Tag Archive for: Susan McBride

Sweet Dreams (Ha!)

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by Susan McBride

I had the weirdest dream the other night. Okay, I have weird dreams a lot of nights. This one was pretty typical. I was in my grandparents’ house, but neither was there (both are deceased). I could see this gang of bad guys approaching, and I knew they aimed to break in. So I called 9-1-1 only to be told by the dispatcher that they’d have a car there in two hours.

Two hours? Hello!

Then the bad guys were at the door, and they looked like they were armed with AK47s. I ended up dropping the phone and running to hide, along with a bunch of other people (I can’t remember who they were, but I knew some and didn’t know others).

The armed band of thugs (who were mostly women) got inside and started trying to round us up. I remember getting outside, where there’s a small lake behind the house, attempting to skirt the lake and nearby copse of trees to get to a neighbor’s house. Unfortunately, one of the AK47-toting chicks saw me and threatened to shoot.

So I went back to the house, but then I reminded myself I was dreaming and started to beat up on the armed gang. I do recall pummeling one of them while she/he (I can’t recall) grinned maniacally at me.

What the heck???

I often have dreams (er, nightmares?) where I’m aware that someone’s coming to get me or the group I’m with, but I can’t escape. Though, at some point, I realize it’s a dream and defend myself, often cartoonishly slugging the offender over and over.

Is this a lingering hazard of my previous gig writing murder mysteries? Or am I taking out my frustrations and subconscious aggressions against people who drive me batty?

Let me look it up in my dream symbols book (yes, of course, I have one…doesn’t everybody?). Okay, “Attack: Similar to Being Run Over, only more aggressive and accompanied by the fear of losing property.”

All right, I’ll flip to “Being Run Over” and see what that says. “This may point to a feeling of being overwhelmed.” Well, yeah, I have a book due in four and a half months, plus two more books due after that. So “overwhelmed” makes sense. Oh, wait, there’s more. “According to Freud, this image, particularly in men’s dreams, appears when one’s id can’t be actively lived out.”

Okey dokey, I wasn’t being run over so let’s nix that Freud analysis and move on to another bizarre recurring dream I have.

I’m in bed, and I think I’ve woken up. It’s dark, and I glance toward the doorway and see a shadow. I feel like someone’s in the house, and I want to scream, but I can’t make a sound.

Hmm, let me look up “shadow” in my handy-dandy dream book. Oh, wow, this is long. Let me paraphrase: “The shadow is, first of all, that which is invisible…[and] is a sign that you’re in the process of becoming aware of your Self. So there is no reason to fear your shadow or try to avoid it.”

But is it my shadow? If I’m just waking up from sleeping in my dream and see the shadow in the doorway? I’m confused. Let’s read on:

“The shadow is usually connected to the past or the future: old injuries are casting their shadow onto today’s behavior and emotions”—now, wait, that sounds plausible, seeing as how I’ve always worn my heart on my sleeve and have had my emotions stomped on more than once—“Coming to terms with the shadow is necessary in order to understand life here and now. It brings intensity, wealth, and imagination to life.”

Did it say “wealth?” I think I can deal with that.

Anyone else have that dream where you’re back in school and have to take a test, but you haven’t studied for it yet? Sometimes I’ll dream that I’m the age I am now, yet I’m back in high school or college, taking classes, though I keep telling people I’ve already graduated, that I even went to grad school for a week (yes, I said a week–at SMU in Dallas—but that’s all I could last with my unbearable creative writing instructor).

Here we go: “School: Learning as in School Work and Tests.” All right, the “School Work” definition says: “See also Tests. Something you still have to do.” Man, I could’ve figured that out. So we’ll mosey over to “Test,” which says, “See Exam/Test.” Grrr, this is a stupid book! Finally, “Exam/Test (University): Difficulty at work. Passing a test points to ambition…One of the most common dreams is failing an exam. In the dream, one is not prepared for the exam. In a variation, one is on stage and doesn’t know the lines. Both situations refer to a fear of failing in public.”

