In the Immortal words of Lil' Wayne: I need a Winn-Dixie Grocery Bag full of Money

I hate money. Who's with me?

Lately I've been stressed about money like never before. We've had a few incidents (heart surgery, floods, market instability) that have come at the most inconvenient time, and I'm feeling the pressure to start contributing. 

I have a Masters Degree from a prestigious school. I should be paid for simply existing, right? 

Wrong. (I totally want a refund. False advertising.)

I've been thinking about the various talents that I have, and how they could possibly make me money. Here are my options. I'd appreciate your thoughts:

1. Play Scrabble for a Living

I play online Scrabble with up-and-coming YA author Jody Sparks. Over the past couple of weeks, we had an epic game that involved two Bingos (where you play all the letters) and words like Jarl. 

We kept tweeting to each other about the brilliance of our moves, and how amazing that last word was, etc. I think I even lost a few Twitter followers, who couldn't handle the awesome. 

We're considering taking our Scrabble talent on the road. Selling some tickets to watch the madness. (We average one to two words a day, so one ticket to the match would equal entire days of edge-of-your-seat excitement.)

2. Live by my Pen

Currently, the only way I could live by my pen is if I sell my pen. Have you a need for a pen? It's a long, thin, rounded device used to apply ink to a surface for the purpose of writing or drawing, usually on paper, and for the low low price of $20,000, the pen can be yours.

If that doesn't work, Andy Roddick fan Michael Bourret will soon be submitting my book, and if all goes well, maybe there's a publisher out there who will pay me a whole bushel of pens. Which I could then turn around and sell. 

If my book doesn't sell, I've heard that one pen in the hand is worth two in the bush, so I plan to double my current inventory by holding all my pens in my hand, and then going to the bush in my back yard to claim my treasure. 

3. Professional Tennis Watcher

The U.S. Open starts today, and you know what that means... my main squeeze Rafael Nadal will be Live from New York, in all his wedgie-picking grandeur.

For the low low price of $20/hr, I will teach you how to sit on your couch and watch tennis like a true professional. Ever wanted to know how many times Rafa picks his wedgies during the match? I can teach you how to count!

Watch a wedgie-pick once, and you are satisfied for a few moments. Teach someone how to track thousands of wedgie-picks over the course of a career, and that person will be entertained for life.

4. Subscriptions to my Blog

If I divide up my debt between all of my faithful blog followers, I think that would give me a boost. So mom, you owe $10,000, and Sam, you owe $10,000. 

5. Could someone please explain to me exactly how a Ponzi Scheme works? Just for curiosity's sake. 

6. On an unrelated note, is it really illegal to sell a child? Or is it only illegal on paper, but overlooked in actuality. Like polygamy. 

7. I have a metal detector, and I plan on surveying the beach out at the Great Salt Lake. I've heard majestic ships have been marooned on its shores.

8. Are my blog readers opposed to a banner on the side of my blog, advertising for GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS?

I'm open to other ideas. Anyone have words of advice? Anyone in the market for a set of Cutco Knives?

I hate money. 

Everything You Need to Know about Dating can be Learned from 7 Brides for 7 Brothers

Last night I went to see my niece "MM" in a community production of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. She played one of the brides, and she stole the show.

This was probably my 100th time seeing the play. My mom loved the movie, so we watched it instead of Saturday mornin cartoons, and then every summer we went to Jackson Hole, WY, and saw it live. 

I realized last night how much I've learned from the play, so I thought I'd share what I've learned with you. 

Top Ten Dating Lessons Seven Brides for Seven Brothers Teaches us:

1. A dance off is appropriate in any tense situation. 

2. If you want something (like a wife) just go and take it, provided you can cause an avalanche on top of the only throroughfare so the men with the guns can't chase you. (Also, it's okay to assume your kidnapping victim will 'grow to love you')

3. Every Oregon town in the 1800's had exactly 6 eligible women and 12 eligible suitors. 

4. Love at first sight is possible if you and your potential mate are wearing the same color of shirt.

5. "Dorcus" is a girl's name. So, to my sister who used to torment me by calling me "Dork"... guess the joke's on you! You were just calling me a girl's nickname. Zing!

6. "The Bridegroom who gets married in June gets a sweetheart for a wife." Sam and I got married in June. Truer words were never spoken. Right, Sam? Right??

