Today was day 2 of the Children’s Literature Forum. For me, it was much nicer than day 1. The mingling was easier. Like, at lunch, two old librarians sat next to me and chatted me up. The one told me that I “look like that movie star, Cameron Diaz” and then the second old librarian said “oh no, you are much more beautiful than that Cameron Diaz”. And then I hugged them both and cried, because they were the first people to be really nice to me during the whole conference and WOW, were they nice. (I didn’t really hug them, because that would have been weird, but I wanted to.) The speakers today were pretty dang phenomenal, too. I loved listening to Brandon Mull speak during the luncheon. He’s all about being a champion for the fantasy genre… so of course I wanted to hug him, too. But I didn’t. Because, again, the weird factor. He talked about his active imagination (as a kid and as an adult) and I completely identified with him. He talked about the “nerd-stink” that went along with his love for fantasy during his teen and young adult years. The guy was brilliant and honest, despite his admittance to not being a “public speaker person”. At the end of his talk he apologized for not making the correct eye contact or whatever other speaking faux pas he may have inadvertently made. It was awesome. I applauded enthusiastically to his presentation, all the while wanting — of course — to hug him. But can you blame me? C’mon, a fantasy advocate? Bless him, dude. Frickin bless him.

The best session, though, was the one led by Ann Dee Ellis. She was pregnant, funny, smart, a little nuts, and a kindred soul if I ever did see one talk. (I’d say “a kindred soul if I ever did meet one”, but I didn’t actually meet her.) She held up a copy of The Bell Jar and asked if any of us had read it, and my hand flew up. She proceeded to tell how she identified completely with the story… and I nodded. And listening to her talk I thought, holy cow, I want to be this chick’s friend… but that would be weird to say that to someone, so of course I didn’t. Our seemingly similar paths ended when she said “I didn’t read this book until I was in graduate school…” Huh. Graduate school. Maybe we aren’t twins after all.

That’s when it really struck me how frickin far behind the learning curve I truly am. People who should be my peers would be my instructors. I’m old, man. I can’t imagine that if I’d actually gone to school on a normal time table I could be teaching writing at a college instead of learning writing at a college. Recounting this to Jon tonight, he said “Are you sure you want to go to school this fall?” I said, “yes.” He said, “You’re going to be sitting in classes with 18 and 19 year old kids.” I said, “I know.” He said, “If you wait another 10 years, you can go back as an old granny, and then people will say ‘oh, look at that cute old granny going back to school, good for her.’ If you go back now, people will just think it’s weird.” I thanked him for pointing out the painfully obvious things that I’d already been thinking about for two days straight. But seriously, putting off school another 10 years just because it will be embarrassing? Would it really be any less embarrassing in another 10 years?

But here we are. The forum is over, and I have much to think about.

And I’ve just realized — again — that I’m not getting any younger.

Today I spent the day at UVSC for the Children’s Literature Forum.

Book signing frenzy.

I’d been looking forward to it for weeks. I was so going to be be in my element. I’d be surrounded by others with similar interests. It would be a melting pot of creative juices and well-wishing mojo. Or this is what I thought. And it was sort of like that… kinda.

I spent the day actively listening to the speakers, taking copious notes, nodding when someone said something that I could identify with. I went solo, though, and it seemed as if I was the only “single” soul in the building. Everyone else had a posse, a group of creative cohorts with whom to share the experience. I made a few fruitless attempts to break into the conversations of other groups, but everyone seemed tight-knit. So instead I just sat back and observed. And what I observed was a hundred people all trying to do the same thing I want to do. A hundred people who all thought they could write, just like me. A hundred people who think they’ll be the next big author, just like me. I was adrift in a sea of me’s.

I sat in on a few really great sessions. The first was led by Kirby Larson , who is a Newbery Honor author. She gave a few pointers on collecting research and finding your character’s voice. Her pep talk made me think that maybe finishing a novel and eventually being published was something I could almost do.

The second session was led by Anne Bowen, a picture book author and retired teacher. She gave fantastic insight into the structure of a picture book (something I knew nothing about before today), and also touched on pacing and text. It was great stuff. I was taking notes at a furious pace. My mind was going over how I could apply all of these things to my fledgling picture book. My rhyming fledgling picture book. It was at this point she pulled out the old quote about how it is rarely a good idea to try to rhyme, which took a significant amount of wind from my sails. Because I so love my rhyming story. It’s precious. I love that it rhymes. It has meter and rhythm. But now I’m not so sure about it…

The third session was led by Sara Zarr, the author of the award winning YA novel “Story of a Girl”. She talked about writing authentic YA material, telling us it was good to be “gritty” and “raw” when it lent itself to realistic teen fiction. There was more furious note-taking. It was also good stuff. Then there was some discussion among the people in the room — some writers, some educators — that mentioned “fantasy” was on it’s way out. Fantasy is waning. Apparently teens don’t want to read so much of that anymore. They want something more realistic. Which is great… because my fledgling YA novel is fantasy. So it was good to hear up front that teens probably won’t want to read it.

