Chris Van Hakes's Blog, page 13

Texts with Josie

This is what happens when I clear out my text history. (And don’t worry, I totally didn’t get Josie’s permission.)

 

Josie: 2 for 1 burgers tomorrow at Dick’s.

Me: I can’t eat there without…consequences.

Josie: Drunken texting with Jonathan Franzen?? Writing fan letters to Zooey Deschanel?

Me: Exactly.

*

Josie: My future thesis: The use of six-pack abs as a character.

Me: Supporting characters: bank account, tattoos.

*

Me: I’m writing a romance novel farce thing and need some ridiculous character names.

Josie: I’ve always thought characters with car names that are supposed to be super macho sounded ridiculous. Like Ford or Lincoln.

Me: Cadillac? Hyundai?

Josie: Then they make up an Irish last name, which doesn’t sound Irish at all. O’Tosterone.

Josie: O’Grimace. McSteele.

Me: Plenty O’Toole.

Josie: LOLOLOLOLOLOL

*

Josie: Best. Cover. Ever.

http://www.amazon.com/Hedging-Paranormal-Shifter-Romance-ebook/dp/B00CA7RLMQ/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1380676721&sr=1-1&keywords=hedging+his+bets

Me: Is that a porcupine?

Josie: A hedgehog? HEDGING His Bets?

Me: I don’t want to know how a hedgehog figures into a romance. Like, at all.

 

(It’s a were-hedgehog, in case you were wondering.)

 

BOOK COVER BOOK COVER BOOK COVER!

Listen, I should probably wait for some highly optimized time to post this and re-edit my blurb and be all fancy but YOU GUYS I WANT TO SHARE I’M SO EXCITED I NEED TO SHOW YOUUUUUUUUUUUU. My dear friend Allie did this for me. Round of applause for Allie!

I have a book cover! And a synopsis! And a book cover! Did I mention A BOOK COVER?

 

 

Synopsis:

Delaney Curtis just broke up with her boyfriend and moved halfway across the country to start her life over, a life that does not include men, especially not her perpetually grouchy neighbor, Oliver. He calls her ugly, hates her clothes, and has a trail of women leaving his apartment.

Oliver Webber can’t seem to stop insulting his new next door neighbor, the unnervingly sweet Delaney. He plans to stay far away from her and everyone else and lick his wounds after unrequited love. Except he keeps running into Delaney, and she’s so fun, and kind, and pretty. Before long, he’s making up excuses to spend time with her.

Soon they’re in the middle of a blossoming friendship. But when exes come back to find Delaney and Oliver, they both need to figure out if love is a losing proposition, or worth the gamble.

Listen, there are probably going to be a few minor changes and such but she’s so pretty, isn’t she? I set her as my wallpaper on my phone and I can’t stop looking at her. She’s like my new little tiny baby.

And do you know what all new little tiny babies want and need? Goodreads profiles. (Duh.) Listen, I need your help, people. Can you add this to your “to-read” shelf if you’re a Goodreads user? Can you share my cover? Or my synopsis? Or this post? Or ANYTHING? I would be ever so grateful, willing to bake you a pie whenever you wanted, as long as it doesn’t have coconut in it (coconut is my arch nemesis).

I will probably ask you seventeen other favors in this process, and mess up, and not know what I’m doing, and whatever else, but I just am SO FRAKKING HAPPY at this very second. And I know I’m not in this alone. I thought when I started down this road that it would be difficult and lonely. It’s difficult, but GOODNESS, the community and the friendship and the helpfulness and, well, the love, I just didn’t plan on it. I really didn’t. Thank you. You have changed my life. Thank you again and again. You are my team, my people, my friends. Thank you.

 

Books I Read in September

Hey, remember when I said I couldn’t read anything because I was writing so furiously, so I was watching TV and movies?* This pathetic list proves I was not lying. I MISS YOU, BOOKS. No giveaway this month because I really cannot recommend any of these books that much.

84. Call Me Irresistable by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

Someone told me Phillips was like Jennifer Crusie. This was fine, but not Crusie-esque.

85. Sometimes It Lasts by Abbi Glines

This book convinced me I cannot read Glines any more. I do not like saying negative things about authors or their books, because, hey! Personal! Ouch! But criticism is necessary sometimes, and I can say that while I think Glines is very good at attraction and seduction and all of that, her female characters need more depth and her male characters need less….I don’t know, fewer erections? That would be a start, but I suppose that’s THE POINT. Thusly, done with this romance writer. I did really like her Vincent Boys series, though. Ah well.

