Laura Chapman's Blog, page 12
July 13, 2016
meet the voice of 'the marrying type' - emily lawrence
One of the coolest (and, I'll admit, strangest) moments as an author is having your book turned into an audiobook. While it's awesome to know your story, one you've labored over for months (or in the case of The Marrying Type, years) will be available in another format, it's also a little strange to hear that story read by someone else.
Fortunately, when the time came to produce the audio book for The Marrying Type, we met Emily Lawrence. While we had several talented voice artists submit audition reels to bring this story to audio life, there was something about Emily's voice that seemed to perfectly capture the story.
And as of last month, The Marrying Type is now available for your listening pleasure on Audible (big shout-out to Audible for their help in making this book available). And as of today, I'm featuring an interview I did with Emily so you can get to know a little bit more about the voice behind The Marrying Type audio book.
Be sure to check out the sample at the end of the post and the Rafflecopter for your chance to win a three audio books from Marching Ink, including Peri in Progress by Cat Lavoie, Up to I Do by Samantha March and, of course, The Marrying Type by yours truly.
Laura Chapman: Emily, thanks so much for doing this interview and giving us a chance to meet the voice behind Elliot Lynch and the rest of her friends. Let's start with the basics. How did you get into acting?
Emily Lawrence: When I was very young, I used to copy everything my sister did. After making her way through several typical little girl hobbies (horses were a big one), she found her way to acting. My sister eventually moved on to become a High School English teacher, but I was hooked. I was in my first play at seven and never stopped.
LC: It sounds like you started young! What was your first play and what was your role? What was your favorite part about that role?
EL: It was called Folk Tale Magic and I was the Swan. I honestly don't remember much about it, just that I loved doing it.
LC: What drew you to audiobook narration?
EL: I've always been a voracious reader. It honestly never really occurred to me that I could narrate audiobooks until I took a workshop on how to get into voiceover and audiobooks was listed as an option. The idea of combining two of my greatest loves (acting and reading) was too tempting to ignore. I took a risk, bought some equipment, and set up a recording studio. It took about six months to really pick up, but I've been doing it steadily full time ever since. It's a dream come true and I absolutely love it.
LC: One of my favorite hypothetical questions to ask other readers is this: if you were stranded on an island and you could only take three books (and no e-reader) with you, what would you take?
EL: Jitterbug Perfume by Tom Robbins, Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut, and American Gods by Neil Gaiman.
LC: Have you read any Jane Austen? Which one of her books is your favorite?
EL: I think I've read all of Jane Austen's books. If I had to pick a favorite, I'd probably pick Pride and Prejudice.
LC: I love that one. Mine is Persuasion, and . . . The Marrying Type is a modern reimagining of Austen's Persuasion. Which of the contemporary characters did you enjoy performing the most and why?
EL: Elliot was fun: the conflict between her Southern manners and desire to make everyone happy while also needing to take care of herself and her own needs is something I think a lot of people can relate to. I also liked Sadie a lot. I'm definitely a hopeless romantic, so her enthusiasm for getting married and her relationship with her groom was all very sweet.
LC: What did you do to get into the mindset or characters of this story while you narrated it?
EL: It was actually fairly easy for me to connect with the characters in this story. It just so happens that my dad got married this past weekend. So working on this in the weeks leading up to his wedding, where we were all already excited with planning and wedding jitters, made it a fun project.
LC: Who are your biggest inspirations as a performer?
EL: I'm not so much inspired by people as I am by stories and ideas. I tend to be inspired by writers who create sympathetic characters or express things in a way that I never could. I get inspired by emotions and situations and how they interact with my own imagination. I think that all art, whether it's writing, acting, painting, sculpting, composing, is all just about expressing an aspect of being human. As long as it taps into some sort of inherent truth about life, I find it inspiring.
Find the Book on Audible and Listen to a Sample Here.
About Emily
Emily is an actor and writer living in Los Angeles. She's narrated more than 125 audiobooks and has also worked in film and television. Born and raised in New York, Emily moved to Los Angeles shortly after receiving her BFA in drama from New York University's Tisch School of the Arts. She also studied at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art (RADA) in London. Emily's other passions include reading, traveling, LARPing, and chocolate. For more about Emily, including photos, videos, and voice samples, visit her website or imdb. You can also follow her on Facebook, Twitter and Instragram.
About the Book
Always the wedding planner, never a bride, Elliot Lynch is famous for orchestrating the splashiest weddings in Charleston, South Carolina. When her father’s sloppy management practices leave them on the brink of bankruptcy, Elliot will do whatever it takes to save the family business. When asked to appear on “The Marrying Type,” a reality TV show about the people behind the scenes as couples exchange I dos, she says yes to the invasion of privacy (and the hefty paycheck that comes with it).
With a camera crew capturing every detail of her life, Elliot faces her most challenging contract yet: planning a wedding where her ex is involved in every part of the process. Add in a lazy assistant, liquor-loving bridesmaid, and rival planner encroaching on her turf, and Elliot’s wedding season goes from high-end to high-stress.
Forced to confront her past, Elliot must live out her troubled present on national TV if she has any hope of saving her future.
Buy the BookAmazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Audible
Enter to Wina Rafflecopter giveaway
***Let's keep in touch. Connect with me on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube.***
Fortunately, when the time came to produce the audio book for The Marrying Type, we met Emily Lawrence. While we had several talented voice artists submit audition reels to bring this story to audio life, there was something about Emily's voice that seemed to perfectly capture the story.
And as of last month, The Marrying Type is now available for your listening pleasure on Audible (big shout-out to Audible for their help in making this book available). And as of today, I'm featuring an interview I did with Emily so you can get to know a little bit more about the voice behind The Marrying Type audio book.
Be sure to check out the sample at the end of the post and the Rafflecopter for your chance to win a three audio books from Marching Ink, including Peri in Progress by Cat Lavoie, Up to I Do by Samantha March and, of course, The Marrying Type by yours truly.
Laura Chapman: Emily, thanks so much for doing this interview and giving us a chance to meet the voice behind Elliot Lynch and the rest of her friends. Let's start with the basics. How did you get into acting?
Emily Lawrence: When I was very young, I used to copy everything my sister did. After making her way through several typical little girl hobbies (horses were a big one), she found her way to acting. My sister eventually moved on to become a High School English teacher, but I was hooked. I was in my first play at seven and never stopped.
LC: It sounds like you started young! What was your first play and what was your role? What was your favorite part about that role?
EL: It was called Folk Tale Magic and I was the Swan. I honestly don't remember much about it, just that I loved doing it.
LC: What drew you to audiobook narration?
EL: I've always been a voracious reader. It honestly never really occurred to me that I could narrate audiobooks until I took a workshop on how to get into voiceover and audiobooks was listed as an option. The idea of combining two of my greatest loves (acting and reading) was too tempting to ignore. I took a risk, bought some equipment, and set up a recording studio. It took about six months to really pick up, but I've been doing it steadily full time ever since. It's a dream come true and I absolutely love it.
LC: One of my favorite hypothetical questions to ask other readers is this: if you were stranded on an island and you could only take three books (and no e-reader) with you, what would you take?
EL: Jitterbug Perfume by Tom Robbins, Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut, and American Gods by Neil Gaiman.
LC: Have you read any Jane Austen? Which one of her books is your favorite?
EL: I think I've read all of Jane Austen's books. If I had to pick a favorite, I'd probably pick Pride and Prejudice.
LC: I love that one. Mine is Persuasion, and . . . The Marrying Type is a modern reimagining of Austen's Persuasion. Which of the contemporary characters did you enjoy performing the most and why?
EL: Elliot was fun: the conflict between her Southern manners and desire to make everyone happy while also needing to take care of herself and her own needs is something I think a lot of people can relate to. I also liked Sadie a lot. I'm definitely a hopeless romantic, so her enthusiasm for getting married and her relationship with her groom was all very sweet.
LC: What did you do to get into the mindset or characters of this story while you narrated it?
EL: It was actually fairly easy for me to connect with the characters in this story. It just so happens that my dad got married this past weekend. So working on this in the weeks leading up to his wedding, where we were all already excited with planning and wedding jitters, made it a fun project.
LC: Who are your biggest inspirations as a performer?
EL: I'm not so much inspired by people as I am by stories and ideas. I tend to be inspired by writers who create sympathetic characters or express things in a way that I never could. I get inspired by emotions and situations and how they interact with my own imagination. I think that all art, whether it's writing, acting, painting, sculpting, composing, is all just about expressing an aspect of being human. As long as it taps into some sort of inherent truth about life, I find it inspiring.
Find the Book on Audible and Listen to a Sample Here.
About Emily
Emily is an actor and writer living in Los Angeles. She's narrated more than 125 audiobooks and has also worked in film and television. Born and raised in New York, Emily moved to Los Angeles shortly after receiving her BFA in drama from New York University's Tisch School of the Arts. She also studied at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art (RADA) in London. Emily's other passions include reading, traveling, LARPing, and chocolate. For more about Emily, including photos, videos, and voice samples, visit her website or imdb. You can also follow her on Facebook, Twitter and Instragram.
