Memorial Day Pixie

We spent a wonderful Memorial Day visiting my side of the family. I hope my children remember the stories they heard about their great-grandparents coming to America and got a taste of some of their relatives that even I haven't seen for many years.

Here I am in pixie glory, courtesy my Aunt Judy, who entertained the kids with her face-painting skills. Two of my daughters were butterflies, another had a fairy mask, and my son became a tough guy. They insisted I get in the chair, too!

Remember those cheeks I mentioned? Check it out; they're almost gone! Maybe I should stay on this drug. I know, I know. Ridiculous idea. I told you I was going stupid!

Skinny & Stupid

My husband just stumbled upon the solution to a mystery by watching an episode of House.

Turns out that several things going around our house can be traced back to a certain prescription medication.

In some ways it all started the summer after kindergarten when I was trying to be a good little girl and read my scriptures every day. I remember having my New Testament out, but I couldn't read the tiny script. I had these little bright dots in my vision, sort of like you get after a flash picture, but they didn't go away. And then the pain hit. I cried my little girl eyes out it hurt so bad.

I didn't realize until years later what had happened: I had gotten my first migraine at the tender age of 6. I got them sporadically (2-3 a year, maybe less) until I turned the magical age of 30 when they became more frequent. My doctor tells me a lot of things like that happen at middle age.

I thought "Middle Age" was an era from history books, or at least something that wouldn't hit me for another fifteen years or so, but my body thought differently. In addition to regular migraines (like, several a month, graduating to several a week, and then, heck, why not throw one in daily?), I got the weight gain that also happens when that "middle age" metabolism shift happens.

Middle age is so much fun! Why didn't anybody tell me?!

Hah.

Long story seriously abbreviated, over the last many, many, many months, my doctor and I have spent lots of time together, not only picking out e-books and seeing one another at Friends of the Library meetings but at appointments trying to solve my goofy headache issues, like scheduling an MRI—something else that is LOADS of fun for someone who is not only middle-aged but claustrophobic.

We've tried a couple of different preventative medications. The current one I'm on isn't doing that great a job, but it's better than the previous one. On my last doctor appointment, I noticed that my weight on the doctor's scale was significantly down since the last time I came in. I knew I had lost a little weight at home and was fitting in some clothes I hadn't before, but still. On one hand, cool! I've been battling that weight for 8 years.

On the other hand, weird! How can you lose that much weight in 6 weeks without trying?

I asked how much I had lost, since the doctor scale tends to be off from the home one. The answer surprised me. It was twice as much as I had expected. I was losing weight fast, almost wasting away.

At home, I didn't feel like eating, ever. I had no appetite. I never even wanted to eat chocolate.

Which, if you know me, is a sad and frightening day indeed.

Not only that, but my writing has been difficult lately. I've had a tough time meeting deadlines and staying focused on my next book. I'm much farther behind on the next one, and I just can't seem to catch up. I'll spend hours at the computer and have little to nothing to show for it.

What is wrong with me?

That's where House comes in.

My honey discovered today that my preventative migraine medicine is often used off-label for WEIGHT LOSS (ding ding ding!) because it makes people sick to their stomachs, it curbs cravings, and for some people, it makes them not want to eat anything.

Worse, for some people, it makes it hard to concentrate. My husband started digging on line and found reports from patients, including (not good news) a writer who said it was hard to concentrate on writing, a student who couldn't read, and a pianist who couldn't remember their pieces.

Here's the kicker: Doctors nickname patients on this drug "Skinny and stupid."

I'm quickly getting to the skinny side. Heaven help me, I'm fast approaching the stupid part! It's making a lot of sense, looking back over the last couple of months I've been taking it.

Dealing with migraine pain just might be worth it if it means I can produce writing again, even if it means going back up a pants size.

And if it means enjoying life—and my favorite foods—again.

Cinderella Night

It all began last March with an e-mail from my sister Mel. The subject line:

"SORTA URGENT: With all your FREE TIME . . ." She knew I was in the middle of some major deadlines.

I actually wrote up the story how it all began for my writer friend's Jeff Savage's shared blog. You can read all about it here.

Basically, Mel is the kind of cheerleader every person should have in their life. She secretly wanted to nominate me in the Best of State organization under Fiction. That organization is highly respected in Utah, and over the years, I've noticed lots of big-time businesses touting that they had won in their respective categories: manufacturing, hotels, dining, science, etc.

I didn't know they had a fiction category until Mel e-mailed me saying that she wanted to nominate me and needed my help because I had the information she needed to do it right.

Late April the results were posted. My jaw dropped when I went to the Best of State site, scrolled down to Literary Arts and read my name. I sort of stared at it to be sure. I scrolled up and down and stared again in case some other name might appear instead of my own. But sure enough, there it was: Annette L. Lyon.


The big black tie awards gala was last Saturday night, May 19. I got all gussied up with my husband and BOTH of my two awesome sisters to celebrate the award. I felt like Cinderella for the night as I got the medal placed around my neck under the cameras and lights. About the only thing missing was the fairy godmother and the mice.

I was brought backstage and had my picture taken by a professional photographer. I was given a goodie bag (sort of like you hear they give out at the Oscars, only I'm sure on a much smaller scale . . .), and got to enjoy terrific evening of music and food and even my husband in a tux, something that hasn't happened since our wedding day.

It was all a bit surreal, and I'm still trying to digest it all. What does all this award mean for me? I hope it means big things for the future of my writing career.

I know I'm honored to have gotten it. I know I had a blast at the gala. I know have a beautiful medal.

And I know that for certain I'm going to do my best to live up to what the medal has engraved along its edge:

"Excelling and surpassing all else."

