So, I’m getting ready to go on sub soon (yay!) and my lovely Agent has suggested I work on a synopsis for the sequel to Demon Guard. You know, just in case. Yeah,that’s right—a synopsis for a book that HASN’T BEEN WRITTEN YET.

Gulp.

Now, I know lots of writers who express hatred/fear/paranoia about outbreaks of hives when the word “outline” is mentioned. Believe me when I tell you—no one can match my terror. No one. I mean, seriously, do you have ANY idea how hard this is for me? Me, the person whose brain is so disorganized, my mom’s almost OCD-style neatness genes ran shrieking out of the egg at the mere thought of coming near little embrionic moi? Because, let’s face it. Outlines imply organized thinking. And I repel organization.

Don’t believe me? Here’s a reminder: a sneak peek inside my purse. Oh, it looks innocent enough from the outside:

see how innocent it looks?

But unzip that sucker and here’s what you’ll find:

Though, maybe find is the wrong word. An oxymoron really, when it comes to hunting down items inside this dark abyss of funk:

Oh, look, cashew crumbs! Too bad we haven't bought those in months...

The good news? I’ve got hand sanitizer! ‘Course, I’m the only person who needs it to protect her from the cooties lurking INSIDE her purse, but hey, what can you do?

I wonder if it comes in the gallon size?

And some of you thought my UF was kinda scary–HA! ? I know, maybe I should write a YA horror novel, involving a purse that grows people-eating monsters. All from digesting a mish-mash of stale Cheerios, dried up Play-Doh bits, and Chuck E. Cheese ticket-lint.

Yum.

(No joke–something in there stabbed me in the leg once, through the bottom of my purse. I’m scared.)

No, I have no idea of what all’s in there, and frankly, I don’t want to know. When it starts smelling bad enough, I’ll just rescue my wallet, toss the rest and buy a new one. All hail cheap Target purse-wear.

So, yeah, this pre-synopsis thing is kind of kicking my butt. Send help.

And purses.

“Although, you can’t blame them for being jealous. You really do have amazing hair.” He tugs on a strand, letting it slide between his fingers until it falls back into place.

Your hair is amazing, Taylor. You’re so lucky–I wish mine was long and wavy like yours.

Lainey’s voice, filling my ears. Lainey’s fingers, running through my hair the same way.

I stumble back as anxiety claws its way up into my throat, dimming my surroundings. My hair. I can still feel her fingers tugging it, separating it into sections for a braid. I used to love having people play with my hair. Now, I feel like something heavy is trying to suffocate my head, like the strands brushing my neck are trying to choke me. I can’t take it. I can’t—

“I’ve got to go,” I blurt, before scooping up my backpack and dashing for the door. I don’t wait to see what he says, but sprint for the bathroom. Please be empty, please, please.

I burst in, heart hammering, worrying half the school chose this very moment to take a pee break. Luckily there’s no one inside. The panic is nearly drowning me now. I yank at my hair until tears spring to my eyes. Keep yanking, but it won’t come off. I hate it. People see my hair and think they know me. They don’t. Those stupid blond strands aren’t me, not anymore.

I wish mine was long and wavy like yours.

I stare at my reflection blindly. Then, I dig frantically through my backpack for my knife.

The relief hits the second my fingers touch the cold metal, but it’s short-lived. Get it off, I have to get it off. I yank a strand taut with the other hand and start sawing away.

Nashville GotYA auction

For more info on the prizes, check out the post about it on our group blog:

GotYA

Well, what are you waiting for? Go bid–if not on our package, then someone else’s! Let’s all work togther to support Nashville during this crisis!

I had a really hard time choosing just one song for this because I was hugely into music in my teens, and believe it or not, there was a ton of great stuff to pick from (thank you, KROQ). Honorable mentions include songs by Guns n’ Roses, the Beastie Boys, General Public, and the Cult (Love Removal Machine, for the win!) ((Plus, OMG, all that fab music by New Order, Pet Shop Boys, the Cure, the Smiths, etc).

But this next song is really the one that takes me straight back to my teen years like a musical time machine (not to be confused with a hot tub time machine, although, hey–that took them back to the ’80′s, too, right?) I mean, how can you not love lyrics that talk about candy, diamonds and pills? Um.

You heard me. An AWESOME AWer (thank you, Parametric!) directed me to this post by Karen Healey, which really hit home. How many times have you brushed off a compliment? Made a self-deprecating joke so you don’t come across as cocky? Worried that people would think you were arrogant if you admitted that DAMN! You look HAWT tonight? Or that you wrote an AMAZING book? Or were a FANTASTIC mom/girlfriend/daughter/friend?

Well, it’s time to stop! Our society talks a lot about low self-esteem in our children—girls, especially—and yet, it some ways, it’s way more acceptable to exude low self-esteem than confidence. Again, this seems especially true for girls. Girls get conditioned to worry about being seen as bitchy, stuck-up, even unfeminine if they admit to feeling, well, awesome. We all have times when we worry about flaunting our awesome. It needs to stop.

NOW.

I’m not saying run around telling everyone in the world you’re
better than them, not at all. Flaunting your awesome isn’t a contest, it’s not a competition. Rather, it’s a way to own your awesome abilities or traits and darn it, feel GOOD about them for a change. Send a positive message to the girls around you by saying, Hey! I’m awesome and I know it! We don’t have to hem and haw and blush and put ourselves down, just because we worry what other people will think.

So, to continue Karen’s great tradition, let’s all ‘fess up to our awesome. Right here. Right now.

I’ll even start (and trust me, as the queen of self-deprecation, this was quite a challenge for me at first. So if I can do it, I KNOW you can).

I’m awesome because I finished a book and didn’t give up until I found an agent who appreciated my awesomeness. I’m awesome because I found an awesome husband who supports my writing 150%, and helped me make two awesome kids (er, well—you know what I mean).

Finally, I’m awesome because in writing this post, I’m helping others find and acknowledge THEIR awesome.