SUBLIMINAL MONDAY: Stevie Nicks is Stalking Me (Again)

Stevie Nicks visited me in my dream last night. Again. It's kind of annoying, actually. I've considered contacting the authorities to report a stalker, but fear they'd take her word over mine. [Good call.]

I've had numerous dreams involving Stevie over the past few years. [Few? You call more than 30 "few?"] We're usually singing together and, I humbly confess, my vocal prowess is way better than hers. [Oh, look! A pink elephant is flying across the room! Whee!]

Which brings me to my point. [Seriously? It's that time of the decade?] What dreams do we have percolating within us that, no matter how we ignore them, just won't die? I've got a couple of big ones. [What does chest size have to do with anything?]

1) Rock Princess
As some of you know, this was my biggest dream. I took voice lessons, wrote songs, practiced guitar until I had calluses, and helped form a kick-ass rock band. [Must you use profanity? Oh, wait, yes. You're talking about rock and roll for f*ck's sake.] We performed, recorded, had our music played on the radio, won songwriting awards, and became one of the best original rock bands in Denver. But, over time, I stopped pursuing my greatest passion.

An acoustic guitar sits by my bed taunting me; willing me to joyfully create. [You do realize guitars are inanimate objects, right?] Sometimes I strum the steel strings, but more often, I don't. I still love singing and writing songs, but there's a sadness around it for me. I gave up on the 'big dream,' and hate that I gave up. [Don't be a hater. It's bad karma.]

2) Famous Painter
This may come as a surprise, since I haven't picked up a paintbrush since I was four, but I've daydreamed about painting beautiful masterpieces (think a cross between Monet and DaVinci) for most of my life. [Oh, look! Now a PURPLE elephant is playing with the pink one. How cute!] Alas, this dream dies a quick, painless death each time I choose not to do anything about it.

Then there are the dreams that refuse to die.

My writing is at the top of this list. Since I write full-time, one could say I've already achieved this dream. [BWAHAHAHA! Oh, wait. That wasn't a joke?] My muse, Lenora Esmeralda Cecelia Isabella Alexandria, or Lecia for short, [Your therapist has an opening in an hour. You should snag it.] dances freely through my mind, and with the exception of her waking me up in the middle of the night to write, "You simply must not forget dees, dahlink!" (her words, not mine), I love her with all my writerly heart. [You really are a fruit loop.]

Another dream I have is to turn my new town home (moving in mid-May) into a dwelling deserving of being featured in Architectural Digest. I love interior decorating and long to create unforgettable designs. [And I long to marry George Clooney and live on my own private island, but only one of us is smart enough to realize THAT AIN'T EVER GONNA HAPPEN!] Even if AD never comes calling, the pure joy of creating a living space that reflects my passions, personality, and artistic sensibility will be a gloriously manifested dream. [Oy, just oy.]

What about you? Do you have dreams that won't die? Dreams that pluck at your heart strings like a love-struck harpist? Do you have passions you've left in the dust only to be swept away like a tumbleweed in a whipping, western wind storm?

[Okay, that's it. I've got to stop you right here. You call yourself a writer? WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT LAST PARAGRAPH ABOUT? This literary rubbish is humiliating to you, your parents, family, friends, strangers within a thousand miles, and most importantly, me, your [beloved, precious, beguiling] subconscious. Cut it out or I'll beat Lecia to death with an imaginary wet noodle, and leave you with nothing more than your worthless drivel and worn-out cliches. Don't cross me. I'm warning you! You need to stop this nonsense now. RIGHT NOW!]

I'm not sure why I feel the sudden need to end this post, but I do. So, please, friends, share your dreams. I'd love to hear them all.

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So I'm back to the Velvet Underground... Or, I Went Grocery Shopping and I Liked It

So I'm back to the velvet underground

Back to the floor, that I love
To a room with some lace and paper flowers,
Back to the gypsy
That I was
To the gypsy...
That I was.
Gypsy by Ms. Stephanie Lynn Nicks

Hello, everyone. I'm back! I'm not sure if the PA burbs qualify as the Velvet Underground, but, like Stevie meant in her song, I'm back to the place I love and feel most comfortable, and where I'm learning to live alone again.

Where am I back from? An amazing Caribbean cruise with my kids. Here are a few pics to prove my point.

