St. Paddy's Day Scars

As a mother, you try your best to raise your children with love and understanding, shielding them from the darts and arrows of the world.

Invariably, you will fail.

It's just a part of life; you can't shield your kids from everything. Indeed, when it comes down to it, you wouldn't want to shield them from everything, or they'll never learn life lessons. However, no matter how hard you try, you'll end up scarring the little guys in ways you never predicted.

Case in point:

Three years ago, I sent my kindergartener off for another day of school. Off she went, merrily waving to me as she hopped out of the minivan and trotted along the sidewalk into the school.

Two and a half hours later, she came home in tears. In short order, I was informed that it was all my fault.

You see, it was St. Patrick's Day, and I had neglected to be a good mommy. I hadn't sent my little girl to school in green. Apparently, several of the boys in her class thought that fact was great fun and spent the entire school day (thank heavens it was just 1/2-day kindergarten) pinching her. Whether it was at recess, at her desk, or on the carpet when the teacher read stories, all day long, she was pinched.

By the time she got home, the poor girl was traumatized. She fell apart in my arms, relating the horrendous details of her school day.

"Mom, why didn't you make sure I wore green?!"

I've since made a bigger effort on St. Patrick's Day--a holiday I frankly care nothing about. (Today I'm wearing a bright RED shirt . . .) The one and only way I celebrate the day is making sure my kids go off to school with something green. It's probably more of a self-defense measure than anything else.

Today that included my junior high schooler. I had him change his black shirt for a green one. (After all, you never know if those pinching bullies in kindergarten grew up to be junior high schoolers and might decide to pick on a seventh grader who lacks the proper color.)

I even made sure my preschooler had green on today, just in case there was a boy in her class who might try to torture her with the pinching tradition. I certainly didn't want to have another child scarred by the holiday.

So this morning as I'm putting a dot of super glue on a St. Paddy's Day bracelet for my third grader to wear (made with a kit sent by Grandma Lyon for that very purpose), she pipes up with, "Hey, Mom, remember how in kindergarten I didn't wear any green and those boys pinched me all day? Man, that was awful."

Yeah, honey. I remember.

But I was so hoping you didn't anymore!

Oh, well. There's always Easter.

The Countdown

It's ten days away for most of those involved, but it's essentially nine days away for me.

NINE.

ACK!

I'm referring to the 5th Annual LDStorymakers Writers Conference coming up next week, which Heather Moore and I are co-chairing.

Can I just say that I am eternally grateful that
a) I'm not in this alone and
b) that my partner is so capable and
c) that her strengths lie in all my weak areas?

As some readers may remember, we were "crowned" at last year's conference, so this conference has been twelve months in the making. The last couple have been the most intense, of course, and now it's almost here.

We're dotting i's and crossing t's right now, trying to make sure that there are no lingering ends left untied. (It's amazing just how many ends there are to check . . .)

Between now and then, I have a lot to do, for both the conference as well as for my personal life. For starters, I have to get everything ready for Easter before I drive off to the hotel, because by the time I get back, there will be NO time whatsoever for any of that.

The family is heading up to visit grandma while I'm gone, so I should probably help get little people semi-packed before I leave.

Several of the kids have activities that Mom needs to help prepare for, coordinate, or drive to.

And then there are the ponchos I'm trying to finish knitting for my girls so they can all match on Easter Sunday. (Key word: trying.)

In the middle of all this madness, I did something really stupid: I asked my editor about the status of my latest submission.

If you know anything about the writer's ego, you'll know what a really dumb move that was for a writer who is already under stress. The only possible good outcome would have been a response like, "It's Pulitzer-worthy! We loved it!" Then I'd smile and go my merry way, with a little boost to keep going through the next nine days.

I'm sure you can already see where this is going.

Instead of a declaration that I'm the next big thing, we're discussing revisions and notes.

Really, that's no huge surprise. With Spires of Stone I did two rewrites, went over oodles of notes with my editor (and granted, wanted to bang my head against the monitor numerous times), but ultimately came out the other end not only alive but with a much better book that was accepted for publication and is now up for a Whitney Award.

So why am I such a basket case? That would be because writers seesaw between egomania and self-despair all the time, and are capable of flipping between the two in a matter of seconds. My past publishing experiences with five previous novels notwithstanding, I still feel like the rookie just waiting for that next rejection letter telling me my baby is ugly and that I stink.

I should take a nice, hot bath tonight to help me calm down a bit. That is, if I could sit still long enough without checking e-mail for conference stuff, or going over my workshop presentation notes, or working on the table centerpieces, or sending the latest updates about the waiting list and lunch choices to committee members, or . . .

You get the idea.

Basically, I look like Chicken Little on serious doses of caffeine.

To cope, I bought two of the silver bags of Guittard milk chocolate chips. You know, the jumbo ones? Yeah. That should last me, oh, a day or so.

For those readers who are coming to the conference, I can't wait to see you. Once the big day is here, it'll be downright awesome, and I'm sure I'll be having a ball. I've been in touch with a lot of you, and I can't wait to put faces to names.

In all seriousness, the conference has been a huge shot in the arm for me every time. Last year I drove home a bit wistfully, knowing I wouldn't be able to experience it again for another year. Sure, there would be other conferences, but none are the same as this one. If you've come, you know what I mean.

See you in ten days.

A Very Serious Interview

Or not.

Some time ago, Luisa was interviewed on her blog with questions provided by a fellow blogging friend and offered to pass along the love.

I raised my cyber-hand (Oooh, oh! Pick me! Pick me!) and she has obliged. Below are her fun questions and my answers.

Thanks, lady!


1. How did you celebrate your first writing sale?
First, some back story: Our first VCR was a hand-me-down from my in-laws. My writing goal for years was to use money I earned through writing to buy a new VCR before that old one bit the dust for good—which could be at any time.

My first couple of writing sales were articles that were clustered together, so I used the money from them to buy a brand new VCR with—oooooh, self-cleaning heads and the ability to mark commercials! (I’m dating myself here . . . DVD players didn’t exist yet . . .)


2. How many writers does it take to change a light bulb? Please explain your answer.

Just one.

But it might take somewhere around 37 light bulbs to get the job done, because she’ll keep changing it, trying to make it just right.


3. You know the advice, "Sometimes you have to kill your darlings." Was there ever a scene or line that it really hurt to cut, but cutting it made the story stronger?

I remember one line in particular that I wanted to use in my first book, but my critique group hated it. I tried putting it somewhere else, because darn it, it was such a good line, but it just didn’t ever feel right. In hindsight, I’m so glad I cut it. It would have been mucho cheesy.

But in general, I tend to have the opposite problem—my critique group and editor generally come back with, “Why didn’t you include this scene? Or this one? Write about [blank].” And I’m always glad when I take their advice; those scenes have often become my favorites. I’ve heard the same thing from readers, who of course, had no idea that their favorite scene wasn’t in the original.


4. Fast food: yea or nay?
Yea if it means I don’t have to cook tonight.

Otherwise nay, especially on date night. Unless I’m in the mood for a strawberry slush from Sonic.


5. Do you have a secret skill that you never get to show off?
I’ve got one weird and useless skill that’s hard to explain in words (anyone coming to the LDStorymakers conference, corner me, and I’ll do it for you). I got it from my mom, and my sisters can do it to: Using nothing but air, you move your lower lip extremely fast in and out, to the point that it's almost a blur. It looks and sounds rather funky.

I can also crinkle my tongue so it looks like a 3-leaf clover.

I know; such an amazing set of talents.


To continue the tradition, if someone would like me to come up with interview questions for them, just raise your cyber hand.

I can promise you'll get them . . . but it won't be until after the LDStorymakers Writers Conference (which is coming up in about 2 weeks . . . holy cow . . .).

Make—or Wear—a Scene

First off, thanks to everyone who commented and sent me notes of support; I appreciate it more than you know.

I'm doing much better now.

Today I thought I'd mention a fun new product some of my readers might enjoy.

When my brother-in-law Brian was on his mission in Italy, he came across men's ties with artwork on them depicting various events. The idea stuck with him, and now, many years later, he's doing something similar.

Enter Scene Ties, designed by artists with images from the Bible, Book of Mormon, and U. S. History.

Currently, my husband owns this one, which is a pretty, blue-tone number that portrays pioneers crossing the plains. (Pardon the blur; the pictures didn't transfer here all that well):

And my son picked out the one showing Daniel in the lion's den (a play on our last name, I think):

Scene Ties also has ties with the Stripling Warriors, Samuel the Lamanite, and the signing of Declaration of Independence. More of these 100% silk ties are in the works.

So here's the kicker: If you'd like to try one out (or buy one for a gift for the man in your life, or maybe a missionary), check out the web site here.

When you check out, you can get $2 (about 12%) off a tie when you enter this coupon code:

thelyonstale

(Note that there are no spaces or punctuation marks.)

They're really pretty ties; I hope you'll check them out!