86. Beautiful Bombshell by Christina Lauren

Exactly what you would expect from Christina Lauren. If you like them, you’ll like this. If you do not, you won’t. Et cetera.

87. Glitter Baby by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

Basically, I was looking for good solid not super smutty romance novels that were available on the kindle through the library and with strong female leads, and this is basically like asking for a pumpkin to turn into a carriage. Which is to say that this has a strong female lead and a romance and you still shouldn’t read this book.

88. What I Did For Love by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

What I said in 87, but with the caveat that this book was good after the first half or so. A very broody romantic male lead that developed nicely, but geez did it take time.

I’m a few weeks from being completely finished with LOST AND FOUND and then I’M COMING FOR YOU, BOOKS.

*I have watched more Sherlock, though, and that is EXCELLENT, and also some New Girl. I like Zooey now. I am only human.

I also watched the first season of Hart of Dixie, with heavy skimming because all I really care about in the episodes are two characters: the teenage girl Rose (wonderful actress) and Wade. WADE. Goodness, what a nice gentleman.

 

The Memoirist

A few months ago, I got a very sweet email from Ann. (Ann doesn’t send any other kind of email, to be honest. They are always sweet and thoughtful and full of wisdom.) She said, “You should write a memoir.”

I nodded my head and wrote something back like, “okay, sure,” and then promptly forgot about writing a memoir. Because I am not a memoirist. And then I started writing LOST AND FOUND, and editing LOST AND FOUND, and looking at covers for LOST AND FOUND (I have a cover! I do! I set it as the wallpaper of my phone, and I’m going to share it with you SOON. Ish.), and I stopped writing here.

And I miss you guys. I don’t know if I’m a memoirist, and I always find what I write here to be either a little too jokey or a little too maudlin to be taken seriously (by myself, a very serious person), but I miss blogging. I miss talking with you. I always feel guilty about blogging because I don’t understand why any of you come and read here, and then I feel like I need to give you presents because you’re doing it just to be nice, so sometimes I try to stop out of deference to you. (Yes, I am a nutball.)

I don’t know how many people I have met at blogging conferences who, when I tell them I blog “for fun,” they look at me sideways. These are usually marketing people in nice suits with shiny hair, and I’m rumpled or wrinkled and my hair is always a mess at conferences. ALWAYS. It’s beautiful at home, but once I step out into the world, it goes a little bananas. If you’ve met me in person, I’m sorry, I look better from far away. As for the wrinkles, those are true blue. I’m a wrinkled human being.

What happened was that I got a little bit more attention for writing here based on various factors, and then I started to hate blogging. And I hated that I hated blogging. Everything I have in my career right now is because of blogging, so it seemed kind of like hating my mentor or my best friend behind her back. “Bitch,” I’d whisper-giggle. “Know nothing. Blogging? Honestly.” But I hated it the same way I hated it when my parents would tell one of their friends about me, and then I’d have to talk about myself blargh. I love to talk about myself except when people are paying attention. (Yes, I am a nutball.) I got scared, and I’ve been trying to put a cover over this whole site for a while now, trying to figure out a way to be less me.

And I didn’t quite know what to do, or who to talk to about it. Everyone here knows that the first rule of Blogging Club is we don’t talk about Blogging Club, mostly because people look at us sideways and think we’re narcissistic weirdos.

I miss being a narcissistic weirdo with you. I miss telling you about this lame epiphany I had about, like, my chipped toenail, and how that represented my inner child looking for love. (I promise to never talk about my feet, though. Did you know I hate my feet? They are Frodo chic, size eight and a half.) I miss knowing about your lives and your insights. The other day I wrote out a jokey blog post on a piece of paper, and then I recycled it. Just to get it out of my system. I was like, “I don’t have time to draw/write this up! I don’t have time to post it!” Except that I thought about it for days, days I could have spent writing something else.

I don’t know if I’m ever going to write a memoir, but I’m going to write here more, for fun, about nothing of consequence. I’m going to let myself off the hook and let this place be what it was for me last year, just a place to be my most me, more than I am anywhere else. I know it will be mixed up with me talking about my book(s) and maybe freelance articles, too, but if I get carried away or stressed out or even more crazy than I normally am, or scared of what you will think, or scared of saying the wrong thing, could you gently steer me back to this place where I find myself this Saturday morning, to where I realize that the only point of any of this is because I enjoy it?

If I stop enjoying it, I’ll stop. And then I’ll probably come back again. Because I miss you guys, and because I’m a memoirist, at least the blogging kind. This is what I do. You accepted that a long time ago. Now it’s my turn.

