Elise Allen's Blog, page 22

Eleanor Brown Rocks the NYT Bestseller List!!!!

It is my EXTREME pleasure to devote today's post to the fact that my fellow Deb over at The Debutante Ball, Eleanor Brown, today hit the New York Times Bestseller List!!!!  Her debut novel, The Weird Sisters, leaped onto the chart at #18!!!

In honor of its debut, I did a post about this wonderful book, which you can check out to find out more about its wonderful story.

Today, in appreciation of Eleanor's well-deserved triumph, I'd like us all to talk about THREE favorite New York Times Number One Bestsellers.  I found this site that claims to list every one of them since the list started.  Your faves don't have to be in order, and they don't have to be your absolute top faves among the number ones (don't want to make this a full-on research project), just three books among those list-toppers that you really loved.

Here are mine, and since I'm an overachiever I'm going to go ahead and name seven.  (If you want to name more than three as well, go for it — I just didn't want to feel like I was assigning a major project.)  Again, these are in no particular order except alphabetical, where I found them as I was scrolling down the page.

It by Stephen King, #1 as of 9/14/86

I'm a huge Stephen King fan, but this one was a standout for me.  Not only did it scare the living daylights out of me, but it was also a beautiful story about childhood, growing up, and the friends of our youth — the ones who know us at our undeveloped core, and make such a lifelong impact on who we become.

The Stand by Stephen King, #1 as of 5/13/90

Again, I love Stephen King, and I can name a ton of his books, and many of his number one books, among my favorites, but It and The Stand are exceptional.  I'm guessing the version that hit the bestseller list in 1990 was the original release, but I'm partial to the unedited re-release, all five zillion pages of it.  In The Stand, King takes a vast, sweeping story of Armageddon, and combines it with many perfectly executed small character stories that ring absolutely true.  Even more than King is a master of horror, he is a master of character, which is why I adore his books.

Odd Hours by Dean Koontz, #1 as of 6/8/08

Dean Koontz does not share the mastery of Stephen King.  He just doesn't.  And in some of his earlier works, his plots were fascinating, but for me his characters fell flat.  That's not the case in his "Odd Thomas" series.  I really enjoy the character of Odd Thomas, who has the often-unfortunate skill of communicating with the dead.  They come to him seeking closure, the answer to why they were ripped from life, and Odd can't help but get drawn into their stories.  Odd is a unique individual in a million ways, but he's very real, and I'll happily dive into any story in which he's featured.

The Godfather by Mario Puzo, #1 as of 9/21/69

It's The Godfather.  Seriously.  Need I say more?  I read this book around eighth grade — long before I saw the movie — and I was completely riveted.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling, #1 as of 8/15/99

I'm using this Harry Potter book to represent EVERY Harry Potter book.  There's really nothing to say about Harry and friends that hasn't already been said.  J.K. Rowling's brilliant series made it cool for grownups to read "kids" books, and opened up the middle grades and YA book world in a completely new way.

The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold, #1 as of 8/18/02

Painful to read, but beautiful at the same time.  I read this book before I had my daughter, and to be honest, I think I'd have trouble picking it up now.  That's not the fault of this book, but its credit — the story is so real and so deep that it slices you open.  Watching the fragility of life through the eyes of one who lost it so young is a gutwrenching and glorious experience.

Oh the Places You'll Go, by Dr. Seuss, #1 as of 3/4/90

I was so happy to see this one on the list!!!!  I LOVE this book!!!!  It's pretty much the gold standard of graduation presents.  I got it for Miss M for her preschool graduation.  The message is everything a parent wants to impart to their kid, and everything we adults want to remind ourselves on a daily basis: you're awesome, you're spectacular, you can do anything you set your mind to… except when you fall flat on your face and fail, which you totally will big-time, and then you have to pick your butt up and get right back to it.

Those are my picks — what are yours?

And congratulations again to Eleanor Brown — #18 with a bullet!

I Don't Speak Good Samaritan

On my way to Miss M's school yesterday, a guy in the lane next to me tried desperately to get my attention.  I, of course, was at that moment using one hand to both drive and hold a plastic cup, and the other hand to dig into the cup and wipe my index finger along the edge, so I could scoop up and lick every last bit of breakfast smoothie.

