Funny Author*

by Elodia Strain

It was late February, 2008. I had been waiting for this day for months: The day Funny Author* released her newest book. I called Waldenbooks when it opened to make sure they had copies. I rushed to the mall. I was in and out in what felt like seconds, ignoring the whir of the Orange Julius blenders and the big Sale sign in front of Bath and Body Works.

I rushed to my car where I sat down inside, opened the book, and started reading. I had heard the premise of the book already and couldn’t wait to laugh my way through the pages. But soon, I was on page 285, and I had only mildly chuckled twice. Not even close to the third-page-crack-up I experienced in a hair salon while reading Funny Author’s prior release. I’m not going to lie: I really missed the laughter-induced stomach ache.

I used to think Funny Author was some kind of writing mutant, blessed with a hilarity gene. But now that she’s written seven hilarious books and one I’m not finding quite as hilarious, I’m beginning to think maybe she’s more like the rest of us humor-writers: People who’ve always liked to laugh and make others laugh, but who find that writing humor can be pretty darn hard sometimes. People who don’t just sit down at the computer and feel the hilarity flow through their fingers, but who have to wait for the funny to come. (For me it has come in places as odd as a masseuse’s table, where I had to repeat the idea over and over in my head because it was better than saying, “Excuse me, miss, do you mind taking a break for a second so I can write something down?”) People who after reaching #1 on the New York Times bestsellers list, traveling across the country promoting, and giving birth to 3 children, maybe have a little more on their minds than putting people in stitches.

So today, as the sun shines and winter looks teasingly close to an end, I will finish the last three chapters of Funny Author’s book and enjoy every last fun (though not quite hilarious) page. And I will breathe a sigh of relief that (for now) my mutant hilarity-writing-gene theory has been debunked, and I therefore still stand a chance.

*name has been changed to protect me from feeling bad about naming names

Busy Month--Weather Nerves

by Marsha Ward

March is going to be awesomely busy. I'm a bit nervous, though.

I'm going to attend two Writers Conferences (one in Gilbert, Arizona, and one in Sandy, Utah) and a Book Fair where I'm going to sign and sell books in Sierra Vista, Cochise County, Arizona. That means lots of traveling this month.

The first conference is this weekend. The weather forecast looks good, so I'm not agonizing about driving down to the valley.

But then, on the 14th, I'm driving from the middle of Arizona to the bottom, and I have no idea what the weather will be. Since I'll be going through the more temperate (some say hot) parts of the state, I shouldn't have to worry about snow storms. Rain may be another story. At least there shouldn't be dust storms to concern me. They are a summer event. Besides, Southern Arizona has been getting a lot of rain in the past weeks, so that should keep down any dust.

Here's the thing. In the fourth week, I'm heading for Utah. They've been getting a lot of snow. Will it all be gone and done with before I try to get over the mountain passes? Maybe I'll have to go through Las Vegas instead of trying Utah State Highway 20 from the US 89 to I-15. I know that the 20 is sometimes closed due to snow.

There's no short way to get to Las Vegas from here. It involves miles and miles of driving through the desert. I can go down to Phoenix and head out through Wickenburg on US 93. That's the long, fair-weather route. Or I can chance taking mountainous US 87 toward wintry Flagstaff, where I'd take I-40 west to Kingman and thence up the 93 to Las Vegas, where I'd hook onto I-15. Sigh.

Where can I get a long-range weather forecast? Anyone? Anyone?

How about some advice from you Utahns out there?

My BFF

By Tamra Norton

Oprah has Gail, Lucy has Ethel, Mary has Rhoda, Anne Shirley has Diana Barry, and I have Chambrey. Every girl (even a forty-something girl) needs a best friend--a willing partner to watch chick-flicks with over a tub of buttered popcorn and a large diet Coke, someone to debate "Edward versus Jake" with, someone to go to John Meyer and Cheryl Crow concerts with, someone to swoon over Colin Firth with, someone to get excited about ANYTHING Jane Austen with.


For me, this is Chambrey.


Funny thing is, the year I graduated from high school, Chambrey was just finishing 4th grade--how weird is that? And yet you'd never know--well, until a Depeshmode song comes on while we're eating fish'n chips at TGIF and she goes all head-boppin' on me. Apparently this group was popular while I was in Babymode (a condition that occurs when you have three babies in three years and your only recolection is of baby bums and breastfeeding). Incidentally, I have a similar head-boppin' reaction when a Steve Miller Band song comes on. I think Chambrey's MOM was in Babymode during the SMB era.

Thank goodness for John Meyer!

So what does any of this have to do with writing? Weeeeeell...my recently released novel, MAKE ME A HOME not only deals with deployment, but it's also a story about friendship--best friendship--between my main character, Allie, and the new girl who moves to town--Ivy. So when it came time to write the dedication for this novel, there was only one person I could dedicate it to: Chambrey--my Ivy.
Love you, girlie!



P.S. Sorry the BFF pictures are so dark. They were both taken while waiting for a "chick flick" to start. Don't you love cell phone cameras!

