Why You Must Never, Never Speak Ill Of The Prom

Remember in my last post when I mentioned that the Blue Moon Ball might possibly have been more fun than the prom? Well, the universe found out and had to immediately correct itself, because not even a day passed before this review for THE WAY HE LIVED was brought to my attention.

Okay.  So a New-York-based book blogger reviewed my book, which is great.  I love book bloggers, which many of my book-blogger friends already know.  She liked the book, and from her review seemed to really get the book, which is always heartening.   Her name is Sabrina Banes, and she's a former journalist who now writes YA lit.

But the part that kind of blew my mind?  Her boyfriend, Adam, was my Junior Prom date.

I asked Daniel if he thought it odd that Adam once went to the prom with an aspiring YA author and is now in a relationship with an aspiring YA author.

Daniel did not think so.  To him, I suppose, being a YA author seems a common aspiration.  But to me it does not.  Neither does it to my peeps The Clique.   They demanded to see photographs, perhaps doubting that I indeed had a date to my Junior Prom.  Not that I blame them.  The whole thing does sound just a little too coincidental.

I looked for evidence.  I had a photo.  I distinctly remember getting it taken, beneath a cheesy trellis-type thing inside the prom venue (which was the showroom of a car dealership.  Classy).   You didn't get a choice about this--at our high school,  custom mandated you stand in line for hours to get your picture taken under insanely hot, urine-colored lighting.  Everybody got a page of wallet-sized photos, which you collected from your friends like baseball cards.

However, those of you who knew me in high school know I was tremendously popular, and I must have given away all of my official pictures.  The best I could come up with was this:

Yes, Sara, I know.  Try to ignore the Utah-hair and instead focus on the 100% Utah-dress.  Ah, memories.

Other prom memories that resurfaced with the picture-hunt:

~ I drove.  Adam didn't know how to drive.  In fact, he probably still doesn't, if he lives in New York.   And I of course don't know how to drive, either.  So it was a grand time!  But I jest, because what happened actually wasn't even a little bit my fault.  I parked in the parking lot, where I was supposed to.  But like I said, we had our prom at a car dealership, and there wasn't sufficient parking for 1,200 couples.  So someone parked directly behind me (and of course, someone parked directly in front of me, too.  But that was a legal parking space, so they're cool).   I backed out in like a seventy-five-point turn.

~ We had dinner at the Olive Garden.  Adam ordered root beer, which came in a fancy bottle, and he called it the "Beverage of Kings."  The two ladies at the next table were drunk, and they laughed at us.  Not because of the Beverage of Kings comment.  Or maybe so.  But more likely because of my hair/dress.

Oh, and I almost forgot the most important memory (not that any of these memories are important; however, this one is relevant).

~ For our Day Activity, or pre-date date (again,  customary) we went to an art museum.  Well, art "museum."  In fact, "art" "museum."  It was a community art center, identical to the one Lissa visits in THE WAY HE LIVED.  We walked through this high school art exhibit (sound familiar?  If it doesn't, read my book.  Seriously, I can't believe you've even waited this long).  The painting we passed of Beauty and the Beast was untitled, and Adam said, "Well, it's Sleeping Beauty, obviously."  Or words to that effect.  So thank you, Adam Parrish, for contributing that line of dialogue.

Just to clarify, that is the only part of the story where the real Adam and the character Adam say/do the same thing.  Unless you count taking the bus.  Or, I guess, wearing gray sweats.

But this post is  supposed to be about the prom, not whether or not wearing clothes counts as actively doing something, so let me end by saying this:  Blue Moon Ball, you had a good run.  But what could rock as hard as prom night at Tony Russo Chevrolet?

Boogie Nights At The Blue Moon Ball

Because once is just never enough, I am again posting about my trip to LA.  Besides, in this post we are all just so dang good-looking, who wouldn't want to check it out?  We look hott (double-t courtesy of Brodi's husband Sam, who taught me that this is what the cool kids are saying.  If you don't know Sam, he is nothing if not cool).

Anyway, on the night of the much-fanfared "Blue Moon Ball" many inappropriate adventures took place.  Many of them were not my fault.  Not to name names, but  most of them were Brodi's fault.

