Oh Crap!

It's blog action day and all I did was talk about myself.

I'm supposed to write something about poverty. I can't even focus on it because when I think about how connected we all are and how, when thinking that, we should all be going to bed hungry, I feel all overwhelmed. Don't believe me? Where were your clothes made? Who picked the fruit and vegetables you eat? Where did the wood that made the furniture you sit, eat, work, and sleep come from?

Poverty touches us all, if we know how to look around and see it. I'm not saying this because I think we should all feel guilty. I don't think guilt is a very healthy motivator. I say it to make you more aware. To make myself more aware. Opening my eyes to the interconnectedness of us all helps me not get lost in my own head. It also keeps me honest. We are all hypocrites, if we look closely enough.

I do not have the funds right now to donate to the cause that will alleviate my guilt for the day. I know, I said not to feel guilty, but the reaction is like breathing for me. So I write this meaningless jumble of words, hoping to open one other person's eyes. Or at least try to.

Ummm, yeah

So I hate coming up with titles for these things because most of my posts are so lacking direction or focus. I'm thinking of visiting some random name generator to do it in the future.

I finished this major thing at work yesterday and I think I'm broken. Because I should feel better. Lighter. At least less sleep-deprived. But instead I went home yesterday and the only thing that kept me from crying all night was the chance to finally see Monday's Chuck and Heroes episodes. No, I'm not going to talk about how Heroes has sucked me into its strange cult of fuck!me! right now. There are things happening in my brain that I'm certain psychotropic medications may fix, but for now, I'm enjoying the ride.

I couldn't sleep last night (hence the sleep deprivation), and for some reason, my hands kept itching. Not in some prophetic "money!" way, but in a "Did I eat something weird?" way. But even that wasn't it. I sometimes itch when I'm stressed out. I broke out into hives on the day I was supposed to be competing in the Missouri State Junior Olympics. The night two of our cafe staff and my only other closing lead had to leave the store early, my manager almost sent me home because I was scratching my arms to bleeding. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it's spectacular.

But I shouldn't have been feeling that at all yesterday. I should have felt light, grateful, pleased, even.

I am afraid I have become that thing I can't stand - an apathetic human. I know apathy is a normal reaction sometimes. That it protects us from internal and external stresses. My problem is with those who use it as an excuse to not care about anything going on around them, not engage with the world, and keep from even trying to make a difference. I see apathetic people as the close cousins of cynical people. And really, I don't hate such people. I love quite a few cynics, actually.

My apathy, though, is the result of something else. I've spoken before about how I do not know how to ask for help. Trust me when I say: I would rather chew off my own hand sometimes than ask for help. Not because I think I do everything best, but because I don't trust others will come through for me. I have been working very hard to let that go, to trust that the people in my life are willing to step in, hold me up, keep me sane, when I ask for it. But the asking is still hard as shit.

If my life were a movie, it would go something like this:
No, scratch that, not nearly important enough for a movie, maybe TV movie? Nope, nothing melodramatic enough happening. Little indie feature starring Catherine Keener (can she play me? because I lurvs her) that has no actual plot, but little character observations? ...no, then I'd have to have sex with an obviously mentally disturbed Jake Gyllenhaal character.

Hmmm.

Okay, if my life were an episode of Murder, She Wrote, I would be the character incorrectly accused of murder because I couldn't reach out to others and just when my faith in humanity is almost gone, sitting in my lonely jail cell, being harassed by the ignorant local cops, Jessica Fletcher would come riding in on her brilliant blaze of glory and show me what trust in others means, because she trusted I was innocent even though she didn't know me. She just had a feeling about me. Because she's made of all the awesome in the world. There is no more air for awesome when Jessica Fletcher is around. And don't get all "But everywhere she goes, people die!" Yeah? People die everywhere, bub. But with Jessica Fletcher around, you can guarantee the right person will go to jail for it.

My life, alas, is not an episode of Murder, She Wrote. Pity, that. I think Jessica Fletcher would be an awesome friend.

Because when I do ask for help? Really and truly break through that wall and say, "Hey! I'm drowning here! Please help me with this one specific thing, huh?" And whoever I ask says, "No problem!" And I feel better for a little while. Until it occurs to me nothing has been done. So when I do it again, because by this point, I really really need the help. And someone else says, "No problem!" I start feeling a little less better, because by this time I'm thinking...yep, right. No help there either. The laughable part comes when someone asks if they can help me and I say - all excited - Yes! Please! Can you do this? And they look at me and make some assenting noises and...right. Just tell me no, next time, 'k?