7. Real Men don't swing axes... they dance with them.

8. There are no good "F" names in the bible. And if you're choosing between "Hannah", "Hepzibah" and "Hagar" to name your first baby girl, choose "Hannah". I mean, is it even a question?  

p.s. I hope you're not reading this, Hepzibah Jones. (She's my neighbor)

9. These are what real "Bad Boys" look like:

 

And finally...

10. Shotgun weddings are magical.

So, what's everyone up to this weekend?

Prepare to Sing this Blasted Song All Day Long... Starring, Kid B

Howdy.

Kid B started school yesterday, but before he did, he decided to help me make a slideshow of him, so I wouldn't forget him. 

Keep in mind, there are no duplicate pictures. He really did pose for each and every one. Yes, there are quite a few of him yawning, but that's because he saw a preview of himself yawning, and decided he liked that pose the best. 

We set the pictures to his favorite song. And mine. And soon to be yours. (I promise you you'll be singing it all day long.)

Now, every time I miss him, I have this video to turn to.

Writing for Charity Recap: In which I get to Handle Sara Zarr

Happy Monday, Y'all! And especially happy today. School starts! 

 (Kid C in his second grade class)

First thing I'm going to do with my free time: Shower for as long as I want. 

Then I'm going to write. 

WRITING FOR CHARITY RECAP

I went to the Writing for Charity event on Saturday, and it was seriously incredible. The day event included star-studded author panels, and then critique groups, and the evening extravaganza featured a comedy group, singing, and more authors!

Here are the highlights: (the good photos were taken by Heather Zahn Gardner)

-James Dashner and a pregnant (with twins) Shannon Hale MC'd the event.

(Shannon Hale, in a wheel chair. That's dedication)

-James tried to auction off Shannon's double placentas. Yes, he said the word "placentas". In front of a large crowd. Twice.

(James, showing how a placenta can fold up into something as tiny as a button)

-It's okay, because Brandon Mull one-upped him by saying the phrase "vaginal birth" and then turning red and giggling. 

-I was Sara Zarr's handler. I'm having a shirt made that reads "I Handled a National Book Award Finalist."

 (Sara Zarr. What's that I see? A smile?)

-I discovered "handling" an author means escorting them, getting them food and drink, etc. It does NOT mean braiding each other's hair, exchanging BFF charm bracelets, and most importantly, NO POST-CONFERENCE SLEEPOVERS.

-Also, Sara Zarr does not like her peppermint patties to be served to her on a paper plate. Seriously. Don't do it.

- Funny story:

You know how I call author Matt Kirby "He Who Shall Not be Named"? 

(He Who Shall Not Be Named... Matt Kirby. aka Matthew J. Kirby)

Well, I was talking to friend-of-the-blog Jenni Elyse, and she sees Brandon Mull walking behind me.

 (Brandon Mull: bestselling author of Fablehaven series)

Jenni waves to him and exclaims, "Look! It's He Who Shall Not Be Named!"

I turn around to discover it's Brandon Mull, not Matt Kirby, behind us. He pauses for just a moment, gives us a weird look, and smiles and nods like Okay, whatever crazy girls.

After he walked away, I'm like, "Um, who do you think that was?"

Jenni's all, "Matt Kirby. Duh."

I'm all, "That's Brandon Mull. Author of Fablehaven."

Jenni gives me a horrified look. "Are you telling me I just called Brandon Mull...the pseudonym for...VOLDEMORT?!"

It was so so cool. That's why Jenni and I are friends. I just imagined what Brandon thought of the whole thing, walking by complete strangers, who shout, "Look! It's 'He Who Shall Not Be Named'!"  

-I got to spend the day with most of The SIX, and Emily Wing Smith was a fellow Handler. (She handled Ally Condie)

(Emily, me, voted best handlers)

-Here's the one picture I took. Now you know why I use Heather's photos.

(Autograph table- From far left to right: Bree Despain, back of Ally Condie's head, Sara Zarr and James Dashner, wondering where he can score some placentas)

-I got page one of a completely new WIP critiqued. Now to write page two...

So how was all y'all's weekend? Anyone else make it to Writing for Charity? Anyone do anything fun? 

In Which Brodi Takes a Stand Against the Airlines...

Do I look like a terrorist? Tell me the truth.

