October. That means Thanksgiving is almost here. Yes it is. Don't argue with me.

Look what BLOGGER went and done did...they made themselves SPIFFY! So spiffy, in fact, I'm a little lost. And right when I was about to go and get me some WordPress action. Just in the nick of time, Blogger, in the NICK of time. (Jury might still be out. This is sort of a ridiculous layout. Feedback, please!) Wait -- I need a photo here, to make this entry look visually appealing and to catch your attention. QUICK! What picture shall I use? Omigod omigod omigod, I'm sorta panicking. I got nothin'. I might have to Google more images of Mark Strong to give you something to stare at. I know I enjoy staring at him VERY much. You're welcome in advance. WAIT! I found one! THIS was my birthday breakfast. 

I turned FORTY on September 19. We went to a fabulous new joint here in town where everything is francais (that's FRENCH, for you hillbilly types). This photo, snapped on my cell phone, doesn't do justice to what is happening to my taste buds at this very second, but yes, that is a crepe, filled with fresh fruit (banana, pineapple, kiwi, strawberry, honeydew, cantaloupe...what am I forgetting?) on a thin layer of very fresh, light custard. It was awesome. Best breakfast EVER. Or at least so far. I didn't feel like dying after we left. No post-meal regret or tear-inducing stomach spasms. I call that a win-win! The morning prior to this caloric funfest started with a very lovely $40 Chapters gift card stuck through the mail slot (thanks, Bobbie!) and a gift card for the movies from my darling Janey-O. I got me a new cardigan to carry on with the slovenly writer look I am so good at. And it's RED. Saucy, I know. Kids made me some cards. Husband made butter chicken for dinner. All in all, I made it to forty, and the day wasn't so bad after all. 

RE: I mentioned Thanksgiving in the post title ~ Remember, lovies, I am in CANADA. That means Thanksgiving is in October. As in, a week from tomorrow. On a Monday. MONDAY?!? No, I have not adjusted to eating turkey before the Halloween costumes have been sewn. CanNOT. Not even after ten years. Thanksgiving is four days in November when the Macy's Parade is on, when the National Dog Show trots across the screen, when I put on the fat pants Wednesday night late and don't look back until I'm nursing a vicious tryptophan hangover on Monday morning when I'm lying on the floor, flailing about in mashed potato and gravy leftovers, begging the children to just bring me some cranberry sauce and that will make it all better. Mommy needs cranberries...please, have mercy on my bloated soul...

Whisper one word about how I didn't blog the entire month of September, and I'm outta here. If you haven't figured it out yet, I'm not good with blogging. In fact, I sort of avoid it, sort of how I avoid Pap smears until at least the third reminder follow-up call. Then I finally shave everything nice and purty, go in and throw on the paper gown, put my feet up in the stirrups, scoot my ass to the edge of the table, and PRAY that she's warmed up the speculum. (Boys are so lucky that they don't have to do this. Speaking of, it's time to start nagging Husband again about having his prostate checked. Spread 'em, boy!) That's sort of how I feel about blogging. I have to warm up the speculum before I get going. Plus, who the hell CARES what I have to say? Shit, I usually can't stand the sound of my own voice, and I'm am certainly not going to give you advice about anything useful. Unless you have a dirtbag ex and you need someone to remind you how much of a dirtbag he (or she) is/was. I'm super good at that. If nothing else, I will steal your angst, bottle it, and channel it into some written fantasy about torturing dirtbag spouses.

And tonight, all I really want to do is make fun of the people over 30 who are getting their patronus and house assignments on Pottermore. But that would be rude. And I think a lot of my friends over 30 are on Pottermore, so I shouldn't giggle. (But I still will. Nerds.) I'm sure Evelyn Hussy Lafont will sic her patronus on me now that I've mentioned this, but whatever. (Nerds.) I'm still giggling. You guys...really? Okay, I collect rubber ducks. I guess we're even. (Okay, we're totally not. Nerds.)