Brodi teased me with the promise of putting my hair in a chignon (SHEEN-yon) for the event, then reneged, claiming she had no idea how to do such a thing.  Well, neither did any of us, so Brodi was chosen to fake it.  And look how awesome she did!  So despite the inappropriate nature of going back on a promise to a friend, she was redeemed.

However, she then proceeded to dress for the ball.  I watched in horror as she pulled on a pair of shorts.  The horror did not come from seeing her change clothes, because that's the way I roll.  I'm inappropriate, and immodesty is no big deal to people like us.   No, the horror came because SHE WAS ACTUALLY PLANNING TO WEAR BLACK BERMUDA SHORTS TO THE  BALL!

Admittedly, I know very little about these sort of soirees.  Admittedly, Brodi did wear pants to her senior prom. But even I know black Bermuda shorts are not acceptable attire when your companions are wearing dresses.  Can you say "inappropriate?"  And NOT the good kind.  In the above picture, Brodi is wearing a black skirt she borrowed from me, a blue camisole she borrowed from me (she actually wasn't going to wear blue to the Blue Moon Ball.  Tsk, tsk), and a necklace borrowed from Bree.  Doesn't she look fahbulous?  Also above is our friend and regional SCBWI advisor Sydney Salter (shout-out!).

Here are a few more Kodak moments (is that even an expression anymore?):

With buddy and fellow Utah writer Matt Kirby (note the "moon" in the background).

Me with Varian, aka "Magic", Johnson.  Don't we look like we're going to prom?  Oh, and also that the year is 1978?

Anyway, besides the fact that his physique is similar to that of Magic Johnson, and the obvious racial thing, Varian is magic because:

a) he knows everybody!  And he remembers everybody!  Namely me, who he only met once, at a late-night party a long time ago.  That gave him permission to at least forget my name.  But he did not.

b) like me, he got his start publishing with Flux!

c) his forthcoming book SAVING MADDIE (Delacorte, March 2010) is amazing!  And the cover is gorgeous!

This is not multiple-choice, people!  "Magic" is all of the above!

And of course, the lovely and talented Lindsey Leavitt, who is actually such a star I'm technically not even allowed to be her friend!

There is a distinct possibility that this was more fun than any prom I've been to, Bermuda shorts or no.

Inappropriate

For those of you who don't know (and why would you?), when my book THE WAY HE LIVED debuted, a random blogger/book reviewer deemed its subject matter "inappropriate."   I say random book reviewer because I no longer even remember who it was, it was of such little consequence.  But still, inappropriate?  That hurts.

Or at least it did, until my friends shared their stories of woe.  Brodi's book, with its kick-A heroine and alien attacks, was called both vulgar and violent--by family members, no less (I'm sure they meant it in a good way).  And Bree's upcoming THE DARK DIVINE (Egmont, December of this year!) was called blasphemous by a fellow writer (not me--I swear!)  (I swear all the time.  That's why I, too, am blasphemous.  And inappropriate.  *&%#).

Anyway, we decided that we'd print up shirts and own up to our stigmas, loud and proud.  So we did, and wore them to the SCBWI LA conference.

Little did I know that keynote speaker Sherman Alexie, when given one word in which to encapsulate his very being, chose "inappropriate"!

Imagine me with a speech bubble:  "Being inappropriate sure isn't  lonely anymore!"

The conference was one memorable, inappropriate event after another. I helped Brodi procure antibiotics for her crazy-painful ear infection, attempting to use my own insurance at one point.  Note:  This is illegal.  Also, if you plan to do something illegal, do not announce it to the guy at Walgreens and then ask him to take your picture.

I met Little, Brown editor Jennifer Hunt and asked her if she was giving away any ARCs of  BFF Sara Zarr's ONCE WAS LOST, and if I could somehow rig it so I got one.   She said yes, that I could go buy one in October like everybody else, fool!  J/k, though, because although that's the response I deserved, she instead was much nicer to me.  If it's the last thing I do, I WILL procure an ARC of that book!  (Procure seems to be a theme in this inappropriate post.  hmm).

