Tricks and Treats

The fact that I weighed myself yesterday and it was ugly. Very ugly: TRICK

Allowing myself not to freak out about it until the sequel is finished: TREAT

Watching Friday Night Lights--an awesome show that deals not just football, but also the freaky/cool/interesting dynamic that is small town America (a subject on which I am nothing if not an expert)--TREAT

Realizing while watching Friday Night Lights that Kyle Chandler is the new Patrick Dempsey--DOUBLE TREAT

Going on to realize that I've loved Kyle Chandler since Homefront which makes me feel pretty old--TRICK

Knowing that I should probably work tonight instead of turning on my porchlight and getting overrun with the hundreds (and no, I'm not exaggerating) of trick-or-treaters that will descend upon my street this evening: TRICK (or depending on how seriously I'm taking the first two items on this list, TREAT since I've already bought a little bit of candy--).

The fact that my new favorite writer John Green has formed a NaNoWriMo for the deadline-challenged (Known as NAFADOYBIMSCOM -- NAtional Finish A Draft Of Your Book I Mean Seriously Come On Month)--TREAT.

The news that the very cool Jana Deleon has already actually purchased a copy of LEARNING TO PLAY GIN because stores have put it out early--TREAT!!!!

The fact that despite the book already being in some stores a couple of online vendors that shall remain nameless still don't have the cover image up on their websites...TRICK.

Realizing that even though I feel like the slowest-worst-laziest writer in the world, I have actually had three books released in the past eleven months (two of which weren't even finished a year ago): TREAT

The news that my favorite Hollywood couple is splitting up--Heartbreaking Trick.

Knowing that my mother has made my nieces coordinating clown costumes--TREAT.



And this...how can this be anything other than the biggest TREAT ever!




Having fans that are so cool, and fun, and creative that they make you laugh out loud: TREAT!!! The biggest, best, and coolest treat of all!



Happy Halloween everyone!

Ally

Gallagher Ghouls

Oh my gosh! I can't believe I was able to hold off this long to post this, but I did, and now I'm bursting with the news...

I'VE GOTTEN ACTUAL EMAILS FROM ACTUAL READERS WHO ARE GOING TO BE DRESSING UP AS GALLAGHER GIRLS FOR HALLOWEEN!!!!!!!!!!!!

How happy does this make me?

Very, very happy.

I have been promised pictures, and if they come and if I get the permission from the girls and their parents I may post them.

That is, if it doesn't compromise their covers.

In other news, don't forget that next Tuesday is the day when LEARNING TO PLAY GIN will be released and also that's when I'll be posting the big cipher that will allow you to decode the title for the second Gallagher Girls book!

So check back soon.

Happy Halloween everyone!

Ally



ps...I can also officially mention that I'D TELL YOU I LOVE YOU BUT THEN I'D HAVE TO KILL YOU will be published in Chinese and distributed in Taiwan!

(In addition to Russia, Japan, Indonesia, and Thailand.) There are several other foreign rights deals in the works, so keep your fingers crossed that the Gallagher Girls may be coming to a store near you very soon.

If you've ever said, "someday I'd like to write a book"...

Hi Everyone!

First, let me thank all of you who wrote with stellar purse suggestions! I will be sure and keep you updated on my purse-shopping progress. Right now I'm kind of liking this one from Dooney and Bourke (thanks to the suggestion by the lovely and talented Jana Deleon.

Only I'd get it in black.

What do you think?

The second thing I'd like to say is GO POKES!. That's right, my OSU Cowboys won a big one Saturday against the very classy and talented Nebraska Cornhuskers.

A few years ago a couple of friends and I went to Lincoln to the OSU-Nebraska game, and we agreed that we've never been treated so well. Every Husker fan we saw said hello and welcomed us to Lincoln and wished us a safe trip home. This from a program that has an unprecidented tradition of powerhousedom (not a word--but should be.)

It just goes to show that people who are comfortable in their own skin and confident in their own abilities don't need to prove it by being jerks to other people--a fact that I think is true of every athletic venue, workplace, and high school in America.

Okay, and now for the real reason I sat down to write this post...

NOVEMBER IS NATIONAL NOVEL WRITING MONTH!

I've been hearing about NaNoWriMo for more than a year, and while I wish I knew tons about it so that I could talk about its origins and whatnot, I'm afraid I don't. And can't.

But here are the things I do know:

--It's happening November 1- November 30

--There is a website that lays out all the details

--You have one month to write an entire novel from scratch.

--In that month, you are supposed to follow my personal mantra of "Don't get it right, get it written," and not worry about typos or wording or anything else that might hang a person up. You're just supposed to put your head down and write!

--If I didn't have a huge rewrite going on I probably would have done it myself.

--Saying "Someday I'd like to write a book" isn't the same thing as writing one. If you want to write--write! And this might be a very good way to start.

--There may very well be a NaNoWriMo group already formed in your community that you can join. I know there's a group made up of patrons and staff of my local library, so check it out!



Okay, happy writing and reading, and purse shopping everyone!


Have a great day!

Ally

Where have all the cute purses gone?

Okay, taking a break from the sequel madness to share something that has been driving me crazy for about the last year or so: Purses have gotten very, very ugly.

Am I the only person to notice this? And not only that, but the more expensive a purse is, the uglier it is. Take, for example, this $798 gem from Coach.

Ugly, right? Well, you may love it--someone obviously does. But it's really not very "me". (I'm a less is more kind of girl.)






When the Disney option happened last spring I wanted to reward myself with a nice handbag, but I never did because I couldn't find one!

I'm a pretty picky person, I guess. I don't think my likes are necessarily better than anyone else's, but I'm not going to waste money and time on something that doesn't suit me. But lately, I've started thinking that there might not be a single bag in the world that does suit me.

So I'm enlisting you--the blog-reading public--to help me in my quest for a suitable bag. (It will now be a gift to myself for finishing all my books--something very gift-worthy if you ask me.)

But remember, I have standards.

