It's ASK ME ANYTHING Day.

Okay, folks, it's ASK ME ANYTHING DAY! How do I know it's ASK ME ANYTHING DAY? Because I posed this question on Twitter:

Hey y'all, if I did a blog post where I answered your questions, would some of you actually ask questions? The potential silence is my fear.

Because I can totally see this happening. I say "Ask me anything" and then there's a silence so loud it makes my ears (and my pride) hurt. 

But I had enough people on twitter say they would have questions. So, I'm putting it out here. 

Have you ever wondered about my writing routine? Everbound? Everneath? I don't know, what other questions are there? What I eat? 

Okay, obviously my questions are a little lackluster. So I'm depending on you for better questions.

So, ask me questions in the comments, and I'll answer in the comments. 

Okay, ready? go!

Our first questions comes from twitter:

A) are you planning on touring other countries? maybe, say, New Zealand? and B) what do you do when you get writer's block? (:

Answers:

A) I would LOVE to tour other countries. But I would have to save up my own money, because I'm not sure if/when my publishers overseas would be sending me anywhere. 

B) Many writers will tell you to take a break, and I agree to take a break, but then sometimes you just have to push through it and get words on the paper, even if the words are really bad, and they don't even form coherent sentences, much like this sentence I'm typing right now. 

Okay, bring it on!

How I Took the Road Less Traveled... and why I might change careers

For this latest round of revisions, I decided I needed a change of scenery. So I put the car in drive (don't know why I needed to specify that) and I turned the steering wheel (again with the specifics) toward the South/Southeast of Salt Lake City. 

I went South really fast. Then I turned left at Highway 6, a.k.a. the "Highway of Death", so named after the man who discovered the highway, Richard J. Death. Richard had a hard time making friends, so he was thrilled when the discovery of this highway brought him notoriety. 

Then, when you reach Price, you raise your hand to shield your eyes from the sun, and you look out in all four directions, and you ask yourself, "Which way looks to be the most desolate?"

Then you take the road less traveled, highway 10, and follow it all the way until you hit... well, nothing. You just have to know where to turn left. 

Then you turn left. (I know, who would've thought simple directions would make such an awesome blog post? Wait. It doesn't? Um... too late.)

And you follow a dirt road, and suddenly you come upon this:

aren't you happy you took the road less traveled? 

I had no idea when I took that picture this morning that it would end up looking so dang good. See, a real photographer would be all, "Okay, I think I'll set up here, because check out how the reflection on the glassy pond optimizes the light from... that... giant golden orb in the sky!" (Okay, I don't know if that's how photographers really talk.)

But as for me, I was walking around the mini-lake, tripping over sage brush, talking to the grasshopper who happened to be following me on my walk. Okay, I wasn't really talking to him. I was yelling at him to please stop following me. 

I was thinking about my blog post, and I was all, "hey! I should take a pic!" So I stopped right where I was and clicked the photo with my iPhone, and voila. My new career! (Okay, maybe I'm putting a little too much value in the beauty of the photo above, but seriously, most of my pictures look like this:

That parentheses above is hanging by itself, so I'm going to close it here.)

Anywho, I'm planning on spending the next three days writing here:

Sleeping here:

Exploring this:

And talking to this guy:

I won't worry about the isolation until he starts talking back. 

So, what do y'all think? Anyone wanna come down and join me? Anyone taking bets on when the buffalo will answer my questions? Anyone else picturing a tiny camera in the buffalo's eye, recording my every move? 

Just me?

By the way, I arrived here last night, when the buildings were all dark, and the isolation felt more like the setting of a slasher flick. But I made it through the night. I don't have phone service, but I can send someone a frantic text if I get in trouble, and hopefully that person will check his/her texts. But if that person is like Sam, he may not find out anything until the next day. Not that anyone could do anything, because by the time they got in the car and drove to the ranch, my body would be cold and filled with maggots. 

But just so we don't end on a downer, like my own cold-blooded murder, remember the time I posed with Jef from the Bachelorette?

My Week in Pictures

Hey y'all. 

I thought I'd give you a glimpse - through pictures - into my past week. 

Last weekend, my family and I went to the Shakespeare Festival in Cedar City Utah. This has been a tradition for me since I was eight years old. So, for about 15 years. Give or take a decade. Or three. 

We took Kid C and his cousin Necie to Les Mis. Got them tickets on the front row. Here's how excited they were: 

If there's ever an appropriate time to call your kids "brats"...

Oh, Les Mis. I've seen you at least ten times. How come you never told me you were so sad? My mom, sister and I were sitting on the front row, and maybe it was because of the fresh loss of my dad, but we were weeping the entire time. At one point, I caught one of the actors looking at us. I imagined he was mentally high-fiving himself, going, "I'm rocking this performance! They can't keep the tears in!"

Every year, on the friday morning of our festival visit, we play tennis. The games are epic, although my partner was more interested in playing against his own shadow than against our opponents. 

My nephew wanted a real sword from the festival, so he appealed to my mom, who of course bought him one. My sister bought him a bow and arrow for christmas. For his birthday, I guess there's nothing left to get him but a handgun. 

