If You Are What You Eat, My Baby Will Be a Smorgasboard

food picJust wanted to share this piece I wrote for Babble.com, about the terrors of wanting to eat everything while pregnant.

An excerpt:

I want morels and mussels and slippery escargot with a crusty baguette. If I had long-distance telekinesis, I’d immediately order a poppy-seed bagel from Zabar’s, and that’s after I just had to stop myself from finishing a whole box of Good & Plenty. And hey, if you happen through a McDonald’s drive-thru, I’d like a double cheeseburger and an Egg McMuffin. I know they stopped serving breakfast at 11. I don’t care.

Hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy Good & Plenty!

Get The Summers Free Through August 2!

I’m so exciteunnamedd to announce that the Kindle edition of my new book, The Summers, is free on Amazon through August 2 via Whispernet.

It’s super-easy to get your copy. Just visit alloyentertainment.com for details and the link. (And don’t forget to share the info with your favorite readers!)

Here’s a little more on the book:

For Kate Sommers, there’s nothing that compares to summer at her family’s beach house on Cape Cod: the ocean breezes, the clam bakes, the boys. She and her three sisters seemed to have all their “firsts” over those long months—first job, first party, first crush. Kate’s first crush is her only crush—Ryan Landry, the boy next door, and her older sister Eliza’s on-again, off-again summer fling.

But it’s been three years since Kate and her sisters have spent a summer in Cape Cod. When their mom died, no one could imagine going back without her. Now eighteen, the whole Sommers family is headed to the Cape for Eliza’s wedding and Kate must find the strength to be there for her family.

When Kate spots Ryan, she realizes how much has changed since he last set eyes on her. She isn’t the gawky fifteen-year-old that she once was, and this could be the summer that Ryan finally takes notice. Eliza says she’s moved on, but Kate knows better than anyone that Ryan Landry isn’t the kind of guy you give up without a fight…

In Defense of Miley Cyrus’s VMAs Performance


Loved this. The only thing worse than the VMAs is how “shocked” everyone is the day after the VMAs.

Originally posted on Flavorwire:

By now you may just have heard about Miley Cyrus’s performance at the VMAs last night. But if somehow you’ve managed to avoid the whole thing, it went like this: Miley twerked. Miley sang with Robin Thicke. Miley slapped the ass of one of her female dancers. Miley wore a skimpy flesh-colored outfit. Miley wagged her tongue a lot. And the internet went completely and utterly bonkers about it, with critics climbing over one another to criticize Cyrus for being racist, for being clueless, for being a shameless hussy, for being on the verge of a spectacular breakdown. Has everyone gone completely mad?

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Happy Casimir Pulaski Day!


This is Casimir Pulaski, giver of a holiday only Illinois celebrates and doer of other stuff, too. Do you think he hated Mondays, too?

I woke up this morning with the really strong feeling that I should have the day off work. Then, I checked my email and had a message from Millie’s Pierogi, a mail-order pierogi outfit based in Ohio. (Yes, I subscribe to a lot of e-commerce newsletters through which I can order meats, cheeses and starches.) This convergence of events led me to realize: It’s Casimir Pulaski Day!

This day is very important to me for several reasons:

1. I am not Polish but I know a lot of Polish people, having grown up on the South Side of Chicago. They make excellent food (see above: pierogi and let’s not forget sausages or kolacky) and excellent White Sox (see: A.J. Pierzynski).

2. Growing up, this day always marked a three-day weekend for Illinois public schools, even though most of us, when pressed, would not have been able to tell you much — if anything — about Casimir Pulaski. We should have been able to: Look at his amazing mustache, above, not to mention his showy horse-riding skills.

3. Pulaski is a street about a mile from where I grew up in Chicago and contains many landmarks of which I am fond:

    • O’Reilly’s Daughter, a pub outside of which I met and shook hands with Barack Obama in 2000 at a fundraiser for the only election he ever lost;
    • a Showbiz Pizza (I think now a Chuck E. Cheese) where I celebrated my birthday once, even though my mom was very nervous I’d be kidnapped there;


4. Because Casimir Pulaski Day weekend figures prominently in my book, The End of the World As We Know It. I can’t be sure, but I sincerely think it might be the only teen action-adventure sci-fi comedy ever to be set on and around this auspicious day. And, yes, I do promise that if you read it, you will have a more-than-cursory understanding of who Casimir was and why he was important. (Plus, other stuff.)