And they are as follows:


1- It must zip.

I know this may sound like a no-brainer, but there are a startling number of purses out there that only have a small snap, or they zip over 3/4 of the top opening but not the whole way (see example by Kate Spade).

This may look good. It may even sound okay. But that still isn't going to help when you're trying to get off a plane and the guy next to you kicks your purse over and your lipstick, business card holder, zip drive, and $1.48 in change end up two rows behind you.



2- It must only require one hand/arm to put on.

I know this one may sound a little strange, but let me explain.

Let's say you're holding your purse with your right hand. You'd like to put it on your shoulder. I would like to be able to go from right hand to right shoulder with one motion. If at any point I have to bring either my left hand or my left shoulder into the operation then that purse isn't for me.

(The key to this is that the space between the strap and the top of the bag must be longer than the bone between your wrist and your elbow.)



3- It must be comfortable.

Yes, there are comfortable purses and uncomfortable purses in this world. If you don't believe me, try going Christmas shopping with a bag that bangs against your hips when you walk or tucks awkwardly under your arm so that you feel like you're carrying a football all day--you'll soon learn I know of which I speak.



4- It must be high utility and/or cost effective.

As you may or may not know I've taken a lot of economics classes in my life, and my favorite economic principle is utility--or benefit received from a good or service. I'm a firm believer that the benefit should outweigh the cost and the more practical an item is, the more utility it has for me.

Take a bag like this one from Kate Spade. I think it's really elegant. It's black so I could wear it with almost everything I own. But it's also $395.

Will I get almost four hundred dollars' worth of wear--or utility--out of it? I don't know. I've never really considered myself a four-hundred-dollar-purse person, but if it's a purse I'll carry every day for five years then maybe the utility will, in fact, outweigh the cost. (Also, I'm afraid this specific bag wouldn't meet requirements number 1 and 2 above.)



5- It must have a place where I can put my cell phone and have it be easily accessible.

Enough said.



6- It must be the right size.

Yes, I'm the crazy lady in the department store that, before buying a purse, takes everything out of her old bag and tries to put it in the new one. My philosophy on purse size is this: buy the smallest one you can fit your essentials in. If you get one with too much room to spare you'll fill it up with junk and who wants that?



7- It must wear well.

Part of this ties in with #4 above, but finding a purse for me is hard enough that when I find one I like it needs to last for a long, long time.



8- It must make me feel pretty.

Or at least like a pseudo-cool/hip/professional/non-ancient human being.


9- It must stand upright on its own. (preferred but not mandatory)

I really don't like it when I set my purse down and it flops over onto its side. It gets dirty and wears more and if I happened to leave it unzipped (0r Heaven-forbid if I didn't follow Rule #1) then stuff falls out. So a purse that's got some posture is always better in my opinion.


10-I must like it.

I know--this should go without saying. But really there are a lot of purses out there that probably fit these requirements. Like the one from Coach, for example. But it just isn't "me". I know I'm not the most fashionable person in the world, but I think you can tell a lot about a woman by what kind of handbag she carries, and I want one that represents the real me.

Which, I guess, would be...closed, upright, unadorned, economical, durable, appropriately-sized, and easy to lug around.



I am now taking suggestions from the group.


-Ally

Things I'll do when the book's done...

I've been assured that I can't work on the Gallagher Girls sequel forever, and when that day comes, here are some options I've developed for keeping busy...

- There's the checkbook thing and the cell phone thing

- And eventually I'd like to get my sweaters out of storage so that I might wear them before spring comes.

- Oh, and there's a very questionable substance in my refrigerator that will require some scrubbing.

- My parents assure me that I'm still welcome there so I may have to pay them a visit.

- Ditto for Crazy Beth

- My treadmill is feeling quite underappreciated.

- There are many, many excellent books that I have been denying myself the pleasure of reading until GG2 is safely in a copyeditor's hands.

- I'm fairly sure I'll need to go to the bank. Maybe a couple of banks.

- And the dry cleaners.

- And there's the little matter of the (approximately) ten big plastic bags I have of Diet Coke cans that will need to be given to my cousin who is collecting cans in order to earn money for his lifetime fishing license (he's three--and adorable--and evidently quite the fisherman.)

- I need to go through my closets and give a lot of things to charity.

- There are about a gazillion MySpace messages and comments that I need to return

- Ditto for emails

And now for the biggest thing I'll do when I've finished the sequel....

FREAK OUT BECAUSE LEARNING TO PLAY GIN IS OUT!!!!

Oh, and I'll also spend a fair amount of time begging people to buy LEARNING TO PLAY GIN.


So if you really want to help, you can either buy Gin or help me deal with the refrigerator situation. It's your call.


take care,
Ally

Very random observations from the trenches

To say that I'm busy working on the sequel is like saying...oh I don't know...Veronica Mars is sassy or that guy from MEN IN TREES is hot. Understatements, both.

So here are some random things that have crossed my random mind lately.

1. A whole lot of people have found my website by Googling Popcorn Balls. I have become one of the world's premiere places for popcorn ball information. I am SO proud.

2. LEARNING TO PLAY GIN will be officially released in two weeks. TWO WEEKS. Two weeks.

3. I was attacked by a bee today. In my car. While driving. It was very traumatic.

4. It has gotten really cold here--really cold! And I don't like it.

5. I really need a new cell phone but that's just one of those things that will take two or three hours to accomplish, and I don't have two or three hours.

6. Ditto for the balancing of my checkbook.

7. My OSU Cowboys are playing on TV this Saturday. I really, really hope I'll have time to watch them.

8. I would really like to come up with an even ten. But I've learned to live with disappointment.


Have a great night!
Ally

Bloggers do book awards!

Hi all,

I freely admit that I stole the following from the very sweet and cool Little Willow. I'm betting she doesn't mind, though, because it seems like the kind of thing we should be sharing.

