Author of the novel WHEN YOU LOSE CONTROL

As I've mentioned many times on all my social media, I'm obsessed with Drag Queens. Some of my favorites are the legends Trixie and Katya.  On their YouTube show, UNHhhh, they'll often say something like "Listen, Mary," or "Sure, Brenda." Other names they've used include Barbara, and of course, Deborah.   The name use is a running gag and they'll use it in a funny and mocking way. Yesterday I called out, "OKAY, DEBORAH!" When I got cut-off in traffic. I forgot two small kids were in the car. "Who's Deborah?" "Do you know that woman in the car?" "Is her name Deborah? Howdya know?" "Is she your friend?" Oops. I started laughing, which lead to a chorus of, "What's funny? Is Deborah funny? Did she do something funny?" I laughed some more. I couldn't tell the kids that instead of my Deborah comment, I had wanted to yell,  "WHAT THE FUCK, ASSHOLE!" I laughed some more bef...

Mental health was not talked about when I was growing up Catholic(ish) in the '90's. (I am NOT Catholic now, and never identified as such, even when it was forced on me.) When I had my first panic attack at age five, I had no idea what the fuck was happening. I didn't have the words to explain what was happening. Until I was twenty-two, I suffered up to ten major panic attacks every day.  Imagine spending almost two decades believing you're crazy, feeling constantly terrified, having trouble breathing, and having no explanation, information, or solace. Imagine being five and thinking that was just life- constantly panicking to the point of getting physically sick.  I bring all this up to highlight what an utter inspiration Simone Biles is. The courage she had to muster to do what she did. If I had seen a young woman do something like that when I was a kid? Maybe I could've saved myself years of torment. Simone, at the end of the day, is human. And I'm in awe tha...

I've been thinking of something Fred and George Weasley call out in movie four a lot lately- "You don't know what you're doing!" It applies to a lot of people. Myself included.  Note- while I love Harry Potter, I hate JKR. I find, among other things, her anti-trans sentiments to be unspeakably vile and cruel. 

I know my novel is good and I know people would read it. I know it's an important story that's contemporary and multi-layered. I know it can be cross-marketed as literary, book club, and romance.  I've been querying my debut novel for 42 days. I've sent out 41 queries. I have heard back from 8 agents, all rejections. Honestly though, I feel like some of these responses are from places that don't actually read the query, but who knows. I know that I am more likely to be struck by lightning and win the lottery than to have overnight success with my novel. I know that it's important to get used to hearing 'no' and to never give up.  With all that said, I keep thinking of the Ted Lasso quote, "it's the hope that kills you." I have so much hope for my book, for publication, and my dream to read my novel at my local Barnes and Noble. But sometimes that hope hurts, physically hurts, because it's 'just' hope and not reality.  To make my...

I've never done drugs and I don't drink or smoke. The highs I crave come from bargains. My maternal grandmother would have 20 gold medals if bargain shopping were an Olympic sport. She taught the importance of stretching your money to my mother, and it's the one thing my mother passed on to me that wasn't cruel or abusive. While other people seek out name brands at full price or the seasons newest trends, I'm happiest when I'm at a thrift store, flea market, or the like.  Do I love designer labels? Hell yeah. Do I love the price? Gross. Give me Michel Kors, Calvin Klein, Tommy Hilfiger, or Ralph Lauren, but give me last seasons stuff or the factory outlet steals. Once, when scouting the shelves of the L.L. Bean cleanace rack, I came across a gorgeous pair of blue and purple suede boots. They had an original price tag of $199. They were on the 'last chance!' rack for $10, but had a yellow sticker, which meant an extra 50% off the lowest price. I nearly cr...

Endemic of Crystal Springs  South along The east and west  Shinning like beaded jewelery  Thamnophis sirtalis  Elusive in creeks Shadowed in marshy wetlands Seeking brackish waters  Aqua anguine Scarlet and onyx Contra Costa Santa Cruz Mountains  Complex internal resonances  Backbarrier lagoon Tetrataenia 

Years ago, I bought two tickets for my Dad and I to see his first Broadway play. It was non-musical and history based, right up his ally.  After exploring New York City all day, we lined up at the small theaters side entrance. I was so excited! I mean, how could you not be, it's Broadway!  As we waited in line, I told my Dad that we should silence and put away our phones, and stash our sunglasses, I have always been a stickler for proper theater etiquette. I put my regular glasses on, then placed my silenced phone and sunglasses into my tiny purse and zipped it up. My Dad and I started to chat.  Seconds later, a yellow taxi pulled up and a tall man with a shoulder bag and sunglasses jumped out of the backseat, yelling his thanks as he closed the cab door and rushed onto the sidewalk.  My mouth sprang open, my lower jaw dangerously close to hitting the pavement.  The man dashed over to the theater door, accidentally bumped into my left shoulder, tilted his head i...

There's a scene in the TV show The Waltons, where one of John-Boy's stories gets rejected by a magazine. He's with his Grandma when he gets the letter and he's rightfully upset. Grandma tells him something along the lines of, "If I needed to buy gingham, you couldn't sell me silk." She knows John-Boy's story is good, and that he's a talented writer.  John-Boy knows the same thing. It's a really sweet scene and eventually John-Boy becomes a successful writer.  I've been thinking of this scene a lot. Not because of the support John-Boy receives, (although, squee, it's precious) but because you need to keep telling yourself you have silk. You need to believe it and know it.. You've spun beautiful, important, silk. Keep going. 

