My Own Private Pitch Count

/in /by

Summer is upon us and with it comes America’s favorite pastime: baseball. As faithful Stiletto Gang readers know, I’m a masochist and root for the New York Mets, a team who manages to lose with alarming regularity despite boasting some of the best fielders and hitters in the game. Anyone with a nodding acquaintance of Major League Baseball knows that the Mets are underachievers, something that really hits close to home when you have the-team-who-shall-not-be-named across town in the Bronx. I continue to hope, though, that we get our act together and see some progress.

Our pitching has been sketchy at best. We have a formidable bullpen—Oliver Perez aside—members of which are called in to save the day once the pitcher on record, he who started the game, begins to wear down. Or reaches baseball’s new determinant of a pitcher’s lifespan on the mound: the pitch count.

It has gotten so ubiquitous in baseball that some broadcasts put a pitch count clock at the bottom of the screen so that when a pitcher hits one hundred pitches, the talking heads can start talking about how many pitches the guy has thrown and when the manager should take him out. As the pitch count rises, sometimes upwards of a hundred and twenty pitches, the guys on the telecast start talking about the pitcher like he is doing the impossible—pitching after he has reached his pitch count. It almost becomes like “They Shoot Horses, Don’t They” meets “The Natural,” where it sounds like he is either going to be taken out and put out of his misery or nominated to the Hall of Fame on that particular day. They say, their voices filled with wonder, “He has exceeded his pitch count, yet he continues to pitch.”

Yes, amazing.

I think we should institute the pitch count on the things we do on a daily basis, or even those that we don’t. So, for instance, when a woman has entered her thirty-sixth hour of labor, she should be able to turn to her doctor and say, “I’ve reached my pitch count. Get this sucker out!”

Actually, that’s a paraphrase of what just about every birthing mother says in the delivery room, but with far more colorful language incorporated.

Wouldn’t you love to have a pitch count for everyday life? When my husband grades his thousandth test for the year, I think he should be able to invoke the pitch count and put his red pen aside. He should be able to coast for the rest of the year, don’t you think? Or sit in a dugout and chew gum while watching a professional baseball game?

I’m going to invoke the pitch count when someone asks me, “What’s for dinner?” I’ve cooked almost every single night for the past sixteen years and tonight, we’re going out. I’ve reached my pitch count.

I’m definitely going to invoke the pitch count when it comes to simple household tasks that I loathe, particularly the emptying of the dishwasher. (Northern Half of Evelyn David? I’m with you, girl.) I have unloaded my last load of clean dishes. Why? I’ve reached my pitch count.

I will never invoke the pitch count on things that matter, like cleaning the toilets. No pitch count there.

And I will never invoke the pitch count when it comes to hugging my kids, although they may wish that I did. Particularly when I do it outside of their school or after one of their games in full view of their homies or peeps. I’m sure they wish I would also invoke the pitch count when it comes to using terms like “homies” or “peeps” or my all-time favorite, “shawty.”

Nor will I invoke the pitch count when it comes to bathing the dog. (I’m the only one she lets near her with a bottle of shampoo and a hose.) Or saying “I love you” to people that matter.

But I will invoke the pitch count when it comes to hunting down the last elusive box of chocolate-chip waffles—the only ones my son will eat—a task I repeat at least four times a week. Sorry, kid, I’ve reached my pitch count.

Weigh in, Stiletto faithful. On what have you reached your pitch count?

Maggie Barbieri

Sitting Among the Super Stars

/in /by


In the photo: me, Donna Andrews, Marcia Talley and Deborah Crombie.

First, let me say, this past weekend at Mayhem in the Midlands was extraordinary.

The con is always held in Omaha, and we’ve been to this particular mystery event nine times. We’ve gone so often we’ve made friends with people who live in Omaha and others who attend this conference on a regular basis.

This year, one of my panels was with the guest of honor, Deborah Crombie, and Marcia Talley, the toast master, moderated by Donna Andrews.

