I’ll be back in Dallas this week to interview Frank Warren (as of the writing of this post, which is Oct. 19). It only seems appropriate to have a post about secrets for #musicmonday, and conveniently this All American Rejects video is distinctly PostSecret-y.
When your sense of humor tends toward the unfortunate, Adult Swim is clearly a winning option when you need some animated entertainment in your (empty, socially inept, totally effing awesome) life. This show is old but a recent conversation revealed that only 4% of the employees at work (that’d be me and my husband) know about it. This is a travesty of unspeakable proportion. Surely someone else is as awesome and socially inept as we, no? Perhaps not. Anyhooo, it’s gross and inappropriate and hilarious and disturbing and oh-so-watchable. Please love it as much as I do.
Word is they don’t air this anymore. I wouldn’t know, though, because I’m either in a coma or watching Wow, Wow, Wubzy! at that time of night.
As much as I’d like to be one of those girls who is too cool to appreciate the sick beauty of a Tarantino film, I can’t be. I love that guy, I love his disgusting, violent movies, and I love that Kill Bill made David Carradine relevant again before they found him in that closet. Mostly, though, I love this song, and (sadly) I have Quentin Tarantino to thank for introducing us.
Happy Music Monday!
I don’t know how many of you are familiar with or participating in NaNoWriMo, but this year I’m giving it a shot. I have a 15-page plot synopsis, which is as good a start as I’ll ever have. I’m sort of in love with it, so cross your fingers that someday it will turn into something complete that a publisher also falls in love with. (Hey, a girl’s gotta have a dream.)
The premise is this: write 50,000 words in 30 days. That’s it. There’s no billion-dollar prize, no parade, no wardrobe malfunction in your honor. You have (most of) a book when you’re done, and probably a headache, but the idea is to write every day, write as much as possible, and write without being afraid of what to write. So in the end, if you’re book makes no sense and you deliberately left it plotless, who cares? You practiced and you made something (even if it is a very bad something) out of nothing.
I don’t assume that I will finish the month out a winner. I have a plan, and if that plan fails, I have next month. But when December 1st is here and I announce my winner/loser status, you can rest assured that I tried and that what I’ve written is a hell of a lot better than nothing.
If you’re a participant, click the banner at right to buddy me. If you’re a curious onlooker, you can click the banner to keep track of my word-count stats and such, including the working title and genre of the piece I’m writing (which are subject to change without notice.)
I’d like to mention that if you are, in fact, doing NaNoWriMo with me, there are a couple tools I’ve scoped out that can help. If you have an iPhone or iPod touch, get MyWritingNook from the app store. It’ll allow you to write while you’re not connected to wifi, then sync to your online MyWritingNook.com account when you are. It counts words and saves all versions of your documents both online and on your device, so it’s super-handy if you’re away from your PC a lot, as I am. It’s two bucks.
If you’re the type that needs a little prodding (*sheepish grin*), Write or Die is a motivating tool; take too long to meet your predetermined word-count, and it’ll start erasing what you’ve written. Nothing like the fear of rewriting to keep a slacker going. (Seriously, I was pissed the first time.) There’s a desktop version available that you can use offline, but I think that’s unnecessary since you’re not on a mobile device and thus are probably online anyway. The desktop version is ten bucks (boo) but it’s free to use online, of course.
I don’t know if NaNo will have a negative or positive effect on my blog yet. If writing every day means I think of something to post here, then that’s what will happen. If not, see you guys in December. 
(I’ve future-dated a few posts, so there will be something to look at while I’m away.)
Remember that one time back in September when I lost my mind and had a chocolatini from Hell in Dallas? And in that time, I spent three hours staring in slack-jawed awe at Jason Mraz in his bare feet and maybe-a-little-too-dark tan? NO? Oh, well have a video then. I didn’t take this and I’m not in it, but I was RIGHT THERE AND I SAW THE WHOLE THING.
I like the idea of doing a video for #musicmonday better than blipping songs on twitter all day. So, on that note, Happy Music Monday. Please enjoy OK Go’s “I Want You So Bad I Can’t Breathe,” which has been in my head for like three days.
Some of you live in parts of the world that are far away from here, parts where seasons behave as seasons should and, oh I dunno, change occasionally. Not I. I live in Oklahoma, where the old people joke that there are four seasons — early summer, summer, late summer, Christmas — plus a weird half- early-summer-half-summer time we call tornado season. But today it’s definitely Fall.
My car told me at 11:00 that it was 46 degrees outside. I wasn’t brave enough to look at it when I was taking the kid to school, but I’m pretty sure it was colder than in the morning. So when we got home we made pumpkin bread. This is the second time in a week that I’ve made some kind of bread, and I don’t know that I’ll be getting tired of it anytime soon. Anyway, I wanted to post this recipe here because I adapted it pretty heavily and I’ve had a few people ask for it. The picture is stolen from the original recipe, which looks sorta like what I made, minus the glow of awesomeness that surrounds food I make.
(adapted from this recipe at allrecipes.com)
1 -15 oz. can pumpkin puree 1 C unsweetened applesauce
1 C white sugar
1/2 C light brown sugar
2 eggs plus 1 egg white
2 1/2 C all-purpose flour
3/4 tsp baking powder
3/4 tsp baking soda
3/4 tsp salt
1 1/2 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp ground nutmeg
1/2 tsp ground cloves
1/4 tsp ground gingerPreheat oven to 350F. Spray 2 loaf pans with nonstick spray, or grease/flour them if you’re old-school.