Ever had a day

that was supposed to be free and open and fun,

but then you got an e-mail that turned it upside down,

and it kept you preoccupied and stressed all day

to the point that you spent hours and hours drafting a reply and coming back to it and rethinking it

and feeling nauseated and near tears over the entire issue

even after you finally get up the guts to hit "send,"

because you know you still didn't say it right,

so instead of getting anything of value accomplished (having fun with the kids who are out of school for the day, squeezing in some work on that freelance job, or, I don't know, making sure the family has clean underwear), your day is sucked into the void of worry

to the point that it's an hour past dinner time when you finally put the lasagna on the table

and although it tastes great, you can't stomach it

or the yummy rolls, either

and your hands tremble

and your head is killing you

and you find yourself snapping at your poor kids for the stupidest things

and they wonder where their mommy went?

Been there too? Oh good.

Because that's what it's been like.

Hoping tomorrow is better.

Writer Moms & Dads

Not long ago, several of my writer friends were chatting via e-mail about various writing things, including finding time to write.

One woman quipped, "You know, I could really use a wife around here. I'd be able to write a lot more."

We all got a chuckle out of that, and I made the remark that I wondered if the male writers on the e-mail list fully appreciated just how much their wives do that allowed them to write at nights and on weekends.

At least one of them took umbrage with that comment, saying that there's no reason a husband couldn't help out to let his wife write.

Well, sure. I guess. In theory. But that's not how life, at least as a mother, works.

No matter how well-meaning the husband is, stuff happens. Here's a scene that's been replayed many times in my house:

Me: Honey, I'd love to get some writing in tonight. Could you put the kids to bed? DS12 still has to finish his piano practicing, and DD10 has math homework.

DH: No problem. I'll take care of it. Kids, make sure you clean up your dishes after dinner. And don't bug your mom. She's writing tonight.

Ten minutes later, I sit down at the computer and poise my fingers over the keyboard.

Meanwhile, DD8 stands at the top of the stairs and yells so loudly you can hear it in somewhere in Bangkok, "MOM!!!! Can I have a brownie??!!!!"

DH, who is standing ten feet away from her, says, "I'm right here. You can ask me for permission."

DD8: "Oh yeah."

Five minutes later, my office door swings open. DD5 comes in, crying.

DD5: "I fell off the rocking chair and hurt my arm."

I stop writing, thinking that it would have been much simpler for her to walk to the next room to see her dad about this instead of treking all the way to the basement.

I inspect the arm and give her hugs and kisses.

Meanwhile, DH tracks her down.

DH to DD5: "Let Mom write. I'll take care of your owie. Come upstairs and watch some TV with me."

He leads the reluctant girl out of the room, throws me an apologetic look, and closes the office door. Again I turn to the computer.

Two minutes later, DD8 bursts into the room.

DD8: "DD10 won't share her DS game with me, and it's my turn! She promised!"

DD10: "I never promised. And it's my game. It's not fair. Besides, I let her play it yesterday for like, hours."

DD8: "When I tried to take it, she hit me!"

DD10: "Did not. I just tapped you like this." (She "taps." Hard.)

Me, sighing: "Girls, go out, please. This is supposed to be my writing time. Have Dad deal with it."

Both DD: "But, MOM!"

Me: "Go."

DH, coming into the basement. "Girls, get out of there."

At this point I've managed to write, oh, about a paragraph. And that was during the relative silence when, right above my head, the piano blared as my son banged out his concerto.

Moms, for better or worse (usually better), tend to be the nucleus of the home. Things revolve around Mom. Even when well-meaning Dad steps in to help out, the kids somehow manage to go right around him and straight to Mom anyway.

Which is why, a few weeks ago, when my critique group was canceled last minute, I told my husband that since the family had planned on me not being home that night anyway, I'd like to go to the library and write for the evening.

His first response: "Why don't you just stay home and write?"

I laughed and gave him a brief reminder of previous such attempts.

This was followed immediately by a smile. "You're right. Go have fun. When will you be back?"

See, now that is a supportive spouse.

The Lyon's Roar

Cheesy title, but I couldn't resist; it just fit.

Tristi was kind enough to bestow the following award on me:



I am now supposed to give three pieces of writing advice and then pass the award on to some great writers.

I could throw out all kinds of advice (I'm opinionated and nerdy that way), but really, the things that most good writers do can be boiled down to three main things:

1) Write. A lot.
Obvious, yet I can't count how many people have come to me saying they "want" to write but never have gotten their behind in the chair and their hands to the keyboard. Want to write? DO IT. A lot. A good pianist can make a concerto sound effortless, but you can bet your booties that getting to that level took a lot of mundane practicing, including boring scales. Writing is the same way. To make it flow and sound natural takes work. A lot of it.

2) Read. A lot.
I don't know of a single good writer who isn't also an avid reader. On the flip side, I do know some sad writers who declare they don't have time to read. I love how Luisa put it once: that fiction is like a language, and to learn to "speak" it, you have to be fluent. The only way to do that is immerse yourself in it regularly.

3) Be where other writers are.
That means going to conferences, belonging to writing groups, joining a critique group, and networking. This is where you go from wannabe writer to real writer.

And for the award bestowal:

Rob Wells over at the Frog Blog. One of the funniest writers around. Love his stuff. Oh, and he's a closet romance writer. Don't let him pretend otherwise.

Josi who has a real power in her words (I don't recommend trying to read one of her books while on the treadmill. Crying or laughing while exercising just don't mix, people.)

Heather, my conference co-chair and a member of my critique group, who is so good at pin-pointing flaws and finding fixes.

Michele, yet another Whitney finalist (all three of these ladies are), and also a member of my critique group. I hope to have rough drafts this good when I grow up.

It's Who I Am

It's not uncommon for me to get asked whether I've always wanted to write for the LDS market or if I have plans to publish nationally some day.

The answers to the two questions are a bit convoluted.

To the first part, no, I didn't always plan to write for the LDS market. But that's largely because it didn't really exist as a significant force when I was younger. As it matured, I also matured as a woman and as a writer. So did my interest in it.

Writing about my own people—and in recent years, my people's history—somehow feels like coming home, in writing terms.

In a strange way, it's also made me feel more connected to the roots of the Church, because with my mother and paternal grandparents all being immigrants, I personally have no pioneer blood in me. I have no ancestors who pulled handcarts or who knew Joseph Smith.

Don't get me wrong; I absolutely adore my heritage. I'm proud of being half Finnish, belonging in large part to a country with such an amazing, and powerful history, a place that is prettier than almost any other land on Earth. It's no accident that I wrote an entire book set there.

And when I got to visit Ellis Island a few years ago, I drank it in, imagining what it must have been like for my paternal grandmother to come over from Germany as a baby, for her future husband to arrive in America years later from Switzerland with his first wife.

For that matter, I have plans for a book about that era, featuring Ellis Island. (That may be years away, but it's niggling in the back of my brain somewhere.)

But writing about Church history has brought me a closer connection to those who came before me. That alone has been a huge reward for this journey I'm on.


To answer the second part (do I want to write for the national market?), well, maybe.

Here's where it gets confusing.

I've been toying with an idea for a contemporary novel (for a change) that's very timely and (to me, at least) very powerful emotionally. While I began research on my next temple, I started playing around with scenes for this other book.

I had no intention of making the characters or plot line LDS. I had no plans for what I'd do with the story if and when I ever finished it. It was just something I wanted to get out of my head and through my fingers on the keyboard. Something different, something fun.

And yet . . . the very first scene I ended up writing takes place inside an LDS church building during a Relief Society Enrichment night.

Uh, what just happened?

I tried to figure out a way to write that scene in another context so the story didn't necessarily have to be viewed through an LDS lens. And then lo and behold, I'm realizing that future scenes will deal with home teachers and priesthood blessings.

Ahem.

While it's very likely that I'll write stories that have no LDS content at some point, I have no plans to stop writing for the LDS market. But right now, it seems that no matter what writing comes out of me, it's LDS-related anyway.

Being a Latter-day Saint is a huge part of who I am, so it's hard to find a story where my world view, my beliefs, the things most dear to my heart, my ways of dealing with problems, don't come into play in some fashion.

At one point when working on that other project, I almost laughed and said, "Help! I'm LDS and I can't write anything else!"

But in the end, I supposed that's a good thing. It's who I am, as a person, as a writer.

Oh, Yeah? Watch Me.

Yesterday my husband turned on a show he thought I might enjoy: Fiddler on the Roof.

He was right; ever since I performed in a community theater version of the play in my teens, I’ve loved that show. The fact that I grew up with a mother fascinated by all things Jewish probably helped.

Watching the film again brought back a flood of memories and emotions connected to the production I was in, the vast majority positive (the touching Sabbath scene, the practical jokes the cast pulled on each other, the fatherly friendship that our Tevye brought to the youth in the cast), and a few negative things as well.

I remembered the audition process, and the never-ending call backs in particular. In the end, several of my close friends were cast in leading roles. I was cast as a towns woman, one of the mamas. I became the choreographer’s assistant and helped teach some of the dance numbers.

I also used my dancing skills during the particularly poignant "Chavala" scene, where I danced in silhouette as Chava while Tevye sang the sad and somewhat tragic "Little Bird" number. I think that was one of my favorite parts of the entire show. I loved to dance, and such an emotional moment on stage allowed me to connect to the audience. Dancing was my element.