This first pic is of the beautiful Magen's Bay in St. Thomas.

The second pic is me pointing at a female pirate's booby. Yup, you read that right. Apparently, this nice Irish gal, Anne Bonney, tracked down her runaway husband in the Virgin Islands and murdered him. She also slept with many ship captains and then killed them. She was quite the role model in her day.

Pic 3: Adam & I sharing our first cocktail before we set sail.

Pic 4: Movies Under the Stars on board the Ruby Princess. We watched more football than we did movies.

Pic 5: Ethan, me, and Adam after Ethan's birthday dinner at the Crown Grill - think Morton's Steakhouse at sea.

Pic 6: Ethan and Adam in the Michelangelo dining room.

Pic 7: Ethan - on his birthday! - swimming at St. Maarten after we went helmet diving.

The cruise was filled with many wonderful experiences, including a new book idea. Sitting in the library on board the ship, I watched the ocean pass by and scribbled the first five pages to a new women's fiction story. I'm very excited about it, however, I still have to finish editing my YA novel. According to my editor, this draft may well be "the one" - the final edit before AA takes the book out on submission. So, in order to finish YA Draft 7 and forge ahead on WF Draft 1, I need to get "discipline." Some people get religion, others get milk, I have to get discipline.

Where do I find this so-called "discipline?" Can I save up cereal box tops and send away for it? Buy it on Amazon.com? Find it on one of those late-night infomercials? Is it tucked away next to the gold in the California hills? I'm hoping it's located back in the calm, turquoise waters of the Caribbean, because that's a damn fine place to be. (Which is why, I've already booked my next cruise for later this year!!!)

Along with pondering self-discipline, I learned several important things about myself on this trip:

1) I need to eat breakfast.
I know this sounds like a big, fat "DUH!!!" but I've never been a breakfast eater. My normal schedule is to get up around 8AM and have a protein shake around 10AM. Then, maybe lunch, maybe not, and a big dinner. WHAT an idiot.

So, get this. (To those of you who know me well, you may want to sit down for this next part. Seriously. Consider yourself warned.) What's one of the first things I did after coming home from my trip? I went to the grocery store! (I hear a lot of thuds out there. I hope there are defibrillators nearby.) True story. I went to the grocery story and (same warning applies) I LIKED IT!!! Katy Perry, move over. Kissing girls is nothing. I went grocery shopping and I liked it...

For those of you who don't know me well, I'd rather walk naked in Antarctica or worse, go moose hunting with Sarah Palin in Alaska (where she can see Russia from her house!) than buy groceries.

But there I went. I bought fresh fruit (not the cut-up kind - actual whole melons!!! You can cut them yourself! Who knew?!), brown eggs (from cage-free, vegetarian-fed hens - yup, I'm a card-carrying, liberal tree-hugger), low-fat, whole-wheat English Muffins, and orange-pineapple juice. I also got green and red peppers, cheese, Rosemary crackers, and shrimp (peeled and de-veined) to go with my wonderful red wine habit. (Healthy in moderation, or so me and the Mayo Clinic believe.)

2) My bed should not double as my office. (Don't argue with me. I'm on a roll.)
So, I've chosen to move my lap top down to the kitchen and do my writing there instead of sitting like a lazy bum all day in bed. I also intend to make myself tea. Every day. That's right, you heard me - TEA! (Chai with skim milk and sugar, if you must know.)

For those of you who do know me well, you're probably thinking, "Who are you and what have you done with our spoiled, rotten, lazy, JAP, Debbie?"

Never fear, she's right here; just going through a major life transformation. I'm taking care of myself now. There's no one to blame but me if I'm not as healthy and happy as I can be. And I hate being wrong, so, I may as well try and get it right.

I'm finding taking care of myself is like kissing girls and going grocery shopping.

I like it. ;-)

Thanks to Stephen Powell for the inspiration for this post.

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Stevie!

I was going to write an intense post on how to save the world or dolphins or my neighbors down the street from self-destruction due to their immense love of all things Tea Party, but I knew you'd never forgive me if I didn't share pics from the Stevie Nicks concert instead. So...

Enjoy!

(And, don't worry. Next time I'll write about saving the world, dolphins, neighbors, etc.)

Here was the set list:

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Who and What Inspires You?

