Amanda's Blog

AmandaHillOnline.com

2007-12-07T18:38:00.000-08:00

Once again, don't forget that the blog is moving to amandahillonline.com.

But there's so much more, including: a first-time Q&A about Love Like That, an announcement of the forthcoming Love Like This and some resources and thoughts for aspiring writers!

Be sure and stop by!

My new website is amandahillonline.com

2007-12-06T23:13:00.000-08:00

From now on I will be blogging at amandahillonline.com.

Please visit, and often!

2007-11-19T14:37:00.000-08:00

After reading my last post and considering the length of time that has passed since, I realized that some of you might be under the impression that I really did stick my head in an oven. Alas, I did not. I'm just out of clever (?) things to write about. But here is some exciting news, now that Love Like That is pretty much out of print, I've decided it's time to have my own promotional website. I do realize that most writers don't wait to announce that they've "arrived" until they've actually, uh, left...but what can I say, I like to do things my way! Coming soon and details to follow.

2007-10-15T17:36:00.000-07:00

I'm a month into my search for a new literary agent and I'm already bored and uninspired by it. Despite encouraging writers to send email queries on agency websites, email is obviously not the way to go if you want a response. (They warn that they might not respond if they aren't interested, but personally I've come to like getting those rejection letters back. At least its a break from credit card offers and Victoria's Secret catalogues!) It also seems to be a popular practice that agents won't necessarily respond even if you mail your query with an SASE. I hope some intern is at least steaming the stamps off to paste on the letters that don't come with SASEs, and are going back to the writers who probably never ever researched the politics of the query process but still managed to write the "right" kind of novel for publication.

I have had some encouraging nibbles--but it's still incredibly discouraging to get a request for sample chapters and then a rejection for the full manuscript. I think this is how writers eventually just give up and stick their heads into ovens.

2007-10-10T22:08:00.000-07:00

I hate it when you're so exhausted all you want to do is sleep, yet you don't want to go to bed too early because what that actually means is you're going to work that much sooner. Ugh.

As I wait for agents to get back to me on Fabulous New Novel/Future Bestseller, I'm toying with the idea of doing a self-published version of the follow-up to Love Like That. My former agent wasn't too keen on it because we would have had to pitch it as a stand-alone tale and not a sequel--very difficult--not to mention that Dalton, as it turns out, has conservative (ahem, anti-liberal) political views and somehow I just don't see that "flaw" selling her as a character that most modern women could relate to. It does, however, seem a shame that her story continued and that nobody will ever read it. Surely those 10,000 women who read LLT--minus the ones who hated it--would like to know what happened to Dalton (spoiler alert!!) after she departed her life of sordid debauchery in LA and moved to D.C. to live as a respectable married woman?

I can't see there being any risk involved in this potential project. So hell, maybe I'll just do it. Beats sitting around wondering if anyone in NYC is actually reading my query letters or if they've just placed them in a stack with thousands of others awaiting a form rejection when time permits. And the way I see it, it costs a few hundred bucks to self-publish a book and the writer gets a decent percentage of each sale, so I could conceivably make that back. Especially if I ever get around to starting a promotional website. Now if only "Amanda Hill, Attorney at Law" would retire her snazzy homepage so I can claim my domain...

Now I really must be getting to bed. Night night!

The meaning of possessions

2007-10-08T22:21:00.000-07:00

I once worked with a guy who'd spent the majority of his adult life moving from place to place, most of these locations extremely international when compared to the everyday sanctuary of Los Angeles. During one of our conversations about books he mentioned that Graham Greene's The Quiet American was among his favorites. I asked if I could borrow it and he said no. Why, because it was one of his most prized possessions and he said that once you start moving around a lot, you tend to forget about everything that has no meaning and instead become quite attached to everything that does. Never did end up reading The Quiet American, but:

I did happen to pick up this ashtray in a little sidewalk shop in Monte Carlo when I was 22, green and gold and in the shape of a turtle. I remember it being one of the first things I unwrapped when I moved into my first post-college apartment in my same-college town. Then, a most integral piece of decor in my first Hollywood apartment, back when it was acceptable to smoke in the residence, and then later an objet d'art in my second Hollywood apartment when we sophisticatedly moved onto the balcony for cigarettes. It drove with me from LA/California to DC/Virginia and then later from Virginia to Nevada when I moved to Las Vegas. And right after I moved into my apartment here, I dropped it on the patio and it broke. I remember thinking what a shame when this tiny ceramic sculpture had made it to so many places and so far, and so, placed its broken pieces on my kitchen counter in hopes that it might someday be glued back together.

Took about a year and a half to get around to buying the glue because I can be pretty lazy like that--but long story short, tonight I actually glued it back together. And isn't it strange how pleased I am about that?

Feels like an awakening, the rebirth of this artifact.

I love this turtle ashtray. Not for its purpose but because of what it represents. Me being 22 and traveling around Europe back when it didn't really occur to me that a month of vacation isn't a given but a privilege; me being 24/25/26 and living in Hollywood like everybody just does that; me being 28 and moving to Washington, D.C. just to "try something different," and me moving to Las Vegas for "the experience."

Funny thing about certain possessions. They really do mean something.

Why I only watch TV when I'm seriously fucking bored

2007-10-03T22:21:00.000-07:00

I can admit to being slightly masochistic. I read blogs I hate to read, sleep late so I can dread having to go to the gym after work all day and lately, find myself watching a lot of TV that seriously makes me question American entertainment. The highlight of this last behavior has to be Jon & Kate + 8, my God, truly the most horrible program ever broadcast. The premise is this: married couple Jon & Kate decided to have kids, couldn't, turned to fertility treatment and then had twin daughters. Okay, great. Then Kate decided the twins needed a little brother or sister, and after another go at the fertility thing, she and her disturbingly browbeaten husband ended up having six babies all at once. Okay, fine, this same scenario makes news at least every few years--but never have I seen such gratuitous exploitation of it. Could be interesting, too--if Kate wasn't such a raving insane bitch and her husband wasn't such a complete pussy. Each episode is 30 minutes of sheer torture as Kate relentlessly harangues Jon, makes fun of him, treats him like a big piece of useless shit, complains about his physique (how it's possible that Jon isn't a skeletal bag of bones when all he seems to do is act as the slave to nine other people), belittles him and he just sits there and takes it on national television.

It gets worse, though--because when Kate's not berating Jon, she's bemoaning her lot in life as the mother of eight small children and reminding the TV audience that she deserves more recognition than any other mother in the world. Oh, but wait--because with every complaint about her hardship comes the disclaimer that she really loves her children and thinks they are miracles and she couldn't have asked for a better life, blah, blah, blah. Just like with every barb at Jon she reminds the camera that they really have a great marriage and this is how they "work." Meanwhile, in the background, two of the snottiest little girls ever to exist mug for the crew and vie for their parents' attention while six extremely ill-behaved toddlers scream without reprieve. Oh, and let's not forget the clever ad placement displayed across all the kids' clothing ensembles.

For a double-dose of Jon & Kate + 8 hatred I visit the show's forums on the network website and read the posts from all the mothers who think Kate is a super fantastic role-model because she does it with eight kids when they are struggling with two or three. Each seems to forget that despite Jon & Kate's many references to their tight budget, nobody gets on TV without getting paid for it--and usually, quite well.

Jon & Kate + 8 should be portrayed as a harrowing cautionary tale and not the amazing story of love and survival that it is.

On the flip side, I also like to watch those regular specials featuring the Duggar family. Now they are super-creepy--two happier-than-happy parents and 17 kids who all appear to have stepped off the Juniper Creek compound on Big Love. Mom and Dad Duggar have vowed to have as many kids as the Lord wills them and spend their family time reading scripture and singing songs. The children are homeschooled and all the girls do the women's work while the boys learn mechanics and handle the man-tasks.

But the strangest thing about it is that the Duggars are actually sweet. Whenever the husband and wife talk about or to each other, it's always with admiration, love, gratitude and reverence. The kids are all very well-behaved and are rarely seen crying. They never argue with each other and seem really proud to be a part of this abnormally large clan. Michelle Duggar, the mom, is very calm and gentle and never makes an ass out of herself. The dad, Jim Bob, is totally easygoing. And the most amazing thing is that the family is debt-free. They say they only accept their TV appearances to help other people realize the life of Christ. Maybe, maybe not...but it comes across as very sincere.

I don't even know what my point is. I guess that you don't have to act like a total asshole just because you've got a lot of kids.

Perez Hilton crusades to bring down Britney...or does he?

2007-09-28T17:11:00.001-07:00

Yeah. I admit it. I read Perez Hilton. A lot. I've tried to get over this addiction (affliction?) but can't seem to break myself. Anyway, Perez wants the world to boycott Britney and judging by the thousand + reader comments, the world (at least, the world that's not slacking off at work) is now pissed at him for being so nasty and vowing to jump back on TEAM BRITNEY.

(That I'm even taking time to comment on this debacle is so embarrassing I can hardly stand it...but having just completed a novel about society's obsession with celebrity culture, I guess it makes some kind of sense.)

Anyway...

One of two things has to be going on here:

1. Perez really is just a spiteful pig who hopes to wield his star-quality gossip power by eventually driving one of his "favorites" to the point of no return, or,
2. Britney has actually hired a stealth team of crisis management experts to use the public's disappointment in her as a powerful tool--and actually paid Perez to talk a bunch of shit about her all the time until "the world" has grown so sick of it they are all salivating in Britney's defense.

Now the real question is...who's prettier?

What's it really all about?

2007-09-24T19:26:00.000-07:00

It is said that one of the worst things you can do for yourself as a writer is read up on all the discouraging tales about trying to get published. I do that. I've also been known to engage in another practice that's bad for writers and that is to track the progress of other writers, especially those that make me seriously question the tastes of both the publishing industry and the reading public. It's kind of a mental condition, a self-imposed form of torture quite similar to looking at the profiles of people you dislike on MySpace and whatnot. (Oh come now...surely I'm not the only one who does that?)

I read on a blog or a plog or something of the equivalent once in which a writer said people only ever ask of a book, "How in the hell did this get published?" because their own failure as a writer led them to feel bitter about the success of other writers. It's probably true, but...I also read somewhere else, once, that writers are notoriously envious of their more successful peers. Why, because we're all trying to accomplish the same goal and just like musicians who probably think they're better musicians who've worked harder to make it than those musicians that actually have, well, it's just somewhat annoying when as a writer you read something that basically sucks yet have to accept its commercial success.

What I'm getting at isn't that I'm jealous of successful writers who write sucky books (even though I can admit I actually am, and fuck, why not, because it may be that I write sucky books, too, and can't figure out why their sucky books are being published and not mine), it's that I'm actually wondering what causes the yearning for recognition? Where does it come from? Musicians have the potential of living the rockstar lifestyle if they make it, but most writers can plan on keeping a day job unless they're the next Danielle Steel, Jackie Collins, Tom Clancy, John Grisham, J.K. Rowling...you get the picture, and the simple fact is that most writers aren't looking at that kind of success. I remember someone asking me at a previous job why I was working there after having a book published and me just having to laugh. Hard. I think I figured out that when all was said and done financially, I made about 8 cents an hour writing, querying, reworking, editing, rewriting, losing sleep over and wanting to shred Love Like That.

So every now and then I do kick around the idea of self-publishing because there's nothing dishonorable about it and I think done right, there's the potential to make a lot more money at it. Marketed well, any book could reach the right audience. (See sucky books getting rave reviews and idling happily on bestseller lists.)

So what stops me?

The recognition factor. That rush of having one of the keyholders/gatekeepers of the publishing industry come back to report that of all the many, many manuscripts he or she has slogged through lately, mine stood out. So let's go to task and sell it!

Seems ridiculous when I consider that editors are buying for 2009 right now and a self-publishing service could have my new novel for sale on Amazon before the end of this year.