Aside from that, my role was limited. I had a total of one line. I was assigned two sweet little kids to be my children, and I found myself growing attached to them in a maternal way even though I was only eighteen at the time.

Likely the most memorable moment for me came when, prior to the opening of the show, both of sets of the double-cast daughters were supposed to perform the "Matchmaker" song at a city festival to advertise the upcoming run.

One of the Hodels didn’t show, and even though I didn’t know the dance number, the director asked me to step in last minute for the performance.

Nervous wouldn’t begin to describe how I felt. My voice was shaky, and I was unsure what I was doing, but muddled through, trying to remember what I had seen in rehearsals.

As we left the stage, the director came over and put her arm around me. She was an extremely talented lady, and well-meaning, I’m sure. I doubt she intended to wound me when she said, "When I was your age, I was just like you. I could act, and I could dance, but I just couldn’t sing."

Stunned, I just stood there, floored. I didn’t know what to say. I don’t know if I said anything at all.

What I do remember was trying my best to hold back tears until I got home.

I knew that my friends—those insanely musical people I’ve talked about in previous posts—had more ability than I did. Okay, a lot more ability than I had. They were musical freaks of nature. But to have someone tell me flat out that I simply couldn’t sing? At all?

Okay, then. Thank you for your support . . .

Halfway through the run, one of the Hodels started showing up late and otherwise causing the director grief, and I heard the director admit that she wished she had cast me in the role. Which of course made no sense, because I couldn’t sing. But I was punctual.

When Fiddler ended, rumors surfaced that the director’s next play would be Into the Woods, which is essentially an operetta: almost the entire show is sung. I remember sitting in a car heading home after hearing the news, determined that I would show our director and make it into the cast. I beefed up my efforts with my voice teacher, practicing harder than ever before.

Auditions arrived the following summer, and I made it to call backs. At one point, the director went to the back of the room and asked an assistant to point to each of the actresses randomly to sing the melody that Rapunzel does frequently during the show—a tune that begins at a high b-flat.

Since Rapunzel sings as often offstage as on—and the first time you are introduced to her is by her voice when she’s offstage—it’s safe to say that her voice is important. The director didn’t want to be swayed by what she saw; she wanted to judge solely on the sound.

She covered her eyes and listened as one by one, each of us sang the part. Then she consulted with her assistant as to which ones she liked best and who they were.

I was cast as Rapunzel.

If you know the play, you’re surely aware that Rapunzel isn’t a big role. She’s not even almost a lead. But she has to be able to sing, and sing high.

I almost cackled with glee at the irony.

Oh, so I can’t sing? I thought.

My joy was increased when some of those friends who were born with an instrument one hand a score in the other (and arrived singing) came to see the show. One friend who came with them reported that when they first heard me from off stage, their jaws dropped. "That’s Annette?!"

Tee hee.

So it was with a bit of pain—and a bit of triumph—that I watched Fiddler yesterday. The cut that director made to my heart still stings a bit.

But there’s also the stubborn side of me that always comes back with, "Oh, yeah? Watch me."

It’s that part of me that is largely responsible for my success in publishing. I’d get yet another rejection, file it away, and think, "Oh, yeah? Watch me."

I made it into Rapunzel’s tower, and, eventually, I made it into print.

I got a little revenge with my first book, Lost without You; I used Into the Woods for part of the story and described the audition scene, including the part with Rapunzel’s tune and how difficult it was. I made sure my poor heroine, as much as I loved her, couldn’t hit the high b-flat.

I can’t hit it anymore, either.

But I did, once upon a time, when I proved to the director that she couldn’t write me off.

A&E P&P

The delightful Luisa and I see eye-to-eye on so many things (among them: knitting is soothing to the soul, LM Montgomery and Louisa May Alcott should be canonized, and food is GOOD).

We also both love Jane Austen, and of course, Pride and Prejudice. (Really, show me a sane woman who doesn’t?)

Many film versions of P&P exist. And here is where our opinions diverge: I much prefer the A&E (which stands for Arts & Entertainment). It's also known as the 6-hour version, although the purist in me has to point out that it's really 5 hours (it was aired originally in 6, 50-minute episodes). While I live and die by this version, Luisa champions the more recent Kiera Knightly adaptation.

I find it interesting that neither of us holds any other version dear to our hearts, including the black and white one with Sir Laurence Olivier.

So today Luisa and I are joint blogging on the same . . ish . . topic, explaining to our somewhat joint readership why we espouse the P&P versions we do.

There have been something like nine different film versions of the story, and I’ve seen several of them. While they all have elements I like, my hands-down favorite is the A&E version.

This post could have become a novel for as much as I could have written about the awesomeness that is the A&E P&P, but this (granted, exceedingly long) post will have to suffice:


Mr. Darcy
He’s one of the most layered, complicated characters in literary history. As such, it takes a highly skilled actor to portray the layers instead of making Darcy look flat and hard to “get” instead of a real, complex human being. For me, even the amazingly talented Sir Laurence Olivier couldn’t quite him pin down believably.

While Darcy changes over the course of the story (as all good heroes do), he doesn’t change from one pole to the other, as he’s sometimes portrayed. He’s essentially the same man, but a better, more understanding version. And when’s he’s being snooty and hoity-toity, there’s still more going on inside him.

This is where Colin Firth rocks. I have seen the A&E version I don’t know how many times, and he never disappoints. You can see in his eyes, his manner, his voice—in everything he does (and much of it is subtle)—that there’s more going on here than just snubbing a girl from a lower class. His performance is so much more than constipated-looking facial expressions.

He’s conflicted. He’s proud. He’s going against everything he’s been taught, and by golly, he’s going to fight against those feelings. Yet he has a tender spot in that heart thanks to his little sister. Also thanks to her, he’s fiercely loyal and a fighter. Firth portrays every one of these qualities with apparent ease, making us feel that he is Darcy. Such a textured performance is a beauty to behold.


Lizzy
I love that Jennifer Ehle as Lizzy is pretty but not drop-dead Hollywood gorgeous. Her performance makes Lizzy real and down to earth. Her personality comes through so clearly that again, it’s hard to believe that she’s NOT Elizabeth Bennett. The performance has a lot of depth as well. Her anger at the proposal scene is a controlled simmer, not an explosive one, which would have been easier to perform, I’m sure. But this way it’s a more powerful moment. Her eyes are so expressive that you sometimes feel as if you could read her soul.

That’s good acting.

And if I’m being perfectly honest, I also love Jennifer Ehle in this role because she reminds me so much of my good friend Em, who is also an actress. I thought I was the only one who saw the resemblance, but when I mentioned it to some of our mutual friends, they agreed—and Em herself recently said that she’s had casting directors say that she reminds them of Jennifer Ehle.


The Bennetts
The entire family is wonderfully put together, almost as if they had stepped off Austen’s pages. (If I could have changed one thing, it would be to make Jane a bit prettier, since she’s supposed to be the prettiest of them all.) But from Mr. Bennett who puts up with his wife and silly daughters—and depends on Lizzy to be the sensible one, to the flighty little sisters (don’t you just want to smack Lydia sometimes?), their performances are en pointe. Even Mrs. Bennett (someone else you’d like to smack many times), is spot-on in her obnoxiousness. She’s delightfully melodramatic, the center of her household.

Mr. Bennett brings me back to the concept of layers. He’s supposed to be well-meaning and a good husband who sticks by his silly wife. BUT . . . he’s still not polished and upper class material. Without realizing it, he still says things and behaves in a way that can be seen as lower class or silly, just like the rest of his family. This causes Lizzy embarrassment, even though she adores her father otherwise.

I have yet to find another P&P version where Mr. Bennett shows all these layers as the A&E one. Instead, he’s sometimes portrayed as distant and above the rest of the family or he’s a sweet, doting father who behaves precisely as a gentleman would. Neither option gives what I think is a proper portrayal of his character, especially the last one: If he’s such a classy guy, it begs the question, why would he have EVER married Mrs. Bennett? He’d be much too smart for that.

And then there’s Mr. Collins, who gives me the creeps in a delightful sort of slimy way as he devotes his heart to his patron, Lady Catherine, and behaves as the horrendously misdirected cousin of the Bennett sisters. You almost feel like you need a bath after watching him. Or at least you want to wash his hair.


The Sound
Now I’m venturing into the technical side of things. The sound in the A&E version is clear, which may sound like a simple thing, but a good portion of the story has music in the background (such as all those balls they attend), yet the music isn’t overwhelming and never upstages the dialogue or what’s going on. The score is pretty as well.


Historical Accuracy
For a historical writer like myself, this is more important than it might be for a lot of viewers. It doesn’t take much to throw me out of the story and remember that people in contemporary times put a movie together and that it’s all pretend. If I’m watching a historical film and I see a wrong hairdo or style of dress, the fantasy is—*poof*—gone.

That never happens for a moment with the A&E version. I get to happily pretend I’m watching something from the first decade of the 1800s, with nothing to lurch me out of that fantasy.