I still have plenty of work to do and a definite fear of failing in public. Scary how on the mark those are. Who needs a therapist when you’ve got a dream symbols book to tell you about your insecurities, ambitions and phobias?

Now, if you’ll excuse me for a sec, I need to look up “Flying.” (Yes, I occasionally fly under my own power…in my dreams, that is.) Maybe that’s a sign I should be writing about angels, or at least fallen angels. I hear they’re the new vampires. Or is it that dragonflies are the new vampires? I’ll have to sleep on that one.

P.S. Have a great holiday weekend, everyone! May all your dreams be sweet (or at least sweeter than my crazy ones!).

In the Pink

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by Susan McBride

Last Saturday, I woke up to the alarm buzzing at 6 a.m. and quickly dressed in my running shoes, yoga pants, and my hot pink T-shirt so I’d be ready at 6:30 when my ride showed up to head downtown for this year’s Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. St. Louis turned pink that day, from the fountain at Kiener Plaza to pink “ribbons” plastered on the sides of buildings. It was my fourth Race since I finished radiation treatment after my diagnosis of breast cancer in December of 2006, and I felt much different than I had back in June of 2007 when I first participated. Being a survivor was new to me then. Heck, I’d never felt “sick” in the first place, even after an MRI confirmed I had a lump in my left boob. It’s amazing how three little words like “You’ve got cancer” can change your life.

Although I’d tried to stay fit during my surgeries and rad therapy, it meant strolling on the treadmill or unloading the dishwasher so that my left arm could regain enough mobility to finally reach the top cabinet shelf. When I walked in the Race in 2007 with Ed, my good friend and fellow survivor Shelly, and Shelly’s hubby Jerry, I didn’t know what to expect. Would I even be able to finish the 5k? Would someone bump my left boob (I was afraid of that for a loooong time)? Would I be so overwhelmed that I’d cry?

Shelly and I did skip the “Survivors’ Walk,” which they do early on before the Race starts, because she warned me it was very, very emotional. I decided that I’d done enough bawling after my diagnosis, and I prefered to avoid further tears. So we ran around to some of the freebie booths (Ed thinks it’s funny that women who survive breast cancer aren’t afraid to trample each other to collect bags of free loot). Then we took our Race team pictures, and I hung out with some of the St. Louis Public Library team members (love those library ladies!). Music blared and people hugged, and a sense of affirmation bubbled up inside me so that I had tears in my eyes anyway!

Once the Race started, we were all business. I remember Shelly and Jerry booking so fast I wondered how I’d ever keep up! I kept downing bottled water as I walked, telling myself, “You can do this, you can do this.” That was important somehow, just finishing the Race and not collapsing. People cheering the Racers from the sidewalks hooted especially loud when Shelly and I passed in our “Survivor” T-shirts. At first, that unnerved me. Why all the fuss? What had I done? I mused until I realized we stood for something to them: HOPE. If we had survived and were fit enough to briskly walk a 5k, then, by God, they could climb over obstacles, too.

This year, it was weird to imagine that I’m 3-1/2 years post-diagnosis. I felt strong as I walked–and, baby, I walked fast!–and, once again, I was initially surprised to hear the loud cheers from the sidelines. Although now it’s more because I feel very ordinary compared to the many women I’ve met since my diagnosis who’ve gone through what I’ve gone through (and much tougher stuff, too). I am surrounded by these ladies–my heroes–on a daily basis, and I don’t know what I’d do without them. When I whine about aches and pains, they make me laugh and, as importantly, they make me feel like I’m normal (or at least as normal as I’ll ever be!). Because if there’s one thing that having had cancer takes away from you, it’s the sense of normalcy. Oh, yeah, the scars it leaves on your skin have nothing on the havoc it’s wreaked in your head.

Although when you’re walking in a sea of over 71,000 people, nearly 5,000 of them survivors, as I did at the Race this past Saturday, you realize how NOT alone you are. Once you’re a member of this huge pink army, you’re a member for life.

