The Hotel from The Shining, and The Parable of the Wagon Master

*Thinking of Anne and her dear family*

Threesome status:
With me, Sam, and Hot Tub crammed into one tiny room, we weren't getting much sleep. So, being the magnanimous person that I am, I opted out of the love triangle. Sam and Hot Tub are doing just fine now.

Looking lame on everyone else's blogs status:
Not surprisingly, I look pretty stupid when other people are recounting their favorite moments from SCBWI. Check it out here and here.

Creepy Hotel status:
Yesterday we went to the Stanley Hotel, the site where Stephen King was inspired to write The Shining. He stayed in room 217, and thought up one of the creepiest stories of our time.

You should've heard my mom telling the grandkids about the story:

mom: "There once was a man, who stayed in this hotel, and went crazy and killed his entire family. So their ghosts haunt the hotel. Then, there's this writer, who takes his wife and son up to the same hotel to stay during the winter. Well, he goes crazy, typing stupid sentences over and over on a typewriter, confessing to a bartender, who is really a ghost, and stuff. He kills a guy with an axe, and then he tries to kill his wife and son, before he is frozen in the maze. Any questions?"

Grandkid: "What the heck is a typewriter?"

The Roads of Doom:

The roads in Rocky Mountain National Park were narrow, and in some places the edge abutted a sheer dropoff. (Can you believe I actually used the word “abutted” in a sentence? It’s like I’m living in a freakin’ Jane Austen novel, right?)

Okay, so this picture really doesn't do the whole dropoff thing justice

Anyway, back to the road. Often, when I have nightmares, I dream about narrow, steep roads. More specifically, I dream about catapulting over the edge and rolling to the bottom of the ravine, and when the car finally stops, it’s nothing more than a twisted piece of metallic wreckage.

That’s the kind of road we were on.

Why is it that I can love Sam most of the time, but when he gets behind the wheel, I often call upon the fires of Heaven to strike him down, he bugs me so much.

So, in Rocky Mountain National Park, Sam is driving, and my fingertips are sweating (because that’s what they do when I’m anticipating death by cliffs) and Sam keeps pointing out the freakin’ wildlife.

Sam: “Look way up there… way way up there. Here. Lean over. See? Elk!”

Me: “If you’re lookin’ for elk, you’re not watching the road. Please, please just watch the road.”

Sam: “Check out that dead tree behind us. What do you think killed it?”

Me: “Who cares! Stop looking at trees. Watch the road!”

Sam: “Fine. Fine. I’m watching the road.”

A couple agonizing moments pass, as the edge looms ominously… uh, nearby. I close my eyes, and simply hope for the best.

Sam: “I’ve added my picks, do you want to add any songs to the playlist?”

I glance over to see Sam navigating his iphone with one hand and steering with the other.

Me: “Rakkin Frakkin! Watch the road, you tool! Remember the parable of the… wagon… guy?”

Sam: “The parable of the wagon guy?”

Me (closing my eyes, and still suffering from altitude delusions): “Yeah, the parable of the wagon master. You know, where someone is hiring a wagon driver-”

Sam: “Who’s hiring him?”
Me: “I don’t know. God is hiring him. And three wagon masters vie for the job, and one of them shows off by driving close to the edge-”

Sam: “Wait. Why would God need a wagon master?”

Me: “I don’t know, Sam. It’s a frakkin parable. Anyway, so everyone gets fired, except the guy who stayed the farthest away from the edge. And he gets the job. Because he was the safest, not the showiest.”

Silence.

Sam: “There's no way that's in the bible."

Me: “Just watch the friggin’ road.”

So, anyone want to road trip with us? Seriously, we are fun.

Wanna See what 2.3 Miles Above Sea Level Looks Like? And Twilight Cliff's Notes

Hello, y'all.

Happy hump day.

I meant to show this video on Monday but, well, the air up here in Colorado has completely lobotomized my brain. Sam's taking me to the glue factory tomorrow, so this is my last chance to show it.

My friend Tarl (whose wife Debbie is a FOB - friend of the blog) is a talented animator/illustrator, and he's working on this Twilight Cliff's Notes thingee. Here's the preview. I think it's so cute, I wanted to share it with everyone, since we're a YA blog.





Cool, huh? For more doodles, check out his site. I can't wait for the finished product. So, ahem, Tarl, when will the dang thing be finished? (Hey everyone, let's pester him in the comments section. Peer pressure rocks.)

