In which our Hopes and Dreams Crash and Burn at the Pinewood Derby

Last night was the pinewood derby. Remember that chunk of wood I showed you last post? Well, look what we turned it in to...

Kid C and his Pinewood Derby Skateboard, powered by the Force.

Yep, that there is Yoda at the helm. Followed closely by Shadow Storm Trooper, R2D2 with a storm trooper on his shoulders, and bringing up the caboose is a rebel fighter.


The other cars had no idea what they were in for. Can you imagine seeing this in your rear view mirror?

Yoda's coming to getcha!

Because of the obvious aerodynamic shortcomings of the car, we warned Kid C that he should get used to being in everyone's rear view mirror. The people in his scout pack are obsessed with the science behind the speed of the Pinewood Derby car, so we didn't even attempt to compete. We went for style.


Unfortunately, Kid C was pretty sure the Force would compensate for any drag. Here's what happened:







And that same result was repeated several times throughout the night. Kid C's car was the slowest. And he knew it.


Kid C was a little disappointed, but we tried to teach him a valuable lesson. Sometimes it's just as important to be unique as it is to be the best. 

Standing out from the pack.

And his mom learned a valuable lesson. You don't have to be the fastest, but next time aim for somewhere in the middle. 


My conclusions after our first ever Pinewood Derby? I hereby vow to be conveniently out of town for every subsequent one. It is not worth the stress.

What do all y'all think? Which car would you pick from those pictured above?

What do Copyedits and the Pinewood Derby have in common? (Hint: They both suck)

This week, I'm experiencing two things I've never experienced before in my life.

Thing #1:

I'm getting my copyedits today.

Keep this under wraps. This is an actual page from chapter 3. Not my best work.

I really like the sentence about the "Pljues dribbyng" down the street. My mom taught me to never let my pljues dribby, especially on a public street.

My editor warned me that apparently my characters "looked down" a lot in my book. And when they weren't "looking down", they were "looking" in general. 

Now every time I think of my book, I picture random people wandering around, "looking". 

What was I thinking? I shouldn't have to point out that they're looking. Basically, if their eyes are open, they're looking. It should be a given. Give the reader a little credit, won't ya?

And when they're not "looking", they're "feeling". What a bunch of pansies.

When my copyedited manuscript arrives today, it's going straight to a time out, and it's not getting free until it can prove it only "looked" around a reasonable amount.

*by the way- shout out to the copyeditors out there. They are superhuman.

Thing #2:

There is a phenomenon out there, unfamiliar to those of us who grew up with only sisters. It is a strange event that turns men into boys and boys into sea monkeys. (I won't even tell you what happens to the sea monkeys).

It is... The Pinewood Derby. Second in manliness only to the tiger fights in the Coliseum of ancient Rome.

And yes, that is Sam cutting the wood with a butter knife.

I have to admit, I'm not a huge fan of the boy scouts. Their uniforms are expensive, they wear kerchiefs, and they don't have Thin Mints.

And once a year (after they take a chunk of balsa wood, drill holes in it, add weights, sand, paint, and attach wheels) they meet in the gym of the church house and test their manhood. If they don't measure up, they lose their man parts. It may sound extreme, but how else will they learn what's important in this life? 

The Derby is tomorrow, so naturally Sam started on Kid C's car around midnight last night. He has exactly 24 hours make his chunk of wood look like this:

We aren't going for speed. We'll never win that way. We're going for style.

If he succeeds, Sam will earn his "Dads really do all the work, and the kids get the credit" merit badge, bumping him up to the Webelo level. (As a side note, I used to think a "webelo" was a sort of cockroach.)

Finally, here's a video of Sam, who thinks he's posing for a picture:

What about all y'all? Have any of you ever made a pinewood derby car? Have any of you let your pljues dribby lately? I have a picture of my pljues dribbying. If you're nice, I'll show it to you next blog post.

10 Rules Every Aspiring Author Needs to Know... aka How to get Published and Make Friends

I often get asked for advice for aspiring writers. Today you are in luck. I have compiled my best advice into what can only be described as the next Ten Commandments.