Me with Jennifer Hunt.  She's even better-looking in person!  Would it be inappropriate for me to email and ask her if she ever made a "How to be Hot" list?  If so, I'll wear this shirt while writing it.

More updates in my next post on Monday!  Have a great weekend!

In Which I Am Yet Again Mistaken For Someone Cool

I'm leaving for LA early tomorrow morning. I'm talking earlier-than-I've-been-up-since-my-stint-teaching-high-school-debate early. But since the conference itself starts tomorrow morning, leaving early is a must. In preparing for this trip, I couldn't help but remember the last time I went to a national SCBWI conference which was, by and large, a fiasco. The year was 2006. I was going to the SCBWI New York conference with Carries Jones. This was prior to Carrie becoming the world-renowned author she is today. In fact, it Was during this conference that she received the call that started everything. Although she wasn't at the conference at the time. But I'm getting ahead of myself. In February 2006, Carrie and I were Vermont College students who planned to be NYC SCBWI roomies (technically, she was rooming with her husband, while I'd be rooming next door, with her daughter).

I made the rookie mistake of flying into JFK, and then of prepaying for a super-shuttle, where I sat next to some old guy from "So-Cal" who obviously thought he was a Big Deal. As the shuttle waded through traffic thick as water, I kept daring myself to ask this guy why, if he was Mr. swank, he was riding in a super-shuttle.

I never did.

Once I arrived at the hotel and was checking in, I found out that because of a family emergency, Carrie et. al would not be coming to the conference (fear not; Carrie's family was fine after some TLC). This left me on my own, which was cool, except I hadn't planned to be on my own. I took the elevator up to my room, catching sight of my stringy-haired, red-eyed, all-together-rumpled appearance in the highly-polished doors. I stood next to women wearing SCBWI nametags, smiled at them, and pressed the button for my floor. They just stared.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi," one said, still staring.

"I'm exhausted," I offered by way of pleasantries. "You?"

The other one nodded. "You'd better rest up," she said. "Aren't you presenting tomorrow?"

"Um, no, "I said. "I'm just, you know, attending."

The next day, as I wandered through the hotel ballroom searching for someone I knew, a woman I did not know ran up and hugged me. "Emily!" she said. "So nice to finally meet you!" She spoke rapidly and without pause, while I struggled to figure out who she was. Finally she said: "Wait. I don't think you're the Emily I'm looking for."

"No," I said apologetically. "I don't think so."

Apparently I look similar to another, higher-up Emily, who I was mistaken for the duration of the conference.

It would have been better if Carrie were there.

Will anyone reading this be in attendance? Let me know!

I didn't take any photos at the conference, but here's me at American Girl Place, which I toured at my leisure since I had no hommies along to cramp my style. I'm standing next to Samantha, my favorite (now retired) American Girl. Aren't we cute?

Oh, Samantha, what could have been had I the riches to afford you and your swank Victorian accessories...

A Glimpse Into My Personal Style

I decided to write this blog post with Wonder-Pen, to see how well it translates into WordPress. So far, it's worked really well in Microsoft Word... it just capitalizes k's and w's in the middle of my sentences. I'm working on making my lowercase w's more loopy, and we'll see how that goes. I have no idea how to fix my k's--I guess I'll simply have to stop using them. Thank you all for the comments on my last post. I promise it Was not just a desperate plea for compliments. But hey, I won't turn them down. You see, I place my self worth in the hands of others. Very healthy.

For anyone wondering about my second reason for becoming hot, this is it. Recently I've developed interest in working as a "background actor" (i.e "extra") in a television show. Don't ask me why. Anyway, this dream seemed likely to go unfulfilled, until the other day, when it occurred to me that I'd soon be in Los Angeles, where stars are born!

In a couple of weeks, I'm going to the SCBWI LA conference, an annual event for Writers to hear famous authors speak, meet agents and editors, and most importantly, mingle with each other. When exactly I'd have time to be an extra during this jam-packed event is beside the point.

I found out that the only show (auditioning extras) filming anywhere close to my hotel was the ABC Family series Greek. I've never actually seen this program, but judging from the posting I read, it appears to be an in-depth look at the often misunderstood World of college sororities and fraternities.