Now, how fast do you think FedEx can ship me some pierogi?

The Oscars’ Most YA-Worthy Moment That Probably Didn’t Really Happen

English: Anne Hathaway at the 81st Academy Awards

Hiiiiii! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Kristen Stewart of "Twilight" fame p...

No. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’m supposed to be working a new project right now. But, every time I go to type, I instead picture the awkward moments we didn’t see at the Academy Awards.

So, in hopes of restoring some of my productivity, here’s the moment I want to see:

ANNE HATHAWAY, perky and flushed pink, is powdering her nose in the ladies’ room at the Governors’ Ball. Her GOLDEN OSCAR looks proud on the marble counter top next to the faucet.

The door swings open. KRISTEN STEWART, resplendently askew, enters, her fingers tangled in a knot of hair.

ANNE (placing protective hand on newly acquired Oscar statue)
Kristen!!! Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!

KRISTEN (blankly)

What could-be YA moments, real or imagined, did you take away last night?

‘The End of the World’ Now Available for Kindle

I’m a little late in posting this, but The End of the World as We Know It is now available for Kindle! (You can buy it for your Kindle device or app on Amazon.)

If you want more information on the book, check out the cover copy and get linked to an excerpt here.

If you’re a NOOK user, here’s the link to the BN.com page again.

I also have more fun stuff to share from across the internets, but it’s late and I’m wiped out so, in order to not type a bunch of random crazy, I’ll save the other goodies for later.

Tickets, Please

Fill the seats.


Out of a desire not to feed the machine, I’m not linking to any news stories to put this in context, but most will know what I’m writing about.

The best response to the tragedy in Colorado, I think, is to GO to the movies this weekend, NOT bathe in the cable and online terror-lather created by the shooter (whose name I won’t use: he doesn’t deserve to achieve sick fame with his twisted act.) As Roger Ebert pointed out in his great column yesterday, attention paid to this crime is only getting some other sick-in-the-head psycho planning his own spotlight-seeking massacre (and, sadly, it could happen anywhere, not just a theater — have we forgotten all the school, mall, workplace bloodbaths?) So, I’m not reading anymore about it. I’m completely happy to turn off the lights on this right now and there’s literally no better place for that than a darkened theater.

Pub Day!

I’m excited to announce that THE END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT is here! (Though, my title does also lead you to people who want to sell you talisman to protect you when the Mayan prophecy comes true Dec. 21.)

Right now, through a deal between my publisher, Alloy Entertainment,and Barnes and Noble, the book is available exclusively on BN.com for their NOOK device. If you don’t have a NOOK and want to read it right away, you can download a NOOK app for your smartphone, iPhone or computer. Or, if you own a Kindle, an iPad or another e-reader device, you’ll be able to buy the book on Aug. 18.

Click here to buy the book ($3.99) on BN.com.

I’ll have more to post soon, including an excerpt.

For now, a Happy Pub Day to you! (And me, obviously!!)

Hey, Richard Scarry, Where Are the Novelists?


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In the past week, much has been made of the article, “The Busy Trap,” on the New York Times’ website. Much being made, these days, means that a whole slew of people posted the article to their Facebook Timeline and then went back to playing Bubble Witch Saga.

But, seriously, the writer, Tim Kreider, is on to something. Why so busy, Batman?

He posits that a lot of our busy is self-imposed, and he’d probably be right. In the last few months — and especially when my manuscript was in its final round of edits — I’ve had dozens of heart-popping moments in which my brain rotates around a list of to-dos that, if I really mulled them, could be reduced by half if I also created a “why bother?” list. (For example, no one has to read a mounting pile of US Weekly back issues, and yet, when in the final throes of The End of the World as We Know It, nothing seemed more important than making sure the stack was not neglected.)