 

 

Not Dead

Hey! This is one of those, “I’m not dead, but I’m not going to be on the Internet for a while” posts. Why? Because I’m thisclose (is that a tired trick? Am I not allowed to use it any longer? Toobad, Iloveit!) to finishing my book, but I need to revise, and send my book in for edits, and revise again, and help with the cover, and upload it and and and etc etc etc and OMG that’s only a month away. So! Busy, not dead, promise.

But when I come back, I’m going to have a cover, and excerpts and pre-order links (I hope? in my wild dreams?) and quotes from Sachin about why he dislikes pants (fine, I’ll tell you that one now: “Why would I *like* them?”).

See you in October!

Gen Y, You’re Special

I tried not to write this post. Honestly. I don’t like confrontation, especially not on the Internet where people take things the wrong way ALL OF THE TIME. And actively AT me. I don’t even want to argue with another blogger because I know what THAT’S like, too. It sucks. So, I tried.  But I’ve been working for two hours and I keep getting annoyed. Think of this as constructive criticism,a disagreement, an opinion, not an attack, because, dear blogger, I know how much those suck.

And also, a badly written, unedited rant, not meant for anyone but me, myself and you.

I am annoyed that  the problem with Gen Y is that they (we? I don’t know if I’m Gen Y–I’m too young to be Gen X and too old be Gen Y)  think they’re special.

This. This is not a problem for anyone.

The problem is that not enough people think they’re special.

Really.

If you don’t think you’re special, you’re going to be unhappy, because your life is insignificant. You are just a worker cog in the machine, just another number working day-in and day-out. The Baby Boomers were pleasantly surprised after being cogs that, hey, look, it turns out I’m special after all!

Happiness does not come from low expectations being superseded, though. Happiness does not come from external rewards. Happiness does not come from money (but it helps) (but it’s not the source of it). Look at all the famous Hollywood actors and musicians that are SUPER HAPPY with their drug addictions and broken marriages.

Gen Yers are, in my opinion, unhappy because they don’t think they’re special. What are they going to do in the world? Make a facebook or a youtube or a Google or even a HuffPo? Maybe create a software or hardware revolution a la Microsoft or Apple? How about creating a series of books that will be the most popular ever created, like JK Rowling or Stephenie Meyer?

The previous generation was FULL of inventors, of firsts. The world has seen EVERYTHING, it seems, and NOTHING is special. EVERYTHING’S ALREADY BEEN DONE! Special is dead!

That’s what all the Gen Y people I know think. There’s nothing that will set them apart, make them more successful or smarter or better. And not only that, but wages are down, jobs are harder to get, education is meaningless, taxes are up, they’re fighting in foreign countries for our safety and dying for us, and media is bombarding them with ideas that they’re spoiled brats that think they’re special and need to be constantly rewarded and have short attention spans and are basically the scum of humanity.

Gosh, I don’t know why Gen Y people are unhappy! I mean, really.

And that, “If everyone was special, no one would be special” logic? It is logical, but it’s not true. Everyone is special, but everyone is special in her own unique way. Everyone has a different dream. Sure, maybe a million people want to be bestselling novelists like me, but not a million people want to be romance novelists who write stories about disenfranchised independent feminists who try to reduce carbon footprints and eat lots of desserts, do they? Or is that the common cliched dream? Yeah?

There’s that tired old story about how Hitler wanted to be an artist, but didn’t think he could do it, and that’s the source of all his pain. That’s a bit of a simplification, and not entirely true, I’m sure, but there is that seed: he was unhappy because he didn’t think he was special enough for his dream, not good enough, that he had to be something else entirely.

Failure doesn’t mean you should quit. It means you’re getting closer. Keep trying, learning from your mistakes. One of these days, rejection will turn around.

And special isn’t a status. It’s a truth. It’s a feeling. Your dreams are your dreams for a reason, and we need them, so go on being special, and I’ll go on doing that too.

My Brain is Melting

Oh, Internet, I hope you don’t think less of me, but…but…I haven’t been able to read a book in a few weeks. No, I’m serious, this isn’t an April Fool’s in September joke. I really haven’t been able to read. I think it’s because I have been writing so much that my brain is full. It is just…full of words. I can’t put any more in there because they just fall out. And it’s not like I’ve been trying to read Ulysses dreck over here.

No, I’m talking Outlander and Sophie Kinsella. I’m talking about books I would normally gobble up in a day.

I.

Can’t.

Read.

(I will still have a “books I read” post at the end of the month, though, because I *did* read a few books. One? Three? Something like that. Get ready to be underwhelmed.)

