Why I Hate Halloween, and My New Name for this Holiday

First off, the winner of the signed ARC of EVERNEATH is...

DenverSims! 

The winner was chosen using Random.Org:

Congratulations DenverSims! Please email me your mailing address: brodiashton at gmail dot com

On to the post! 

Today is Halloween. 

I hate Halloween. 

HATE IT!

The extreme hate started four years ago, when my dad was diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer ON HALLOWEEN. 

That night, we digested the news, and despite my positive attitude, I couldn't help but wonder if that Halloween would be his last. If you asked the doctors, it was. Metastatic Pancreatic Cancer comes with a ticking clock: six months. 

But the next Halloween, after an extensive surgery, he was still here. And then the doctors gave us another number: 6 months to a year.

And on the third Halloween, he was still here.I had to wonder if the doctors owned calendars.

Last January, he was given another number: 6 to 10 months. What is it with doctors and their nice round numbers? How come it's never 7  to 11 months?  

Anywho, today is the fourth Halloween since we heard the news. And he's still here. And he's not going anywhere.

So, instead of Happy Halloween, I prefer to think of today as HAPPY "TAKE-THOSE-NUMBERS-AND-SUCK-IT, DOC" DAY!

Not sure it has the same ring as Happy Halloween, but I think with enough practice it will catch on. Plus, it involves fun hand gestures!

My mom and dad a few weeks ago. My dad gained five pounds. Check out his muffin top!

And a HAPPY "SUCK IT, DOCTOR" DAY to you. Here's to you and whoever you'd like to say "SUCK IT" to!

Side note: I think that's the most I've ever used the phrase "suck it" in one post. I hope I didn't offend anyone.

Yesterday, after Kid C said a prayer and asked God to take away Grandpa's cancer, he said, "Grandma, what's the opposite of cancer?"

She looked at him like it was the most reasonable question ever, and said, "Cure. Cure is the opposite of cancer."

Here's to finding the opposite of cancer.  

Halloween Costumes, Lego Star Wars, and Where I'll be Next Weekend

Hey Y'all! 

First off, some housekeeping. Wednesday's contest will close on Sunday at midnight. The winner will be chosen at random by random.org on Monday. 

Second: I will be at the Vegas Valley Book Festival next weekend. Anyone else going to be there? I will be giving away 15 (FIFTEEN!) ARCs of EVERNEATH at the Paranormal Ball, along with some swag like guitar pick necklaces and such.

So, if you have not yet registered for the Paranormal Ball, you can sign up here.

And if you want more information about the incredible lineup at the Book Festival, you can check it out here.

My awesome sisters-in-law are possibly making the trip to Vegas to hang out with me at the ball. One of them was concerned about costumes.

sis-in-law #1: "What does one wear to a Paranormal Ball?"

Sis-in-law #2: "Well, something Paranormal."

#1: "Like Princess Leia? Should I dress as Princess Leia?"

#2: "Umm... she's not really a paranormal character."

#1: "Okay. How about... Lego Star Wars? Should I dress as Lego Star Wars?"

#2: "Again, not really paranormal. Think more along the lines of Buffy the Vampire Slayer?"

#1: "But, I don't look a thing like Buffy."

To be fair, though, she doesn't really look like Princess Leia either. Or Lego Star Wars. (Not quite sure how someone would resemble Lego Star Wars in the first place.)

I think it was possible that sis #1 was confusing "Paranormal" with "ComiCon".

So, if you would like to see me dressed as a surprise (surprise as in "I have no idea what I'm wearing yet!") and my sis-in-law dressed as an entire set of Lego Star Wars, come to the ball! 

Thirdly, yesterday was the Halloween Parade. 

Kid B went as Toad.

He's holding hands with his teacher, Miss Newman. He would be adopted by her if he could.

Kid C went as a Human Whoopie Cushion

Pull my finger.

Nine years ago, I worried that if we named him "Carter" people would call him "Carter the Farter".  Now, I'm dressing him up as a Whoopie Cushion. 

He rocked that costume, by the way. He went up and down the aisles cheering and waving, as if he were Thor about to be crowned king, and not a giant pink tooter.

So, what's everyone doing this weekend? Any plans for Halloween?

A Change in the EVERNEATH Due Date... and I'm Giving Away a Surprise

Hey y'all.

I have an announcement. AN ANNOUNCEMENT!

Ahem: EVERNEATH will now be released January 24th, 2012. 

A few of you may have noticed the change on Mr. Widgy (on the sidebar) and I've had a couple people ask me about it, but I haven't had the all-clear to announce it officially until today. 

If you have Mr. Widgy on your own website, you'll notice they all automatically changed. 

The business reasons for the change are awesome! But I can't really go into them, except to say it means some bookstores are really excited about EVERNEATH. Not to be all cryptic or anything. 

And personally, I am looking forward to having a little more space between the holidays and my book launch. 

But it's always hard to wait. My editor ended her enthusiastic email with, "... and it's only three weeks later!" 

And on the outside, I was all, "That's nothing!"

But on the inside, I was all, "Do you know what could happen in three weeks? My nails could grow a quarter-inch! I could learn a new Zumba dance routine! The world could end!"

Although in reality, none of those things will probably happen, because three weeks is not very long, and I own a good pair of nail clippers. 

Now, on to the celebration, because we have officially passed the three-month mark! Again! And to make up for that cryptic "The reasons are awesome, but I can't talk about them" statement (because I really hate it when people do that) I am giving away an ARC of EVERNEATH.

Did you hear me? I'm giving away an ARC! From my own personal stash. 

To enter, simply leave me a comment in this post. One entry per person. No other hoops to jump through. 

So, be all, "Yay!" with me!