About the Book
Always the wedding planner, never a bride, Elliot Lynch is famous for orchestrating the splashiest weddings in Charleston, South Carolina. When her father’s sloppy management practices leave them on the brink of bankruptcy, Elliot will do whatever it takes to save the family business. When asked to appear on “The Marrying Type,” a reality TV show about the people behind the scenes as couples exchange I dos, she says yes to the invasion of privacy (and the hefty paycheck that comes with it).
With a camera crew capturing every detail of her life, Elliot faces her most challenging contract yet: planning a wedding where her ex is involved in every part of the process. Add in a lazy assistant, liquor-loving bridesmaid, and rival planner encroaching on her turf, and Elliot’s wedding season goes from high-end to high-stress.
Forced to confront her past, Elliot must live out her troubled present on national TV if she has any hope of saving her future.
Buy the BookAmazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Audible
Enter to Wina Rafflecopter giveaway
***Let's keep in touch. Connect with me on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube.***
May 18, 2016
chatting with the chicks of chick lit
Ha ha ha ha welcome, welcome everyone to Chatting With the Chicks of Chick Lit. I’m your host, Chuck Lottateeth, and I am so thrilled to be able to introduce you to some of the most fascinating characters in literature today. I’m talking about the leading ladies of Chick Lit—those enchanting, romantic, darling, sexy, sweet, funny, headstrong—and, let’s face it, sometimes downright frustrating—modern women who headline this fabulously fun genre. I'm sure you're going to love getting the skinny on these “novel” heroines, and who knows? You might just find your new BFF on the pages of one of these books!
Without further ado, please put your hands together and show some love for today's guest . . .
Harper Duquaine joins us from Laura Chapman's fun and flirty Queen of the League series, which tells the story of one woman's journey into the world of Fantasy Football. Along the way she finds love, friendship, and one of the best quarterbacks a person could ever want on his or her team. A native of Wisconsin, Harper now resides in Lincoln, Nebraska, where she works as an office manager for a car dealership. When she isn't busy scouting new talent for her fantasy football teams or setting her weekly lineups, she enjoys crocheting, baking, spending time with her brothers and friends, and watching really bad TV.
With that, let's begin the interview.
Chuck Lottateeth: If you were a shoe, what kind of shoe would you be?
Harper: Oh, that's a first-time question for me. I guess I'd say I am a stylish, but sturdy, pair of boots. I'd like to think I have a put together look (or at least I try to fake it till I make it), but I'm also hardworking and dependable. And wow. All of that sounds super braggy. Can we redo that or are we live? Let's just say stylish, but sturdy boots, because those are my favorite shoes to wear.
CL: What are the three items you would absolutely need to have with you if you were shipwrecked on a desert island?
H: The practical person in me would say a switchblade, or something useful like that, so I could attempt to make some kind of shelter and find sustenance. The more whimsical side of me would want to bring a crocheting hook so I could maybe create a line of scarves and potholders created out of palm tree leaves and the like. And for my third item, I'm going to take a giant vat of sunscreen. I'm a delicate flower, and I'd rather not get a sunburn.
CL: If you had only $15 to spend, what would be the perfect date? $50? $5,000?
H: I'm really pretty low-key about my dates, so $15 is usually the price range. I'd say we'd use part of the money to put gas in the car and use the rest to make a picnic of hot cocoa and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to take for a night out of star-gazing. At the $50 range, we'd probably go to one of my favorite restaurants, which is a local pub. That kind of money would cover drinks, meals, and maybe even a couple of desserts for the table. At $5,000, I'd buy the best tickets I could find for a Bon Jovi concert, a hotel to stay the night, plane tickets, dinners out, and new outfits for myself and my significant other. I think we'd still possibly have some leftover money from that, which I'd give to my SO, because he's a lot more generous with his money than I am, and he'd use it for a good cause.
CL: Your best friend is asked to describe you in five words. What would they be? Your nemesis is also asked to describe you in five words. What would they be?
H: I think, or at least hope, my best friend would say I'm dedicated, driven, creative, classy, and caring. My nemesis would say I'm a ballbuster, tease, cockblock, klutz, and driven. I don't think anyone could deny that I'm driven, but not everyone would agree it's a good thing.
CL: If you could be the heroine in any chick flick, who would it be and why?
H: My first instinct is to say Renee Zellweger's character, Dorothy, in Jerry Maguire, because of the football connection, the fact that she's gorgeous, and our mutual willingness to support the people we love and stay positive despite our past romantic failures. But I don't know if that's completely accurate. I'm also not sure if that's really answering the question, because it is who I would want to be if I could be any heroine, right? I don't know if I'd want to be Dorothy, because she has it kind of rough. So, I'll say... Giselle from Enchanted, because she's a princess, she can get animals to do her work for her, she has a great attitude and style, and she has great options for male suitors. I mean, she really can't go wrong with Patrick Dempsey or James Marsden, right?
Don't forget: This week, to celebrate International Chick Lit Month and #ChickLit May, the first two books in my Queen of the League chick lit series are on sale for 99 cents each!
First & Goal: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Goodreads
Going for Two: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Goodreads
And as an extra bonus, I am giving away two autographed copies of each book on Goodreads. Click here to enter to win First & Goal and here to enter to win Going for Two . (U.S. and Canada only!)
***Let's keep in touch. Connect with me on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube.***
May 15, 2016
#chicklitmay scavenger hunt a-z
D is for Danny
So . . . I was thrilled to be assigned the letter D. Seriously, when I heard what we were doing with this scavenger hunt, the first thought to come to my mind was, "D is for Danny." Because one of my favorite parts about Chick Lit stories happen to be the men. I know, I know. It's called Chick Lit, and there are so many fantastic things about Chick Lit that don't involve men. But what can I say? I'm a girl who likes her dudes.
Now, that I bring it up, you're maybe wondering (or maybe you weren't, but you're on board now, right?) why didn't I say "D is for Dudes" when I had that letter? Well, when I say I'm all about the guys, I really mean that I'm particularly fixated on a couple. Their names both happen to be Danny. And the beautiful thing about both of these men is how different they are from each other. (D is for Different, too.) I consider them to be representative of two of my favorite types of male characters to appear in Chick Lits.
With that background established, let's get to know the boys, shall we?
Danny 1: The Quirky Comedy Relief
Our first Danny is from Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic series. We meet him in Book 3, Shopaholic Ties the Knot, as Becky's NYC neighbor. He happens to be a wannabe designer who has gone so far as to say he's worked with a famous designer (he handed him coffee once, which totally counts, right?) and actually tried to hang his own work in Bloomingdale's to trick his brother into believing he's making progress in his career to avoid being financially cut off.
See. Quirky comedy relief.
He's also wonderfully supportive of Becky and always has her back. (Like in Shopaholic & Baby, when arrives on motorbike to deliver a pair of boots she absolutely has to have to make a deal.)
But aside from the laughs and humorous heroics, the best part about Danny is how he serves as a support system for Becky. She makes a lot of stupid mistakes, but he's there to listen to her problems with no judgment. He never questions her feelings or makes them seem unsubstantial. He never treats her as a silly little woman, but instead encourages her to let it out and be her best self.
We all want a Danny in our lives. Heck, we all deserve him. At the very least, we need characters like him in our Chick Lit novels. Because even though our fun, fabulous heroines are their own women, they're somehow better when they're partnered up with such a great buddy.
I'm lucky, because I have this kind of Danny in my life. I actually recognized one of my best friends in this character when I picked up the series. My Danny is hilarious. He once teasingly chastised me at a "castle" for speaking to a driver, because, "we're at a castle, we don't speak to the help." He says things like, "You say potato, I say vodka." My Danny is supportive. Whenever we're on one of our long phone calls, he always asks about my current writing projects. He's one of the most generous people I know, and I could totally see him motorbiking to my rescue if I ever needed him. (Actually, he's super in shape, so he might just cycle in.) And most importantly, he's such a huge support system for me. He never tells me I'm being crazy. He never thinks I'm over-the-top. Like Becky's Danny, he loves and supports me in a non-romantic way, and it's perfect.
See why I love this sort of character in my Chick Lit?
Danny 2: The Darcy-Like Romantic Interest
Technically this Danny isn't from a Chick-Lit novel, but he's from a romantic comedy, which (in my humble opinion) is basically a Chick Lit on TV. I'm talking about Danny Castellano from The Mindy Project. (And, okay, I'm really talking about Danny Castellano from seasons one and two. I can't get into specifics on why that is without wanting to cry or punch someone in the face.)
SourceBut back to my point. In The Mindy Project, seasons one and two, Danny is Mindy's curmudgeon of a co-worker, who actually seems to have something deeper and sweeter going on behind that grouchy facade. When we first meet him, he's handsome, brilliant, and serious. He also seems like a giant butthead, kind of like Mr. Darcy was at the beginning of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice.
Sure enough, over time, we get to know Danny better and we find that he has his reasons for being jaded and jerky. We also realize (even if he hasn't) that he loves Mindy, and she makes him want to be a better person. And like Darcy, Danny doesn't find it that easy to win over the girl. He has to make some grand gestures.