Check it out!
Ally



Book Bloggers Create Their Own Literary Awards

If you love reading books for children, tweens and teens, we want to hear from you! Anne of Book Buds and Kelly of Big A little have created The 2006 Children's and YA Bloggers' Literary Awards, which will honor the best releases of the year.

First, visit the site and read the rules. Then select a category and post a comment with the title and author of the book you would like to nominate. It's just that simple!

The test of a new book...

So I've already posted about how I got my brand new copies of LEARNING TO PLAY GIN in the mail this week.

Well, here's a little secret: this is among the most exciting and the most terrifying things that ever happens to me.

After all, new, shiny, pretty book with my name on the cover = good.

Knowing you can never, ever change a word of the book = bad.

So I always swear I won't pick up the final version and drive myself crazy with all the things I wish I could change.

But, inevitably, I do pick it up and read a completley random portion and pray that it won't be too terrible.

So that's what I did last night.

I read this:

From LEARNING TO PLAY GIN,

(a completely random excerpt chosen not to represent the book as a whole or tease but simply to satisfy Ally's utterly morbid curiosity.)

There was a gas station just inside the Park Valley city limits, so Lance stopped and got directions, even though he was pretty sure he wouldn’t need them. Without being told, he knew the state highway would turn into Main Street; he knew the theater would be downtown, and he’d find it on his first pass through. He parallel parked and walked to the doors, and even though he’d never been there before, he knew exactly what he was going to find inside.

As he pushed the door open, white light from outside swept across the dim theater, over thread-bare red velvet seats. Lance took off his sunglasses and waited for his eyes to adjust. Everything smelled like moth balls and wood polish. Three women stood around the base of a ladder at stage left, and the acoustics in the old building carried their voices all the way to the door.

“Roger, more to the left,” one of the women said. She was wearing a pink velour track suit from when velour was in style the first time. It was active wear. She was being active. And yet, Roger was the one up there on the ladder.

“No, the other left,” another woman said.

Roger had a thick stomach and thin hair. Lance’s guess was that his wife had been dead eighteen months. The women looked up at him longingly. Roger was quite a catch.

To Lance’s right, a pair of girls kneeled beside three pieces of poster board, sprinkling glitter over clue-covered letters that said tickets would be five dollars each–just like they must do it on Broadway. Strands of long, fine hair fell over their faces, shielding Lance from their view as he stepped toward them and said, “Hi. Excuse me.”

They looked up at the same time and their hair fell back as, simultaneously, their jaws dropped.

“Ohmygosh,” one of them said in a breathless whisper.

“Hi. I’m Lance, and I think my mom might be—"

“Ohmygosh!”

As they stumbled to their feet Lance could see that one was tall and shapely, while the other carried twenty more pounds on three fewer inches. The taller one shook her hands as if her fingers were on fire. “OH! MY! GOSH!!!!”

On the stage, someone said, “Be careful, Roger,” but the girls were bouncing up and down then, grasping each other, screeching at the top of their lungs, and Lance didn’t know what do to.

Fans, he thought. I guess these are fans. Like most forces of nature they looked different up close, in their native habitat.

“I love you,” the heavier girl cried. “I love you so much!”

But you don’t even know me, Lance thought but couldn’t say. Lance pulled his hand back and gestured toward the stage where Roger was moving the ladder and the women watched his butt as he climbed. Right then, Lance was really, really glad he wasn’t Roger.

later...

Ally

Birthday wishes

It doesn't really count as a blog post if you're just wishing people happy birthday, does it?

Well, I don't care if it does, because October 19 is very big birthday-wise here in Allyville.

First, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Daddy! I'm sorry I won't be able to make it home for the big to-do this weekend, but someday (probably soon) publishers are going to stop buying my books which means I'll be able to stop writing them and then I will absolutely, positively expect you to grill me a steak.

Also, big birthday wishes are going out to Crazy Beth--yes, that Crazy Beth--who is celebrating without me yet again this year. Which is tragic. Monumentally.

And, if Oct. 19 wasn't birthday-rific enough, I just saw that Jennifer Lynn Barnes is getting older today. Well...we're all getting older, but Jen is lucky enough to justify the occasion with cake.

Happy birthday, all!

Back to writing...


Ally

Gin!

I know I said I wasn't going to post again this week, but this isn't really a post. More like an update...a public service announcement if you will.

Yesterday I came home from writing at the library to find my very first copy of LEARNING TO PLAY GIN waiting in my mailbox with two new Pottery Barn catalogues.

So I know it's really happening (the Gin coming out part, not the Pottery Barn is trying to guilt me into finally decorating my house part).

GIN IS COMING OUT!!!

Thought you'd like to know.




Ally

Homecoming

The Oklahoma State University Homecoming celebration is this weekend, and I won't be there. I'll be writing. And I'll be thinking about Stillwater. And getting nostalgic. And wondering if anyone there is thinking about me and hoping they'll see me among the massive crowds that will fill University Ave for Walkaround Friday night.

But I won't be there.

I'll be working.

Which is a shame.

I never realized how seriously people at OSU take Homecoming until I went to Cornell and asked, "When is homecoming?" and the response was, "It was last weekend."

In Stillwater, that would never ever happen. Homecoming is everywhere you look, in everything you touch. Orange fills the trees and the painted windows of the stores in town and even the water in Library Fountain.

So even though I'm several hundred miles away in the midst of the biggest deadline of my career, I still have to reminise about my time at OSU and share the following highlights--the things that, win or lose, will go with me everywhere, the memories that remind me that being an OSU grad is always better than just being another school's "fan."

MEMORIES OF OSU, by Ally Carter

-- One kind of involved homecoming. And some convertibles. And a tiara. But I don't want to go into it.

-- One kind of involves my friend Crazy Beth and a telephone pole, but she would probably rather I not go into it.

-- One involves my friend Mace and a series of impersonations featuring characters from Days of Our Lives and I know the partners at his law firm would probably sue me if I went into it.

-- One invovles the day when Mace decided we should start calling Crazy Beth "Crazy Beth." (Because she was wearing "crazy mittens".)