Also seems ridiculous to justify traditional publishing versus self-publishing with the thought that only traditional publishers can really get books into bookstores. I remember when LLT first came out I visited every bookstore within a 20-mile radius of my house and was disappointed many times to find it missing from the inventory. (I was, however, cheered to find it at the Borders Express in Dulles airport last Thanksgiving. Who knew? It has since been sold...but not replaced.) Anyway, two and a half years after publication, LLT's bookstore presence can only be described as ghostly and its Amazon availability is fading fast.

So I'm thinking about this self-publishing thing more and more. As we move further into the age of online superstardom (see blithering idiot who screams in defense of Britney on YouTube is now getting is own TV show--wonder how aspiring actors who've actually studied the craft and are living on food service wages between auditions feel about that?), it seems to make more and more sense.

Of course, I'm still hoping that one of the agents I've queried will write back to say he or she wants to read New Novel and afterward, will call to say he or she also wants to represent it--because again, I digress...recognition. If I publish my book, hey, that's great--but it doesn't mean it's good.

Here I go digressing again, though...the simple truth in publishing is that all you need is one person to love your book even if a thousand of that person's peers have already deemed it sucky--so what's the reasoning, there?

I'll never know.

I can't think of any clever way to end this post so I'll tell you (what I think) is a funny story. After living in my apartment for a year and a half, I decided to use the oven for the first time. After about twenty minutes, I couldn't figure out why my frozen fish fillets weren't cooking.

Yeah, it probably would have helped to actually turn the oven on.

Rejection

2007-09-21T19:24:00.000-07:00

This one was in a hurry. I mailed my query last Friday--from Nevada to New York--and received my response, by mail, today. That's an impressive turn-around!

2007-09-21T06:18:00.000-07:00

I'm in a posting mood!

2007-09-20T21:46:00.000-07:00

So today after getting my third rejection (not such an alarming situation, but slightly "get off your ass" when your closest local friend slash future publicist and 22-year-old assistant slash target audience test reader start to panic), I decided to switch tactics and target men in my search for a new literary agent. So fueled by the knowledge that my own boyfriend has been known to read Perez Hilton on occasion and that some of the top-selling women writers (among then Danielle Steel and the late Olivia Goldsmith) have retained male representation, I set out to write a series of what I hope are compelling query letters to male agents. Now let's just look forward to the idea that one of them will be interested enough to want to read some of the not-as-yet-publicly monikered "New Novel" and furthermore, come to represent it. I guess we'll see as my query letters take flight and land in New York.

Not looking forward to the new season of Nip/Tuck as much as I yearned for seasons 3 & 4 but I can't help but love this sexy beast all the same. In all his glory, Dr. Christian Troy:

Rejection, rejection, rejection

2007-09-20T16:06:00.000-07:00

I'm on the hunt for a new literary agent right now. The search is exciting and distressing. So far I've gotten 3 rejections (out of 11 queries) and though I keep reminding myself that it's likely at least 95% of all those approached will come back with a "no thanks," I can't help but lie awake at night and wonder if this is the beginning of the end.

But of course it's not. Rejection is an integral part of every writer's life. And when I'm offering up a project that's edgy and wicked and chock-full of vulgarities, well, let's just say I do expect rejection.

I know someone is absolutely going to love this. Because surely there's someone out there who can appreciate my way with dirty words...right?

It was Jacqueline Susann who said: "As a writer no one's gonna tell me how to write, I'm gonna write the way I wanna write!"

By the way, Valley of the Dolls is oft-considered the bestselling book of all time.

Cheers!

Getting Back to My Roots

2007-07-25T20:13:00.000-07:00

Are you still out there?

If so, thanks for waiting patiently. I checked in the other day and realized I haven't posted in four months!

Anyway, I pretty much abandoned the blog because I'd grown bored and frustrated with writing about writing when I wasn't even satisfied with writing itself, actually. Not to mention that I felt like I was becoming too outdated to be interesting as a writer because I've only had one book published and that was more than two years ago. It was kind of a self-imposed mind-fuck and pity party; as my man and many, many others are always reminding me, having even one book published is a seriously major accomplishment. And it is.

My agent made a good point recently, though, and that's that a lot of writers have trouble with the ominous "Book 2" because all of a sudden you're not writing for yourself, you're writing for your editor, your publisher, your audience--and all of a sudden it's very possible that you might start tripping yourself on what you think you need to be writing versus what you really do need to be writing. I envy, and applaud, all the first-time published writers who never let themselves fall into that trap. At the same time, therein lurks yet another trap--the horrible thought that if all of them can keep it together, then what's wrong with me?

And then comes the desperation of having to hurry and catch up--seeing writers who came out about the same time as yourself already releasing their third, fourth, fifth books.

But you know what, screw it. Prior to having LLT published, I didn't pay much notice to what other writers were doing and I never followed the progress of their personal publishing process. I never played these little mind-games with myself like: Would anyone actually read this? Why would they want to? What's my story got that's more interesting than any other submission? Is it stupid of me to assume that just because I spend a lot of time writing, I can actually write?

My point is, there used to a time when I wrote books because it was something I enjoyed doing. It was my favorite thing to do. And now when I go back and read some of my old stuff, I think to myself, did I really write that? Because it's actually good.

So after dabbling with the revision of some of my older manuscripts, I started sending them to my agent in hopes that something, anything, would resonate with her. But, nothing did. I'll be the first to say she's picky, and demanding, and not so easily impressed (all traits part of her job, actually)--but then I realized the desperation was probably showing through in my writing. Not that I think everything I've been writing lately amounts to crap, but there is a difference when you write because you love it versus trying to force it out of you, just to have something to sell. Of course, there could be another agent out there who would grab up one of my manuscripts without a question, but that's what's kept me from seeking other representation this whole time. Because if an agent is happy with something that I'm not even all that happy with, then what am I really trying to accomplish?

The bottom line is that I've finally returned to the realization that I don't need to write with a potential sale in mind, I just need to write because I want to. Who cares if I write a book and it never gets published. Actually completing a novel, from start to finish, is every bit as satisfying.

So to get out of my funk, I decided to write the sequel to Love Like That--never mind that I no longer work with its publisher and that there's been a somewhat lengthy lapse of time since its release. I'd actually written the first 30 pages back in 2005 in preparation for a third book with RDI, then let it go when that contract fell through. And I never really intended on finishing it until a couple of weeks ago when I gave a copy of LLT to my 22-year-old assistant and she clamored for more. So why not. I spent enough time staring at blank pages over the past two years, completing nothing new--so why not write a book I was actually interested in finishing?

Saturday, July 21, 2007. I wrote the last sentence of a new novel.

I forgot what that feels like. It feels great.

And now I remember why I've always written, why I've always loved writing--because it's fun to be somewhere else, living someone else's life, experiencing other environments and problems and just everything from the mundane to the major. I love writing. It's the only thing that's ever made sense to me, the only thing I've ever been truly confident about. So just forget the sale. If it happens it does, or maybe it doesn't. As long as I can still write. Which, as it turns out, I can.

The next installment to LLT is traveling to my agent right now, and who knows what she'll think when she's done reading it. Maybe she'll come back and say it doesn't really work. Maybe she'll come back and say, "Let's do this." Who knows. Who cares. I'm not done writing, or finished as a writer, just because I've run into some unflattering situations along the way. Not even close.

As my veteran journalist father is always telling me, writing is a tough business--and you have to stick with it.

And that, is my plan.

2007-03-06T20:59:00.000-08:00

My blog is boring and I'll admit it. The truth is, I forget about it on a regular basis. Also, for a time I actually forgot my new gmail log-in that Blogger forced me to create in order to blog on Blogger. Personal website pending with all new blogging capabilties.

Until then:

-I'm really glad they finally buried Anna-Nicole.
-I don't think rehab's going to help poor Britney, as she obviously got hold of some bad acid that will forever effect her behavior. (It must be incredibly difficult and taxing to be rich and famous. I can't imagine the horrors that await oneself after achieving such a state.)
-I think Angelina is addicted to adoption.
-I obviously read a lot of tabloids.

2007-02-12T17:01:00.000-08:00

Apparently this NYT column generated some anger:

MAUREEN DOWD: Heels Over Hemingway
I was cruising through Borders, looking for a copy of “Nostromo.”Suddenly I was swimming in pink. I turned frantically from display table to display table, but I couldn’t find a novel without a pink cover. I was accosted by a sisterhood of cartoon women, sexy string beans in minis and stilettos, fashionably dashing about book covers with the requisite urban props — lattes, books, purses, shopping bags, guns and, most critically, a diamond ring.Was it a Valentine’s Day special?No, I realized with growing alarm, chick lit was no longer a niche. It had staged a coup of the literature shelves. Hot babes had shimmied into the grizzled old boys’ club, the land of Conrad, Faulkner and Maugham. The store was possessed with the devil spawn of “The Devil Wears Prada.” The blood-red high heel ending in a devil’s pitchfork on the cover of the Lauren Weisberger best seller might as well be driving a stake through the heart of the classics.I even found Sylvia Plath’s “The Bell Jar” with chick-lit pretty-in-pink lettering.“Penis lit versus Venus lit,” said my friend Leon Wieseltier, the literary editor of The New Republic, who was with me. “An unacceptable choice.”“Looking for Mr. Goodbunny” by Kathleen O’Reilly sits atop George Orwell’s “1984.” “Mine Are Spectacular!” by Janice Kaplan and Lynn Schnurnberger hovers over “Ulysses.” Sophie Kinsella’s “Shopaholic” series cuddles up to Rudyard Kipling.Even Will Shakespeare is buffeted by rampaging 30-year-old heroines, each one frantically trying to get their guy or figure out if he’s the right guy, or if he meant what he said, or if he should be with them instead of their BFF or cousin, or if he’ll come back, or if she’ll end up stuck home alone eating Häagen-Dazs and watching “CSI” and “Sex and the City” reruns.Trying to keep up with soap-opera modernity, “Romeo and Juliet” has been reissued with a perky pink cover.There are subsections of chick lit: black chick lit (“Diva Diaries”), Bollywood chick lit (“Salaam, Paris”), Jewish chick lit (“The J.A.P. Chronicles” and “The Matzo Ball Heiress”) and assistant lit, which has its own subsection of Hollywood-assistant lit (“The Second Assistant”), mystery lit (“Sex, Murder and a Double Latte”), shopping lit (“Retail Therapy”), the self-loathing genre (“This Is Not Chick Lit”) and Brit chick lit (“Angus, Thongs and Full-Frontal Snogging”).The narrator of that last, Georgia, begins with a note to her readers: “Hello, American-type chums! (Perhaps you say ‘Howdy’ in America — I don’t know — but then I’m not really sure where Tibet is either, or my lipstick.) ... I hope you like my diary and don’t hold it against me that my great-great-great-grandparents colonized you. (Not just the two of them. ...).”Giving the books an even more interchangeable feeling is the bachelorette party of log-rolling blurbs by chick-lit authors. Jennifer “Good in Bed” Weiner blurbs Sarah Mlynowski’s “Me vs. Me” and Karen McCullah Lutz’s “The Bachelorette Party.” Lauren Weisberger blurbs Emily “Something Borrowed” Giffin.I took home three dozen of the working women romances. They can lull you into a hypnotic state with their simple life lessons — one heroine emulated Doris Day, another Audrey Hepburn, one was the spitting image of Carolyn Bessette, another Charlize Theron — but they’re a long way from Becky Sharp and Elizabeth Bennet. They’re all chick and no lit.Please do not confuse these books with the love-and-marriage of Jane Austen. These are more like multicultural Harlequin romances. They’re Cinderella bodice rippers — Manolo trippers — girls with long legs, long shiny hair and sparkling eyes stumbling through life, eating potato skins loaded with bacon bits and melted swiss, drinking cocktails, looking for the right man and dispensing nuggets of hard-won wisdom, like, “Any guy who can watch you hurl Cheez Doodles is a keeper,” and, “You can’t puke in wicker. It leaks.”In the 19th century in America, people often linked the reading of novels with women. Women were creatures of sensibility, and men were creatures of action. But now, Leon suggested, American fiction seems to be undergoing a certain re-feminization.“These books do not seem particularly demanding in the manner of real novels,” Leon said. “And when we’re at war and the country is under threat, they seem a little insular. America’s reading women could do a lot worse than to put down ‘Will Francine Get Her Guy?’ and pick up ‘The Red Badge of Courage.’ ”The novel was once said to be a mirror of its times. In my local bookstore, it’s more like a makeup mirror.