Like creating a Christmas dance for her . . .
SourceReading her THE most famous Chick Lit of all time . . .
SourceRunning through the city to find her . . .
There's something to love about a flawed romantic interest. And while this may not be a practical match-up in real life, there's something I kind of love about escaping into a story where you can believe two imperfect people can find perfection in each other against all odds. Just like Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy. And just like Danny and Mindy (in the first couple of seasons, at least).
In Chick Lit, I love to have both types of Danny. The best friend who is there for laughs and to have your back, and the love interest who doesn't come easy, but can maybe be worth it in the end.
Want to win a Kindle Paperwhite + a $100 Amazon gift card? Visit each of the 26 stops on the #ChickLitMay A to Z Scavenger Hunt and collect the alphabet word at each stop (A, B, C, D, etc.), then submit the A-Z list of words via e-mail to traciebanister@gmail.com with the subject "A to Z Scavenger Hunt Entry." Entries will be accepted until Sunday, May 22nd at midnight E.D.T. A winner will be chosen on Monday, May 23rd. Good luck!
The next stop on the Scavenger Hunt, E, is here. If you'd like to start back at the beginning of the Scavenger Hunt (the letter A), go here.
This week, to celebrate International Chick Lit Month and #ChickLit May, the first two books in my Queen of the League chick lit series are on sale for 99 cents each!
First & Goal: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Goodreads
Going for Two: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Goodreads
And as an extra bonus, I am giving away two autographed copies of each book on Goodreads. Click here to enter to win First & Goal and here to enter to win Going for Two . (U.S. and Canada only!)
***Let's keep in touch. Connect with me on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube.***
May 5, 2016
love what's yours
I visit my Teammates mentee every Wednesday during my lunch break. My buddy (I can't disclose her name, so that's what I'll call her in this post) and I have met once a week, every week during the school year for three years now. There have been some rocky moments (the transition from elementary school to middle school is rough), but we've found a comfortable groove.
Typically I bring some sort of craft to make. We're both craft-lovers, and having a project to work on seems to work well for us. We made mini owl stuffed animals a couple of weeks ago. We painted canvases in the fall. We decorated letter blocks with our first initials. And so on.
This week, we finished creating an art project that basically involved taking fancy pieces of paper and creating a wall hanging by rolling and folding the paper accordingly. I'm not really doing a good job of explaining this (and I'm not totally sure how to do better) so here's a picture of me with my finished product to give you an idea.
See. It's an owl, and it has a jewel on it, which is pretty. It's art. (You can also see my buddy having a little fun with me by photobombing my picture with a peace sign. Silly girl.)
After finishing up my bejeweled owl, I helped my buddy finish up her own project. I cut up more pieces of tape and helped her put together the design (which was a pretty paper flower). While she exclaimed in excitement about it coming together, I said, "That looks great. Do you love it?" in a casual sort of way like you do.
Then she said, "I do love it. I made it, and you should love what you make, because its yours."
She was so sincere as she said it, which somehow made it even more sweet and wonderful. She's a sixth grader (who was actually kind of having a rough day, because middle school is the worst) and you could tell she truly believed what she said. There I was, feeling pretty smug about helping to get her out of a funk, but then she turned around and said something that reached me on a level I wouldn't have expected.
I've thought about those words a lot since our meeting yesterday. I've thought about how I tend to lean towards self-deprecation (and even self-loathing) when it comes to my own creations, from my art projects to my books. But I shouldn't. I should be proud of them. I should be proud of myself. I should love them, because I made them, and they're mine. It's probably not as easy as flipping a switch to change that mentality of mine, but it's worth giving a shot.
Of course it took a much wiser buddy to help me realize that.
But now that I've had this little epiphany thanks to my buddy, I realize it goes beyond changing the way I think. As her mentor, as her friend, I want to support my buddy and help her keep that attitude. It's hard to stay positive, to have confidence and belief in yourself, when it sometimes feels like the world is out to hate on you. But wouldn't that world be a whole lot better if we all loved ourselves and what we do a little more?
So let's love what we do, what we make, because it's ours. Maybe it isn't perfect, but that's life, right? You can still love it.
***Let's keep in touch. Connect with me on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube.***
Typically I bring some sort of craft to make. We're both craft-lovers, and having a project to work on seems to work well for us. We made mini owl stuffed animals a couple of weeks ago. We painted canvases in the fall. We decorated letter blocks with our first initials. And so on.
This week, we finished creating an art project that basically involved taking fancy pieces of paper and creating a wall hanging by rolling and folding the paper accordingly. I'm not really doing a good job of explaining this (and I'm not totally sure how to do better) so here's a picture of me with my finished product to give you an idea.
See. It's an owl, and it has a jewel on it, which is pretty. It's art. (You can also see my buddy having a little fun with me by photobombing my picture with a peace sign. Silly girl.)
After finishing up my bejeweled owl, I helped my buddy finish up her own project. I cut up more pieces of tape and helped her put together the design (which was a pretty paper flower). While she exclaimed in excitement about it coming together, I said, "That looks great. Do you love it?" in a casual sort of way like you do.
Then she said, "I do love it. I made it, and you should love what you make, because its yours."
She was so sincere as she said it, which somehow made it even more sweet and wonderful. She's a sixth grader (who was actually kind of having a rough day, because middle school is the worst) and you could tell she truly believed what she said. There I was, feeling pretty smug about helping to get her out of a funk, but then she turned around and said something that reached me on a level I wouldn't have expected.
I've thought about those words a lot since our meeting yesterday. I've thought about how I tend to lean towards self-deprecation (and even self-loathing) when it comes to my own creations, from my art projects to my books. But I shouldn't. I should be proud of them. I should be proud of myself. I should love them, because I made them, and they're mine. It's probably not as easy as flipping a switch to change that mentality of mine, but it's worth giving a shot.
Of course it took a much wiser buddy to help me realize that.
But now that I've had this little epiphany thanks to my buddy, I realize it goes beyond changing the way I think. As her mentor, as her friend, I want to support my buddy and help her keep that attitude. It's hard to stay positive, to have confidence and belief in yourself, when it sometimes feels like the world is out to hate on you. But wouldn't that world be a whole lot better if we all loved ourselves and what we do a little more?
So let's love what we do, what we make, because it's ours. Maybe it isn't perfect, but that's life, right? You can still love it.
***Let's keep in touch. Connect with me on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube.***
May 2, 2016
dear nora
Blogger's Note: I wrote this letter about a month ago after spending a weekend reading a few books that stuck with me. It was like I needed to get these words off of my chest before I could move on to other books or other writing projects. And as I can't actually send this letter, and because I feel like some of you readers might share in these feelings, I'm leaving it here as a tribute to one of my heroes.
Dear Nora,
I read three of your books this weekend. After years of admiring your films, essays and interviews—and after watching your son's beautiful documentary (you must be so proud)—I realized it was past time to read these books that have long been on my to-read list. (Please don't feel bad. I have hundreds of books on that list. Now I feel bad for mentioning the list, but somehow, it seems like you might understand and appreciate my quandary.)
Heartburn kept me up until 3. (In full disclosure, I must also confess that the probable raccoon nesting in my attic played a small role in my late night, too.) It broke my heart. It busted my gut. I cried—tears of laughter and pain. Then, when it was over, it brought tears to my eyes again, because I remembered I'd never be able to tell you how much your book moved me. (That's something you should know about me, Nora. I'm not just someone who pens letters or notes to authors I admire, or elected officials, who need a kick in the butt. I'm also vain and egotistical enough to imagine myself rising to the level where my heroes will not only notice me, but they'll want to talk with me. Again, I suspect you might get that too.)
After Heartburn kept me up, I Feel Bad About My Neck woke me up the following morning. (Here's another confession—you're really getting me to spill my soul. After listening to an interview you gave on NPR back in 2005, I started moisturizing my neck. I was only 19, and I figured that if I started early on my neck maintenance, maybe I'd be okay. Not a day has passed since when I haven't moisturized and groomed my neck in a fight against gravity. And every time you—and that interview—come to mind.) So now, reading your book, I not only took your words to heart and read them furiously, I loved them.
Again, I laughed and cried, because they were so wonderful, so honest. Even though they were written years ago, it was like you were writing—or rather talking—to me now. Not just talking to me, but having a conversation with me. And then I remembered we live in a post Nora Ephron world, and I got sad. Sad young storytellers today won't get to eagerly anticipate your next movie or blog post.
To fight my bittersweet melancholy, I—you guessed it—opened a copy of I Remember Nothing . Now this time I went in a little guarded. I knew all too well I'd probably reach the end and be filled with a sadness like both times before. But soon I forgot to feel sad or be guarded. I was too caught up making vows to say yes to butter and no to having a meatloaf named after me.
This time, when I finished, I waited for that ache to come. The one from knowing I'd never hear of a new Nora Ephron release nor have the chance to meet you and become one of your friends and mentees. It didn't come. Instead, I felt happy. Happy to live in a world where people, like me, can share colorful stories. Happy to live in a world where we can escape into words that were seemingly put together just for us. Happy to live in a world with strong, brilliant women to admire—ones who challenge us to be better and the best versions of ourselves, while accepting who we are along the way. Happy to live in a world where someone gets me so clearly and has taught me so much, even though we'll never meet.