-- Several involve the fountain in front of the library, and the Union, and Ag Hall, and Gallagher-Iba Arena, and the section of Hester Street where I fell on my face in the middle of finals week and then my friend Jacob came by and took pity on me and drove me home.

-- One involves the basement of the Student Union and an electricty blackout and being so exhausted that when my friends Rhett and Stacey asked whether or not the marching band could play and march at the same time I had to stop and think for a minute about the answer.

-- A lot involve a little two-story apartment on Bellis Street, and specifically, how the windchime on the door disappeared one day in December and magically reappeared one day in February (we never figured out how or why).

-- A whole bunch involve my friend Laurie who, ironically, is significantly crazier than Crazy Beth and yet was never once referred to as Crazy Laurie.

-- Several involve my friend who was a male cheerleader trying to show off and hold me over his head (regardless of the fact that I am in no way cheerleaderish).

-- In fact, a lot involve me being picked up. Literally. And carried against my will by boys who thought they were both strong and funny and I was pick-up-able.

-- One involves a certain professor. And a perm. And the people who were there will totally know what I'm talking about.

-- None involve tests or papers or the thousands of notecards I made and memorized on my way to the honor roll.

--None involve the fears about what to wear or how I looked or any of the things that kept me in my dorm room freshman year.

-- And two involve the memory of me and a little white car. In one, I'm nervous and scared and driving into town for the first time. In the other, I'm sad and crying and driving out for the last.

You can't go home again, I know that. But you can visit. And you can cheer. And when the time comes you can stand with your family and sing "ever you find us, loyal and true, to our Alma Mater, O-S-U."

Go pokes.


Ally



PS...this is my first and last blog entry for the week, since I'm Deadline Girl. In the meantime, what are your favorite school memories?

Am I cool yet?

The Memphis trip has been great for many reasons, several of which revolve around the fact that I have never been cool (even though some people will say otherwise, but they are well-intentioned liars and also typically related to me).

But several things have happened to me in the last couple of days that have made me ponder my potential coolness.

They are as follows:
(in no particular order)

Phyllis Reynolds Naylor told me today that something I said yesterday really, truly resonated with her and that it’s going to have a major impact on her current work in progress. Yes, Phyllis Reynolds Naylor thought I was, if not cool, then at least not a complete ditz, so that’s a big one.

Also, last night I was able to attend a party at the cotton museum where I was called upon to use my covert skills to ascertain whether or not one of the museum employees was the junior high girlfriend of certain author who shall remain nameless. (She wasn’t.)

There was a moment during the conference when I actually had John Green believing that it was my butt on the Cheating at Solitaire cover. (In John’s defense, he is a happily-married guy who had not been looking at my butt so therefore didn’t have all the information.)

Several librarians (librarians rule!) told me today how Love You Kill You is never on the shelf for very long and then they all had oodles of questions about the sequel. If that’s not the definition of coolness, I frankly don’t know what is.

I was invited to cross state lines to gamble—an offer I declined, but it was nice being asked.

I got to meet some Gallagher Girls like Amanda, Taylor, Abby, Judy, Mary, Heather and several others whose names, sadly, have slipped my mind (because I am not a Gallagher Girl and am also quite forgetful.)

A very nice man guessed my age and he guessed ten years too young (and yes, I do love him.)

I got to eat ribs at Rendezvous which is where the Japanese Prime Minister ate and did an Elvis impersonation.

I was cool enough to eat at Rendezvous without doing an Elvis impersonation.

I got lots of great books autographed by really great authors.

And the final reason I feel temporarily cool is that tonight I will get to go to a party on Beale Street with E. Lockhart and Alex Sanchez. You can’t possibly be uncool on Beale Street with E. and Alex, can you?

I didn’t think so.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

Ally

I've been walking in Memphis

Well, I didn't have any blue suede shoes (just the black boots I live in all fall and winter), but I did board the plane, and now I'm here at the Southern Festival of the Book, and it's awesome!

Many, many thanks to the many organizers and volunteers that make this great even possible.

I started my day bright and early (for me) with a panel with the amazing E. Lockhart, John Green, Phyllis Reynolds Naylor. (Alex Sanchez was snowed in but should be here tomorrow.)

As cool as those authors are, the highlight of the panel had to be the very bright kids from the Grizzlies Academy-- a very cool school here in Memphis. The teachers and parents of the Grizzlies students should be so proud because they were AWESOME!!! They laughed in all the right places and asked very smart questions and sat still for much longer than I thought possible. GO GRIZZLIES! (on a side note, does Bryant 'Big Country' Reeves still play for the Grizzlies?)

Tonight we have a reception at the cotton museum. And if I can bring myself to put shoes on again. And if I can find the email with the time and directions. And if I can find it, I'm going to go.

Tomorrow there's another fun panel, so come out if you get a chance!


Enjoy the weekend, everyone!


Ally

Yes, this is technically begging

The number of very sweet comments and emails I've gotten from people looking forward to reading LEARNING TO PLAY GIN has really made my day!

But, I've really got to ask (and by "ask" I mean beg) all of you to pick up a copy of CHEATING AT SOLITAIRE. I think Gin stands alone (really, I do), but I would love it if you'd give Solitaire a try in the meantime.

Thanks.

And yes, I know this makes me sound lame. And desperate. And that the post before this made me sound fat and bitter. And someday I'll blog about the rewrites of the Gallagher Girls sequel and then I'll sound hack-like.

But at least I don't sound dishonest.

Okay, I'm off to Memphis which means I have four full days of mentally singing "Put on my blue suede shoes and I boarded the plane" and also "Help me operator, give me Memphis, Tennessee". And probably some other Memphis songs that will come to me during my two hour drive to the airport.

And if you're in the Memphis area on Saturday, come downtown and meet cool authors like E. Lockhart, John Green, Alex Sanchez, Phyllis Reynolds Naylor, and a bunch of other authors who are way out of my league.