When I was packing for SCBWI in L.A., I painstakingly put all my liquids in the stupid 3 oz or less bottles, because that's the kind of citizen I am.

I went through security, and at the "put your shoes back on" place, the red lights go on, and the t.v.-watcher-guy motions someone over.

This young man- fresh out of high school- in a blue uniform comes up, pulls out my 3 oz bottle of contact solution, and says, "Ma'am, I'm going to have to run some tests on this."

I'm thinking, Kid, you're like twelve. What kind of tests are you gonna be running? 

Seriously, was he going to take it back to the laboratory (lah-bore-uh-tory) throw on some safety goggles and some gloves, and conduct experiments? 

Yes. Yes, he was. With a gloved hand, he transports the container back to his makeshift lab, and out come the droppers and vials. 

He came back a few minutes later to deliver the bad news.

Him: "I'm afraid I've got some bad news. I'm going to have to confiscate this."

I'm all for airline safety, but this was ridiculous! I hoisted my bags, all the while muttering "Fine! Fine! The world's a safer place because this guy who can't even grow a beard has passed judgment on an innocent bottle of contact solution."

When I got to my gate, I plopped in a seat next to Bree Despain, and started grumbling, saying really stupid things like, "Congratulations, everyone on my flight! You're all safe now!"

I found myself unable to stop saying red flag words like "bomb" and "fire", and then, in an act of dramatic defiance, I ripped the old baggage check tags off my suitcase and threw them to the ground.  I littered to make extra work for the custodians.

I'm all, "They may take our contact solution, but they'll never take... our FREEDOM!"

Bree's all, "Um, those baggage tags have your name and address on them."

Me: "Right. Good point." I picked the tags up and threw them away.

So much for my chance to raise an army against The Man. 

Anyone else have airport stories?

What I'm Reading, What I'm Writing, and Get Your First Page Critiqued

Hey y'all. I thought it was time to do some updates.

What I'm reading: 

I was lucky enough to get my hands on an ARC of Matt Kirby's book THE CLOCKWORK THREE. 

It was so good. You know, one of those books that makes me jealous of his way with words. I'm proud to call Matt a friend. So I can track him down and toilet paper his house.

What I'm Writing:

Some of you have been asking what the status is with my book. We are currently at Defcon 4. 

Defcon 1: Find an Agent.

Defcon 2: Revist with Agent.

Defcon 3: Wait to submit to Editors.

Defcon 4: Blood turns to acid because the stupid clock is not ticking away fast enough, and even though you've been waiting for years already, you swear this time, the wait will kill you, so you spend most days trying not to send crazy-a** emails to your agent, demanding to know why he doesn't have the power to speed up time, and perhaps as incentive, you should open a vein and bleed acid blood on everyone...

Defcon 5: Submit to Editors. Or the world blows up. It's fifty-fifty.

Get Your First Page Critiqued, and Meet Some Authors

If you have an interest in the publishing world or writing in general, you probably have heard how important the first page is.

Well, this Saturday, you can have your first page critiqued by a nationally published author... and raise money to provide needy children with books! 

It's a day of workshops and panels and critiques and signings, and an evening extravaganza, with some big names in the book world like James Dashner, Bree Despain, Jessica Day George, Shannon Hale, Ally Condie, Emily Wing Smith... and more. 

I had my first page critiqued last year, and now I have an agent. *

*above statement was not FDA approved, and results may or may not be typical.

Anywho, you can come for the day, or evening, or both. Click here for more info and to register.

Whew. I'm off to Lagoon (the illegitimate love-child of Disneyland and the State Fair) with Sam and the kids, because I got to thinking that it's been a while since I puked my lungs out. Wish us luck. 

The Great Flood of 2010... aka How I went Boating in my Basement

Hey y'all. 

It's the Monday after the Great Flood of 1-0. 

That doesn't sound right. How about "The Great Flood of Ten".

Nope. The Great Flood of Oh-Ten. 

Forget it. I can't even get lucky on the name of the flood. Yes, welcome to the pity party.  

So, it's 1:00 a.m. on Friday morning, and I hear something that sounds like a waterfall. Since we don't have one of those "Nature Sounds" machines, I know this is gonna suck. 

We race downstairs to find this:

This picture does not begin to capture the scope of the disaster. 