I'm sort of addicted to that new TLC show, "Long Island Medium." I mean, I don't get the whole Jersey thing with the long nails and the frosted hair and the ginormous personality, but that's because she's from Jersey, and I'm from Oregon. She (her name is Theresa) likely wouldn't understand why I like wool sweaters, Levis, and combat boots and how I've only ever been for a manicure twice, once when I got a job as a hand model (YES, a hand model) and another time when this psychotic ex-friend of mine insisted that it would change my life when all it really did was make my cuticles hurt and make me feel like there was shit on my fingernails. Because there was. THING IS, I want to meet Theresa. I totally want her to do a reading for me. I think I will put that on my to-do list for the future. Go to medium. Connect with important dead people in my life. I don't believe in ghosts, and I really want to. Although, it must be said, I don't want to be like certain OTHER people in my life who are convinced they can commune with the dead. Those aren't dead people whispering to you in the middle of the night. It's wine. Less wine = fewer dead people visiting your room. Just sayin'...

I think it's time for another picture. Hang on...let me see what I've got. <<<<<------ Okay, there you go. That's visually interesting, right? A fat beagle and a glorious Lazy Brown Cat, sharing a moment in the dying hours of summer? Fine. Whatever. I have to migrate iPhoto from the old computer but it won't stay on long enough to make this happen. Cut me some slack. And while you're at it, wish Boyfriend, proper name Kovu, a Very Happy Birthday on October 5. He will be 13, which in cat years, is hella older than you. Show some respect. (He bites, so you might want to just play along.)

Updates real quick like, and then I gotta go put the spawn to bed:

a. My eldest child came home in September for his two-week leave from Afghanistan. Much fun was had by him, his first return stateside since turning 21, and we were able to spend some precious hours in his presence. He's back in the 'Stan, not to return to US soil until March 2012, so keep thinking happy thoughts for him. Please. He's a good boy.

b. I've had some amazing, terrific, fantastic lovies inquire about the status of the follow-up to Sleight. Book 2 is called Stratagem, and because I am working on several projects at once, because I am a meticulous re-writer, and because I'm just now getting back into the swing of things after a rather disastrous summer (in terms of writing), Stratagem will not be released this fall, as I'd hoped. Don't be pissed. Remember, you love me. We're friends. I just can't shit it out, guys. I can't. It's like Mr. Reiland's seventh grade algebra class all over again. I wasn't understanding the material, so I wasn't turning in the assignments. Eventually, my grade bottomed out and my mother and stepfather had to come in for a conference. I was diagnosed by the school counselor with perfectionism, and as a result of said affliction, I refuse to turn anything in until it's PERFECT. I don't want to give you half-assed work. I know I'm not fast and awesome like some of the other writers in the Realm, but I'm me. They're them. And I'm writing. For those of you who are friends of mine on Facebook: every time you see me post something ridiculous or irreverent, it's because I've been interrupted by one of the many members of this household (animals included), OR because I'm struggling with a transient case of writer's block (some writers claim this so-called ailment never haunts their doorstep, and those writers are what I like to call arrogant fartyheads whose time's a'comin') that requires some sort of visual stimulation OR it might be because I am in a trough in the creative cycle and, well, I just can't write for shit. I'm not perfect, but my words have to be as close to such as possible. FOR THE RECORD: The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern debuted week before last, to rave reviews and an impressive showing on the NYT bestseller list. It's supposed to be fantastic. I have not purchased it yet, but shall. Soon. At Portland's Powell's books on September 17, I picked up said book and opened to a random chapter. The chapter was called STRATAGEM. Yes, I almost cried. Instead I started rambling to the stranger next to me, until he inched away quietly, tiptoeing so I wouldn't lash out and knock off his John Lennon glasses. Let it be noted that it was MY WORD FIRST. I did not copy her. Gahhhhhhh...

c. Check out LitStack, an awesome site for READER-CENTRIC news and reviews and even some occasional short fiction. Don't go to LitStack if you're looking for advice on publishing or writing. Go HERE for that: Chuck Wendig's Terrible Minds. (Caution: Not for those who are easily offended by the use of the F Word or who don't want to risk shooting coffee out their noses during a mid-drink guffaw.) Otherwise, check it: LITSTACK, baby! It rocks.

That's all the updates I have tonight. I think. There are likely more. I will blog again soon with said updates. If I can find a paper gown to put on first...