The TEN GOLDEN RULES of Becoming an Author.

1. Writing a book is about intent. Don't stress putting words on Paper.

Everyone wants to write a book. The difference is, those who actually do don't worry about it. If you have to make any sacrifices in your life (housekeeping, family, television), it's not worth it. Maybe it's not meant for you.

Every author I know said writing the book just happened one day, when they weren't paying attention. Just like people finally find love when they stop actively looking for it, your book will get written when you stop thinking about it.

2. Editing your own manuscript is for sissies. 

Seriously, what do you think editors are for? If you revise too much, there will be nothing left for the publisher to do, and therefore they will become obsolete. Do you really want to put editors out of work?

As a related note, critique groups clutter your life. Constructive criticism is just another way to say someone doesn't understand creative genius.

3. Tell everyone about your book. But make sure they know your idea is copyrighted.

Talking about your one-of-a-kind, no-one's-ever-seen-anything-like-this-before story to everyone you encounter is just as important as writing it. In fact, it's more important. Plus, it's really interesting for the person listening, even if that person is a stranger on a bus.

(Have a non-disclosure agreement ready to sign, especially if the person is the type that would steal brilliant ideas.)

4. Acknowledge the stupidity of the books already published in your genre.

It's important to point out the flaws of every other author who's published in your genre, for two reasons:

a- to prove to everyone you are better

b- to educate the author. How else will they know how much they suck if there aren't people like us to inform and enlighten?

5. Make that first query count, because it's probably your only shot.

Find the perfect agent for you, and make sure your query is the best it can be, because if you receive that first rejection, you might as well assume no one will ever like your book, and it's time to throw in the towel.

6. Respond to rejections, preferably within the first ten minutes after receiving the rejection. Don't let the sun go down on your anger.

On the off chance you do receive a rejection, have a rebuttle ready. Agents need a dose of reality. If they're stupid enough to reject your manuscript, they're probably too stupid to live. Point this out. You'd be doing the sad sack a favor.

7. Present your list of demands up front.

Once you do get a phone call from your dream agent, make sure he knows how lucky he is. Think back to rule #2, and steer the conversation accordingly.

Also, make sure the potential agent knows your expectations, which should be as follows:

a. At least a six-figure advance.

b. Simultaneous movie rights.

c. Creative control over the cover. (After all, you did that that one graphic design class in high school.)

If he can't promise these things, red flags should pop up. You could probably do better self-publishing. It's okay to threaten this action on the initial phone call too. 

As a side note, reply to every email with "Remember, you work for me. And I can fire you at any time." In fact, make it your email signature. People in publishing need to know you are someone to take seriously.

If you've made it this far, congratulations. But really, did you expect anything else? It's just proof that someone out there in the publishing world is paying attention to genius.

Moving on to: Submission

8. Immediate submission is the norm.

Once you've decided on an agent, you should plan to submit within 24-hours. Anything longer means your agent is probably lazy. 

Accordingly, once you've submitted to editors, you should expect to hear something within 48 hours. Again, anything longer and your agent isn't doing his job.

9. Revision letters are just another chance for your editor to tell you she loves you.

After you've sold your book in a multi-book million dollar deal, you will get your first revision letter. Revision letters come in three varieties:

a- There's the "I love your book" letter, in which your editor expresses her gratitude for allowing her to buy your book.

b- There's the "Can you come to New York immediately and teach us how to cultivate your brilliance?" This letter is pretty self-explanatory. Remember, the trip will be on the publisher's dime.

c- Finally, there's the "This letter is to inform you we are going directly to print" letter.

If your letter does not fit in one of the above categories, you should assume your editor hates you, and hates your book even more. 

10.  You make the world go around.

As a final piece of advice, never forget that it's all about you. Every morning is a new opportunity to ask yourself, and those around you, "What have you done for me lately?"

If they can't provide a sufficient answer, drop them. You don't need that crap.

If you liked this blog post, feel free to drop me a line. If you didn't, you obviously don't recognize genius.