A sprinkler pipe burst just outside the window, and the entire window well was filled with water. It was spraying through the bottom of the window at this point, cascading down the wall to where it splashed playfully into the lagoon at the bottom.

(Apparently we were fortunate the window didn't shatter. Lucky us.)

I love what disasters reveal to us about our personalities. Sam was freaking out, because he hates water. Literally, he's had this exact nightmare for years, so for him, it was as if his worst nightmare had come to life. Here's a depiction of him.

(Sam. Every time he freaks out, he grabs a bottle of ketchup and starts shaking it)

Thankfully, in my worst nightmares, I've been shot in the head, probed by aliens, kidnapped, beaten, and the best one: I imploded due to implementing the wrong technique when popping a giant zit. Never dreamed about floods. 

Sam was running around shouting expletives, so I guess it was my turn to be the voice of reason. I tried to think of words of wisdom, but the only thing that came out of my mouth was: "Get busy livin', or get busy dyin'!"

It worked. Because Stephen King knows his stuff. 

Once Sam was able to speak to me using words that didn't start with F and end in CK (Frederick), I ducked outside, took out my cell phone, and called my mom. (She was in Cedar City. Strangely, she was asleep.) I don't know what I was expecting her to do about it, but I'm really not used to being the lame-a** "Voice of Reason" and so I had to talk to an actual voice of reason. (I just play one on tv).

Thankfully, we know a kick-butt disaster guy, who showed up on our porch the next morning with one of these beauties:

Attached to the machine was this guy:

 (Jud Hanks. Superman owner of Nautica Cleaning)

He would've been here earlier, but he had to drive that thing all the way from West Jordan. (It's okay. It's street legal.)

After spending the night baling out water, I figured Jud and Sam had things under control. So I packed my bags, grabbed Kid C, and headed down to the Shakespeare Festival in Cedar City, to get my fix of men in tights.

And left Sam to deal with this:

Really, I think we were both exactly where we each wanted to be.

How was all y'all's weekend? Any disasters?

*Added: Keep this Saturday free (the 21st) for the annual Writing for Charity event. Great chance to meet authors, and hobnob with fellow writers. And it's for a good cause. And reasonably priced! Click here for more info

AAARRRRRGGGGHHHHH. This is what I get for Complaining!

I guess I shouldn't complain about being bored in August. Our entire basement flooded last night (due to an evil sprinkler). We discovered it at about midnight, and spent all night sloshing through the carpet, moving furniture, assessing the damage.

I used Kid C's beach bucket to empty out a window well that was filled to the brim. Squat, scoop, stand, dump.  Repeat. 

Eventually my legs stopped working. I literally couldn't climb the stairs.

Anywho, there goes our trip to the Shakespeare Festival. At least I'm no longer bored. Rackin' Frakkin', Shickety Brickets.

A Breakfast Mishap at SCBWI, and How I'm Planning on Getting to Heaven

So, during SCBWI in L.A., I went to breakfast with Emily Wing Smith and He Who Shall Not Be Mentioned on the Blog (Matt Kirby). I ordered french toast, and when it was delivered to my table, next to it was a giant slab of the most delicious butter I'd ever tasted. 

(Not the actual french toast, but it looked a lot like this)

I spread the butter on the toast, and finished it off. Then I was left with half the butter and my side of potatoes, and all I could think about was how much I wanted to just spoon the butter into my mouth.

But I didn't want to look silly. Especially since I was in the middle of explaining to Matt and Emily how Heaven could possibly be accessible through a wormhole. 

I figured it wouldn't look gluttonous if I used my potato chunks to scoop up the butter, since butter and potatoes are supposed to go together anyway. Matt Kirby still gave me a strange look.

I was about halfway through the schlob of butter, and just reaching the climax of my theory that angels are really aliens, when Matt interrupted me and asked, "What do you think that is you're eating?" 

I paused, fork mid-mouth. "Butter."

"Um, no. It's whipped cream. I've been wondering why you're dipping your potatoes in it."

me: "Well, I didn't want to look stupid."

He gave me a look that said Mission Not Accomplished.

I examined the fork, with the chunk of potatoes topped with a dollop of whipped cream. "Now that I know it's whipped cream, I'll just spoon it directly into my mouth, and bypass the middle-man potato."