But I had no reaction. Probably because tend to be a little more worried about so many people not being able to be read than I am about some people getting upset about what other people are reading.

Anna Nicole

2007-02-08T14:29:00.000-08:00

This is how you should be remembered.

2007

2007-01-17T12:09:00.000-08:00

The year has thus far been poopy, but I am trying to glean some good from all the poopiness.

On January 2nd, my father was hospitalized with complications from pneumonia. He is now recovering, which is wonderful. I don't think I could use words to describe what my father means to me.

When I got back from my impromptu trip to Virginia, I was two days later let go from my job. The management claimed financial distress, but I tend to think they had some ulterior motives. Anyway, what's the good from poopy about being fired ("laid off") from one's job? Now fully enjoying the perks of unemployment. Sleeping late, writing all day, going to the gym whenever I feel like it, watching the Travel Channel, and of course looking for a completely better job.

It is so cold in Las Vegas that I spent an hour looking for my gloves yesterday. I didn't find them, poopy to say the least, but the good is that since I'm no longer employed, I don't really have to leave my apartment unless I feel like it.

I was really pleased with this year's Golden Globes. Everyone looked smashing and nobody talked incessantly about politics.

I'm going to make some spaghetti now. I hope everyone is having a good year so far!

2007

2007-01-02T15:56:00.000-08:00

One of my resolutions this year is to update my blog more often. As you can tell, I haven't been much interested in it for the past few months. This could be for several reasons--among them less time blogging = more time writing--but anyway, I do plan to post more often and I know this news will bring all million+ of you faithful readers great joy.

I have many goals for 2007 (don't we all) but the most important one is to get back to loving my craft rather than viewing it as a burdensome curse that I must overcome by quickly obtaining another book contract. I used to write just for fun. Back then I never worried about all the potential problems involved in whatever I was writing (i.e., Will my agent like this? Will an editor like this? Is there a market for this? Will readers understand this?) I really want to get back to that positive, carefree mindframe. So right now I'm updating one of my more frivolous novels (but one I had the most fun writing, way back when) and planning to go by Target on the way home to stock up on candles and a new lamp. Lighting is very important--just like music and sometimes, wine.

Something I learned over the past year is that I worry so much and so often about what's going on (or not going on) with my writing that I tend to forget to enjoy all the other important things in life. So this year I intend to just relax about it and spend more time traveling and/or visiting friends and family, learning, appreciating film and keeping up with other people's literature.

Anyway, I'm supposed to be working but I'm not...so I should at least pretend to be working (for the last 1/2 hour of the workday) instead of rambling on here.

Happy New Year!

Happy Thanksgiving

2006-11-21T18:59:00.000-08:00

Your weekend homework: Reread the Thanksgiving chapter in Love Like That.

I HAVE FAN FICTION!!!

2006-11-14T18:14:00.001-08:00

A brilliant scribe, so well-versed in mockery that I can only respect her talent, takes Love Like That to the Harry Potter universe!

Seriously, check this shit out. It's hilarious!

The Saga of the Wine Bottle

2006-10-30T18:27:00.000-08:00

For literally two months, I've been trying to open this bottle of Black Swan shiraz and after nearly twisting an arm out of the socket each time, have given up and gone the much easier route of uncapping a few bottles of beer. Only tonight, back on the Atkins Diet and trying to shed some of the pounds I've put on (drinking beer), after a particularly horrible trip to Smith's (I thought suburban moms were made aware by their ill-behaved, ill-bred children that Halloween was approaching long before its eve?)--I decided this fucking wine bottle was coming open whether it liked it or not. The problem? No, I'm not retarded--just faced by one of those rubber corks that refuses to be penetrated by a corkscrew bottle opener. Well, I'm happy to say that after stabbing myself in the hand and I'm pretty sure dislocating my left shoulder, I am now enjoying a delicious, tart serving of shiraz from the depths of a Roberto's Taco Shop plastic cup.

2006-10-23T19:01:00.000-07:00

Sorry I haven't blogged in a while. I'll blog more later.

Work Sucks (But I Need the Bucks)

2006-10-05T18:18:00.000-07:00

I just found out my friend got fired from our shared place of employment. That sucks because I would love nothing more than to pull a Jerry Maguire moment "I will go with you!" Now will you please buy my book, or tell all your friends to buy my book, and maybe send a copy of it to some movie star who might want to make a movie out of it--so I don't have to be a slave to small business America anymore? I'm just kiddin', of course. I know most of you have already exhausted your Love Like That promotion abilities! Still, it's a real pile of shit that my friend got canned. Let's just hope I'm not next in line for that honor because believe it or not, even with all my fame and fortune as a published author, I really need the $$$!

2006-09-29T12:35:00.000-07:00

Please excuse the lack of updates, the blog went on vacation and forgot to tell everyone. No, really, I'm revising one book and waiting on comments and suggestions from my agent about another--which I will then be revising--so I haven't had a lot of time to post. I will tell you these things before I sign off for my weekend in LA:

-My guest blogger, Lisbon Sommerset, would like you all to know that she always abbreviates her name (and requests that her name be abbreviated) LB instead of LS (as would be expected) because in her knowledge of things, LS is a luxury car model and not a proper monogram;

-Las Vegas is beautiful, wish you were here;

-If you are so inclined I have joined the ranks of MySpace members, just don't be expecting constant profile updates or blog posts on my page because unlike some more successful writers, I am too busy trying to become a successful writer myself to continuously frequent MySpace;

-Ciao!

Introducing Lisbon Sommerset

2006-09-15T13:10:00.000-07:00

Bored of writing about the chick-lit debate, insects, beer and my pitfalls as a struggling PR professional and who-knows-what-kind-of writer, I decide to welcome guest blogger Lisbon Sommerset--critically acclaimed, ultra-feminist literary author.

If only I could live in a world of smart prose, unfettered truth and the reserving of solipsistic sanctimony for those who really know...without having to live as witness and prisoner to the continuous violation of human rights

by Lisbon Sommerset

As many of you know, I was recently asked to be part of a panel discussion about the new book, So You've Got Tits and an Opinion--Good For Fucking You: An Exploration of Why Women Think Their Love and Hatred of the Self is So Fucking Special. Needless to say, all of us on the panel were appalled that this book has received so much hype and critical acclaim--but it was an honor to be joined by women of such brilliant feminist candor and be encouraged to share my thoughts. The following is a sample of what I contributed to the panel:

PL: You're recognized as a leader in the movement to distribute works of classic literature to female actresses of the porn industry. Can you explain why this is so important to you?

LB: Yes, I feel it vital that in facilitating the metriculation of those otherwise engaged in the vastly mysoginistic predication of degredation to the altruistic nature of fornication, there should be reason to punctuate limitations in the form of narcissistic evolution.

PL: I see. So what did you think of the book?

LB: I was shocked by the intrinsic pontification of the male author. This display only proves that in ignoring the essential qualifications, the juxtaposition of need is implied and therefore wrought with fraudulent claims of ignorance. Debilitating the prehistoric condition is no clear example of how to frequently concur that in our modern state, any ancient propaganda is a near-bohemian release of rife invidia on behalf of those affected. We're all affected.

PL: I see. Next guest?

Anyway, expecting that my review of James Frey's new tell-all memoir will appear in today's New York Times, I was just at the newsstand to retrieve my copy and was assaulted by tabloids. It is now apparent that Britney Spears has bestowed upon her second child, the moniker of Sutton Pierce. Admitting to a certain struggle with Ms. Spears' former image as a "sex kitten", I am only too happy that she is rendering her past mistakes by giving her son the chance at a genuine acceptance into the Ivy League.

I just got an email from my agent reminding me that Book Expo registration is right around the corner. Might I just profess to how GLAD I am that the event will be in New York next year. When it was in Washington this year, my whole experience was ruined the moment I walked into my hotel room and saw a magazine on the coffee table with Dubya's face on the cover. I think this year, I might skip the parties, too. Last year I got stuck talking to two chick-lit writers who kept telling me how much they loved my critically-acclaimed work of literary fiction, Penis Head. All I could think the whole time was, there's not a chance on Jane Austen's grave that either of them had actually read Penis Head. While they were out doing research at Jimmy Choo, I was deep in the trenches of the mysoginistic psyche.

That reminds me, though, of something I would like to address. For those of you who keep posting on chick-lit message boards that Penis Head is a lot like Gemma Townley's When in Rome...please stop it. I'll have you know that Penis Head was not only reviewed by the New York Times ("Deep in the trenches of the mysoginistic psyche, Sommerset takes us on a vivid journey through the conscience of man from the harrowing perspective of a modern woman"), but was also blurbed by Jonathan Franzen, J.K. Rowling, Dan Brown and Hillary Clinton. It is therefore too respectable to be chick-lit, if you couldn't tell by the missing high-heeled shoe on its cover.

Speaking of which, I've been invited by my alma mater to teach a graduate course, debunking the myth that women are obsessed with dating and shopping. I'm so honored to be given this opportunity. It'll put a strain on my relationship, and I'll have to acquire a whole new wardrobe...but it'll be worth it if I can save any number of young women from a potentially wasted life of enjoying all the unique, natural-born attributes men will never have.

This morning I came across a copy of my MFA dissertation, which was a brilliant, in-depth showcase on the similarities between the struggles of modern women and those of the sisters in Pride and Prejudice...and was tempted to burn it due to all the claiming of late that Jane Austen was a chick-lit author. I wish chick-lit authors would spend more time earning graduate degrees than edging out us literati with all their candy-coated drivel. Then perhaps I could find something to read, having already read every book ever written prior to the chick-lit boom.

For those of you who wish to escape the tawdry pleasures of cable TV after your long day of working for little money and no recognition, I'm doing a signing of Penis Head tonight at 7:30. Hope to see you there.

LB

Shameless act of self-promotion...kind of like this blog

2006-09-08T19:22:00.000-07:00

Do you read my blog because you read my book and thought it was A-OK? If so, please share your positive thoughts with other readers on Amazon and write a stellar review of Love Like That! Real name optional, except for those ending in Hill.

(If I sell 20,000 more copies of Love Like That I might have a few hundred dollars to put into the "Amanda's Private Villa on the Cote d'Azur Fund" and you'll all be invited!!!)

And to think I once had a poster of this sanctimonious piece of shit on my bedroom wall

2006-09-08T13:48:00.000-07:00

Brad Pitt makes a bold statement sure to get legislators SCRAMBLING to legalize all forms of marriage. I mean IMMEDIATELY. Brangelina won't wed until the dictatorial laws of matrimony have been abolished? This is a SERIOUS ISSUE.

Idol Worship

2006-09-07T16:39:00.000-07:00

The diva of all divas writes:

I recently re-read Dangerous Kiss and can immodestly say that I loved it!

Fucking A right, Jackie. No apologies necessary!

2006-09-06T19:47:00.000-07:00

I probably would have overlooked all the hype, conspiracy and speculation that Suri is a photoshopped to-the-nines composite of Tom and Katie/adopted Asian child if the VF cover teaser had actually read:

"Yes, Suri, She's Our Tiny Elvis Impersonator!"

More, More, More (How do you like it, how do you like it?)

2006-08-31T15:51:00.000-07:00

Wow, two posts in one day. Either I have absolutely nothing intriguing to keep me busy at work or I have gone CRAZY FOR BLOGGING! (You guess!)

I just found this article about you know what, chick-lit is bad, courtesy of Bookslut. I was compelled to blog up a response.