Book Shopping Spree

I got my family doctor nearly thirteen years ago, well before I ever got published. As a result, he's sort of been watching my publication journey from the back seat. In addition to delivering all of my children, he knew when I got my first book contract and always asks about my latest projects any time I come in.

He's also the head of our local library's "Friends" organization. A few years ago, he needed a judge for a writing contest the Friends were sponsoring. I agreed to be one of the judges, and have done so each year since.

You can probably see where this is going. Pretty soon being a judge became being a part of the Friends of the Library. I now attend periodic meetings that the Friends of the Library hold every couple of months. We host events and do other neat things for the library. It's a pretty neat organization.

A week or so ago I was at another Friends meeting. The head librarian wasn't in attendance, being at another meeting doing Head Librarian things. The children's librarian was there, plus my doctor, and several other Friends board people who had been roped into membership by whatever means.

One of many decisions we made was way cool: to add a collection of digital audio books on these iPod-like devices, one book per device. You check out the little device, add a battery and your own earphones, and off you go. They're very cool, and much less likely to be destroyed than CDs so they'll last longer, yet they cost about the same per book.

The trick was deciding which titles to start with. The library needs about 50 to get the collection up and running. The children's librarian didn't want to pick the titles, being as she's swamped with other duties and just doesn't have the time.

Everyone else at the table seemed to have a deer in the headlights look, sort of a, "Don't look at ME!" expression.

But me? The idea sounded like the ultimate in book shopping, like walking through a bookstore with an unlimited credit card. Are you kidding me? I get to shop for FIFTY books? Any fifty on this list? COOL! Maybe it's the English Major in me. Maybe it's because I've read a lot and that I know a lot of books. I don't know. But I thought it'd be neat.

They practically threw the list at me. I trotted home with the list and showed my husband.

He glanced it and said, "As long as you don't pick Bleak House," and grinned.

He knows I love Dickens.

I couldn't wait to sit down with a bunch of chocolate and look over the pages. The only tricky part was not picking just my favorites (which was tough--I mean, there were THREE Jane Austen titles on the list. Must . . . be . . . strong . . .).

I had to be fair. This wasn't just for me, after all. This was for the library. I had to pick a selection that a lot of people would enjoy.

That meant both adult titles and YA titles, classics and new releases, fiction as well as non-fiction. So I did some searches on amazon.com to check some books I was unfamiliar with, made sure I got a several award-winners, some that were plain-old must-haves, and so forth.

The result, I think, is a well-rounded start.

And yes, I threw in Bleak House. I couldn't resist.

Happy Mother's Day!

I'm exceedingly fortunate to have been born to the mother I was. The woman I am today is very much because of her, down to the foods I like, the books I read, the kind of mother I am, the testimony I posses, and more.

It's thanks to Mom that I'm a book freak and a writer. (It's also thanks to her that I'm a chocoholic . . .) It's because of Mom that I'm a curious person always needing to seek knowledge and find answers to questions. I could go on. (And on, and on.)

I'm also lucky to have gotten the mother-in-law I did. When I hear horrible mother-in-law stories, I try to sympathize, but sorry, ladies, I can't relate. My mother-in-law just isn't like that. Not a smidge. She's one of the sweetest, most genuine people in the world, who is far more concerned with making others happy than anything else. If she has a fault, it's being too generous.

I'm grateful that she's such not only a terrific grandmother to my children and a sweet mother-in-law to me, but that she raised a wonderful son to be my husband.

So as a nod to all the mothers out there, here a link to an article I wrote recently in honor of Mother's Day. I hope you enjoy it.

Here's to Michael

This is going to be a completely self-indulgent blog, but since this is mine, I get to do that.

About nineteen years ago, my newborn nephew Michael was diagnosed with biliary atresia. In a giant nutshell, it meant that his liver was self-destructing and he was probably going to die. Doctors spent the next year doing all kinds of things trying to keep him alive long enough--and old enough--to get him a liver transplant.

Within days of his first birthday, he got one, in spite of the fact that the blood source to his liver was small enough that they feared it wouldn't take. When asked what his prognosis would be, doctors basically told his parents to let them know in a few years--infant liver transplants were relatively new at that point.

The next year was, to put it mildly, touch and go. The entire family spent more time on its knees than ever. Michael essentially lived in the hospital as one complication after another arose--often one treatment caused the next complication, which caused the next one, which nearly killed him. His parents were told mulitple times that he was dying and to come say good-bye. They planned his funeral. He hung on.

Somehow this miracle child pulled through, defying every odd. By every logic, he shouldn't be here. Many other children who received transplants at the same time and had better prognoses didn't make it. He did.

As the years have gone by, there's almost been this halo about him. He's this spritual giant. Meanwhile, my brother (Michael's father) is a bit of a kidder and has expressed wonder at how he got Michael as his son. He's been known to see his son's light on under the door past bedtime, throw the door open to surprise him and yell, "WHAT are you doing awake?!"

Michael looks over and says meekly, "Reading my scriptures?"

"Oh," Dad says. He coughs. "Uh, then, um, well, yeah. Turn your light off when you're done then." He closes the door and walks back to his room and decides to crack open his own Book of Mormon before turning in for the night.

When the Brethren in Salt Lake announced that they were raising the bar for missionaries, Michael expressed concern that he wouldn't make the cut. His mother almost laughed. "Look way down there, Michael. See that speck below you? THAT'S the bar. You'll be fine."

Michael's biggest aspiration in life? To be a seminary teacher. He's that kind of person.

Last night the phone rang. It was my brother inviting the family over for an exciting event: Michael had received his mission call. My parents are on a mission of their own right now, but all our siblings and all the cousins were there as Michael sat on a stool and opened the envelope.

Here he was, nineteen years after we thought he might not even be living, ready to be a missionary. He pulled out the letter and began to read. Before he even got to the location, he teared up at the first line that stated he's being called to serve the Lord.