So instead of being the plucky girl wrongly accused of murder who learns that help is there if you ask for it, I am now the whiny bag of itchy sleep-deprived apathy who learns she can't count on those who are supposed to be there for her.

So I finished a long-overdue project yesterday. And I should feel lighter. Instead all I feel is the continuing pressure of everything else. And the sinking feeling I'm in this alone.

In another life, I am a librarian

I do not know if I would have the capability of awesome I see sometimes, though.

Here is yet another story about librarian fabulosity.

You don't have to be a librarian to appreciate librarian etiquette. Especially those of us who work(ed) in bookstores.

The Librarian's Internet Index send me a weekly themed set of websites chock full of information.

Signs for libraries. I would do a square dance if I were to actually see one of these in my local branch.

Love libraries. Kiss a librarian.

It's Monday! - More thoughts on Heroes

So for the past two weeks, Monday has not held the same excitement for me because my local NBC affiliate got into a bidding war with our cable company. Now we have Starz Kids & Family instead of The Office, Chuck and Heroes.

[Note: I've been having major issues with the carpal tunnel these days and am attempting to type with one of those cushiony thingies in front of the keyboard. I feel like I'm learning to type all over again. If more typos slip past than usual, please forgive.]

So now I watch Chuck and The Office on the computer and Heroes on G4--all a day later. And it sucks. So if my usual TV wrap-up is late, please understand. And for some reason, in honor of the show that will not let me hate it, I give you my Heroes sunshine and clouds:

Actually I have to give props to my livejournal friend of awesomeness Fiareynne, for telling me I was taking it all way too seriously and needed to see the humor in what was happening. So last week I tried to do just that, and...and...I think I liked it!

Don't get me wrong, Peter is still a whiny little bitch. He seems to do things without thinking twice about the consequences, such as taking on Sylar's power and then getting pissed at Sylar for having his murderous impulses. Really, Peter, that fact that future-Sylar told you it was a bad idea just wasn't enough? No, you're Peter, you must save the world, which is in constant threat of being blown up.

I can't wait to see the episode wherein we find out the world is actually going to blow up because some mutant squirrels have been chewing through wires at a nuclear power plant.

The future-Heroes is still unimpressive to me. Goth!Clarie is as annoying as Cheerleader!Claire. She just has more of an excuse to be all pissed off now, what with the false eyelashes making her eyes itch all the time. And they're trying to set up all this complexity as in: who's bad? who's really good? OMG, maybe Peter is the bad guy! And I get wrapped up in wondering and then I remember Tim Kring created Crossing Jordan, so what was I expecting, really? Just keep giving me more Parkman and I'll be happy.

Another reason the future storyline bugs me is this idea that the future is fixed. It doesn't seem to matter who does what or how they do it or who gets hurt in the process, the end result is the same: squirrels chew through the wires at a nuclear power plant and blow up the planet. Someone oughtta be out hunting squirrel.

But...but, all that aside, I loved future Sylar. I was curious who the mother of his son is. Okay, I will admit to a moment of , wouldn't it be cool of the mother is Claire, that kid would be unstoppable! Oh! the angst! and then I remembered Claire is Sylar's niece and ewwed all over the place.

Then came the crowning moment I loved. The part that, no matter how formulaic and predictable, makes me get all giddy inside: Nathan flying. I don't know why I turn into such a girly-girl whenever Nathan flies out to save someone. Maybe it's touching on my childhood mad crush I had on Christopher Reeve and I believed I too could win the heart of Superman. Though unlike Lois, I would never let him give up his powers for me. In fact, now that I'm examining it, I think Reeve/Superman was my first actor-as-character obsession. In my head, I was writing fanfic all over the place.

I don't even care for Adrian Pasdar that much. His voice is a little too nasal and I get the impression he's a wee little thing (I could be wrong, but the higher pitched voice gives me that impression). And I'm getting sick of the repeating political storyline the same way I'm tired of Peter's whining and Hiro's Ando abuse. But in an HRG-free episode, I'll take all the heroic saving the damsel in distress (can I say fucking ugh already!) I can get.

Friday What?