I knew most of the people who attended that panel hadn’t come because of my presence on that that panel. Deborah and Marcia are good friends and it definitely shows when they are bantering back and forth. My biggest contribution was making people laugh. One thing I know how to do is offer one-liners.

An interesting, and most rewarding event for me and I think the audience to was a conversation with authors. Radine Nehring, Nancy Pickard and I sat in a circle with audience surrounding us. Radine had come up with many interesting subjects for us to discuss and it worked well. Several people told me it was like eavesdropping on our conversation. I hadn’t read Nancy Pickard’s work, so before the conference I purchased The Smell of Rain and Lightening (or maybe it’s the other way around) and I absolutely loved it.

In fact, for every panel I was on or moderated, if I hadn’t ever read anything by the author before, I got the book and read it. Believe me, that really helps–especially when you’re on a panel with brand new and nervous authors.

This year besides those two panels, I moderated one and I was on another about Religion in Mysteries. 17 of my books sold, which is the best I’ve ever done at this conference. Being on panel and being a good panelists helps sell books. Being a good panelist means that you have to be engaging without hogging the panel. (Yes, some authors do hog panels.)

Being on panels and going to them is only one part of attending a mystery con. The people who come and the great conversations you have are another plus. And I can’t give a report about Mayhem without saying that the eating at Mayhem is pretty darn good too. There is a reception the first night, and this year they had a mac and cheese bar. You put the mac and cheese in a champagne glass and chose what toppings you wanted from a vast array. Of course they had the usual fruit, cheese, cracker, meatballs etc. for the less daring.

The Sisters in Crime buffet this year consisted of tacos and all the trimmings–delicious.

The hotel for Mayhem is right at the end of The Old Marketplace which is full of wonderful restaurants. Of course we had one lunch at Ahmad’s Persian Restaurant, our most favorite. We also ate at the Indian Oven, M’s, and a new place called Stokes. Of course we always had a great group of people with us.

When we first arrived, one of our friends in Omaha took us to another restaurant on the other side of town, plus gave us a tour of some of the new things that have been built since the last time we were there. On our last night we also went out with this same gal to another great place, The Upstream Brewery and hubby and I both had their root beer, which is delicious.

Anyway, I’m back, tired and overwhelmed with work.

Marilyn

A Change of Pace

/in /by

I’m not whining. Really, I’m not.

But I hate unloading the dishwasher. I don’t mind loading it. Heck, I don’t even mind washing dishes by hand. But I can’t stand opening the dishwasher door, with the unexpected steam facial, and putting away all the clean plates and silverware.

I know in the scope of tough things in life, this doesn’t even qualify to make the list. I should be grateful (I am) to have a dishwasher. I should be grateful (I am) that I have food to make those dishes dirty in the first place.

But after a million years of marriage (all wonderful, I assure you), and raising four kids (to steal from Garrison Keillor, all good looking and above average) – I am tired of household chores. Sure whoever is at home helps, but I’m still the captain of this cruise ship. Absolutely, my husband does more than his fair share (he’d probably argue that it’s waaaay more than his fair share), but let’s just agree to disagree.

But unless we’re prepared to eat takeout food on paper plates with plastic forks (and risk the wrath of “save the earth fans” the world over) – I’m looking for some invention (or person) to do the following tasks:

1. Unload the dishwasher and put away the contents in a timely fashion (within an hour of the completion of its cycle). This is to avoid the “who can wait longest to see if somebody else will do the job.”

2. Carry upstairs from the basement and distribute to the appropriate drawers, all the clean laundry I’ve done. I point out that it doesn’t count if you merely plop the clean clothes on the bed, to be pushed to the floor before crawling into the sheets, which will necessitate either refolding or washing the clothes again because the dog with the muddy feet has walked on them.