*In case I need to say this, happy April Fool's Day. Love to you all.

The Art of Dilly-Dallying: aka What I'm Doing when I Should be Writing

Someone asked me the other day what's going on with me and my book. Well, let me tell you.

I'm waiting for copyedits, but basically book 1 is done. (And I'll share a secret: I've seen a rough draft of the cover. It. Is. Awesome.)

What I should be doing is writing book 2. Instead, I'm dilly-dallying. (As a side note, if your name is Michael, you can totally stop reading here. Nothing to see. Just know I'm working.)

What does dilly-dallying involve, you ask?

Let me tell you.

I've been remodeling my study:

Oh, the shiny pretty.

After I put it together yesterday, I sat there for two hours just staring. And staring. Don't worry. No actual writing got accomplished.

Also, I've been dealing with Kid B's obsession with Yoshi. Are you familiar with Yoshi? Here's a little introduction: He's the green little dinosaur in the Mario World. 

Hi Kid B! Will you be my best friend?

He also comes in yellow, Kid B's favorite color. Yellow Yoshi made the trip to Disneyland.

His obsession spills over into every aspect of my own life, particularly when it comes to my iPhone. If I leave it unattended for even a few seconds, I will return to find every app has been erased, and the ones that haven't are in a new file:

Check out the upper right corner. Yep, it's a Yoshi folder.

Can I tell you how frustrating it is to have my Angry Birds app wiped clean about once every other day? And to have to start all over with those stupid red birds? What am I, an amateur? I'm so much better than those red birds!


It takes a lot of time. Thankfully I have a nice quiet study in which to work. On my Angry Birds.


Kid C is sort of obsessed with Kahn Academy. It's an awesome website where this guy put together a bunch of videos to help his niece with math. He now provides the videos for free, with funding from Bill Gates.


Kid C decided he wanted in on that action. He's made his own series of educational videos, starting with this one- Kid C teaches Addition. I especially love his reasoning for why 4+7=11 at around minute 1.

Not to be outdone by his big brother, Kid B decided he had a few things to teach as well. And guess what he decided to teach?

So, yeah, I've been busy. But I hope you've learned something by watching these educational videos. Do you know how much time it takes to dilly-dally? Especially when it's a full time job?


What do y'all do to dilly-dally? 


p.s. I'm going to see Carrie Ryan (author of The Forest of Hands and Teeth series) at the Jordan Landing Barnes & Noble tonight. If you're going too, be sure to track me down and say hi!

Prepare to be Walloped by a 2x4 made of Sunshine, whether it's cancer or publishing

Thanks y'all for voting in our Barry Manilow cover band naming contest.

And the winner is:

THE BARELY MANILOWS

Stay tuned for our debut...

On to the post.

Every time we take my dad to visit a new doctor, we listen patiently to the spiel. We are quiet as he or she reiterates what a formidable foe cancer is. And then my mom opens her mouth, and I think to myself, I hope this doctor knows what he's in for. He's about to be whacked up the side of the head with a buttload of optimism. 

She will take whatever abysmal numbers they throw at her, and twist them around to suit her outlook.

Odds are 100:1 against us? "Fabulous," she says. "That means one person, somewhere out there, is beating the odds. Why not Dad?"

This attitude infiltrates every aspect of his treatment.

Yes, the chemotherapy causes my dad's hands and feet to swell and blister. Some serious ouch. 

His hands, twice their usual size

 But how my mom sees it is, "If it's doing that to your hands, imagine what it's doing to the tumors! This is so good."

Every break from chemo means my dad's hands will shed their outer skin, revealing the super-sensitive skin below.

Mom: "Isn't that new pink skin underneath gorgeous? It's like baby skin!"

She says this as she tirelessly and delicately massages his hands and feet. She knows how much it hurts.

As for the fact that he could only survive Disneyland in a wheelchair? 

Mom: "It's only temporary, and can you believe we get to use the wheelchair line? This is so good!"