I don't know what I'm doing here. Usually when I have nothing of interest to talk about, I do it on livejournal. But I fear I've been boring everyone over there too much lately. So I'll just babble here for a while and throw some links in at the bottom and we can all happily move along, 'k?

Last night was the Husband's birthday. He, the Second Wife, and I went to eat at Fogo de Chao, a Brazilian steakhouse. If you've never experienced this, you must try it once. It is like Vegas in a restaurant. The funniest part is when you're ready for your meat course and you flip over your coaster to the green side to let the servers know, you're suddenly inundated by all these beautiful men in baggy pants and boots, waving around giant skewers of meat. You forget they'll keep coming until you flip your coaster back over and have to fight the urge to scream "Stop!" Oh yeah, not a place for vegetarians, by the way. SW made a comment about having to challenge everyone to a duel if he were wearing those pants and brandishing sword-like skewers, which then lead to an Inigo Montoya quote-athon as we dug into our very delicious meat array.

Then we went to one of my favorite bars in Austin for a nightcap, which was about all we could handle while our digestive systems worked overtime on protein. The owner is very nice and always greets us like we're his favorite people there. I was therefore pleased when he announced that - after being open after only 7 months - Nomad was given a "Best of Austin" award. which is way cool, but at the same time not, because then one becomes afraid of who else will start showing up. Yes, I'm a snob like that. I get tired of Austin hipsters. I also avoid certain bars because of the high college student quotient. I went to college bars when I was in college. No need to relive that now.

Then again, who am I kidding? I "go out" about once every two months. I don't really like bars that much anymore, and I'm not really a drinker. Trust me when I say being the lone sober person surrounded by drunks is not amusing. It's actually boring as shit. The funny thing is, because I so rarely join the Husband at his watering hole, when I do I am treated like a Queen. Everyone is soooo happy to see me. I don't pay for a single drink. While gratifying - and a boost to my ego - it feels weird to have all the attention. Luckily, drunks have short attention spans and move on quickly. Tonight will be one of those nights, as the Husband's official b-day party is at...a bar.

In other news, I'm trying to write a ghost story. But I can't get the atmosphere right, so instead it's just a story narrated by a ghost. We'll see.

Linkage:
I enjoy watching The Big Lebowski more now than I did when it came out. I think it's because, as this article states, of the high quotability quotient.

What are your favorite words? I actually knew about half of these off the top of my head. My favorite word, for sound effect only, is bamboozled.

Banksy makes statements again. This time legally.

I have found one of my favorite new blogs. I can only hope I am this stylish when I get old. Or maybe it's in the carrying yourself with style that allows old people to pull off such things with style. No joke.

Have a great weekend, y'all.

Another thing about idol worship

Why do I purchase a book of short stories, in hardcover, that only contains two stories I do not own in another form?

Kelly Link, that's why.

And the cover is soooo pretty!

Simon Pegg is made of rainbows and unicorns

Or, How I learned to stop worrying and love the bomb.

Went to see How to Lose Friends & Alienate People yesterday. It was that or Nick & Norah, and I didn't feel like going to see a movie during which I would start to feel uncomfortably old, no matter how clever it is. I went with absolutely no expectations. I went alone (as the Husband is sick as a...). I went because I haven't been out of my freaking house except to go to work all week. And because one of the few theaters showing it is a mere 5 minutes from my house.

Oh, and, Simon Pegg.

I don't know if this is a review or just an explanation of an experience or simply me gushing once again about a subject I never seem to tire of. So I'll start with the movie.

HTLF is being marketed in the US as a cross between an Adam Sandler movie and Curb Your Enthusiasm. I am sorry for that, because while it is closer to the latter than the former, I believe it is the former that will keep people away that may actually enjoy what it has to offer. It isn't the most blistering or edgiest of comedies about the blurry lines between print journalism and celebrity. It falls back a little too much on sight gags. It is predictable.

Yet.

It is intelligent, thoughtful, funny, and scorchingly acted. And it makes what I believe to be important statements about the loss of integrity in print media by using a venue that is easily palatable: a predictable, easy on the eyes, and fluffy movie with appealing leads and more to it than US reviewers are giving credit (dead dogs and urinating pigs notwithstanding).

Most importantly, it entertained me on a slow Sunday afternoon after a week of craptacular life events.

I'm not giving a summary of the film, as it is too easy to find one, should you be interested. I am instead going to point out those things which kept me entertained for almost 2 hours in a nearly empty theater.

