount of time to gestate. Sure, there are authors who write books in two weeks, but I’m not one of them. And, honestly, does anyone not believe that those authors are aliens? Most of us need a period of months—for some, years—to let an idea percolate and write it up as a proposal with the requisite sample chapter before we present it to our agents (who in turn show our editors). Once we’ve got the thumbs-up (picture getting a plus sign on a pregnancy test stick), we focus on little else but the story, growing it little by little. If we take care of ourselves and don’t do anything reckless, our babies can develop into something viable and real.

2) There are aches and pains along the way. Who hasn’t gotten physical pains while toiling away on their latest opus? Like a backache, stiff neck, or cramp in the calf (or in the brain)? Just like with pregnancy, writing can be hard on the body which is why it’s always good to get plenty of rest and take lots of breaks. (FYI, breaks are those periods when writers get up from their chairs to stretch, vacuum, do laundry, run to the grocery store, break up a fight between cats, call our mothers, and so on.)

3) It’s impossible not to talk about your baby’s progress. Once you feel secure that your baby has progressed to a certain point (say, 100 pages, which we'll call "the end of the first trimester"), you can't help gushing to your friends about it. You thrive on encouragement and advice. Yapping about the last chapter you figured out gives you a high, like sharing the news of your baby's heartbeat. You're even compelled to gossip about how a secondary character—patterned after your crazy aunt Martha—has become an unapologetic scene stealer. And if you have an author-friend who's on the same deadline as you, you constantly compare the size of your bump...um, your word count.  Yep, writers and mommies, we're a competitive lot.

4)  You worry about how your baby will be perceived by the world.  Does any expectant mother not have twinges of anxiety about whether or not her child will do well in life?  Will he or she have friends, be accepted?  It's the same with a book.  Even during the writing process, you have moments where you think, "Will anyone else appreciate this?  Will it be loved or hated?"  Vicious reviews are like bullies.  Writers--like moms--know they're out there.  You just have to hope and pray that the meanest ones stay away from your kid.

5) There's no elation quite like reaching "The End."  When you’re finally done—when you’ve given that final push—all you want to do is smile…and cry…and sleep…and imagine the day when you’ll see your baby all dressed up in a pretty cover—I mean, in an adorable onesie. You can’t wait to show off your amazing creation everywhere you go and post photos ad nauseum on Facebook. Then you can look back at all the months it took to bring your baby into the world and think, “Yep, it was all worth it.”

Four Very Important (and Sometimes Strange) Things I Learned from My Mother

By Susan McBride

I feel a little like a copycat after Laura Spinella wrote that wonderful post about her mother last Friday.  Not only was it Friday the 13^th, but it was her mom’s 83^rd birthday (hope it was a happy one!).  Tomorrow is my mom’s 75^th birthday.  So that she doesn't feel left out, I figured I’d pen a piece in her honor, all about some very important life lessons I’ve learned from her.  Let’s just say, they’re invaluable (or at least chuckle-worthy).  Here goes!

Lesson #1:  Threats Don’t Work

I remember one particular time in my young life when I was furious with my mother…for what, I can’t remember.  I was about 10 or 11, and I recall very clearly telling her how she’d pissed me off and then letting her know I was running away.  Not only did she basically say, “Terrific,” I think she offered to help me pack.  I ended up leaving the house, racing across the lawn and down to the grassy triangle up the street, and climbing a tree so I could see the house.  I was certain she’d run outside crying hysterically and shouting at the top of her lungs, “Susan!  Sweetheart, I’m so sorry!  Please, come back!”  I don’t know how long I sat in that tree, waiting and watching for her, but it had to be at least an hour (which felt like days).  My pride wounded and stomach growling, I finally slunk inside and found her in the kitchen.  “I see you’re back in time for dinner,” she said. “It would’ve been a shame to give the dog your meatloaf.”

Lesson #2:  Don’t Troll Mom’s Bathroom for Empty Boxes

I bought what was surely a fabulous present for my mother one Christmas long ago but I needed an empty box in which to stuff and wrap it.  So, of course, I poked around my parents’ master bathroom (this was before The Container Store, you see).  Lo and behold, on a shelf in the linen closet, I found a cardboard box that was light blue with tiny white flowers all over it. Gorgeous!  It wasn’t until Mom unwrapped the box and began laughing that I learned the box once contained Tampax tampons. Not sure at that point I even knew what that meant. But she said that next time I needed an empty box, I should just ask.