Mix pumpkin, applesauce, sugars, and eggs until slightly foamy and lightened in color.
In another bowl, mix flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and ginger.
Add dry to wet, mix until well-blended, scraping sides and bottom of bowl.
Add chopped apples, walnuts and raisins.
Top with streusel topping mixture (below).
Divide batter between pans and bake 45-60 minutes. Streusel will be crisp and bread will spring back when you press on the top.
Streusel topping:
2 Tbsp all-purpose flour 2 Tbsp light brown sugar 1 Tbsp white sugarMix flour, sugars, and cinnamon in a small bowl.
Cut butter in with a pastry blender or fork until mixture resembles coarse crumbs (which is the standard way of saying “until it’s done.”)
Divide evenly to cover the batter in both pans.
If none of that–eaten hot from the oven with a chai latte–incites your jealousy, I also made turkey today.
In February, I sent a stack of exactly 100 flyers to PPA, the Parenting Publications of America, with a check for membership and a smile on my face. I was gonna be syndicated. I was gonna be a rock star among mommies. I’d be the mommy all the little momlets wanna be like.
They cashed my check. The flyers made it to the resource table. I was on my way, everything was great, all was well, waiting waiting waiting, lah-dee-dah.
Then more waiting.
Then, I was like, “WAIT!” Because, hold it–I was supposed to get a member-magazine roster. A list of all the magazines who hire PPA member writers (such as myself) and reprint articles that ran originally somewhere else (aka, syndicated articles), and where the hell was it? Because nothing like that ever crossed my mailbox/inbox/black-cat-strewn path. So I sent an email.
No reply.
I sent another email, this time with the original email attached.
No reply.
I sent a third email, this time with a terser tone and no room for questioning the state of my emotions. I was annoyed. Mad, even. I don’t like being ignored. And I had sent them money. MONEY, people. I attached the two other emails, with a curt little note about how they were attached. Something like, “Not that anyone will ever notice because I know no one is reading these emails, but I’ve attached the other two emails I sent that no one read. You know, in case you decide to take a peek. Or whatever.”
OK, I didn’t say that at all. But ten minutes later, I had a reply. A very nice one, from a woman who was very sorry to hear that no one had helped me yet. And through a series of three back-forth exchanges, we determined what the situation was, got eveything taken care of, and Very Nice and Sorry to Hear of My Unhappiness Woman promised–pinky swore, even–to mail me a copy of the PPA member magazine roster that was rightfully mine. I was happy. So I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Today, I emailed the FIVE emails back to the same address, with a very short note: “Can I have my roster? I haven’t received it. See attached.”
Hours later, an email comes, equally short reply (“Please see attached.”), and would you freakin’ believe it, a MAILING LIST ATTACHED. As annoyed as I seem, I’m actually very excited. This is good news, you know. I have the list. I hold the list, the list of 128 publications to which I am kindly urged–nay, obligated–to send my column for syndication, in my hand. My left hand, because I type only with the first finger and thumb of my right hand, and obviously I’m writing this right now. But the point is that I have the golden ticket, the keystone, the decoder ring, the whatever-seemingly-magical-device-which-makes-all-things-possible in my hand.
So, I’ll see you guys later. I have queries to disperse.
I’ve been half in love with Justin Nozuka for a couple of years, and now he’s on tour in the US. Until now he was out on a crazy European tour, like Jason Mraz was, playing in ridiculous places like Luxembourg and Reykjavik. OK, I don’t know if he really played either of those places, but he sure as hell wasn’t in Dallas, OKC, or anywhere within a reasonable driving distance. And I’m too poor to fly to Bordeaux for a coffee shop appearance, regardless of the level of OMG I might be feeling.
So, turns out he is in the States now, and is playing in Dallas, and I do have three tickets in my possession for the show on November 21st. Certain Friend B is more excited than I expected, and Certain Friend A is just now finding out about him but is equally enthusiastic. Personally, if he does Ain’t No Sunshine and I’m standing within 20 feet of his person, I will consider the two year wait and ticket prices null and void. And even though the last concert pretty much sealed the happy-death deal, I don’t know. I might die ecstatic.
For Certain Friend B, because I miss you, too. November’s not so far away
I had forgotten to post the first copy of this letter, which came right at the end of last month. With the reminder that I suck repeated word-for-word in my inbox this evening, I think it’s best that I waited. This way I don’t have to show you the same thing twice.
Also, I’d like to remind those of you who aren’t crazy that all writers are masochists, and you shouldn’t feel bad for us when publishers tell us how unfit for public display our work is–we like it. Ooooh, yeah. Rejection is a good hurt. (for optimum rejection experience, read this, then wait a month and read it again)
Dear Adrienne,
Thank you for submitting “[title deleted]“. We won’t be publishing this piece, but we appreciated the opportunity to read your work! Because we read so many stories, it is not possible for us to give specific feedback, but, if you’re a relative beginner, you may find something of interest here: [link to nicely-worded letter about how even crappy writers should keep writing, even if it is all crap, which it is, but don't be sad]
Thank you,
[publication]