Two Year Olds And Time Outs

By Marcia Mickelson

We do a lot of time-outs at my house. We don't do spanking at all, and maybe when our kids are a little older, we'll do grounding. For now, time-outs seem to work. My two-and-a-half-year old son really understands the concept of time-outs. He knows when he's done wrong and he's getting one. He especially understands this concept when he's hit one of his brothers. He hits, he gets a time-out. In our house, we do time-outs according to age-- the two-year old gets 2 minutes, the five-year old gets five, and the eight-year old gets 8 minutes.

My two-year old spends his time outs on his soft, Elmo chair in his room while the other two sit on a chair in the kitchen. When my little one is in time-out, it's so cute. He knows he has to stay there, and he does his time, all with a scowl on his face. I have to laugh almost every time. The funniest part of his time-outs is that sometimes, he doesn't wait for me to put him in time-out. Recently, when he assaulted my oldest by throwing a hard, wooden train at him, I called out the offender's name and looked around for him, but couldn't find him. Finally, I found him already sitting in his time out chair doing his time. I almost had to laugh--he clearly knew he'd done wrong and understood he had to pay the consequences. A few times when I've heard screams coming from the other end of the house, I've come to investigate and there he is-- already sitting in his time-out chair. My only worry now is-- does this form of punishment really work for him? Clearly, he's happy to do his two-minute time-out as long as he gets to hit his brothers. And, the hitting hasn't lessened by any means. He still does it at his will. I'll have to think of something to make his time-outs less pleasant-- perhaps a not-so soft chair? Here he is, ready to launch this Thomas train at an unsuspecting brother's head.

When You Feel Like Your Head's Going to Explode and Your Hair Looks Like You Slept On It--Oh Wait, You Did--and...

...and there's no milk left in your cupboard--oh yeah, you don't keep milk in the cupboard; no wonder you couldn't find any--and you have to drive the car with the sticky gear shift that your husband says works fine for him 30 miles down a gravel road by yourself because your husband already made other plans to help someone move in the bigger better car so you can't use it and he can't make the trip down the gravel road instead...

You know you're in for an interesting day. Happy Saturday, everyone!

Whew!

by Marsha Ward

Wow! It's been crazy around here.

Last week I was consumed with getting my novel broken down into chapters in the right places. I've been sadly absent from the blogosphere. I didn't even put up any author interviews. Perhaps tomorrow I can fix that.

Today was the deadline for members of the Whitney Academy to vote for the best examples in novels written by LDS authors. I'm glad to say I got my vote in before midnight!

Also, there must be some kind of twitching going on in the Internet, since two of my email accounts have been going haywire.

That matters to me because I began a new job that depends heavily on my ability to receive and send files back and forth to my employer. As a last resort, I had to utilize my third email account. Boo-hoo-hoo! Things will be better tomorrow, or as I heard Scarlett O'Hara say when I caught the last 45 minutes of Gone With the Wind the other night: "Tomorrow is another day!"

Love that movie! Love that musical score! Wish I'd seen the other three hours and fifteen minutes!

From the Archives

By Tamra Norton
Note: It's been a crazy-busy week, so I decided to fish out this little essay on motherhood that I wrote many years back. It was this little piece, incidentally, that landed me with my first paying gig--a bi-monthly (is that twice a month?) family-life column in the local freebie newspaper. This experience of writing on a regular basis gave me the courage to attempt a novel.

If Life Were a Sandwich, Mom Would Be the Peanut Butter

We like Dad. Let’s face it, he’s a handy sort of guy to have around. There’s no one better to open tightly sealed pickle jars, play Tickle-Monster with, or have as your partner in a heated game of Monopoly. The quality of life is greatly enhanced when this car-loving, remote-hogging, lawn-mowing guy is a part of our lives. We love him from the top of his bald spot, to the soles of his athlete’s feet.

But as much as we love Dad, there is a certain philosophical truth that we just can’t deny. If life were a sandwich, Mom would be the peanut butter. She’s that binding force that holds us all together.

There are days when Mom is smooth and creamy, and other occasions when her wrath is best described as crunchy. At times she is called old-fashioned, but no matter how often the kids, a bill collector, or even her mother-in-law tries to stir her up, as sure as oil, she rises to the occasion.

A mother’s advice often sticks to the roof of her child’s mouth, yet he just can’t seem to resist coming back for another bite. To help it go down a little smoother, Mom will always add a little squeeze of honey, or the sweetness of jelly. This makes it all so much easier to swallow. Now, the child’s life is complete.

Nutritionally speaking, peanut butter, like Mom, is loaded with strength producing protein. This important fact, however, can often be overshadowed by the realization of its fat content. But, as we all know, the things with the best taste in life have at least a little fat.

The best advice that can be given, when it comes to peanut butter, as well as Mother, has held true for generations throughout time. If, on occasion, you can get her all by herself, and smother her with chocolate, the results will be heavenly!