Tubage: A query from my pretend slush pile

Dear Dude, or Dudette. Whatevsies.

Ever wonder what babies and pirates have in common? Nah, nothing, really. Just messin. Unless they're baby pirates. That'd be sweet. With their little baby swords and eye patches. Dude, I just had an idea for the next book.

So anyway, I have this wicked awesome book I wrote called TUBAGE.It's about this dude, he's like sixteen, and he spends like hours trying to get the last bit of toothpaste from the tube and then suddenly, a big, scary ape man breaks through the bathroom window and pulls the dude with his big, nasty-crap hands. I know, right? Crazy.

Then, when dude gets to know the ape man, he starts to love him. And it's all because of that toothpaste tube. I'm like, gettin' all teary-eyed just sayin' it.

TUBAGE, complete at 200,000 words, is a romantic comedy between a teenage dude and an ape man that will set your heart on fire in a totally rad way. I expect to sell millions of this bitch. Consider me one of your best clients because I've already written the sequel and made these killer "Ape man" shirts to sell at book signings.

Get me while you can, because with a book this good, I can't lose. Thanks for your time, but what else are you gonna do, ya know?

Hit me up.
Twitter: Freaknastybone
Email: iwannagetfreakywithyourmom@yahoo.com
Cell 555-555-5555(but don't call after 9 or the Moms gets piiissseeeeddd)

Next bestseller: My arms wave back at me by Mentally Unstable

While putting my hair up into a pony tail this morning, my sleep-deprived face staring back at me, I noticed something. My arms, slightly larger than usual, flapped like a turkey's neck.
Watching the skin ripple and wave, I had a thought:

"Make the Ignitors good guys, not bad."

Crazy Chicago mania say what? You heard right. Inspiration is everywhere if you're eyes and ears are open. Kick writer's block's arse simply by appreciating the small things, i.e, a flabby arm, a coffee stain on your favorite pair of jeans, a new rip in your favorite pair of jeans, (maybe I need a new pair of jeans?), your daughter's laughter, anything...

Okay, so maybe your next bestseller won't stem from pinching your love handles or pumping your fists at Chloe on 24, but then again, maybe it will. You write until you find inspiration, or you wait until it finds you. Make the most of your time, thoughts and brain power. Obviously, I'm not. Chicago really fried my brain. Oy.

Three tips for kicking writer's block stat:

-Go do something else. Get your mind off. Whoa, that came out wrong, yet I'm too tired to delete.

-Take an idea and brainstorm. Write the idea in the center of a piece of paper and extend branches of different ways the story could go. Challenge yourself beyond the usual limit. Then fold up the paper into an airplane and fly it into your husband (or whoever's) head. Then, laugh.

-Push through. Sounds like crap, right? Well, sometimes the only way to get past it, is to go through it first. When your mind is clear, go back and fix whatever needs fixed. No biggie.

Tell me, friends, what do you do to get your arms in shape? Oh, wait, I mean, what do you do to cure writer's block?



Ahh. Candyland Out.

The windy city makes-a-me-loopy

Oh, Chicago. You are a fickle city.

I should have known how the weekend would ensue the moment I noticed the hubby's things scattered aimlessly throughout our house after he "just packed." Right, dear. You mean those three separate piles in three totally irrelevant places? I see. Thanks for clearing that up. Now we can go.

Fast forward twenty-four hours later.

I got sick. Like hit-me-behind-the-knees with-a-gun-to-my-head-while-I-blubber kind of sick. I couldn't walk. Or laugh. I wanted to laugh. But the laughter stopped. Where's Jim Gaffigan when you need him?

In amidst the ailment, an old friend, Spanky Joy, took a two-hour train ride to watch me suffer. Oh and to eat Subway. So, twofer. Go, Spank! A palm full of meds later, I was finally able to laugh. Thank you, Spanky, for reminding me what a weirdo I was in high school, but loving me anyway.

After the Spankster's visit, I took a bath. In someone else's tub. I had to. We took a train to the tub, in which I sat. When the bath concluded, we rode the train back into the city. Wondering why I keep saying bath? Because I've lost my freaking mind.