It's my humble opinion (which is on the loose today, isn't it?) that the reputation chick-lit has garnered for itself is what's hurting writers--be those writers "literary" or other. I say this as a chick-lit writer who was relieved of her publishing contract due to my books not being chick-littish enough and also because if I were a more well-known writer, I'd be known automatically as a chick-lit writer because Love Like That was published under the screaming pink banner of chick-lit so that, naturally, categorizes it as a chick-lit novel. There, has, however, been some dispute as to whether Love Like That is really a chick-lit novel...which I tend to think has been somewhat harmful to Love Like That, and not because I would like to be known as a "literary" writer but because "literary" readers automatically shy away from chick-lit and chick-lit readers are prone to shy away from novels that have been branded as chick-lit, yet contain such vile, filthy and supposedly immoral practices as one would find within the pages of Love Like That.

But is it...or isn't it?

I could write a whole litany of reasons why it is or isn't...but I don't feel like it. (I will change my mind about that below.) This post is not in defense of chick-lit or myself being labeled as a chick-lit writer. (I will also take this statement back, below.) This post is about how annoying and embarrassing and upsetting this utterly retarded argument can be...and especially because certain chick-lit books are what unfortunately define the genre for all others and the opinions of certain chick-lit authors are what seem to represent the minds of all others.

Which isn't true, by the way. It's just unfortunate that it's taken that way. See below:

The only issue here is the one that the chick literati never address but instead try to obfuscate with the red herrings of feminism and elitism, which is that their writing is hackneyed and boring and bad. Point out to a chick-lit author that her writing is inferior and formulaic, and she will call you a vengeful, misogynistic stone-thrower.

Sometimes, this is absolutely true. It's what most bothers me about being grouped in with the chick-lit shuffle. I would never be so bold as to cry tyranny that Love Like That or any book like it hasn't been reviewed by the NYT. Nor do I claim to be a feminist or anything even close to it. I don't think my chick-lit writing's inferior, but I don't compare it to classic literature or modern greats, either. If someone dislikes Love Like That, I find it's usually based on several factors--the raw characters, the language, the rampant use of drugs and alcohol without tying either to a painful addiction or a sad childhood, the cheating, etc.--none of which lead back to a disgruntled reader being a vengeful, mysogynistic stone-thrower. Formulaic, maybe--Dalton does talk about what she wears and inserts designer labels, the story does revolve mostly around her troubles with boys and men, and she does dislike her job and her revolting ladyboss...but realistically, what urban, American woman at the age of 25 doesn't experience these things?

From the article, again...

It’s because the market is saturated by bad writers claiming to rep for all women, crowding the bookshelves, making sure their one marginal, vapid story is produced ten million times over, like some pretty pink version of hell.

Again, this sort of resonates--especially the first part of it. Not saying all the most successful chick-lit writers are bad writers, but as a chick-lit writer, I cringe when certain other chick-lit writers go on the crusade and nearly laud the assumption that we ALL share the same opinions. Especially when I, as a reader, disliked their books immensely. I won't name them because God forbid someone important stumble upon this blog and immediately bar me a sister-hater and an asshole for not liking all the most beloved chick-lit faves. Some of them, I couldn't even read past the first 20 pages. Some of them made me want to start fires.

So maybe chick-lit has made it all a little more challenging for non-chick-lit writers...but another way of looking at it is, chick-lit has also made it that much more difficult for chick-lit writers who don't exactly fit in with the reigning chick-lit regime.

By the industry standards, I write chick-lit. It can't be disputed. I write about young women who have romantic issues and live in big cities, experience frustration at work and love Louis Vuitton bags. However...it can be disputed that I don't really write chick-lit because some of the elements my books contain don't exactly speak to chick-lit readers. The men in my books are rarely dreamy, usually more like nightmares. The women in my books drink heavily, smoke, have mouths that would make Quentin Tarantino proud and engage in questionable sexual practices. I make cultural references that probably make a lot of readers wonder what the hell I'm talking about--such as, Jeremy likening his and Doll's relationship to Sid & Nancy and the characters in Only the Lucky being heavily into UFC. Some would say, that's me not being able to relate to my audience and therefore not being a chick-lit writer.

All the same...I write chick-lit. And so do a lot of other people. Some of it is truly awful. Some of it is pure entertainment. Where my chick-lit writing falls, so it does. Some people love it, and others choose to think of it as fluff, trash or a total waste of paper. So be it. I was the one who chose to put it out there.

Someday, when I hopefully don't have to waste myself on a paying career from dawn to dusk, I will probably get around to writing novels with a mainstream appeal. But until then, should I be: A) crucified for giving my characters the purses I, myself, wish I could afford, or B) considered a fucking moron because I would consider it a success if even just a handful of young women out there pick up a book I wrote and are pleased to find a little bit of themselves within its pages, while on a train, a plane, a treadmill or a strip of sandy seashore?

Should any of us?

Now it does sound like I'm posting in defense of chick-lit and myself as a chick-lit writer, so maybe that actually is what this post is about. Maybe I'm just very exhausted of having to make excuses for the kind of writing I do...or maybe I'm just very upset that because four or five books out there have virtually defined the genre, the rest of us are totally fucked.

I guess what I'm getting at, truly, is that I just wish ALL chick-lit writers didn't have to be lumped together as one high-and-mighty, indignant, literarily-challenged feminist who thinks she's saving the world by writing about many of the things that most (if not all) women love, hate, experience and think about at least a few times in their lives.

Some of us just like to spend our free time writing our silly little books, I guess.

Funny mocking of celebs and MHO

2006-08-31T12:22:00.000-07:00

I've spent the last two days shamelessly laughing at the absolute hilarity of these two sites, galleryoftheabsurd.com and gofugyourself.com, and absolutely cannot get enough. Especially amusing are the artistic renderings of Paris Hilton and Britney Spears on the gallery (along with captions so scathingly right on it's uncanny) and the posts "from" Britney and K-Fed on go fug. This shit is pure genius. I only wish I didn't discover it a little sooner.

Even more funny, the hostile, angry, poorly spelled viewer/reader comments. "Leeve the Britsteer alonne! Your juste jeless!", "How daire yu make the funn of Brad Pitt? Hes a GRATE fother!!!", etc., etc. I will be the first to admit I read Star and US Weekly, among others, more often than I read the news (sorry Dad), but that's just because the news is depressing and bleak most times (thanks to the media frenzy surrounding that JonBenet wannabe killer sick freak I now know more about the horror that is pedophilia than I ever hoped to know) and celeb reporting is just comical. That said, it's too bad that so many people (and usually ignorant people, at that) can't see the humor in a society so truly obsessed by celeb culture, and furthermore the humor in making fun of people who have made it their lifelong ambition to stand in front of a camera and then scream about not having any privacy as soon as cameras abound. You cease to be "like a normal person" once you become a celeb, that is what is meant by the word celebrity. (Which I of course know because I am a FAMOUS writer!)

I guess what I'm getting at is my feeling that people need to lighten up. It seems like people get so upset so easily these days, then use posting as the vehicle for their illogical, not to mention grammatically incomprehensible ranting. Sometimes I read the message boards on IMDB just to remind myself to be thankful that I have a brain. Then I get sad because people who seemingly don't have brains at all are still allowed to use computers. If you're not supposed to operate heavy machinery under the influence of alcohol, which makes you dumb, then why should you be allowed to use sophisticated machinery under the influence of your own stupidity?

My thoughts on an otherwise dull day. (As I write about the senselessness of ranting on the Internet and then, you know, rant on the Internet...)

2006-08-28T12:28:00.000-07:00

I apologize for being such a bad blogger of late. It's just that I don't really have anything in particular I feel like posting about. And, I highly doubt you want to know even more about my aviation phobia, the local insect population, my love of Mexican food and the frustrations of my writing "career". Maybe you do. Or maybe I should create an imaginary child to blog adorable tales about? Maybe I'll just blog about buying a blender, cleaning my apartment, doing laundry, emptying my fridge of old produce, being hot when I go outside and doing virtually nothing at work today. That's what it's really all about.

2006-08-16T17:17:00.000-07:00

This whole This is Not Chick Lit vs. This is Chick Lit debate is the virtual embodiment of everything I dislike about being female. Why are we all so worried about what other people are doing? Just write your goddamn books--whatever category they happen to fall under or be classified within--and be grateful that you're a) blessed enough to know how to write and furthermore live in a country that allows you to write about whatever you want, and b) blessed enough so that someone actually thinks you're talented enough to have your writing published. Most people never get that lucky!!!

That's about it for the moment. Because who's going to Champions on Ice right now?

I'M GOING TO CHAMPIONS ON ICE RIGHT NOW!!!

2006-08-13T22:32:00.000-07:00

One year after it was supposed to be published, Only the Lucky is finished.

Now that's what I call progress.

Mel

2006-08-01T18:06:00.000-07:00

I have been shamelessly entertained by this.

Random Bits and Pieces

2006-08-01T00:17:00.000-07:00

I don't like the word snarky. I think this is an unflattering word, vastly overused by women who subscribe to the "bitchy is in so let's all embrace this shit" philosophy. I have always been bitchy. I would really just like to remain bitchy, not snarky. (P.S. Ask most women outside of major--ahem, cough, LA and NYC--metropolitan areas what snarky means and they wouldn't have a clue.)

I am currently reading a book titled Fiona Range--one of those books I bought several years back when I had the kind of cash to blow on 6-7 books at a time in the Century City Brentano's--none of which I would get around to reading for several years--and amazingly, delightfully, I actually want to keep reading it. Too bad it's in my car right now and there are cockroaches and crickets claiming the sidewalk between my apartment and my parking lot...not to mention it's late and I have no business doing anything other than going to bed as soon as I finish this very compelling blog entry.

Right now iTunes is playing "New York State of Mind." What's up next, the Sundays' "God Made Me" and No Doubt's cover of "It's My Life." (Definitely one of my top ten songs of all time, this version.)

Chardonnay is good. But not Black Swan's version...because getting the cork out of there takes more skill than one has to offer when all they're really craving is a cold goblet of white wine.

Tonight I took a friend to the bus station. Now I know how to get to Fremont Street from my apartment. It is said the Las Vegas Club has the best "21" odds in Las Vegas. Maybe I should check it out?

Hey, starting this month, paying back what I borrowed to fund my education will be costing another $40 a month. Again, maybe I should check out those odds at the Las Vegas Club?

The Really Important Thing

2006-07-26T13:45:00.000-07:00

Glaring headline on Yahoo! right now:

Lance Bass says he's gay

Tiny, insignificant news items lost beneath it:

Israel endures worst losses of campaign
U.S. could face showdown with al-Sadr in Iraq
U.S. gas prices seen at $3 through summer

2006-07-25T19:19:00.000-07:00

Maybe I won't move the blog. I don't know. Maybe I'll just blog in both locations. Wow, wouldn't that be interesting? A dual dose of my thinly-veiled complaints about the genre that barfed me up and left me for dead, even more moaning about my complete psychological meltdown as a writer and double the tales of my apartment horrors. Speaking of which, it's pretty fucking awful that I now consider roaches to be a normal occurrence, or at least the lesser of two evils...now that I have spiders, that is. Seriously. My apartment may look, on the inside, like a civilized residence...but soon there'll be mosquito netting over my bed and a machete hanging on the wall by my bedside.

Now, if you're as depressed as I that the date of August 1 is looming and there won't be a new release by Amanda Hill available at your local book retailer as was the original plan, at least you may be able to comfort yourself by reading some of my dad's journalistic genius (and that of the many talented writers he works with) over at the Washington Post Writer's Group Blog. Just don't comment back to me, "Gee, why didn't you go into journalism?" because that's one of those questions I fear I'll still be asking myself years and years from now, when I've spent 340 nights of yet another year writing yet another novel that may or may not become published.

But hey, the good news is that if Only the Lucky were coming out next week, I'd probably be pretty embarrassed about it because it is actually set in Las Vegas and I've come to realize that prior to living in Las Vegas, I didn't really know crap about what it's actually like to live here. So I guess there's a positive slant to everything--even having your confidence as a writer crushed beneath the cruel heel of today's publishing market--such as now, I am at least able to go back and rewrite the story from the perspective of a native. Oh, and native I am...because just don't be forgetting about the mosquito netting and the machete.