The acting contributed so much more than I anticipated, I think I would see it again for the beauty of it. Megan Fox, Pegg described as a talented actress and "beautiful geek" (see notes about this later), surprised me the most and how could she not? My previous impression of her consisted mainly of one terrible movie and some shameless sexist self-promotion in Rolling Stone. As such, she is a bit like her character, an up-and-coming ingenue who is engaging in shameless self-promotion in order to keep her name at the top of the list. That she is a lovely young woman is without question. Her beauty is pretty much unparalleled among young actors of her generation. Her acting was surprisingly spot-on. My esteem grew when it occurred to me she wasn't playing a shallow and stupid wannabe, but a shallow and cunning will-be. The transition of this realization, while predictable, was still surprising enough to keep me from feeling I had been hit on the head with a frying pan by its obviousness.

While Gillian Anderson and Jeff Bridges weren't in it enough for my taste, their input was valuable. Both glowed in their respective roles. It was especially gratifying to see Anderson looking fabulous as the ruthless, yet still charming, Eleanor Johnson. And Bridges' wig didn't scream at me with its wigness once.

Kirsten Dunst has been in the business longer than any actor her age. She knows its flaws and foibles as well as anyone. Honestly, I'm fairly ambivalent towards her, but I do respect anyone who has had to play this game for so long and still maintains some integrity by not giving into the whims of Hollywood lookism. She is, in fact, so normal looking in this movie, especially in contrast to everyone else (purposefully done - and to great effect, imo), that I wanted everything for her character. That she plays the aspiring writer who ends up shilling celebrity gossip and falling for - against her better judgement - Pegg's Sidney Young, plays into this normalness very well.

Then there's Simon Pegg, he of the glowing rainbow that forms a pulsating heart-shaped bubble within me. I can't even begin to describe why I love this man so much, but I will attempt to do so for those of you who have not seen his work (and what is wrong with you?).

Recent articles liken him to the next Hugh Grant. Let me set the record straight. Pegg is no more the next Grant, than he is the next Colin Firth, Clive Owen, Jude Law, Ewan McGregor, Daniel Craig, or any other actor who happens to have an accent. He, like all the other actors mentioned, is an entity unto himself who brings his own talents and charisma to the screen with such consistency, I cannot help but be impressed by him.

As an actor, Pegg is highly physical, in that he uses his whole body to convey emotions and reactions, as real people do. With every facial twitch, head jerk, and hand gesture, he is able to project his character's thoughts with such verve, you feel you are watching a real person, and not an actor playing a part. From Angel's stiffness to Tim's slouch, Pegg uses physical action and reaction to add dimension to each character he plays. As such, he exhibits a high level of comfort with his own body that translates so beautifully through the camera that no movement feels scripted. I believe it is this comfort with the very physicality of his acting which gives Pegg an edge of sexiness most American actors lack, and definitely adds to his appeal.

He is credited as being a comic actor, and he is. He has shown in every role he's played a varied range of emotion. He's good at it as well. By-the-book Sergeant Angel moves through the first half of Hot Fuzz with such determination and reserve (and not just a bit of priggishness), we are startled by that first laugh that is almost forced out of him. It pleases us to see the break, so much did we believe this persona was fixed. But it is not just range which tranfixes us, but the seeming improvisational aspect of it, best seen by the constant re-imagining of events undergone by Shaun in Shaun of the Dead. HTLF's Sidney Young is a complex character we feel we should loathe, and yet we don't, because Pegg is able to bring that complexity to light especially when Young is being a complete ass. At those times, we instead simply shake our heads, thinking, "Oh Sidney, why?"

Then there's Simon Pegg the person. Of course, I do not know Pegg at all. I have no idea what truly drives him, what kind of husband he is, what his dreams are. He is - as we all are - an entire universe unto himself with all manner of angels and devils guiding him. What I do see is the person he projects through his interviews and blogs, and the steadfast connections he has formed over the years. For example, in his blogs concerning his travels on the Spaced Invasion tour and for HTLF promotion, Pegg details for his followers the many people he meets along the way. Many are famous, some are not. He uses the same glowing terms to describe all of them. Kirsten Dunst is "lovely" (a common description), he and Zachary Quinto "geeked out together about being in Star Trek," James Franco is a "top fella," and then there's this bit concerning not getting the chance to chat with Mischa Barton at Cannes:

[Who] I wanted to apologize to, after a story appeared in the press, shortly after the National Movie Awards that claimed that me and Nick had made fun of
her. We hadn't and most certainly wouldn't. We have an affection for the OC because Shaun Of The Dead got an honorable mention in Season 2 and lest we forget she was the creepy little puker in The 6th Sense, which in my book gives her real geek kudos. Also, she is pretty.

