Love Like That

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

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

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

My iPod is broken. :(

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

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.

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!"

And yes I do take figure skating very seriously!

Heartbreakers

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

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

Farewell Michelle

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

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

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.

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

No feel like bloggy. Come back later.

Babe in the Woods

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!

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.

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

Not surprising.

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