To be an extra on Greek one must be between the ages of eighteen and twenty-four (which technically already put me out of the running, but since I'm mistaken for a teen all the time I was willing to keep reading).  Also, one must be hot.  I am not substituting my own word here, it read: ''Between 18-24, hot," on the notice.  Also, to audition, you needed to show up to get your picture taken wearing "hot, trendy clothes."  Again with the hot!

By now I realized that even if I was to become hot and acquire a hot wardrobe by August 7, there was no way I could devote the time to this endeavor that it so obviously required. I mean, I could, but then I'd miss the conference. And if, by chance, anyone missed me, and  asked my friends, "Hey, where's that one girl in your clique?,"  I'd have to put my peeps in the awkward position of saying:  "She's trying to become hot enough to stand in the background of a make-believe frat party."

And friends don't make friends say that. Ever.

Me, in my idea of hot, trendy clothes.

Hot

Advance word of warning:  The computer has once again gotten into the setting where I can only see thumbnails of the photos, really small ones.  I can't guarantee that all the photos I post will actually be the ones I want to post, but hey, it's all part of the adventure, eh?

This picture is in fact the one I wanted to post.  It's The Clique, aka my writing/critique group, on our first-annual-with-potential-to-become-semi-annual Retreat to Brodi Ashton's Bomb Condo in Midway.  Thank you, Brodi!   You are the hostess with the mostest!  Follow up:  If anyone clicks on Brodi's link and reads about the things she learned at our retreat, please know that I didn't incessantly talk about nipples.  Only two or three times.  And always with good reason.   Also, what's wrong with making a to-do list of How to Become Hot?

Here are some photos my friends took during  my first stab at becoming hot:

Okay.  I just realized these are not the best pictures to post at a time when I can't preview them first.  Picture #1 is pretty good though, right?  But if you've never met me, picture #2 is more what I look like on a daily basis.  Thanks to Bree Despain, who curled my hair and did her best to help me smile "normal," and Valynne for doing my make-up and saying:  "Never do that again," when I tried to smile without any teeth showing.

Why the obsession with becoming hot?

I have decided that the better looking you are, the better you are treated.  This is probably obvious to most people, but I am so far from being like most people, this didn't even occur to me until recently.  See, the other day I FINALLY got new contacts after almost a year of wearing only glasses.  My last doctor prescribed soft lenses (I've always worn hard in the past) and they were fine, except they'd rotate everytime I blinked, and when they rotated I couldn't see.  I tried to stop blinking, but that was a no-go, as I am not superhuman.  So anyway, this new doctor prescribed me soft lenses that don't rotate in my eye, producing the desired outcome:  sight.  Even when I blinked.   Alas, my bad hand can't help me open my eyes wide enough to put in soft contacts, so after all of this, I'm going back to hard ones.

But I digress.  My point is, whenever I was wearing my contacts, people were nice.  The construction men building houses in my neighborhood waved at me.  People said hi to me at Target, even if they didn't know me, or weren't kids, who don't count because they always say hi.  Random strangers smiled at me, like we were tight.

The next day bad hand was super-shakes, so I couldn't put in my right contact and had to wear glasses.  Fewer people smiled at me.  No random people said hi.  When I drove past the construction workers, they just scowled at me (reason for that is still unknown).

Anyway, I decided that by becoming hot, I will slowly become friends with all the people of North America, one person at a time.  Then, by the time my next book comes out in January 2011 (mark your calendars!) everyone will be my friend and thus buy my book.   So really, this is a marketing campaign.

There is a second reason but this post is already too long so I'll have to mention it some other time.

Wonder Pen

On Monday, when I promised to blog more regularly, it was because I knew that very soon, I'd be spending a lot less time typing and a lot more time writing with this new pen, leaving me time for two posts a week, no problem.What exactly is so amazing about this pen?  What isn't amazing about this pen!  I simplt turn it on (yes, you can turn the pen on, and it even has a small screen on the side.  Seriously, check it out.  You turn it on, start writing on this special paper (which looks just like regular lined paper except for the teeny-tiny dots on it), and then later, you can hook the pen up to your computer.  Then the pen will show everything you've written with the pen on your computer screen!  Then, it will convert what you've written into typeface!