Here he is, knighting my other nephew. 

Pic taken seconds before he lopped Asher's head off

On Sundays, we have an hour of church. Here's what Kid B used that time to create:

Other children are coloring pictures of Jesus. Kid B made his own XBox game console.

He also made a dog, with 87 movable parts.

Then he proceeded to shake it at the people sitting in the bench behind us, all the while barking loudly. 

Why do I suddenly think church is fun? 

Last night, I was lying (laying?) on the grass. Kid B saw me, and immediately ran inside the house. He emerged a few minutes later with three blankets and two pillows. 

We stayed until the stars came out. 

What's your week been like? 

How in one Encounter in an Airport, I Conquered my Fears

Hey y'all! Sorry I missed last week. I spent much of the week at the SCBWI conference in L.A. 

Photo taken by SCBWI Team Blog

For those of you who don't know, SCBWI is pronounced "Skehbwee."

Kidding. Do not go to this conference and be all "I'm so proud to be a member of Skehbwee." Trust me. I did that my first year, and I made no friends. 

SCBWI stands for Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators. I know, I know, we can all think of a million easier acronyms. But... there you go. I've said it so many times now that Kid B's middle name is Esseebeedoubleyouwhy.

I don't even know why I'm talking about the conference, because the most exciting thing happened on the way home from L.A. 

To preface this story, you should know that I have a really hard time approaching people I admire. For instance, if I see an author in the hotel lobby, and I loved their book, I will turn in the opposite direction and run to Canada. Unless I'm in Canada. Then I will run to Peru. 

Some would say this inability to function would interfere with a publishing career. Sometimes it does. For instance, there was the time I saw my agent across the lobby, scanning the lobby for me, and instead of approaching him, I texted him. I thought this was an appropriate course of action, until a friend said, "Why are you hiding behind that pillar texting someone who is mere yards away from you?"

And that was my agent. (My agent, Michael, doesn't know this story. Welcome to my neuroses, Michael.)

This is Michael. Intimidating, isn't he?

So, now that you have been properly informed...

On Monday afternoon, I was at the LAX airport waiting for my flight home, when I noticed someone sitting across from me. I did a double take, and realized it was the most recent winner of the Bachelorette, Jef Holm. 

Emily and Jef, looking a little homely for my taste.

So I texted people. I was all, I'm sitting across the aisle from Jef from the Bachelorette

And people responded, Get a picture! 

So I got a picture! And here it is:

If you'll notice, I held my phone up from behind the book I was reading (which was an ARC of Lindsey Leavitt's GOING VINTAGE, which is so good that it took me a good twenty minutes to even notice Jef.)

I texted this picture to friends. And friends were all, No! You have to get a picture with him! You will regret it for life if you don't!

So, I thought to myself, This time, I will not be the coward who is taking pictures from behind a book! 

Before I could chicken out, I put my phone in camera mode, and shoved it into the belly of the girl sitting next to me, and commanded, "Take my picture! Take it with me, and that guy." (points at Jef)

Now, from her point of view, we had been sitting there in silence for half an hour, with Jef across from us, and then all of a sudden, I accost her and demand that she take my picture with some strange guy. Not only that, but she's from Australia, so she has NO CLUE who Jef is. 

But I sprang from my seat and said, "Follow me, beeyatch!" (Okay, I didn't add that last word.)

I walked up to Jef and said, "Can I have a picture with you?" Then, for good measure, I added, "My nieces will just die."

Now, this was a lie. I do have a lot of nieces, but I couldn't think of a single one who watched the Bachelorette. 

So... behold the picture proof of the giant leap forward for my cowardice:

This picture was the second attempt by my foreign friend. Here was her first:

I like to think that if Jef and I spontaneously decided to run away together, this is what it would look like. 

Wow. This was supposed to be a short blog, but I guess this moment was more significant than I thought. 

My friend, who is obsessed with Jef, called me immediately after I texted her the picture. She was all, "What was it like? How tall was he? What did he smell like? How did his waist feel?"

And I was standing in line right behind Jef trying to board the plane, speaking softly into my phone, describing how the person in front of me smelled like soap and lavender and his waist was not squishy. Please say that he couldn't hear me. Please.

What do you think, bloggerville? Do you know who Jef is? Even if you don't, are you impressed by my gumption? 

Guess What I got in the Mail? Or... how to send a moment of gratification by post

Look what the mailman brought...

Maybe someday, seeing my book in print for the first time will "get old". Maybe someday, I will open a box of ARCs and refrain from flipping the pages while inhaling that new book smell. Maybe someday, I will hand it to a neighbor without saying, "Careful of fingerprints." Maybe someday, I won't cringe when someone bends the pages back a little too far. 


But not today. 


It's days like this that make me intensely grateful. One bound book can remind me that all those months where it felt like writing a page would take more work than removing all of my organs with a spoon were worth it. 

It's especially true with this book. The task of writing it seemed insurmountable at times. Creating the fictional world often felt as ambitious - and impossible - as creating an actual world. 