I'm happy to live in a world where you lived and loved and created and shared and challenged generations.
Thank you for leaving behind such a legacy and for sharing your truths with the world. Before we say good-bye—and I really need to wash my face and moisturize my neck—I have one quick question. It's about your no-carb ricotta pancakes. Do you think I could make it with blueberries, or would that destroy the integrity of the whole dish?
Respectfully and with love,
Laura
***Let's keep in touch. Connect with me on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube.***
Dear Nora,
I read three of your books this weekend. After years of admiring your films, essays and interviews—and after watching your son's beautiful documentary (you must be so proud)—I realized it was past time to read these books that have long been on my to-read list. (Please don't feel bad. I have hundreds of books on that list. Now I feel bad for mentioning the list, but somehow, it seems like you might understand and appreciate my quandary.)
Heartburn kept me up until 3. (In full disclosure, I must also confess that the probable raccoon nesting in my attic played a small role in my late night, too.) It broke my heart. It busted my gut. I cried—tears of laughter and pain. Then, when it was over, it brought tears to my eyes again, because I remembered I'd never be able to tell you how much your book moved me. (That's something you should know about me, Nora. I'm not just someone who pens letters or notes to authors I admire, or elected officials, who need a kick in the butt. I'm also vain and egotistical enough to imagine myself rising to the level where my heroes will not only notice me, but they'll want to talk with me. Again, I suspect you might get that too.)
After Heartburn kept me up, I Feel Bad About My Neck woke me up the following morning. (Here's another confession—you're really getting me to spill my soul. After listening to an interview you gave on NPR back in 2005, I started moisturizing my neck. I was only 19, and I figured that if I started early on my neck maintenance, maybe I'd be okay. Not a day has passed since when I haven't moisturized and groomed my neck in a fight against gravity. And every time you—and that interview—come to mind.) So now, reading your book, I not only took your words to heart and read them furiously, I loved them.
Again, I laughed and cried, because they were so wonderful, so honest. Even though they were written years ago, it was like you were writing—or rather talking—to me now. Not just talking to me, but having a conversation with me. And then I remembered we live in a post Nora Ephron world, and I got sad. Sad young storytellers today won't get to eagerly anticipate your next movie or blog post.
To fight my bittersweet melancholy, I—you guessed it—opened a copy of I Remember Nothing . Now this time I went in a little guarded. I knew all too well I'd probably reach the end and be filled with a sadness like both times before. But soon I forgot to feel sad or be guarded. I was too caught up making vows to say yes to butter and no to having a meatloaf named after me.
This time, when I finished, I waited for that ache to come. The one from knowing I'd never hear of a new Nora Ephron release nor have the chance to meet you and become one of your friends and mentees. It didn't come. Instead, I felt happy. Happy to live in a world where people, like me, can share colorful stories. Happy to live in a world where we can escape into words that were seemingly put together just for us. Happy to live in a world with strong, brilliant women to admire—ones who challenge us to be better and the best versions of ourselves, while accepting who we are along the way. Happy to live in a world where someone gets me so clearly and has taught me so much, even though we'll never meet.
I'm happy to live in a world where you lived and loved and created and shared and challenged generations.
Thank you for leaving behind such a legacy and for sharing your truths with the world. Before we say good-bye—and I really need to wash my face and moisturize my neck—I have one quick question. It's about your no-carb ricotta pancakes. Do you think I could make it with blueberries, or would that destroy the integrity of the whole dish?
Respectfully and with love,
Laura
***Let's keep in touch. Connect with me on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube.***
April 28, 2016
snapshots of france
As you may recall, I didn't go into my French adventure with the best attitude. (You can refresh your memory here.) Still, because I wanted to change my perspective, and because I've always regretted not taking notes on the other trips I've been on in my life, I resolved to keep a travel journal. Every day, I jotted down a few thoughts—sometimes just bullet points—to help me remember what stood out during the day. But, so as not to bore myself—or you, gentle readers—I had a self-imposed word count limit. Here you have it.
The beautiful photo my buzzed self wanted
to share with the world mid-flight.
Monday, April 18, 2016
Two hours into the flight and I'm pretty toasted (free wine!!!!). I'm at the point in my boozing journey in which I like to sing. Stupid no karaoke on planes. Instead of singing, I watched Joy and teared up at the end. (Could be the wine.) My in-flight WiFi isn't working, which is sad. How else am I supposed to share the magical photo I took of Canada??? I want to read my book but people are turning the lights off. Quitters. I need to pee but didn't want to use the plane's bathroom if possible. But three glasses of wine in, the idea doesn't seem so bad after all.
Update: It was terrible. Plane toilets are the worst.
Now to read then watch Mockingjay Part 2 till I sleep. Oh, JLaw. I know everyone says this, but I truly think we could be best friends. Call me?
Btdubs three glasses of wine seems to be my threshold. (Though I should probably stick to two in the future.) Thank goodness they just came around with water bottles. I need to hydrate.
On a more serious note... The women in front of me are well into retirement and headed to Paris on a girls' trip. They're so excited and sweet and germaphobic. (They scrubbed down their seats and seatbelts with sanitary wipes before they settled in for the flight.) It gives me hope for future French adventures, preferably in Paris. Maybe it won't be young, dashing Pierre showing me crepes, but older, wiser Henri giving me croissants.
International flights are better than domestic. Think about it.
***
Worth the flight across the Atlantic.
Tuesday, April 19, 2016
No sleep on planeI sobered up and rehydrated well before landing, scoreLong line at customsAirplane broke our checked baggageI don't think we lost anythingNo, didn't lose anything, nothing brokenWe missed the train to NantesWe're going to repair the bag and grab a snack while we waitAte my first croissant and pain au choclat; divineMy co-worker fixed the bag; she says it looks like Frankenstein, I think it's beautiful (and it works)Nearly passed out at airport during the four-hour wait for the next trainAngrily read November 7 on the train (my second book of this trip so far); angry not because of the train (which was fine, given my exhaustion), but because one of the characters did something I'm not sure I can forgive (reader problems)I forgave himArrived in Nantes after six, checked into airport, took a walk around the neighboring chatteau, delicious dinner before passing out in the sofa bed that came with the room
***
The chatteau next door.
Wednesday, April 20, 2016
Today, I learned the difference between went to say "bonjour" and "bonsoir." (The switch happens right at five, apparently.) Someone corrected me. After she left the booth, I turned to my partner in crime and said, "I feel like a big asshole right now. Foot," I pointed to my lips, "mouth." We had a good laugh. I'm maybe still a little delirious from lack of sleep.
It was a good first day at our booth. We handed out all of our 500 buttons within the first two hours. I also developed a deep and passionate crush on one of the security guards who walked past our booth every half hour or so. Each time we'd share a nod and a "bonjour." Then I'd look away before my eyes could betray the extent of my feelings. Be still my heart.
At the end of the day, anxious to take the tram back to our hotel, we were delayed. A large protest in the city center had shut down transportation. Everyone assured us it was normal, and we ultimately found our way back. Later we learned it was actually kind of a serious ordeal involving teargas. Note to self: play this down to parents until I'm back home.
I continue to find myself distracted by "shiny objects." And by shiny objects, I of course mean handsome French men, who seem so fit yet stylish.
"Before today," I said to my friend over dinner, "I never thought of Frenchmen, aside from how they might fit into my search for baked goods. But now..." Then I trailed off and became distracted by another handsome man walking by the restaurant, wearing a scarf. "I suppose it would be ill-fated like Romeo and Juliet. We don't speak the same language, we're from two different worlds. We're forced to admire one another in silence... Wait." My eyes grew wide. "That's Love Actually. Oh my God. He's Jamie. And I'm Aurelia. I've always loved that name."
I really need to get some sleep. I have no filter.
By the time I reached the hotel for the night, I knew I had a bit of a problem. I keep falling in love with half of the men I see. I never knew I had a thing for Frenchmen. Maybe it's a result of years of working in a primarily female environment? This day alone, I fell for a businessman in a smart suit on the hotel elevator on our way down to breakfast, another on his way to work on the tram, a security guard at the expo, two men dining across the room at the restaurant, a man in a scarf walking by the restaurant, and—just a few minutes ago—a man drilling a hole into the middle of the street (he was on a construction crew, so it was his job).
It's like I'm back in high school.
***
Another day, another castle selfie.
Thursday, April 21, 2016
I couldn't sleep last night.
I fell asleep shortly after we returned to the hotel after dinner, which was actually pretty late; dinners here take at least two hours. But then I woke up at one and didn't fall back into a decent sleep until after four.
To make up for how bad I feel, I wore my favorite outfit that I'd packed. It's a new ruffled black shirt and a polka-dot blazer (another new purchase). I did my hair up nicely, plastered on some red lipstick, and tried not to fixate on the ever-growing bags under my eyes.