It's quite a walk from the train station to downtown, but hubby said he knew where we were going. *Cough*Throat clear*Cough*

Please defer to paragraph uno...

Needless to say, after we got lost, as I'm hunched over in pain, we miss our special dinner at Gino's East, scarf TEN DOLLAR ice cream instead (like we hadn't eaten in years, dairy dripping from our chins), go to swanky wedding reception and hold a freakin' sweet baby, (that's not relevant, just sayin'),take the red line to the brown (thanks, Liz), trek to place of slumber where hubby's college peeps live, try twisting key in door for half an hour, slowly realizing the bed calling our names would have to wait. Let me stop here...

This is when Candyland, exhausted, in pain and hungry enough to eat SPAM, has a breakdown. She starts to cry. Not the good cry like in movies with hunky, shirtless, meat men, but mascara down the cheeks while slobbering kind-of-cry. Hubby continues spinning key in lock for fifteen minutes, ignoring Candyland's obvious mind-bender and serious not-cool moment. If only Bert (McCracken) could've seen her then. Her previous douche factor, with him, would have risen to an alarming number. Actually it did, regardless.

Once sanity (or sleep deprivation) crept in, we sat on the stoop and waited for hubby's college peeps to return while Candyland pulled mascara off of lashes, and smeared onto fingers like it was the most amazing thing, for an hour. Then, a drunk girl throws up chunks in hubby's college peeps's hallway and makes Candyland not only gag, but talk in third person.

We spent too much. Slept too little. Bickered more than we have in awhile. Laughed a little. Cried a lot. Reminisced with old friends a lot. Vowed never to return. Took the vow back. Re-vowed. Forgot what we were vowing. Argued about it. And now we're home. He's in one room, on a computer, I'm in the other on mine, and we haven't said a word since offspring went to bed. I'm in my dirty robe, which makes me feel all kinds of happy. Things are finally back to normal.

With a better week in mind, there are a couple of contests happening you should know about. Because Candyland said so. Links below. I need some luck. Anyone have magic fairy dust (not the drug)? What about a wand or something? A horseshoe? Wait...Where's Elana J? That's what I need. Sprinkle some super-awesome EJ dust onto my comment tab. Actually, all of you, my new friends, tell me something: What's your good luck charm?

Now, onto some luck-inducing testes. Contestes, that is. Okay, so, the new normal may be a little off. We'll see if this is a permanent thing or a minor setback. Fingers and eyes crossed. And for Bert's sakes, let's hope I'm a little less loopy in the near future.

Tahereh's Grab A Pen: The Contest that cracked the earth in two

Query Tracker Agent Pitch Contest

Believe: If you don't, who the hell will?

I, Candyland, hereby name Elana Johnson my good luck charm.

Okay, seriously.

After an amazing interview with loads of new faces dropping in, I had a bit of a mishap. I was so giddy blogging away, smiling so much my face hurt, ignoring the carpal tunnel tightening my grip, I forgot about something. A query. To a really amazing agent. My dream agent, actually. And guess what happened? Can you guess? Can you?

She rejected me.

It was a personal note, nice, but still. Giddiness went sour, smile faded but face still sore, and the carpal tunnel has officially taken my right hand hostage. This post is being typed with my left hand and is taking FOREVER. So if there's grammatical errors, punctuation, clarity, uh sorry.

So anyway, after a wonderful day, I started really doubting my abilities. Again. Oh self-doubt, why do I loathe thee? Better yet, why do I succumb to you? You're not hot, you don't treat me well and you're broke.

I think life has giveth and a taketh aways. Like this:
Had coffee. Got a stomach ache. Great blog/new followers. Query rejection by number one on my list. Had Taco Bell. Had emergency bathroom break. Felt like a fatty trying on outfits for Saturday's reception in Chicago (btw congrats TJ and Jill). Got home to super crazy mood lifter which leads me to my point....

I posted awhile back about Sourcebooks/Teenfire Writing Contest, in which I became a semi-finalist. It was crazy exciting because I've seriously never gotten close to winning anything except a Boyz II Men dance contest. And that was only 2nd place. If you think I'm joking, read on.