So, I’ve been *gasp* watching things on TV. I’ve watched The Mindy Project (good), and I just started Sherlock (omg Martin Freeeeeeemaaaaan), aaaaand…that’s it.

Will you give me suggestions for what to watch?

I have Netflix, but no cable. I love comedy but dislike most dramas that aren’t in the Law & Order style (that is, the bad things happen to characters we don’t know well, so there’s no gut-punching awfulness to the murders, etc, because you’re detached in an inhuman and frightening way that says too much about our society aaaand you get the idea). Movies, TV, short films, youtube are all equally good in my eyes. (My favorite thing this year was the Lizzie Bennet Diaries on youtube, honestly.)

MWAH and THANK YOU! My melting brain thanks you too.

Martin Freeman frowns at you, because, what, he’s not good enough?

 

On Miss America’s Haters

A lot of people don’t believe me when I say I still encounter racism in America in 2013, in Seattle of all places. But then you see this stuff about Miss America.

And then I think, “I didn’t really want to say, ‘I told you so’ that much after all.” Because wah. This is the terriblest. 

The truth is that even though the People Are Dumb alerts are going wild right now, you have to remember the good in the world, and how we’re never going to get better without saying, “This shit happens, it’s not okay, and I’m here and alive and working hard to make it better.”

So, remember the acronym of happiness, CUP. What is CUP?

C is for cheese.

 

Eat some. If you don’t eat cheese, this can be broadened to any delicious foodstuff. It doesn’t even have to start with the letter C, like cronuts.

No, wait.

Cheesecake!

Shoot.

Cryogenically frozen Swedish fish? (You can’t actually tell the difference between cryogenically frozen Swedish fish and fresh Swedish fish, because they are MASTERS of the eternal foodstuff, so this one doesn’t make sense.)

 

The U stands for Unicorn. The P for pie.

Or pills.

 

Maybe pie and pills.

Just remember: Haters gonna be complex individuals with many issues to sort out so maybe just focus on surrounding your own life with as much happiness as possible, because peace and happiness are the best revenge.

And also? Congratulations, Miss America. You’re awfully brave. Pretty, too, but mostly? Brave.

 

Gilbert Blythe: Perfect Human

You know what I do when I am frustrated with my lovely husband of almost-thirteen years? Like, when I order pizza because I’ve been working and momming since 5:30 in the morning and I’m covered in grime and have gone to two soccer practices and calmed several boys and had many play dates and folded three loads of laundry, cleaned the bathrooms, done the grocery shopping, written two posts, edited a video, and written three thousand words in my novel, and then Gregg goes, “Pizza? Really? But I’m taking the boys out for an hour….*awkward pause*….”

This is where I close my eyes, do a zen meditation, and then I open them and hurl Gregg out the window, because I’m Neo and I can do shit like that.

Oh, wait, that was my fantasy. What really happens is that I pretend that Gregg is Gilbert Blythe.

Because. Gilbert Blythe.

For those of you living not as lucky to have Gilbert Blythe as one of your book boyfriends, this is a nice link collection of Gilbert, who is, let’s face it, the whole point of the Anne of Green Gables series. Don’t give me this “Anne is the point” nonsense. GO LOOK AT GIL AND THEN SAY THAT TO MY (INTERNET) FACE.

Plus, those images don’t really get across the Gilbert Blytheness of Gilbert Blythe. Just imagine that the boy you had a crush on your whole childhood actually turned out to be A)extremely handsome, B) intelligent, C)madly in love not only because of your beauty but because of your you-ness, which he knows very well since you two have been buds for ages, and D) he left his fiancee because she wasn’t YOU, and also, E) GILBERT BLYTHE. He also says, “I’ve loved you as long as I can remember. I need you,” (and did not follow it up with, “to go to the hardware store.”) (SWOON.)

Oh, yeah, he’s the perfect man.

What I’m saying is that when I’m feeling especially frustrated, I go away to a far away land where I have Anne Shirley’s life, and Gilbert Blythe’s babies, but after antibiotics and tetanus shots and I really never liked Diana that much so we’re not BFFs, but otherwise?

Gilbert.

Blythe.

Also, he would TOTALLY BE OKAY WITH ORDERING PIZZA.

(PS Gregg was okay with ordering pizza after all.)

What’s it like to be someone else?

Okay, so, in some ways this video is not a success. In the way that there’s no audio. But in the way that I actually made a video out of multiple parts and wear a blonde wig and have kale hands? In that way, I think I’m really expressing myself exactly as I see me, you know? The deep part of me with kale hands.