A man in a fabulously embroidered shirt came over to our booth. As I said hello, in English, he told me he and his partner were checking me out on the tram. They mused, "That is a beautiful French woman." I assured him I have never felt more complimented. "I'm not hitting on you, but I'm gay so you can trust me." Believe me, I do. And I'm thrilled.
My look paid off, and I'll float on this compliment the rest of the trip.
This evening, I developed a new story idea. I already had it in my head before I left for France, but it came together during dinner with my co-worker's help. Traveling does wonders for the imagination.
Also did a lot of men watching during dinner. Ooh la la! I'm so gross with my boy craziness right now. And so immature. I'm about to be thirty for crying out loud. So much for being a strong, sensible, independent woman.
***
Friday night was date night in France. Even for these
ducks, who found their way to the castle.
Friday, April 22, 2016
Today I learned the only phrase I'll ever need to know: "Je suis trop belle por ca." That's French for "I'm too pretty for that," which is my favorite thing to say when I don't want to do something. (But then I usually do it, because it has to be done, and that's what I do. I get things done.)
I'm going to get that tattooed across my middle finger.
I grow more and more tired every day, yet I'm somehow managing to stay perky. Almost everyone who passes our booth gets a friendly, "bonjour" before I refer them to some phrases penned in French, because the only thing I know how to say in French is that I'm too pretty for that, which doesn't seem to apply in this situation.
It was a great day making a couple of new friends capped off by a three-course dinner of crepes. I highly recommend a three-course crepe meal to everyone.
I'm feeling confident and badass navigating my way around the city and running this booth. I can't even say how good it is to feel so in control and on point.
***
Taking a walk through Jardin des Plantes.
Saturday, April 23, 2016
My admirer from the tram and his lovely partner had coffee with us and we rode the tram in together. At the end of the ride, he suggested we collaborate on a book. I was a little "well..." But not even fifteen minutes later, I was already imagining a story. It's also based on one I've been toying with, but now it's better. Perhaps this could be a real thing.
Have I mentioned how good travel is for my imagination?
A little tot stopped by the booth near the end of our stint. He stomped in with his little red boots, big blue eyes, and mischievous little boy smile. He stayed there waving and smiling at me for a couple of minutes. His mother darted me apologetic looks, but it was one of the sweetest little moments of this trip. Me saying "bonjour, comment allez-vous?" and him breaking smile after smile with a wave. Language isn't always a barrier. Not when a smile will do.
I spent 42 Euros on a scarf. I'm normally so cheap that it kind of gave me heart palpitations. But it's a unique handmaid silk scarf that is tres belle. And it's my gift to myself to forever commemorate my trip to France. I hope to return someday with more time for fun, but who knows if I will? Either way, sometimes you have to treat yourself.
On our way out of town, we visited Jardin des Plantes, which was closer than we realized (across the street from the train station). What a nice finale. It was a good trip.
***
Sunday, April 24, 2016
I still can't sleep. I'm lying awake in bed at the airport hotel. It's well after two, and I know I need to be up and ready to go first thing so we can make our flight back home.
I'll be headed back to reality soon. It's a mixed bag. I'm still running on a bit of an OMG-we-did-a-great-job-this-week high, but I can't wait to snuggle with my kittens and get a full night of sleep. I also realize this week—as crazy and busy as it was—was better than I imagined. I'm not talking about the delicious crepes, croissants, and other delicacies I ate—though they were amazing. It was mostly wonderful because I felt so competent, so in control. I troubleshooted, I made contacts, I encouraged others, I dreamed for myself. I'm happy. Tired, but happy.
What happens when I get home? How long does the afterglow last? Can I keep my little fear demons at bay? Can I take control of situations and make them work? I suppose I proved to myself that yes, I can. I just have to figure out how, and it won't be easy. But I need to stop worrying about that now. Right now, I want to bask in the belief that I am wonderful and anything and everything is possible. That I am tres magnifique.
***
I'm back in Lincoln, and it's strange that it's late afternoon on the same day I left France, rather than early the next morning. Flying internationally is the closest I'll ever come to time travel. Yet another perk of going out to see the world.
The kittens are happy I'm back. I'm happy I'm back. I want to sleep for forever, but I also want to tell everyone everything while it's all fresh in my mind. But I'll have to go to bed eventually. Probably sooner than I think. My freshly laundered sheets are calling to me, like a siren.
While I wait for dinner to be delivered—I need to buy groceries in the morning—I unpack my suitcase and sort my laundry. After removing my new scarf, and being reminded of just how beautiful it is, I've decided the price was worth it. All of this was worth it.
***Let's keep in touch. Connect with me on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube.***
The beautiful photo my buzzed self wantedto share with the world mid-flight.
Monday, April 18, 2016
Two hours into the flight and I'm pretty toasted (free wine!!!!). I'm at the point in my boozing journey in which I like to sing. Stupid no karaoke on planes. Instead of singing, I watched Joy and teared up at the end. (Could be the wine.) My in-flight WiFi isn't working, which is sad. How else am I supposed to share the magical photo I took of Canada??? I want to read my book but people are turning the lights off. Quitters. I need to pee but didn't want to use the plane's bathroom if possible. But three glasses of wine in, the idea doesn't seem so bad after all.
Update: It was terrible. Plane toilets are the worst.
Now to read then watch Mockingjay Part 2 till I sleep. Oh, JLaw. I know everyone says this, but I truly think we could be best friends. Call me?
Btdubs three glasses of wine seems to be my threshold. (Though I should probably stick to two in the future.) Thank goodness they just came around with water bottles. I need to hydrate.
On a more serious note... The women in front of me are well into retirement and headed to Paris on a girls' trip. They're so excited and sweet and germaphobic. (They scrubbed down their seats and seatbelts with sanitary wipes before they settled in for the flight.) It gives me hope for future French adventures, preferably in Paris. Maybe it won't be young, dashing Pierre showing me crepes, but older, wiser Henri giving me croissants.
International flights are better than domestic. Think about it.
***
Worth the flight across the Atlantic.Tuesday, April 19, 2016
No sleep on planeI sobered up and rehydrated well before landing, scoreLong line at customsAirplane broke our checked baggageI don't think we lost anythingNo, didn't lose anything, nothing brokenWe missed the train to NantesWe're going to repair the bag and grab a snack while we waitAte my first croissant and pain au choclat; divineMy co-worker fixed the bag; she says it looks like Frankenstein, I think it's beautiful (and it works)Nearly passed out at airport during the four-hour wait for the next trainAngrily read November 7 on the train (my second book of this trip so far); angry not because of the train (which was fine, given my exhaustion), but because one of the characters did something I'm not sure I can forgive (reader problems)I forgave himArrived in Nantes after six, checked into airport, took a walk around the neighboring chatteau, delicious dinner before passing out in the sofa bed that came with the room
***
The chatteau next door.
Wednesday, April 20, 2016
Today, I learned the difference between went to say "bonjour" and "bonsoir." (The switch happens right at five, apparently.) Someone corrected me. After she left the booth, I turned to my partner in crime and said, "I feel like a big asshole right now. Foot," I pointed to my lips, "mouth." We had a good laugh. I'm maybe still a little delirious from lack of sleep.
It was a good first day at our booth. We handed out all of our 500 buttons within the first two hours. I also developed a deep and passionate crush on one of the security guards who walked past our booth every half hour or so. Each time we'd share a nod and a "bonjour." Then I'd look away before my eyes could betray the extent of my feelings. Be still my heart.
At the end of the day, anxious to take the tram back to our hotel, we were delayed. A large protest in the city center had shut down transportation. Everyone assured us it was normal, and we ultimately found our way back. Later we learned it was actually kind of a serious ordeal involving teargas. Note to self: play this down to parents until I'm back home.
I continue to find myself distracted by "shiny objects." And by shiny objects, I of course mean handsome French men, who seem so fit yet stylish.
"Before today," I said to my friend over dinner, "I never thought of Frenchmen, aside from how they might fit into my search for baked goods. But now..." Then I trailed off and became distracted by another handsome man walking by the restaurant, wearing a scarf. "I suppose it would be ill-fated like Romeo and Juliet. We don't speak the same language, we're from two different worlds. We're forced to admire one another in silence... Wait." My eyes grew wide. "That's Love Actually. Oh my God. He's Jamie. And I'm Aurelia. I've always loved that name."
I really need to get some sleep. I have no filter.
By the time I reached the hotel for the night, I knew I had a bit of a problem. I keep falling in love with half of the men I see. I never knew I had a thing for Frenchmen. Maybe it's a result of years of working in a primarily female environment? This day alone, I fell for a businessman in a smart suit on the hotel elevator on our way down to breakfast, another on his way to work on the tram, a security guard at the expo, two men dining across the room at the restaurant, a man in a scarf walking by the restaurant, and—just a few minutes ago—a man drilling a hole into the middle of the street (he was on a construction crew, so it was his job).
It's like I'm back in high school.
***
Another day, another castle selfie.Thursday, April 21, 2016
I couldn't sleep last night.
I fell asleep shortly after we returned to the hotel after dinner, which was actually pretty late; dinners here take at least two hours. But then I woke up at one and didn't fall back into a decent sleep until after four.