P.S. Speaking of being in the pink, I’ve got a PINK, GEEK, AND CHIC CONTEST going on at my web site. You could win a hot pink tote bag, some hot books, and a DVD of “Star Trek” (the one with Chris Pine as Capt. Kirk)! Good luck!

The Business of Rejection

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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).

Before and (Almost) After

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by Susan McBride aka Mrs. Fix-It

By special request, I’m back to (almost) finish up my home improvement tales. The to-do list has gotten rather skimpy, which makes me quite proud; although I still have a little ways to go on my re-vamping of the guest room project. Still I thought I’d share some “before” and “after” pics to show you what’s been done. Okay, first, an old pic of the minty green room:


The Victorian chair is to the right-hand side (I know, you can barely see it!). It’s covered in a really pretty leaf and lily pattern that just didn’t work with the new color scheme. The ottoman’s in front of the window since the cats used it as a perch to look outside. It doesn’t match the chair except that it’s green. I bought it for about $10 at a really dusty “antiques” shop near where my grandmother lived. You can also see the white-washed dresser bought for about $60 at an antiques mall, when I just needed something pronto to fill the room and to store away old manuscripts. Also, the window has no curtains, just a mint-green sheer I got for about $5 at Linens-n-Things and draped around a little metal rod.

Now for the re-done chair, for which I used Waverly fabric that was on sale for $15 a yard (and I needed three to cover it and the ottoman). Happily, since the curtain panels are Waverly, the dye lot in the chair fabric and the curtains work together great! Note the matching white paint on the ottoman’s feet. I tell ya, that epoxy spray paint for appliances has the perfect sheen! What a lucky mistake using that turned out to be.

Not bad, eh? You can kind of see the toned-down color of the green paint on the walls behind it. Below, you can glimpse the curtains that hang from the re-purposed wooden curtain rod I spray-painted. And there’s the rehabbed dresser newly dark-green and now with feet! I think I mentioned before that the “feet” were made from a pair of drapery finials I got at Lowes for under $4. Ed cut the pointy tips off, which worked beautifully!


The dresser isn’t quite finished yet. It has a spot on the back where you can tell some type of molding used to sit. I remembered my mom had a piece of molding to put over a doorway and had never used. So she donated it to my cause, and here’s what it looks like, although it needs to be cut down (it’s 62″ long!) and painted. But when it’s done and attached to back of the dresser, it’s going to be gorgeous!

It’s amazing what you can do with a little elbow-grease, paint, and fabric…and a creative mind! I can’t wait to get the room completed. Another weekend of work, and I think it’ll finally be done! Weeeee!

P.S. The dresser is finished! Here’s the proof:

I Love the Smell of Paint Fumes in the Morning

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by Susan McBride

I’ve been on a home improvement kick of late, fueled by the long To-Do list on the side of our refrigerator that’s ever-growing. With so much going on since Ed and I bought the house almost four years ago (deadlines, health crisis, getting hitched, et al), I’ve put off unfinished projects around the house and yard. So long as things seemed clean and neat, I ignored what could be ignored in support of my sanity. But with promo for The Cougar Club winding down and a little time on my hands before a new deadline dropped in my lap, I could finally tackle what I’d been putting off. Like the human tornado I am (or, at least, my husband thinks I am!), I jumped in with both feet.

I went for the easy stuff first, like sanding and touching up paint on door thresholds shredded by Max the Cat (who thinks the entire house is his scratching post). I put two coats of Haze–aka, light tan–on the bare white vanity in the upstairs guest bath to match the walls (hey, it breaks up the white between the tiles and the sink, and I’m a woman who likes color!). I’ve mentioned to Ed that it’d look really good to cut molding to frame the oversized guest bath wall mirror (something I’ve seen them do on HGTV)–and would I kill to replace that old “Hollywood” style lighting fixture, too!–but since hubby’s the one who wields the table saw, the mirror-framing will have to wait.