First of all, I want to thank the awesome and talented, and beautiful Gretchen Stelter for gracing my blog this week. If you missed her wisdom regarding all things editing, you can read it here. I'm privileged to be working with her on final edits for my novel. Gretchen's suggestions are spot on, and her enthusiasm for the project and for helping writers reach their potential is inspiring.

This got me thinking. Who has inspired me along my creative path?

Early on, we artists copy or imitate those we admire most, or at least we try to. With practice, we branch out and develop our own style and way of expressing ourselves.

As a kid, I imitated Carole King. Her album Tapestry was the first album I bought with my saved up allowance of fifty cents per week. Let me backtrack: At the age of six, I started writing songs on a 100 year old, upright Chickering piano in our basement on Long Island. I'd sit and play for hours, always by ear, not knowing how to read a note. My mom offered me lessons, but I wasn't interested. Like Frank Sinatra, I did it "my way," enjoying the process of creating for creation's sake.

Back to Ms. King. After weeks of studying the lyrics on Tapestry and doing my best to copy every inflection in her soulful voice, I was inspired to write a song called, "What You Need Is Some Love In Your Heart." I was ten years old, and thought it was SO intense. Here's a sample of the lyrics:

"You make me happy every time that you smile and say, "Hi" to me... You make me happy every time that you smile and say, "Hi" to me... Then the day fades, and I see that what you need is some love in your heart, what you need is some love in your heart..."

I know, pure genius.

My next musical inspiration was, and still is, Stevie Nicks. I'll be seeing her (again!) Friday night, and am looking forward to my third row seats. Carole King taught me SINGING 101, but my master classes came from Stevie. Everyone who knows me knows Stevie is a huge part of my musical story.

Speaking of stories, as a writer, my earliest inspirations were Roald Dahl, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory; Norton Juster, The Phantom Tollbooth; and Herman Raucher, Summer of '42. I read those books until the words faded and the pages became soft and worn from being turned so many times.

As an adult, I love writers who make me laugh. Susan Isaacs, Ellen Degeneres, and Chelsea Handler are a few of my favorites. In fact, I love comedy in all its forms; books, film, TV, and stand-up. To me, there are few things in life greater than laughter.

In addition to music, writing, and comedy, my family, friends, fellow writers, editor, and awesome agent inspire me in ways I could never properly express. (Thank you times infinity...)

What inspires you? Who inspires you? What have you learned from that inspiration? How do you hope to inspire others? Inquiring minds want to know.

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SUBLIMINAL MONDAY: SCHMOOZING WITH THE STARS

Thursday night I went to the Rock Bottom Remainder show at the Electric Factory in Philly. First, let me say, I was mildly devastated that my only idol besides Stevie Nicks, the effervescently brilliant, Stephen King, was not there. According to Mitch Albom's wife, he's not been touring much since his terrible accident a few years ago. That said, it was a fun evening. [When life hands you Stephen King-less lemons, you make Amy Tan lemonade.]

Here I am in the car on the way to the show. Can you tell how nervous I was? No? Okay, well never mind. [I was a nervous wreck. At that point, I still thought Stephen King was in my immediate future.]

My sister, Sharon, who had flown in from Denver at the last minute to help me through a very difficult time [can you say, "understatement?"], along with my awesome son, Adam, joined me in this adventure. Adam's a punk-rock drummer sporting a brand new killer tattoo, so he fit in perfectly with all the geeky writers in attendance.

The pre-party included an open bar, passed hors d'oeuvres [don't ask me how long it took to google the correct spelling on that], as well as a nice spread of food including chips, salsa, guacamole, and an assortment of chocolate goodness. To give you an idea of how crappy my week's been, I didn't eat any chocolate. Not one bite. Crazy, right? I did, however, have my first cocktail in nearly a year. I sipped it slowly over three hours, so no buzz occurred, but it was more of a declaration of independence than an attempt at getting drunk.

I'd hoped to meet Jen Weiner, but she arrived a bit late and went straight up on stage. (Sorry this picture of her is so dark - my camera takes horrible far-away-in-the-dark pictures.) She rocked it big time, and has a terrific sense of humor. Also on stage were Scott Turow, Mitch Albom, Ridley Pearson, Dave Barry, Roy Blount, Jr, Kathi Kamen Goldmark, and Amy Tan. They are a funny, talented, group of writers masquerading as musicians. Actually, a few are pretty damn good musicians, like Mitch Albom, for example, who in his early years played in numerous bands and attended the Berklee College of Music.