Xs and Os

Recipient of the Stylish Blogger Award: Your reward? Seven Random Facts You Could Probably Live the Rest of Your Life Without Knowing

(Font changed. The other one was bugging my eyeballs out of my head. Ah, hyperbole, thy name is Jenn...)

I suck at this blogging stuff. It's okay. You don't have to tell me, or hint that maybe I should write more often. I just can't think of stuff to blog about. I'm not like Keyboard Hussy, aka, Evelyn Lafont, who's all brave and smarty-pants and always has cool stuff to say. I'm not like Janice Hardy or even JA Konrath who write frequently with all sorts of helpful wisdom. I couldn't give advice to a troll, unless it was "use a condom." That about sums up a life's worth of experiences and missed opportunities. I could ramble on more about grammar but there are folks out there (GrammarGirl) who have WAY bigger brains, who offer WAY better advice than I do. What if I'm wrong? What if you use something incorrectly after listening to my words, and then your editor comes back and tells you you're a loser? Omigod, I don't think I could handle the guilt. (Although, I must say, I'm rarely wrong. Ever, in fact. FINE, okay, sometimes I'm wrong. Shut up.)

IMAGINE my surprise when blogger and friend Kara over at Great Imaginations nominated me for this:

 It means less about me being stylish (seriously, mom jeans and T-shirts? Someone get Par-eeee on the line!), and more about me being invited to play a game with some other interesting humans. Only thing is, I'm just not feeling clever. Maybe my hormones are out of whack. Maybe I need some chocolate. (Oh. Wait. I just had some. That's not it.) Maybe...omigod, maybe I'm running out of words. Does that happen? Does that happen? 

Regardless, here are the rules:

1. Thank and link the person who nominated you. THANK YOU, KARA! (Brat.) 

2. Share seven random facts about yourself. Below.

3. Pass the award on to five new-found blogging buddies. Not gonna do this one. Everyone I would've chosen already has done it or would be annoyed with me because they have Important Things to blog about. If YOU want to do it, then I nominate you. Leave a comment so I can see your answers.

4. Contact the winners to congratulate them. See #3 above. Congratulations, WINNERS! (Huh?)

Okay, on with the show -- seven (7) random facts about Jenn. Geeze, guys. Sorry in advance. 

1. When I was a kid, my mom used to call me Linus (from the Peanuts Gang, not like Linus Pauling because I was a genius or anything). She also used to call me Eeyore for reasons that should be obvious to you at this point, but we're not talking about that. She, and others in my life, have called me Linus for years because I...have a blanket. Yes. A blanket. A blankie, a wompy, and sleep-sleep, whatever the hell your kids/younger siblings have called it, I got one. I'm on maybe the 20th incarnation of my blanket habit, though I still have the very first one that was mine when I was a baby. What are the necessary requirements in order for a piece of cloth to be The Blanket? Must be that soft woven yarny fabric with SATIN AROUND THE EDGES. It's called "coldy," because when the satin gets cold, I fondle it in a way that has made many men jealous. I love satin. Especially when it's cold. I am often wrapped in said blanket, like a burqa of my own making, on any given weekend day and every weekday night. When it's cold outside, the satin is cold. Life complete. Turn the damn heat down, or the satin will be too warm. Now that you know this about me, I'll have to kill someone close to you with my bare, satiny hands.

2. I effing HATE broccoli. I hate it. HATE IT. My kids often try to talk me into eating tiny bunches of this treelike abomination. They will pose questions such as: "If someone had a gun to your head and said, 'Eat the broccoli or die,' what would you do?" My answer: "Pull the trigger now, bitch."