And I cried, too.

I remembered babysitting him as a newborn when he cried out from pain and I couldn't give him Tylenol because it would damage his liver further. I cried with him, trying to comfort him and hoping so badly he would live, knowing he was a special spirit with a special mission.

And now he's going on a full-time mission. He's one amazing young man, all grown up.

It's a little selfish of me, but I was glad to hear that he's not going into the MTC too soon. He'll be here just long enough to help ordain my son a deacon this summer. My little guy really looks up to his oldest cousin, and for good reason. When my son was baptized a few years ago, his one request was that Michael give a talk.

There isn't a better hero I could pick out for Daniel to emulate than his cousin Michael.

California, Fresno Mission, watch out! You're getting one heck of a missionary!

Lose Weight: Frown!

I have chipmunk cheeks.

It's just the way my face is shaped. I envy women with cheekbones. No matter how much weight I ever lose, my cheeks will still be chubby, and people will still think I'm a teenager instead of a thirty-something. It's my lot in life.

When I smile, it's even worse. My face explodes, widening like some creature from the Black Lagoon.

So with my current author photo (on my profile up there), which I've had for two books now, I've had many people meet me in person and tell me I really should get a new one because I've OBVIOUSLY lost a lot of weight since it was taken. I'm so much thinner in person.

Uh, no. I haven't lost weight. Really. I mean, thanks for thinking I'm thin, but I'm the same person.

In many of those book signings, I might have even had a few more pounds on me than in that photo. But I wasn't grinning at them at the signing, and hence my cheeks weren't sticking out and making me look fat. After explaining this, I demonstrate, and they step back, saying "Wow," as if I'm a scientific freak because smiling makes my face go wide.

Right now I actually am an itty bitty bit thinner than in that photo, if you can count five pounds as a significant weight loss, which I doubt. But if I smile, my cheeks still jut out like the Jabba the Hut's.

I got the same reaction from a reader at yesterday's book signing, this time from a gal who hailed from New Mexico. (Hi, Elizabeth!) She flipped to the back of my book and said, "You know, you really should get a new author photo. You've lost so much weight since this was taken. At least twenty pounds."

I smiled (whoops--big mistake) and gritted my teeth.

On one hand, I have been planning on getting a new photo for several months, and if I don't get one taken soon, I'm out of luck for getting it in the new book. The current one was taken May of 2004, so yeah, it's time for a change.

My hair's different now. Maybe the new 'do helps. (It's a little straighter now; maybe it hides the cheeks a bit?)

So what do I do? Frown in pictures so my cheeks don't hit LA and New York? Just stare at the camera without smiling?

They say the camera adds ten pounds. For me, smiling adds twenty.

Losing a Grip on Reality

It's happened every time. You'd think I'd get used to it.

But somehow I get the same weak-knee, punched-in-the gut, light-headed feeling every time.

I stare. I almost cry. And then I have to stop myself from looking around just in case one of my characters happens to be lurking around in spirit form. Sometimes I'm tempted to grab someone near me, point, and say, "Did you know that right over there, so-and-so stood and did such-and such?"

And of course, if I really did that, I'd sound like a total crazy person, because "so-and-so" never did exist, and never did "such-and-such."

What happened?

Yesterday I was at the Garden Restaurant at the top of the Joseph Smith Memorial Building in Salt Lake City. It has the most marvelous view of the top of the Salt Lake Temple.

I knew this. I've been there before. But the last time was a good decade or so ago.

BEFORE I wrote a book about the temple. With an epilogue that takes place on the day of the capstone celebration. The end of the epilogue is at the top of the spires, exactly what I was looking out at.

During that time, while the scaffolding was still in place, they sold tickets to the public to climb up and view the city from the top of the the temple. (Can you imagine what a sight that would have been?)

That night in 1892, after the capstone celebration, shortly after Angel Moroni was set into place, I have my characters at the top of the temple. (I'm not going to tell you who they are or what had transpired; you'll just have to read the story when it comes out this fall. Let's just say that I'm already getting a bit emotional telling you this much. Man, I love my characters . . .)

So there I was at the restaurant staring out at the spires. I nearly snagged a lady standing next to me. "Over there, see?" I wanted to say. "That's exactly where they were standing with their families, looking out over the valley."

Instead, I gazed out, felt a fluttery feeling in my stomach, blinked back tears, and tried to get a grip on reality.

They're not real, I reminded myself.

But the same thing happened the first time I drove into Logan after House on the Hill was released (I swear I nearly saw Abe and Lizzy running across Main Street toward the Tabernacle) and again when I visited the St. George temple after At the Journey's End came out (I almost pointed out to my daughter where Clara and Miriam were dropped off on the wagon and she first walked into the temple).

What is my problem?!

I guess what it boils down to is that I love the landmarks I write about. I feel immersed in the history. And I completely fall in love with my characters. They feel real to me.

And when all is said and done, I hope they become as vividly real to my readers, too.

Three Cheers Elsewhere

There's nothing like speaking to a classroom full of second graders ready to take a test.

You walk in to hear cheers and clapping. Of course, it's because the test has been postponed until you leave, not because there's any acclaim for being a published author.

It all began with the last parent-teacher conference. My daughter begged me to tell her teacher that I'm an author and that I'd be willing to speak to the class. I'd spoken to her older siblings' classes before, and she thought that me doing the same for hers would be mucho cool.

After Mrs. M. told me that my cute little thing was tops in reading and a model student and all that jazz (of course she is--she's my daughter!), my little girl gave me this look that said, "Mom! Say something!"