How the Play OUR TOWN is Related to EVERNEATH

I'm blogging today! Only, not here. I'm blogging over at the YA Muses, a group of upcoming YA authors who are also a great bunch of ladies (and one man).

In the blog, I talk about the two writers who influenced the story behind EVERNEATH. So let's show those YA Muses the juggernaut that is the power of this blog! Hop on over (don't hop really, though, because it's bad on the knees) to the blog post by clicking here.

Please stop by. So I don't look like a dork. :)

Why I'm Driving to Blackfoot, Idao

Hey y'all! I'm blogging from the road again. Sam and I loaded the boys into the car and we are heading to Idaho. Blackfoot, in particular. Why, you ask? (You asked, right?)

Because years and years ago, I was just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her... And then asking him to quit his job in the city and move with her to the tiny town of Blackfoot, Idaho so she could be a reporter in a tiny news station.

And the rest is history. And by "history" I mean I spent a year chasing news where there was no news, and Sam spent a year entertaining himself by collecting corn husks to weave into baskets and sell on street corners for money.

And we needed the extra money, because I signed my contract with the NBC affiliate for 16,000 dollars a year. That is not an exaggeration.

After a year we went a little crazy. I asked the hard questions, only to realize I was holding my microphone up to a tree. And Sam replaced the corn husks with his own bellybutton hair, weaving beautiful hairy baskets.

We began stockpiling weapons and raging against THE MAN, only THE MAN turned out to be the homeless guy who hung out at the WalMart.

Eventually I realized I hated television news, and Sam hated basket-making, so we moved to London, and we haven't been back to Blackfoot since.

Until today. We are taking the boys to see our old apartment (we lived on Wagon Wheel Drive). We will visit the two Arctic Circles (yes, there were two!) and eat at that one place we can't remember the name of.

For years, we considered Blackfoot a four letter word, not spoken of in social circles. It was nothing against Blackfoot. It was only because neither of us were getting what we wanted out of life. But today, twelve years later, we realize there were good memories too. Not only that, but the first book I ever wrote was about a 17 year old girl who was a reporter for her school. In Blackfoot. And she has to deal with an impending alien invasion, set to wipe out her town.

Some people have Georgia on their minds. Some people leave their hearts in San Francisco. I left my brain in Blackfoot.

So, what's everyone else up to this weekend?

P.s. I typed this on my iPad. Sorry for any typos.

The Post with all the Wisdom and Insight

I envy those blogs that impart cutting edge, important, frank wisdom. Sometimes I want to be the person who makes a statement, and then people pass it along, saying things like, "A must-read post for anyone who's ever felt afraid!" Or "Brodi Ashton weighs in with the final say on the latest brouhaha over the bangs-or-no-bangs controversy" Or something like that. 

So, writer peeps, let's have an important discussion. Below, I have three essential topics on which I have insight... on... for them (okay, that sentence totally got away from me. It happens when I'm trying to be insightful).

1. I keep having this recurring dream that one of my legs is shorter than the other. Like, a foot shorter. Then I try to walk like a typical person, and I look strange. And all the while I'm thinking, how did this happen?

And then I remember something one of my childhood friend's mother told us: "If you keep standing like that, with more weight on one of your legs, and your hip sticking out like your a hussy, it will stunt that leg's growth."

And then, in my dream-self-brain, I think, Ohmyheck, she was right!

So, dream interpreters, what does this mean?

2. Last night, as I was falling asleep, I was brainstorming ideas for my Everneath 2 revision when an epiphany hit. The only problem was, I was too tired to write it down. (Writing it down would've involved rolling over to my nightstand, grabbing the notebook there and making a few notes.)

So I thought of a key-word for the idea: "Patchwork". 

I ingrained the keyword in my head. "Patchwork, patchwork, patchwork... remember patchwork."

And then, for a test, I'd let my brain relax for a few moments, and then I'd be all, "What's the word, Brain?!"

And I'd answer myself, "Patchwork!"

This morning I woke up, and the first thing that popped into my head was, "Patchwork."

Only now, I can't remember the associating idea. The epiphany. It's gone. Lost in a NyQuill haze.

So, writer peeps, what did Patchwork mean?

3. While I was driving down the street, I saw an old man jogging. He was wearing a white v-neck shirt, and the low point of the "V" reached almost to his bellybutton. And yes, there was chest hair. And bellybutton hair. 

When he caught me looking, he nodded, as if to say, "I know. Can you believe how much I rock this look?"

And then he winked. As if to say, "You're welcome."

I mouthed the words "Thank you."

So, yon Bloggerville, how much do you love bellybutton hair?

Discuss!

Burying Uncle Glendon

The directions to the ranch are as follows:

Once you hit the dirt road, take a right at every fork. If you pass the "Last Chance Ranch", you still haven't gone far enough.

About three hours into the drive, you see this:

and this:

And then after you pass the Last Chance Ranch, you hit the Johnson Ranch. 

And that's where we buried Uncle Glendon. A true cowboy.

Glendon Johnson

His brother, my father-in-law, dedicated the grave, paying respect to the extreme power of nature in this part of the world. The man-made structures here can be about as inconsequential as a layer of dust over the landscape, easily wiped out by a strong wind or some other force of nature.

And yet, the Johnson ranch still stands, and will go on as the final resting place for Uncle Glendon, and his two children who preceded him in death, until nature decides otherwise. 

How often, with today's technology, does the title of pallbearer mean physically laboring to lower the casket of a loved one deep into the earth? 

How often do children get the chance to aid in the burial of a beloved elder, while dust suspended in the air clings to the tears on their cheeks?

How often do we get to cover our hands in the dirt that our loved ones are returned to? Tiny hands filling the empty space, sure of the how, but unsure of the why.

Dust to dust...

The old giving way to the new...

It was an unforgettable experience. We'll miss you Uncle Glendon.