I’m still pondering that last question.

Let’s face it—it seems pretty obvious that Cashore penned Brigan to be the perfect feminist love interest. He trusts Fire, he’s okay with her risking her life to help the kingdom if that’s her choice, he respects her as an equal.

And then there’s Asher: jealous, possessive, and man-whore of the Dells. Talk about a guy who likes to shoot his arrow. A LOT. I mean, preferring macho Asher to sensitive Brigan? Really? Maybe I should just give up my voting rights and knit my husband some slippers while he goes to a strip club.

Um.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that’s not all there was to it for me. Yes, Archer might have had some issues he needed to work out (some issues I think were caused in part by his and Fire’s emotional imbalance—he was madly in love with her, she did not feel the same) but he was so ALIVE. Fun. Vibrant. And for me, well, Brigan was kind of a sad-sack. *ducks rotten tomatoes from the horde of Brigan fangirls out there*

Really, though—I get that Brigan has HUGE, important issues to contend with, I do. His constant role as defender of his kingdom weighs heavily on him, so it’s not exactly appropriate for him to run around skipping and singing Lady Gaga all the time. But I also don’t find morose men especially attractive. Technology in Brigan’s kingdom just came up with reattaching amputated limbs—surely they could conjure up some anti-depressants, too? Because I think the poor guy could use some.

So for me, a big part of the Archer versus Brigan thing has nothing to do with feminism, and everything to do with personality. Like I said on twitter, I’m afraid for Fire, really afraid that after spending too much time with Brigan, she’s going to lock herself in her bedchamber and listen to the fantasy equivalent of Morrissey until she’s too depressed to do anything but eat chocolate and make the maids act out soap operas.

To be totally fair, some of my blatant Archer favoritism may stem from me being spoiled by romance novels. While I guess it’s more realistic for the love interest not to put the heroine number one before everything in real life, I think for Brigan, Fire ranked about 4th, after leading the army, his brother the King, his daughter, etc. For Archer, she was number one, and realistic or not, that’s worth something to me.

But no matter how much I explain, I can’t shake the feeling that Betty Friedan is rolling in her grave.

But there is progress. There are now two semi-coherent paragraphs that actually sound like I know what I’m talking about. But the rest is kind of…non-existent sketchy.

I mean, I’m reasonably certain my agent Taylor will NOT be impressed if I send her the following:

Trent…
Training exercise goes awry.
Before that can happen, though, the students must do x.
DEMONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Steph?
Foreshadowing scene…..
How many die??
DEMONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes, this was cut and pasted from the second half of the actual synopsis. Just further proof that my brain, eet ees scary!

Anyway, in an effort to procrastinate hope it writes itself give my mind a little break, I decided to concentrate on something of vast importance: Sex and the City. Specifically, I’m wondering—which Sex and the City girl are YOU?

It came up on twitter the other day, and it got me thinking—I’m none of them. None. But, I do have favorites, and they might surprise you. Here’s my mini rundown of each character, in descending order of how much I like them.

Charlotte:

Pros: Sweet, proper, perfect wife
Cons: Sweet, proper, perfect wife. Honestly? Charlotte kinda bugs the snot out of me at times. Of all the characters, I honestly think she’s the most underdeveloped, and her pseudo-primness makes me want to wallpaper her car with pages ripped out of Playgirl.? She is a good friend in a crunch, though.

Carrie:

Yep, believe it or not, Carrie is my second least fave character. While she does have an amazing wardrobe, goes to cool parties, and gets to work as a writer (bonus points for that), let’s face it—she’s also kinda whiny and centers her life around men wayyyy too often for my taste.

Samantha:

Okay, so yeah, she’s narcissistic, a bit silly and overdramatic sometimes, but OMG–the woman knows how to have F.U.N! She’s also confident, successful, grabs life by the balls (often literally) and for the most part, doesn’t chase after some guy like he’s the salvation of the universe. She may be over-the-top, but you gotta love her even more for that.

Miranda:

?
I think Miranda is actually the most honest, thoughtfully drawn character on the show. She’s got a career, she’s got a kid, she struggles with body image sometimes, has romances but doesn’t live and die by men, and has a practical streak and a brain. She’s a perfect foil for the more flamboyant Carrie and Samantha.

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.

“Taylor? Hey hon, how was your day?”

I pause, stare at the ceiling. Wonder briefly what she’d say if I told her the truth—that I’d had an epic sized freak-out in English, purposely shunned everyone at lunch, and told the only semi-decent guy I’d met in ages to fuck off. But that would ruin the whole façade of how well our family is coping with everything. I mean, God forbid Mom ever admit that her life might be less than perfect.