So I sort of mentioned the whole author thing and said that if she's interested, I could come talk to her class. The teacher hemmed and hahed and said maybe. I heard nothing else for months, and figured she'd never take me up on it, but at least I offered, and my daughter knew it.

Then a couple of weeks ago, Mrs. M. called me and asked if I'd speak after all. Sure, I said. When would you like me to come? What shall I talk about? We jotted the details on the calendar: Thursday, April 26, 10:00 am.

That would be TODAY. I got my stuff together, and this morning I walked into the classroom door.

To see a substitute.

Who looked a bit perplexed to see me.

I had to introduce myself as Mrs. Lyon, the cute little red head's mom. I explained why I was there.

She abandoned the test she was about to hand out (hence the cheers and clapping) and let me take 30 minutes to talk to the class even though Mrs. M. had apparently forgotten I was coming and hadn't told the sub anything about it.

I told the class a bit about what I do, how I knew I wanted to be a writer ever since I was their age, and we did some fun writing exercises centered on a field trip I had chaperoned recently. I taught them a few things that Mrs. M. wanted them to learn (which we had discussed on the phone).

The kids' hands were flying into the air, and they seemed to really enjoy it--and by golly, they were really getting the hang of the concepts, too. I had fun. I think they did as well. I passed out bookmarks and buttons that had one of my covers on them--and left one of each on Mrs. M.'s desk as a gentle reminder that I had been there.

As I walked out, I heard the sub saying, "Now for the test," followed by groans from the students.

But I know I was a bright spot in one kid's life. A tow-headed boy named Cody said it was his birthday, and that this was one great part of it.

And frankly, I had fun, too, even though the cheers weren't for me.

Coming up for Air

I just hit SEND and emailed my latest rewrite to my editor!

I'm still in my PJ's. Hair's a mess. No make up. House is in shambles. My life has been this way for, oh, over a week now.

This was made possible, in part, by my sweet hubby who stayed home and helped keep my darling 4-year-old occupied and happy.

But I'm DONE.

For now. Of course, now I get to take a breath and get my life back in order just in time for the edits to hit. But for today I'm done, and my honey will be taking me out for dinner tonight to celebrate.

Yippee!

This week I'll also be speaking in my daughter's school class about writing. I'll probably leave out the part about trying to finish rewrites when you really should have showered six hours ago so your editor will get the manuscript before lunch like you promised.

This week I'll also post on Writing on the Wall, the editing blog I'm part of with the Precision Editing Group. (I'm assigned to Wednesdays, but the whole team is amazing. Check us out.)

And with any luck, I'll get some actual writing done on one my other projects in addition to getting the house straighted up and some laundry done.

One other way cool thing I'm part (again, thanks to my amazing hubby--he rocks beyond words) is the Writers in Heels planet. It's a feed aggregator, basically a collection of blogs by some of my lady writing friends. It's a one-stop shopping blog fest. Visit the site and check out the newest posts on each blog. To visit the original blog site, click on the blog title.

But for now, because yesterday was our anniversary (13 years!), there happens to be chocolate in the house right next to the roses, so ten bucks says you know where I'm headed.

History Tag

Being on deadline as I am, I wasn't planning on blogging again for a good week, but Tristi the Pixie decided on tagging me.

Being as these kinds of tags tend to go awfully fast and leave any blogging friends I know already tagged, I thought I'd better get mine done FAST and leave me to my rewrite. But frankly, these really are fun, and I learned a bit in the process.

Here we go for my HISTORY TAG.

1. Go to Wikipedia and type in your birthday without the year:

December 18

2. List 3 events that occurred that day:

1787 - New Jersey becomes the third state to ratify the United States Constitution.
(I include this because I love U.S. History.)

1892 - The first performance of Tchaikovsky's ballet The Nutcracker is held at the Mariinsky Theatre in St. Petersburg.
(I include this because I love dance.)

1987 - Larry Wall releases the first version of the Perl programming language.
(I include this not because I have any real idea what Perl is beyond a computer programming language, but because my hubby does, being the amazing techno man that he is and because I've seen books with the word "Perl" on our bookshelves.)


3. List 2 important birthdays:

I assume, besides mine. :)

1863 - Franz Ferdinand, Archduke of Austria (d. 1914)
This is the guy whose assassination began WWI, so I'd consider him pretty important.

Okay, the second is a little tough. I'm stuck mentioning people I really don't admire or consider important, per se. There are actors (Brad Pitt, Katie Holmes), a singer (Christina Aguilera), and someone really atrocious (Joseph Stalin).

None are someone I'd really WANT to mention.


4. List 1 death:

Francis Drake


5. List 1 holiday or observance:

Feast of Sebastian the Martyr (Greek Orthodox Church)


Now for tagging other bloggers:


Lu Ann

Luisa

Jeff

Matthew

Carole

Have fun!

Three Things I Am

I discovered recently, reading a fellow friend's blog I met here in blogland that I am a writer, a foodie, and a knitter.

In fact, it was the latter that first connected us. Who knew that confessions of a pre-teen knitting addiction psychosis would connect me with an LDS writer in New York?

How totally fun and random is THAT?

So in honor of the fact that I am a writer, a foodie, and a knitter, I am hereby blogging about all three:

1) I'm a writer.
Shocker, since I generally blog about that very topic. I am going to be pretty much chained to my computer because of item #1 this coming week because of my latest rewrite. My editor is brilliant. And she's right. I hate that. This should be interesting since it's also my children's spring break. I will be bribing them with pretty anything they want. Let's hope they don't read this and decide to exploit said fact.

2) I'm a foodie.
As one of the three founding sisters of the Utah Chocolate Show, also not a shocker. I'm a second generation chocoholic. Daughter #1 makes it generation #3. Since my mother is European, she started us early on the good stuff.