Another accuracy issue that is nonexistent in the A&E version is the accents. Since the entire cast is British, I don’t have to cringe when an American comes on stage who can’t pull off sounding British.


The Screenplay
Brilliant. That’s all there is to it. The book is comprised mostly of long scenes with people sitting around talking to one another. Fun to read, but hardly exciting to watch. Adapting the story to film while being true to the text, making it interesting to watch, make sense, and have a natural flow to it all, takes skill.

The fact that the A&E version is significantly longer than the others gives it a definite advantage in the flow department. It’s much easier to show and explain some of the subtle plotlines when you have five hours instead of half that, so you can rely on a conversation instead of a single line to get a point across—which someone unfamiliar with the story might miss.

Which is what inevitably happens when you don’t have the time to devote to clarification. I’ve been with people watching other versions—people unfamiliar with the storyline (can you believe that such people still exist in the world? I know!)—and they get confused. Hold on—where are we now? Why did she just say that? What did he mean? Wait—who’s that? You never get that with the A&E version. The screenplay flows seamlessly from one major plot point to the next.

In the few places the screenplay deviates from the book, it does so flawlessly. For example, there’s a scene where Darcy practices sword fighting in a desperate attempt to distract himself from his growing feelings for Lizzy and banish the heat of his love for her. The first time I saw the film, that brief scene fit so perfectly into the story and the characters’ inner workings that it didn’t occur to me until much later—when a friend pointed it out—that the moment doesn’t exist in the book.

Such deviations are few and far between, and every one of them is relevant and true to the original. The screenplay doesn’t take liberties, changing locations or scenes from the book willy-nilly for the sake of upping the visual “romantic” factor. It relies on the story, the characters, and the dialogue to do all that. And it succeeds in spades.


The Cinematography
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. There are moments where I feel as if I’m right there in the English countryside. The locations they used to shoot this film are grand and gorgeous. Pemberly and its grounds alone would be a dream to visit. Lady Catherine’s mansion is wonderfully gaudy, Collins’ new home properly humble, and so on. When Lizzy reads Darcy’s letter, she does so as she takes a walk across rolling green hills. Every bit is a feast for the eyes.


Chemistry
This is a tough one for actors to pull off if they don’t have it naturally. But in the A&E version, Lizzy and Darcy have plenty of chemistry. The flip side of that chemistry is the fire they have when they fight. Fireworks go off—like that great proposal scene where she nearly bites his head off.

One of my favorite moments of chemistry is the scene at Lady Catherine’s where Lizzy is singing and Darcy gazes at her. Let’s just say there’s chemistry in loads. You can almost feel Lizzy going weak in the knees.


Wow—this is a very long post. I could go and on, talking about P&P for days (and at times, probably have . . .). Be sure to pop on over to Luisa’s blog today to read about her favorite version and why she loves it. I know I’m looking forward to it.

Reading Frenzy

As you may know, the Whitney Awards will be announced March 22nd after the 5th Annual LDStorymakers Writers Conference.

As you may also know, the Whitney finalists were announced January 15. While the books were nominated by readers, the academy that votes on the finalists is comprised of slew of industry professionals, including publishers, editors, book reviewers, independent book store owners, and the members of the LDS writing guild, LDStorymakers. (Among others. I'm probably missing some. Regardless, there are a lot of members of the Academy.)

During the months leading up to the announcement of the finalists, I heard some people worrying aloud that the voting would end up being a popularity contest, that people would vote without having read the books and therefore without knowing which really were the better books and hence the most deserving of the awards.

Over the last few weeks, I've seen something that has brushed away any fears I have about that, at least if the LDStorymakers are any indication. They've blown me out of the water with how eager they all are to be informed voters.

For nearly a month now, the e-mail list we're on has consisted of almost daily posts about finding, borrowing, and trading finalists' books. I'll often see messages saying, "I have finished the following titles. If anyone needs to borrow them, let me know," or "I just finished so-and-so's copy of ***. Who's up next for it? I'll bring it to you."

People have driven half an hour or more out of their way to drop off and pick up books for one another. Other titles have been mailed across the country from one author to another, and there are lists of who gets which book next.

It's a reading frenzy!

Almost as impressive as all the reading is the fact that no one is discussing what they thought of the books beyond vague references like, "I'm finding a lot of great books," or "I'm not sure who I'll vote for in such-and-such category." It's as if everyone has a silent but mutual agreement not to publicly influence one another's votes.

I've been impressed and inspired at the cooperation, the excitement, and the passion they all have for the Whitney program. It's gotten me more motivated to read as many of the finalists as I can possibly squeeze in until my ballot is due.

I've got a stack of five books right now waiting for me to get to them. As soon as I get my word count in for the day, you know where I'm headed.

Knit One, Purl One

At long last, I'm making good on my promise to Luisa by posting photos of my daughter's jacket that I knitted. I'm the first to admit that it's nowhere near the cutest thing I've ever made with my knitting needles (for starters, I much prefer the one I made for her in kindergarten. It had two beautiful tones of cranberry red and ivory in a checkerboard pattern, make of luxurious wool yarn . . .).

But she was five then, and I got to do the picking. Now she's coming on eleven. She has her own opinions and desires, so she designed what she wanted me to make. Which meant I had to invent the pattern. It sort of worked. At least I made it big enough that she won't outgrow it too fast.

I actually began this project about a year ago, and although I finished it awhile back as well, I'm only now writing about it. The thing is, the story behind this jacket makes me see how amazing it is how a little detail in your life can lead to something so much bigger.

But I'll get to that in a minute.

The first thing my daughter did was pick the light blue and lavender colors. She didn't care what the yarn was made of; she just cared about the colors. Then she informed me that it would need a big S on the back (her first initial). The letter didn't turn out as great as I had hoped (and it took me forever to figure out how to invent a pattern for it--and it ended up lopsided), but at least it's recognizable as a letter.

She also asked for pockets on the front (and picked out darling little heart buttons for them). The one thing I added to her design (with her approval, of course) was cables on the sleeves (those braided looking things going down each one. I love doing cables).


The next thing she insisted her jacket have is a hood. This posed a slight problem, seeing as I had never made a hood and didn't own a single knitting magazine or book that had a hood pattern in it.

So I did what all good modern mommies do: I turned to the Internet in search of a pattern. I found a couple, but not quite what I was looking for, including one that had such convoluted instructions I panicked and moved on.

It was during my search that I discovered Knitty Magazine. I trolled through their web site and after reading a few pieces, thought that hey, I could write something for them. I wouldn't send them a pattern (I'm not THAT good . . .), but they also publish fun essays.

So I wrote a humous piece about how I got started knitting, and they bought it. (You can read it here.)

A short time later, I got a bunch of e-mails from readers who had found the article and clicked on my contact information. They came from all over the U.S. and even a few European countries.

All but one of the messages fell into two categories:

1) My, your daughters have gorgeous red hair (Yes. Yes, they do, I'd reply. Aren't my girls cute?) and

2) How can I get the pattern for the pink sweater? (I'd tell them what book I got it from.)

But one e-mail came from a reader who, I'm assuming, went to my web site and deduced rather quickly that I'm LDS. (Not tough to do, really, when I have book covers with temples on them.)

She contacted me saying that she lived in New York and was also:
1) LDS
2) A writer
3) A knitter

What are the chances of someone being all three of those and reading my article?

The reader was none other than Luisa of Novembrance.

We soon began a cyber friendship, and I got lucky enough to meet her in person last summer when she visited Utah (and enjoy lunch . . . and a sundae . . .) We soon discovered that we have a lot in common besides those three things.

Through her, I've met several other awesome blogger friends like this one and this one and many others. In turn, she found a bunch of bloggers through me, such as many of the LDStorymakers.

Over the last year, I've found a great friendship and source of support through Luisa.

Oh, and my daughter got herself a jacket she loves.

Who knew that a simple search for a hood pattern would lead to all this?

Post script to finish the jacket story:
I never did find a suitable hood pattern. I ended up inventing my own, using a hood from a jacket we had around the house as a model.

Book Club Questions -- 3

Two more questions from the book club, and we'll move on to other topics.

I get these these two questions a lot, from both readers and aspiring writers alike.


1) How do you find time to write?
The short answer: I get creative. (I'm a writer; we're a creative lot, right?)

The longer answer: My writing time has shifted over the years. It sort of has to when adding babies to the family and as the kidlets go through different stages. The key for me is finding where the gaps are. It used to be nap times, for example. But I've also learned to use what I call "brainless" moments to plan ahead and to write in small snatches and with distractions.

I use brainless moments (like driving the car or sorting laundry) to think ahead to what scene I need to write next when I get the chance. And then when I have 45 minutes in the dance class lobby, I make sure to have my AlphaSmart Neo with me so I can make the most of that time.

This school year is a new one for me, though: My older kids are all in full-time school, and my youngest has preschool three days a week, giving me six hours alone at the computer. It rocks.

Another big key is prioritizing. I watch very little TV. I have very few hobbies. You make time for what is important to you, whether that's scrapbooking or writing.


2) How do you get your story ideas?
Since turning to temple-related historical fiction, I have a different answer than when I wrote contemporary novels. Back then I could point to a vivid dream, a radio show, a newspaper article, or other modern source for my ideas.