I've had a chance to try this out after two mega-writing days this week, and I'm in awe.  The pen reads my writing easily, and converts it to Microsoft Word with little problem (sometimes it Captializes random Words for some Reason, but I can tortally live with that).

The whole thing is unbelievable, like learning that chocolate chip cookies are actually health food or something.

Writing News Galore (And My New Sandals)

My blog has been a little light on the writing news lately. I mean, let's face it, the blog's been light on everything in general, ever since I started it. Which is why I make a pledge: I will be posting twice a week, every week, from now on! Feel free to ooh and ahh. Seriously. Ooh and ahh. Humor me here. Why can I make this blogging guarantee? One reason will be revealed on Thursday, in my next post. One reason is that I love you guys! Also, I joined Twitter so I could be cool. No, J/k, that's not the reason. I'll never be cool. I was actually just missing out on crucial, crucial information, like what my next-door-neighbor had for dinner and whether or not my friends were pleased with the most recent So You Think You Can Dance? outcome.

Yes.  The time had come.  So follow me on twitter @emilywingsmith.  It'll be fun!

And while I was learning how to do stuff, I figured out how to post my blog to livejournal.  I probably don't have any lj friends left since I've been such a deadbeat, but it's a risk I''m willing to take.

In my writing world, two good things happened this week.  First, I found out I'm a finalist for the 2008 Utah Book Award (Young Adult Division) from Utah Center for the Book.  Great news, because I had no idea I was nominated for the award.  While the letter I received notified me that there is one other finalist, it didn't say who that finalist is.   I really wish I knew... so if it's you, email me!  Otherwise I won't find out until the awards ceremony on October 22.

Another good thing:  I got official word about the Second Annual Writing for Charity Event!  Do you like to write?  Do you like to write for young readers?  Do you want to meet a bunch of famous authors who live right here in Utah?  Do you know me personally and think, "If she can do this, it must be pretty easy?"  Then pay a mere $50 ($45 before August 21st) and register for...

(from the website)

The Writing for Charity Event, a workshop for aspiring children’s book writers (age 13 and up only), will provide participants with professional advice and the opportunity to have their work evaluated by one of the event’s participating authors. The event includes the opportunity to purchase books and have books signed. Participants can also purchase drawing tickets for great prizes, including signed books and a book bag signed by all of the participating authors (Note from Em-Dawg:  this includes me and about 20 other local authors.  Yep, 20!)

All proceeds from the event will benefit the non-profit Treehouse Children’s Museum and its award-winning Family Literacy Programs. Writers of children’s picture books should bring a full manuscript (fewer than 1,000 words), and chapter book authors should bring the book’s first page for the critique. Participants are not required to bring work sample for the critique session.

Saturday, August 29 10AM - 2PM at the Children's Treehouse Museum in  Ogden

Check out all the info here:

http://www.treehousemuseum.org/events_and_calendar.php

Speaking of my new sandals...

Two summers ago I bought the PERFECT sandals.  They had a strap across the heel, which is a must for me--otherwise I walk right out of the shoe (no$2 Old Navy flip-flops for me).  They were flats--no high-heel to trip on.  They had Velcro closures.  They were white with a tiny flower on the toe.  They were from the girls' shoe section at Target.

Daniel forbid me from ever again buying shoes from the kids' section.  But finding shoes that meet my shoe-qualifications is tough.  Enter Lisa, my awesome shopping-buddy and BFF.  She's infinitely patient while I try stuff on, and once told me:  "Friends don't let friends buy those shoes."

Today we went to Nordstrom for their semi-annual sale and came out with some GREAT shoes.  I may be $70 poorer, but look what I have:

Success!

Adventures in Yurting

Perhaps because I was feeling all outdoorsy and nature-girl from my stint with camping,  I was gung-ho when my sister and brother-in-law suggested we go on a yurt adventure to Manti, Utah.   Julie and Reo went to Snow College, mere minutes from the yurt,  and I was more than pumped to visit their old stomping grounds-- plus hang out with their son Holden, the most adorable baby ever.   Besides, we needed a break from our tired Rock Band routine.