2006-07-21T19:20:00.000-07:00

Happy weekend!

2006-07-17T18:29:00.000-07:00

It is officially too fucking hot to do anything.

Relocating

2006-07-13T19:06:00.000-07:00

My blog will soon be moving to another location. Why, maybe because I'm retarded when it comes to these things and this could easily be fixed if I wasn't retarded about these things...but the simple fact is, I can no longer stomach that sickening, vomitous pink background that coincidentally goes so well with the sickening, vomitous pink that drenches the cover of Love Like That. Speaking of which, has anyone but me lately noticed that all RDI releases are now boasting adorable, illustrated covers of adorable, illustrated girls looking, well...adorable? It's probably yet another reason I didn't fit in with that crowd--when asked what kind of image I wanted on the cover of LLT, this is what I gave them:

Oh, and this:

So anyway, yeah, the blog will be moving to this address: barelypublished.blogspot.com, and when it does and I actually start writing some interesting posts there, I'll be sure and let all of you "regulars" know.

Gross

2006-07-06T18:54:00.000-07:00

Protect Yourself from Germs That Lurk in an Unexpected Spot

The Fox 5 News station in Atlanta, Georgia, recently ran a Health Report on a study they performed on women's purses. Their health team went to a local mall and took samples from the bottoms of 50 women's purses. The purses were swabbed with cotton swabs along the entire bottom of the purses and the swabs were placed into special containers for processing at a local laboratory.The Health Report also showed where women place their purses: public restrooms (on the floor beside the toilet), kitchen counters and kitchen tables, on tables and chairs in restaurants, etc.The outcome of the laboratory tests contained the following most serious result: 1 out of 4 purses harbored E. Coli, which causes painful abdominal cramping and severe diarrhea.Other extremely serious bacteria and viruses also were listed, including Hepatitis.They recommended that women should DAILY wipe their purses (particularly the bottom) with a disinfectant wipe and to be extremely careful where you place your purse. Most importantly, do NOT place your purse on a table (anywhere) where you will eat or an a kitchen counter and do not put it anywhere close to a toilet.Remember, when you flush a toilet, the spray goes a distance that is unrecognizable by the human eye.WASH YOUR HANDS as often as you can! Keep an antibacterial hand sanitizer cleaner (no water needed) in your purse and use it often! And as soon as you get home from shopping (or wherever you have been and usedyour purse), immediately wipe it all over with a disinfectant wipe.

2006-07-05T18:25:00.000-07:00

I freely admit to being a horrible blogger. I'm only writing this now because I'm taking a break from cleaning my hideously dirty apartment so my married friends who are coming into town this weekend don't shriek in horror when they see how the other half--the only half--lives. It's bad enough that I recently just noticed I don't have spare bedding and have had to tell them to bring some sleeping bags. Oh--and only just realized the contents of my refrigerator consist entirely of Michelob Ultra, Brita-filtered water, salad dressing and cheese.

I am living right. Or at least, like a struggling writer.

Today, I went to work. I ate a veggie works burrito from Del Taco. And it rained.

Must return to scrubbing my shower, now.

Time Capsule

2006-06-19T18:04:00.000-07:00

In need of one more bag, I grabbed this little green duffel belonging to my dad just before leaving Virginia last September. Now, I keep finding all this cool shit in it that is literally from another time. After that Scottsdale wedding weekend back in April, I came across a receipt from a cafe in Gare du Nord in Paris, when the family went European Vacation for my college graduation present. Then, unpacking it this morning after using it for a weekend visit to La Bella Los Angeles, out fell a box of matches from the Halcyon Hotel in London's Holland Park. Since we didn't stay at the Halcyon as a family, I have to assume those matches are from a prior trip my dad had taken to London for business. What's next, I wonder? The remnants of a Russian cigarette? The stub of train ticket to Berlin? I guess some people wouldn't find any of this as interesting as I do, but I just think it's kind of neat that 9, 10 years later, I'm still finding artifacts from so long ago in this tiny, nondescript piece of luggage.

Or, my family's just really careless about unpacking.

Talking about writing again

2006-06-13T20:23:00.000-07:00

I think if I ever become even minimally successful as a writer, I'll stop blogging and move on to a quarterly update or something like that. I guess because what speaks to me when I read other writers' blogs, especially the kinds of writers who only produce highly-anticipated hardcovers that go right to all the bestseller lists with no qualms or questions, is when they convey humility about the writing life--and not how loved they are, and how doted upon, and how much they deserve it.

That's not to say I think all of the above isn't just once a writer has met some success and wants to write about it, the Man Himself only knows they probably struggled as hard as the rest to get there and want to share their excitement and accomplishments with their friends, families and fans. It's just to say that I've always been more able to relate to writers (including those very successful writers, especially those writers, on remembering the early days) who talk about and admit to experiencing the things that have always resonated with me as a writer--the loneliness of living in your own world with a bunch of people who don't even exist, the feeling you may be insane for preferring to hang out with these people in place of the ones who actually do exist, the frustration of spending most of your time working at a job that will probably never pay you, the upset of reading a book that really sucks and knowing how well it's selling while every editor in New York just came back to say your book is the one that really sucks, the fear that you will die before you ever get there, the fear that you are actually a pretty shitty writer, the fear of hurting your friends and family if you write anything that even slightly resembles something they've said or done, the horror of thinking about your friend's uptight mother reading a raunchy sex scene you wrote...and then, the unthinkable, that when you finally do get published, your book will get nothing but one-star reviews and be described as the literary version of Gigli.
It's funny what you learn about being published once you actually get published. If you're like me, prior to it happening, you think your whole life will change once it actually happens. Then, if you're like me, you find out your life really doesn't change all that much except that you can tell people you had a book published. Even then, they usually think you mean that you paid a print-on-demand service to make your manuscript look like a book and you've got some copies for sale in your living room.

But, there are the upsides. I've made a few new friends. I've gotten to know what people other than my best friend think of what I wrote--good and bad, it's still interesting to see how total strangers react. Sometimes they get something out of it that I wasn't even trying to give them. Sometimes, they were hoping to get something out of it that was never even there.

Another upside is that now, when I attempt to get published again, I can say I've already been published and so, with editors I'll have a little credibility.

Now I just have to get back to writing books. Oh, yeah. Tell me how to do that again?

2006-06-08T18:55:00.000-07:00

You may notice in my profile it now says age: 31. I am AGING.

I have a gorgeous new niece named Avaleigh Love...but my sister and brother-in-law will not be selling her photos to People for $4 million.

Today my co-worker and I engaged in a worthy debate about liberalism vs. conservatism. I can't believe I didn't get interested in politics until a few years ago. I'm sure I missed out on a lot of good arguments with some Dems I used to know.

Did you know that roaches eat their dead? The other night I saw one carrying another away on my patio. What was most disturbing was that they were of different roach species. I'm so glad to have been given this opportunity to broaden my zoological knowledge.

An Idiot

2006-05-31T18:44:00.000-07:00

So today it was enthusiastically suggested to me, "Since your book's not doing so well, maybe you should get a job as somebody else's book publicist!"

Need I comment any further?

I didn't think so.

On Literature and Film

2006-05-30T19:31:00.000-07:00

Right now I'm reading Into Thin Air, which is making me really want to watch Vertical Limit, and also giving me hideous nightmares about being trapped on a snowy mountain. Note to self: Watching Vertical Limit would probably, actually, exacerbate this condition.

Speaking of movies, we all know why we watched The Brown Bunny (at least I do, considering I was lying half-dead on the couch after a near all-nighter at the Luxor and Matt put it into the DVD player and pressed "play"), but what I'm now trying to figure out is why I actually watched The Brown Bunny. Call it art if you like, but I had a really difficult time trying to find the "artistic" parts when the guy spent most of the movie driving and the other half, taking a piss and unloading his motorcycle from the back of his van. Got good in the last 3 minutes when there was a sort of Sixth Sense kind of thing going on, but again...the guy really did spend most of the movie driving, and without the promise of the crucial scene in which Chloe Sevigny did you know what, I can't say I would have felt compelled to keep watching past the first 10 minutes of the fucking driving.

Now here's where a truly "artistic" person would criticize me for being your usual American idiot, almost immediately after watching The Brown Bunny I took in the last half of Team America: World Police and found it much more entertaining.

I'm now convinced it was actually a good thing that ye olde publisher refused to publish Only the Lucky, due to the fact that its August release would have introduced the reading populace to a main character named Shiloh and therefore, I fear, spawned message board comments such as, "This book was totally unoriginal--she used Brangelina's baby name!"

After finishing my current, uplifting read about people dying to reach the top of Mt. Everest, I may just go for the record of being the last person in the civilized world to read The Da Vinci Code. Yeah, I've heard it's pretty good.

2006-05-26T19:10:00.000-07:00

If I have to read one more time that the birth of Angelina Jolie's baby is the most anticipated since that of Jesus Christ...I will probably just mutter, "Jesus Christ," and keep reading.

Brief Update

2006-05-23T18:32:00.000-07:00

I started a new book. I'm not going to say what it's about because every time I do that, I jinx myself into not finishing what I started. I will say it's wry...and that it's supposed to be.

It's not as hot as it was the other day. It will be even hotter than that next week.

I'm almost 31. This may require some rum.

What a gripping life I do lead. Movie?

2006-05-16T18:11:00.000-07:00

It's officially hot. What's frightening is that for Vegas, it's not officially hot. Still about 10-20 degrees to go (upward) before it'll be officially hot. Right now it's about 96 degrees outside.

I don't know why people care so much about having their phone calls recorded. To me, it's very similar to getting naked in front of a doctor. It's not an invasion of privacy. It's a procedure. Oh, well, what do I always say? People are stupid. Yeah, they sure are.

The Bottom Line

2006-05-09T18:09:00.000-07:00

My royalty statement from July-December 2005 is a fine testament to faltering numbers.

More than 50% (looks closer to 60-70, actually) of the stock that was shipped out to retailers since March of last year has been returned. (Which answers the question, "How come I can never find LLT in Borders or Barnes & Noble anymore?")

I still "owe" Harlequin about $10K of advance money...which at this rate, will take a decade to "earn" and even then, probably won't be "earned" because with all those returns, LLT is basically, as they say, dying on the vine--or the shelf, in this instance. (Which answers the question, "Will it be anytime soon that I don't have to purchase furniture marked 'some assembly required' anymore?")

In six months, 1,153 copies of LLT sold, which on average is about 6 copies a day...which sounds really great except when you stop to consider how many people (even if you only factor women into that) actually live in the United States, Australia and Holland--and how many bookstores are spread across each country, and how many millions of visitors probably grace the pages of Amazon.com daily, if not hourly, if not by the minute and second. (Which answers the question, "Should I stop drinking?")

I am thinking about plagiarizing The Da Vinci Code.

Or writing a book about a fat girl who miraculously meets a male model or prince that doesn't have any sort of a problem with her image and in fact, welcomes it--and so teaches her to love herself through his lovin' of her.

Or going to law school.

2006-05-05T15:48:00.000-07:00

I have honed my insect torturing skills with a new device--spray can air freshener! Works like a charm and you don't even have to get that close to the little bastards. The only thing that scares me is imagining that a colony of roaches is peeking through my vents and nudging one another to say, "Look what that bitch is doing to Johnny down there! Let's get her!"

I am having an exterminator come on Tuesday to assure that this will not escalate into a full-scale war between myself and my militia of six-legged boarders.