3. Put away the groceries. I don’t mind shopping for food, sometimes at more than one store to get the best bargain, I’ll even lug the bags into the house. But I hate to put the foodstuffs away. Yes, there is a pattern here. I sometimes fantasize that if I only had a walk-in pantry, then putting away dishes and groceries would be a snap. But since I don’t have a pantry, walk-in or otherwise, putting these things away involves much squeezing and rearranging, always doubling the time of the original task.

4. Iron tablecloths and t-shirts. Yes, I know about wrinkle-free tablecloths, but mine are never unwrinkled and if I’m going to the trouble of putting a cloth on the dining room table, it’s an occasion and should look nice. When I iron, it does not….look nice. Same for summer t-shirts which are grabbed right out from the dryer and still look like they have shrunk two sizes, with permanent creases. (Of course, as a writer, I never see anyone so who cares).

5. Mark the sheets so that it’s clear which way they fit. On a twin, this is never a problem, but on our Queen-sized bed, I inevitably put the bottom fitted sheet on the wrong way and have to start over again. I’d also add that I’d like sheets that didn’t pill or shrink – and as long as I’m asking, I’d like someone else to put them on the bed in the first place. Actually, to take a step back, I’d also like someone else to fold all fitted bottom sheets, a task I’ve reduced to rolling them up in balls because I can’t get them to fold flat.

What chores would you like to dump, er, exchange with a loved one?

Marian

Because I Feel Like It

/in /by

Rachel Brady

Last week I took a shine to doing things just because I felt like it. It started with painting my toenails glittery orange. Then there was an impromptu trip to the beach with my little boy. Soon I reversed course and started skipping certain things I didn’t feel like doing. I walked past the dishes in the sink and let the unfolded laundry wait for later. I deleted a few events from my calendar. Decided I’d rather do something else instead.

Gotta say, I liked where this was headed.

Some of you may wonder what the big deal is here. Aren’t we all free-thinking folks with the ability to choose a course for ourselves? Sure. But something about my internal wiring has left me forever reluctant to hop on board the train to Changed My Mind. Seems like any time an activity has ever hit my To Do list, it has been cemented there.

Normally, I wouldn’t have made that beach trip until all the other undesirable chores were finished first. Ditto for settling in at night to read a book or work on my manuscript. Those things feel too leisurely, as if surely some punishment must be completed first. All this stems from my responsibility gene, I’ve decided. The same one that has me attending social functions out of a sense of duty and obligation, even if I’d rather be somewhere else. I’m starting to change my mind about all kinds of things lately, and in most cases I don’t even feel apologetic about it anymore.

It began with a comment from my friend Carrie last February. After asking me to go running with her on the upcoming Saturday, she told me it was okay to just say, “Maybe. If I feel like it.” No yes or no required.

Strangely, this response would never have crossed my mind had she not put it out there. I’d have either said “yes,” and honored that commitment, or I’d have said “no,” and then felt obligated to offer up a really good explanation of why not. And I never would have been so rude as to remain non-committal like she was suggesting. But having her permission, I took her up on it. And I discovered that I liked leaving my calendar open to make last-minute decisions depending on whether or not I felt like doing something.

It started spilling over.

Carrie was the only person in my cast of friends to offer this carte blanche approach to planning, but I started using it with everyone else around me anyway. I said no to requests for volunteer work (don’t judge me!), turned down invitations to do local races with friends, and even (yes… Mom Guilt here) set boundaries with my family.

I learned a few things. My young son can dress himself and brush his own teeth. My daughters can put away laundry and pour their brother’s cereal in the morning. And somebody else around here has been feeding all the pets because I stopped doing it a long time ago and, as yet, none are dead.

What do I feel like doing instead? Writing.

For years, I waited until everyone in my family was asleep before I started to write. I made all their lunches, loaded the dishwasher, picked up toys, and did laundry–all after bedtime–and then turned on my laptop at nine or ten o’clock and wrote if I had anything left to give. I don’t feel like doing it that way anymore.

I want to write a book this year. A whole book, not a few disjointed chapters spread out wide over the course of months and years. So, twice a week I’ve been leaving and going to my local library for about three hours at a time to write. Alone.