Lesson #3:  When it’s Dad versus a Kitten, the Kitten Wins

We always had at least one dog in the house.  When I was really little, it was a cocker spaniel named Cindy.  As I got older, we had a couple of golden retrievers and a giant mutt named Puppy.  At some point after my sister and I were in grade school, we started asking for a kitten.  My mom thought that was a grand idea.  My dad was not so keen.  “It’s either me or a cat,” he very sternly told us all one night at family dinner.  My mom replied, “You’re going to lose there, buster,” then asked us, “So is it a kitten or your father?”  My sister and I looked at each other, grinned, and squealed, “Hooray, we’re getting a kitten!”  And we did.

Lesson #4:  Don’t Dump a Guy Just Because He Wears Weird Shoes

When I was a sophomore in high school, I dated a senior who was brilliant (he went to the Air Force Academy), talented (he played piano like a pro), athletic (he was a star on the soccer team), and hunky.  He also wore desert boots when no one else was wearing desert boots.  For some reason, that bothered me enormously. Superficial, I know. But then again, I was 15. My mom kept saying, “Don’t break up with this wonderful boy over a pair of shoes.”  But I did anyway.  Fast forward 26 years to when I met Ed. He used to wear this motorcycle jacket—a real one, with hard pads that made the shoulders stand out like a linebacker—only he didn’t ride a motorcycle.  (Oh, he had one. It was just not drivable and still resides in his parents’ garage because he won’t get rid of it.) My friends teased him about it unmercifully.  The meanies. But Ed wore it anyway.  He also had a neon-green striped shirt he donned for Christmas Eve dinner at my folks’ the first time they met him. The next morning, Mom asked, “So, what about that green shirt?”  I felt the same way about it as I did the motorcycle jacket.  Yuck.  But thank goodness I wasn’t 15 any more.  I recognized and appreciated all the wonderfulness of Ed that had nothing to do with his clothes.  To this day, I’m so glad I didn’t dump Ed over something as superficial as a silly jacket or a fluorescent green shirt.  I would have missed out on the best thing in my life.

  

Not sure what the moral is to any of this except that moms are sly creatures.  They know things—sometimes strange things—and we can learn from them if we pay attention.  Seeing as how I’m going to be a mom myself, maybe I really need to write more of this stuff down.  Or make up some new stuff. 

My Writing Resolutions for 2012

by Susan McBride

I used to make New Year’s resolutions annually.  Until I realized I didn’t really stick to them.  By the end of January, they were forgotten, buried under deadlines and other craziness.  This year, I’m not even going to try to pin down things in my personal life that I’d like to tackle, other than to deliver a healthy baby in June, meet all my obligations as best I can, and thoroughly enjoy every day as much as humanly possible.

Instead, I decided to make a few resolutions regarding my writing that I want to strive for in 2012 and each year after.  Since this is the perfect place to share them (so you all can check on me later and see how I’m doing!), here they are:

**To boldly go where no man has gone before!  (Well, at least where this woman hasn't gone before!) Yes, like the opening sequence in “Star Trek,” I want to tackle new galaxies in my writing life.  I want to keep trying new things and writing books that I haven’t written before (or even read in some cases).  It’s always scary taking on a path that isn’t familiar.  But I’m finding that I thrive on it.  It’s a risk, yes, and I realize I’m taking a gamble with every novel I write that isn’t a series or that encroaches on new turf, but it gets my blood pumping.  I get excited just thinking about stretching my creativity and seeing how far I can push myself.

**To stop worrying about reviews.  I want to stop feeling compelled to check Amazon and other places, only to break out in hives because someone gave my latest literary baby one-star and said it’s the worst piece of crap they’ve ever seen. I write because I can’t imagine doing anything else.  It feeds me.  It drives me.  I would write even if Ed and my mom were the only ones reading.  Knowing that a hunk of the book-buying population will never warm to me does not affect how I work.  I don’t think about it when I’m composing, not one bit (although I know authors who do—one who even told me he considers readers’ suggestions about how he should approach characters and plotlines while he’s writing).  All bad reviews do is make me feel lousy personally. So I need to follow in the footsteps of Laura Spinella and Maggie Barbieri who make a point to avoid reading reviews. If I can wean myself in 2012, that will be a very good thing.