Here's one fun secret: I make one heck of a chocolate chip cookie. Here are my two big cookie secrets, which I will share with the world. (Seriously, people are constantly asking why my cookies aren't flat. Take notes.)

First, use real butter, not that pathetic excuse for butter that is shortening. Ick. Gross. Gag.

Second, add more flour. I don't measure flour for my cookies. Just add flour until your dough isn't sticky anymore. Add more and more and more. Add flour until the bottom of the bowl almost has crumbs in it. You should be able to handle the dough and not end up with any on your fingers.

You'll have nice, round, UN-flat cookies. I swear it!

The last thing is to use lots of chocolate chips. Forget a pathetic 1/2 cup or whatever. Sheesh. If you're going to make chocolate chip cookies, add the chocolate, people!


3) I'm a knitter.
Lately, that's been a little tough. As my blog friend, Luisa, reminded me, knitting really does relax you and "unfry" fried neurons better than even chocolate. (Truly folks, that isn't sacrilege. It's true.) So I've tried knitting at times other than bedtime, which used to be my regular knitting time. It hasn't worked very well.

I'm remembering WHY I picked bedtime to knit.

My daughters find handwork as fascinating as I did at their age. I pick up my knitting, and suddenly I have little girls swarming me. They somehow find crochet hooks and yarn and those knitting looms and sometimes even fabric and needles and thread or whatever else they can find around the house--anything that looks like handwork--and they want to make something, too. And of course they want my help with it. "What do I do next?" "Show me how?" "Is this right?"

And I plead, "PLEASE, can I just finish this row?"

So in an hour and I'm lucky to finish two or three rows of my daughter's jacket.

And then the following week she whines each morning that she doesn't have a jacket to wear to school. Yeah, well, cutie, it's you're fault, because you won't let me KNIT THE THING!

So there you have it, folks!

I'm a writer, a foodie, and a knitter!

Thanks for the blog idea, Luisa!

Which Won?

Which beast won since last time, the creative juices or the nagging tradition of sewing my girls Easter dresses? As you can see below, the dresses won out. I couldn't tell my daughters that after eight years or so of making them something to march into church matching on Easter Sunday that I would fail them. (I had hinted as much once, and the horrified looks on their little faces about did me in.)

If you do the math, you can tell that I first made them dresses when my second daughter was oh, 8 months old and I wasn't even published yet. Life was much simpler then, as in, I wasn't ever ON DEADLINE.

Note that the "dresses" aren't dresses. They are jumpers (hence, no sleeves to fight with that add lots of time to the sewing process). They still, however, had zippers, which you cannot see, fortunately, because they are crooked. You also, fortunately, didn't see or hear me sewing them, because it was not a pretty sight.

The pattern called for three fancy stripes at the bottom. Note that there are no stripes. Said pattern also called for trim at the neckline and around the arm holes. Note that there is no trim at those locations, either. Instead I opted for a fabric that had a cute, flowery design all by itself. I bought ribbon and a $1.87 flower for each dress that I could pin to the front of each one in about 3 minutes flat.

Tada!

Next year I'm thinking that instead of jumpers I'll do skirts. Then the following year, maybe I can get away with a cute purse. Then maybe the next year they'll be okay with a fancy scrunchie in their hair . . .

By Saturday, I had managed to hem the last dress, so I pulled out my trusty Neo as we drove home from visiting grandparents and I typed up a scene that had been floating in my head all week as I sewed. It was great! I love my main character, and today I had a ball going back to that scene and fleshing it out.

I looked forward to spending this week writing more of her story and "living" with her.

After all, my editor had told me I had a few weeks to "run free." I had pictured myself doing a Julie Andrews impression, twirling in the Alps.

Alas, it is not to be. She e-mailed me today officially putting me back on deadline.

However, she did throw me a bone. I have a title!

My Salt Lake City Temple book, due out this fall will be called Spires of Stone.

I love it!

But now, back to work . . .

Dresses vs. Juices?

I'm so totally stoked!!!! The creative juices are SO back.

My next book (Manti Temple) has been hanging out in the wings refusing to come onto stage, and it's been one of those things I've been gently trying to coax out into the open and a bit scared that it just WON'T even show its cute little obnoxious, stubborn face. Drafting really hasn't been much of an issue, since really, I haven't had TIME to draft recently.

But frankly, when I've given drafting a thought, I've tried not to panic, because my story hasn't been there TO draft. It's been nowhere. My rewrites are turned in. I'm not on deadline. The conference is over. I asked my editor when I should expect the next set of editorial deadlines, and she said I could in her words "run free" for a few weeks.

In my terms, that means I should be drafting. So I turned my mind to the next book.

It's not there.

Oh, I've had glimpses of it. Little glimpses that show me it has promise. I've had a clue what the protagonist is like. I even had an idea of what one scene LATE in the book might be like. I had a teeny tiny idea of what my protagonist does job-wise. But for the most part, I was in the dark, and not for lack of trying to muddle my way through my usual ways of figuring things out.

Then today as I'm blow-drying my hair, she decided to show her face, along with much of her story.

And then the book pranced onto center stage!!!

I now have her name plus two nicknames—the one everyone uses (which she hates—and why she hates it—plus the one she prefers). I also have her back story. I have what she does and why. I have the romantic interest AND his name AND his occupation. I have why she's here and where she came from. I have several scenes just waiting to be explained and shown.

I mean, oh my freakin' heck!

This is so dang cool, and I can't wait to write it down!!! (Now I better not lose it all . . .)

The only down side is that this is the week I was suppose to have reserved for my annual attempt at domesticity to make my daughters their Easter dresses. Ahem.

M'kay . . .

Sterling Winners & Losers

This week I received a wedding announcement that whisked me back to the days of oversized shirts, painfully pegged jeans, and poofy bangs. The reason is that I went to high school with both the bride and the groom.