To make up for how bad I feel, I wore my favorite outfit that I'd packed. It's a new ruffled black shirt and a polka-dot blazer (another new purchase). I did my hair up nicely, plastered on some red lipstick, and tried not to fixate on the ever-growing bags under my eyes.
A man in a fabulously embroidered shirt came over to our booth. As I said hello, in English, he told me he and his partner were checking me out on the tram. They mused, "That is a beautiful French woman." I assured him I have never felt more complimented. "I'm not hitting on you, but I'm gay so you can trust me." Believe me, I do. And I'm thrilled.
My look paid off, and I'll float on this compliment the rest of the trip.
This evening, I developed a new story idea. I already had it in my head before I left for France, but it came together during dinner with my co-worker's help. Traveling does wonders for the imagination.
Also did a lot of men watching during dinner. Ooh la la! I'm so gross with my boy craziness right now. And so immature. I'm about to be thirty for crying out loud. So much for being a strong, sensible, independent woman.
***
Friday night was date night in France. Even for theseducks, who found their way to the castle.
Friday, April 22, 2016
Today I learned the only phrase I'll ever need to know: "Je suis trop belle por ca." That's French for "I'm too pretty for that," which is my favorite thing to say when I don't want to do something. (But then I usually do it, because it has to be done, and that's what I do. I get things done.)
I'm going to get that tattooed across my middle finger.
I grow more and more tired every day, yet I'm somehow managing to stay perky. Almost everyone who passes our booth gets a friendly, "bonjour" before I refer them to some phrases penned in French, because the only thing I know how to say in French is that I'm too pretty for that, which doesn't seem to apply in this situation.
It was a great day making a couple of new friends capped off by a three-course dinner of crepes. I highly recommend a three-course crepe meal to everyone.
I'm feeling confident and badass navigating my way around the city and running this booth. I can't even say how good it is to feel so in control and on point.
***
Taking a walk through Jardin des Plantes.Saturday, April 23, 2016
My admirer from the tram and his lovely partner had coffee with us and we rode the tram in together. At the end of the ride, he suggested we collaborate on a book. I was a little "well..." But not even fifteen minutes later, I was already imagining a story. It's also based on one I've been toying with, but now it's better. Perhaps this could be a real thing.
Have I mentioned how good travel is for my imagination?
A little tot stopped by the booth near the end of our stint. He stomped in with his little red boots, big blue eyes, and mischievous little boy smile. He stayed there waving and smiling at me for a couple of minutes. His mother darted me apologetic looks, but it was one of the sweetest little moments of this trip. Me saying "bonjour, comment allez-vous?" and him breaking smile after smile with a wave. Language isn't always a barrier. Not when a smile will do.
I spent 42 Euros on a scarf. I'm normally so cheap that it kind of gave me heart palpitations. But it's a unique handmaid silk scarf that is tres belle. And it's my gift to myself to forever commemorate my trip to France. I hope to return someday with more time for fun, but who knows if I will? Either way, sometimes you have to treat yourself.
On our way out of town, we visited Jardin des Plantes, which was closer than we realized (across the street from the train station). What a nice finale. It was a good trip.
***
Sunday, April 24, 2016
I still can't sleep. I'm lying awake in bed at the airport hotel. It's well after two, and I know I need to be up and ready to go first thing so we can make our flight back home.
I'll be headed back to reality soon. It's a mixed bag. I'm still running on a bit of an OMG-we-did-a-great-job-this-week high, but I can't wait to snuggle with my kittens and get a full night of sleep. I also realize this week—as crazy and busy as it was—was better than I imagined. I'm not talking about the delicious crepes, croissants, and other delicacies I ate—though they were amazing. It was mostly wonderful because I felt so competent, so in control. I troubleshooted, I made contacts, I encouraged others, I dreamed for myself. I'm happy. Tired, but happy.
What happens when I get home? How long does the afterglow last? Can I keep my little fear demons at bay? Can I take control of situations and make them work? I suppose I proved to myself that yes, I can. I just have to figure out how, and it won't be easy. But I need to stop worrying about that now. Right now, I want to bask in the belief that I am wonderful and anything and everything is possible. That I am tres magnifique.
***
I'm back in Lincoln, and it's strange that it's late afternoon on the same day I left France, rather than early the next morning. Flying internationally is the closest I'll ever come to time travel. Yet another perk of going out to see the world.
The kittens are happy I'm back. I'm happy I'm back. I want to sleep for forever, but I also want to tell everyone everything while it's all fresh in my mind. But I'll have to go to bed eventually. Probably sooner than I think. My freshly laundered sheets are calling to me, like a siren.
While I wait for dinner to be delivered—I need to buy groceries in the morning—I unpack my suitcase and sort my laundry. After removing my new scarf, and being reminded of just how beautiful it is, I've decided the price was worth it. All of this was worth it.
***Let's keep in touch. Connect with me on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube.***
April 25, 2016
things that bum me out
The price of real estate in Vancouver and Seattle (as seen on HGTV).The price of plane tickets to London.How much money I waste on stupid practical things like rent, gas, electric and water, when I could be buying plane tickets to London.The number of calories in pizza, candy, ice cream, cake, cookies, Mexican food and pretty much everything I love.Calories in general.Thinking about how much food I waste when there are people starving.Finding gray hairs.Commercials for ASPCA.The ending of just about every movie about a dog.Rejection emails.Reading the community comments on newspaper articles.Having so many ideas, but a lack of energy (or maybe it's follow-through) to write them all down the way I see them in my head.Knowing that Steve Perry and Journey will probably never go on a reunion tour.Jane Austen, who is considered the mother of romance novels/women's fiction, died without the adoration and fortune she deserved.Writers like Charlotte Bronte and Mark Twain famously threw shade at Jane Austen, which means I'll never really be able to like them with my whole heart.Knowing I'll never read another new novel by authors I adore who are no longer living.Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason (book and film) did not end, "And Mark and I lived happily ever after, and nothing else of interest happened."In fact, any sequel that involves a well-liked character from the previous story being killed off/divorced/otherwise eliminated to carry on the franchise.Books/movies like Room are inspired by actual events.Downton Abbey Season 3. (I've never recovered. I tried to rally, truly I did, but I never could.)How much time Ross and Rachel spent breaking up and getting back together before they kind of figured things out.The Blue Castle by Lucy Maude Montgomery isn't available at my local library and is barely available for purchase. How are people going to discover how amazing it is if they don't have convenient access to it?Having to pick one or the other when people ask "cats or dogs?"
***Let's keep in touch. Connect with me on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube.**
***Let's keep in touch. Connect with me on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube.**
April 21, 2016
princess reality check
Every so often, while I'm doing some menial task like cooking, cleaning, or filing my taxes, my mind wanders into deep, prophetic issues. They usually involve me taking stock of my life and assessing who I am and what my values encompass.
Here are a couple of lists I made recently while making avocado macaroni and cheese. (It was delicious and you should definitely try it. Here's the recipe.)
Ways I Am Like a Disney Princess
I tend to sing while I cook and clean.I have also been known to break out into spontaneous dance.I am always up for running through a meadow with my arms open wide. (But not too fast. More of a nice, elegant prance than a straight-out run.)I frequently wish upon stars. (Okay, not princess-related, strictly speaking, but it's within the family of thought.)I am a sucker for a guy with a great smile, who also loves dogs.I listen with my heart. (But I also overthink everything to death.)I believe a dream is a wish your heart makes, when you're fast asleep. (Except for the ones where I'm falling or I'm losing my teeth. Those don't count.)I want to be a cat. (Everybody does.)I want adventure in the great wide somewhere.I want more.
Ways I Am NOT Like a Disney Princess
I can't bring myself to befriend vermin, nor am I comfortable with said vermin being in my house.I also don't make a regular practice of baring my soul to any of the following: mice, birds, crickets, fish, crabs, raccoons or dragons.I'm not a renowned beauty.My hair doesn't look fabulous when I get out of bed. (But it does have volume.)I would never share my plate of spaghetti with a date.I have never been known to turn down a meal, even if I'm not particularly fond of the company.I don't have a waist a man could span with both of his hands. (You read the last two points, right?)I have two living parents; neither are wicked.I don't think it's cute to be woken up with a kiss. (Just ask my cat.)I'm not waiting for a prince to rescue me. (But I will gladly makeout with one.)
And for good measure, here's a photo of that avocado macaroni and cheese. It was just green enough to be fun, but not so green I felt like I was being healthy.
Note: I subbed Greek yogurt and mozzarella for the milk and cheese. Plus I skipped the lime juice and cilantro. I was working within my fridge and pantry.
(Another quick note, this post was written and scheduled before I fled for a week in France. In all likelihood, I do not have an Internet connection, so I may not be able to see any comments you leave. And now I've revealed another flaw of mine: I'm incredibly vain as evidenced by my assuming anyone is going to read this post let alone leave a comment. Excusez-moi, si voix plait!)
***Let's keep in touch. Connect with me on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube.***
Here are a couple of lists I made recently while making avocado macaroni and cheese. (It was delicious and you should definitely try it. Here's the recipe.)