Their best songs were the few originals they threw in. One was called, "I'm In Love with a Proofreader" she's got a big dictionary, real good grammar, and never says between you and I and a song where the chorus was, all you reviewers can kiss my ass!

Amy Tan and Scott Turow get the award for most outrageous. Amy came out in a big, blonde, Debbie Harry wig and performed "One Way or Another" (you can see her in the pic above on the left). She also did a hysterical dominatrix version of "These Boots are Made for Walking." Scott Turow did a few songs in a clown wig and Cubs baseball shirt that hung past his knees (next to Amy in above pic). The guy is certifiably hilarious. Mitch Albom did an Elvis impersonation good enough to score him a job in a chapel in Vegas.

Here are a few pics of me and Amy Tan (above) and me and Mitch Albom and his lovely wife, Janine, who also has a terrific voice.

Speaking of Stevie Nicks, when I met Mitch we kind of got into a friendly tiff over the talent of the lovely Ms. Nicks. I said (and Mitch's astute wife agreed) that no musician is more talented. He disagreed but, in the interest of not being pummeled by two devout Stevie fans, let the subject go. I turned to my sister and said, "I can't believe I'm arguing with Mitch Albom about Stevie Nicks." [Life is full of unexpected strangeness these days.]

I told AA that, besides selling my book for enough money for me to cohabitate with Rick Branson on his private island, I also want to be a part of this band in a couple of years. When I told Mitch's wife I was a singer/songwriter for over 30 years, she told me I couldn't be in the band because, "only people who suck" can join. I told her I'd work on that.

All in all, given the week from hell I've had, it was a great night. And the best part was that the proceeds went to the Philadelphia Free Library. Music and writing together; it doesn't get any better than that.

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SUBLIMINAL MONDAY! Vlog Virgin No More & Stevie Nicks

NO LONGER A VLOG VIRGIN!

It's true, I've been de-vlowered and, I'm happy to report, it wasn't as painful as people say. If you've not yet viewed my first vlog EVAH, it's the post just before this one. Be sure not to miss it. It's short and sweet and you will thoroughly enjoy it. [It's nearly seven agonizing minutes long. You. Will. Be. Bored. To. Tears.]

Actually, it was much more fun and easy than I thought. [Being a film star is not all paparazzi and Vera Wang gowns. It's hard work, people, hard work!]

I did forget one vitally important ingredient for all writers - an undeniable "must-have," and this was picked up on by a few of my astute readers [You guys don't let me get away with anything, do you? Sheesh!] CHOCOLATE! I know, this should go without saying, but since I stole seven precious minutes of your life discussing all things writerly, it was indeed a horrifying faux pas that I left out the key ingredient to good writing. [Will eat more chocolate today to make up for this unforgivable oversight. There, I feel better already!]

EDITING UPDATE
I'm happy to report, I'm almost halfway through the edits for my YA novel. [No one cares.] I've shaved off over 20 pages of brilliant prose [filler] and, let me just say, "Wow! That's one tough lion to tame!" [I'm fairly certain a second grader could do it blindfolded and on a gummy bear high.] I'm so excited to see the novel tightening up, not unlike a sponge being squeezed of excess water.

See, folks? It's comparisons like that which distinguish the gifted writers from the run-of-the-mill-Joe-Six-Packs. [That sponge thing was without a doubt, the single dumbest metaphor in the history of the written word.]

GRAMMY AWARDS
When I was young, I thought for sure I'd win a Grammy one day. I would have bet my life on it. I even drew a picture of myself accepting the Grammy for Best New Act of 1986. I had on a long, sparkly gown and my hair and make-up were perfect. [The hair and make-up should have tipped me off it was a dream that could never be reached.]

Last night I watched parts of the 52nd Annual Grammy Awards. Given how bad it was, I think I deserve my own Grammy just for watching. This tweet from someone last night sums it up:

"The Grammy Awards Executive Producer is Ashton Kutcher and you've just been punk'd!"

I saw dancers dressed in practically nothing, and heard alot of "music." [How many ways are there to say, "mediocre?"] Where have all the normal bands gone? You know, the ones who could get up on stage with no one but their fellow band-mates and make incredibly great music? [OMG, it's finally happened. I've become my mother.]