ROCKY MOUNTAIN HIGH... LITERALLY
Remember when I was complaining about being up at 8,500 feet? Well, that's nothing. Yesterday we hit the Rocky Mountain National Park, and after a short hike, here's the result: Did you read the sign? 12,005 feet. 2.3 miles above sea level. The line through the picture was actually the sound barrier, it was that high up. Where were the freakin' sherpas with oxygen?

I was so confused at this point, I was holding someone else's child. Seriously, who is that kid in the red sweatshirt? I only recognize like half the people.

The altitude has been messing with my mind. I thought I had written 5,000 words on my current WIP (Work In Progress), but upon re-reading it, I discovered the sentence, "All work and no play makes Brodi a dull girl" typed over and over. On a typewriter, no less. Very spooky. Especially since I don't own a typewriter.

Further evidence of Mountain Sickness appeared in a conversation I had with Sam after a trip to Starbucks. Repeat: after a trip to Starbucks.

me (sipping on my Strawberry Frapuccino): "I've been getting these Strawberry frapuccino's a lot lately. It seems like I have at least two a week. But I can't remember where the Starbucks was located or who I was with..."

Sam: "Well, it hasn't been with me."

me: "I know. It's bugging me, because I can picture getting them a lot."

After a few minutes of thinking really hard about it, it hits me.

me: "Oh yeah. I've been getting them at Starbucks."

*Now, what you have to know at this point is that when I said "Starbucks", I really meant "Barnes and Noble" where I do my writing.*

Sam (giving me a weird look): "Really. Your Starbucks was located at Starbucks? Wow. What an epiphany. I could have told you that."

me: "Why the sarcasm? I didn't realize the Starbucks [actual] was at Starbucks [Barnes and Noble]. I could only picture me, surrounded by books, sipping the drink."

Sam: "Starbucks sells books now?"

me (shaking my head in exasperation): "What else would they sell? This conversation is making me very tired."

Now that I've made it back down to 8,500 feet, I realize how stupid the conversation was. But at the time, Sam received a nasty silent treatment from me for just basically being really really annoying.

And finally this morning, wanna see what Kid C does when I tell him to smile?

(Kid C and his Cousin N)

We can't even blame it on the Mountain Sickness. He makes this face in every single picture.

How's everyone else's week going? School starts for us on Monday. I'm too excited to sleep.

Final SCBWI lessons, and a very Unique Threesome

Good Morrow Yon Bloggerland...

I am currently in Colorado, resting comfortably at 8,700 feet elevation.

The above sentence could also be typed this way:

After 8 interminable hours on a winding road upward - during which carsick Kid-B puked from Heavens all the way to Mergatroid - we arrived somewhere near outer space, where the air is not only thin, it's dangerously anorexic, and when you have asthma, and you're just getting over a cold, elevation is about as pleasant as a knee to the groin.

Kid C, me (suffocating to death) and Kid B

But Colorado is beautiful this time of year. Sort of like Utah. Only further away.

I jest. I'm really having fun. I have Wine-Frye. (Wi-Fi, to those of you new to the blog). The master bedroom doesn't have a king-size bed, but that's only because it has to make room for the hot tub.

What's that you say? Silly Brodi, she means a Jacuzzi, or a rather large bathtub. Because no normal-sized condo has a hot tub inside the bedroom.

No, no. You heard me right. I mean a full-sized, special sturdy deck, bad prom date, hot tub.

Voila. (Which, in English, means "Holy Moly that's a big Hot Tub."

It has the effect of making our bedroom feel sorta like an indoor swimming pool. At one point, during the night, I tried to "turn it off" and succeeded only in firing up the jets at full speed.

Sam informed me one doesn't really "turn off" a hot tub.

So we are lulled to sleep by the gentle purrs of the world's largest outdoor hot tub that can still, magically, fit indoors. The three of us sleep quite comfortably together. Me, Sam and the Hot Tub. Although I have had to get after the hot tub for stealing the covers.

Leaving the Universe’s strangest ménage a trios, and continuing on with the list of stuff I learned at the SCBWIBCSIWC Conference:

Where were we? #6 maybe?