Ways I Am Like a Disney Princess
I tend to sing while I cook and clean.I have also been known to break out into spontaneous dance.I am always up for running through a meadow with my arms open wide. (But not too fast. More of a nice, elegant prance than a straight-out run.)I frequently wish upon stars. (Okay, not princess-related, strictly speaking, but it's within the family of thought.)I am a sucker for a guy with a great smile, who also loves dogs.I listen with my heart. (But I also overthink everything to death.)I believe a dream is a wish your heart makes, when you're fast asleep. (Except for the ones where I'm falling or I'm losing my teeth. Those don't count.)I want to be a cat. (Everybody does.)I want adventure in the great wide somewhere.I want more.
Ways I Am NOT Like a Disney Princess
I can't bring myself to befriend vermin, nor am I comfortable with said vermin being in my house.I also don't make a regular practice of baring my soul to any of the following: mice, birds, crickets, fish, crabs, raccoons or dragons.I'm not a renowned beauty.My hair doesn't look fabulous when I get out of bed. (But it does have volume.)I would never share my plate of spaghetti with a date.I have never been known to turn down a meal, even if I'm not particularly fond of the company.I don't have a waist a man could span with both of his hands. (You read the last two points, right?)I have two living parents; neither are wicked.I don't think it's cute to be woken up with a kiss. (Just ask my cat.)I'm not waiting for a prince to rescue me. (But I will gladly makeout with one.)
And for good measure, here's a photo of that avocado macaroni and cheese. It was just green enough to be fun, but not so green I felt like I was being healthy.
Note: I subbed Greek yogurt and mozzarella for the milk and cheese. Plus I skipped the lime juice and cilantro. I was working within my fridge and pantry.
(Another quick note, this post was written and scheduled before I fled for a week in France. In all likelihood, I do not have an Internet connection, so I may not be able to see any comments you leave. And now I've revealed another flaw of mine: I'm incredibly vain as evidenced by my assuming anyone is going to read this post let alone leave a comment. Excusez-moi, si voix plait!)
***Let's keep in touch. Connect with me on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube.***
April 19, 2016
happy release day to caroline fardig's 'mug shot"
Now available...
Mug Shot,
the second book in the Java Jive Mysteries series.
Full of humor and suspense, the bestselling Java Jive series heats up as the irrepressible heroine of Death Before Decaf faces off against Nashville’s upper crust to solve a shocking murder.
About the Book
Former musician Juliet Langley has barely had a day off since taking over management of the coffeehouse owned by her best friend, Pete Bennett. But there’s always more to be done—such as prepping for the annual Holiday 5K Race organized by Pete’s snobby socialite girlfriend, Cecilia Hollingsworth. This year, Java Jive has a booth right at the finish line, and since Juliet and Cecilia don’t always see eye to eye, everything has to be perfect. Nothing can go wrong. Nothing . . . like Juliet stumbling over Cecilia’s dead body on the morning of the race.
When Pete is arrested for Cecilia’s murder, Juliet sets out to clear his name. She’ll do whatever it takes—even if it means standing up to the police, her ex-boyfriend, and the grande dames of Nashville. But there isn’t enough espresso in the world for the greatest challenge in her path: infiltrating Nashville’s high society to uncover the hidden hotbed of scandal without running afoul of the law herself. With her last dime staked on Pete’s bail bond and her staff growing jittery, the last thing Juliet needs is for her trademark temper to land her behind bars. As time drips away, Juliet needs to crack this case before the killer comes back for another shot.
Buy the Book Here
About the Author
Caroline Fardig is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Java Jive Mysteries series and the Lizzie Hart Mysteries series. Fardig's Bad Medicine was named one of the "Best Books of 2015" by Suspense Magazine. She worked as a schoolteacher, church organist, insurance agent, funeral parlor associate, and stay-at-home mom before she realized that she wanted to be a writer when she grew up. Born and raised in a small town in Indiana, Fardig still lives in that same town with an understanding husband, two sweet kids, two energetic dogs, and one malevolent cat.
Connect with CarolineWebsite | Blog | Mailing List | Twitter | Facebook
***Let's keep in touch. Connect with me on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube.***
Full of humor and suspense, the bestselling Java Jive series heats up as the irrepressible heroine of Death Before Decaf faces off against Nashville’s upper crust to solve a shocking murder.
About the Book
Former musician Juliet Langley has barely had a day off since taking over management of the coffeehouse owned by her best friend, Pete Bennett. But there’s always more to be done—such as prepping for the annual Holiday 5K Race organized by Pete’s snobby socialite girlfriend, Cecilia Hollingsworth. This year, Java Jive has a booth right at the finish line, and since Juliet and Cecilia don’t always see eye to eye, everything has to be perfect. Nothing can go wrong. Nothing . . . like Juliet stumbling over Cecilia’s dead body on the morning of the race.
When Pete is arrested for Cecilia’s murder, Juliet sets out to clear his name. She’ll do whatever it takes—even if it means standing up to the police, her ex-boyfriend, and the grande dames of Nashville. But there isn’t enough espresso in the world for the greatest challenge in her path: infiltrating Nashville’s high society to uncover the hidden hotbed of scandal without running afoul of the law herself. With her last dime staked on Pete’s bail bond and her staff growing jittery, the last thing Juliet needs is for her trademark temper to land her behind bars. As time drips away, Juliet needs to crack this case before the killer comes back for another shot.
Buy the Book Here
About the Author
Caroline Fardig is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Java Jive Mysteries series and the Lizzie Hart Mysteries series. Fardig's Bad Medicine was named one of the "Best Books of 2015" by Suspense Magazine. She worked as a schoolteacher, church organist, insurance agent, funeral parlor associate, and stay-at-home mom before she realized that she wanted to be a writer when she grew up. Born and raised in a small town in Indiana, Fardig still lives in that same town with an understanding husband, two sweet kids, two energetic dogs, and one malevolent cat.
Connect with CarolineWebsite | Blog | Mailing List | Twitter | Facebook
***Let's keep in touch. Connect with me on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube.***
April 18, 2016
we'll always have macarons
I'm leaving for France today. This is the part in the story where you gasp and say, "Lucky" or "I'm so jealous" or "Are you excited?" And now comes the part where I pull a face and sound like an ungrateful a-hole by saying, "Well..."
Much as I want to love adventures, I haven't exactly been jump-up-and-down excited about this trip. I'm nervous. I'm going for work. I'll get some eye-rolls for that statement, and I feel you. People who complain about business trips are tres annoying, right? Still, I'm going to France to run a tradeshow-style booth. I'm an introvert who works really hard at appearing extroverted. The idea of long days being "on" for hours and hours is a little daunting. Plus there are a lot of working parts that go into having a good booth, which means planning, preparing and praying that everything works out.
This comes on the heels of months of stress-induced panic attacks and sleepless nights, capped off by a whirlwind business trip last week (which ended up being great, making this wave of worry a little silly). That was all draining. I'm not exactly in top shape mentally, physically, or emotionally, which makes me all the more nervous. (What if I get sick?)
While I'm in full-out fear mode, here's another concern. I don't speak the language. (Though I'm assured most of the attendees at the show speak English well.) I'm sure it'll be fine, still, that has added to my pre-trip nerves. I've taught myself the most important phrases I'll need to know.
Then there was taking care of my affairs on the homefront.
It's been years since I spent more than four days away from my cats, and I'm not going to lie, I'm experiencing separation anxiety already. Laugh all you want, but those cats are my constants! If anything should happen to them or my house while I'm gone... I can't even fathom how awful it would be. Also, as part of being a responsible adult, I spent a couple of hours compiling a list of all of my finances, accounts, affairs, and other instructions just in case. Yeah. Just in case. It's something I should have done years ago, and it's the smart thing to do. All the same, it was kind of sad thinking about potential scenarios that require my parents to cancel my Spotify account or settle my student loan on my behalf.
Morbid thoughts, grown-up affairs, language barriers, work, and cats aside, another factor in my seeming ennui is super lame: this isn't how I imagined my first trip to France.
Based on years of TV and movies, I always envisioned myself wearing some sort of swishy skirt and jaunty beret while I strolled the streets of Paris in a never-ending search for crepes and croissants. Like Carrie Bradshaw in the Sex and the City TV series finale, only without biffing it in the middle of a store. Plus more carbs. I'd see the Mona Lisa. I'd pose for quirky tourists photos at the Arc de Triomphe and Eiffel Tower. I'd go see that bridge with all the locks on it (though I hear that isn't a thing anymore, which is sad).
I'd also probably meet some handsome man named Pierre or Jean-Paul. He'd show me around the city while we spoke the universal language understood by all: chocolate. And after we shared some laughs, and more than a few treats, we'd amicably part ways with our memories of baked goods.
"We'll always have, macarons."
"Here's looking at you, mon chaton."
I'm not even going to Paris. I don't think I've seen any movies or TV shows where the characters go somewhere else in France. (Except for Beauty and the Beast and that's in a whole different part of the country. And I guess Saving Private Ryan, but...) I'm ill-equipped for what to expect from this voyage! Can it possibly be a bon voyage?