I know, I was totally throwing a pity party for one. There was an imp on my shoulder playing the world’s tiniest violin, just for me. I walked out of the last session thinking that I would have to scrap everything I’ve been working on for years. Start all over. *sigh* And no doubt the new stuff would be crap as well… (more violin).

I walked to the campus bookstore and licked my wounds by buying bags full of paperbacks.

Paperbacks are soothing to the soul, the smell of new paper and the smoothness of the cover… paperbacks are like a massage in book-form. I picked up the Sara Zarr book and a few non-kid books, as well. I also picked up “My Friend is Sad” by Mo Willems, because Mo is the man. If I ever met him, I just know that he’d somehow be like a long lost brother I never knew I had. (I imagine that we would have a secret handshake and inside jokes.) I came home and immediately read it to my kids, and it was met with truck loads of belly laughs. Like I said, Mo is the man. If only I could write like Mo…

Tomorrow I go back for another day of sessions and schmoozing. Except that I really need to learn to schmooze better. My networking skills are lacking. But tomorrow I will try to jump in more and let the imp play the violin a little less. And I’ll try to stay out of the book store.

Bad Mom tagged me for this meme. The idea is to write something significant about yourself in six words. Or something. The rules aren’t super clear to me. But it reminds me of that sweet contest I did last year, when you guys had to submit a story containing only seven words. That was fun. I need to do another one of those, only with better prizes… but I digress. Back to the meme. Six words. Okey doke. Here we go:

 Hey face: stop breaking out, already!

Often write about having writer’s block.

Does that come in green, perchance?

Jason Statham doesn’t know I exist.

Neither does James McAvoy, the cutie.

Me, Bike, Car, equals love triangle.

Can you put cheese on that?

Wanna hit a movie? With nachos? 

I’m tired and a little punchy. I can probably do better, and I could probably keep going all night. But — mercifully — I won’t. As a side note: Yay for me, I wrote 1,800 words to my novel today. So needless to say, six more good words are just eluding me at the moment. I’ve had my allotment of good words today. And, sadly for you, you won’t find them here on my blog.

I’m tagging Leslie and Sam, if you guys want to play along!

Today Zoe and I spent a little time creating soap recipes. We made oatmeal/shea butter soap, apricot scrub/honey soap, and — the prettiest of all — eucalyptus/peppermint soap.

Looks kinda like a blarney stone, huh?

We also made one lavender bar just for Zoe,  because she wanted something purple and calm smelling.

The kitchen was temporarily turned into a lovely little alchemy lab, with pretty scents and swirling colors. It was a nice break from the usual burnt lasagna smells and the swirling, choking black smoke of forgotten-pot-on-the-burner. For once there was something right going on in my kitchen…

(completely unrelated: all of the pics from the Red Cross run are up on flickr.)

Jachin is home sick today. He has a cold/sunburn combo compliments of Friday’s family skiing adventure. But we wore green anyway… and stayed inside today, organizing and cleaning, iPod playing peppy music throughout the house. He worked a little on his new animation program. I helped him with his first video blog. It’s up over at Jachin’s blog… go take a look-see. And now that he knows how to take video of himself and upload it, well… there’s no telling what family footage could turn up on YouTube. (But our chances of running for government office may have just gone out the window.)

And now, giving in to the odd, anal-retentive organization sensation that has struck me today, I’m off to organize the books in the playroom by reading level…

…what?

Take the Quiz here!

Recently I’ve started writing my tell-all memoir about my childhood and teen years. Yes, seriously. Because it is a funny, sad, but mostly just rather weird story. I think a handful of people would read it. (And I mean a small handful, like, Zoe’s hand. Not a large hand.)

For some reason, whenever I’ve told different members of my family that I’ve started writing a memoir, they’ve all said, “Oh, no…”, like it will be a book mainly about them and how they are total jerks to me. Like I will recall every time I was slighted, or spanked, or had my hair pulled unjustly, or was forced to wear the bright blue, hideous, and incredibly painful orthodontic head gear. (Okay, the head gear may get a small blurb…) In truth, though, the main person to be embarrassed by the whole thing is me. Which is why I completely intend to write it under a fake name. I’ve decided that although it is a great story in need of telling (and this is all assuming it ever gets published), I don’t need everyone in my neighborhood, or every person in my acquaintance to know the sad, nasty undercurrent of every embarrassing (yet interesting) part of my life.

I have decided that, in addition to changing my name, I will also change the names of the people in my life… to protect the identities of the innocent and the crud-ball alike. So if you are reading this, and you knew me as a kid or young adult, and you are fearful of being fingered as the person who once made me cry because you threw dog poop at me or some other such nonsense, this is your chance to go into hiding. Ever wanted to change your name anyway? This is your shot. I’m taking “Moniker Requests”. You can choose the name for yourself in my tell-all memoir.   It can be your middle name, or your stripper name, or your dog’s name… Whatever.

(Many of you, sweet readers, didn’t know me before this blog came to fruition, and therefor you will probably not be included in this particular book. You should really be thanking your lucky stars that our paths never crossed before the internet came about. But you can tell me what you’d change your name to, anyway.)