My mother dropped by last weekend to help paint the guest room, another thing I’d been meaning to do and hadn’t. The rest of the house had a color makeover long ago (well, all except Ed’s “man cave” in the basement which was “Bisque” and still is). The third bedroom was always a vivid mint green, kind of like toothpaste, which matched my old comforter set well enough so we left it alone. Ed got a little sad when I said, “Time for the minty freshness to go!” He remarked that glancing in the room always reminded him to brush his teeth. Ha ha. I found a more neutral shade of green with a hint of gray in it, and it looks gorgeous. The old comforter set got laundered and taken to Goodwill. Rather than buy something new, I dug into the linen closet for a quilt my grandmother made me long ago, with scalloped edges trimmed in olive green and a circle of pink flowers and green leaves at its center. It looks perfect on the guest bed and the cats have already taken to burrowing beneath it (something I’m sure my cat-loving grandma would appreciate!).

Continuing on my “Design on a Dime” theme, I had Ed cut the old wooden curtain rod from our master bedroom (left behind by the former owner) so it would fit the guest room window. I spray-painted the rod and finials white (accidently using appliance paint which smells awful but covers beautifully!). Ed hung it up last night, and now I’m dying to go buy curtain panels, which I want to coordinate with new fabric to recover the old Victorian armchair and ottoman (er, I kind of got white paint on the green ottoman seat when I was spray-painting the feet!) Okay, so one project seems to lead to another, but it’s all going to be gorgeous when I’m finished!

My home improvement crusade wasn’t limited to the inside. Nope. I tackled a few outdoor projects as well, starting with clearing out leaves from flower beds and the basement window well off the patio where I encountered a garter snake that had the nerve to hiss at me! Geez, his head was as big as my pinky so I was less afraid than I would have been if I’d run across a giant spider. Animal lover that I am, I used a dustpan to scoop him up and toss him into a patch of ivy. Ed and I saw him again on Easter before heading over to my folks’ house! He slithered across the driveway and let Ed take his picture before he disappeared through the grass. I’m sure it was his way of saying, “thanks.”

But I digress. My yard work continued with some trimming and weeding, and I dug up a dead bamboo bush growing near the back fence, replacing it with a trellis and jasmine plant. I can’t wait for the jasmine to cover that sucker and create a wall of yellow flowers and vine! FYI, the “bamboo” bush wasn’t really bamboo at all. It was some kind of distant relative to a houseplant and didn’t ever live up to the promise of growing to 6′ x 6′ within three years. In fact, it didn’t grow but a few leaves beyond its original 1′ x 1′ self. A rotted trellis in another garden bed was replaced by a metal trellis, and now the clematis is growing thickly on it. I planted viney flowers that are supposed to naturalize in an empty area of that same bed, and I trimmed out dead branches on a pear tree and a maple (well, the ones I could reach that smack Ed in the head when he mows).

Getting out of my desk chair and moving like that has tugged on muscles I forgot existed. I’ve enjoyed transforming pieces of my world inside and out (although the tree pollen’s about to kill me! Benadryl, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways…although you seriously make me crave a nap). Ed’s afraid that if I don’t chain myself to my keyboard again soon, I’m going to build a room addition to the house. Hmm, not a bad idea. Maybe that screened porch I’ve been daydreaming about, one with a comfy chaise so I can lounge and read while the cats watch the birds at the feeder….

Er, does anyone have Mike Holmes’ phone number handy just in case I need some help?

Everybody Plays the Fool Sometimes

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by Susan McBride

Yes, I know I’m one day late for April Fool’s (aka the unofficial birthday of Blue the Kitty); but I think the topic of fools is so timeless it needs no official date. I’m not talking about pranksters or the fools who nearly run you off the road while drinking Starbucks and yakking on cellphones. Nor am I alluding to the political mouthpieces who never seem to give their pieholes a rest. Nope. Instead, I want to discuss a trait that I envy more and more the older I get: being completely unafraid to act foolish in front of others, something I don’t think most humans master until we’re too cranky and tired to care.