He made some kind of motion with his hand.  A flapping/squeezing motion, like he was doing a puppet.  My first assumption was of course that he was making fun of me.  But as I scrunched up my face and shook my head questioningly, he pointed over his shoulder to what I imagined was the back of my car.

Then traffic took him away from me.

Okay, I kind of let it take him away from me.  I was embarrassed that I had no clue what he was trying to tell me, plus I had a bad feeling I'd crash or get pulled over if I tried to have a full mime conversation with the guy instead of keeping my eye on the road.

Then another guy passed me, gesturing to the back of my car as he whizzed by.

And every other car behind me seemed to swerve to get out of my way, like we were magnetically repelling.

I felt like I was at a dinner party with something in my teeth.  Clearly, something was wrong with the back end of my car, but what?  Was the trunk open?  Was something hanging out?  Was a door ajar?  The dashboard said no, but was it wrong?  Was there smoke coming out the back of my car?  Was there damage I hadn't seen when I'd gotten into the car that morning?

Clearly something was up, but when Miss M and I got out of the car and walked around the back, we saw nothing: no smoke, nothing hanging open, no huge dent, nothing pouring out of the gas tank.  Nothing.  So I drove back home… and later, back to Miss M's school… and again back home…

…until about two miles from the house, yet another Good Samaritan got my attention at a red light and motioned for me to roll down my window, at which point she shouted, "Your tire is completely flat!"

My husband's reaction to this story when I told him was, "How could you not tell you were driving on a flat tire?!"

I did notice the car felt a little wonky, but nothing major.  Plus I knew it was due for a service, so I figured it was something small they'd catch when I took it in.  It never crossed my mind it could be a flat tire.  This was stunning to my husband, but I've honestly never had a flat tire, so how would I know what driving with one feels like?

It's like when you're pregnant for the first time and you ask how you'll know when you're having contractions.  Everyone just gives you that nod and smile and says, "Oh, you'll know…"  I had no idea!  I had to sit on the phone with my sister-in-law for an hour describing and timing the feelings before we determined that's what it was.

Yet while I could understand my having no concept of what a flat tire felt like, I did feel pretty foolish for not realizing it's what every other driver on the road had been trying to tell me all day.

Non-verbal communication is clearly not my forte.

So here's my question for you: have you ever been in a situation where people were clearly trying to tell you something, and you missed it entirely?  A dinner party where you came out of the bathroom with an edge of skirt tucked into your underwear waistband, perhaps?    A big meeting where something unsightly was hanging horribly off your face?  A conversation where everyone tried to stop you from spilling news that someone wasn't supposed to know?  Join me in obliviousness and share!

Justin Bieber Wrecked My Friday Night

One of the many weird things about living in L.A. is this: celebrity goings-on can actually impact your life.

I'm not talking about hanging out with stars.  With the exception of a certain totally awesome co-writer, I have no daily contact with anyone the paparazzi would even recognize, never mind stalk.

And yet… last week Justin Bieber wrecked my Friday night.

There's a roller rink in Glendale (a very NOT hip part of Los Angeles) called the Moonlight Rollerway.  The place is a total throwback to the 70′s.  You don't blade there, you rollerskate.  They play organ music most nights.  The regulars have been coming every day since Charlie's Angels was on TV — the first time.

My friend Debbie (an amazing performer with her own theatre company) has been skating there since she was a kid, and since she and I are both roller geeks, we like to go there to hang and skate.  I've had birthday parties there.  Recently — as an adult.  It draws it's own quirky crowd, but it's never crowded.  Since we've both been busy and hadn't connected in ages, Deb and I planned to meet there last Friday and catch up.  I grabbed my white roller skates with the purple wheels and laces (you're jealous, I know), and hit the computer to Mapquest it before I left, since I have ZERO sense of direction.

While Googling for the rink's website, I found THIS.

Dear.  Frickin.  Lord.

Okay, so Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez were hanging out at the Moonlight Rollerway.  It wasn't like they were there that night — it had been awhile.  Was every teenybopper in Los Angeles really going to show up just because Justin and Selena had once christened the place with their presence?

Um… the answer would be yes.  The line to get in was around the block.  The line for the Moonlight Rollerway!  They don't get lines around the block!