Sometimes I get the sense that her optimism scares people. We hear whispers of "Doesn't she get what's going on? Is she unclear of the concept of Pancreatic Cancer?"

 I can tell you, without a doubt, she's totally clear on the concept. She just expects the best, and plans accordingly. And I've seen her expectations defy science, and fly in the face of those pesky numbers known as "The Odds".

For instance, my dad's chemo regimen knocks out his white blood cells, the things that fight infection. If his white count is below 1.5 he can't get a full dose. At 1, he might not even get any, because the danger of infection is too great.

After my dad's break from his first round of chemo, he knew he was still weak, and he was sure his numbers hadn't recovered enough. On the drive to the hospital, my mom repeated, "You're getting infused today. Get ready."

They tested his blood, and it was at 1.0. Borderline. They agreed to give him 80% infusion. Because this was only the beginning of his second round, the doctors thought there was no way his counts would recover for his next treatment, as he would have no break.

The next week, they made the drive to the hospital, and my dad was sure he wouldn't get the infusion. My mom said, "Get ready. You're getting infused."

My mom called me for support, and I was all, "Oh yeah, I'm with you. He's totally getting infused." But inside I was thinking, "There's no way he's getting infused."

They get to the hospital, draw his blood, and wait. The numbers come back. 1.9. 

There's no explanation. Those numbers didn't make sense. He got the full infusion.

And after Disneyland and Palm Springs, the sheer energy of the trip - and the fact that each infusion should have an exponentially detrimental effect on his white count - should've led to even worse numbers.  Plus, he was pretty sure he had a low-grade fever that morning.

They drive to the hospital. My mom says, "Get ready. You're getting infused."

His counts come back. 4.8. What the what?

How does this relate to publishing? You can probably guess, but I'm going to explain it anyway. 

Every person who's been published defied the odds. Every. Single. One.

And along the way, I bet every single author knew someone out there was saying, "Are you crazy? Don't you understand the odds?"

I'm sure most of you have heard me say this, but I found my first agent after a contest with my sister-in-law, titled "Who can get to 100 agent rejections first?" 

Let me tell you, I hit 100 rejections first. In your face! Boo-yah!

And with every rejection, my mom and I would get together and say, "That's one rejection closer to success!"

When my first book didn't sell, and I had to part ways with my first agent, my mom was all, "Glad we got that one out of the way. Now off to find a better fit!"

Even though I sometimes forget it, my mom reminds me there is a power to positive thinking. Believing something will happen in the face of incredible odds. 

I don't know the science behind that power. I don't have any proof. Would my dad's counts have the same acrobatic skills if my mom did not literally bleed sunshine and rainbows? Maybe.

Or maybe I'd be writing a different blog post. I don't know. I never finished The Secret. 

But I can tell you, my approach during the whole query/rejection stage helped me survive the long and arduous journey.  Survival turned out to be key. I could've easily given up after rejection number 99.

And my dad was supposed to be dead two years ago.

Here's to expecting miracles, when reason tells you not to.

Yesterday, I went over to my parents' house for our weekly Sunday lunch. I checked out my dad's hands, as I always do. 

I turned them over in my own hands, ran my fingers gently over the blisters and said, "If the chemo is doing this to your hands, think about what it's doing to the tumors!"

My mom said, "Hey! You're beginning to sound like me! Or maybe I'm beginning to sound like you."

No mom, I'm beginning to sound like you. And I hope it never changes.

Are you in the middle of querying? Or any other struggle? Feel free to siphon off some of my mom's unwavering, unreasonable, emphatic optimism. She can enthusiasm your butt off. Only she'll do it more eloquently.

Please Vote on our Barry Manilow Cover Band Name

It's Friday, yo. 

So, my crit partner and BFF Emily Wing Smith has a new book coming out called BACK WHEN YOU WERE EASIER TO LOVE. 

The story involves a girl, a breakup, a guy, a road trip, and Barry Manilow. (Description my own. It fails to convey the awesomeness of this story.)

Anywho, for the launch party, my critique group The SIX (very apt description, because we are all six feet tall) decided to form a Barry Manilow cover band. 