The 5k is finished, and yes, I finished it! And in a respectable time, for my first race. Not any record-breaking, medal-winning time, mind you. But respectable: 33:16

I discovered that (for me) the trick to running faster is to run with someone beside you; someone who will shame you into running faster and longer. I ran beside my sister-in-law, Kim. And while my training had consisted of alternating between one minute of running and one minute of walking, Kim just runs. And although this was also her first 5k, well, the girl runs better and longer than me. So there I was, running beside her, thinking man, I don’t want to be the one to stop and walk first… But of course I was the one who stopped and walked first, but not before running the longest stretch of my life. I found out that trying to keep up with a pack makes me faster and better. I finished a good 10 minutes ahead of what I was afraid I’d finish.

Jon (who finished in 20 minutes and a few odd seconds, and placed 11th overall) crossed the finish line, got his bottle of water, and then ran back to find me… with camera in hand. I tried to smile and act like it wasn’t such a big deal, that my legs weren’t just moving back and forth of their own accord… but, well, they were. I was pretty tired. But he clicked some pictures of me running my first race. (So there are some really unattractive, sweaty pics of me up on flickr, if you really want to look.  I discovered during this, my first race, that I am a very unattractive person when working out.)

I may be hooked on this whole 5k thing. I loved the whole goodie bag perk with the race tshirt, which I can now wear around like I am a totally serious runner person.  I loved the free breakfast afterward, with the orange slices and raffle prizes. It’s a really fun atmosphere. And though I will never in a million years “place”, staying in decent enough shape to run three miles every few weekends seems like a good thing to me.  There are supposed to be official pics of the race posted here in the near future. I know there is at least one of me and Jon warming up, pre-race (before it got really ugly).

I think it’s important to note here that my hubby was robbed. Somehow, they did not get his age entered in properly, so he wasn’t included in his age bracket results. He should have placed 2nd in the 25-34 Men’s group… but he will have to go to the grave without his just prize! (I think the prize for second place was Jazz tickets, and he has season tickets anyway… but still. I felt bad that he didn’t get the recognition.)  Complete race results are here.  You will have to scroll faaaaaar down to find me… and you probably have better things to do with your time.

Thanks to all of those who wished me happy birthday wishes. It was a good day. And I didn’t die, so sorry… none of you can have any of my stuff yet. (Sorry Kate, I’m keeping my bike for now… and I even got a new basket for it for my birthday!)

A couple of my uncles are in town for their annual ski trip to Utah. They come dang near every year right around the time of my birthday. They. Are. Sweethearts. Seriously, I love those guys. And while I intend to sit and write a proper post in the next few days about my adoration for my uncles, for now I will just chronicle the ski outing of this afternoon.

I hadn’t been skiing in 8 years. I’d pretty much sworn it off. I’m not good at it. It doesn’t seem to come naturally to me like it does for others in my family (and for Jon, even!). But my sweet uncle Matt told me that he would treat me to skiing for my birthday, and how on Earth could I say no to that? I can’t say no, is the answer. The uncles were only here for four days, and if I wanted to spend any time with them, it would have to be on the slopes. Breaking bones. Acquiring concussions. And so I went.

And so did my kids.

Here is where you learn what a bad mommy I am… we live in Utah (frickin UTAH!) and my children — ages 8 and 6 — had never been skiing before this afternoon. I know, what the crap, right? But today was the day. Today I would take them up there and spend $3,000 on rentals and half-day passes, and then force my screaming children onto ski lifts, and then force them down the bunny hill, whacking them coercively with a ski pole, until they were bloody… but skiing! At least this is how I imagined it would go. Because I’m a total pessimist. Because I always imagine the worse possible circumstances before going into an adventurous outing like this. But guess what? Go on, guess!!

Well, my kids are flippin’ awesome. They ski like they mean it. They ski like it’s sort of in their blood. They ski like they are totally NOT related to me. There wasn’t a single tear. Not a single whine. Not a single outcry of frustration. Nothing. They loved it. They owned the bunny slope, people.

Uncle Beezer (no, not his given name) took Jachin, and Uncle Matt took Zoe, and off they went.

They were skiing by themselves by the end of the first run. It was insane. They were giggling and grinning with pride as everyone cheered them on. They were unstoppable.

(It is important to note here that Zoe credits much of her skiing success to the fact that she rented some SWEET pink Barbie skis. Regular dumb skis would not have produced the same level of skiing awesomeness.)

Since the day was spend completely on the bunny slope, I incurred no serious injuries. I handled myself well. No one was cheering for me, mind you, but a day on the slopes ending without full body traction is a good day, indeed. Here’s the gang, chilling out in the lodge afterward, taking in some hot cocoa and stories:

Front to back: Jachin, me, Uncle Beezer, Paige (who is totally faking being asleep), Zoe, Jeff, my mom, and Uncle Matt. Bless us all and our aching old bones… what a great day.

more pics up on flickr.