There was no way.  My skates stayed in my car and Deb and I bugged out to go to a tiki-themed bar where no self-respecting young celebrity would ever tread.  It was fun… but I missed my skate night.

This is the problem with having geeky hobbies.  Cool people appropriate them and crowd out the rest of us.  Has this ever happened to you?  It doesn't have to be a celebrity phenomenon — it can happen anywhere, whenever something geeky and underground becomes so hip it loses its off-the-beaten-path charm.

I guess I'll have to wait for the excitement to die down again before I go back to the Moonlight Rollerway.  In the meantime, I just have to hope Selieber doesn't start taking their laptops and writing at my favorite Panera on weekends.  If they do, I'll be totally screwed.

Mortified

That's the name of the show — Mortified.  Have you heard of this?  Basically, people stand up and read their old high school journals.  I have a friend who did it, and at last check, she was on the website.  I can't confirm or deny that she's still there, nor can I specifically identify her… because she'd kill me.

I did keep journals all through elementary/high school, but I have no idea where they are.  The nostalgic part of me is bummed by this, but I think psychologically I'm much better for it… because I'd probably be tempted to go ahead and do a reading, which would live up to the name and be truly mortifying.

Curious… would you ever stand up and read your childhood journals aloud?  Don't worry — I won't hold you to it and sign you up or anything.  But if the show was in your area, and you had the night free… would you consider it?  Or are your old journals for you and you alone?

ALWAYS PRINT HARD COPIES

Here's a cautionary tale…

I got an amazing email the other day: an ex-co-worker is now some big muckety muck with a big deal at a big network… and he's all excited about a show I pitched him some FIFTEEN YEARS AGO!!!!

How great!  Especially since I save all my old files… and if I don't have the files handy, at least I have all my old computers, right?

Cut to me trying to operate THIS:

The sad part is I was all proud of myself: knew JUST where it was in the garage, had all the cords… I was prepared for just this emergency.

I turn it on, wait a moment…

…and instead of the happy computer face that tells me all is well, I get this (but with the pic of the old computer, not an ipad):

And of course there's no helpful website on the bottom of my screen — there was barely an INTERNET when I got the machine.

Luckily I have a partner on the project, and we've been piecing it all back together from his notes and memories, but the moral is…

HAVE HARD COPIES OF EVERYTHING!!!!

Your turn — ever been failed by technology when you needed it most?

In the meantime, think good thoughts for me — pitching to the aforementioned muckety muck today!

Happy Homemaker Me

It's all Tina's fault.

You remember Tina, right?  My organizational guru who is slowly but surely transforming my surroundings from schizophrenic to serene?

Well now she's done it.

She has me loving laundry.

Laundry, of all things!!!!

Today she marched in with a gleeful smile on her face and proclaimed, "I have the solution for all your laundry problems!"  I'm really not sure what made her think I had laundry problems.  Oh sure, our tiny hamper overflowed so quickly that a giant pile of clothing regularly spread over the floor and threatened to take over the entire house in a Blob-like horror show… but was that a problem?

Apparently it was.

So Tina comes in with this thing. This three-baskets-to-separate-your-laundry-plus-space-to-hang-and-store-stuff thing.  She knows it'll fit perfectly; she measured the space on her first visit and has been scouring stores ever since.  She puts it together, places it in the right spot, fills the baskets with all the dirty clothes… and voila!  The sweaty-fabric swampland is now a Laundry Showplace.

And dammit, the minute I saw how beautifully organized it was… I wanted to do laundry.

Let me repeat that so you understand the enormity.  I wanted to do laundry.  I never want to do laundry.  Ever.  No, really.  Ever.  But the area was so inviting, how could I refuse?

I spent the rest of the day doing laundry.  My daughter helped — the room was like a playground now, she wanted in.  She and I were practically singling Whistle While You Work while bluebirds helped us fold.

Scary?  Oh yes.  But kind of fabulous.  And while this picture won't do it justice, I must show you the glory of my now-Lovely Laundry Lair:

I wish I had the "Before" picture to show you for comparison.  Just imagine this space… but completely overrun with clothes.  And now… gorgeous!!!!

Just looking at it gets me all excited.

I'm gonna run off and do some laundry.

The Second Book

I've been thinking a lot lately about second books.