None of these statements - or the many others similar - tell me a substantive thing about the persons mentioned, but to me speak volumes about Pegg as someone who doesn't mention a person without saying something positive about him or her. One gets the impression he does it not to name drop, but because he is so fucking stoked to meet actors he has watched and enjoyed onscreen. Pegg is first and foremost a movie-loving geek, and in reading his blogs, I also feel he has a deep appreciation for his fans. Added to that, he is intelligent and genuinely funny. Also, he is cute.

In HTLF, Pegg plays a guy who sells his soul to attain his dream. In doing so, he realizes it's not that the dream isn't what it's cracked up to be - because it is everything he ever dreamt it would be - but that it doesn't matter anymore because he has no soul. To me, this is a universal theme that cannot be reiterated enough. I feel I can say with considerable confidence that Simon Pegg is attaining his dream without selling his soul, and we are all winners for it.

MOAR Friday Frivolity

It's Friday. I'm bored. Which is not something, I realize, I should admit to while I'm at work, but there you have it.

Couple more things I've come across:

Simon Pegg gives an interview at The AV Club, and because it's the AV Club, it's not the same old, same old, we usually see in promo interviews:

AVC: In the film your character goes from being a spectacular failure to a huge success more or less over the course of a montage sequence.

SP: God bless the montage. [Laughs.]

Also included, a series of quote-offs in the comments.

And in his blog, Simon expresses his usual aplomb regarding the movie biz on the day of the HTLF premier:

With regards to the movie, it's up to the box office gods now. I have a feeling it will do better at home than it will here in the States. We're up against a Chihuahua and the ever lovable Michael Cera, not to mention Eagle Eye, so I'm not sure how an outsider like me will fare in such crowded waters. The reviews have been pretty mixed, so it's anyone's guess. I hope you will go see it and I hope you will enjoy it. I certainly had a great time making it.

Out YA author Brent Hartinger previews the Gay Coming Attractions over at AfterElton. In it, movies, both small and large, are previewed for their potential gay friendliness and themes.

Regarding the drug lord/assassin movie La Linea:
Why Is It Gay? One of the drug lords is gay. And Esai Morales, Andy Garcia, and Ray Liotta are pretty easy on the eyes.

Quick Friday Frivolity

Couple of things which caught my eye this morning:

Sarah Palin's interview technique revealed! She is actually speaking in free verse:

"Challenge to a Cynic"

You are a cynic.
Because show me where
I have ever said
That there's absolute proof
That nothing that man
Has ever conducted
Or engaged in,
Has had any effect,
Or no effect,
On climate change.

(To C. Gibson, ABC News, Sept. 11, 2008)

"Small Mayors"

You know,
Small mayors,
Mayors of small towns—
Quote, unquote—
They're on the front lines.

(To S. Hannity, Fox News, Sept. 19, 2008)

via slate

...and now blogger want me to speak in italics. Oh well.

John Crace, my favorite book digester for the Guardian UK, knocks out some banned books for you to round out banned books week:

From Harry Potter and the...

Harry could feel the scar on his forehead burning as he surveyed the wreckage of the past 3,500 pages. Sirius lay dead, Hedwig lay dead and Dumbledore lay dead. And now Voldemort lay dead. He alone was the ruler of Magic Land. "Did they really think I was going to stop there?" he cackled manically. "Now to take on the Muggles and that Pussy Jesus."

From Ulysses:

[Molly] wonders if she knocks this all out in a long unreadable stream of consciousness with no discernible punctuation she'll be able to sneak the dirty bits past the US censors as they'll probably have found something better to do by now. No.

"You learn how to be lonely" - An anticipatory review

[Cross-posted to my livejournal page, for those who read both]
November 2006: I have lived in Austin for exactly seven months. One of my favorite people (Random Thinkables) is coming in town to visit me. We are attending the World Fantasy Convention, which happens to be in town this year. I look at the schedule and circle every appearance by Kelly Link. I plan to stalk her, declare my undying love for her, after which I will either 1) be asked to leave; or 2) be asked to join her and her husband (equally talented, though not as prolific, author Gavin Grant) in Massachussetts to work at their publishing company, Small Beer Press.