It was at the Boys and Girls Club, in uh, not the best neighborhood. I was nine and alone. Mom dropped me off in the hood, wearing my dance tights and leotard with high tops. I was too cool for school. Let me first say, (after I've already said a lot) I am white and Puerto Rican mixed. This contest, with girls twice my age, were, uh, darker than me. In fact, I was the lightest person in the auditorium. But you know what? I threw it down. To Motown Philly, in those squeaky high tops and dance tights and leotard, alone. Got a standing "O" and 2nd place.

Still looking for the point? Me too.

Back to the contest. The results are revealed on March 31st. Seven finalists and I may or may not be one. It's hard not to get my hopes up, coming so close to another second place victory. Had I not believed in myself to compete at age nine, in a totally unfamiliar place, I never would have made it out alive. But I did believe.

After receiving a rejection from someone I'd hoped to have a long term relationship with, (taketh away), the gods shined down one more time (giveth).

My novel beginning, 9:59 REWIND, is one of five examples YALitChat's Georgia McBride used when describing why/how she picked semi-finalists.

What she says of 9:59 REWIND...
"Gut-wrenching, life-changing, you-know-it-when-you-see-it kind of a book."

To read the entire post, GO HERE.

I mean, WOWEE-WOW. Never saw that coming! I've been holding a trickle of pee the length of this post because I'm THAT excited. "But you haven't won anything, Candyland," you might say. Oh yes I have. The recognition that I'm doing something right. All those doubts eating my brain, all the times the little voices tell me to quit, all the freaking rejections, can all SUCK IT. Oh wait. That's not what a good sport says. What I mean is, I'm proud of myself, and I've only said that a handful of times in my life:

-When I got that 2nd place trophy that broke as soon as I got home
-When I got a record deal (it was crap and got me nowhere, but still)
-When I had my baby girl
-When I lost my pregnancy weight (and then gained it back and lost part of it and gained it...)
-When I saw Georgia's post

What I'm trying to spit out, people, is believe in yourself. If you don't, no one will. Now go enter a Boys and Girls Club dance contest and post your results.

Oh, and one more question. What have you doubted, about yourself? How do you overcome the little voice that says you can't?

Super-Freaking Fantastic YA author, Elana Johnson, EXPOSED (in a totally clothed kind of way)

You've seen her around. She's everywhere. In your dreams, you could sense her dangling over your computer, stamping her profile picture on every blog, comment section, writer's forum and networking site.

If you aren't familiar with the amazing Elana Johnson, take a minute. Stare at her picture. Tell her you love her. Stroke your computer screen and promise her the world.


I decided Elana's 900+ Followers weren't enough. I thought she could use the one or two of mine who haven't yet discovered her knack for this thing we call writing. She was cool enough to humor me, after I purchased From the Query to the Call on her site. Let me first say, had I not become new online buds with her, I'd still endorse the holy hell out of this ebook. It's fabu. Yeah, I said it.

If you're like me, your query is a nasty, foul mouthed sonofabitch that wants to see you suffer. Elana's ebook is like an awakening. A knock upside the head, of sorts. I actually had a bit of an ephiphany and re-wrote my query in ten minutes. I don't know if it's suckier or less sucky, but regardless, her ebook will spark your brain cells into action.

Now onto the, ahem, insanely talented Elana. Ms. Johnson, if you're nasty.

How long have you been writing professionally? What did you first start out with?
Professionally? Ha! Surely you jest.
No, but, I started writing just after Thanksgiving, 2007. I started with a YA urban fantasy that I swear I’m going to rewrite into a YA historical fantasy in the vein of Prophecy (Zink). One day, my feathered friends. One day.
I’ve always bled YA. And I always will. I write fantasy, science fiction, dystopian, paranormal and even a little contemporary. I love it all.

What are you currently working on?
I’m currently writing a companion novel to the novel I have on submission. YA dystopian in the vein of The Hunger Games, The Giver, and Uglies. Try to wrap your head around that! Ha!

You're current novel, on submission, landed you supercool agent, Michelle Andelman, of Lynn C. Franklin Associates, Ltd. Did you follow your own advice, as in From the Query to the Call, when querying her?
Dude, I have the best story about how Michelle and I hooked up. But I won’t tell it here. I probably won’t even tell it when I’m dead.