This might seem premature, since Populazzi doesn't even come out for a little over six months, but at this point, I've made my last big changes, it's all but out of my hands, and my editor has started asking me, "What's next?"

That's a question that makes my palms sweat even as I jump for joy.  What DO I give to her next?

I have three Big Ideas clamoring for my attention at the moment.  They're all YA, but only one of them is in the same vein as Populazzi.  It's not similar in any way story- or character-wise, but it has the same sensibility, it's reality-based (meaning not paranormal), and it has pretty much the exact same audience.

The other two are different from Populazzi, in that one is paranormal, while the other skews towards the younger end of YA.

So I wonder… if Populazzi does really well, would it make the most sense to have a follow-up with a similar tone, or does that not matter?  Obviously, the most important thing is a terrific story, but let's assume all three of the books in my head have that — is it wisest to bust out with a sophomore effort that holds the same audience as Populazzi, or should that not be a factor in choosing which story I write next?

Most likely I'll write all three of the stories, because I love them all.  Since they're all in different stages of development, I'll probably write them in the order of most-developed to least-developed.  If I'm very lucky, my editor will love at least one of them, and in the end it would then be her choice as to what comes out next.

Still, the whole thing has me thinking, and I'd like to toss out two different questions for everyone out there, one for authors and one for readers.

Authors — when you dove into book #2, did you simply follow your heart and write whatever spoke to you loudest, or did you make a conscious effort to follow (or not follow) in the general tonal footsteps of your first novel?

Readers — what are your thoughts when an author you enjoy comes out with a book that's a departure from what you've read of theirs so far?  Are you more interested?  Less?  Does it matter?

Thanks in advance for your thoughts!  I look forward to your input!

xo,

E

A Tribute to a Most Amazing Book

HAPPY DEBUT DAY, ELEANOR BROWN!!!!

Today The Weird Sisters, written by my friend and fellow Debutante Ball blogger Eleanor Brown, was officially released!!!!

Want one?  I'll GIVE you one!  Just keep reading (or scroll down if you must, I won't tell — but there's good stuff between here and there, I swear!) and you'll find the details at the bottom of the post.

The Weird Sisters is a fantastic book, and the reviews are just raves across the board.  Even as I type, it's #119 in books on Amazon's Bestsellers Rankings, and #28 in Literary Fiction.

Here's the official blurb…

The Andreas sisters were raised on books – their family motto might as well be, 'There's no problem a library card can't solve.'  Their father, a renowned, eccentric professor of Shakespearean studies, named them after three of the Bard's most famous characters: Rose (Rosalind – As You Like It), Bean (Bianca – The Taming of the Shrew), and Cordy (Cordelia – King Lear), but they have inherited those characters' failures along with their strengths.

Now the sisters have returned home to the small college town where they grew up – partly because their mother is ill, but mostly because their lives are falling apart and they don't know where to go next.  Rose, a staid mathematics professor, has the chance to break away from her quiet life and join her devoted fiance in England, if she could only summon up the courage to do more than she's thought she could.  Bean left home as soon as she could, running to the glamour of New York City, only to come back ashamed of the person she has become.  And Cordy, who has been wandering the country for years, has been brought back to earth with a resounding thud, realizing it's finally time for her to grow up.

The sisters never thought they would find the answers to their problems in each other, but over the course of one long summer, they find that everything they've been running from – each other, their histories, and their small hometown – might offer more than they ever expected.

And here are my thoughts on it, which I posted this week at The Debutante Ball.

I love this book.  I read the ARC, I bought a hard copy, and I'm going to buy another copy to randomly give to someone who comments on this post between now and Tuesday.

Here's the rub.  While any comment will qualify you for the giveaway, The Weird Sisters is very Bard-centric, and I want to run with that.  I'd love it if your comment has something to do with a Shakespeare experience you've had.  That could be just about anything: a performance you loved/hated/acted in, your favorite/least favorite play, a class you took, a movie/book/song based on a Shakespeare play that you loved/hated… the options are pretty endless.

I'll start, just for kicks.