Okay. I'm gone.

Ally

Hip Friendly

I'm a firm believer that, in this world, there are stress starvers and stress eaters.

I, my friends, am a stress eater.

I also happen to be the daughter of a woman who is both a stress starver and a stress baker, so guess who always had a lot to eat during those stressful times?

I wish I could say that I'd outgrown it. But if that would work, I'd just wish for Carmen Diaz's body and cut out the middle-man.

Thus the profession that's heavy on the pajamma wearing. But sadly that isn't exactly the impression I want to make at the Southern Festival of Books this Friday and Saturday.

That is how I came to find myself in a dressing room at Dillard's Monday night, feeling very much like Julia James in the following scene from Learning to Play Gin (in stores November 7th!!)

I hope you don't like it. I hope you don't get it at all. I hope you have never, ever, ever, ever felt this way.

But I bet some of you have.

So I wrote it.


--Ally




ps....this scene is dedicated to whatever idiot had the bright idea that the "skinny pant" deserved a second chance.

From LEARNING TO PLAY GIN

Julia had always been of the opinion that a pair of black pants and an Ann Taylor sweater set could get a girl through ninety percent of the social engagements of her life, with the other ten percent being made up of things like tractor pulls and state dinners. It didn’t take long for Amanda to inform her she was mistaken.

That’s how she came to be squeezed inside a small shop on Rodeo Drive, and a small dressing room, and an even smaller pair of pants.

“So,” Amanda said from the other side of the dressing room door. “Do you have any people?”

Three days before Julia wouldn’t have had a clue how to answer that question. Nina was her best friend. Caroline was her sister. Madelyn and Bill were her parents, so she had people enough in her opinion but not the kind Amanda was asking about. She thought back on that morning—the crowd that followed Lance’s every step and realized that there was absolutely no one in Julia’s life who she paid to have around on a full-time basis.

“No,” Julia said as she tugged on the pants, sucking her gut in and wishing the dressing room was large enough for her to lay down—something that she hadn’t done to get into a pair of pants since high school, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

She jumped up and down, hoping gravity would do a lot of the work.

“So how do you, like, do it?” Amanda asked as Julia threw open the dressing room door.

“Well for one thing I don’t buy pants that it takes two people to zip.”

Amanda took a step back, cocked her head to one side and said, “Um, maybe not.”

“Ya think?” Julia snapped, feeling like a marshmallow, and not the little put in your hot chocolate kind—the big, whopping, skew them with a stick and hold them over an open flame kind.

“Amanda,” Julia said, trying to hide the disgust in her voice which was easier than she’d thought since her current pants situation didn’t exactly allow for a lot of air to enter her diaphragm, “I thought you said this store was hip-friendly.”

“It is,” Amanda said, eyes wide. “This place is totally hip.”

Impatience boiled inside of Julia. “Not hip—as in cool, as in with-it, as in last seen on the cover of Teen Vogue. I mean hip--” she pointed dramatically at the monstrosities the women in her family wore like a curse “--friendly.”

“Oh,” Amanda said, and a look filled her face as if she’d never really given any thoughts to what those curves were or why some women have them.

“Ta da!” Nina cried as she threw open the door to the neighboring stall and struck a pose. “What do you think of this?”

Only in Hollywood could Nina find clothes that were too small on her, but she’d done it. She walked to the mirror and stood on imaginary high heels as her own reflection stared back in triplicate.

“Um, Neen, don’t you think it’s a little…” Julia struggled for words. “Tight?”

“What?” Nina asked. “No. No way.” She was sizing herself up, examining all the angles.

“I think it’s too tight,” Julia said simply. “You won’t be able to sit down.”

“I won’t sit.”

“Your stomach’s going to get all pinchy.”

“I won’t eat.”

“Your underwear will ride up your crotch.”

Nina opened her mouth to retort, but Julia instantly cut her off. “Don’t say it—I don’t want to hear the words come out of your mouth.”

Then Julia looked around the store, and finally she couldn’t hold the frustration in. The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed to echo off the hardwood floors and sparsely-stocked racks as she looked at mannequin after mannequin and yelled, “Is nothing in this town A-lined?”

Nina pried herself away from the mirror and looked at her best friend.

“It’s okay, Jules. We’re going to find you something. Here,” Nina said, holding out the first pair of pants she came to. “These are cute.”

Julia snatched them and snapped, “Yes! They are cute, and I’m sure they’d look great on someone with the body of a twelve-year-old boy, but,” she stretched the pants across her body, “I’m not straight up and down. The pants are!”

Nina’s eyes were wide. Amanda stared, mouth-gaping. They shared a look that signaled to Julia that they might have to join forces, call for backup, calm her down, but the panic in their eyes didn’t ease Julia, it infuriated her to see them and their alliance. The skinny girls. The models and hipless wonders who could walk into any store at any time and find something—just pull it off the rack. So long as they had something smaller than a four.

Nina and Amanda didn’t grow up terrified of pool parties. They’d never worn control top pantyhose under jeans. They didn’t understand—no way, no how. They couldn’t comprehend that there was a Hell and, right then, Julia was in it.

“Tonight is a very big thing for Lance,” Julia tried to explain. “And I have to be there for him. I have to be his girlfriend. And evidently the girlfriend has to wear these pants. But I don’t fit inside these pants. See.” She held the pants against her one more time. “They don’t fit. They just don’t…” Her voice faded with her fury. She felt it slip away as she put the hanger back on the rack, heard the quick, cool click of metal against metal. “I guess I just don’t fit.”

There, Julia thought, I’ve said it, and just being free of the words made her breathe easier—the pants fit a little better.

Meanwhile, Nina was rushing toward her as fast as her skin-tight pants would allow. “Julia, don’t say that!” she cried. “It’ll be okay. You’re good at everything! You’re…you!” Nina sounded sweet. Julia realized that she might just be her best friend’s hero.

“It’s okay,” Amanda said. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna…” she struggled for words “…fix it.”