6. I should really grow a pair.

If you ever want to get introduced to someone, but you are too afraid, you need a friend like Emily Wing Smith. She has mastered the art of the "sidle", where she mingles and mozies her way toward the target. Everyone who was on the receiving end of one of her "sidles" was always so darn happy to meet her.

Without her "sidle", we never would have met many of the cool people, like Richard Peck, Sherman Alexie, Jay Asher and countless others.

(Me, Richard Peck, Bree)

(Emily, Jay Asher, Bree)

Bree and I tried to "sidle" on our own once - to a semi-famous author - and we asked if we could get a picture. He acted like we had dared him to chug a mug of cat vomit. Seriously.

The ultimate was when the hotel closed down the courtyard and film crews took over to shoot a scene from the television show “Lie to Me”.

They had bouncers at every door, and signs instructing the loser touristas to stay away.

But, you see, Emily wanted to be an extra. She’s wanted it for a long time.

So, that little sidler just walked right past all the signs, found the nearest person with headphones, and asked him where the background actors should report.

It's hard to see, but Emily's dressed all in black,
obviously past security's first line of defense.

She made it quite far, and when all else failed, she offered to get a sound guy a sandwich.

Serious cajones, that inappropriate little sidler.

7. Black shorts are not appropriate attire for a Ball.

In the spirit of the notorious “prom pants” event, I tried to get away with wearing black shorts to the “Blue Moon Ball”.

To be fair, I had a fear of being the only one at the Ball who wasn’t asked to dance, so I wanted to wear something I felt comfortable in.

Black shorts. And even worse, no blue.

But Emily and Bree wouldn’t allow it. They said, “What if you get asked to dance the Virginia Reel, and you lack the flowing skirts?” (Okay, they didn’t really say that. I was the only one who was naïve enough to think there would be a Virginia Reel.)

Virginia Reel

In the end, I borrowed an outfit from Emily.

Scarlett O'Hara wore black to her ball. Nobody gave her crap. And btw, when there are 800 women, and 100 men at a conference, the ball is not bound to look like this:

One of Many Embarrasing Moments at SCBWI, and a pic of me with Sherman Alexie

Wearing our Bad Reviews on our Shirts...

Here's the pic I wanted to show yesterday of the gals with Sherman Alexie:

(Bree, Sherman Alexie, Emily, me)

We had matching shirts made for the conference (I know, we're geeks) and on the shirts we had printed some of the bad reviews our books had gotten.

Emily's: "Inappropriate"
Bree's: "Blasphemous"
Mine: "Violent"

Sherman Alexie loved our shirts. So next year, I'm making a tee-shirt that says, "Sherman Alexie loved my shirt last year."

On to the Belly Boobs
This is the last time I tease a post like that. You just can't promise readers the glory of "belly boobs" and then think that it's possible to live up to such expectations.

So let me just say, here and now, the two words "belly" and "boobs" are by themselves more interesting than the actual story.

On with the countdown of things I learned at the SCBWI Conference: (Or "countup" is more accurate)

5. There's never really an appropriate time to shout "belly boobs" in public.

Saturday night of the conference was the Blue Moon Ball in the courtyard of the hotel.

(Sydney Salter, Matt Kirby, me, Bree, Emily at the Ball)

There was a shortage of elevators in the hotel, and so the wait to get one was always long, and once it arrived, it may or may not be too full.

Bree and I were waiting for an elevator to take us down to the Ball, and I was explaining to her why I couldn't possibly get away with not wearing a bra.

Below is my recap, in extra slow motion so you can benefit from the timing of it all.

*Brodi and Bree, waiting to see which of the four elevators will ding*

me: "I really can't go anywhere without a bra." (Okay, this was not actually the first thing out of my mouth. I promise it was a continuation of the conversation.)

Bree: "Why not?" *Elevator Dings*

me: "Because I end up looking like Kathy Lee Gifford." *Arrow Lights Up*
*It happens to be the elevator in front of Brodi, and toward which she is now facing, two feet away*

Bree: "What's wrong with looking like Kathy Lee Gifford?"

me: "Seriously? I have two words for you." *Doors Open to a packed elevator car, all of whom are staring at Brodi, who is also staring back*

me: "Belly Boobs!"

Awkward silence as we all just stand there, looking at each other. Bree and I can't fit on, and she's across the room anyway, so it's just me still staring. Doors close.

Bree starts laughing hysterically.

me (turning reluctantly to Bree): "Did I really just shout 'belly boobs' to an elevator full of people?"