**To do a better job at setting my deadlines so that I’m not working on two projects at once in tandem with a new book release and a million other things.  It’s amazing how much I feel like Superwoman when events on my schedule are a year away.  But once life starts happening—say, you get pregnant!—and other book-related demands crop up, suddenly there’s not enough time in the world.  I have always prided myself on getting things done on time, if not early.  So it’s been a challenge this past year, juggling everything and making sacrifices.  I need time for my real life and my book life…and a few moments to breathe in between.

I feel so fortunate to be doing what I love every day of my life.  I just want to make the experience better and better in every way possible.  Oh, yeah, and did I mention I need to work on stressing out less?  I’m definitely better than I was at that a year or two ago, but I’m still not close to achieving my black belt in Zen.

Happy New Year, everyone!  Any resolutions you want to share?

Why It's Always a "Great Day" when I Talk About Books on TV

by Susan McBride

I had the pleasure of appearing on "Great Day St. Louis" again yesterday, something I've been doing about every other month or so for a few years now.  Watching myself on TV today compared to when I was first published in 1999 is a hoot.  Back then, when I was nervous, I tended to do bug eyes (aka "deer in headlights").  The longer I spoke, the bigger my eyes got.  Although, come to think of it, I did that when speaking in person to others, too.  I remember one conversation with Charlaine Harris eons back when she finally shouted at me, "Blink, dammit!"  Thank goodness, I got over that.

Back to "Great Day" and the Great Reads segment from yesterday.  I always look forward to going downtown to the KMOV Channel 4 studios.  It means getting to play hooky from my current work-in-progress (and those pesky looming deadlines), so I jump at the chance!  Ed loves going with me, so he usually takes the morning off.  I never protest, as I don't mind a bit having a "driver" drop me off in front of the building while he goes to park the car in the appointed lot a few blocks up (it's especially handy-dandy when the weather is ugly).

I even have fun pushing through the revolving doors to get into the KMOV lobby, where I sign in at the reception desk and then wait for Sammi, an assistant producer, to come get me (and any other guests hanging around).  We enter the newsroom where various reporters, meteorologists, and even anchor-people are working on stories in their cubbies. Then it's back through a hallway and into the studio, approaching from behind a wall and emerging right beside the Weather Center (Ed loves the Weather Center most of all).

Since it's the holiday season, the anchor desk has lots of poinsettias around it, which looks so pretty.  The chairs for guests of "Great Day" are right beside it.  Ed and I always like to poke around, take pictures, talk to Jenn and Brooke, the producers (who are adorable!), or Matt Chambers (one of the "Great Day" co-hosts and one of the station's most beloved weather dudes!), and also with other guests (that's how I met Lisa Bertrand, Wade Rouse, and a whole bunch of other cool people that I like to keep in touch with, or at least keep tabs on!).

Yesterday, the owner of a gold, silver, and coin shop was on-set for a segment, and I got his card (I really want to sell my old jewelry from high school that I will never wear again or pass down to anyone!).  He gave us newly-minted quarters and a newly-minted dollar.  So cool!  You never know what's going to happen on "Great Day"--I once got a fabulous cookbook from a visiting chef!  But I digress!

Once Sammi gets me settled inside, she hands me a script.  I find out which co-host will do the segment with me (yesterday, it was Matt) and what Matt will see running across the teleprompter.  That way, I have a good idea of what to expect when I sit down with him on the set, the camera rolls (and my mike goes live), and we start talking about books. The script also notes the approximate time I'll be on-air, so I know if I'm early in the show or later.  For Thursday, I was on at 10:34, so Ed and I got to sit and watch the cooking segment (turkey pot pie!), an interior designer discussing her family's "Christmas auction" (which they do in lieu of buying lots of gifts), and a therapist explaining seasonal mood changes (my mood only gets better the colder and snowier it gets!).

And then it was my turn!  Sammi had me miked up the back of my sweater, and I followed her over the camera cables to the kitchen area, where I sat on a stool behind the counter with Matt.  I'm usually on the other side of the set behind a glass-topped table (or, occasionally, on the sofa).  So this was something new!