Now, I don't have any inkling about what I'll be writing until after I start research on my next temple. I read up on the settling of the area and the construction of the specific temple with no preconceived notions about what story I'll be telling about it.

This can be a bit unnerving. A couple of times I've gotten worried, when, a few weeks into research, I still have no characters or plotline.

But if I keep reading, immersing myself in the new time and place, it happens. Maddie from At the Journey's End popped into my head fully formed after a couple of weeks of researching the Honeymoon Trail. I had a similar experience with Tabitha, the heroine of my Manti book (currently awaiting acceptance with my publisher).

For me, the research process is like making a new friend. I have to find out all I can about the area and the temple, and as I do so, the "friend" (the book) reveals itself to me. (No, I don't need a strait jacket . . . I don't think.)

At times the characters and storylines pop into my head. For others, I can point to specific moments of research that led to certain character or plot element, such as a BYU paper I read about Mormons adopting or indenturing Native Americans in the 1850s. I immediately knew that a major character House on the Hill would be an adopted Shoshone boy. (Abe has since arguably become my most popular character.)


That's it for book club questions for the time being.

Next time, I'll explain what led up to this question posed to me several years ago:

Are you a nurse?

Book Club Questions -- 2

We're moving on to a few other book club questions regarding Spires, which I'll try to answer without any major spoilers:

1) How did Hannah change over the course of the story?
In a nutshell, I think she went from girl to woman.

Some book clubbers wondered why she was so trusting at first. To me, it was simple: Hannah was innocent and pure in heart and it never would have crossed her mind that a person she trusted would do something intentionally cruel or deceitful.

Lesson learned the hard way.


2) What kept Ben and Bethany at odds for so long, when their fight began from single argument?
In a nutshell, individual pride. It's that pride that kept each of them from making the first step toward reconciliation for so long. Pride is what led to the fight in the first place. It's also what fueled their banter.


3) Why did Claude have to go away?
In his eyes, it was the only way he could live with himself. In my eyes, it was a way for him to find redemption.


I love getting reader questions, especially those that make the characters feel as real to the readers as the characters feel to me.

One of my favorite reader questions of all time came from a woman, a second wife, who had read Lost without You. Her question was reported to me through another person, but this was the gist:

"How did she know what it feels like [to be a second wife]?"

When I heard that, I felt such satisfaction. How did I know? I didn't, not really. I tried to imagine what it would be like. To think I hit the nail on the head was gratifying.

Next up:
1) How do you find time to write?
2) How do you get your story ideas?

Book Club Questions -- 1

As promised, I'm (finally!) getting around to addressing some of the questions the book club in West Jordan posed. Several of their questions were really great, and since I've heard some of them a few times now, I thought I'd answer them here as well, because I'm pretending other readers will care!

Today we'll address two questions:

1) How do you pick your characters' names?
I keep a running file with potential character names, with a column each for female, male, and family names. I add names to those lists (or sometimes into a notebook first that I carry with me) whenever I come across common names from the 1800s that I like or might want to use sometime.

The places I find those names are generally while doing research, such as in books, theses, or cemeteries. As I use a name from one of the lists, I take it off so I don't inadvertently use it again later.

As a result of all that, my character names often reflect people from real life, although to my knowledge I've never used both a first and last name of a real person.

However, the answer to this question is a little different for Spires of Stone, seeing as it's s retelling of Shakespeare's Much Ado about Nothing. I tried to keep similar names to those in the original play.

So for that book we got the following (Much Ado names are on the left, Spires on the right):

Benedick = Ben
Beatrice = Bethany
Hero = Hannah
Claudio = Claude
Don Pedro = Phillip
Leonato = Leo
Margaret = Marie

One note on that, which I know I've mentioned before: Phillip actually play two roles in the book, that of both Don Pedro and that of Don Jon. But since Phillip is a good guy and ends up causing trouble accidentally (instead of deliberately, like the evil Don Jon), I named him after Don Pedro.


2) Why did it take 25 years pass before what happens in the epilogue?
Okay, so they didn't ask it quite that way, but I don't want to post a spoiler.

The lady who asked this question thought that maybe 25 years was meaningful to me or to the one of the characters in some way, that one person in particular needed a quarter century to heal and reflect before that final section.

That sounds really good, so we can pretend that's the reason I set the epilogue then.

The real reason, however, is far less noble: I wanted to include more information about the temple than I had already, and the capstone celebration was a perfect day to show more of the history. It also provided a great backdrop for the final (what I hope are emotional) moments of the story.


Next time I'll answer a few more questions:
1) How did Hannah change over the course of the story? (A great discussion followed this one.)
2) What kept Ben and Bethany at odds for so long, when their fight began from single argument?
3) Why did Claude have to go away?

I'll do my best to answer them without any big spoilers. :)

If you have a question for me, drop it into the comments section and I'll answer it.

Fortnight Gone

Yesterday marked the end of a wonderful two weeks. It was the last chance to spend time with my parents before they headed back to land of the Fazer blue chocolate bar and dark winters to continue their church service for nearly two more years in Helsinki.

Three years ago they left for an assignment at the BYU Jerusalem Center, which lasted over a year and a half. A few months before they were to leave the Holy Land, they were given their next assignment, which they're in the middle of now. By the time they are released from that one, it'll be almost five years of continuous service, with a handful of brief visits scattered here and there.

In those three years they've missed a lot, including family baptisms, ordinations, a grandchild going on a mission, and then those smaller things, like dance recitals and basketball games. On the flip side, I think those of us left at home have felt blessed in some ways by their service.

My youngest was 2 when they left. She'll be 7 when they return for good. (Assuming they don't get sent off to Zaire or something next . . . KNOCK ON WOOD.) This visit was especially great as I've watched my kids reconnect with Grandma and Grandpa, spending time together as if they had never been apart.

Last night we had them over for dinner and to say good-bye, although they weren't able to stay long. Before they left, Dad offered a family prayer—such a blessing to my little family. Then we said our tearful good-byes. I was pretty much a wreck, and my little 8-year-old was beside herself. When the door closed, her body was taken over by wracking sobs. The two of us sat on the couch and cried.

Eventually, after we wiped our eyes and caught our breath, I dove into my stress-reliever of choice, picking up my knitting needles to begin a new project for the very daughter who had grieved with me. The rest of the family cheered up as they watched a musical on DVD downstairs. After thirty minutes or so of knitting, I felt much better and was able to join them in watching the show too.

I'll continue to miss Mom and Dad dreadfully, and it gets worse every year, because the older I am, the more I experience as a mother and a wife, the more clearly I see my parents. The filter I saw them through when I was seven or seventeen wasn't capable of the appreciation and respect of the filter that I have now, as an adult, with children of my own.

I can unequivocally say they are some of the most remarkable people you'll ever find. As their child, I am one of the luckiest people on Earth.

Celebrating the Whitney Way

I fully meant to write about the book club I attended recently, posting a question or two that they posed and giving answers to them.

But then something fun happened, so I'm bumping those posts to next week.

On Tuesday, January 15, the finalists for the first annual Whitney Awards were announced.

And I'm one of them!

(Visit the complete list all the finalists here. Scroll all the way to the bottom to find the Historical novel finalists . . . and Spires of Stone!)

For a full explanation on the Whitneys, visit the official website. But a nutshell version is that they're aimed at recognizing excellence in fiction written by LDS authors who strive to improve their work. The award can go to any writers who are LDS, regardless of what market they write for.

It's is named after Apostle Orson F. Whitney who had the vision of the Latter-day Saints some day creating literature that would "reach the heavens," that some day we'd have Miltons and Shakespeares of our own. (Not that we've reached that point, but it's a target to strive for.)

There are five genre categories, plus awards for best novel by a new author and novel of the year.

The great news is that I made the cut to the finals in my genre. The bad news is that three of the four books I'm up against in my category are also up for Novel of the Year. That is mighty intimidating company to keep! (But hey, I'll consider it a compliment!)

More good news: H. B. (Heather) Moore and Michele Paige Holmes nabbed two nominations each. (Congrats again, ladies!) Our little critique group did pretty well for itself!

The Whitney Awards Gala will be immediately following the 5th Annual LDStorymakers writing conference on March 22. The public can come, but tickets are going fast, so if you want to be there, buy yours soon. (The Whitney site has a link for ticket purchases.)

Next week I'll get back on track (really, I will!), but for now, chocolate is in order.

And since my parents are visiting from Finland right now (another HUGE cause for celebration!), I actually have some of my favorite chocolate bar in the world hiding in my night stand.

A huge thanks to all to those who read Spires of Stone and thought it worth nominating. I appreciate it more than you know!

Random Awesome-ness

Today I have two topics I wanted to be sure to cover.

First, to answer Luisa's question from last week's Day Read:

"Which LMM was your indulgence of choice?"

The answer: I spent time on one of her (L. M. Montgomery's) books that I hadn't read in several years, Anne of Ingleside.