Do I feel guilty? You bet.

Is it stopping me? Nope.

Somewhere in here, there must be a balance. I’m still looking for it, just like everyone else. The day may not be far off that I’ll decide my new M.O. is selfish and then revert to my old ways. I’m open to that possibility. But this year I’m serving others less and writing more.

Admittedly, I’m having a little rebellious streak right now. Still, I hope the Stiletto Faithful will also consider what you’d most like to do in life. Once in a while, I hope you’ll pursue those things too, because you feel like it. No apologies required.

Guilty Pleasures

/in /by
I’m really not a big TV watcher. But when I’m down, or just need to relax, or when I’m a little stuck on my WIP, I do turn to what I call my comfort shows. There are a few of them.

Supernatural is one of my top favorites.

Once in a while I watch Southland.

Love Love Love Project Runway.

But these are all done, and now so is American Idol.

Last night Lee DeWyze won and all is good in Idol world.

I’ve written about Friday Night Lights–my other TV love.

(and it’s on NBC again so I can see the whole season!) Yes!!

But I really love another show.


g l e e

Raise your hand if you’re a Glee fan. Go ahead, all the way up.


Things I love about Glee:

  • The singing–of course!
  • The head-on approach it takes with toughissues like not blending in or being true to who you are.
  • The homage to pop culture.
  • A whole show paying tribute to Madonna.
  • Special Guest star Olivia Newton John.
  • Sue and the Cheerios.
  • Gaga day.
  • The melodrama. It’s over the top and God how I love it!
  • Kristen Chenowith.
  • Kurt and Finn trying to be almost brothers.
  • The angst.
  • The emotion.
  • The truth underneath the theatricality.
  • The cheerio, Brittany, who said, “Did you know Dolphins are just gay sharks?”

There’s so much to love about Glee. It’s a guilty pleasure… and one I’m not afraid to admit.

So here’s my question:

What’s your guilty pleasure?

~Misa


Free Children?

/in /by

Lenore Skenazy is a writer who I have followed throughout the years, having read her column faithfully in the New York Daily News when it ran there. She writes about life in the city as a parent and working mom, and I have always found something to relate to in her essays. She is a good writer with a great sense of humor with whom I always manage to find common ground when it comes to parenting, marriage, or living in the Metropolitan area.

Her latest book, Free Range Kids: How to Raise Safe, Self-Reliant Children (Without Going Nuts with Worry), sounds like a book that I would like to read. Rather, it sounds like a book I SHOULD read because as anyone who reads this blog knows, I’m a worrier of the first order. If worrying were an art, well, I’d be Michelangelo. In the book, Skenazy contends that we should stop worrying about our kids, stop holding them “captive,” and start letting them live. Let them discover the world. In her case, that means allowing her nine-year-old to take the subway by himself. In my case, that means allowing my eleven-year-old to walk three houses up the street to play with a friend. Baby steps, people, baby steps. I visited her Amazon page to read more about the book and was impressed with her sixty-six five-star reviews and complete lack of one-star reviews. She almost had me.

Until “Take Your Children to the Park…and Leave Them There” day.

While publicizing the book, Skenazy put forth the premise that kids should be allowed to go to the park and play, an argument that I actually agree with. She contends that children spend too much time indoors and argues that nobody is really allowed to go outside and play anymore. All reasonable. All true. Today’s parents, myself included, spend too much time thinking about what our kids should be doing, managing their time to the very last second, without allowing them to do anything but bend to our social will. These days, when child #2 asks me if he can play in the woods behind our house, my answer is, “Not without a friend! Stay together! And make sure you check yourself for ticks when you get back in! Oh, and don’t forget to wear sunscreen! How many brussel sprouts do you want with your grilled chicken?” as opposed to, “Sure! Have a good time! Don’t come back until I call you for dinner! We’re having all the foods you love!”