For a long time, I lived under the false impression that perfectionism was attainable and if you achieved it–or came anywhere close–everyone would find you irresistible and would want to be fast friends. Although when you’re born a smart ass (as I was), it’s very difficult to curb your tongue when there’s such an itch to add a punchline to everything. Shockingly, not everyone appreciates the fine art of wordplay, so I often found myself at odds with siblings and friends who didn’t “get” my sense of humor. What’s an impressionable girl to do? I tried my darnedest to refrain from saying things that might be miscontrued, no matter how much it pained me.

That training came in very handy in my sorority days and was invaluable once I became a real-live author at 34 (egads, eleven years ago next month!). When I was a newbie, fresh off the I-can’t-believe-I’m-finally-published bus, I tried super-hard to behave. I was as nice as I could possibly be to everyone I met. But after a few years and a couple eye-opening incidents where something I said or did was taken the wrong way, I began to realize that, despite my best efforts, I was never going to: (a) say all the right things all the time; and (b) be seen as funny and delightful by all of those watching me. It was about then that I said, “To hell with this.” I had to stop being afraid of every word that came out of my mouth. I wanted to live every moment fully and enjoy everything I did, even if there was a person or two (or three hundred) out there who didn’t like my tone of voice or felt offended by my word choice.

I do believe that turning point came after I hit forty, which seems to be a magical line that, once crossed, gives you the freedom to be exactly who you want to be. I stopped worrying so much about making a fool of myself, and it felt like finally breaking out of a tightly laced corset. If life is high school then I’d rather have fun being the goofy class clown than the perfectly presentable prom queen. I’m not talking about disposing of manners, merely not taking things so seriously. One of the best parts about writing is feeling like I have no boundaries. I love concocting characters who don’t always behave the way they probably should. I adore when they say things out of turn that crack me up. That’s how I want to live my life and maybe why I have a plaque above my file cabinet that says “Well-behaved women rarely make history.”

I’d like to propose a year-round celebration of the good kind of fools who aren’t afraid to be themselves, even if that means looking stupid and screwing up once in awhile. Hey, as the song goes, “everybody plays the fool sometime.” I think I’ll do something foolish today, just so I never get out of practice.

Why Life Should Be More Like Hockey

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by Susan McBride

I’ve been going to hockey games ever since my first date with Ed, which was five years ago this November. I used to think of the sport the same way Carla Moss does in The Cougar Club:

“You’re equating hockey with fun?” Carla looked at Kat like she’d lost her mind. “Watching a bunch of overgrown boys pummel each other with sticks? Do any of them still have their own teeth? How does that saying go, ‘I went to a fight and a hockey game broke out’?”

Since Ed has season tickets to the St. Louis Blues games and since he plays in a local league, I’ve seen more hockey than I ever thought I’d experience in a lifetime. I still don’t understand all the rules completely, but I do get why so many love the sport. And the better I grasp the finesse involved, the more I think the world would be a saner place if it borrowed a few rules from ice hockey. I know, I know, that sounds bizarre, but stick with me. Listen to my suggestions, and I think you’ll see the logic, too.

First off, dealing with other human beings can be tough as not everyone’s on the up and up. Life is a giant playground where bullies thrive on ruining everyone else’s fun and plenty of folks try to skirt the rules. The older I get, the more I’m convinced that most adults aren’t grown-ups any more than Alexander Ovechkin is a choir boy (he plays for the Washington Capitals and got a two game suspension for smashing a Chicago Blackhawk against the boards, breaking the dude’s rib and his collar bone). Two politicians from opposing parties can’t stand within spitting distance without name-calling these days. I’ve watched parents fight over hard to come by Christmas gifts in Target. I’ve seen grown women cry after board meetings where finger pointing has replaced honest debate.

At least hockey players are outfitted for the rough stuff, unlike the rest of us who don’t suit up before we leave the safety of our homes to interact with society. We’d be smart to put on pads and helmets before we get in our cars and deal with idiots on cell-phones behind the wheel who seem determined to run us off the road. Or to confront the “ladies” in the supermarket who learned cart etiquette from the demolition derby and seem intent on running over our feet or banging into us, no matter if we’re sticking to our side of the aisle. Wouldn’t it be nice if there was a ref on the road or in the produce department who could blow a whistle and call a foul when appropriate?

