My Ode to a Body Part... and Why I Don't Have a Future in Poetry

I've had a dilemma in my life. I can either be physically fit... or I can be writer. I haven't figured out a way to do both. 

But I vow here and now that those days are over. I've been doing Zumba (and by "doing" I mean "stumbling over my two left feet and spontaneously clapping) and then I've also been doing Pilates (and by "doing" I mean "watching the people around me work their cores, and marveling at their strength").

Anyway, after a few weeks of this, something strange happened. I went to bed one night, and when I woke up the next morning, I wasn't alone. There was something small and unfamiliar near my stomach region. 

I ran to the bathroom mirror to find this:

Objects in mirror are less defined than they appear. Also, objects in picture are not my abs. They are a representation. To picture my abs, take this picture, add seven layers of fat and then subtract the hip dents.

That's right. The stranger in my bed was a stomach muscle. (Okay, there's a sentence I never thought I'd type).

I was so excited, I had to write about it.

So here is my ode to my stomach muscle.

ODE TO MY STOMACH MUSCLE (I'm not really creative with titles)

Oh stomach muscle.

Little stomach muscle.

You are so little

You are more like a chicken nugget taped to my belly

Are you so lonely

stuck on my tummy with no other

stomach muscles to keep you company?

Are you so cold

without that warm layer of fat

that for so many years cushioned you

from the harsh elements of the world?

I will keep you warm

I will cover you in t-shirts and cardigans and Spanx

I will keep you company

I will cradle you

and love you

I won't jar you or jerk you around

and we will sit on the couch

and watch movies

and read books

and we will never have to go out

and... wait. 

Stomach muscle? Where did you go?

Crap! Stomach muscle?

The only problem is that my stomach muscle is not a loyal friend. If he is neglected, or unappreciated, he will disappear on me, without a word. 

What about you? Anyone out there sit in a chair for a living? What do you do?

And... what are you up to this weekend? Anything fun? Will you be writing poems about body parts?

Top Five Signs you have a Book Coming out in Three Months

Hey y'all. I thought I'd start this Wednesday off with a list. Because that's what I like to do. 

Top Five Signs you have a book coming out in three months:

5. You wander around the house, making declarations (in passive voice) of all the things you are NOT going to do.

ex: 

"Hair shall henceforth be air-dried, and no amount of forthwithing will entice me to useth the flat-iron."

and

"Dinner shall forthwith be microwave-worthy, or it shall not be."

(Then your hubby answers: "It shall not be... what?" and you answer back: "It shall not be... made. At all. Or stuff.")

4. When you venture out of the house and into the sun, you flatten the palms of your hand against your eyes and dramatically shout, "It burns! It burrrrrnnnnnns!"

3. Casual conversations become critiques of your book. 

Neighbor: "Are you going to the pig roast on Friday?"

you: "How come nobody understands the strength of Nikki and Jack's love?!"

Neighbor: "Huh?"

you (thinking it was a logical train of thought): "You mentioned pigs, right?"

Neighbor: "Yeah?"

you (realizing logic is probably something you never had): "Nevermind."

2.You bemoan the fact that the New Years Holiday is encroaching on your launch date. Thankfully, you have an agent who reminds you launch dates are like birthdays: Except for the participant, nobody really notices them.

And the number one sign you have a book coming out in three months:

You make stupid lists like you're David Frakking Letterman.

The Tomato that Launched a Thousand Accusations

Hello, y'all. 

I wrote you a song. To be sung to the tune of "Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall":

Ninety-nine days til my book comes out

Ninety-nine days left to go

If only each day didn't feel like a year,

I'd still be sane by January 3rd. 

Sing it loud! Sing it pretty!

If you're looking for a way to pass the time, you can enter the Goodreads massive EVERNEATH giveaway here.

So I have a friend who keeps me in tomatoes. About every other day, she brings me a bowl full of these beauties:

The bowl is usually full, but I ate them before I took the picture

Today, as I was sitting at the computer snacking on these little beauties, Sam was wandering around the kitchen, getting ready to leave for work.

We were talking about random stuff. He crouched down, presumably to pick up some crumbs off the floor, then he ran something under the sink. He walked over to me, asked me a question, and nonchalantly put a tomato into the bowl. 

me: "Did you just sneak a tomato into the bowl?"

Sam (looking guilty): "No."

me: "I saw you." Pauses as realization hits. "You picked up a tomato off the floor... and tried to sneak it back into the bowl!"