An excerpt from my book review of Magic for Beginners:
Perhaps, in the reading of it, I have gleaned some knowledge into the paranormal, the quixotic, the hidden theme park adult playland for zombies and other recently departed, and those dead souls waiting to be reborn. In finishing it, I feel I just came home from playing at my weirdest, coolest new friend's house, the one to which I thought I'd never get invited. I hope she lets me sit at her table for lunch tomorrow.

Kelly Link manages to bridge a gap in short story writing I feel has been absent for years, or possibly has never existed. Her work, usually genre-fied as "speculative" flows too easily from the imaginary to hyper-realistic. For every faery handbag, there is a very real teenage girl desperate to fix something she broke. So while the situations are speculative - replete with monsters, haunted houses, the undead, and Greek gods reborn - her stories are populated by someone we all recognize within ourselves, our friends, our neighbors. Their reactions become ours.

Or, as stated in an article in The Phoenix: She’s the rare writer who’s able to mix these [pop cultural] of-the-moment items, products, and activities with the eternal, the timeless: quests, coming of age, entering a new world, death, and the day-to-day mysteries of being human.

As someone who is constantly, anthropologically fascinated by the day-to-day mysteries of being human, Link's stories appeal to me in spite of their inherent darkness. There are few happy endings here, and I find I mind little when confronted with writing so completely bewitching.

From The Specialist's Hat (click link to read the entire story):

Last year, they were learning fractions in school when her mother died. Fractions remind Samantha of herds of wild horses, piebalds and pintos and palominos. There are so many of them, and they are, well, fractious and unruly. Just when you think you have one under control, it throws up its head and tosses you off. Claire's favorite number is 4, which she says is a tall, skinny boy. Samantha doesn't care for boys that much. She likes numbers. Take the number 8, for instance, which can be more than one thing at once. Looked at one way, 8 looks like a bent woman with curvy hair. But if you lay it down on its side, it looks like a snake curled with its tail in its mouth. This is sort of like the difference between being Dead and being dead. Maybe when Samantha is tired of one, she will try the other.

More from my review:
Magic for Beginners is one of those books that cannot stay within the boundaries of a single description.
-It is fantastical writing with a literary bent.
-It is a collection of literary short stories with an air of magic realism.
-It has zombies (but not the kind that eat your brain), and interview with a recently-divorced cannon (the kind that shoots people over the crowds), a haunted house guarded by rabbits (or is it the marriage that's haunted and are the rabbits preparing for war?), a not-so-nice fairy tale involving cats (or are they witches?), zombie contingency plans, metafiction, and stories within stories within stories that cycle back into themselves in such a way one could read the story forwards, backwards or even in a starburst pattern from the inside out.
These aren't happy stories. They're melancholy and best read between 2 and 4 a.m. while the zombies are at their local convenience store looking for things that aren't there and handing pajamas to the night clerk.

Kelly Link's latest book of short stories, Pretty Monsters, is being marketed for the YA crowd, because Sharyn November (who I stalked at August 2007's Armadillo Con) is smart enough to know her stories can appeal to a broader audience than she's been given. And also because teens and pre-teens are less involved in worrying about what "genre" the book they're reading says about their intellectual capacity. They just want something good to read.

Kelly Link is better than good. In my eyes, she is a Rock Star of short story writing, which is why stalking her held such sweaty-palmed anticipation for me. I couldn't even imagine how to approach someone whose stories always contained a hint of menace, somehow without seeming morose, or even dark. How is it I can meet actors and musicians without barely a "meh" and meeting a writer makes me all quivery inside?

As it turns out, I simply approach her at the Small Beer table in the expo room. I gush a little bit overmuch, but hopefully with the same articulate intelligence I tend to always gush. I make reference to the "lunch table" comment in my review. At her reading at Book People (literally the coolest bookstore ever), I tell her that if her stories were food, I would eat them everyday. I believe she is pleased. Because even professional writers, I have learned, love to hear their work has touched people. Even if those people are touched.

Magic for Beginners and Stranger Things Happen are under Creative Commons licensing and are available for free download here and here.
Pretty Monsters is available now. Do not be afraid to enter the teen section of your bookstore to pick it up.