Instead of hearing that so-and-so lied about you or whispered nasty gossip behind your back, wouldn’t it be great to just throw down your gloves and start pummeling each other until there’s blood drawn or someone ends up on the ice…er, the floor? It would feel so much more sincere to just man-up and take care of business face to face; then, once you’re finished, you get up, shake it off, and go back to the rat race. No harm, no foul (unless one of you is uber-nasty, then it’s five for fighting in the penalty box).

And for times when folks are just taking the game of life too danged seriously and need to lighten up, how about a little intermission, like in hockey when the Pee Wees appear on the ice and skate around to “Peanuts” music? Maybe we should all be forced to take a break and run around with pre-school kids who haven’t realized how stressful their lives are going to get once they graduate, get jobs, get married, have kids, get fired, lose their house, et al. A couple quick games of hopscotch or a few times across the monkey bars, and perhaps we’ll remember that life should be FUN sometimes. It isn’t all about working and struggling and trying to prove ourselves. We can listen to their laughter and remind ourselves what joy and passion feel like and vow never to lose them.

See what I mean? If the real world were more like a hockey game, we might all have less angst to carry around in our over-sized purses. Just remember to dress appropriately and, if you break any rules or just plain don’t cooperate, you will be tied to the middle of the ice and flattened by the Zamboni.

Happy Friday!

Down with Planet Barbie!

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I know the title of this post is kind of weird, but I wasn’t sure what else to call it (I almost named it “The Last Bastion of the Flat-Chested,” but changed my mind). You see, while I watched the Olympics during half of February, part of what caught my eye wasn’t the dazzling rhinestones on the skaters’ costumes or the stunning accuracy of the shooting during the biathlon. It wasn’t even my amazement that curling is apparently popular enough to be broadcast round-the-clock while so many of the other sports had hit or miss coverage. It had to do with the faces beneath the ski hats and the bodies in the Lycra outfits and my thrill at realizing the women actually looked like humans. Granted, they looked like uber-fit humans, but still…I didn’t notice a single Pam Anderson among them.

So many celebrities these days have surgically altered faces and bodies that I’d pretty much gotten used to seeing females on-screen that resemble full-sized Barbie dolls. While at the doctor’s office recently, I read the People magazine with “The Hills” reality star Heidi Montag on the cover, and I couldn’t help but wince and whisper, “You poor, messed-up girl” under my breath as I learned about her Christmas head-to-toe makeover that had her under anesthesia for something like two days (okay, it was more like seven or eight hours, which sounds bad enough). Heidi had previously undergone a nose job and chin job, according to reports, before this latest Frankenstein-esque reconstruction that included Botox to multiple areas of her face, another nose job, cheek implants, chin chiseling, ear pinning, breast enhancement, liposuction, and God knows what else. The girl is only 23. Yet, she looks like a very well-preserved 40 year old porn star.

And the scariest part of all? (And, no, it’s not the fact that her mother didn’t even recognize her when she returned home to Colorado with a camera crew from “The Hills” tagging along.) It’s that she doesn’t think her newly-built DD boobs are big enough. She wants to go back for more. Gulp.

I am seriously afraid for girls today, thinking they’re not worthy unless their chest sticks out so far that they can set a tray from Sonic atop it and comfortably eat. I heard just the other day that breast augmentation has surpassed rhinoplasties as the number one surgery. Something like 335,000 boob jobs were done last year, and it keeps going up. Every time I watch an awards show or a sitcom, for Pete’s sake, all I see is cleavage. If aliens can get Us Weekly and People online, or if their satellites pick up “The Girls Next Store,” “Dr. 90210,” “The Bachelor,” or any number of TV programs (or beer commercials), they’d think our gender was comprised of an army of plastic fem-bots.