“Yeah,” Nina said.

They were nearing tears, both of them, and Julia remembered that it wasn’t their fault they’d never been held hostage by fabric and thread.

“I’m sorry,” Julia said, shaking her head as if to toss everything aside and start fresh—an Etch A Sketch that has been made blank and new. “Maybe we should just—"

Just then, Julia heard a mysterious “Psst” coming from somewhere.

“Psst!” She heard it again.

Amanda opened her mouth to say something, but Julia silenced her with a look. “Do you hear…” Julia started but then a woman’s face appeared in the crack of a dressing room door.

“Excuse me,” she whispered. “I heard you.” The woman peering out of the dressing room was tall and thin, and Julia couldn’t imagine how that woman was going to help her. Then as if reading her mind, the woman said, “I’m a stylist for…well…let’s just say people you would have heard of. They’re like you,” the woman whispered as if she was describing Julia’s long-lost magical ancestors, trying to make her understand that she was actually a member of a hip-wielding, paparazzi-mesmerizing, designer-defying sisterhood of women with curves.

“I have a small waist,” Julia said as if that stall was a confessional and she’d finally found someone who could absolve her of her sins. “Men are supposed to love curves. I have a waist. I have hips. My waist is smaller than my hips!” Julia said again as if announcing it to the world.

“I know,” the woman said in hushed reverence. “Jennifer Lopez doesn’t buy off the rack—couldn’t if she wanted to.”

“I knew it!” Julia cried.

“There are lots of you out there. I can help.”

“But I have a thing tonight,” Julia said, losing momentum, but the woman waved away her fears.

“Go to this address.” She placed a small slip of paper on Julia’s palm then folded her fingers protectively over it. “We stylists call it…” She trailed off then looked around as if terrified she’d be caught breaking starlet-stylist confidentiality “…the hip strip. Just go.” She pushed Julia toward the door. “Hurry. Tell them Angela sent you.”

LEARNING TO PLAY GIN--available November 7!

Let the Oscar Race Begin!

The To-Do list has a few more To-Dones on it than it did Friday night, I'm happy to say--the biggest of which is that I just got back from seeing The Departed.

Holy.

Freaking.

Cow.

Now, I admit that I haven't been my normal movie-going self this year, but this is easily the best drama I've seen lately. In fact, I can't remember the last time I saw a movie quite this good.

It's an all-the-way-through-the-credits movie which means that I was so wowed, so glued to it, so in love with the mental place that movie took me that I sat perfectly still until the credits were over.

The only problem is that I'm dying to talk about it with someone who's seen it, because it's the kind of movie where there are some things you know for sure, some things that may or may not be true but weren't laid out in black-and-white, and some things that you need to see it again to be sure of.

Without spoiling anything, I'll explain.



SOMETHING I KNOW FOR SURE: If the sight of blood makes you sick, this probably isn't the movie for you


SOMETHING I REALLY SUSPECT: Leonardo Dicaprio probably isn't with that supermodel anymore because he's meant to be with me.


SOMETHING I NEED TO SEE THE MOVIE AGAIN TO BE SURE OF: Yeah, it probably wouldn't hurt to doublecheck that Leonardo Dicaprio thing.


Okay, more to-dos to get to-done.

later,
Ally

Grey Matters

I have a new favorite blog, Grey Matters, from the writers of Grey’s Anatomy—aka, some of the best writers working in TV—aka, some freaky-good writers.

These people are the kind of writers I would like to be. They tell interesting stories about great characters in a way that all comes together to tell a larger story. For example, last night’s theme of pain. Every storyline touched on that subject. Every character advanced that plot in their own way.

And don’t even get me started about Sandra Oh and the chicken! For those of you who wonder why I like showing a billion times more than telling, all you have to do is watch that scene. Sure, if Grey’s Anatomy were a novel you could have a reference on every page about how she wants to help her boyfriend recuperate from his injury. You could wax poetic about love and loss.

Or, you could have a character throw a raw chicken on the counter, hack it in two, toss a surgical kit down beside her injured (and recently passive) boyfriend and say, “Put it back together.”

Yeah, I vastly prefer the chicken.

In other news, my weekend To Do list is now long. Really, really long. And full of all kinds of things like “reply to emails” and “figure out if you have any clothes to wear to Memphis.”

I’m also putting “Go see The Departed” on my list that way I can be sure to accomplish at least one priority item this weekend.

Pretty soon I’m going to have to start talking about the Gallagher Girls sequel. As much as I want to keep it under wraps, I also want to get to know the heart of the story, the thesis statement, the main through-line of the conflict and I don’t think I can do that until I answer the “so, what’s your book about” question a million times.

Okay. I’m scatterbrained.

Please forgive me,

Ally

(whose new book could really use a chicken moment.)

Popcorn Balls...the recipe!

My mom came through (as she always does) and sent me the recipe for her popcorn balls.

As blog posts go, I know this is kinda the easy way out, but I'm still recharging after the deadline, so forgive me.

And try the popcorn balls.

They rock!

ALLY'S MOM'S POPCORN BALLS

8 or 9 cups popped corn (microwave is fine)

2 cups brown sugar
1 cup oleo
1 tsp vanilla
1 tsp salt
1/2 cup white syrup
1 tsp soda

Boil all ingredients exept corn and soda; boil for five minutes. Remove
from heat; add soda. Stir in quickly. Pour sugar mixture over popcorn
and mix well.

Using buttered hands, combine into popcorn balls. If desired, plastic
gloves work well with the hot syrup.

For caramel popcorn, put corn into flat pans in a 250 degree oven for one
hour. Stir 2 or 3 times. Store in tightly closed container

Veronica Mars has a Saturn... in Neptune!

How much do I love this show?

If you answered so, so much, then you are correct.

I wish I had the time and energy to blog properly about it, but I had a long, emotional day and just can't summon my inner commentary.

I will thank Belinda at All Things Literary for hosting me for a very fun chat last night (I think you can listen to all or part on their site!) Go check it out!