I should have taken it as a bad sign that Holden cried for nearly the entire journey to said yurt, but I chalked it up to his being an infant.  Also I should have taken it as a bad sign that we got checked into our campsite by a nine-year-old boy, but I chalked that up to bad parenting (which I've experienced first-hand as of late).

I can't remember the first time I knew I wanted to stay in a yurt.  It wasn't very long ago, and I was surfing the web for some reason (Or maybe no reason at all, which I sometimes do)  and I saw a picture of a yurt.  Obviously, it was not this particular yurt.

Anyway, since that moment I've been digging yurts and their whole architectural style, which is like a tepee, but not.  Note from the picture above that the top of a yurt is flat, not cone-shaped as a tepee.  This yurt boasted a skylight at the top, perfect for stargazing.  Usually stargazing makes me too dizzy to be enjoyable, since I can't tilt my head back and look up at the same time.  If I was lying on my bed, though?  I could totally handle it.

Unfortunately, this was my bed:

Now, I wasn't expecting five-star accommodations or anything,  but I was expecting something better than this broken-down futon, which actually looks much cleaner in the photo than it did in real life.  Just take my word for it.

Julie and Reo's bed, however, had a whole different vibe (think The Princess and the Pea):

If these things alone had been the yurt's only shortcomings, no big.  I can handle odd, unsanitary furniture (I've lived in a college dorm, after all).

Alas, we had booked the yurt for the same weekend a family reunion had booked all the camping spaces around the yurt.  And by around, I mean that one tent was pitched so close to our deck that using our grill would have set said tent on fire.   Things I  tripped on/almost tripped on while walking to the yurt:

--one  inflatable pool with waterslide

--two pack-n-plays (neither of them for Holden)

--three camp chairs

The members of the family reunion wore matching shirts.  Also, they stared at us.  Whenever we were outside.  So we did not spend a lot of time at the yurt on our yurt adventure.

Which didn't turn out to be all bad.  We ate good burgers,  toured the desereted Snow College campus, and even went to Wal-Mart (where we bought sheets for our bed, because a sleeping bag was just not enough).  Plus, we ate at yet another One Man Band Diner.

Oh, and you could see exactly zero stars from the yurt's skylight.

My Other BFFs

Some of you already know that kids and I are tight.  In fact, it's gotten so that I'm actually surprised when some random kid I've never met DOESN'T run up and give me a high-five.  I think kids don't view me as a threat because I both look and act like one of them.  And I love it  (being tight with kids, not being childish.  The childish thing is probably something I should work on...). Daniel and I were discussing our summer plans, and my part of the conversation went something like this:  "So, August 1 is going to be a busy day.  G is getting baptized and I hope it's at a different time than Z's birthday party, because I really want to be there for him, plus his party is at Chuck E Cheese."

I should explain that in my faith (and G's faith) (Mormon), it is customary to be baptized when one reaches the age of eight.  This is the case with G.  Z is turning seven.   Yes, my busy schedule revolves around celebrations for pre-pubescent boys.  And I love it (not in a creepy way).

One of my best friends has two beautiful daughters and I'm tight with them, too.   Because they know me in a religious context (again, Mormon) it is customary for them to call me by my last name, preceded by "Sister."

Once when I was babysitting them, the younger girl (we'll call her LaLa) said to me:  "Sista Smith, if I'm really good, can I be naked?"

I SO didn't know what to say to that.  I mean, who am I to deprive someone of that primal need to be naked?  And she sounded so sincere.

But her sister interrupted.  "Nuh-uh.  My mom says she's not allowed to be naked!"  I loved both her big-sister tone and the fact that this scenario had obviously occurred before.

Oh LaLa, my sista.  I feel ya.

The other day, I was hanging out with one of my writer friends and her sons, two of my favorite boys.  One of them was introducing me to his cousin:  "Janie, this is Emily.  Someday soon I'm going over to her house to watch Clone Wars."  Which is 100% true.  I have about a million episodes of Clone Wars on my DVR, ready for him.

Lately I've been feeling unfulfilled.  Like, "Wow, what am I actually doing with my life?  I've only published one book, and my next one doesn't come out for another year and a half.  Maybe I need to get a real job."  Only how can I?  I would totally miss out on moments like these.