What I don’t agree with is the age that Skenazy thinks is the best time to try out the theory that kids should go and play and meet other children, all without the watchful eyes of their parents: seven or eight. Seven or eight? Those are ages that I just can’t get behind.

Believe me, I know children at the tender age of seven or eight who appear very mature, more mature than I sometimes am. Downright adult-like. But in reality, they aren’t. They are little kids who might have enviable communication skills or a higher level of maturity than say, some forty-year-olds but they are still children who live in a world that is populated by many wonderful and kind people but some not-so-great people. Some of these not-so-great people are even other children. I have had the pleasure of sitting beside a playground the last several weeks at child #2‘s Little League games and I eavesdrop on the shenanigans that go on while children are playing, and sometimes, these shenanigans are not terribly positive. Back in the day, we would have called them “character-building,” but in today’s “everyone’s a winner!” world, they are just downright mean.

Yes, I know: it’s all part of growing up. But the idea of dropping a seven-year-old at the park, particularly one in New York City where Skenazy lives, doesn’t seem safe. I think I could get behind a twelve-year-old being allowed to roam free, but when I (hopefully) get there, we’ll need a lot of xanax to keep me mellow as the newly-anointed “independent” child goes off to explore the world.

I think Skenazy ultimately has the right idea but to me, but we differ on the execution and the details. She’s right that we over-manage everything about children’s lives and that we need to back off. We put too much pressure on them to achieve in school and give them anxieties about life and their future that they just don’t deserve, in my opinion. But when it comes to freedom, we need to stress to them—and by “them,” I mean children over seven—that that freedom comes with responsibility. That responsibility includes being safe, being kind to others, and being respectful of everyone you encounter. And knowing when to involve an adult. I think there’s a happy medium between Skenazy’s world where children I consider too young can rule the world and my world, where my kids who have their learner’s permits still have to text their mom when they arrive at the library, just a ten-minute walk away.

What do you think, Stiletto readers?

Maggie Barbieri

Next Up, Something Different

/in /by

My next book is going to be a departure from my usual mystery. It’s a story I wrote long ago that was inspired by a family tragedy.

My son-in-law, who inspired me to write about law enforcement, was killed in the line of duty. Some things happened right after he was killed that made us all realize that his spirit might still be around.

As time went on, I decided to write a story based on some of what happened. Of course the characters are different, and the outcome as well. In some ways, I think the writing was a way of helping me through the loss of a young man I loved like a son.

(I have to mention that this was a horribly difficult time for my daughter who lost her husband of 15 years and had three young boys to raise on her own. This is not her story, though I borrowed a lot from what happened after she lost her husband. The fictional story grew out of her experience of course–but it is fictional.)

I wrote that book long ago and it appeared only as an e-book. After several years, I broke my relationship with that particular publisher. After I signed on with Oak Tree Press for my Rocky Bluff P.D. series, the publisher asked if I had any older books I’d like to put on Kindle. One of the books I gave her was Lingering Spirit. She fell in love with the story.

This year she asked if she could turn it into a trade paperback. Of course I said yes. So in June, I’ll have a romance with a touch of the supernatural coming out.

Honestly, I’m surprised by the turn of events. It’ll be quite different to be promoting a romance.

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com

Books in Waiting (or the pile on my sofa)

/in /by
Some of you know I just had eye surgery on both eyes. It’s been a long six months of weaning myself off my gas permeable contact lenses so that the eye surgeon could figure out what strength of corrective lens to implant. During this process, I haven’t had great vision and haven’t read very much for pleasure. But now the surgery is over, my eyes have healed, and I can see again!!! I’m ready to dive back into the wonderful world of reading.

I have a nice stack of books on my sofa. These are the books I have just read, or I’m currently reading, or I intend to read over the summer. Of course as soon as I pick one of them up, I feel guilty for not spending the time writing. Oh, well, I’ll just have to deal with the guilt.

Damaged by Alex Kava
I had never read any of Ms. Kava’s novels before but I really enjoyed this advance copy. Wonderful characters and lots of excitement as the serial killer is tracked. I love the female Coast Guard rescue swimmer character and hope this wasn’t her last appearance.