Sam (caught in the act): "I washed it off first."

me: "I doesn't matter!" Digs the offending tomato out of the bowl. "You tried to trick me into eating a tomato off the ground!"

I handed him the tomato. 

Sam: "I knew you wouldn't eat it if you saw it, even though it's totally clean because I washed it."

me: "I would've eaten it, if you hadn't been so sneaky about it. It's not the fact that it was on the floor. It's the deception involved."

Sam: "You know tomatoes are covered in dirt from the outdoors before they hit your mouth, right?"

me: "Yes. But outside dirt is much cleaner than inside dirt."

sam: "So, you wouldn't have eaten it!"

me: "Shut up."

This is what comes after thirteen years of marriage. I knew he would never want a tomato to go to waste, and he knew I'd never eat one off the floor. Some people would think it's boring to know everything about your partner, but on the contrary... this morning it was very exciting. Passersby stopped to listen, hands cupped to ears, wondering about the fate of the offending tomato.

Accusations were thrown. Punches were not. But they were contemplated. 

So, how well do you know me? I love these tomatoes more than anything. When I finished off the entire bowl, and I wanted more, did I eat the offending tomato?

The Saddest Banana in the World

Most of you know Kid C has been claiming he is "left-handed" ever since he had his cast taken off of his right arm. 

We've tried to be patient. Waited for him to figure out he is not left-handed. We don't want to push him into realizing an ugly truth: he is right-handed. 

Unfortunately, however, he is in third grade and his class is deep into learning cursive. 

The final breaking point was his Cursive 'B is for Banana' sheet. 

Take a look. It didn't start out well. 

If I draw them bigger, I'll only have to do, like, two.

Next came the actual word. Banana. 

Teacher: "Okay, Kid C. All you have to do is copy the example. Got it?"

Kid C: "Got it!"

Booo Yeah! Perfect. One says "Banana." The other says "Banana." An exact copy.

Teacher. "Umm... Okay. So do you notice how in cursive, the letters connect to each other in a flowing kind of way?'

Kid C: "Yes."

Teacher: "Try it again, but this time in cursive. "

Kid C: "Got it."

Score! Connective, flowing... brilliant banana.

Teacher (grunts in frustration): "Okay, Kid C. This time, try writing the entire word without letting your pencil leave the paper."

Kid C: "But it says banana."

Teacher: "Yes, but not in cursive. Can you try it again? With your pencil stuck to the paper the entire time?"

Kid C: "You got it!"

Cursive accomplished! The pencil never left the paper! Not even once.

Teacher (sighs): "Okay. Because I love pain, I'm going to ask you to try it one more time."

Kid C: "This is going to be the best banana yet."

So, yes, we are being mean parents and forcing him to change to his right hand. He is right-handed. We're not exactly being abusive or anything, are we? Because he gives me these puppy-dog eyes, and with a trembling lip, says, "But... but... I'm left-handed. I really think I'm left-handed. Please?"

I keep trying to tell him that just because we're making him write with his right hand, it doesn't mean he will actually lose his left hand. But he seems unconvinced. He goes around cradling his left hand, whispering sweet goodbyes. 

Ally Condie says part of her inspiration for a few of the scenes in Matched was the fact that our nation's kids are losing the ability to write. I have no idea what she's talking about. See above. I would like the evidence entered as Exhibit B. For Banana.

Why I'm Not Even Trying Anymore...

I'll be honest: Most days I don't shower. When choosing an outfit for the day, I say to myself, "I think I'm on day four of this particular jeans and t-shirt combo. Should we go for five?" Then I smell the armpits.

Inevitably, I answer "yes". 

Then when I go to do my makeup, I think, "I'm just gonna have to wash it off again tonight..."

So it's not like I'm known as "Brodi Ashton: She cared too much about her appearance."

But online, I'm a different person. I'm a little like a wilting flower.

Up until yesterday, I had things like Google searches for my name or for key words like EVERNEATH. But it's becoming a bit overwhelming, especially since a billion ARCs of EVERNEATH went out to bloggers last week. 

So I de-brodi-fied my computer. No alerts. No twitter phrase searches. No checking goodreads. 

And it felt GOOOOOOOD.

But then this morning, I turn on my computer in my study, and I realize I haven't de-Brodi-fied it. A twitter message from an EVERNEATH search pops up, saying something like:

"And then there's that one EVERNEATH. It's like they're not even trying anymore!"  

(I paraphrased, because I deleted the column before I could memorize it)

I hit the "delete search" as fast as I could, but the image of that tweet is burned on my brain, like bad porn. (Yes there is good porn and bad porn).