In other news, I have a favor to ask of those of you who consider yourself technologically-gifted.

You know I have Tivo.
You know I'm a TV addict.
As a TV addict with Tivo, I have obviously hooked my Tivo up so that I can both Tivo a show and watch live TV (on another channel) at the same time. This required "splitting" the signal with a thing I bought.

But my cable signal is so weak to begin with that by the time I split it in two, both signals are kinda fuzzy. Sometimes it's worse than others, but sometimes it's so bad I can't read things on the screen (like when vital information is revealed via written notes or newspaper headlines).

Does anyone else have this problem? Anyone have an idea how I can fix it without driving myself crazy?

thanks so much,
Ally

The agent hunt: chapter three--the final chapter

After you have the names:

--Find out exactly what they require for submissions and then send them exactly that. If they ask for a cover letter, synopsis, and the first ten pages of the book, then that’s what you send them—nothing more nothing less. If they ask for a cover letter, three sample chapters, and a $20 reading fee, run away very quickly because they aren’t legitimate.

--Make sure the agent is a member of the Association of Author’s Representatives or follows the AAR guidelines. Sadly, there are a lot of people out there who will take advantage of your dreams. Don't fall into the trap of being so desperate for an "agent"--for validation--that you sign with somoene who doesn't have your best interest in mind.

Agents make money off of commission. If they sell a book, the publisher will probably send your checks directly to your agent who processes the check and keeps (usually) fifteen percent. Then she sends you the balance. I have never written Kristin a check for anything and probably never will.

--Expect rejection. The first time I got a form “sorry this isn’t right for us” rejection letter it felt so cold, so impersonal, so cruel. “How can this person be a literary agent if she so clearly can’t stand writers!” was my rant for a week or so.

I was too new to the business to realize that agents do love writers--especially their writers. And if they were to take the time to handwrite several hundred personal critiques of the queries they see every week then they would never have time to earn their commissions for the authors they've taken on.

So I kept getting rejection after rejection and eventually the sting went out of it. And then one of my “A” agents—one with a very big name client—wrote a personal note on the bottom of the form letter calling me “clearly talented” and apologizing that the work just wasn’t right for them.

And I had new hope.

And then I found Kristin.

--Remember that things happen for a reason. If I had any other agent but Kristin and I probably wouldn’t be writing comedies right now. I certainly wouldn’t be writing YA. All those agents who said no brought me to this point in my career--no doubt about it.

--Consider what type of "style" will work best for you. Some agents are all about making deals. Their authors send them books or proposals and the agents sell them and handle the paperwork and the conflicts that arise along the way. Some agents are more interested in career management--helping authors decide which of their long list of story ideas are the strongest, whether they should try a new genre or take part in an anthology or not. Know which style you'd prefer.

--Check references. If an agent offers to represent you

it’s not unethical or tacky for you to ask some of her current clients about their experience before signing on the dotted line. I’ve had two or three of Kristin’s newer clients contact me before signing with her because this is a big business decision. Be businesslike.

Okay. I'm officially bored of this topic, and that means you guys probably are too. I never meant to preach on this, but I did. Hope it helps.

In other news, HAPPY PUB DAY JANA DELEON!!!

That's right, folks. Anyone interested in a fun romp of bayou goodness needs to check out Rumble on the Bayou--the first book from someone who I believe is going to have a big career!

The inevitable TV post

Yes, it's true. This is my third post in twenty-four hours, but I've been writing ten pages a day for a while now and I'm going into withdrawals.

I even made banana bread and oatmeal chocolate chip cookies a while ago, but felt myself drifting into territory recently occupied by Grey's Anatomy's Izzie, so I decided to write this instead: my manifesto (or...well...blog) about this TV season so far.

Studio 60 is easily my favorite new show. It's a writers' show. Just like Matt and Danny worrying all through tonight's episode about how much of a drop in ratings the show could withstand, only to see the ratings go up. The look on their faces, knowing that they have to go back to the blank page again--and top it--was priceless.

I also really loved Ugly Betty (despite the title) and Men in Trees.

Trust me, no one was more surprised by my love of Men in Trees than I was, but this show really works for me. I think it might have something to do with the fact that her character is so very Julia Jamesish--a self-help guru who figures out she really didn't know what she was talking about--or she did, but it isn't working anymore. It's time to change. To help herself for a change instead of other people. (Plus, that guy is really hot.)

Speaking of fictional Julia's I adore, my Julia's namesake, Julia Sugarbaker, is now on Nick at Night every night, and as I sit here watching a Designing Women Marathon (three of my favorite words when strung together), I'm realizing how much this show influenced me growing up. If you've never seen this show, try it. If you don't like it, you won't like me.

My second favorite show so far is Kidnapped--not Vanished--Kidnapped. The cast is great. The writing is tight. Love it!

Heros has vast potential.

Vanished I didn't care for. Brothers and Sisters I forgot about soon after watching (even though there's clearly a lot of talent there). Standoff didn't really work for me (again despite having actors I love).

I'm over the moon about how some of my returning favorites have...well...returned.

And don't even get me started about tomorrow night.

VERONICA MARS IS BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay. My banana bread might be cool enough to cut.


-Ally

More Treats than Tricks

Yesterday’s post was about how you get an agent and how there is no real trick involved—just write a great book and agents will want to work with you.

But then there’s the separate, yet related, question of how you find an agent—the person to whom you will show this great book once you have it.

This is a very fair question if you’re just staring out. And while I don’t think there’s a trick, there might be some treats, so I’ll share what I have seen and heard and read on about a hundred and fifty other sites.

So, let's make it 151.

How you find the names:

--Go to PublishersMarketplace.com. You can buy a membership for $20 a month that will allow you to search their database of literary sales, showing you
1. what’s selling
2. (generally) what they’re selling for (low five figures, high five figures, etc.)
3. what agents and editors are involved in those sales.