I used to live in words and numbers. 30,000, 60,000, 95,000, words in my novel. 327 pages. 4 months to write. A solid 2 weeks to edit- and I mean I must've spent 2 weeks time editing. Commas, periods, quotations, removing unnecessary that's. Now I live in just numbers. 33 queries. 7 rejections. Agencies saying that they only accept 1/10 of 1% of authors who query them each year. There's this quote from huffpost.com- "Stephen King's first big novel, Carrie , was rejected 30 times. He tossed it in the wastebasket but his wife fished it out. He earned $39 million in 2012." It's daunting, but surprisingly not soul crushing. It's kind of fun. It's like urgently trying to win a game where the prize is all your dreams come true. So until that day, umut. 

 From page 200 of THIS IS HOW IT ALWAYS IS, by Laurie Frankel: "'...what Mr. Mohan meant is that men have most of the jobs in sports, especially the ones that pay well, and that's not fair, nor is it in the rules, but that's the case anyway, and it's self-perpetuating. Do you know what that means?' Poppy shook her head. 'It means that the fact that that's the way it is means that keeps being the way it is. It means when a little girl says she wants to be a baseball announcer when she grows up, someone tells her she can't because there are no female baseball announcers, which means no one grows up to be one. And so on.'" Have you ever read something from a novel that feels like it simultaneously smacked you in the face and punched you in the gut? That's how this passage hit me. I was a Tom boy. I dressed like Kristy, was shy like Mary-Anne, artistic like Claudia, and I was a dead-ringer for Mallory. (I wanted to be Stacey.) As much as I ...

I just sent off my 31st query. I sent out my first query on June 12th, and challenged myself to send out 31 queries in 31 days. I have sent out 31 in 29. As someone who rarely, if ever, follows through on projects or self-imposed goals, I feel amazing. And pretty proud, since on my busiest, most exhausting days, I sent out 4 queries.  Of the 31, I have heard back from 7, all no's. I thought each rejection would break me, but it's only served as more motivation. I'll query my book for 10 years if I have to. I know it's good.  As beloved TV character Ted Lasso says, "I believe in believe."

*An excerpt from my memoir* My mom decided to go back to work when I was about nine. By this time, I was four years deep in my panic attacks and anxiety, issues that would only be dealt with when I was in my early twenties and on my own. Naturally, this big change in my life left me feeling sheer terror. I had only recently transferred to my current school and most of the kids thought I was weird.  I had a couple of friends, but none that lived nearby, so it was doubtful they'd be on my bus route.  Would I get picked on and teased more, being a bus kid? What if I had one of those...'things?' (I wouldn't learn the words 'panic attack' for years.) While having one of those 'things' I remember going to mom, heart pounding, "Who'll take care of me?" I blurted out.  "How will I get to school?" She chose to ignore the first question and snapped, "The bus! How else?" My heart was beating like a bass drum, it was surely going to...

The Rejection Once upon a mid-day query, while I typed out, meek and teary, Over many a letter so furious  "Just goddamn love me," I swore While I nodded, nearly snapping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of an agent finally responding, impressed by letter and so much more? “’Tis about time,” I muttered, pulling myself from the floor— "We won't publish this or anything  more.” Ah, distinctly I want to cry it was a most bleak July; And each separate rejection  Left its recipient  upon the floor. (A parody of Edgar Allen Poes 'The Raven', which I obviously do not have any rights or affiliations with. This is just a parody to reflect on my annoyance with rejections...and nothing more.

Never give up. You can do it.  Stay strong. These might be overused, obvious, and borderline corny, but if nothing else, they're helpful.  Sending out queries is so exhausting. It's a professional and very formal request to try and entice an agent to be interested in your work. While I want to beg and plead in each query, I don't. While I want to send a picture of me crying with a caption that reads 'Please love me' I don't. It's hard to be so formal While feeling so unbelievably vulnerable. Imagine pitching your heart and soul to a stranger.  I keep thinking of this quote from Cassandra Lipp: "Perhapd the biggest skill a writer can learn to aid their career is to learn to keep going in the face of rejection." Write on, you crazy diamonds. 

The account @BorkerBook on Twitter will occasionally post bad writing prompts. One such example challenged followers to create a story with the following four words and phrases; anatomically correct snow people, cleaning, James Brown's private bathroom, and Subway Sandwich artist. Here is the short story I created: After the Snow Fell I sipped my piping hot latte as I stared out the window at my nephews anatomically correct snow people. What a little bastard. I walked to a different window to admire the snowfall, sans snow genitals. The backyard was a glittering expanse of white, and the trees looked like frosted chocolate candies. Maybe being home for a while wouldn't be all bad.  When I finished my latte, I remembered I had promised my sister I would do some cleaning. In exchange, she was going to wrap the Christmas presents I had brought with me, a task I loathed.  I put my mug in the sink, then headed to the bathroom with some rags and cleaning products. I figured I'd s...