Once the previous segment finished (we got to watch it as it aired), Matt introduced me and the Great Reads segment...and off we went!  Here's the bit so you can see it for yourself (I gush about three recent books I loved, including our very own Maggie Barbieri's PHYSICAL EDUCATION and recent Stiletto guest blogger Marilyn Brant's A SUMMER IN EUROPE).  It only takes about five minutes, and then I'm done!  As always whenever I leave the "Great Day" set, I can't wait to go back again!  ;-)

All I Want for Christmas is Escada Couture Swarovski Crystal Jeans

by Susan McBride's Second Cousin Once Removed, Tiffany Van Cleef Arpel

My dear cousin, Ms. Susan, has to get cracking on a book deadline, so I told her I'd fill in on the blog today, offering my always fabulous holiday shopping tips. If I'd left Susan to discuss the subject, she'd be all about "Take care to mind your budget, blah blah blah." Budget? Hello! That word's not even in my vocabulary, unless my stable hand says, "Hey, Tiff, can't seem to get Appletini's ass out of the stall, even when I try to budge it."

Look, I've done my best to pick out truly reasonable items for everyone on your gift list (meaning: me, me, me!); so don't panic, even if your trust fund is tied up in litigation because your money manager finally got caught running his silly ol’ Ponzi scheme. I know how to spot a bargain, particularly if it's really sparkly. So without further ado, here are my awesome recommendations!  No need to thank me.

A pink leopard guitar for a piddly $9,900. It’s, like, musical art with a mahogany neck, rosewood finger board, and hand-applied Swarovski crystals. Do I know how to play the guitar? Heck, no! Well, not any better than Brittany Spears knows how to sing without Auto-Tune. But I’m a rock chick at heart so I’d just wear this puppy around my neck instead of pearls.

While you’re pretending to play that guitar, you’ll need to look hot, right? So how about a pair of Escada Couture Swarovski Crystal Jeans, available at Neiman Marcus for a mere $10,000. Honestly, you can never have too many jeans, and why not have some that glitter like the Vegas strip when you're caught in the headlights of your boyfriend's Lamborghini? Just be really careful about wiping sweaty palms on your thighs when you're wearing these babies, as you can cut yourself up pretty good. (Don't ask.)

If you like something simpler, you can always go with the Dolce & Gabbana Astrakhan Jeans, which are incredibly priced at $3,950. It's like stealing, I swear.

For the very special woman on your list who likes things soft and fuzzy (and that's me, me, me!), how about a lovely and practical Louis Vuitton mink scarf, a mere pittance at $1,710. It can double as a mink pillow if you stay at a hotel where the sheets smell too bleachy (yeah, Paris Hilton, and you can tell you dad I said so!).


Not into scarves? Then go for J. Mendel silver fox vest (price tag: $5,475). Though I'm afraid my arms would get cold, so, please, spring for both. You wouldn't want me wandering into Donald Trump's Christmas Eve bash hacking up phelgm 'cuz I've got pneumonia, now would you?

The perfect outfit for any holiday party is the little black dress, and Miu Miu has the cutest ruffled one for a paltry $820. I know. What a deal, huh? And since you'll only wear it once, you won't feel like you're getting ripped off or anything.

You're probably saying, "Tiff, my God! What fantastico ideas! Surely you can't have more?"

Ah, but I do.

Like this little gem: Faraone Mennella for Carolina Herrera citrine, rose quartz and pink tourmaline brooch. It's understated yet pretty as my picture. "But what's that cost, Tiff?" I hear you asking. To which I reply, "You can easily afford it AND the mortgage payments on your villa in Tuscany without selling off those Rembrandt etchings." $14,000. Yes, that's right. Unbelievable, huh? So make it two, please!

If you're wondering about New Year's Eve ‘cause you'd like to bring a bottle of bubbly to that party Skip and Bitsy Vanderhaven are throwing in Greenwich, my suggestion would be to take them a set of Hermes cocktail glasses (just $400 a glass) and the Louis Roederer Cristal Champagne 1990 ($231). I guarantee Skip and Bitsy will be your pals for life, or at least until they run out of the Cristal.

And, finally, the perfect holiday present. One that will never be returned or re-gifted. Here goes (drumroll, please, Ringo): a yoga retreat at Hotel Tugu in Bali. At $2,590 per couple x four nights, it's even cheaper than the jeans!