Bree: nods, still laughing.

So, their doors opened, and there was this girl, just waiting to say 'belly boobs'. Almost like it was some sort of password to get on the elevator or something.

And why is it that people in an elevator have absolutely no sense of humor? The inside of a packed elevator is more somber than a freakin' funeral home. Nobody even cracked a smile. It was like I had said 'belly boobs' and everyone inside the car was thinking, ah, belly boobs. Yes. Interesting point.

Okay, that was my story. I challenge you to try this in your own hotels, and see if anyone on the elevator has the stones to say something back.

I'll have more from the conference next week. On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Back to normal. Because I've discovered something about myself- I simply cannot blog back to back days. I'm all tapped out. The brain fluids need a chance to regroup, and pool.

I'm also off to Colorado tomorrow, and hopefully the place has Wine Frye.

Anyone else doing anything fun this weekend?

SCBWI Gems, Lessons, and Stars, and the Sexiest Elevator Voice Ever

Okay, Okay. I know. It's Thursday. I blogged on Tuesday and now I'm blogging on Thursday. There is such a thing as a Tesseract.

To be fair... Sam started it. He blogged on Saturday one day late. And that's when the black hole in the Space-Time Continuum imploded.

I should've just waited until Wednesday, but then... wait. Why am I delving into the particulars of blog schedule? I feel like a Jane Austen character, where the socially awkward aunt doesn't know what to do with a letter she received on a Thursday, because she usually receives letters on a Tuesday, and she bores the bejeebers out of everyone she encounters, etc. etc. etc.

This is really not the best way to impress our new readers, if there are any after the conference. And what's with the use of "etc."? That's just an abbreviation for boring.

Where was I? Oh yeah. I don't know.

WHAT I LEARNED AT SCBWI CONFERENCE IN L.A.

1. SCBWI stands for Society of Childrens' Book Writers and Illustrators.
Not "Conference for Writers who Want to Write Good Stuff for the Chicklins."

2. Sometimes Water on the Brain can be a Beautiful Thing

Sherman Alexie (Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian) opened the conference with an inspiring, amazing, totally kick-butt speech.










He was born with hydrocephaly (water on the brain) and he grew 42 teeth (32 is normal). He spoke with both a stutter and a lisp.

All I have to say is: where is some of that magic rez water, and how can I inject it into my sons' brains? Because it'd be worth it if the result is a Sherman Alexie-like brilliance.

Little Tidbit: He had to get the extra teeth pulled, but the Indian Health Service funded dental work one day a year. So he had to have all ten extra teeth pulled in one day.



Gem: (About Young Adult Literature) "Our books will change lives in a way an adult book can not."















(He liked my name. He signed my book: "Brodi, Superhero Name! Sherman Alexie")

3. Everything sounds better coming out of Richard Peck's mouth.

Richard Peck comes from another time and place (still writes his book on a typewriter, not sure of the place. Somewhere in the Midwest?).








During his keynote address, I wanted to charge the stage just to capture every word that came out of his mouth. Then I wanted to gather all the words, take them down to the local tanner, and have them bronzed. But I wasn't sure if that would put my suitcase over the weight limit.

Mr. Peck expressed a scathing indictment for things like Twitter, Facebook, and other such lame-o wastes of time. So for an entire day, I didn't Twitter.

Gem: "Schools can either teach the students, or fear the parents. They can't do both."

Thank you, Richard.













(Richard Peck and Sherman Alexie signing autographs)

4. Even the word "Lobby" can sound sexy.

At our hotel (the Hyatt Regency in Beverly Hills) everything is sorta posh. Especially the elevator narrator. You know, the female voice that announces which floor you are on.

And the way she said the word "Lobby", it made me feel like we were about to step off the elevator and onto some lounge floor, where the lights are dim, a disco ball may be present, and people may or may not be dressed.

Like: "Laaaahhhhhhbby". Seriously, I blushed. I even felt a little dirty. Like I had been phoning a 1-900 number, and now I had to pay the bill.

I will continue with all the things I learned tomorrow, but here's a teaser:

5. There is really no appropriate time to shout the words "Belly Boobs", but it's especially inappropriate here...

I am dedicating the post to Una, who, along with many others, was most affected by the wormhole created when I blogged on a Tuesday.