I took the groom to Girls’ Preference my junior year. His twin took me to prom. I ended up being great friends with both guys.

But it’s the bride, Liz, that has got me thinking over the last week. Liz and I weren’t best friends throughout high school, but our paths crossed several times. We were friendly with one another, and we had several shared acquaintances.

One project we were briefly involved with together was the school’s literary journal, In Print, my first publication. It’s the one and only place people will ever see a poem written by me. (Let’s just say I’m not a poet, and there’s good reason for that.) The journal has a photo of the staff in it. Liz’s name is listed as they lay-out person, but she’s not in the picture (although her best friend is). There’s also a guy named John Fish. Nice boy, weird hair.

But the reason I’ve been thinking of Liz is something a bit bigger. It’s because we share a common bond of being losers. Seriously—hear me out. We both applied and interviewed to be the English Sterling Scholar of our graduating class. Neither of us won. Instead, we were both alternates. (Read: the losers.)

Even at the time, I remember thinking that Liz should have won. Of the three applicants, she was the person who had done the most with English while at high school. She had worked on the school paper and (I think; I'd have to double check) on the yearbook committee, for starters. I had been in creative writing. Sure, I had challenged the AP English test without taking the class (yea for me, I got a 5). But I didn’t do the other stuff she had, like learn the lay-out computer program that actually MADE the literary journal.

The winner was a good friend of mine, and I mean no disrespect when I say that I don’t think she deserved the honor. She was a great student, definitely. No question. But her school resume was loaded in other areas just as much as English. She could have just as well applied for the Music Sterling Scholar. She took the title, I believe, because she had a way of making the teachers like her. (Okay, I’ll say it. She was always the teacher’s pet.)

To be honest, until this week, I hadn’t thought about the Sterling Scholar thing for, oh, fifteen years, until another friend (Thanks, Sarah!) pointed it out this week as we chatted about receiving our wedding announcements in the mail.

Now for the kicker:

Here’s where the three English Sterling Scholar applicants are today:

The winner went on to get a Master’s degree in Women’s Studies.

Liz is currently a favorite English teacher at our old high school (ironically, teaching my nephew at one point).

And of course, I’m publishing books, freelancing magazine articles, and teaching at writing conferences.

Only the two alternates went on to do anything with English.

In some ways, I wish I could go back to those adolescents we were and assure them that you know what? The adults don’t always know best. Follow your heart. You really do know what you’re doing.

In the Company of Weird

This last weekend I experienced weirdness nirvana—and I had an absolute ball!

For those who keep track, this weekend happened to be the 4th annual LDStorymakers Writers Conference. I spent two days teaching writing, learning writing, and hanging out with writers. If you recall, writers tend to be a weird if lovable bunch, but all of us writers are weird in different ways, so I was right in my element.

So here are a few choice tidbits from my weekend:

First, my weirdness. One of the classes I taught was on grammar and punctuation. Thrilling, no?

Well, to me, it was. And one of the best parts was that a big-shot editor from Deseret Book attended. I finally got to meet Lisa Mangum, who I had heard about many, many times over the course of my career.

Instead of being intimidated (as I had thought I would be), I was thrilled that she sat down in my class. Why? Because really, who else in the world could possibly appreciate a class about commas and semi colons better than an editor?

Several times I turned to her and said things like, "Right, Lisa? Isn't that how YOU would use an em dash?" And she always agreed with me. "Certainly. You're absolutely right." (Or something like that. I was too star struck to remember exactly what she said.)

Of course, after attending my class, Rob Wells had to point out the obvious. "You are such a nerd."

Yeah, well, but he was the one who discovered after attending Josi Kilpack's class that, to his own horror, ROB IS A ROMANCE WRITER!!! GASP!!!

A few other gems from the weekend:

Thanks to Janette Rallison, we discovered that a writer's conference may be the only place on earth where you'll discuss Magnum PI, Dorothy and the Wicked Witch, James Bond, Darth Vader, and Mary Poppins all in the same hour.

It's a ball to find poems written in certain set forms and then sing them to well-known hymns at the top of your lungs. This fun was led by Professor Cynthia Hallen from BYU.

James Dasher has the most bizarre imagination of anyone I know (and that's saying something; I tend to keep company with some weird people).

Every other word out of Jeff Savage's mouth was good-natured rib on James.

Rob Wells admitted to considering using the Hooters logo as a symbol in one of his books.

Josi wore her sunglasses in her hair all day long (and finally told us all why she does that; I always wondered, and now I want to!).

Julie Wright ran the bookstore so smoothly no one realized how much work went into it until after the fact when our books were suddenly just gone.

Other gems: Learning the mystery behind the barbeque smell in the hallways. The freezing cold ballroom, yet the smoldering hot classrooms. All of the keynote speakers who were entertaining, informative, and just plain fun. Getting "crowned" with Heather Moore as next year's conference co-queens (below.) Be impressed I figured out how to add a photo to my blog, because I am a techno-idiot.

My favorite example of writer weird-dom: Tristi-the-pixie Pinkston. I personally don't like to humiliate myself, but Tristi does just that regularly—and on purpose. For two days straight, she donned fairy wings, a crown, and a wand as the door-prize fairy (the conference theme was "The Magic of Writing"). Every few hours she flitted into the ballroom of the Provo library and "poofed" the magic hat that James Dashner held (who furiously blushed every time). But wait; it wasn't over. Once she added a red boa and sang to James (whose face was so red it nearly exploded).

Did I mention I love Tristi?

My best memory was simply driving away on Saturday night with a tinge of melancholy sadness that it was over for another year, but at the same time pumped to get back to writing.