It was fun reading it this time for a couple of reasons. One is that I'm reading her journals from the period shortly before she began this book, so I have an inkling as to what was happening in her life at the time. One issue causing her grief with her son Chester likely inspired the last couple of chapters of this book. (If you've read it, you can probably guess what he was guilty of.)

For those who like reading LMM but are not as obsessed with her as I am, I thought I'd also mention that this was the last Anne book she ever wrote (and the second to last book of her career, followed only by Jane of Lantern Hill, if I recall correctly). The Anne book prior to Ingleside was Anne of Windy Poplars (which was originally published as Anne of Windy Willows in the UK, which I think is a much better name. And really, I hate poplars. Willows are so much nicer.)

If you know the usual numbers associated with typical "order" of the series (chronological as far as Anne's life goes), the real order they were written and published in goes as follows: #1, #2, #3, #5, #7, #8, #4, #6.

Which makes so much more sense when she refers to things that will happen in the future, because she's already written and published those stories (such as a reference in Ingleside to seeing Walter in his bed as a little boy with the shadow of a cross above it and foreshadowing to what that might have meant in Rilla of Ingleside).

It was also interesting for me to read it now because of the stage in life I'm at. The book covers several years, and by the end, Anne and Gilbert have been married something like 14 years and her youngest child, Rilla, is five.

Come April, I will have been married 14 years, and my youngest is five.

I'm at the same stage as Anne, with many of the same experiences of motherhood and marriage that I can relate to in a totally different way than I ever could all the other times I read the book as a younger person--especially my first time, in eighth grade.

Regarding Luisa's second request, that I elaborate on the book group I visited last week, I'll post about that soon. I enjoyed the evening thoroughly. There were lots of terrific ladies (thanks again for hosting, Bonnie! You're such a sweetheart!) who posed wonderful questions, and we had a great discussion. I thought I'd post some of their questions and answer them here in a few different posts.


The second thing I wanted to be sure to mention today is something I've long neglected to blog about and have meant to for some time, a delightful lotion sitting beside my writing desk.

Which I won through Karlene Browning's Urban Botanics blog. I took a personality test that's supposed to determine the types of fragrances you prefer. That entered me into a drawing, and my name was selected. Then, based on my test results, Karlene made up a scented lotion unique to me.

My custom scent recipe:
5 parts Naked
2 parts Green Apple
2 parts Honeysuckle
2 parts Violet

I never in a million years would have come up with such a combination (fruity and floral?), but it's a refreshing, light scent that I really like. Who knew? It's subtle and not overpowering, and the lotion itself rocks. (I always have lotion nearby. Dry skin, ya know.)

I've really enjoyed it. (Thanks, Karlene!) Drop by her blog and check it out.

Day to Read

I heard about the idea of a Day to Read several weeks ago, first from Brillig the Great and then from Novembrance. The creator of the concept is Soccer Mom in Denial. Go ahead and read her post about it here.

I jotted the date on my calendar and have looked forward to it ever since.

I think that technically I'm not supposed to be blogging today . . . but it's early enough in the morning that I wanted to at least tell people about the day and encourage them to read to themselves and to their kids. I have a feeling my preschooler and I will be curled up (yet again) with the book she got for Christmas, Yertle the Turtle and Other Stories, by the amazing Dr. Seuss. (One of my favorites from childhood.) I'll also get in some mommy reading time.

And appropriately enough, I'm speaking at a book club tonight for a group of ladies who read Spires of Stone.

Until then, I'll first do some basic housecleaning (two loads of laundry REALLY need to be sorted; the kids are out of socks) and then I'm going to dive into reading.

Hope you will, too.

Happens to the Best of Us

As I mentioned in this post, I'm an L. M. Montgomery nut case. I own something like 32 books that she wrote (among them her mini-biography, The Alpine Path, several short story collections, and a first edition copy of Anne of Windy Poplars. Of course I own a more recent edition as well.

I also have a CD compilation with oodles of photos and other historical stuff about her. Oh, and a book covering her early career before the first Anne book came out, during which time she was noted for her poetry and short stories.

You'd be hard-pressed to find anyone who would think that LMM was not successful in her literary career. Her work spawned several adaptations to stage and film (including at least two films in her lifetime, one during the silent era). Her books have been translated into dozens of languages. After her husband's forced retirement, she was the sole bread-winner for the family. More than sixty years after her death, readers around the world still clamor after her stories.

So it was with a good laugh that I came across a particular publishing tidbit in Volume V of The Selected Journals of L. M. Montgomery.

Yes, I own all five volumes. They're gold mines of information about her sad life and about history in general. The editors, Mary Rubio and Elizabeth Waterston of the University of Guelph, worked on the project for nearly twenty years. They did a remarkable job, especially in the annotated notes. The five volumes aren't counted in the 30-some-odd books of hers I mentioned before.

(Told you I'm obsessed.)

The following snippet is from her journal entry dated Monday, May 13, 1935. Keep in mind this is about seven years prior to her death, nearly thirty years after Anne of Green Gables was published, and while she was working on one of her last three books:

A letter from Miss Elmo [LMM's New York agent] said she had sold "I Wish You" to Good Housekeeping for $50. I wrote this poem all of five years ago and I thought it one of my best but it has been declined twenty-three times. Good Housekeeping declined it soon after I wrote it. And now it takes it because an agent offered it!

Great reminder about the often topsy-turvy, illogical world that publishing is!

Thrifty Fun

A few months ago I learned about The Grocery Game from fellow blogger Jenna. I'm always on the look-out for ways to pinch a penny, but this web site has brought it to a whole new level. My grocery bill will never be the same.

The basic gist:
Pricing on grocery store items goes up and down in relatively predictable patterns. When laundry detergent is on sale, chances are that cereal or whatever else is not. Plus, all sales are not created equal. Sometimes an item may be marked down by only a matter cents, but if you wait a few weeks, the price will drop much more.

Clipping coupons always helps, and in years past, I could save a bit with my weekly coupon stash.

But what if you could take the rock-bottom prices when they arrived and combine them with coupons to get screaming deals?

Holy cow, that's what.

The Grocery Game does just that. It does the tracking for you. Your job is to clip the coupons from your weekly Sunday paper (doesn't hurt to find some on-line too) and then check out the weekly list they provide for your local grocery stores to see when to spend which coupons to get the best deals.

The service is subscription-based. You get one store's list for the regular (low) subscription rate, plus any additional stores for a small additional fee. I get the lists for two stores, because they often have very different items at rock bottom prices. It's worth the extra effort to visit two stores when I'm saving so much money, and I don't mind paying for the fee when I'm saving a boatload more than I'm paying for the list.

Every week they have color-coded items based on basic sale prices : black (it's on sale, but it's not rock-bottom, so buy the item only if you really need the thing), blue (a great deal--stock up!), and green (FREE!). The goal, of course, is to eventually buy only blue and green products.

You stock-up on the low-prices items even if you don't need them now so that when the price goes back up, you won't be paying the higher amount, and you'll already have enough on hand to wait until the next time the price is blue.

This is affecting my family in dramatic ways. For starters, we're eating a bigger variety of foods. If I find a great deal on certain products, I'm more likely to dig up recipes to go with them. If I get produce at a great price, I want to be sure I use it before it goes bad. A lot of things on the list are pre-packaged goods (think Hamburger Helper and the like), but I've found a ton of of healthy things as well (frozen vegetables, great deals on lean meats, and much more).

It's also been helpful to stock up on household items that we all use, like laundry detergent (I got an 8-month supply of a good brand--for our family of 6--for about twenty bucks), toilet paper (gotten a ton of it for FREE), toothpaste (GOOD brands for about a buck a piece) toothbrushes (found a good brand toothbrush recently for TWENTY-FIVE CENTS), deodorant, make-up, hair products . . . the list goes on.

I've also stocked up on basics like vitamins, cooking oil, sugar, and flour for general food storage.

The freezer is bulging. Our storage room shelves have had to be reorganized three times to accomodate all the new food. Another bonus: we eat out less now, since there's always something I can whip up for dinner in the house, so it's less tempting to grab take-out.

Every week I leave the grocery store feeling like I'm getting away with something sneaky. And if I don't save at least 50% off the bill, I feel let down. Yeah, it's that effective!

If you're interested in trying it out, you can get a 4-week trial for a buck. And since I'm all into FREE stuff, I have to mention that I can get free weeks on the The Grocery Game if you put in my e-mail address as the one that referred you: annette [at] lyfe [dot] com

Try it out and see for yourself how much you can save!

2007 Top 5's

I've got a few minutes left of the old year. As I looked back over 2007, I decided to make a list of some of some highlights. With little time left, I'll just do my favorite books of the year and my favorite family moments.

Top 5 Books Read in 2007:

"Nerd" Book: Word Myths, by David Wilton
A true delight for all word nerds, this book seeks after the sources of many common word myths and then in "Myth Buster" fashion either proves the myth correct or debunks what we thought we knew. Absolutely fascinating. (No, people's last names were not changed at Ellis Island, regardless of what Aunt Lucy says. People did that on their own later to appear more "American.")