Now it's real. It's corporeal. It's tangible. It smells good. And for the next few days, its pages will remain pristine, its covers shiny. 


When you get ARCs, there's this quiet moment... this breath of time before the book goes out to reviewers... and for this instant it's yours and only yours. 


I'm having my moment. It won't last long. 


P.S. Wanna see EVERBOUND do a trick? It can stand on its head. 

Let's talk Numbers... Every Book Sale Counts

Last night, we attended Lindsey Leavitt's book signing at The King's English. She was there to promote the third book in her Princess for Hire series A FAREWELL TO CHARMS.

From left: Bree Despain, me, Lindsey Leavitt and Emily Wing Smith

Lindsey read from a horror "novel" that she wrote when she was in fifth grade. It was hilarious... and not really horrifying. I love hearing Lindsey talk, because she is funny, self-deprecating, and inspiring all at the same time. And, she can walk and chew gum. If you have a chance to see her in person, take it!


The reason I bring this up is... Lindsey has an uncle in Salt Lake City who buys about thirty books every time he attends one of her events. This is huge. The authors there were amazed and a little jealous, and it got us talking about numbers. 


NUMBERS


When EVERNEATH first came out, one of my neighbors asked how many copies my publisher had printed. When I told her the round number, she looked shocked and said, "That won't even be enough for Utah!"


I could see her train of thought... The Wasatch Front is home to maybe a million plus people, and who out of that million wouldn't want Everneath? So that's a million books needed right off the bat. 


But I'm here to tell you, that is SO not the way it works with books. In fact, I'll even go a step further: When it comes to sales of EVERNEATH, or any other book out there... Every. Book. Counts. 


Now, let's dismiss the exceptions to the rule, the Stephenie Meyers and James Pattersons and Fifty Shades, where they are probably not as aware of the single sales out there. 


But for everyone else, every sale is significant. To everyone else, writing a personal thank you card to every buyer would not be an astronomical task. 


Each author has access to BookScan numbers, which track all the sales during a given week across the country. They divide those sales by region, and further divide them by smaller areas, to the point where if you buy a book in Wichita Kansas, I can almost see it. 


But not in a creepy way. Not in a "I know where you live" kind of way. We don't get that detailed by any means. It's more in a way that I want to reach out and hug Wichita Kansas - all of you - and thank you for that single book sale, and the knowledge that some reader among your ranks has handed over money for something that I wrote.


There is no greater honor. 


I guess my point is, if you're thinking that buying one book doesn't matter to the author, think again. I know most of you already know this. But please notice how an uncle who buys thirty books for all of his friends can draw the envy (in a good way!) and awe of every other author there. Know that the singles column of the sales numbers is compelling and meaningful. Know that our sales are not counted by the hundreds or the thousands, but by the digits on our own two hands. 


And when you buy a book, some author, somewhere, wouldn't hesitate to give you a hug.


And if you've bought my book, well... (((hugs))) 

Full Cover for EVERBOUND and how we got Too Close to the Fireworks

Two Things!

Thing #1


Have you ever wanted to see the FULL cover for EVERBOUND? Here it is, in its entirety...

Thing #2


You know how the 4th of July was the other day? Like, on the 4th? Well, I was watching the fireworks with my family on the balcony, and Kid C said we weren't close enough. So, we decided to "chase" the fireworks, like professionals "chase" tornadoes.


We got in the car and took off, driving toward each new batch of fireworks that we saw.

Eventually, we ended up on the side of a hill where we'd heard a rumor that there would be fireworks. (Actually, the "rumor" was an announcement on the city's webpage).


We weren't sure if the hill would be in the way of our viewing, so we asked a few people who were seated on the side of the road.


me: "So, will we be able to see the fireworks from here?"


guy (giving me a strange look): "Uh... you see that guy right there?" Points about ten yards away. "He's lighting them. You brought your ear plugs, didn't you?"


I didn't get a chance to answer, because without any more warning, the lights everywhere went out, and the show started. And by "show", I mean thunderous explosions that rattled my bones, reducing my organs to jelly, and fire that rained down on us.


I fought the urge to run naked down the street, screaming, "We're all gonna die! We're all gonna die!"


I lunged for Kid C, shielding him with my body, then the three of us (me, my mom and Kid C) dropped to the ground, flattening ourselves on our backs, partly to get the best view of the fireworks about twenty feet above our heads, and partly for safety measures.


During a break, I screamed to Kid C, "Plug your ears! Use the entire fist!"


At one point, I tried to get a video. It doesn't do our proximity justice, but you can tell we could only fit one portion of the show in the viewfinder. To get the full experience, turn it up way loud, find yourself the nearest jack hammer, swallow it, and then turn it on at the same time you press play. 





Afterward, my mom asked me (in the loud voice reserved for people who have just experienced mortar shelling) "Did you really ask that guy if we'd be able to see them from here?"


I could tell she was saying something, but I'm not good at reading lips, so I just nodded deliriously and hit the side of my head. Is it possible to catch "firework of the brain"?