Preparing for the Winter Apocalypse, 2011

If meteorologists are correct, this will be the third consecutive year we've experienced an ice storm the last week of January. In my neck of the woods.

I remember, because every year I go to bake my oldest a birthday cake. Yet we have no power.

In 2009, this lasted. For. Days. (Whimper.) For others, weeks. We were the lucky ones. But this year, I wised up. I bought his cake.

I must admit, the first 48 hours of hunkering down are fun. Practically pioneer-y.

There's something unifying about camping out in your living room, walled off from the rest of the house via quilts nailed to the wall, shivering in front of a wood burning fireplace with your pajama-clad kids and flashlights and open books and boardgames and a mutt with chronic halitosis.

I think that was a run-on.

And don't forget the snacks.

Necessary snacks.

Everyone knows being snowed or iced in, is made better with proper snackage.

Like caramel popcorn.

A handed down family favorite.

I made ours last night.

Old Man Winter, we're set.

As soon as I round up all the flashlights.

Caramel Popcorn

1 cup brown sugar

1/2 cup butter

1/2 cup light corn syrup

1/2 tsp. salt

1 tsp. vanilla

1/2 tsp. baking soda

16 cups popped popcorn

1 cup nuts or M&Ms (optional)

Stir together first 5 ingredients in a saucepan. Bring to a boil over medium heat, stir constantly.

Remove mixture from heat, and stir in soda.

Place half of popcorn, and if desired nuts or candy, in each of 2 lightly greased shallow roasting pans. Pour sugar mixture over popcorn. Stir well with a lightly greased spatula.

Bake @ 250 for 1 hour, stirring every 15 minutes. Spread on wax paper to cool, breaking apart large clumps. Store in airtight container.

Photography courtesy of my husband.

On today. A serious post.

My oldest turns ten today. The big 1-0.

It's a hard concept to wrap my mind around. I carried him, warm in my belly the last six months of gestation wondering whether he had the chromosomal anomaly one doctor said possible.

And look at him now.

Perfectly healthy.

And so boyish.

Stinky socks. Sloppy handwriting. Lover of Legos and science and home teams and Percy Jackson. I'm appalled I even fuss at him for his handwriting.

Ten years ago, we didn't know if he would even be able to *do* homework, attend regular school.

Grace.

Ten years.

I don't feel any older. Except on days when it's really cold, my bones don't want to get out of bed.

I heard this morning that today marks 25th anniversary of the space shuttle Challenger explosion. I had already dropped my boy off at school. He would have loved to know. He inherited a little bit of DNA nerdry, mostly from his father's side of course.

I sat in my car, engine humming. I was transported back to third grade, Mrs. McElhaney's class. I was indoors for recess. Was it a sick note? A reprimand for talking? I'm not sure. I do know I wasn't alone. Christopher Stone was there, walking about the room in his thick glasses, sandy stick-up hair, and white turtleneck under a red polo shirt. (Moms, don't let your boys grow up to wear turtlenecks.)

Mrs. Michaels, one of the librarians, wheeled in a Sony TV on a metal rolling cart. Boy, have times changed. With a click, she switched on the news. Eyes wide, I sat up straight. The shuttle launch.

You see, I had this thing for astronauts.

I wanted to be one. What kid doesn't, for at least a season?

I'd been to the national museum in DC, toured Cape Canaveral. Shoot, I even owned a pair of pewter space shuttle earrings. I was uh, rad. But somehow I could never convince my parents of Space Camp.

I will never forget that ball of fire.

I guess it's my generation's JFK.

My friend Allison had the poster of the 7 on her wall for years.

So, I think all this is part of me. The old "write what you know". My middle grade book revolves around a boy fascinated with space. I guess I still am. To be honest, though, I haven't worked on the book in some time. I have these three new picture books that are teetering on the edge. Potential, yes. Polished, no.

I emailed a writer friend yesterday and asked. "How does one learn to work through the doldrums?"

Working through the doldrums. The I'm not good enough. I can't plot to save my life. My head hurts. Are my characters alive? Am I doing anything right?

I read books, a recent example ONE CRAZY SUMMER, whose prose is butter rich. It seems effortless. How do you achieve that? How do I?

I don't have an answer. Just one word at a time.

I teared up in the car today. Hearing the coincidence of the Challenger and the birth of my eldest. Call it hokey. Call it a sign. Whatever it is, it's enough to spur me on today.

I will write.

Then surprise my boy with Chick fil A.

Oh, his birthday present?

A telescope.

See Kristin.

See Kristin revise.

Based on my amount of roots, I need to move to the salon instead of my kitchen table.

Carry on.

How bad do you want it?

This lady really wants her yard mowed.

I'm trusting that front baby sling held. Maybe the engine's loud rumble is payback for all the crying at night. (I'm kidding.)

Who knows. But, she did what she had to do to get the lawn cut.

How hard am I willing to work to meet my goals?

Take Monica. She LEARNED A SECOND LANGUAGE and WROTE HER NOVEL IN IT, in order to publish.

Um. Yeah.

I'm a lightweight.

(Who has terrible success with Rosetta Stone, another goal of mine, darn Southern accent...)

Take 1 step today to meet a goal of yours. Feel free to post it below.

(Thanks, 22 Words, for the photo.)

My Inner Judy Moody

I went from:

I can SO write this.
Writing this is hard.
I can never write this.
Do I even want to write this?
Why am I even writing?

In under 45 minutes today.

Also, I changed paper to papers. Then deleted so.

*thunk*

How I was Pulled from the Shark Tank

So, I've been trying to win an ARC of Veronica Roth's debut DIVERGENT.

Um.

I don't do dystopian.

But, the buzz on that book is a-mazing. And Veronica's posts are insightful and fun. Plus, she has a multi-book deal. I think she just graduated college. *cough*

(Hey, my Wii fit age isn't bad.)

People are scrambling for her book.

So did I.

I entered this contest hosted by none other than the notorious agent JANET REID. (Holy Cow, what was I thinking?)

Janet is known around these waters (water-coolers) as The Shark. She's persnickety, ruthless, and wise.

And my silly little entry was pulled from the tank to make the final cut!

Now, I didn't win DIVERGENT.

But I'm still grinning.

And swimming.

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming...

Happy Friday, y'all!

SNOW DAY!

I brought my boys to work. :)

Oh, writers,

This blog's for you:

EMU's Debuts is an exploration of the winding path that lies between the Book Deal and the Debut, brought to you by eight debuting authors represented by Ammi-Joan Paquette and Erin Murphy of the Erin Murphy Literary Agency (EMLA). New content appears on Mondays and Wednesdays.

Happy Thursday, Cute Kid Addition

If this doesn't make your morning, your heart is colder than freezer-burned yogurt pops.

One Crazy Writer

How's 2011 shaping up for all of you?

*I had a fabulous break, over which I joined goodreads! Book Nerds, Unite!

*I burned 400 calories on the elliptical this morning thanks to Rita Williams-Garcia's ONE CRAZY SUMMER. Holy Moses, what voice. Beautifully written, and I'm only a quarter in.

*I'm not a candy person (unless it's chocolate), but someone, God bless their soul, gave my children a package of 12- flavored gummi-bears. Heavens to Murgatroyd. Those 400 calories won't last long with those bears in the house. Revision does that to me.

And, yes, they are that pretty in person.

*Which brings me to the last point. If someone who writes (or reads a lot of) picture books, would be willing to take a look at one for me, I'd be eternally grateful. I have a smashing crit group, but I need some fresh eyes.

Happy New Year to you all!