Now that phrase is infiltrating every aspect of my life.

I was in the shower and I forgot my face soap. I was all, "Mysterious tweeter was right. It's like I'm not even trying anymore!"

I went to put on my t-shirt/jeans combo that was on day five, and again, I was all, "I'm really NOT even trying anymore!"

I started writing this blog, and was all, "Why try anymore?"

Then Sam was noticing my extreme mania this morning, and he's all, "This is what you're like on a break from revisions? I'm not even going to try to understand the mechanics of your crazy anymore."

And I said, "I'm sorry you have to live with me."

He smiled and said, "I wouldn't not have it any other way."

Me: "Wouldn't not? WOULDN'T NOT? That's a double negative! That means you would have it any other way! It's like you're not even trying anymore!"

How about you? Would you not want me no other way? Or do you read my blog and think, "She's not not even not trying anymore!"

Since I have de-brodi-fied my online experience, if you want to get my attention with something nice to say, you can contact me through my "contact me" button on my blog. (Or of course leave a comment)

If you have something negative to say, please send an email to Sam. 

ADDED: I will still be on twitter, and participating in conversations, so feel free to @reply me anytime!

Can you Name That Literary Character? And Win an ARC of EVERNEATH!

So many things to get to today!


1. First off, my sis-in-law is giving away an ARC of EVERNEATH on her blog. The rules to enter are pretty easy and straightforward, so give it a go by clicking here.


2. Second, the winner of the signed copy of BACK WHEN YOU WERE EASIER TO LOVE and an EVERNEATH guitar pick necklace is...

ANGEL SNYDER!

Please email me with your mailing address. My email is brodiashton at gmail dot com.


Thanks for everyone who entered, and participated in the Facebook trivia contest. I mailed out like 24 necklaces over the weekend. :)


3. NAME THAT LITERARY CHARACTER


I went to a blogger/writer social on Friday night (hosted by Mary Campbell) and we played a game where you stick the name of a literary figure on your forehead and you have to ask questions to figure out who you got.


I figured out the literary figure on my forehead in three simple questions. See if you can guess as well:


Question 1: "Is it a male or female?"
answer: "Male."


Question 2: "Is he hot?"
answer: "Yes. Way hot."


Question 3: "Is he supernatural or just plain human?"
answer: "Plain human."


Can you guess the literary character? (Don't scroll down if you want to try.)
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Okay, so the answer was Fitzwilliam Darcy. Did anyone get it right? It was simple, really. All you have to know is "hot" and "not immortal".

4. It was my birthday yesterday.


Check out the gift my mom gave me:

Because nothing says "Happy thirty-somethingth Birthday!" like Katy Perry nail polish. I love my mom, and I'm grateful for the gift, but I just want to know the thought process behind it.


Was it: Hey! Brodi loves glitter! This looks perfect.


Or: Hey! Brodi wanted to be a Firecracker for Halloween one year!


or: Hey! Brodi has nails.


She also got me this sun hat:

I can only assume that in her mind, I'm either turning 12 or 80.


It's okay for me to say this. My mom doesn't read my blog. Don't tell her, okay?


I painted my nails:

For the record, the bottom coat is "Teenage Dream" and the top coat is "The One That Got Away."


So, what's everyone up to? I should be getting my "EVERNEATH 2: It's Everneath-ier" revision letter on Friday, so I'm trying to enjoy my last moments of freedom. 

How to Break it to Kid C that he isn't really Left-Handed

I've officially given away all of my guitar pick necklaces after this week's trivia blast on the EVERNEATH Facebook Page.

I will have to make more. The necklaces are very small and intricate, so I've employed a bunch of hamsters to do the hand-painting on the guitar picks.

Their union is currently on strike, with a SHAME ON BRODI ASHTON sign in my front yard. But I am heading to the negotiating table soon, so we should be back on track in the near future.

I will announce the winner of BACK WHEN YOU WERE EASIER TO LOVE on Monday.

Meanwhile, Kid C got his cast off.

Look how brave he's being. And that is a saw going in the background. And that saw is loud. The first thing he said after the cast came off was, "So this is what I look like in the future."

He got it off on Tuesday, and ever since he's been keeping his right arm bent at a 90 degree angle, and his fingers stiff and together. So basically, the right half of his body is like a robot.

Each time we try to get him to straighten his arm, he screams, "You're breaking my arm!!" In public.

Also, he still does his homework with his left hand. He claims that he is permanently left-handed now. 

Somebody help me.