So there you are, my darlings. Just have your valet and/or your personal assistant wrap 'em up, and you can call it a day. It was a lot easier than you thought, wasn't it? Because life is too short to waste a lot of time in places called "The Galleria" when you could be at the spa, getting high colonics and Brazilian bikini waxes and your eyebrows plucked to smithereens.

If you need further inspiration, just repeat this ditty (my personal mantra): "Gucci, Pucci, Prada, Fendi, nothing's wrong with being trendy."

Ciao, babies...and happy shopping!

Tiff

(Note from Susan:  Tiffany wrote this lovely piece for me a few years back so some of the prices may have changed, although I'm not sure if that matters much, if ya know what I mean.)

The Fine Art of Juggling Time

by Susan McBride

Although I consider myself pretty adept at a lot of different things, balancing my time wisely is not one of them.  No matter how old I get--and how much wiser in other departments--I don't seem to have completely grasped the concept that you cannot agree to do 200 things in a finite amount of time and get all of them done. 

I always think I can do it.  Take this year, for example.  I told myself, sure, I can do revisions on Little Black Dress in the first few months, go through the copy edit, check the page proofs, and all else that the production schedule demands of me, PLUS write the first draft of Dead Address, the young adult mystery for Random House AND promote Little Black Dress upon release in late August THEN pen my next women's fiction book, Little White Lies, all by December 1.  Oh, yeah, and that's not counting all the real-life hoo-ha that comes in between (take my lovely encounter with skin cancer and Moh's surgery in May, for instance). 

Piece of cake, yes?

Well, I imagined it would be.  I mean, I kept reminding myself I'd written two books for my two different publishers while going through my boobal crisis nearly five years ago.  I know I'm not Superwoman (at least, not one who doesn't constantly trip on her cape), but I seem to want to play one on TV.  Or at least in my writing life. 

I used to always meet deadlines.  Heck, I'd turn things in early.  I was such an overachiever that at the first lunch I ever had with my agent and then-mystery editor half a dozen years ago, they remarked on how efficient I was.  "Like a robot," one of them actually said (though I can't recall which). 

But back then, I was single.  I had myself, two cats, and a condo to worry about.  It was like living on another planet.  Once I'd met Ed, bought a house with him, dealt with a health crisis, got married, and took on even more responsibilities, I told myself, "You aren't a robot.  You're human.  You can only do what you can do."  That's a mantra I repeat often, so I'm not sure why it hasn't completely sunk in. 

I still want to say, "yes, I can do that!"  Even if I worry that it's adding yet another ball to the ones I'm juggling.  "No problem!" I chirp when asked to do things spur of the moment when I realize I should be focusing on writing books and not scattering my energy and time all over the place.

In some ways, I have gotten better about time. I don't travel nearly as much as I used to.  I do say "no" when an event isn't doable.  I don't do Twitter (and never intend to), I'm not LinkedIn or GooglePlussed or anything besides Facebooked.  I'm on two group blogs with other incredible women authors who are busy balancing their real lives and writing lives, too.

And, still, I find myself in binds over and over, where I know at least one thing won't get done on time.  Where I realize I'll have to ask for an extension in order to finish my work and do it right.  Man, I hate that.

I'm learning.  That's all I can say.  Every year when I do too much, I understand the things that I need to cut out the next time.  It might be years before I'm a master at the fine art of juggling time, but I will get there.  So long as no one gives me a deadline.

Let's Do A Halloween Meme!

by Susan McBride 


Yes, I'm behind on my book deadline as so much stuff keeps popping up and stealing time (I know, I know, I need to play ostrich but it's so darned tricky!).  Try as I might, I can't come up with anything to blog about besides "1001 Ways to Procrastinate" or "Things That Distract Me," which both hit way too close to home.  Then I thought, "A-ha! Halloween is in 10 days!  How about I devise a meme that everyone can answer?"  So that's exactly what I did!

I've inserted my answers below, but I'm dying to hear yours!  Please, share, even if you only want to respond to a few.  All rightee, ghouls and goblins, let the games begin!

(1)  What's your favorite Halloween costume ever?

Alice in Wonderland.  Although it wasn't until my writing career that I actually fell down the rabbit hole.

(2)  What's your favorite Halloween candy (or other treat)?

Snickers.  That's all I ever wanted in my bag.