--Sign up for Publisher’s Lunch and Lunch Weekly. Publisher’s Lunch is an email that’s sent out Monday-Friday at about noon every day that lists some headlines from the publishing industry.

Lunch Weekly is an email that comes once a week that gives a highlight of the publishing deals made that week. It’s an edited version of what you will get for your $20/month, but it’s free and it comes to the inbox of all PubLunch subscribers.

(I let my PublishersMarketplace membership lapse years ago, but I still read Lunch Weekly religiously because it's good to know what's going on.)

--Read the acknowledgements and visit the websites of authors you admire. With a little work, you can usually find out who their agents are. Add them to the list.

--Attend conferences. If you can afford it, I think conferences are a good way to help make the transition from someone who wants to be a writer to someone who is a writer—even if an unagented/unpublished one.

Most conferences will feature agents who like writers—they enjoy meeting them, eating meals with them, hearing them pitch their projects at designated “pitch” sessions (not while in line for the bathroom).

But just going to a conference won’t guarantee you an agent—after all, it isn’t going to write your book for you; and there’s no guarantee that the agents at the conference will be a fit for you.

But, mentally, going to a conference was a good thing for me. It cost me $1,000 in airfare and hotels and registration, and when my neighbor on the plane asked whether I was traveling for business or pleasure I said “business”—maybe the first time I saw writing as such.

I didn’t meet my agent there, but it helped me get ready to meet my agent.

--Enter Contests—sometimes agents judge writing contests and will see manuscripts they like that way, but it’s rare. The real advantage of entering contests is that it helps get you ready for criticism and rejection. If you aren’t criticized or rejected then it gives you something you can put in your query letter.

After writing and rewriting for years I wanted to know if my book was ready, so I entered the “first chapter of a novel” division of my state’s writers’ association annual contest and (naively) said that if I won I’d take it as a sign I was ready.

Well, I did win, and received a lovely letter from the judge, the PS of which was a single line: Why hasn’t this been published?

I was officially ready.

--Get involved in writers’ groups. I participate in Backspace and the Chick Lit chapter of RWA, an online group for Teen Chick Lit writers and also a couple of groups at MySpace.

There are published and unpublished writers at all of these, and by hanging out there you get a sense of who is like you. Maybe those people’s agents would be a good fit.

This doesn’t mean you need a recommendation—that you need to know someone.

When people ask me who my agent is I say Kristin Nelson. When people ask me if I can pass their manuscript on to Kristin I let them know that Kristin’s submission guidelines are listed on her website and they should follow those because that’s how she finds clients.

You could put in your query letter that you know me from an online group or that you frequently read this blog or liked my books—that’s a plus. It shows you’ve done some homework—that Kristin isn’t just a name in a book of agents to you.

But, ultimately, an agent will either like the writing or she won’t. It’s all about the writing! Getting a “reference” from a current client isn’t going to change that.

This post has officially become way long (a term that is appropriate if not pretty). Therefore, I’ll be posting the second half, “After you have the list” tomorrow.

Happy reading (and writing)

Ally

PS...big thanks to big time authors Marianne Mancusi and Melissa de la Cruz for commenting yetserday and sharing their stories--so fun!

"Tricks" of the trade

I'd like to thank the organizers, volunteers, vendors, and readers at the Kansas Book Fesitval. My only regret is that I wasn't there for Friday and its 4,000 school kids.

Also, over the weekend, I found two articles/posts online that mirror a lot of my own thoughts about writing and, specifically, the nature of being a professional writer.

As Diana Peterfreund writes on her blog, unagented writers frequently ask me how I found an agent.

My response is always the truth: I wrote and rewrote until I had a book worth publishing, then I researched agents, followed their submission guidelines, and Kristin Nelson loved my work enough to want to represent me.

That's it. The whole story.

And something about that story causes people to look at me like I'm crazy. Or a liar. Or probably a crazy liar.

So what will it take to make these people believe me? Really. I'm asking.

I’m sometimes tempted to say, "Of course I printed my cover letter on hot pink paper--you know agents only take you seriously if you use hot pink!"

But there is a "trick", and I give it in my initial response: write a book someone will want to publish. Do that, and you'll find an agent who is ready to sell it.

(Picture Ally ducking to dodge all the "who do you think you are up on your high horse" emails and comments.)

Yes. It's harsh.

Yes. I've written and deleted this post twice now because I know people are going to get mad.

But the guys who wrote Pirates of the Caribbean once said that “asking a successful writer how to get an agent is like a going to Pete Rose baseball camp and asking where he bought his glove.”

The point? The product is what matters. If your goal is to hit baseballs, work on your swing. If you want to play in the NBA, shoot free throws. If your goal is to be a working writer, you write.

Once you write something good enough, (ducking again) agents and editors will follow.

Maybe you just haven't queried the right agent yet.

Maybe you’re writing in a market that simply doesn’t have a lot of commercial potential which equals a smaller pool.

Maybe you’re still writing your dirty water books (my phrase for the words that come when you haven't let the water run through the hose long enough--at first you get dirty water.)

How do you get to the clean water? You let it run. You write.

I know pink paper is easier. But trust me, the hard part is writing that good book to begin with.

The really hard part is to keep writing them.

The other article I loved is this The Six Habits of Highly Effective Screenwriters. Every writer should go read it in my opinion.

I probably should have saved my time (and yours) and just posted these two excerpts instead.

• …Too many beginners focus only on how to write a script without bothering to learn what it takes to BE a screenwriter. They believe writing a script is easy and only dream of that million-dollar sale. All they have to do is get the right software, attend the right classes, read a couple books and bingo! they're set for a six-figure development deal.

• You'd be amazed how many writers want to sell their script for a million dollars, but they still haven't written it. They keep going from conference to conference, attending seminars and buying books without actually writing anything that closely resembles a finished, professional screenplay.

If you want an agent, you write. If you want to be published, you write. If you want a six figure deal, you write.

And sometimes it isn’t fun.

But it you want to be a writer…

You write.