Writing Book: The Writer's Journey, by Christopher Vogler
Out of print but worth finding used, this book has turned my way of looking at plot and character upside down and inside out. In a good way. I think my husband must be tired of me piping up during a movie with, "This is the Ordeal," or, "How much you wanna bet she's a shapeshifter?"

LDS Novel: Tie between In a Dry Land by Elizabeth Petty Bentley and Redemption Road, by Toni Sorensen Brown
I don't consider myself one of those hoity-toity types who can't appreciate genre fiction. On the contrary, I love genre fiction. But somehow these two more literary novels just resonated with me. IADL explores real Latter-day Saints with real problems that have no easy answers. It's a complex and powerful story. In RR, I have one complaint regarding the backstory, something I think could have made the story stronger, but it's a small detail in an otherwise powerful and beautifully-written book. Both of these are books that I'd reread sentences of just because they were so well put together with great imagery.

Young Adult Novel: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, by J. K. Rowling
Okay, so that may sound cliche, but it's true. My husband and I read it aloud in a matter of days (after rereading the whole series earlier this year). I read the parts at the end that got me all teary and choked up and hardly able to speak. A terrific ending to a wonderful series.

National Women's Novel: The Poisonwood Bible, by Barbara Kingsolver
This is a book I had been told to read many a time and finally got around to cracking open. All I can say is WOW. Kingsolver is a writer who officially intimidates the heck out of me. She's amazing, and this book in particular hit such a chord. I read it weeks ago, yet I still find myself thinking about it, pondering it, wondering about the characters. Very few books stick with me this long. When one does, you can bet it'll be on my favorites list.


Some Top Family Moments for 2007
As I wrote these down, I realized that I could go on and on, so I just stopped when I reached five. This has been a challenging year in some ways, but a wonderful one in many others. Five moments that were bright spots in the year:

1. Having my son ordained a deacon and my second daughter baptized on the same day. Big stuff, wonderful day all around. The only thing missing? Mom and Dad, who couldn't be there, as they were instead on the other side of the planet on a church assignment.

2. My sister nominating me for Utah's Best of State Fiction medal. Then WINNING the medal and going to the Best of State Gala with my husband (in a tux for the first time since our wedding . . . woot, woot) and both of my sisters. Also getting an up-do in my hair on my parents' dime, something they did for me since they couldn't be there in person to celebrate with me.

3) Sending my baby boy off to junior high. Biting my nails over whether the big, mean kids would eat him alive. Watching him thrive instead.

4) Seeing my real baby (who's 5 now . . .) perform in her first dance recital and love every second of it. Seeing her big sister dance at the same recital . . . and no longer look like a little girl trying to dance but look like a DANCER. And easily the best in her class, outshining them all.

5) Watching my other daughter play in the elementary orchestra after picking up the violin for one semester. I've never heard such screeching Christmas carols in my life. But it was MY girl playing with the other violins. It was awesome. I almost cried.


May 2008 bring you and yours a wonderful year!

Mel's Wild Kingdom

Not long ago, my sister Mel began working on a collection of essays about her childhood. When I read them, laughing so hard I cried, my kids raced in to see what was wrong. Part of my enjoyment surely came from remembering the events she describes so vividly (and accurately!), but a lot of it is simply that Mel's a great writer.

Long-time readers here may recall that as a sixth grader (totally grown up, from where I stood in second grade), Mel began scribbling stories in notebooks. That's when the writing bug bit me, because emulating your big sister is really the coolest thing ever, right?

After Mel sent me a few of her pieces, I decided that the world needed to see one of these trips down memory lane, so with her permission, below is one of several that had me rolling on the floor.

It's longer than your average blog post, but it's well worth every word. Enjoy!


Lions and Tigers and Bears—But First, a Poodle

by Mel Henderson

I spent pretty much the entire fifth grade mad at my dad. Irritated by his lack of initiative, at least. I couldn’t understand how a well-schooled, world-wise university professor, a PhD—and a grown-up, for crying out loud—couldn’t be bothered to follow up on an issue so acutely important to his family: The matter of a pet.

Dad always described me as bright, delightful, a joy, and energetic. That said, I’ve also been told I could sometimes be an intense, demanding kid. Whatever.

We had cats, but everyone had cats. As a fourth grader, I’d even somehow persuaded my parents to let me have 2 white mice, and named them Cookies and Cream. My resourceful big brother fashioned tunnel mazes for them out of empty toilet paper tubes and masking tape. I had trained the mice, or so I believed, to stay safely on top of my dresser when I let them out of their cage to play. But my delusions of being the Mouse Whisperer would tragically end because, well, we had cats.

What I truly wanted was a wild, magnificent creature, bigger than me, grander than any house cat. And I knew it could be done.

My mother raised us to do our research: We are living in the in the Information Age, there is no excuse for ignorance, young lady, and she was not raising incompetent females.

Check. I did my research. I read every book I could find on the subject in the school library. I twisted my mother’s arm enough to buy a few more from those book order fliers from school. My bedroom was wallpapered with animal posters, wild and domestic. I watched Gentle Ben, Grizzly Adams and Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom every week.

I groomed and educated my animal sensibilities, and yet my parents kept bringing up little concerns, like is it illegal to own a carnivore the size of a Volkswagen when you live so close to an elementary school?

Being a born teacher and not wanting to completely burst my bubble, Dad’s strategy was to offer thought-provoking questions so that I could conclude on my own that finding and taming my own baby lion or tiger was a bad idea.

After striking out on obvious concerns like violent death in the jaws of a hunter (I had hard data supporting that it is possible to make giant cats safe if raised correctly from infancy), he’d offer questions like, “But how would a huge tiger ever get the exercise he needs?” to be met with my carefully thought-out response, “Dad, I’m riding him to school every day, then he will walk straight back home because that’s what I will have trained him to do.” Previous misadventures as the Mouse Whisperer not withstanding.

Next question.

Dad’s Socratic approach, while admirably gentle, put him alone in my angry cross hairs because it left me with a scrap of hope. I saw his questions as simply objections I was challenged to overcome, not actual considerations in making a wise decision. And I was proudly knocking every objection out of the ballpark. Score another run for Bright-Demanding-Joy.

Conversely, as a born truth-teller and anti-sugar-coater, Mom’s strategy was to strangle hope before the seed ever germinated. Her exact, unminced words were, “Of course not. That’s ridiculous.” She would often say things like, “When you’re the mom, young lady, you can have all the lions and tigers and monkeys you want in your house.”

To which I would silently respond, Hellooo . . . as if you could put predatorial carnivores under the same roof with monkeys!

Constant appeals to my father to please, please just look into it went completely unheeded. “Call the zoo today. Call ALL the zoos.” Right in the door from work and I’d hit the man with, “Dad! I found this book and the author lives in San Diego and an adult male lion lives with her and her husband. Write them a letter. I already got the envelope ready. And this book here has pictures of a bear on an actual picnic with his human family in Thailand or someplace. It’s a smaller breed of bear that is better for cohabiting with humans, but that kind would be fine!”

I could never figure out why he kept chuckling. It’s not like I was some clueless second grader who thought I was going to die if I didn’t get a pony with ribbons in its mane. But he never made even one call. I would have done it myself if I thought they’d take a kid seriously, but I needed his adult clout here. Show a little initiative.

Likely traumatized by my relentless verbal flailing, my parents’ collective “no new animals” foothold at last crumbled around my 11th birthday. They caved, allowing me to take in a 3-year old male miniature poodle, fully pedigreed AKC stock. He belonged to a friend’s grandmother who, we later learned, regularly cooked for him. He couldn’t be expected to thrive on the wretched offerings formulated in laboratories by veterinary scientists; much better to nurture a 10-pound show dog with a hot country breakfast three times a day. I think what sealed the deal for my dad was that she was willing to let us have the dog for free. Even crumbling footholds have their standards.

We were told that the poodle’s keeper/personal chef was retiring to a condo in Las Vegas and unfortunately couldn’t bring the dog with her. I suspect that once widowed, she simply found it too depressing to cook only for the dog, who never appreciated her gravy the way Earl did anyway.

Regardless, I was thrilled beyond words. My dream was beginning to come true: A poodle today, maybe a sun bear tomorrow. I was as excited and proud as a new mother and Nobel Prize winner on the same day, and I wanted to tell the world. Home video taken on my 11th birthday documents me cuddling a dirty, moppish-looking creature unsanitarily close to a birthday cake, forcing one paw into a tortured doggy-wave for the camera.

His name was Taco.

Taco came to us overfed and overdue for a grooming, but with neatly manicured nails, a properly cropped poodle tail, and the unmitigated libido of fifty randy Irish sailors. Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. Let’s call it thirty randy Irish sailors.

No one escaped his affections entirely, but the dog had a particular affinity for one individual, a shy and excruciatingly proper man who visited our home faithfully once a month as a Home Teacher from the church for years. Perhaps knowing that he’d see his crush only rarely, Taco always gave this gentleman his most earnest attention.

I can still hear the strained embarrassment in my father’s voice as he called for me to extricate Taco’s trembling, iron grip from a woolen pant leg and then isolate the dog behind a closed door. This could happen multiple times in one visit, as some wandering child would invariably and unwittingly release the hound, who would run full-boar once again for the object of his affections.