3. When I was in high school, I was a competitive ROLLER skater. Yes. Roller. We did all the same shit the ice skaters did -- jumps, spins, figures -- only with about 3 lb. of skate on each foot. I had killer legs when I was 15. My coach was Tonya Harding's uncle. Yes that Tonya Harding. But Bob was great. He never chased me down with a metal bar. The roller skaters were sort of the white trash of the skating community. Sure, there were a few skaters who came from wealthy families and were stupid-talented athletes and performers (including this one guy visiting our rink who pulled a quad before the ice skaters were doing it--a QUAD. That's FOUR revolutions in the air!). But I never quite got why they weren't ice skating instead. It was so much...cooler. Like Nordstrom vs. KMart. Roller rinks of the '80s still had that reputation. (You know the one I'm talking about.) Like ice, roller was an expensive sport, though roller didn't have near the prestige of its icey compatriot, probably because it lacks the grace and silence of ice. Wheels scraping and screeching on wood and/or blue plastic floors is annoying and breaks the moment. It's like watching hippos dance. Gassy hippos. Too clunky. Sorry if you were a roller skater, but that's how it looked to me. Anyway, I did okay during the short time I was training. I only competed in a single meet, for figures. (It's a lot harder than it looks.) Then my six-day-a week practice schedule became a burden for my family, so I had to quit. It sucked. I haven't really skated since, other than that time I took my little sister to the rink in Centralia, Washington, and she participated in one of those races they do during family skate sessions. Ash won her age group (in roller blades...ahhh, the times, they were a'changin'...) but then tripped at the finish line and broke her wrist. GREAT SISTER I am. I still have dreams about being on skates, ice or roller, and pulling off that perfect triple axel. (For the record, I never nailed the single. I'm ambitious in the Dream State.)

4. I love ducks. All ducks. I collect rubber ducks, and my favorite are two that were given to me at Christmas -- you've seen them before (Jovie and Zuzu). I'll include the photo here, in case you haven't seen it before on the blog or on Facebook. I am married to someone who builds miniatures and models for movies, and we are just dorky enough that we have been known to tear the house apart to build small-scale set-ups for whatever random idea we've had, so I can photograph our blaze of insanity genius. You should see the looks the neighbors give me when I am lying on the grass, taking photographs of a rubber duck wearing a red wig. (BTW, Build-A-Bear has great outfits for my ducks. Just sayin'...) If you're ever out shopping and you see an amazing rubber duck, think of me.

5. I am a terrible cook. And I'm lazy. Because of that, I put out minimum effort to keep my body nourished during the week when my husband/children aren't home to make sure I have food. I tend to follow lazy trends with vessels of nutrients, i.e., I get on a kick with something that takes the shakies away, and then I eat it at the same time everyday. Right now, it's those crunchy Nature Valley-only-generic-store-brand granola bars (the peanut butter ones). In the afternoon, I will have an open-faced peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I don't want the two sides to touch. Oh, and I don't drink it much because it's bad for me, but I do love me some diet Coke, and sometimes I will sneak to the corner store and buy one and feel very guilty because I know it has that bad chemical that starts with a P and can cause Alzheimer's or impotence or gout or blindness or something bad in lab rats when given at 1,000 times the potency.

6. I love doughnuts. Well, and sugar. Anything with sugar, I will eat. Except broccoli. You can dip that shit in chocolate and gold, and I still will not eat it. Not in a house, not with a mouse, not in a boat, not with a goat...

7. I have an outy belly button after having an umbilical hernia repair surgery as an infant. The doctor allegedly came out mid-surgery to tell my mom I was fine, and asked if she wanted them to reattach my belly button. Thankfully, she said yes. But bikini beautiful, it ain't (except for that one summer in LA...hmmm...the only time have ever looked hot in a bikini...divorce diets are the BEST!). And no, I will not show you the belly button if you ask. I won't post a photo or flash it to you on Skype. The older I get, the more "inny" it gets, but that's because I eat too much of #6 above.

So there you have it. Kara, did I do it right? Thanks, babe. That was sorta...fun. And now that the list is over and stunted at 7 items, a hundred other random things will come to me because that's how my brain works. Like molasses: slow to get started but then all thick and runny once it's warmed up.

Last but not least: I've rearranged some "furniture" this weekend. Watch for the reveal, with pictures, this week.

Xs and Os...

On ACCENDO PRESS, reviews for SLEIGHT, and WHEN IS SPRING BREAK OVER?

SO much has been going on this week, I don't even know where to start. Head spinning. Heart pounding. Chocolate hand...empty?