After Matt was done laughing (which was quite some time later) I said, "This doesn't discount my theory of the existence of ancient alien astronauts."

Are you wondering what got me thinking about all this sy-fy stuff? Well, what do you say when your seven-year-old asks how you get to heaven? Literally?

Talk about this stuff long enough, and he'll eventually stop asking questions.

And has time officially stood still in August? 

The Most Awesome Exercise Book from 1980

Happy Monday y'all. 

So, my father-in-law is an avid reader, with thousands of books lining the walls of his house. The other day, he was getting rid of a few, and invited us over to take our pick. 

I couldn't help choosing this one- an exercise book from 1980:

(Appropriate title, don't you think?)

Here's the back:

So many questions come to mind. For instance:

Were white shorts on a white background the best choice?

And what's so revolutionary about the top-row moves on the back? 

Don't have any extra money for weights? Don't worry! They've thought of everything. Find two books lying around! Hopefully they weigh ten pounds each.

On page 1, they demonstrate how you have to be in a really bad mood to start. As if they're saying, "Brace yourselves. This is gonna suck."

It's okay if you're the woman, though, because you're obviously not strong enough to carry weights or anything.

Next comes a move they've been working on for years, the patent-protected, government-tested "lean":

Are you with us so far? Can you guess which move comes next?

Discuss amongst yourselves.

I'm planning on learning the moves, and then holding classes in my basement. Care to join?

M.T. Anderson's Break Out Session, or Why My Head Exploded at SCBWI

Howdy.

I promised I'd do a post on M.T. Anderson's breakout session for Experimental Fiction at SCBWI. 

Here he is practicing his speech in a corner before the class. We thought that was so cool. 

He started things off by discussing a poem by Kurt Schwitters.

It's probably not a surprise that this man wrote Experimental poetry. Anyway, we discussed his "Poem 25". I tried to find it on the stupid internetz, but no luck. So, I'll do my best to recreate what I remember.

25

25, 25, 26

26, 26, 27

27, 27, 28

32, 34, 36, 38

33, 35, 37, 39

56

9, 9, 9

57

8, 8, 8, 

58

7, 7, 7, 

59

6, 6, 6, 

3/4, 6, 6, 

48

4, 4, 4, 

3/4, 4, 4,

4, 1/4, 

4

Okay, so that's not the precise poem, but it's something like that, and it is weird for two reasons: 

One: this poem happens to be my exact answer when somebody asks me my age.

Two: I don't know if you noticed, but this poem is made up entirely of numbers. 

Somehow when M.T. Anderson read it aloud, though, it made perfect sense, and I started thinking, "Duh, of course 59 would be followed by three 6's. It's an inevitability! And the third line is just foreshadowing the triumph of the number 4."

Thankfully, M.T. hit on something closer to my own reading level next. 

He's all, "Notice how Seuss goes from counting the fish to discussing the colors?"

I start nodding my head emphatically. "Yes! Yes! I get that! I totally noticed that!"

At one point, Matt Kirby (or He Who Shall not be Named on the Blog) wondered how to translate experimental examples like these into longer works, like novels. 

Matt has a point. I wouldn't want to read an entire novel written in numbers.

I'm a little unclear on the concept, and I'm not familiar with large works of experimental fiction, but the lecture reminded me of how much I enjoyed the movie Brick.

The movie uses words in a new way (to me), where the dialogue means what it sounds like spoken aloud, even if the words don't make sense by their lonesomes. 

For instance, after the main character Brendan gets beat up by a thug, he confronts the gang leader "The Pin". Read it out loud. Don't be afraid. Even if you're at work:

Brendan Frye: Your muscle seemed plenty cool putting his fist in my head. I want him out.
The Pin: Looky, soldier...
Brendan Frye: The ape blows or I clam. 

And later, telling his friends he doesn't want to involve the authorities:

Brendan Frye: No, bulls would gum it. They'd flash their dusty standards at the wide-eyes and probably find some yegg to pin, probably even the right one. But they'd trample the real tracks and scare the real players back into their holes, and if we're doing this I want the whole story. No cops, not for a bit. 

Cool, huh? 

I wish I could compose some conclusive sentence, summing it all up, but I lack the brain cells. Maybe Matt Kirby could. He seemed to be on the same level as M.T. 