This is a terrible attitude to have going into a new experience. I know that. Believe me, I do. But I couldn't seem to help myself from going into panic mode.
But after months of angst and getting a twitchy eye whenever people brought up this trip, this weekend I realized I needed to change. That's easier said than done for someone like me. (I'm metaphorically breathing into a brown paper bag at the prospect of spending 10 hours in an airplane and worrying that one of the cats might get sick.) I needed to stop freaking out and be more positive.
I started by making a wish list of foods to try. I wrote down the French spelling and the English translation. (I also stored photos of the foods on my phone for easy reference.) There are way more than I'm able to try, but at least I'll have a jumping off point when we eat.
Then just last night, I looked up the top attractions to see listed on TripAdvisor. I wrote down my top five and looked them up on the map. Guess what? All five of them are within a fifteen-minute walking distance from our hotel. (That includes a castle that is basically next door.) That's definitely something to be thrilled about. For the first time, last night, I started to feel something other than anxiety.
Now... even with that brewing excitement, I'm still really worried. I'm going over and over the logistics in my head and hoping I don't forget anything and praying that all of my affairs are squared away at home.
That's how I roll, though.
Whether it's the days leading up to a book launch or my sixteen-year-old self getting ready for her first prom. I worry and stress and think about everything that can go wrong until the last moment. Then I let myself get a little excited, even while keeping my expectations in check. But then when the time comes to live, I live. It's not the most pleasant way to go about things (who likes panic attacks?), but it's what I do. And because I know this is what I do, and because I've lived to tell about it, I know that this trip will be good. It may not be that dream trip to Paris, but it will still be a wonderful experience if I can stay in the moment.
(And who knows if my dream trip to Paris would have worked out the way I planned? What if there was a sugar shortage, and I never fulfilled my dreams of finding a nice pastry to build a life with?)
Now that I've gotten all of my angst out there, I promise I'll do my best to make this a positive experience. (And I'm kind of sorry for being so moody the past couple of months worrying about everything. Only kind of, because by my front-loading anxiety, I'm pretty sure I've thought about most of the issues I might face and how to fix them. Tres bien!)
To end things on a high note, let's laugh at some of the assumptions I've made about France based entirely on entertainment. I am almost assuredly going to experience a rude awakening once I arrive and realize Hollywood lied to me.
1. There will be random dancing and singing in the streets with dashing men wearing tight shirts.
2. This is how you speak French:
3. Or, if I at least use the right inflection, people will understand everything I'm saying.
(I couldn't get the video to embed, but you can watch it here.)
4. As I've had my appendix removed, I can earn admiration and respect from my peers by lifting up my shirt while singing "Ouila, my scar!" (Bonus, because I had mine removed via laparoscopic surgery, which means I actually have THREE scars. I'm going to be so popular, I can't even stand it.)
5. The chefs will have fantastic mustaches and sing while they cook.
And if nothing else...
6. The dishes can sing, they can dance. (After all, I'll be in France.)
***Let's keep in touch. Connect with me on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube.***
Much as I want to love adventures, I haven't exactly been jump-up-and-down excited about this trip. I'm nervous. I'm going for work. I'll get some eye-rolls for that statement, and I feel you. People who complain about business trips are tres annoying, right? Still, I'm going to France to run a tradeshow-style booth. I'm an introvert who works really hard at appearing extroverted. The idea of long days being "on" for hours and hours is a little daunting. Plus there are a lot of working parts that go into having a good booth, which means planning, preparing and praying that everything works out.
This comes on the heels of months of stress-induced panic attacks and sleepless nights, capped off by a whirlwind business trip last week (which ended up being great, making this wave of worry a little silly). That was all draining. I'm not exactly in top shape mentally, physically, or emotionally, which makes me all the more nervous. (What if I get sick?)
While I'm in full-out fear mode, here's another concern. I don't speak the language. (Though I'm assured most of the attendees at the show speak English well.) I'm sure it'll be fine, still, that has added to my pre-trip nerves. I've taught myself the most important phrases I'll need to know.
Cafe, si voix plat.
C'est combien?
Ou sont les toilettes?
Je ne sais pas.
Aideuz moi!But it hardly seems like enough. And, dudes, here's hoping I really don't have to cry "Aidez moi! Adiez moi!" at any point of this trip. Merde.
Then there was taking care of my affairs on the homefront.
It's been years since I spent more than four days away from my cats, and I'm not going to lie, I'm experiencing separation anxiety already. Laugh all you want, but those cats are my constants! If anything should happen to them or my house while I'm gone... I can't even fathom how awful it would be. Also, as part of being a responsible adult, I spent a couple of hours compiling a list of all of my finances, accounts, affairs, and other instructions just in case. Yeah. Just in case. It's something I should have done years ago, and it's the smart thing to do. All the same, it was kind of sad thinking about potential scenarios that require my parents to cancel my Spotify account or settle my student loan on my behalf.
Morbid thoughts, grown-up affairs, language barriers, work, and cats aside, another factor in my seeming ennui is super lame: this isn't how I imagined my first trip to France.
Based on years of TV and movies, I always envisioned myself wearing some sort of swishy skirt and jaunty beret while I strolled the streets of Paris in a never-ending search for crepes and croissants. Like Carrie Bradshaw in the Sex and the City TV series finale, only without biffing it in the middle of a store. Plus more carbs. I'd see the Mona Lisa. I'd pose for quirky tourists photos at the Arc de Triomphe and Eiffel Tower. I'd go see that bridge with all the locks on it (though I hear that isn't a thing anymore, which is sad).
I'd also probably meet some handsome man named Pierre or Jean-Paul. He'd show me around the city while we spoke the universal language understood by all: chocolate. And after we shared some laughs, and more than a few treats, we'd amicably part ways with our memories of baked goods.
"We'll always have, macarons."
"Here's looking at you, mon chaton."
I'm not even going to Paris. I don't think I've seen any movies or TV shows where the characters go somewhere else in France. (Except for Beauty and the Beast and that's in a whole different part of the country. And I guess Saving Private Ryan, but...) I'm ill-equipped for what to expect from this voyage! Can it possibly be a bon voyage?
This is a terrible attitude to have going into a new experience. I know that. Believe me, I do. But I couldn't seem to help myself from going into panic mode.
But after months of angst and getting a twitchy eye whenever people brought up this trip, this weekend I realized I needed to change. That's easier said than done for someone like me. (I'm metaphorically breathing into a brown paper bag at the prospect of spending 10 hours in an airplane and worrying that one of the cats might get sick.) I needed to stop freaking out and be more positive.
I started by making a wish list of foods to try. I wrote down the French spelling and the English translation. (I also stored photos of the foods on my phone for easy reference.) There are way more than I'm able to try, but at least I'll have a jumping off point when we eat.
Then just last night, I looked up the top attractions to see listed on TripAdvisor. I wrote down my top five and looked them up on the map. Guess what? All five of them are within a fifteen-minute walking distance from our hotel. (That includes a castle that is basically next door.) That's definitely something to be thrilled about. For the first time, last night, I started to feel something other than anxiety.
Now... even with that brewing excitement, I'm still really worried. I'm going over and over the logistics in my head and hoping I don't forget anything and praying that all of my affairs are squared away at home.
That's how I roll, though.
Whether it's the days leading up to a book launch or my sixteen-year-old self getting ready for her first prom. I worry and stress and think about everything that can go wrong until the last moment. Then I let myself get a little excited, even while keeping my expectations in check. But then when the time comes to live, I live. It's not the most pleasant way to go about things (who likes panic attacks?), but it's what I do. And because I know this is what I do, and because I've lived to tell about it, I know that this trip will be good. It may not be that dream trip to Paris, but it will still be a wonderful experience if I can stay in the moment.
(And who knows if my dream trip to Paris would have worked out the way I planned? What if there was a sugar shortage, and I never fulfilled my dreams of finding a nice pastry to build a life with?)
Now that I've gotten all of my angst out there, I promise I'll do my best to make this a positive experience. (And I'm kind of sorry for being so moody the past couple of months worrying about everything. Only kind of, because by my front-loading anxiety, I'm pretty sure I've thought about most of the issues I might face and how to fix them. Tres bien!)
To end things on a high note, let's laugh at some of the assumptions I've made about France based entirely on entertainment. I am almost assuredly going to experience a rude awakening once I arrive and realize Hollywood lied to me.
1. There will be random dancing and singing in the streets with dashing men wearing tight shirts.
2. This is how you speak French:
3. Or, if I at least use the right inflection, people will understand everything I'm saying.
(I couldn't get the video to embed, but you can watch it here.)
4. As I've had my appendix removed, I can earn admiration and respect from my peers by lifting up my shirt while singing "Ouila, my scar!" (Bonus, because I had mine removed via laparoscopic surgery, which means I actually have THREE scars. I'm going to be so popular, I can't even stand it.)
5. The chefs will have fantastic mustaches and sing while they cook.
And if nothing else...
6. The dishes can sing, they can dance. (After all, I'll be in France.)
***Let's keep in touch. Connect with me on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube.***