But I absolutely followed my own advice. The research. The killer query. Sending the subs. The follow-up emails. The phone calls. Gah. The endless phone calls before representation was offered. In total, I had 5 (not only with Michelle) before I heard the magic words “I can now offer representation.”

Speaking of, how did From the Query to the Call come about?
Well, I was blogging for the QueryTracker blog, and giving a lot of advice about writing a killer query letter. I also frequent a few forums and noticed that people’s letters were, uh, less than stellar. And they all had questions about submitting and talking to agents and stuff.

So it just sort of came out of my time spent online, seeing a need, and writing a (hopefully) fun book that is (hopefully) uber-helpful.

What, in your opinion, are the key elements of a killer query?
-Hook
-Conflict
-Consequence

And on the flip side, what do you think prevents a query from being totally ninja?
-Too many words. So many people stuff their query with the unnecessary.
-Not stating the consequence. This is absent a lot and I’m left thinking, “Yeah, so? Why do I care?” And in publishing that = rejection.

In From the Query to the Call, there are reminders at the end of each topic with links, exercises and things to remember, which is great because I sometimes forget what I just read. There's one test in particular I LOVE. To take the first sentence of your blurb and combine with the last to see if it fits (it should). Should all queries, in theory, make sense this way? If they don't, what are the potential problems in the way?
In theory, yes. In practice, not all do. But it’s a good trial to see if you can sum your book up concisely. I mean, read the short sentences on Publisher’s Marketplace deals. Talk about concise! When people ask you what your book is about, they want one sentence. So give ‘em two, the first and the last.

Potential problems: Having an extra character in the last sentence because s/he is part of the consequence, but not the hook. I see that a lot. Not having a consequence also derails this two-sentence pitch.

Near the end of From the Query to the Call, you talk a lot about fielding "the call," with other authors. First of all, green with envy, second, what are the three biggest things a writer should do if they get..."the call?"
-Dude, chillax. Then go boy scout and Be Prepared.
-Be yourself. I mean, who else would you want to be?
-Practice with a friend before the real thing

I've also read you kind of, what's the word, stalked your agent before submitting. Okay, maybe not stalked, but uh, garnered interest. How much info do you think a writer needs on an agent before they query? What in particular SHOULD they know about the agent?
I think an author should know as much as they can before they query, while they query and after the agent requests.
-You should know what books that agent has sold. Have you read those books? Are the styles the same? People have taste in books. Your agent has to want to devour your book like a plate of bacon. So check out their list.
-You should know who your agent has sold to. This speaks to their contacts.
-You should know who your agent’s other clients are. You might even contact one or two of them.
-You can easily get a feel for the agent’s personality from their blog or website, twitter or facebook or other social networking site. Does it match yours? Look into it.
-Okay, one more: Be unique. Be yourself. People will come. (Ooh, that sounds so Field of Dreams!)

As a writer, yourself, what advice would you give to someone about to throw in the towel?
As they say in Galaxy Quest: “Never give up! Never surrender!”

Seriously, don’t. It took me 8 months of querying on a second project before I got an agent. I’ve written 12 books. 10 of them suck. They’re practice novels. So don’t give up.

You wear many, many hats other than phenomenal writer. Blogger. Query Tracker. Interviewee. How do you juggle it all?
Um…I’m not sure I do. Balls get dropped daily. I think the key, for me, is realizing which balls to pick up again, and which ones to leave on the floor.

Eventually, I’ll get back to those discarded balls, but you gotta have priorities and do those things first. It also helps that I don’t work much, have two independent kids and a husband who works long hours. I’m typing this at 5:40 PM without a soul in sight. The house is quiet. So I just do what I can, when I can.

Speaking of hats, you have almost 1,000 loyal followers on your blog. That's freaking insane. What's the secret?
I have so many secrets for this. I’m slowly divulging some of them this week and in a couple more weeks, I’ll tell all. But really? The biggest one? Give as much as you get.

Any must reads on your shelf?
Dude, so many. You want a list?
Candor by Pam Bachorz
Uglies (and anything else) by Scott Westerfeld
Graceling and Fire by Kristin Cashore
Skin Hunger (my all-time fave) by Kathleen Duey
I could go on and on. I keep track of the books I read on my Wicked Awesome Bloggers list (http://elanajohnson2.blogspot.com). 20 this year so far!