I’d hate to be growing up now when there are such unrealistic body images. When I was in junior high in the mid-’70s, my feminine ideals were the stars of “Charlie’s Angels”–Kate Jackson, Jaclyn Smith, and Farrah Fawcett–who looked gorgeous and different from each other and natural, if you know what I mean. But today…geez, I can’t think of an actress off the top of my head, other than Meryl Streep, who hasn’t altered her face, breasts, or other body parts in some way. How sad is that?

Which is why the Olympics were so great. Not that female athletes look anything close to average (I would kill to have a figure skater’s legs!); but they look strong and fit and, best of all, real. Not like they were taken apart and reassembled on a Beverly Hills surgeon’s table.

My hope is that young girls who watched Olympics’ coverage will see what I saw and will not only be convinced that women should come in various shapes and sizes; but that character and determination are even more important than large bazoombas and zero cellulite. Maybe they’ll put up posters of Joannie Rochette, who won a bronze in figure skating days after her beloved mother died of a heart attack. Now there’s real.

Getting By with a Little Help from my Friends

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by Susan McBride

Oh, boy, it’s been a very interesting three weeks since The Cougar Club came out. I was tempted at first to write about a few less than pleasant incidents that completely blind-sided me (let’s just say, the word “Cougar” inspires, er, different reactions in different people). But then I remembered my New Year’s resolution to stay focused on the positive and shove the negative into the garbage like wilted spinach. So I’ll babble instead about upbeat stuff, like friendship (which is what The Cougar Club is about after all) and good news.

I used to block off at least three months after a book’s release to do promotion. I would try to hit every book festival, convention, and writer’s conference within flying distance. In between the weekends I was gone, I’d schedule stock signings, school talks, library events, book club discussions, and anything else I could logically work into my schedule. But I was single then, and now I’m married (two years next Wednesday–yeeha!). I hate leaving home. I don’t want to go anywhere that Ed can’t go. So with Cougar, I tried very hard to stick around St. Louis. Luckily, the local TV stations think the word “Cougar” is hot and wanted me on to talk about my book and about the Cougar phenomenon in general (like I’m an expert, accidental Cougar that I am!). It’s been great doing BlogTalkRadio from home and working a virtual book tour from the comfort of my own computer. I only had to drive across town a bit to tape a podcast for LipsticknLaundry, and I’ll head out for stock signings next week, which gives me a chance to say “thank you” to area booksellers who’ve been so great supporting me, no matter what genre I’m writing.

It’s helped a lot, too, dreaming up events where I’m not going solo. I can only take myself babbling about writing and the book biz for so long before I get tired of my own stories (is anyone ever tempted to make things up so they sound more exciting? Just curious!). Two of four scheduled Cougar gigs thankfully included buddies, like the panel at the McClay Road Library in St. Charles with Angie Fox, Bobbi Smith, and Sharon Shinn. The best part of getting a bunch of girls (who get along!) together is having a fun conversation that leads in all kinds of unexpected directions.

This past Wednesday, Sharon and I did a “Girls’ Night Out” event at the St. Louis County Library, and it was a hoot. I’ve known Sharon for four or five years, and we’ve talked about our writing over many lunches and emails. But it was remarkably funny and spontaneous discussing books and the publishing biz in front of an audience and asking each other questions we’d never asked before. For instance, what type of books wouldn’t we ever want to write? For me, it was science fiction or fantasy where I have to totally create my own worlds, or base a story on some myth or legend that so many other people know about (and probably know better than I). For Sharon it was the opposite: writing fiction completely set in real-life. She remarked that she doesn’t want people telling her all the things she got wrong. Ah, good point!

It’s aweseome, too, when things you hadn’t expected to work out actually happen. Growing accustomed to disappointment in the book biz is part of the game, I’d guess, for many of us who have high aspirations for our literary babies and take all the “mights” and “coulds” to heart. So I have to pinch myself this time around, knowing that one arrow hit its mark (no pun intended!). Target selected The Cougar Club as a Bookmarked Breakout Title and they’ve got it stocked on (most) store shelves in a special promotion from Valentine’s Day through April 11. I don’t think my books have ever been in Target stores before (online, yes, in-store, no) so this is a big deal for me. Needless to say, I was giddy when I heard Cougar would be part of this program. So today, not only did my mom go checking our local Target’s shelves (her report: they had two left, and she bought one!), but my mother-in-law went of her own accord sometime after and noted there was only one copy left. Both asked the associates when they’d get more in and were reassured it would be a matter of days. I heart my moms!