Rules of Betrayal by Christopher Reich
I’m hoping to read this thriller soon. The plot involving a Doctors Without Borders surgeon and his double agent wife sounds great!

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The Girl Who Played with Fire, and The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest – all by Stieg LarssonI may be one of the few who haven’t read these books, but I’m determined to cure that oversight this summer. I’m just a few pages into the first of the three, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, but I’m hooked.

Last week I went shopping in a real brick & mortar bookstore for books for my Dad’s birthday gift. I found him a non-fiction book about George Custer’s last stand and two thrillers whose titles escape me at the moment. The important part of this story – (insert smile) is that I also found a couple of books for me. Isn’t that amazing the way that works? I encourage everyone to shop for gifts in bookstores. I purchased The Ark by Boyd Morrison – a mystery concerning the search for Noah’s Ark. I’m about a chapter into it. So far someone has tried to kill the heroine twice in three days. I’m seeing a pattern and suspect foul play. I also bought the wonderful Nancy Pickard’s The Scent of Rain and Lightning. I read her last one set in Kansas and loved her writing. I’m anticipating great things from this new book!

How about you? What are you reading? What do you plan to read this summer?

Rhonda
aka The Southern Half of Evelyn David

The Business of Rejection

/in /by

by Susan McBride

It feels as though I’ve spent my whole life writing (and I have, in one form or another). I’ve been a published author for 11 years this month, starting at a small traditional press and ending up at two very big NY houses. For as many years before that I was struggling to get published, composing a manuscript a year and following all the advice laid out in Writer’s Digest in order to achieve my dreams. As you can imagine, in that decade-plus before I signed my first contract, I suffered plenty of rejection. Maybe I’m a bit of a masochist, but I saved every letter. If I’d wanted to, I could’ve wall-papered the small guest bedroom I just re-decorated with those rejections, probably with some to spare.

I know I’ve said it before but it’s worth saying again: the publishing biz isn’t for sissies. Most of us don’t have insider contacts or celebrity names (hello, Tyra Banks, Lauren Conrad, Tori Spelling, any of the Real Housewives, etc., ad nauseum), so we have to go about things the slow and arduous way: write, rewrite, polish again for good measure, research agencies that represent our genre of fiction, submit a query, wait for a response, submit chapters or a full manuscript upon request, and wait some more. More often than not, we’re told “it’s just not right for us at the moment.” We’re instructed not to take rejection personally. It’s all about sales and numbers and branding and platforms. We shouldn’t take “no” to heart. As if!

Writers are kind of like Tootsie Pops: hard shell on the outside but with a softer candy center. After pouring our hearts and souls into our novels, they mean more to us than mere words on paper. They’re part of us, our children, and we want everyone to adore them as we do. When we’re doing the Hopeful Dance of the Unpubbed, we try anything to get a leg up, often turning toward published authors for advice (something that was much harder to do before the Internet). A few times, at book signings or at an RWA meeting, I sucked it up and asked for help. Yes, I was one of those, pulling out a manilla envelope with three chapters inside, begging, “If you have time, could you maybe take a look at this and see if I don’t suck.” If Poor-Put-Upon-Author agreed, I was thrilled. If I got an encouraging note returned in the SASE I’d enclosed, I practically wept with joy. Only no one ever said, “Hey, can I forward these fabulous chapters to my agent?” Dang it. But I kept plugging along, ultimately winning a small press contest that resulted in publication. When I had modest success with that first published work, it gave me the confidence to get out there, do lots of public speaking, and meet more and more people. I made wonderful friends who didn’t even flinch when I asked things like, “Is your agent taking on new clients?” and/or “Might you consider blurbing my next book?” Happily, I found the support I needed, but not everyone said, “Yes.” No matter if it stung a little, I couldn’t let those rejections deter me any more than the stack of letters. It’s the nature of the beast; and if we let it beat us, we lose.