The band members.

The fact that none of us are very musical didn't enter into the decision-making process.

Emily herself will be on the bongos.

Bree Despain on the maracas.

Valynne Nagamatsu on the piano.

Sara Bolton and Kim Reid on backup vocals. (We don't know who they'll be backing up. We're just hoping one of us emerges as a star).

I will be on the key-tar. 

The severed hands are included.

Guess who's invited to the launch party?

You! Yes, you!

BACK WHEN YOU WERE EASIER TO LOVE RELEASE PARTY

Thursday, April 28
7:00 p.m
King’s English Bookshop
1511 South 1500 East,  Salt Lake City

Mark your calendars!

So, we are trying to decide on a band name, and here's where you come in. Please vote on your favorite, or if you have a suggestion, you can enter it in the comments. 

A. The Six Merry Manilows

B. Raindrops Keep Falling on my Dead (submitted by Douglas Cootey)

C. The Cuckoo Cabanas (submitted by Josh Berk)

D. Rico Wore a Diamond (submitted by Saundra Mitchell)

E. The Barely Manilows 

And if you suggest a title, and we choose it, we will dedicate a song to you. Thank you for playing!

Disneyland, spotting Punky Brewster, and Kid C thinks of the most evil thing someone could do...

Okay, third star to the right, and straight on to Disneyland!

We travelled the mean streets of D-town in style:

My dad in the chair, Kid B in his lap, my mom on the right. Me pushing.

My dad's chemotherapy regimen makes his feet swell and blister, so he was our designated driver, which kid B found perfectly convenient. Neither of their feet ever touched terra firma.


We shot defenseless aliens:

Sam trash-talked Kid B the entire ride, after which he slam-dunked his laser gun and chanted "loooo-serrrrr!"

We drove lots of cars


The first time Kid C rode on Indiana Jones, he was in the driver's seat. He was very nervous about the responsibility of driving the jeep:

He wanted to switch seats with me, but the people in the rows behind him encouraged him to drive the car. He did fine. Enough that he was allowed on the ride again.

Kid C, trying to smile

Next up was Autopia, where Kid C literally tried his hardest to jump the tracks. My poor dad.

My dad hanging on for dear life, with Kid C at the wheel. Don't try this at home. It is not good for the chemo stomach.

Kid B. Driving a car is serious work.

And is there a scarier sight than these two headed your way, armed and dangerous?

Two cool cats, ready for their mission. 

My dad says he slept for two days straight when he got home.


We saw Soleil Moon Frye aka Punky Brewster:

We didn't take that picture. Sam was way too nervous to ask to get a picture. I've never seen him blush so much, but blush he did. He sort of had a crush on Punky Brewster. We teased him the rest of the trip.


By far, Kid C was most nervous to go on Space Mountain. 


Here's us before the ride:

I don't know why he was nervous. I was completely calm during the entire experience, as evidenced in this in-ride picture:

Would it make it better if I told you my feet were being amputated at the time? 

Seriously, worst picture ever. I can't even believe I'm sharing it with y'all. Don't show anyone. This is especially for those of you who believe I look the same in every picture I take.

Kid B demonstrates the proper way to wear shades.

We were exemplary hotel guests:

We don't really need much when it comes to hotel rooms, except the basic necessities: COLD DIET COKE. 

When we checked in to our hotel, we found that the mini-fridge wasn't working. We called the front desk and immediately demanded a new one, which we promptly did this to:

Not only that, the original fridge wasn't even broken. We just hadn't turned it on. I think we made their "Permanent No-Vacancy" list for future trips. 

Kid C learned several life lessons:

1. How to eat pizza like a burrito

2. How the United States decided to participate in ousting a crazy Libyan leader:

I was trying to explain to Kid C how evil Gaddafi was, without going into too much detail. 

Kid C thought very hard about the most evil thing he could imagine someone doing. He then looked at me and said, "Does he fart on his wife?"

Oh for the days when passing gas on your wife is the most evil thing you can imagine someone doing.