Another cool bit of news that came to pass: the Midwest Booksellers Association selected Cougar as a February Midwest Connections Pick. I’ll be attending an author reception during their March meeting in St. Louis, and I can’t wait. Indie bookstores were the first to support me with my mysteries, and I love supporting them back. Besides, there’s nothing better than hanging out with a bunch of booksellers. They might have to pry me out of there with a crowbar before the night is over.

Other high notes for me these past three weeks are more personal. For the kindly chums who calmed me down after my frantic emails when I spotted anti-Cougar rants online, you rock. And thank you, too, for sharing your stories about less-than-stellar experiences of the rabid kind. Not only did they make me feel better, they also made me laugh. Laughing instead of crying is a very good thing, indeed.

For those of you who invited me to guest blog or to inaugurate a wonderful new site (shout out for Books on the House!), you made my day(s)! Aw, gosh, now I’m sounding like a gushing actress accepting her Academy Award. So I’ll stop before you start barfing.

Still, all this positivity has me grinning like a fool, the icky stuff forgotten (or, at least, banished to the trash can with that wilted spinach). There are so many nice people out there that it’s a shame when we let any bad stuff stick in our craw (where is the craw exactly?). So think about ways friends have helped you out lately–and little things definitely count–and don’t let the ickies get you down, okay? Now go out there and have a great weekend!

Building a Community of Readers

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A writer’s goal is for her book to be discovered and loved by readers.

A reader’s goal is to discover and love new books and authors.

But in the world of publishing, it can be tricky to achieve these goals. There aren’t a lot of publishing dollars spent on marketing an author or promoting her book, particularly if you’re not already a bestseller (read: bread and butter for the publisher). Sure, a few lucky writers are anointed and co-op, advertising, and other promotion happens at the publisher’s expense, but by and large, it’s up to authors to promote their own books, and to try to reach their potential audience.

This is a challenge for authors, no matter the genre we write in. Social networking is a whole new world, allowing for exposure in a brand new way. Twitter, Facebook, Stumble, Digg, and so many more let you connect and network with strangers who may be potential readers.

But still, it’s hard.

I’m making yet another dent in the fabric of the World Wide Web. This last Monday, I launched Books on the House and Books on the House for Kids and Teens. These two sites are all about building a community of readers. The goal is to bring great books to readers, and to help readers discover great books.

Every Monday, a new book and author are featured. There are video interviews (this week, Jane Kurtz talks about her upbringing in Ethiopia, her passion: Ethiopia Reads, and her new books, Lanie and Lanie’s Real Adventures, the 2010 American Girl Doll Lanie Holland books; 6 copies of these books will be given away Monday!), Q & As with the authors, and more. Enter each week to win. That’s all there is to it! What better way is there for a reader to discover a new-to-them -author, and what a great way for a writer to gain exposure for their book.

Our own Susan McBride is the inaugural author on Books on the House! 3 copies of The Cougar Club will be given away on Monday. Her YouTube interview is posted, as well as a Q & A in which she lets us in on some exciting news she has.

I’m so excited about Books on the House and Books on the House for Kids and Teens and the potential for the sites to really help build a community of readers. We have some fabulous authors and books lined up including:

Alexandra Bullen with Wish

NY Times Bestseller Allison Brennan with Original Sin

NY Times Bestseller Jane Yolen with her new graphic novel

Mystery Writer Jennie Bentley

NY Times Bestseller Brenda Novak

and so many more!

Check out Books on the House and Books on the House for Kids and Teens. Tweet about it! Spread the word! Help build our community of readers.

=) Misa