I have to wonder if my dad ever looked at that poodle and wished he was a lazy female tiger, stretched out in front of the fireplace, blithely ignoring everyone in the room. So much less conspicuous.

The home teacher never stayed longer than necessary. We’d apologize for the dog, again, say our good-byes at the door, and apologize for the dog, again. Later the family relaxed in the kitchen with some brownies or lemon bars. The dog relaxed on the patio with a cigarette.

It was really only a matter of time before Dad had had enough. At last demonstrating some true animal-kingdom initiative, he made a few calls to the university’s animal sciences program and offered up the pedigreed poodle-stud to be neutered in student practice. We all knew the day had come for Taco the Wonder Stud to become Taco the Poodle Eunuch.

Once he got past his initial anatomical confusion, Taco seemed to pass through a brief depression. He did eventually pull himself together and go on to lead a very full life, enriched by his new hobby of intimidating small children. Oddly, the testosterone was gone, yet the aggression remained. He continued to serve as my loyal and adoring bodyguard, sleeping at my side and fiercely chasing off anyone he didn’t trust. He also chased off my harmless little sisters, simply because he could, perhaps as a pathetic attempt to restore some dignity, some poodle manhood denied.

I never did get a lion or a tiger or a bear. But seven years later, I voluntarily left a good-paying, soul-sucking, part time job as the records clerk for an office of remarkable neurosurgeons and one prickly office manager (who I am still convinced has no reflection in a mirror) to take a position at a veterinary hospital.

By comparison, this was heaven. Inside the first week, I knew that between the resident cranky parrot, the arthritic Vietnamese pot-bellied pig, the suicidal dachshund hell-bent on poisoning himself with chocolate, and the spoiled Persian cat with the oral hygiene of a pirate, it would be a long time before my own animal kingdom would want for excitement.

The Finish Line

I made it! As of two days ago, I turned in my Manti temple manuscript. I had promised my editor he'd get it before Christmas. It was touch-and-go for a bit there, but it's done.

For those who have been following my progress, that means I reached all three of my personal writing goals for the last few months. First I had two word count goals that helped me get it drafted. Then I had a goal to get the first round of revisions done and the manuscript out to some of my personal readers. And finally, it was going over all of their suggestions and inputting them into the manuscript before turning it over to my editor before Christmas. (Wait. I think that makes more than three . . .)

I am hereby taking the next several days off to enjoy family and Christmas. I doubt I'll be near a computer much. I'll probably be reading, playing games, and taking a nap.

Sounds like heaven.

Merry Christmas to all!

Conference Time!

Yes, Christmas is just around the corner, but there's something else in the air as well.

Registration for the 5th Annual LDStorymakers Conference, March 21 & 22, is now available here. The conference is always such a shot in the arm for me. It's one of my favorite times of year. (Christmas in the spring!) We've simplified the registration process so you can pay online.

This year is shaping up to be our best conference ever. Among the highlights:

• One of our keynote speakers is Timothy Travaglini, Senior Editor at G.P. Putnam's Sons (a division of Penguin Group, USA). For those of you who know Janette Rallison, he is her editor (known by her blog readers as the "bow-tied" one).
• The return of Boot Camp, the hugely popular hands-on critique workshop prior to the regular conference each day.
• A Publishers' panel, with representatives from all the major LDS publishing houses.
• Pitch sessions with both Covenant and Deseret Book
• Manuscript reviews with Tim Tavaglini
• Choice of some 20 break-out workshops taught by established authors (including yours truly) on a wide range of topics and covering all skill levels.
• A writing contest
• Entertainment by comedian David Nibley (best known from his role in The Best Two Years and one of the funniest guys around)
• Several keynote speakers you won't want to miss
• and more

Part of that "more" is what immediately follows the conference: The first-ever Whitney Awards Gala.

Speaking of which, if you haven't nominated what you feel are the best books by LDS authors from 2007, do it soon! You have about a week and a half before the deadline (December 31). Don't assume that a particular book is shoo-in. (I've made sure to nominate some favorites; I'm not leaving it up to chance.) Nominate from WA website link above.

Another note: The facilities for the conference demand that we cap the number of attendees, so if you plan to come, sign up soon to reserve your spot. Likewise, the pitch sessions by Deseret Book and Covenant and the manuscript reviews by Mr. Travaglini are filling up fast, even though registration has been open for only a couple of days. If you want to snag one of those, hop to it!

Heather and I (and our terrific committee!) have been doing behind-the-scenes work for next spring, and it's exciting to see the pieces gradually coming together.

See you in March!

Wisdom at 5 Years

Today's post is brought to you by the sweet little mind of my 5-year-old. She is a joy in so many ways, not the least of which is her determination to give the best hugs anywhere and "permanent" kisses that can't wash off.

I almost feel guilty for enjoying this stage with her so much, because when her three older siblings were this age, I was so busy taking care of everyone else that I don't think I had the luxury of reveling in the sweetness like I can with her as the youngest.

Some of her most recent nuggets:

1) Maybe they should add this one to Merriam-Webster:
"Some boys get their ears pierced because they’re dudes. Dudes wear earrings."

2) In her efforts at keeping the family's manners in check, she insists on hearing, "You're welcome," any time she says, "thank you."

I pour a glass of milk, and she says, "Thank you . . . " If Mom doesn't respond fast enough, it's, "I said thank you!"

3) A word escaped her, so she described the object in hopes that Mom could help her remember it:

"What do you call that thing that’s like ice but it isn’t? And you eat it and you hold it? And it’s got a Popsicle stick and . . . oh, wait. I remember!"

4) And here's my personal favorite. The other night she excused herself from dinner to visit the little girl's room. While there, she belted out her current favorite Christmas song for all the world to hear.

Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer (Reindeer)

Had a very shiny nose. (Like Monopoly!)

I about lost my dinner through my nose.

At some point today, I hope, I'll be hitting some more of the revisions for Manti. Right now, however, I need to get prettied up. My sisters are taking me out to lunch because I'm just that cool and they love me. Well, that, and I was born 34 years ago as of this morning. :-D

The Truth about Signings

In my pre-publication days, if I ever imagined having a book signing, it included images like people actually wanting to buy my book and have me sign it. Maybe (if I was getting really deep into the fantasy) a line of people.

Of course, reality crashes down after publication, and you realize that unless your book is about teenage wizards or vampires, you won't have a long line. Or any line. And you'll be lucky to sell more than one that your mom came to buy to support you.

You do book signings anyway to show your publisher you're committed to promoting yourself. You chat with the employees and get to know them. You try to meet customers, and when they pay you the slightest attention, you try to encapsulate your book into about five seconds, because that's as long as they're going to give you before moving on.

And that's if you're lucky enough to get someone to make eye contact, because as people walk in the door, they instinctively look away from the lonely author as if she has a contagious disease. Whatever path they were taking through the store, they now make sure to veer away from your table.

The experience is less than glamorous or ego-stroking.

I've done so many book signings that I've lost track of the number. It's got to be close to a hundred over the five and a half years I've been doing this. In that time, I've gotten a thick skin. If I don't sell any books, that's okay.

I've also managed to break out of my shy bubble so I can talk to perfect strangers and give them a very brief spiel. Then I walk away so they don't feel any used-car salesman pressure. It's a delight if they decide to come find me at the table and buy a book.

As for the chair at the table, forget it. Unless I'm actually signing a book (and sometimes not even then), I don't bother sitting. I'm up and around and talking to people.

While signings are still not in my top ten list of fun things to do (in fact, they're exhausting; it's tough to keep yourself "on" and smiling and cheerful and energetic for long spells), I've started experiencing a few new things in my most recent ones.

When I tell people about my books, I always mention the three old Utah temples they're about. At least once at every signing, and often more frequently, I invariably get asked, "What about Manti?"

Out of the four old temples, that one is glaringly absent, of course. It's great to be able to say, "That's next."

Then I get a response like, "Oh, good. Because that's my temple."

I'm amazed at how many people have a personal connection to one of these sacred buildings, how they are drawn to a specific one and cherish it. Many times people have bought one book or the other specifically because they grew up in Logan or their daughter went to school in southern Utah and loves the St. George temple or they were married in the Salt Lake temple.

I embarked on this entire series because of my personal love of the Logan temple. It's my temple. I was married there. So on one hand, I shouldn't be that surprised; I just didn't anticipate the intense reaction.

The second unexpected thing to happen this fall is something that turned out to be ego-stroking after all. (Who knew that was possible with a book signing?) Sometimes when I've talked to a customer about my books, they say the unthinkable:

"Oh, I have all your books. I love them."

Excuse me, wha-ha?

I'm so used to introducing myself and my work to people that it's completely bizarre to have reached the point where anyone has actually heard of me. Some have read my books multiple times.

More than once I've had to stop myself from saying, "Really? Are you serious?" and instead grin and say, "Thank you so much," with my mind spinning.

Such moments are still few and far between, but they happen just often enough now to keep me plugging along, seeing that hey, I'm making real progress, inch by inch.

And if you've been keeping track of my manuscript progress, I'm about a week away from submitting the Manti book!