In college, I interned one summer at the New Jersey Shakespeare Festival.  Every intern was required to "train" with the artistic director.  This A.D. firmly believed that quality iambic pentameter was best delivered from your "core," which he identified not as your diaphragm… but your ass.  To practice, every morning we went out to a field and lined up in front of him while he shouted, "SQUEEZE… release."  "SQUEEZE… release."… and we followed suit.   To make it trickier, he'd have us do blank iambic pentameter while we squeezed:

Him: SQUEEZE!

Us (squeezing): Muh-ma muh-ma muh-ma muh-ma muh-ma muh-ma muh-ma mhu-ma muh-ma muh-ma!

Him: Release.

Did I mention he was at least seventy and liked to wear a Speedo while we ass-squeezed?

Good times.

Okay — you!  Give me a comment, any comment, that ideally has anything at all to do with Shakespeare, and you're entered for a chance to win Eleanor's amazing book.

Ready… Set… SQUEEZE!… I mean, GO!

(Oh, by the way, the title to this post is in iambic pentameter — just sayin')

Meet Mittens

For years, I co-ran I murder mystery party business, in which my alter ego was Mittens… or in the case of this Greek Mythology mystery party, Mittenseus.

I'm the redhead.

For years, the only time I wore makeup was as Mittens… which meant I only knew how to put the stuff on if I was slathering it on my face with a shovel, and topping it all off with the whore-red lips.

This wouldn't do for a trip to the Farmer's Market.

Since I never knew what I was doing with makeup, I rarely wore it.  Then I read Sarah Pekkanen's book, The Opposite of Me (which you should totally read — its excellent).  There's a great scene in which the main character starts playing with makeup.  She's on the road to finding herself, and delights in the magic a little eyeshadow, a little blush can bring to her face.

Something about the way Sarah described the experience was unbelievably compelling.  I wanted in.

Years ago, my little sister had tried to teach me the best way to apply makeup (don't even get me started on how embarrassing it is to get those tips from your little sister).  She'd even gotten me Face-In-A-Cube, this wild spy-gadget in which every tool and color you could possibly need magically slides out of what looks like a plain black box.

That was cool, but that was now old.  If I was going to play, I needed new toys.

So I went shopping.  I got my "Beauty Insider" card at Sephora, and bought a very cute eye shadow/bronzer/gloss compact I saw in a magazine and with which I quickly became obsessed.  And for Chanukkah?  I got this, which is just obscenely awesome.

Suddenly I've gone from being The One Who Doesn't Bother With Makeup to Giddy Makeup Girl.  The transition hasn't always been smooth.  My attempts at the Smoky Eye often turn into the What The Hell Have You Been Smoking Eye… but it's still fun to try.

I recently met a woman who's incredible with makeup: Betsy diFrancesca.  Even her name sounds artistic and exotic.  She did my face for the author shots I posted awhile back, and now she featured the shoot on her blog.  Her wooden tool kit looks like an old shoeshine box.  I totally want one.  If you're in L.A. and you ever need a makeup person, she rocks.

I used to find the whole makeup-loving thing very shallow, but clearly my perspective has changed.  When used for good and not evil (little girls in beauty pageants = evil), it's just enhancing the beauty that's already there.  Celebrity Chef Sherry Yard told a terrific story along those lines in her guest post at The Debutante Ball — totally worth checking out.

So here's my question for you: are you makeup-obsessed?  Are there products you can't live without?  What brands do you love most?  I want to hear all about them… it's never too early for me to start a list for next Chanukkah!

TV Is Good for You!

So my daughter Miss M, six years old, first grade, was doing her homework tonight: a post-field-trip thank you note to a trucking company.

Miss M was asking for help spelling "transportation," and when she got to the end, she (naturally) assumed it was "s-h-u-n."

Then I burst into song, rocking out:  "T-I-O-N!  SHUN, SHUN, SHUN SHUN…"

Naturally, she looked at me as if I were crazy, which is something she does a lot.  I told her it was a song from Schoolhouse Rock, it was one of the ways I learned to spell when I was a kid, and she should really just let me play her the way-fab Schoolhouse Rock DVDs I bought when she was an infant, and which she perversely refuses to watch.

I just Googled the song, and I was mistaken.  It wasn't Schoolhouse Rock (though she should still watch those because they're brilliant), it was the Electric Company.  And the song still totally rocks.  Check it out, then tell me — what random things like that do you remember from your childhood?  Songs or mnemonics that got stuck in your brain early on, and never let go?