Contest Winners Announced, and SCBWI in L.A. by the Numbers

Howdy, y’all. I’ve missed you. Each and every one of you.

Okay, so Sam was in charge of my blog while I was gone, and here’s what was accomplished:

1 blog, a day late
No book winners announced

Thank you, Sam, for your tireless efforts on behalf of my dedicated readership. And for forcing me to post on a Tuesday, when no one will be expecting it.

On to the stuff we’ve all been waiting for. Since we are so late in announcing the winners, and since I have a renewed passion for buying books, Smokey the Cat has magnanimously chosen three winners:

Paradox
Mrs. Foltz
Cari from KS

Please email me at brosam (at) gmail (dot) com and let me know the book of your choosing (preferably YA) and your mailing address.

And that's not all. One bonus winner, chosen by me, for the cutest answers to the questions:

Hannah from SLC

Please also email me with a book of your choosing.

On to the blog post! I'll have pictures and stories later, but for now...

LA CONFERENCE BY THE NUMBERS

Number of times we were paged over the airport loudspeaker to ‘please board the flight, so we can take off. This is your last chance’: several

Number of times we heard the announcement: 1

Number of eardrums that nearly burst in-flight: 1

Number of times I complained about said eardrum: 978

Number of times I followed complaining with the phrase ‘I don’t usually complain’: 978

Number of times I threatened to stab my ears while simultaneously shouting ‘Make it stop!’: 2 or 3

Number of times I tried to get away with wearing shorts to the formal ‘Blue Moon Ball’: 3

Number of times I danced in the center of the dance circle: Um… 1

Year of the dance moves I pulled: 1992 (The Funky Chicken)

Number of times I was invited back to the center of the dance circle: 0

Number of times I was asked if I knew Stephenie Meyer: 1 (Really!)

Number of famous authors we ‘sidled’ up to, who turned out to be incredibly nice: 3

Number of authors we sidled up to, who turned out to be butt-munches: 1

Preferable number of sidling cohorts when one is about to sidle: 2 (They’re like sidling wing-men)

Number of television shows filming in the hotel courtyard on our last day: 1

Number of times Emily Wing Smith tried to become an extra on the show: 2

Number of times she impressed me with her boldness and audacity: countless

Number of times she nearly lost an eye: 1

Number of times Bree Despain’s book was mentioned in front of the thousands in the general assembly: 1

Number of times she blushed: 784

Number of times she nearly lost her sense of humor permanently due to hypoglycemia: 1

Number of times I was inspired by Sherman Alexie and Richard Peck: countless

Number of times I wanted to tweet about it: countless

Number of times I didn’t actually tweet about it, for fear Richard Peck would be disappointed in my use of Twitter: countless

How was everyone else's weekend? Anything extraordinary? Does this feel a little weird, being a Tuesday and such?

She left on a Jet Plane and I don't know when she will be back again

Hi to all of the visitors of Brodi's blog. As she mentioned on Wednesday, Brodi is attending some LA writing conference (either that or she has eloped with Rafa Nadal) and that is why you did not see her post this past Friday. My subject heading is a bit misleading but well worth it as a tribute to the multi-talented and wonderfully dead singer John Denver. Wait, that didn't come out right.

I was expected to step up to the plate and fill in for her on Friday...but since I am a single parent for the weekend, I was too busy working, cleaning, mowing the lawn, jumping on the trampoline with the boys, getting Brodi's car fixed up, biking with the boys, doing the dishes, doing the laundry, learning new dance moves, cooking dinner, doing ab crunches, changing dirty diapers, leaving dirty diapers on our front porch, watching old John Hughes movies, working again, going to park with the boys, playing soccer with the boys, doing pushups (3 of them!) and seeing my brother and his family from DC...well, I didn't get around to writing up her blog. But, I would never make excuse, so please disregard the above activities that prevented me from doing her blog. Brodi will be back on Monday night, so you may not see a post from her until either Monday night, Tuesday or Wednesday...so it is up to you to check in often for her latest.

Now, I am going to head on over to my blog and get up a new post on our visit to the Gilgal Park in Salt Lake City. I attached a couple of pics on Brodi's site so that you can see our fabulous 2 boys (boys B and C). Thanks for reading Brodi's blog. She is as good as it gets and I am glad that you are all seeing her in her full glory (funny, smart and hott!). Keep on reading and tell your friends about her...Brodi simply rocks.