I'm still thinking about that "Opal Mehta" plagiarism thing. I don't feel bad for the "author" anymore because I think it's total shit that she didn't even write the book before she was given half a million bucks. Can it really be constituted as "writing" if someone else comes up with the idea and then reworks it and polishes it and, um, well...basically "writes" it? Not in my world. In my world, a writer spends all his/her free time either sitting in front of a computer, scribbing on a notepad or developing a story in his/her mind. For example, even though I haven't been typing on a keyboard or scribbling on a notepad much of late, every morning I drive past the Spanish Trail community in Las Vegas, just to inspire myself. I think internally, "That's where my characters in OTL live!" and imagine their lives playing out in one of those pretty houses. That's just me, of course, and some people would say I really don't know shit. But I do know that there is a huge difference between having people critique your work, and having them edit your work, than having them "package" your work.

I agree with something another writer said, too, and I think it was Valerie Frankel, something about this girl only being 17 at the time of her signing and subsequent "writing". I'll be the first to say, quite nonchalantly, that I was writing novels when I was 17, too. I was writing novels when I was 10. I thought they were good at the time and they probably are pretty good, or at least pretty cute and funny for the efforts of a 10 and then 17-year-old girl...but then again, I wouldn't go down to my parents' basement and dig up one of those handwritten manuscripts (on which all the letter i's are dotted with big, round circles instead of dots) and think I should hand one of them over to a publisher. I guess because with age comes maturity and that includes a more mature style of writing--or at least, a more mature style of looking at one's own writing. My juvenile manuscripts probably contain some winning plotlines that would actually be very acceptable these days--because back when I actually wanted to be a young adult writer, exclusively, it was unfortunate that the young adult market was pretty much dead and today it is alive and kicking. I still wouldn't grab one of my juvenile manuscripts and submit it to an editor without first rewriting it with the knowledge of a 30-year-old woman. At this point, I wouldn't even submit anything I wrote when I was 24 or 25 without editing them with the insight I've gleaned from my life experiences since those now (sigh) tender ages.

Of course, when I was 17 I thought I was a prodigy and that everything I was writing was spot-on. Maybe it was. Maybe being young sets you free just as being more experienced (er, old) can hold you back.

I still say--17 or 30 or 90 or whatever--if you don't write it from start to finish (and that includes giving pieces of it to someone else to mark up, and then you rewriting those pieces based on their suggestions), you did not really write it.

It is a beautiful day in Las Vegas, very sunny and bright and warm. I got a dose of religion from some church elders earlier today (it was a work thing) and now feel completely prepared to get my sin on.

Have a nice weekend!

Weighing in on the Plagiarism "Scandal"

2006-05-02T19:10:00.000-07:00

Taken from an article in the NYT...

There are echoes in another scene in which one of Ms. Kinsella's characters threatens another, "And we'll tell everyone you got your Donna Karan coat from a discount warehouse shop."

In Ms. Viswanathan's version, Opal threatens another girl, Priscilla, saying, "I'll tell everyone that in eighth grade you used to wear a 'My Little Pony' sweatshirt to school every day."

Ummm...is it me or is that REALLY reaching? Come on, people. That's just fucking retarded. Kind of like the person on Amazon.com who said that this chick's book also contains startling similarities to Ulysses and uh, Paradise Lost.

I would feel bad for this girl, but I'm actually feeling a little worse for myself after finding out her advance was FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS.

I'll fucking copy an entire, international bestseller (make that Bridget Jones's Diary) and submit it word-for-word for that kind of money.

Of course, what would probably happen in my case is that editors would write back: "We're sorry, but this is a little too quirky and original. We're looking for something more mainstream."

Love Like That

2006-04-27T18:20:00.000-07:00

Love Like That has a new review on Amazon. It's not a good review, but a review, so that in and of itself is in my opinion, good. It means people are still reading it and furthermore, that it continues to elicit an opinion.

It's a sometimes difficult thing, having a book such as Love Like That in the public domain, because I feel that I can't and actually, should not encourage everyone who asks about it to read it. In fact, I'm penchant to tell certain people they absolutely would not like it and then do everything in my power to actually dissuade them from reading it. It's not that I'm ashamed of what I wrote, it's just that I know some people absolutely wouldn't enjoy the subject matter and content. And that's fine because I knew going into it that Love Like That would be a hard sell in any market--even the one in which it takes place. Doll is just not a traditional woman--not even by LA standards.

What can I say. I like to pull the darkest parts of humanity from my characters and shade them in their most unflattering lights with unusual humor and odd morale. I like to show that bad people can be good people, too. If people don't get it, then that's their prerogative. Just like me not getting and not wanting to write the characters and stories that capture and impress the mainstream is my prerogative.

I can still pick a Love Like That kind of reader out of a crowd as sure as I can pick a whole handful of its potential critics. And that, in my opinion, is knowing my audience.

Home Invasion

2006-04-26T17:32:00.000-07:00

I have now seen FOUR roaches in my apartment, and while all have been either dead or in the belly-up, legs-a-kickin' throes of death position--I don't like it. I really don't like it. I don't care if I live in a desert. I don't care if "it's that time of year." What's that they say about roaches? That if you see one, there's a hundred (or is it a thousand???) more where it came from?

Needless to say, there are now twelve roach traps spread out around my kitchen, my bathroom and my foyer's tile floor. Apparently these traps are supposed to bait the dirty little fuckers to come snack on the delicious roach food they contain so they can take it back to the nest and kill the whole community. (Seriously trying not to imagine a whole "community" of roaches "nesting" somewhere nearby.)

All I have to say is that if I go into my kitchen tonight and find 400-4,000 roaches in there enjoying a buffet, you may not be hearing from me again.

Home and Vast Improvement

2006-04-24T19:16:00.000-07:00

I realized what the problem with my bedroom (and writing hub) was. The lighting was all wrong. So tonight after work I went out and bought a little nightstand and a blue-shaded table lamp, as well as a desk lamp and some candles. Now, I not only feel like writing (to Bobby Caldwell's Blue Condition, of course) but also visiting allposters.com to buy some new prints. And Mom and Dad, you will be happy to know that I invested in some little white plastic trash cans for the bathroom and kitchen so no longer have plastic bags from Smith's and Target hanging from all my drawer knobs.

Only the Lucky is experiencing an all-new creative surge--maybe because it takes place in Las Vegas and I now live in Las Vegas. Or maybe because I am ready to find it a new home and not worry about what's happening over at its supposed-to-have-been, could-have-been abode.

Las Vegas is getting warmer and starting to feel more like, well...Las Vegas. I still adore driving to work every a.m. with the Strip towering in the distance. It's comparable in neat to seeing the spires of Georgetown and all the D.C. monuments rising up from the other side of the Potomac while crossing it by bridge, or standing on a fourth-floor Hollywood balcony with a sweeping panorama of Los Angeles spread out like a glittering carpet below. I have lived in some pretty fantastic places.

There are a multitude of things to look forward to, including: the birth of my third niece, a potential visit from Mom and Dad, a tablecloth and some bookcases, fifth row (that's right--FIFTH ROW) tickets to Champions on Ice and the possibility of there always being another Royal Flush in my future.

XOXO

2006-04-11T17:58:00.000-07:00

My iPod is broken. :(

2006-04-03T21:38:00.000-07:00

I realize I haven't updated my blog much of late. But that could be because: A) I'm trying to write a new novel, B) I can't stop watching the movie Wimbledon, C) I really only started this blog to update my legions (legions) of fans about the meteoric rise of my writing career and its many perks or D) None of the above. (Test experts say that when in doubt, choose C.)

Mandy's March Madness

2006-03-21T18:12:00.000-08:00

Spring has arrived, and with it a dumping of snow on the mountains surrounding Las Vegas. Weird, huh? I think so.

Love Like That is again climbing the ranks of Amazon.com. Not so strange, maybe, since my research yields that it is adored by seventeen-year-olds near and far.

Only the Lucky has driven me to the brink of insanity (i.e., turned me into a raging drunk), so I think I'll put it aside for a while and conservatively sip of the grape as I get back to writing something that doesn't make me want to run down the street screaming my head off.

My hair needs a trim but I'm not that crazy. If it's between looking like George of the Jungle or George Michael, I think I'll soon be swinging from vines.

2006-03-13T20:33:00.000-08:00

I've been so busy being a successfully published author that I haven't had much time to blog, oh, but instead of traveling around on a book tour or even, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha, working on my next release (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA), I've once again joined the ranks of those in pursuit of a steady career. It's a decent job, and a sight better than answering a phone line that leads back to every asshole in town.

Now I would just like it if when someone I've just recently met tells another person I've just recently met, "Amanda had a book published!" that person would A) know what that means and/or, B) say something like, "Holy shit! You wrote Love Like That? Not only did I love that book, I READ IT!"

2006-02-24T15:16:00.000-08:00

And yes I do take figure skating very seriously!

Heartbreakers

2006-02-24T09:35:00.000-08:00

Perhaps Matt summed it up best last night when he turned to me, bewildered, to ask, "What just happened?" after the ladies skated their long programs in Torino. Now, all these hours later, I'm still wondering what did. It was so horrifying--I've blocked most of it out. Seriously--I don't even remember Sasha's program after the two falls and Irina's performance resonates like a bad dream I just want to forget. So they medaled after all...but it's the looks of resignation on the faces of these two champions, just like the doubt in their eyes as each of them took the ice, that will forever haunt me.

Blog Excuses

2006-02-16T19:49:00.000-08:00

Olympics. Laundry. Rewrite. Phone calls. Lovers & Players.

Farewell Michelle

2006-02-12T09:44:00.000-08:00

She's never been my favorite skater, still how sad to see such an inspiring career turn desperate and then finally collapse in defeat.

2006-02-10T12:21:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting here wondering--when is it officially okay (i.e., acceptable) to freak out, lose your cool, throw a fit, throw in the towel, act irrationally, make an idiot out of yourself, toss aside your inhibition, not hold back, commit a crime, start going to work in your pajamas, have a heated discussion with yourself out loud in public, run away/disappear to a foreign country, talk out of your ass, act as childish as you'd like and basically go bananas?

I was just reading through my well-traveled MS of OTL and was shocked to realize that it wasn't even read beyond, oh, page 40?

So it would seem that a contracted author's editor has about as much confidence in their work as, oh, an agent's intern does in the 4,000th total stranger's poorly-written query letter they've read that day?

Oh, well. That's what you say, right? Just like you say whatever, that's that, and moving right along.

Moving right along...the Olympics are starting RIGHT NOW!!!

Everything I'm Thinking Right Now

2006-01-31T21:53:00.000-08:00

Michelle Kwan is overrated. I will get a job that doesn't require me to smilingly cater to self-important, self-made moguls as though it's my favorite thing ever. I will get Internet at home so I don't have to rely on Matt's technological hospitality. I will lose my taste for delicious, delicious beer. I will get back to wearing beautiful, white-tipped acrylic nails at all times. I will do what I must with Only the Lucky, so that I may see it published. I will polish up the LIB series so that each one is a bestseller. I will not read other authors' blogs and especially not those currently thriving under the name of You Know What, because that shit makes me insane. I will work out at least five times a week. I will not eat bread products or candy. I will buy shirts to wear under my shirts because the layered look is outstanding. I will start a revival of the word boss as in, "That's so boss." I will write more on my blog about what living in Las Vegas is really all about. I will send a copy of Love Like That to various celebrities and ask if they might carry it around all the time so that a picture may appear, of them, holding Love Like That, among the pages of Star, US Weekly, People or InTouch Weekly. What is the exact origin of when someone says that something is selling like hotcakes? I will develop a rockin' body so that on weekends I may work as a cocktail waitress at the new Hooters Hotel & Casino. I will return to the Cote d'Azur, and live there. I will return to SoCal, if only to buy shoes at the Charles David in Century City. I will always respond to people's e-mails and return their phone calls. I will own an Italian Greyhound and name him Fellini. This beer is good. A cigarette would go nicely with it. I think I will have one. Bon soir.

2006-01-25T17:40:00.000-08:00

A word I’ve been using a lot lately: Exacerbate

Where I’d go tomorrow if I had the money: Rio de Janeiro

Something I’m sad about: Chris Penn’s death

Something I’m happy about: Mom and Dad coming to visit

Most recent rediscovery: Levi’s

What I’m wondering about right now: If there’s an apostrophe in Levi’s?