Finally, and on a more serious note, the conference itself really was spectacular. We've grown and improved each year, to the point that I can honestly say WOW.

We have received an amazing amount of positive feedback from our attendees, but let me end with a piece of feedback from Lisa Mangum (yes, that same Lisa from my class) who works at Deseret Book. Her commentary on the conference says it better than I could, and coming from an outside source as high up in the LDS publishing world as she is, it's saying something:

I have been to many writer's conferences during my ten years as Acquisitions Editor for Deseret Book Company and I can say without hesitation that the LDS Storymaker's Conference is one of the best I've ever attended. I was impressed by so many things about the Conference: the classes were exceptional, the presenters were stellar, the speakers were inspirational, the attendees were enthusiastic. I left the Conference thinking to myself, "Here are the writers who are devoted to their craft, who are willing to work hard and be persistent, who understand the business of writing and of publishing. Here are the writers who are going to revolutionize the LDS writing world." I was so happy to have met so many great people who are involved in such a thriving, active writer's community. I look forward to reading the work that will come as a direct result of the Conference. It truly was a privilege to attend the 2007 LDS Storymaker's Conference. —Lisa Mangum, Acquisitions Editor, Deseret Book Company

Seriously, people, this conference is an amazing experience, and I hope that Heather and I as "Co-queens" can make it just as good as Josi and Julie did in 2007. We'll do our best to make the Storymakers proud and to live up to our attendees' hopes.

Borderline Braindead

I've spent the last few weeks chained to my computer while going over reader evaluations and making revisions on my latest manuscript. I've had about three weeks to do any changes, because, quite frankly, that's all I have if I want this book to have any chance of reaching the printer in time to make an appearance at the LDS Booksellers Convention in August like my publisher plans it to be.

So I've done acrobatics to make that happen, since Booksellers is, let's face it, a good place to be as an author, and I've worked hard for years and years to be where I am in the industry. I got to be at Booksellers last year, and the chance to be there again in 07 is one I won't pass up.

Booksellers is where the fall releases get debuted and spotlighted. It's where booksellers literally lineup to get your book. (Face it, this is the one and only time I'll ever have people literally waiting in an long line for me to sign a copy for them.) It's a great promotional opportunity.

As always, when I got my book accepted and the evaluator comments back, I read through them with interest. And, as always, some of the comments conflicted with one another. Others just didn't make sense. (One insisted that a character's motivation should be such and such. It WAS. So I figured I needed to clarify. I did.) Some of the comments had a lot of merit, and I decided to use them and revise to make the book stronger. Some readers had caught a few minor plot holes. I filled them. A few comments I wasn't sure on, so I picked the brains of trusted writers I knew and saw where their opinions fell. Fortunately, they all landed in the same places, so I followed their advice. Some of my readers suggested other changes, additional scenes, and so on.

The final result of the manuscript: a longer but better, stronger, book.

The final result for me: my brain is cottage cheese.

The final result for my family: they ran out of underwear, dishes, and bread.

That rarely happens. (Hush, honey. It doesn't either.)

I'm usually on top of the laundry especially. But somehow the other day in the middle of rewrites I looked up from the monitor to see that the house had pretty much fallen apart.

Alrighty then, I thought, paper plates for dinner it is. What chapter am I on?

NOT an Anne Freak

I know this may come as a shock to many people. To many of my close friends, in fact.

But I am not an Anne of Green Gables freak.

Sure, I have every single one of Anne books. They're all dog-eared and nearly memorized. I own all the movies except for the last one, which is a vile thing that should never have been made. (Any self-respecting fan knows what I'm talking about, and I could go on a rampage about the timeline, the characters, the technology, and the sheer adulteration of all things Montgomery, but I'll spare you.)

I was introduced to Anne in the eighth grade. It was the year when L.M. Montgomery's books were somehow being republished after a long time of being out of print, and I scooped them up as quickly as they were being reprinted (and as quickly as my allowance let me). I remember the excitement of buying Rilla of Ingleside at the Farrer Middle School book fair.

My closest friends were doing the same, and we were all living the Anne life. We took long walks through nature and watched sunsets and ate cookies and had tea parties the way we imagined Anne and Diana might have. We started (okay, I started) a creative writing club based on Anne's.

But there was a big difference in how the rest of them viewed our activities. While they imagined themselves as being Anne, I imagined myself as her creator.

Forget Anne; I was Lucy Maud Montgomery!

Oh, I liked Anne. I still do. But I wanted to be the writer who made her up. I wanted to create a character and stories. I wanted the paper and pencil in my hands (or the keys of the typewriter under my fingers).

To this day, I have an entire shelf in my office that carries my LMM books. And it has a lot more than Anne; it has all of her books that I began collecting in eighth grade. At some point (when I really, really trust them) I'll let my daughters borrow them.

In addition to Anne, there's Pat and Emily and Marigold and Kilmeny and The Story Girl and Jane and Valancy and The Tangled Web and a slew of short stories. There's an autobiography. There's five volumes of journals. There's a CD of photographs and information about LMM's life. There's a volume that includes poetry and other writings that pre-date Anne.

And if I'm being perfectly truthful, Anne doesn't even make the top three of my favorite LMM heroines.

To me, Anne is only a slice of who Maud really was. (No, she didn't go by Lucy. She actually hated that name.) And for that matter, she only wrote eight books about Anne because the public demanded it. Even she got tired of Anne. Ever wonder why she started writing about Anne's KIDS?

I love learning about who she really was, what her life was like. How it differed from her books. (VERY MUCH.)

Some day I'd love to go to Canada and visit places that are special to her.

And no, it wouldn't necessarily be the Green Gables house, although that might be fun. I'd prefer the manses where she spent her married life and did the majority of her writing, and that might mean not visiting Prince Edward Island. Instead I'd go to Leaksdale and Norval, both not too far from Toronto, on the mainland.

