On "middle age," reviews & interviews, and an Upcoming Giveaway Event

I think middle age is happening.

Unlike me, Jovie the Duck likes to have her nails done.

How old are you, Jenn, you ask? A polite girl never tells. Therein lies the irony: polite + girl. I have not been known throughout time for my politeness, and I don't think I qualify as a "girl" anymore. Well, from a purely biological perspective, sure, I am a girl. I wear a bra. I have PMS. I can do girlie things (except paint my nails. PLEASE don't make me paint my nails. It makes my hands feel heavy and then I start gesticulating like a Southern belle drinking spiked lemonade, using my pointer finger like I'm rocking a 3-carat diamond on Mr. Wedding Finger -- "Oh, this laundry pile here {point, hand flourish, point again}, it is clean and ready for you to put awayyyyyy." See what I mean? No nail polish!). Yeah, when I was a kid, I used to do all that tomboy stuff: rode BMX bikes off jumps, whizzed down hills on skateboards, picked fights I couldn't win (total weenie + big mouth = fast runner), climbed trees and impaled worms on hooks without squealing. I used to try to jump out of trees and over hedges and land with my legs straight, just to see if I could do it. Now that I'm approaching middle age, my knees are remembering my bad deeds and creaking in protest. However, I think this last trick of mine has less to do with me behaving as a boy and a lot more with me being dumb.


Why am I whining about middle age again? Oh, right. Because I can't remember shit. Maybe there's just so much going on. And there are. I have a lot of irons in the fire, stuff that keeps me awake at night and puts me to sleep during the day. (Vicious cycle.) Kids with needs, other kids fighting wars, bills that need paying, bullets that need dodging. Between Facebook and Twitter and email and then talking to people in real life, it's a lot to keep track of. And I've taken to writing everything down because it's embarrassing. I want my 17-year-old brain back (minus the melodrama and bouts of "woe is me"), but with all the shit I've learned since then added in. While you're at it, can I have my 17-year-old body back, too? That would be EXcellent.  Maybe make the boobs an eesny bit bigger...

I was telling my Accendo Press mates Heather and Angeline to remind me of stuff that they've told me -- info about giveaways and how we run those bad boys (they've explained it at least three times now), how to write guest posts and why they are beneficial, what Angeline's favorite wine is, the names of Heather's children -- because I tend to forget things we've talked about. I keep asking people I've chatted up on Twitter, "Oh, what part of LA are you in? I used to live in Studio City," and then they have to remind me that we already talked about this. Angela Carlie and I were practically neighbors growing up, and yet when I first met her, I told her twice, within the span of a week, that I grew up in Portland and graduated from the high school situated in the Washington town where she works. She was gracious and smiled at me across the miles, and said, "Mmm-hmm, I remember you told me last week." GEEZE, Jenn!

Please tell me that it's not me getting old. As a teenager and young adult, it would drive me mental when my mom would say that she was somehow excused from what I saw as transgressions because she was "getting up there." Example: "Oh, I forgot to send the check in for your yearbook. Sorry. You can borrow my camera, though. Where did I put it? Oh, that's just me getting old." Or "Oh, I know I said you could go out with that boy Friday night to that really big concert event, but I made other plans and I need you to babysit your little sister. I can't remember everything with my aging brain!" Huh? And while I'll likely never think of my mom as old--she has more energy than she knows what to do with (SIT DOWN, Mom!), when I was sixteen, her being thirty-eight totally seemed old.

Now I'm older than thirty-eight (though, just barely...*wink wink*), and I wish I could go back and be thirty again. Not twenty. Twenty was stupid hard. Thirty's good. My brain was still spry and tight. Maybe I should try omega 3-6-9? My Iranian friend Masi told me that fresh-squeezed lemon in water every morning, a liter of it, is good for your brain and body. Peggy the Therapist told me I need to exercise, that physical activity stimulates brain activity. Mostly it just stimulates my sleep activity. Even thinking about exercise makes me want to take a nap. And then all that thinking about a nap makes me tired.

The point of this, and I do have one, despite my ex-husband's insistence that I always missed the point, is that if we're chatting and I ask you a question I already know the answer to somewhere deep in the recesses of my brain, don't be offended. You are important to me. I'm frantically trying to patch the holes in my memory with equal servings of Oreos and coffee (LOTS of icky-sticky preservatives in both products!). It's a work in progress.

Speaking of a work in progress, I'm writing again. Finally. On Book 2, at p. 210. I even got to kill someone last night -- totally wicked! 

Sleight is collecting all sorts of fantastic reviews -- check out the Amazon page as well as the REVIEWS page here on the site. I'm sorta stoked about 'em. I even had a mom stop me in the hall at the elementary school this morning, which totally caught me off guard, and she said, "I read your book! It was so good!" Wow! REALLY? Sweet! What a fantastic way to start a Monday!

I've got some amazing book bloggers ingesting the book as we speak, and I'm looking forward to having paperback copies available within the next two weeks or so. So, STAY TUNED. If you want. Unless Vampire Diaries* is on, or maybe a new episode of Castle. I love Nathan Fillion. If you see him, tell him Jenn says hi. Oooh, and Paranormal State is back on tonight! Hi, Ryan Buell! I think you should marry my little sister because she's cute and loves ghosts almost as much as you!

(*If you missed the Diaries last Thursday, Forever YA has a fantastic recap here. I am SO in love with their blog!)

In the MEANTIME, a couple of super awesome blogger peeps interviewed me (I know! Weird, huh?) last week. My cherry has been broken. I'd never been interviewed until Ashley Bray at Coffee Spoons took me by the hand and lead me into the Forest of Lovely Questions. It was magical. There were fireworks and butterflies. Then Kara at Great Imaginations came along, and she even offered to buy me dinner. (Okay, so she didn't. I put out for free. Just don't let it get around, okay? I have a rep to protect.) FYI: the post on Kara's blog is long. Sorry. I just got really excited and couldn't shut up. It's been known to happen.

In honor of her latest release, Dirty Blood, Heather Hildenbrand and I will be sponsoring our First Ever Giveaway event. Watch here and at Heather's blog (link above) for all the important deets. (She just has to explain them to me again.)

I still owe you that post on the subjunctive. But grammar is too boring for a Monday. Let' save it and eat chocolate instead.

X's and O's...