What I’m going to eat tonight: Probably broccoli

How my hair is looking: Still pretty hideous

What I’m writing these days: Ha ha ha, that’s a good one!

Movie I feel like watching: Legends of the Fall

Song I’ve been listening to a lot lately: “Everything Is Never Quite Enough” from The Thomas Crown Affair soundtrack

Book I’m reading: Prep by Curtis Sittenfeld

What I’m about to do right now: Leave work

2006-01-18T19:12:00.000-08:00

No feel like bloggy. Come back later.

Babe in the Woods

2006-01-13T18:56:00.000-08:00

Things forgotten after 5 years of living with spouse-like roommate who looked after all my interests, and followed by 2 years of living with generous parents who resumed the role of total caregivers to wayward child: apartment doesn't just come with electricity, you have to order it and actually pay for it; cable man doesn't plan to show up when it's convenient for you (Sunday afternoon 'round four, five p.m.) and also, you have to pay him to install your cable; washer and dryer in unit does not also mean detergent in unit; bathroom doesn't come equipped with towels and robe like in hotel; pans are necessary to cook; spices, condiments and cleaning supplies may be necessary at some point.

Crushing revelations at age 30: there's no IKEA in Vegas; maybe it's time to think about a rewarding career instead of taking cake admin jobs that "get the bills paid"; gambling can't really be classified as a "pastime" or a "hobby"; being "newsworthy" doesn't mean you knew about Brad and Angelina's love child before all your coworkers; your jeans aren't really shrinking, and drinking twelve pints of beer means you just consumed roughly 2,000 calories on top of all the foods you ingested that day.

Something that will never change: you would be insulted if your close friend didn't ask you to be a bridesmaid in her wedding, although, there's nothing worse than being in someone's wedding; stupid sporting event like basketball game delays showing of figure skating!!!

And on that note, what a weekend--hours of Nationals yet to be seen, the U.S. Olympic team yet to be determined, the drama, the fabulousness, Sasha finally getting her chance at gold!

2006-01-11T17:50:00.000-08:00

That Frey guy's book is #1 on Amazon right now.

Love Like That is #429,475.

Maybe it's time to leak "the truth" to the Smoking Gun.

2006-01-11T17:33:00.000-08:00

According to the gender test on Sparknotes, I'm a man.

Not surprising.

2006-01-03T19:06:00.000-08:00

I've had two--two--frightening dreams in which I was being ambushed by spiders, all kinds of spiders, in the past three days--including the one last night, in which under even more scary circumstances, I was fighting off the spiders with one of those Super-Soaker toys, filled with some kind of homemade poison, around an ancient swimming pool brimming with mossy, murky water and with the help of--get ready--the cast of St. Elmo's Fire...in character.

Apparently spiders are omens of good luck in dreams but seriously...let's just say I don't enjoy dreaming about spiders and would rather just rub a fucking rabbit's foot.

Nothing much to report here from Las Vegas except that if anyone ever gets tired of calling me Amanda or Mandy, Superliver might be a fitting replacement.

Happy New Year

2006-01-02T14:13:00.000-08:00

2006

2005-12-29T17:25:00.000-08:00

So far I haven't made any resolutions other than to finally get around to watching La Dolce Vita.

Probably because I'm pretty sure that's one resolution I can keep.

Lost in Translation

2005-12-29T17:20:00.000-08:00

Actually that Dutch phrase means something like "To Choose or Share", according to some German guy I know. Not that he actually speaks Dutch or is from Germany, but, it seems more plausible than "Molars or Parts".

2005-12-27T19:57:00.000-08:00

Research has yielded some extreme weirdness about this whole Dutch thing. Not only is there a British author by the name of Jill Mansell who already has a Dutch-translated book Dutch-titled: Kiezen of delen, but also, according to Altavista's Babel Fish translator, Kiezen of delen actually means "Molars or Parts".

Kiezen of delen? (Love Like That gone Dutch)

2005-12-27T18:51:00.000-08:00

Mijn braaksel was blauwig. (My vomit was teal.)

'Vind jij het niet moeilijk om dat wijfie van je zo vaak niet te zien?' ("Is it hard to be away from your fine-ass woman so much of the time?")

'O ja! Hm ja, zo! Dat is lekker!' ("Oh, yeah! Uh huh, that's right! Give it to me, baby, give it to me!")

'Haar vriendinen zijn echt van die rotwijven.' ("Her friends are such bitches.")

'Pf, al sla je me dood.' ("No shit.")

'Ik sla dat wijf op haar bek!' ("I'm gonna kick that bitch's ass!")

'Hihihihiiiii!' ("Neighhhhhhhh!")

'Ach, flikker toch een eind op!' ("Go fuck yourself!")

As you can see I still think like a ten-year-old. (Me, to myself: "Ooh! Love Like That in Dutch! How do you say 'fuck' in Dutch? Ooh!")

Keep on carvin'

2005-12-21T11:59:00.000-08:00

I'm still reeling from last night's Nip/Tuck season finale. Maybe because all in one episode we got: a man born without a penis (despite his being portrayed as a successful, albeit bisexual womanizer); a man posing as a woman having his penis chopped off, with a boxcutter, by a boy he/she had not only had a fling with but also got gay-bashed by and then subsequently bashed but then ended up becoming friends and going shopping with; a brother and sister turning out to be not only lovers but also a serial maimer/rapist/killer and his accomplice--never mind the weird bit about them being from Maine even though he was, uh, I think Cuban and she was, uh, British; Julia's baby (which may or may not be Sean's baby--who really knows with Julia, eh?) possibly being retarded in utero and btw, no remorse yet for her smothering that plane crash victim with a pillow when she was actually trying to kill her mother, oops; everyone in Miami apparently recovering from plastic surgery within days if not hours; Kimber showing up looking like Jason Voorhees from Friday the 13th with his hockey mask off, basically hinting that she wanted to get pretty again and then, after a miraculous marathon of surgery saying that being beautiful basically sucked and she couldn't be with the hottest mofo in the world anymore because they were just too lovely together, wtf; Quentin/The Carver getting shot and then jumping out of his body bag and I guess just walking out of the morgue with Kit/Sis and nobody noticed, after which they just flew to Spain and set up shop so's he could start carvin' again and I guess not be suspect even though the law found out that he was The Carver back in Miami and probably might be able to put two and two together when he starts carvin' in Spain; oh yeah, and Matt shooting his ex-girlfriend's white supremacist father and I guess just wiping his hands off and heading home, kind of like how Cherry (the transvestite) just leapt up with no problem after having his/her penis chopped off; and then of course everyone just sitting down to dinner at the McNamaras' house like nothing really happened.

Now if only Patrick Duffy had stepped out of the shower and told someone it was all a dream...

Mid-December Ramblings

2005-12-16T17:56:00.000-08:00

Today I was in a bookstore and could find absolutely nothing that I wanted to read. That got me thinking…hmm, I wonder whatever happened to Heather Cochran’s second RDI release (her first being the wonderfully unique and not so genre-oriented Mean Season) that was supposed to be out in November? It’s December, no? Oh, well, maybe I’ll call the customer service # and ask.

I officially hate the holiday season. It reminds me of Disneyland—crowds of rude people, long lines, buying shit just to buy it and some bizarre need to eat like a hog just because there’s food everywhere. I will be glad when it’s over.

Today one of my coworkers said I look like one of those kids in Village of the Damned with this haircut.

Your weekend homework: Rent Village of the Damned and have a laugh.

2005-12-15T18:31:00.000-08:00

Okay, okay...I promise to stop posting exclusively about my hair.

Instead I'll get back to posting mostly about LLT and writing/publishing-related topics. Like how interesting is this, my mother told me the publisher sent copies of LLT by mail the other day, in Dutch. I'm now imagining it in the hands of young women from Amsterdam.

And thinking LLT may have found its audience!

Last Christmas...I Gave You My Heart

2005-12-15T12:45:00.000-08:00

There you have it. (Left)

2005-12-14T11:05:00.000-08:00

If you really want to see what my haircut looks like, go check out George Michael's 'do on the cover of your old Wham! Make It Big record.

Anybody Got a Wig I Could Borrow?

2005-12-13T17:39:00.000-08:00

I have a new name for my pain and it is Supercuts.

Now some of you may be compelled to ask: "Amanda! Why in the f--k did you go to Supercuts?"

To which I would be compelled to reply: "I don't f--king know!"

At any rate--and this one would be a cheap $11--I can see (literally every time I look in the mirror and subsequently shout in horror, "Who is that?") that my impulse to pay $500 to fly back to Virginia and visit my regular stylist was correct. Because at the moment I can't decide if my hair more resembles Meg Ryan's in Innerspace or Julia Roberts's when she played f--king Tinkerbell in Hook.

Note to all the people I've been urging to come visit me in Las Vegas: Why don't you actually put that on hold for a few months.

Royalty Statement

2005-12-08T12:39:00.000-08:00

The good news is, I got it. The bad news is that I most likely won't be seeing but a $10.00 profit on Love Like That--and even then, it probably won't be until Love Like That is out of print.

Now here's where it might be nice to have some writer friends. See, I always thought that once a book made back the author's advance in retail sales, that was when the author started earning his or her percentage off the cover price.

(As D-list published authors, the world over, laugh hysterically...)

More good news is, in the first three months of its release, Love Like That sold about 10X more copies than I expected.

More bad news is, if I'd been correct about my uninformed thoughts on the royalty structure, I'd be: buying lavish Christmas gifts for all my family and friends, planning a spring vaca in Paris, going straight to Louis Vuitton after work and maybe looking into putting a down payment on one of those luxury high-rise condominiums that that are going up all over Las Vegas right now.

But hey, why dwell? I don't do it for the $$ anyway, I do it for the art.

I think I'll go to law school now.

Nobody Does It Better

2005-12-06T18:39:00.000-08:00

Bored during my last hour of work tonight, I visited all the sites I regularly haunt in search of something new. Then remembered I hadn't checked in on Jackie Collins in a while and so headed to her site. At first thought, after reading Jackie's December 2005 entry, it occurred to me that my idol leads a far, far, far more exciting life as a writer than I. Then came the obvious revelation: Jackie has been publishing books for about 35 years, and I only just published my first about 8 months ago.

This led to a more inspiring revelation, as I realized, doing the math, that Jackie was around my age when she was writing her first book to be published, The World is Full of Married Men. And it was then that I remembered when I, at the age of twelve (or maybe thirteen), after reading my first Jackie Collins book, Rock Star, thought to myself: "When I'm old enough, I'm going to write like this."

Now I'm old enough...and have spent the last month or so considering myself "finished" because I can't seem to do chick-lit right and actually, don't really want to...which makes me feel kind of icky and abnormal, considering that my one published book thus far can only be classified in the chick-lit category.

Anyway.

I don't deign to think that I could ever be as successful as Jackie Collins (and for those that would scoff and say, "Oh, please--Jackie Collins writes shallow trash," let's not be forgetting her 400 million books in print and have you ever allowed yourself to be so entertained?), I guess I'm just pleased to remember anew that she as a writer inspires me as a writer--always has, always will.

When I was in middle school, reading Rock Star--how Jackie inspired me was to show me a wild world beyond the quiet seclusion of my hometown, and beyond the frustrating trappings of my age.

How she inspires me tonight, with the thought that Jackie probably wasn't typing up The World is Full of Married Men while consumed by a paranoia that she was getting too old to make her mark, and by a worry that she couldn't possibly keep up with her contemporaries.

Well, it's been decades since her first book was published and she's only gotten better with time, and when you think about it (or at least when I think about it), Jackie Collins doesn't really have any contemporaries. She's just Jackie Collins.

Lovers and Players will be out in February.

I will be in the midst of a whole 'nother submission process.

Oh, Jackie. Thank you.

2005-12-01T17:52:00.000-08:00

When you search for Love Like That on the Barnes & Noble site right now, the first book that comes up is The Book of Us: A Journal of Your Love Story in 150 Questions.