(3)  Name the scariest book you've ever read?

Salem's Lot.  It made me jumpy and afraid to go anywhere alone in the dark for weeks after I finished it.

(4)  Who's the best movie vampire ever:
(a)  Bela Lugosi
(b)  George Hamilton
(c)  Tom Cruise
(d)  Robert Pattinson

Boris Karloff.  I love him.


(5)  Who'd win in a fist fight?  Sookie or Bella?

Bella is a wimp!  It's Sookie all the way, baby!

(6)  Are you superstitious?  How?

Yes.  I knock on wood all the time and have to wear a specific pair of earrings whenever I get on a plane.  I don't avoid cracks but I do hold my breath driving past graveyards (unless they're really long).

(7)  Frankenberry, Count Chocula, or Boo Berry?

Count Chocula.  No contest.

(8)  Will you dress up this year?  If so, as what?

I'm most definitely dressing up in my fleece jammie pants, socks, ratty T-shirt, and bedhead.  Oh, yeah, it's my "writer" costume!


Boo!  Now it's YOUR turn!

Another Year Sneaking Up On Me

by Susan McBride

Yes, it's my birthday month, and I'm turning 47 this year (a little over a week from today as a matter of fact!).  It's amazing how quickly birthdays sneak up.  Kind of like blog due dates.  I think I've just finished with one and then another races around to bite me in the butt.

I remember loving birthday parties as a kid.  My mom used to go all out.  We'd think up a theme, send out invitations to my classmates and neighborhood friends.  Sometimes we'd have the party at home, playing games inside and out; other times, we'd head to a kid-friendly petting zoo or area park. I just remember being so excited for the day to arrive and very sorry (and tired) when it was over.

These days, I have to catch my birthday circled on the calendar to remind myself it's approaching.  I worked through my birthday last year (yes, sadly, I told both sides of the family I couldn't take the time off to do dinner or anything else because every writing hour was precious).  I'm on an equally insane deadline this year, but I've decided I will most certainly take off my birthday.  It falls on a Sunday, and Ed's itching to get back to Pumpkin Land (since we haven't been in a couple years).  He wants to do the corn maze (must remember to wear old "creek" shoes) and buy our pumpkins there (a lot more fun than picking them up at the grocery store).

Honestly, birthdays are still fun, but I don't worry so much about celebrating them.  The older I get--and the more crap I go through--the more I think that every day is a celebration.  Yeah, I'm sure I've said that before (again and again), but it's true.  If I see something I want to buy Ed--or a friend--I go ahead and get it.  I don't care if a holiday is anywhere near.  If I want to treat myself to a pedicure or a cupcake, I'll do it.  Life is one big birthday and the party should last as long as we're around to take part in it.

So not this Sunday but the next, I'll be tearing my fingers away from my keyboard and laughing my head off as Ed and I try to negotiate ourselves out of a crazy corn maze (I've seen corn stalks trampled when people get fed up and need a quick way out--but no short-cuts for us!).  I can't wait to pick out pumpkins from a real farm and take them home to set on the stoop (I don't carve them anymore--I just leave them out for the squirrels, who like to munch on them when they get hungry).

Whatever you do on my birthday, have fun!!!  And make like it's your birthday, too.  :-)

The House Guests That Don't Want to Leave

by Susan McBride

I was talking with Maggie earlier in the week, and she kindly reminded me that this Friday was my blogging day.  I'm heading out of town for the Southern Indie Bookseller's trade show in Charleston--um, like right about now--so my mind has been focused on that (what to bring, what to wear, if I'll miss my connecting flights) and on getting more work done on Little White Lies, which I've barely started.  Little White Lies is my next women's fiction book due on December 1 (yes, you heard right).  It's been quite a juggling act this year, revising Little Black Dress in January and February, getting a first draft of Dead Address done by the end of July (my young adult mystery for Delacorte also due December 1, and it still needs a rewrite!), dealing with Little Black Dress promotion during most of August (with plenty more ahead of me), and now writing a draft of Little White Lies for HC/Morrow.  Needless to say, the days and weeks are going by WAY too quickly. 