I'll start with the COOLEST part -- an alliance has been born, a collaboration created, a partnership hatched:

Accendo (ac-CHEN-do), Latin, means to illuminate, ignite, kindle, or set fire. There are three of us in the Trifecta of Terrific: Heather Hildenbrand (whose next book, a paranormal tale called Dirty Blood, drops next week); Angeline Kace (first book due this summer); and me. And you know my book is out there as an ebook (GO BUY IT so I don't have to get a real job). Yes, I'm still working on print copies to make sure you Kindle-less folks (poor dears) are rewarded for your patience.

SO, what does Accendo Press do? As I mentioned above, we are a collaboration. This is the plan: for future projects, we will beta read (provide first read-throughs), critique, edit, copy edit/proofread, provide graphic design assistance, as well as general feedback and support to get us through the writing process. Under the umbrella of the press label, we're taking it a step further, supporting one another through marketing and sales efforts by creating a BRAND. There is no revenue sharing, no capital outlay, no nasty corporate meetings or trysts with secretaries to deal with (unless Mark Strong decides he wants to be my secretary. Husband knows this. He's on alert.).

We're in business to help one another and SUPPORT THE INDIE MOVEMENT. And Heather, Angeline, and I remain committed to helping our fellow indies. Our intention here was not to create an isolated group closed to outsiders (though, at this time, we're keeping the ranks at three until we work out all the kinks). But anyone who's written a book -- or read one, for that matter -- can appreciate how much work goes into every title. We want to be able to spend the time to produce quality fiction to promote the image of independent writers throughout the sphere. It's going to be an interesting experiment. You should check back often for updates and announcements.

In the meantime, here's the Web site: http://www.accendopress.com/ for more detailed info. And LIKE us on Facebook.

IN OTHER NEWS... Reviews have started to come in for the book, and they've been positive and helpful. Thanks to Rebekah Joy Plett who provided some incredible feedback via email that will definitely be implemented as Book 2 progresses. She pointed out stuff I thought I had addressed (but didn't -- I am bloody and bruised from beating myself senseless), and THEN she went on to tell me how awesome I am. Yeah, gotta love emails like that. And if you haven't seen Rebekah's incredible work, you have to check her out. She's a phenomenal talent, and I'm looking very forward to her first children's book as author AND illustrator. Thanks again, Miss Rebekah. With humble gratitude...

If you want to see what the other reviewers are saying, Kara Malinczak has a post, as does A Book Vacation and my comrade Heather Hildenbrand (written before the collaboration was born!). If you don't have time to check all these individual sites during your busy work schedule (be careful your boss doesn't catch you surfing or you could get busted and jobs are hard to come by these days!), all of these reviewers have been gracious enough to post the reviews on the Amazon page for the book, so you can check them out all in one spot. NICE! (I'm not sure if this is protocol, i.e., if it's ticky-tacky to post links to reviews. If it is, sorry. My ego likes it. And yes, I'm bracing for impact for that first negative review.)

Another terrific indie writer -- Jennifer Hudock -- has sponsored an ad for me on her site, and I want to send a SHOUT OUT to Miz Jenny Beans for being so damn supportive and cool and gracious and generous. Visit her site, buy her book, give some love. She's awesome.

Spring break still has its vise grip on my household. The rumor is that school is supposed to start again next week, but I'm not sure. We already have a glitch with Monday's schedule, which means I may have to forgo sleeping if I am ever to get anything done.

Last note for the day: last night, two readers were debating on TWITTER which of my guys is more fantastic, Ash or Henry. Now that is pretty damn cool...

I lied: One more note. Next week, I promise that post on the subjunctive -- I KNOW you're dying for it -- as well as a summary of the first week with the book out in the Big Bad World. I'll probably pimp for some of my writer peeps, too, including a little somethin' on Evelyn Lafont's new Vampire Relationship Guide: Volume 1 that just dropped yesterday. NOT a YA title, but omigod, you guys, this chick is so effing funny. Her Twitter handle is Keyboard Hussy -- based on that alone, you have to check it out. Prepare to laugh. (And it's HOT, so if you're like me, you will blush while laughing and check over your shoulder frequently to make sure the nuns aren't watching you read and enjoy this so much).

X's and O's, babes...