For me, the highlight of night was seeing Stevie Nicks on stage with Taylor Swift. [Taylor, you're lovely, but no one compares to Ms. Nicks.]

AMAZING NEWS! LET WORLD DOMINASHUN COMMENCE!
I'm so excited about this, I can hardly stand it. Are you ready? You sure? Okay, here goes. [Breathe in, breathe out, repeat.] I am going to meet Awesome Agent in person in NYC in less than two weeks! SQUEEEE!!!! [The minute she sees me, she'll realize she's made a terrible mistake and run for the hills, or the top of the Empire State Building, which in NYC is a more viable option.] We will discuss, at length, our plans for taking over the world. Then we'll share a yummy dinner and she'll smack me around to keep me on track with my editing schedule. [I hate pain.]

I'll take pics and maybe even do a VLOG. I'm so excited I'm afraid I won't be able to eat for the next 10 days! ["No better thing could happen." Signed, Your Waistline.]

Okay, folks this concludes another AMAZING [Not!] edition of SUBLIMINAL MONDAY. Don't forget to view my fascinating [sleep-inducing] First Vlog EVAH below. I promise you won't be disappointed! [Um, yeah, you will.]

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Kicking and Screaming Into Heaven

Now that you've helped me get past my insecurities, I'm back on track. Thanks for all the great advice, and for putting up with my glaringly obnoxious bout of self-pity. As Chelsea Handler would say, "WHAT... a jack-ass!"

I'm now less than 250 words away from my first big mile marker on MURDER ON SONGBIRD LANE (MSL). I'm nearing 10,000 words, which means I'm about 1/8 of the way done with the new book. And, if I do say so myself, it's getting exciting! Well, as long as your not the doctor's wife who doesn't make it past Chapter Three...

The first in the series, MURDER ON TWILIGHT CIRCLE (MTC), was set in an upscale suburb of Philly. MSL is set in a beach town in southeastern Connecticut. Each place lends itself to a different kind of story. It's fascinating to see how a place becomes another character.

I love the smart-ass back-and-forth dialogue between the two main characters, Jenny Sampson, the lay person who ends up in the wrong place at the wrong time when her doctor's wife friends bite the big one (she happens to be a doctor's wife too, so she'd better beware!), and Bree Lang, the stunning, red-headed, bisexual, beauty-pageant winning Assistant District Attorney who insists on dragging Jenny in on the investigations.

Jenny and Bree come from strikingly different backgrounds, which probably explains why they get along. Like they say, 'opposites attract.' Jenny grew up in a lower middle class, Jewish, Long Island family and is a married mom of two teenage boys. Bree was raised in a wealthy WASP Main Line Philadelphia clan and lives with her girlfriend, art gallery owner Lisa Ling. "Ling and Lang," Jenny says. "No wonder you two get along so well!"

When Jenny was young, her parents took her to public beaches like Point Lookout and Jones Beach. Bree's family, on the other more well-manicured hand, summered in the Hamptons. Jenny makes sure to point out that, although Bree comes from money, Jenny is royalty. She's a Jewish American Princess.

I'll keep you posted on my progress on MURDER ON SONGBIRD LANE. Thanks again, for your help in getting me out of my funk.

IN OTHER (RELATED) NEWS:
I've finally embraced Twitter! Once again, like the groom in the picture above, I found myself kicking and screaming my way into heaven. This has happened several times in my life, namely when I did The Landmark Forum - a transformational weekend I experienced back in 1992. (Maybe I'll do a post on it sometime...)

I'm finding Twitter to be fun, interesting, and informative. I'm following and am being followed by brilliant writers like Kristina Riggle (real life & liars), Allison Wynn Scotch (time of my life), and Barbara Delinsky (where do I begin to list the bestsellers???). How amazing is that? It's kind of like I imagine chatting with Stevie Nicks would be - totally freaking awesome.

It's interesting to see how some agents, I won't name names, think they're "above" speaking to unpublished writers. Then again, there are the super awesome ones like rock star, Janet Reid, who treat people with respect and answer your messages directly. (I've got two rock stars in this post, Stevie and Janet!)

If you haven't joined Twitter, give it a try. You just might find yourself kicking and screaming into heaven...

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