I tell myself to stay cool.  I've had to write two books in a year before, most notably during the latter part of 2006 and the first part of 2007 when I was diagnosed with my boob stuff and had to undergo surgery and radiation therapy while working on Too Pretty to Die and The Debs.  I've previously mentioned how going to my computer everyday in my jammies helped maintain my sanity and gave me an outlet for all the crazy emotions I was feeling.  But it was also tough.  I wanted to do the best job I could under the most stressful of circumstances at a time when I was supposed to be taking care of my health and NOT stressing out.  But that's life, I think, and I did what I had to do, although both manuscripts were turned in about a month late.  Somehow, despite my fears, the world didn't stop spinning. 

Thank goodness, I'm not dealing with any major health crises (knock on wood!) as the deadline for two very different books rapidly approaches.  Regardless, I've found myself in a sticky situation.  I need to be able to move from one project to the next without carrying a lot of baggage.  Only, I've come to realize I have unwanted house guests.  No, not real ones.  Imaginary ones. The kind of house guests that do not require clean linens or three square meals. They have no desire to visit tourist attractions or sit in my favorite spot on the sofa at night, watching TV.  They don't even muck up the guest bathroom or drop their dirty socks on the floor.

Instead they intrude upon my mind.  When I started Dead Address late in the spring, I still hadn't shaken my revision of Little Black Dress from a few months before.  It had been an intense period of about two months where I worked every day (and night), rewriting every page, moving things around, adding new chapters, and otherwise fully immersing myself in the world of Anna and Evie Evans and the magical black dress from the gypsy's shop in Ste. Genevieve.  I could not get them out of my head.

When I needed to focus on Katie, Mark, and Lisa and their boarding school in Dead Address, I was still back in Blue Hills, Missouri, worrying about the sisters and Toni (okay, and whether the back cover copy did the story justice, or how the font on the cover would look). Somehow, I managed to send Evie, Anna, and Toni packing for long enough to write what happened to Katie after opening up the mysterious box with the severed hand.  But now it's time to get my head into Little White Lies (and into the heads of Gretchen Brink, her daughter Abigail, and a mystery man from Gretchen's past), and I've still got Katie, Mark, and Lisa hanging around, wondering when I'm going to start paying attention to them again because I haven't quite finished with them yet.  Oh, and Evie, Anna, and Toni, won't go away so easily either, not as long as I still have LBD events to do (throughout September and October).

Sigh.

If anyone knows a successful method for removing unwanted imaginary house guests, I'd sure appreciate hearing it.  For now, I guess I'd just better keep the sheets clean, the fresh towels handy, and the fridge full (um, figuratively speaking).  One of these days, perhaps, they'll all go back from whence they came, and my house--um, my head--will be unnaturally quiet, at which point I'll have to start inviting new imaginary house guests in.

I Yam What I Yam

by Susan McBride

A few months ago, I read an essay by Marilyn Brant that resonated with me.  She delighted in a talk Jennifer Crusie gave at this year’s RWA conference about being yourself when you write.  The point she made was that, while there are only so many stories to be told (and endless variations thereof), only you can tell a story in your own voice, in your own style, with your own points of reference and experience.

I love that message.

Not staying true to yourself in your work would be like writing a book in a genre you don’t read.  The fact that you’re not feeling it or understanding it is going to shine through like a lighthouse beacon.  I’m not saying “only write what you know,” because I believe that telling stories allows us to explore people and worlds we don’t know, first-hand anyway.  It affords us a chance to get in other folks’ skins and learn what it means to be them.  But we need to feel inside that sense of “ah, yes, this is right.”  Because when it’s wrong, it’s impossible to fake well or for long anyway.

It took me a while to learn this.  The first manuscripts I wrote were traditional romances. I had read a few, admired them, but it wasn’t my thing.  I had to try my hand at other genres that more deeply engaged me, like mainstream fiction, family sagas, and mysteries before I really got that “ah-ha” feeling.  Once I was finally published, I realized getting my foot in the door was only the beginning. 

When you’re thrust into the big, bad world of promotion and put yourself out there—whether it’s doing social media or standing in front of people in small groups or large, sometimes speaking on panels and sometimes all alone on a stage for an hour or more—it’s important to be yourself.  Whatever that is!  For me, at first, it was all unpolished awkwardness.   