Fast forward a few years to when several of my Debutante Dropout Mysteries sat on the bookshelves and I’d ultimately signed with an agency I adored, one that was interested in my career, not just one novel. I worked harder than ever, promoted like a demon, wrote the best stories possible, and kept building on my foundation of readers and colleagues and honest-to-God friends, all of which propelled me forward, if not by leaps and bounds then at least by baby steps. I watched as publishing houses merged and restructured, creating a scary ripple effect throughout the industry. I realized then that just staying in the business isn’t always easy. Times change, markets shift, trends come and go, and sometimes survival isn’t based on talent as much as adaptability. It’s like being Madonna and adjusting your image. If she’d stayed in the ’80s like a virgin forever, we probably wouldn’t care about her latest boy-toy or wonder about her age-defying plastic surgeries. We would’ve forgotten her already.

Recently, I read about a book edited by Bill Shapiro called OTHER PEOPLE’S REJECTION LETTERS. (Oh, Bill, you should’ve called. I could’ve given you a dozen of ’em. Er, make that a gross.) Here are few prime examples contained within:

Have you seen the letter Andy Warhol received from the Museum of Modern Art rejecting his gift of a drawing due to “severely limited gallery and storage space”? What about the 1962 letter from Jimi Hendrix’s commanding officer recommending that he be immediately discharged from the army because he “can’t carry on an intelligent conversation”? The gifted writers who penned the screenplay for Casablanca were told that their work wouldn’t make the cut because it was “unacceptably sex suggestive.” Gertude Stein received a mocking rejection letter from a publisher that read, in part, “Only one look is enough. Hardly one copy would sell here. Hardly one. Hardly one.”

Did you know that Kathryn Stockett, international best-selling author of THE HELP, received over 45 rejections before her book was sold? Or that Jasper Fford suffered 76 rejections for THE EYRE AFFAIR? And Judy Blume received “nothing but rejections for two years?” (For more enlightening stories of famous authors who were told “no” a ton before they succeeded, check out this bit on Inky Girl.)

Just out of curiosity, anyone want to share the most memorable rejection they ever got? The one that stands out in my head was a returned query letter that had “NO!!!” scrawled across the bottom in red pencil. Ah, yes, I remember telling myself the poor sod probably had a rotten day (and then I quietly wished a heart attack upon him).

Who’ll Be the Next American Idol?

/in /by

I’m an American Idol fan. My kids and I started watching the show the year Carrie Underwood won. It was a good year to start. Carrie has a powerful voice and a strong presence. She’s sure of herself, and even now, throughout all her success, she seems (from the outside) to be sure of herself and to know who she is.


Then Daughtry came along. I liked him, but haven’t bought his music. What struck me most about Daughtry was his marriage and his commitment to his wife. He’s been on a good ride from what I’ve seen, I like his music, and I hope he’s still with his wife and that fame hasn’t compromised his values.


Last year, Adam Lambert took the spotlight. His success has been phenomenal. He’s been clear about his goal–fame. He’s super talented, has his hit song, One, and is still riding his skyrocket to superstardom.


It’s all good, but this year I’m rooting for Lee DeWyze. I like Casey and Crystal, but Lee’s humbleness and his transformation from shy to confident has been great to watch. He seems like a genuinely nice person (as they all do), and his authenticity makes him so likable. Like Daughtry, he seems to be so grounded and is truly astounded by his own journey and success so far. And his version of Hallelujah was really phenomenal. I love his husky voice and the emotion which comes through his singing.


Lee’s safe for another week, and may end up being the American Idol. We’ll know in a week whether it’ll be him or Crystal, but regardless, they’re all winners and all three of the final contestants are worthy and authentic. Heck, I’ll buy all their Cds.



American Idol is fun, but what I like most is seeing real people who appreciate the opportunity they’ve been given and are moved by moment they’re living in.


Are you an American Idol fan? Who are you rooting for?


~Misa