Leave a comment, so I know I'm not the only one going... Wha??? 

Or just tell me what y'all are up to this weekend.

LA SCBWI Recap, in which I meet my Agent, and dance the Love Shack with M.T. Anderson

Hey y'all! 

So, I'm back from the L.A. SCBWI conference, and although Sam told me to take plenty of pictures, I ended up with about 10 of Michael Bourret, and about 4 others.  

I'll get into specifics later, but here are the highlights of the trip:

- I met my agent Michael Bourret for the first time ever! 

He was a rock star at the conference, and every time he walked through the lobby, he got mobbed as if he were Keith Richards at a Stones concert. To his credit, he was kind and gracious to everyone.

 (Michael Bourret, me)

I had an hour with him, so of course I spent the first forty minutes discussing my obsession with Rafa, because that's exactly how I like to manage my time with my agent.

In my defense, I had just met a movie producer guy who hinted that he could introduce me to Rafa, and that's not a good thing to say to me as I'm heading off to meet my agent for the first time. 

It went something like this:

Michael: "Brodi, it's so good to finally meet you!"

me: "Hey! Speaking of "meeting", did you know there's a guy over there who said he could introduce me to Rafa Nadal? What can you do to make it happen faster?"

Great first impression.

-M.T. Anderson was at the conference. 

He wrote books like Feed and Octavian Nothing, so yeah, he was King. 

I went to a breakout session of his, where some random guy from the audience got to help him set up his projector. 

(M. T. Anderson and Random Guy (aka Matt Kirby) having a total fanboy moment)

Sorry, that's the only picture I got of M.T. I know it's blurry. And that's not a random guy. That's author Matt Kirby, but Matt accused me of blogging about him "all the time", especially about his "dancing", so I promised Matt I wouldn't mention his name in any of my conference blogs.

I'll blog more about M.T.'s breakout session on Friday.

- I went to the Hearts and Souls Ball. 

(Emily Wing Smith, Bree Despain, me, Sydney Salter)

I learned my lesson last year when I tried to wear shorts to the ball, and was promptly laughed off the dance floor. (btw, laughing someone off the dance floor is not as fun as it sounds. It is difficult to achieve, and painful for the target.)

This year, I wore a skirt! Unfortunately, I did not win "best costume." I think I was robbed.

- We danced!

(Me, Matt Kirby, Emily Wing Smith, Bree Despain)

Okay, so I don't have pictures of us dancing... unless you count this one.

Matt Kirby (a.k.a. "He who shall not be mentioned") claimed he couldn't (or wouldn't) be dancing, but the second the band started up with B-52's Love Shack, there was no stopping him. 

Eventually, M.T. Anderson came over to our little circle and danced with us, prompting this inscription in my book:

"To Brodi: What fun we had in the LOVE SHACK"

Which made my hubby laugh and laugh. And laugh. And I think raise an eyebrow.

- I went to a breakout session led by Michael Bourret and Jill Alexander, author of The Sweetheart of Prosper County. 

Michael and Jill killed in there. Literally, there were bodies, and limbs, and various types of bodily ooze, everywhere. They were that funny. 

After the cleanup crew bleached the place, I got a picture.

(Michael, Jennifer Hunt - editor at Little, Brown books, Emily, me)

-I got to meet up with authors!

That's the very cool thing about going to SCBWI. You get to hang out in the lobby and make friends with people who love children's books, and who are just as crazy as you.  Yes, you. I mean, me.

(Bree, me, Emily, Lindsey Leavitt -"Princess for Hire", Lisa Schroeder- "It's Raining Cupcakes")

- Did I mention I met my agent?

(me, wonderful girl whose name I don't know, Michael, Emily, Alice Pope of Team Blog fame)

Did I mention Michael accused me of blinding him with my cheap-a** camera? Did I mention I had to steal the camera cuz I don't have one of my own?

When he found out, Michael frowned and said, "We need to get you a book deal." I couldn't agree more. I'd like a deal at least large enough to buy me a camera that doesn't cause retinal damage. So, $250 should be fine. 

Okay, this post has gone on long enough. I'll have more later! I missed you all, and I would've blogged from the conference, but the hotel charged for Wi-Fi, and if I can't afford a camera, I certainly can't afford to pay for Wi-Fi, which should really be as free as air.

So, what have y'all been up to?