If I ever do go to PEI, I'll be sure to go to Park Corner and check out the little nail by the stairs that she used to measure herself on each time she visited her cousins. Those are the little human elements that make her real to me.

LMM has had such an impact on me that I've noticed phrases, characters, and even plot lines in my own work that hearken to hers--unintentionally. My computer is even named after her. (Maud, of course, not Lucy.)

As a nod, I try to read one of her books each year. Up next? Anne's House of Dreams.

A Don't-Miss Writing Conference

Coming in only two weeks is a terrific opportunity for aspiring LDS writers: The LDStorymaker Writers Conference! The Conference is Friday & Saturday, March 23 & 24 at Provo's Library at Academy Square.

I’m a huge fan of conferences in general—they’re a great way to polish your writing skills, network with other writers, make new friends, learn more about the business end of the industry, and get feedback on your work. I always come away from conferences with my creative batteries charged, feeling refreshed and eager to get to the keyboard.

This is the LDStorymakers’ fourth annual conference, and I’ve been privileged to be part of it every year. It’s one of the best conferences in Utah, with a wide variety of ability levels and topics to fit any writer.

Back by popular demand this year is Writer’s Boot Camp, a two-day, heavy-duty hands-on workshop where your work is critiqued by published authors and conference attendees. It was a huge success and wildy popular last year, and looks to be growing even bigger this time. I’ll be a Boot Camp instructor/sergeant again this year. I’m also teaching two classes.

The first is on dialogue, something I feel passionate about. If you write good dialogue, your story really comes to life. Write bad dialogue, and your story is about as flat as cardboard. You always hear "show not tell." Good dialogue is one of the best ways to SHOW.

My other class is on a topic many writers shy away from learning about, but it’s absolutely critical you know this stuff if you want to being taken seriously: grammar and punctuation. When you submit a manuscript, you want the editor to notice your story, not your misplaced modifier, not the awkward punctuation or the incorrect spelling. Editors are looking for a reason to reject you; don’t give them one! If you are unsure what a comma splice is or how in the heck to use lay/lie correctly, this the class for you.

The 2-day conference is filled with terrific workshops from lots of great published LDS writers. Among them is Brandon Sanderson, who publishes young adult fantasy nationally; Janette Rallison, author of many national humorous young adult novels; and Rachel Ann Nunes, one of the top-selling LDS romance authors of all time. Entertainment will be provided by popular speaker John Bytheway.

If you’re interested, take a peek at the LDStorymaker website. The early bird registration deadline has passed, but the conference is still a bargain. Don’t miss out.

I hope to see you there!

History Goldmine

I'm taking a minute away from book rewrites (one of the less-fun parts of the publishing end) to mention one of the coolest experiences I've had in a while.

Backing up: Last November, I got a phone message from one Darrin Smith, a historian living in Cache Valley. After reading House on the Hill, which is set in Logan and focuses on the Logan temple, he knew I had a love for that building and the area. (He was absolutely right. Even though I've gone on to research other temples and parts of Utah and write about them, my heart belongs to Logan and Cache Valley and always will.)

He gave me an amazing offer: I could have free rein of his archives, which include diaries, theses, photographs, newspaper articles, letters, and a ton more on two conditions: that if I ever publish another book about Logan (which I plan to--several, actually), that he can be in the acknowledgments and that he can have a copy.

Holy cow! Are you kidding me? DONE!

The problem with his voice mail was timing--I got it right before the Utah Chocolate Show, during which time I'm little more than a blur. After the show came Thanksgiving. Then final manuscript preparations so I could submit my latest book to my publisher, and on top of that was Christmas (no need to elaborate there . . .). Put mildly, I was busy. Then the New Year arrived, with more deadlines and craziness.

Throughout the entire time, Darrin's name and number sat on a scribbled note right next to my monitor. Every day I'd look at it and think, "Dang! I've got to call this guy!" But I also knew that it would make little sense to call without having an idea of when my family could make the trek up north. Finally, toward the end of January, I found a few clear dates and called him back.

By this point, he likely thought I had droppped off the planet and didn't want to take him up on his offer. He graciously invited me and my husband to come visit.

Last weekend, we did. For a couple of hours, he showed us some of his huge collection, including original photos of Logan in its early years and photos of some of the real people in my book. I almost trembled when I got to hold the picture of Billie King, who died in a tragic snow slide. It was like finally meeting an old friend.

My husband and I packed up a few armfuls of records and photos and headed to the nearest Kinko's. We spent hours frantically copying documents on two different copiers (and quickly blowing through over a hundred dollars), leaving only when they closed for the night and kicked us out (who knew that a Kinko's in a university city wouldn't be open 24 hours?).

When we returned everything to Darrin late that night, he graciously gave us some photographs he had taken of the Logan temple--one of which is so darn cool that I can't wait to post it on my web site. (I'll be sure to include information on how others can purchase a copy of the photo--it's timeless, beautiful, and unlike any photo of the temple you've ever seen.)

I have yet to go through the big box of copies I have sitting next to my file cabinet now. Thanks to rewrites and other editorial deadlines, it may be a little while before I can really sit down and dig through it, enjoying the rich history and compelling stories.

But I can't wait to do that. Some of the information comes from the very things that Nolan P. Olsen used to write his volume about the Logan temple--the very book that got me excited to write a novel about the construction. Now I get to read HIS original sources and learn even more.

Darrin's generosity has been tremendous--and he's saved me literally years and years of research, much of which it would have been impossible to duplicate even if I had tried. Since I'm a storyteller rather than a historian, this experience has been a once in a lifetime goldmine for which I'm truly grateful.

Thanks, Darrin!