I toss a believable smile over my shoulder. Thanks to Mom, I’ve been a pro at faking them for years. “Oh, it was great.”

“Did you make any new friends? Join any clubs?”

“I’m still…scoping things out.”

“Well…just don’t wait too long.”

Worry lines distort the skin over her nose, and I feel a pang of regret. I shouldn’t be so hard on her. I know she loves me. She tries, anyway. It’s just that she mistakes being overly involved in the details of my social life for some crazy deep bond. But I can’t share important stuff. I can’t. Talking, really talking, would mean admitting there’s a problem in the first place. And if we had a family motto? It would totally be: ignore it until it goes away.

Relief strips the tightness from my chest once the door to my room clicks shut. I kick off my shoes and burrow into my bed. Finally relax in the peace that comes from not playing a role.

When I’m by myself it’s like I’m shedding a fake skin, sloughing off the pretense of being okay until it crumples into shriveled little pieces all around me. My down comforter doesn’t give a damn if I’m something less than perfect. Flawed.

It's not easy being green!

No, I’m not talking about feeling like you have ears the size of small trumpets, or a neck that could support a Hummer. I’m taking about feeling green.

If so, don’t worry. You’re not alone. The truth is, writers envy other writers. Often.

Think about it. Most of us are striving for the same goals, and no matter how successful we are, someone is going to reach those goals before us. It’s inevitable. And, OMG, then we worry.

I mean, be honest. Have you ever had one of the following thoughts?

Well, if Writer FancyPants got SuperAwesomeAgent X, does that mean there’s no spot left for ME?

Prolific Proser finished that novel in two weeks, and yet I’ve been slogging away at mine for decades!

Writer LovelyWords wrote a first draft full of such gorgeous, luscious prose, it makes my first draft read like it was penned by a dyslexic donkey!

Then there’s the post-agent envy. That green pang that strikes every time someone you know snags a one, two, three-book deal while you’re twiddling your thumbs on sub, wondering if the editors are using your manuscript as a giant coaster—for the champagne they’re drinking while celebrating the acquisition of THAT OTHER book. Or when so and so gets more marketing money, a better cover, superior book store real estate. The list goes on and on and on.

No fair--his is bigger than mine!

http://ruach.files.wordpress.com/2009/11/envy-of-the-bone1.jpg

Guess what? It’s OKAY to be a little envious. It’s a natural human reaction, and initially coveting someone else’s success doesn’t make you a bad person. Really.

That said, there comes a time when the coveting goes too far. I’m all about accepting your envy, only—don’t let it take you to the Bad Place. You know the one. That’s where you go when you start mumbling stuff like, “Oh, Author BigHugeDeal ONLY got that sweet contract because they were in the right place at the right time.” Or, “Author I’veGotARockstarAgent ONLY got signed because he/she had the right connections.”

Uh-uh. Not cool. Remember—99.0% of the writers who get ahead do so because of hard work, skill, and persistence. So while it’s okay to feel that envy, you need to throw up an inner roadblock. Do NOT drag Author HotSHot to your Bad Place. That’s where your insecurities live, and the only person who can deal with those is YOU. Because if you don’t believe in yourself, really—why would anyone else?

So, instead of a visit to the BP, I’ve made up a little list of helpful hints to keep that really negative type of envy in check:

-Chow down on chocolate. That stuff is FULL of endorphins—embrace it. Plus, if you eat a ton of it, you’ll be too busy trying to get that extra five pounds off to worry about what WonderWriter is doing.

-Buy a killer new pair of shoes. Hey, Author Amazing might have had SqueeWorthy Agent offer five minutes after sending out a full, but YOU’VE got the hot footwear—and your toes/ankles/calves are smoking in those suckers!

-Watch your favorite movie. Then, think about envying your favorite actor or actress instead. Chances are, they’re way more successful than Author FabuFreakingLicious is ever going to be.

-Make a list of awesome skills you have that SpectacularScribbler doesn’t share. Like, the ability to pick up small objects with your toes, or execute a perfect rendition of the Running Man. Or the very crucial talent of shot-gunning a beer in under ten seconds.

In all seriousness, though, the best thing? Let yourself experience the envy without beating yourself up about it. Then, after you’ve embraced your inner green self—get over it. Move on. Realize everyone has their highs and lows, and learn to appreciate your own strengths. And, if it makes you feel any better, know this—there’s probably another writer out there right this very minute who’s envious of YOU.

(P.S. What honestly works for me? Getting really, really excited for the writer in question. I find it’s almost impossible to be ecstatic for someone else and still harbor seriously negative emotions. Plus, squeeing on other people’s behalves? IT’S FUN—and kills free-radicals!!!!)**