I’m not yet a full-time writer, so some of my busy is, to me, totally necessary. I have to, as much as possible, try to squeeze in some writing every day, even if it’s only for a half-hour before my son wakes up, or for 45 minutes before bed, after I’ve gone to work, prevented a toddling lunatic from swan-diving off the furniture, eaten some semblance of a meal. I’m helped by a supportive husband who takes on more than his fair share of the workload. (Right now, he’s playing blocks with our son, whose idea of sleeping in this Saturday was waiting until 5:41 a.m. to make it clear he had better things to do than peacefully slumber. His cries translated roughly to, “Getupgetupgetup, doImakemyselfclearyoulazySOBS???”)

Usually, after a long day, what I really want to do is give in to the siren song of vegetation, watching TV or reading a book and saying I’m doing so in the name of research. On weekends, I long to be the kind of SoCal denizen who does leisurely weekend things, like take long, head-clearing hikes; glide along the beach like one of those effortless L.A. beauties that I’m too pale and high-strung to ever be; linger over brunch; cook wonderfully healthy meals with fresh goodies I picked up on a stroll through the farmers market. (Though I don’t stroll. These L.A. people walk way too slowly for this Chicago girl.) Sometimes, I fit that stuff in, but I have to be careful not to pack the weekend with too many activities, making myself too busy to get a nice chunk of writing time in. See, there is that  inconvenient truth to being a writer: You have to actually, you know, write.

The deep conversations of writers: “So, like, being a writer is way easier when you don’t, you know, write.” “But then you’re not a writer, are you?” “Whoa.”

Despite the image of writers as cool characters who lounge in cafes all day and then jot down an outpouring of brilliant words by night, the reality for me is, that a lot of weekends in the middle of one of my projects, I spend a whole bunch of time whining that the rest of the world is having more fun than me. When I’m writing, I believe everyone I know is doing something super-fantastic that I’ll never have the chance to do. Even if you tell me you’re not, and call me from Wal-mart jail or something, I won’t believe you. But the paradox is this: when I do go do something fun, that’s not writing, I feel guilt for not writing and whine about that. I could be diving into a pool filled with cake batter in the South of France on my birthday while drunk enough to believe Marie Antoinette was playing lifeguard but still my annoying inner-taskmaster would be worried about the fact that I’m not writing. (My hallucinatory drunkenness would not be a problem.)

Here’s what Heidman says about his schedule:

I am not busy. I am the laziest ambitious person I know. Like most writers, I feel like a reprobate who does not deserve to live on any day that I do not write, but I also feel that four or five hours is enough to earn my stay on the planet for one more day.

I ambish (new word, meaning “to have ambition for”) to be the laziest ambitious person I know, just like Heidman. For the time being, I have to deal with being a busy lazy person.

I know I could maybe give up writing. It’s true that, in the week or so after I finish a project, when I’m at most tinkering around with an idea but not really, truly in full writing mode, I do feel a little more relaxed. I have time to do more stuff I like. I read more, and see more movies. I cook more and I bake. I get outdoors more. My garden is only half-dead instead of full-dead. It’s not like I’d harm anyone by retiring this instant. As Heidman puts it:

More and more people in this country no longer make or do anything tangible; if your job wasn’t performed by a cat or a boa constrictor in a Richard Scarry book I’m not sure I believe it’s necessary. I can’t help but wonder whether all this histrionic exhaustion isn’t a way of covering up the fact that most of what we do doesn’t matter.

Richard Scarry, though he was a children’s book author and illustrator, didn’t — as far as I can remember — include his career in his Busytown books. What we do wouldn’t stop the world from spinning on its axis, though I hope it makes it more pleasant. Maybe Scarry’s dump truck driver is a blues guitarist by night, and that meter maid is writing a screenplay.  And maybe Lowly Worm totally sells his paintings on Etsy.  You know Dingo dog is up to something in his spare time. Or at least I hope so. Because for as much as I could pack my life with new to-do’s if I weren’t writing, I think the not-writing would — in time, at least — hurt more.

I hope, if you’re reading this and you’re looking for more time to make your art or do your thing, my confession (that not every writer wants to spend all of his or her free time writing) has helped. And, if you’re just wondering why you never have time to just chill, here’s an exercise to try: Next time someone asks what you’re up to at your lunch hour, or after work, or over the weekend, take pause before you tell them you’re “crazy busy.” Are you really, or is the to-do that’s calling you your equivalent of tending to some dusty US Weekly mags?

While you do that, I’ll be over here, not learning how to stroll.


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