That's funny.

Site Traffic

2005-12-01T08:03:00.000-08:00

I didn't realize that linking to SS's original post would put me on her page like that. So I guess that either makes me a totally inept blogger or a complete nitwit, maybe both.

Either way, welcome. And, I apologize in advance if my own personal blogging about the ups and downs of writing and more importantly, publishing, upsets you.

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2005-11-30T17:31:00.000-08:00

Why are people so angry at Sandra Scoppettone?

Yeah, there's a reason I rarely write exactly what I'm thinking on this little-known blog. That reason being, a reason just like this. A writer writes truthfully about the pitfalls of being published and speaks candidly about her fears for her future as a writer--and suddenly she is not only evil incarnate, but also the stupidest person who ever lived. And a lynch mob of total strangers gets in line to call her names and snidely (smugly?) tells her to shut up, while industry peers/colleagues chide and patronize her for so "dimwittedly" and offensively speaking her mind.

'Tis true that if you post your thoughts and opinions in a public forum, you're opening yourself up to be criticized by the public. But so much for writers writing about the writing life, huh?

Sasha

2005-11-29T08:27:00.000-08:00

My girl at the Trophee Eric Bompard, where she got totally ripped off. True, the little tumble toward the end didn't make for a technically perfect program--but what a stunning performance!

Thanksgiving Proven

2005-11-27T17:25:00.000-08:00

Thursday morning dawned cold and still, with me debating if I should lug my laptop to Denver and fearing the worst at McCarran. A decision made, I drove north on Las Vegas Boulevard, sans laptop, as the first of the day's departing planes lifted into the brightening sky. At the airport I parked my car, took the shuttle to the terminal, and as expected--met complete chaos.

I figured I would check in curbside, where there were only 2 people in line versus the 8,000 waiting inside. But unfortunately was turned away when the skycap informed me that since I'd just bought my ticket the day before, an agent had to confirm my credit card. I went inside and made camp behind 8,000 people. Then, was tapped on the shoulder. And there was the skycap from the curbside check-in, who said, "Come with me, sweetie, I'll get you through the line."

We cut all the way to the front, where he hopped the counter and saw that not only was I checked in right away, but that I was assigned an aisle seat. I gave him five bucks--and was pleased to have been born blonde, blue-eyed, and blessed with considerable assets. Shallow? Not when it means avoiding airport stress!

On the plane I was seated beside a middle-aged couple. But the man's seat wouldn't stay upright so the flight attendant moved them to another area of the plane. I was left with an entire row to myself.

Takeoff was smooth. The pilot made a comical welcome speech--relaxing me into the belief that we were really in no danger of going down. The beverage cart was still stocked with many tiny bottles of Finlandia by the time it got to me. The flight was shorter than I thought it would be. In Denver, my bag was riding around on the carousel at the exact moment I got there. Outside, my sister was just driving up.

At Lisa's house, three-year-old Maddy eschewed her traditional behavior of hiding from me, and instead jumped instantly into my arms. It was, as it always is, a joy to see six-year-old Savannah. Thanksgiving dinner was delicious--all but my brother-in-law's hideous gravy, which was all the better because it brought to mind another Thanksgiving, and another failed attempt at gravy, and a lot of laughs about other times we've spent together.

I thought many times over the weekend, how proud and lucky I am to have such a fine sister, and how happy it makes me that she has such a wonderful family and such a good life.

I got to see ultrasound pictures of the new baby! And discuss the potential of probably 1,000 names.

I got to meet Lisa's friends at a Friday night cocktail party, and they were all completely nice. We saw Pride and Prejudice yesterday, and it was really good! I helped my brother-in-law put up Christmas lights. And got to snuggle with Maddy in her feet pajamas, and sit by Savannah at every meal.

My sister has a gorgeous house and a grand hairdryer. She is so easy and enjoyable to talk to. I love that we can discuss anything and everything and that we never disrespect each other. We have so many of the same opinions. She's so smart and so funny and I love spending time with her. I love that we have shared our lives. She never makes me feel like less. She always makes me feel so much better than I did before.

My visit was rounded out by this morning's tasty brunch at Mimi's cafe. Then, at the airport in Denver, having not yet been assigned a seat...the boarding agent was kind enough to upgrade me to First Class. And obviously, my plane landed safely on the ground here in Las Vegas.

It was the best weekend. And my only sorrow is that I can't do it over again.

What a sappy post, huh?

Are all these people (really) working today?

2005-11-23T10:47:00.000-08:00

To start this rather lengthy post, I plead guilty to first-rate blog neglect. Part of my defense is that I've not yet been able to gauge if Internet use is okay at my new job--and to keep myself sane (i.e., not let the writing lag), what I try to do when I get home at night is immediately write at least 2-3 pages that I'm hoping will eventually be bound in a novel. On that note: another part, lately all I've really felt like writing here is a bunch of negative crap about the so-called ethics of publishing, to include some "why her and not me" type comments about some other chick-lit writers out there (in particular, the ones of similar association, and maybe even the same association, who are treated to glorious parties, fabulous promotional events, and invitations to exclusive writing engagements when some of us can't even seem to get our hands on a royalty statement). Perhaps that last part is due to the kind of quiet jealousy that I believe exists inside of every writer, published or not--you love to read, naturally, and there is no other place in which you feel so at home--but still you feel the let-down of your own unrecognition, the yearning silence of your own unique voice, every time you enter a bookstore. Or perhaps it is just that even as adults, we never quite grow out of that playground self-consciousness that makes us wonder why some kids are, simply, so much more popular than others.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, the American holiday in which we gather to feast in celebration of all we should be thankful for. And while I do really love Thanksgiving--as may be evident by the Thanksgiving chapter in Love Like That--today I was thinking that it's actually kind of sad that most of us, really, only use this one day as a means of appreciating what bits of goodness we may forsake on all other days. Even sadder still, what about all the people who really don't have anything to be thankful for? Still they are expected to celebrate Thanksgiving--the same as the loveless are expected to welcome Valentine's Day and the socially-challenged are expected to party ("like it's 1999"...sorry, I had to do it) on New Year's Eve.

I still love Thanksgiving. And I do, indeed, have a lot to be thankful for, every day of the year--from knowing how to read (and write) to having clothes to wear (for as often as I longingly yearn for more, more, more!) to what will undoubtedly be my best 31st birthday present (and yes, I do realize my sister is not giving me her baby for my birthday), a new niece or my first nephew.

Some randomness:

Today I used the word "blockhead" to describe a jackass and found it to be very effective, therefore I think I will start referring to all "jackasses" as "blockheads".

I could easily live in peace and satisfaction without having to see these celebrity catch-phrases: Brangelina, TomKat and the even more LUDICROUS TomKitten (which is what the media is calling Katie Holmes's and Tom Cruise's alleged unborn, in case you didn't know) and Dashmi (at first I thought it was a new religion, not the coupling of Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher).

I'm about to start reading L'Affaire by Diane Johnson, the same scribe who penned Le Divorce.

I have to fly twice in the next several days and can't say I'm really looking forward to it.

I'm loving the return of Gaucho pants.

And that's about it.

Now I'm going to drink some Shiraz, pack a bag and watch last night's recorded episode of Nip/Tuck.

Happy Thanksgiving.

2005-11-15T12:31:00.000-08:00

Check out this article at the Sunday Herald online. It's an examination of the destructive relationship between writers and alcohol.

As I sit at my laptop, writing--a bottle of beer within easy reach.

Hi Dad

2005-11-11T17:51:00.000-08:00

The Things That Hold Us Back

2005-11-07T17:14:00.000-08:00

It's kind of ironic, or maybe poetic, that just the other day I was biting my tongue (not wanting to offend "my own" per se) about how much it bothers me when chick-lit writers make certain complaints...and now, today, I can successfully say I'm not really a chick-lit writer anymore.

The question is, was I ever?

Well, I don't know. It seems that more and more, chick-lit readers only want heroines that they can relate to...and that more and more, those heroines should be clean and kind.

The problem is, I don't write clean and kind heroines. In fact, if I write clean and kind characters at all, they are usually made a mockery of by my dirty, mean heroines.

So maybe the peeps at RDI were correct when upon cancellation of my contract for Book #2, they said I'm not aware of the audience I'm writing for...but it would be better said, I think, to say that maybe I am aware of it--but just don't want to write for it.

That's certainly not to say that I think there's anything wrong with women wanting to read fun stories about likeable girls that represent the kind of company they wouldn't mind keeping. It's just to say that it's my preference to keep company with the kinds of gritty bitches that you will always find between the pages of my books.

And maybe that leaves less room for me to write for the chick-lit market...but if it does, then maybe there's a lesson to be learned here.

A successful writer told me something very important once. She said: "Forget about what everybody else wants. Write a story that you would want to read."

I think I'll do that now.

On Second Thought

2005-11-02T18:56:00.000-08:00

Maybe I won't labor my thoughts about that ludicrous debate I mentioned in my last post. It's just that I'm so exhausted of it--that and the fact that almost everything I want to say will end up offending Jennifer Weiner. I doubt Jennifer Weiner reads my blog. I doubt anyone who reads Jennifer Weiner reads my blog, actually. But just to be safe, I'd rather not inadvertently make a name for myself as yet another female writer who simply stated her opinion and somehow in the process, had that action misconstrued as an attack on Jennifer Weiner and therefore, the entire chick-lit genre and most women in general.

To those of you who could give a fuck about the chick-lit debate; I apologize, as that paragraph likely meant nothing to you.

Maybe what you really want to know is more about what it's like to live and work in Vegas, yeah? Well, I'll tell ya. I'm not twenty-one anymore--as I proved on Monday night when after a classy dinner at Il Mulino in the Forum, Matt and I headed for the neighborhood locale of Last Call and proceeded to consume mass quantities of Bud Light over multiple hands of video poker. Yeah, that was just me acting twenty-one. Thirty kicked in the next morning.

Busy

2005-11-02T08:30:00.000-08:00

I apologize if you read my blog on a regular basis, I've just been too busy lately to update it. Isn't it amazing how you must learn to practice time management skills when you actually have a job to go to?

More later...and likely my thoughts on the current round of "Chick-Lit is the Very Representation of Modern Feminism vs. You Chicks Who Write Chick-Lit Need to Get Over Yourselves."

You'd be surprised to learn which corner I actually stand in...but then again, maybe you wouldn't.

New Links

2005-10-26T18:51:00.000-07:00

(Warning: Shameless plugs ahead!) I've put up some new links, most importantly the one to www.mynewcompany.com where you will find out everything you need to know about starting your own business and www.postwritersgroup.com where you will find out everything you need to know, period.

Out of Catchy Titles For the Moment

2005-10-25T18:43:00.000-07:00

As I go through the process of revising LIB, I can't help but ask myself if there is a place in today's women's fiction market for a wealthy heroine whose main romantic dilemma is that her dude doesn't like that she has so much $$$? So if you're one of today's women and you read fiction (along with this blog), by all means let me know if it's: A) more important to read about a heroine you can relate to, or B) more important to read a compelling story that allows you to lose yourself and forget your own woes/issues/b.s. for a few hours?

On a personal and totally non-book-related note, it is with great joy that I report my glorious, beautiful and amazing mother has come through her hip-replacement surgery (yesterday) well (or, as well as one can be after a hip-replacement surgery) and ready for recovery.

And for those of you considering a move to Las Vegas, here's some fine print when it comes to your apartment search (since on your paltry LV salary you'll not likely be buying a SoCal priced house!) They may advertise that the security deposit on your soon-to-be posh pad is only $200, but what they're forgetting to advertise is that they will also expect a non-refundable $40 just to fill out the application, and a non-refundable $200 (on top of that sweet, cheap security deposit that made you want to shout with "What a deal!" type happiness) that will be explained quite nonchalantly as a "redecorating" fee. Hey, way to find an all-new method of screwing the common man is all I have to say. Well done!