At 34 when my first novel debuted, I still looked like a college girl with headbands in my hair and flats on my feet. I had zero experience in public speaking.  I typed up word-for-word speeches until I realized that wasn’t comfortable for me or anyone listening. I bumbled around on panels, hoping to be funny but coming off as sarcastic instead (well, I am pretty sarcastic so that wasn’t hard to do!). I wanted to be Mary Higgins Clark, glamorous in her Chanel suits, pearls, and pumps.  She looked so poised and spoke so eloquently. 

It took me a few years to finally realize the cold, hard truth:  I will never be glamorous or elegant any more than I will ever be MHC.  I yam who I yam, to quote Popeye.  And sometimes it ain’t pretty.

That sunk in deeply when I went through Crappy Health Crisis, which began at the end of 2006.  When you hear a frightening diagnosis and wonder if you’ll ever get your life back, you suddenly strip away all the pretenses. You say bye-bye to the meaningless. You shed responsibilities that aren’t important.  You even shed people who seem to tug at your emotions in all the wrong ways.  You realize it’s vital to say “I love you” and “thank you” and “you’re the best” to people who lift you up because you never know what’s coming ‘round the bend.

My mom has often told me, “Only do things because you want to, not because you think you’ll get something out of it,” and that’s some of the best advice I ever got.  I decided that “only say things because you want to, not because you think you’ll get something out of it” applied, too. It’s refreshing to feel like you’re not out to impress anyone. You enjoy everything more if you stick to doing things you love and saying things you mean.  It makes you all the more grateful for people around you who do the same things.

I guess I’m thinking about all of this with Little Black Dress out last week and my publicist asking, “Do you want to do this?  Do you want to do that?”  These days when I do anything—whether it’s promotion or going out for dinner—it’s solely because I want to, not because I feel like I have to. Every day, I strive to be more positive in my life.  So when I put something out there, I want to know my heart is behind it, whether it's talking on the phone to a dear friend or writing a new novel.

I Will Survive Alien

by Susan McBride

What? you're muttering to yourself, that title makes no sense.  Ah, but it must to someone (or rather, a couple of someones) as it's one of the search phrases used to find The Stiletto Gang.  My best guess is that there's a post somewhere in the archives mentioning that classic disco tune, "I Will Survive."  Not so sure about the "alien" part.  Unless the searcher wants to know how he or she will survive an alien visit, or perhaps they're feeling feisty, like they want to tell the galaxy, "I will survive, alien!"  Okay, I give up.  Your guess is as good as mine.

Another search phrase that had me reminiscing was "hissing garter snake."  It brought back memories of several springs ago when I was cleaning leaves out of a window well by the patio.  A tiny garter snake reared its pinky-sized head to hiss at me.  Yes, I screamed, but then I took the dustpan, scooped it in, and flung it into the ivy.  Ah, good times.

How about this one:  "obese belly dancer."  Hmm.  I don't remember anyone writing a post on the subject.  Maybe I was on vacation (wait, I don't take vacations). 

A handful of curious people found Stiletto by looking for "caramelized hair color," which intrigues me.  I've always thought I'd love to have caramel-colored highlights in my tresses.  From the looks of things, I'm not the only one.

Then there's the seeker of "outdoor ground cover w/ 7 leaves and flowers."  Ah, how fortuitous that such a search led them here!  Because we're all about, um, ground cover.  And what ground cover is better than that with seven leaves and flowers?  Although if you need to know the right type of mulch to use, I'm guessing a blog about plants might have more answers.

And last but surely not least, there were over 30 interested parties seeking information about being "naked at the mall."  I do, in fact, recall writing a post called "Walking Naked at the Mall," after Maggie and I had a discussion about dreams that mean you're feeling vulnerable.  There were no photos of naked mall walkers inserted nor any physical descriptions, which I'll bet left most of those interested parties feeling a wee bit let down.  What this tells me is that using "naked" in your title will draw readers who normally wouldn't visit a book blog.  (I know, you're thinking, brilliant theory, Einstein.)

Now I'm wondering, what's the weirdest thing you've ever searched for online?  Or if you have a blog, what are the strangest search terms that have led someone to it?  Inquiring minds want to know!

  

P.S.  Little Black Dress is out next Tuesday, August 23...squeeeee!  You can pre-order online from booksellers and e-booksellers now!  Here's a helpful link.  Or you can Google "book with magic black dress" and see if that'll lead you to it.  Seek and ye shall find...something.