What about books you're chomping at the bit to read?
Crash Into Me by Albert Borris
Pure by Terra Elan McVoy
The Mockingbirds by Daisy Whitney
The DUFF by Kody Keplinger
I mean, I could go on and on here too…

Last chance. One important thing every query should have.
Personality.

For more info on this totally kick-ass YA author, visit her site, become a follower, don't forget about me.
http://elanajohnson.blogspot.com/

Not Agent Oso, but still Oso special

Mission:
To obtain at least one agented call in the month of April

3 Steps to complete mission:
Submit an anti-suckage query with superb writing excerpt to entice and delight
Once foot is in door, do everything possible not to stick it in mouth
Practice midnight meditations channeling said agent's subconscious so they know how crazy dedicated I am

Consequences of a mission not complete:
WWW humiliation
Said agent may wonder why he/she is dreaming of me, saying my name all the time
Carpal tunnel (eh, I get it anyway)
A fine of. One. Million. Dollars. Mwuahaha.

Victory shall be mine. Oh yes. Oh, and come back soon for my super secret amazingly sweet interview with a super secret amazingly sweet new blog buddy. Shhh....

Support Systems: Other than a bra, do you have one?

They're out there, somewhere. I mean, you've heard of them from a friend of a friend of a sister's friend. When you're a writer, (or anything, really), starting out is like an endless maze of info dumping. You don't know where to go for answers, who to turn to, and most importantly-how to navigate this crazy, crazy compulsion to expose your soul for all to judge.

Well, have no fear my sweet little dumplings. I've said it before and I'll say it again. You can never have enough support. You know. Someone who has your back. Tells you to keep trying. Or listens to your ridiculous posts much ado about...everything.

I want you to keep writing, pookie-poos. And if you need a friend or a hundred, here's a few places to look:

YALitChat

Sourcebooks Teenfire

Query Tracker (sorry I forgot this, Elana)

Inkwell

Reuts Publications

Inkpop

And check out my blog roll. Friends don't just appear, but if you comment on their posts, chances are you'll find a few good ones in the bunch who might just take you all the way.

Who's in YOUR corner?

Always a Jester, never a Prom Queen

Disclaimer: This is meant for satirical purposes so don't take every word as is. Laugh. Like you've never laughed before. With me, not at me.

Trying to break through to the other side is painful. From unknown to omg-it's-HER, is the dream. But I'm realizing, it's all just another contest. To be...popular. Ugh.
*SIGH*

As with everything, calling yourself a writer puts you in a group of others who also write. But there are different levels. Like back in high school. Everyone liked me. I was kind-of alright. But I was in my OWN group. Lived by my OWN rules, with few real friends. The Shinys, (cool kids), talked to me, smiled, even, but we never hung out. I wasn't shiny enough.

Life is the same way. In work, school, friendship circles, writing, they all have cliques. They all have a magic door where only certain Shiny's get a key. Just starting out, it's damn near impossible to earn a key from a Shiny. I'm a nobody. And I guess I don't blame them. It takes time. One must be persistent in gaining a Shiny's trust. Don't scare them. Don't stare too long or hug too tight. They're fickle, magnificent creatures.

I can't say it enough: Whoring your profile picture and commenting on every blog as often as possible is the best way to start. Friendships develop. Talk of hotheads and beta readings ensue, (thanks MeganRebekah-you ROCK). It's a long journey to Prom Queen. You have to prove yourself, your writing, your personality, your super-awesome, (some call it lame), sprinkler move on the dance floor.

MAKE YOURSELF SHINY.

Momma wants a sash and tiara. So let me ask, aside from "Spreading Thy Seed," by means of blogging, what have you done/will you do to promote yourself?

PS: A HUGE thank you to everyone who has gone out of their way to read/comment on/follow my blog. You are Shinier than any Shiny I've ever met. I promise never to become so jaded, I'd forget who reached out their hands to the new girl. To everyone else, I'm a persistent little biotch and YOU, and YOU, and YOU...YOU'RE GONNA LOVE ME...

Writer's AA for the OCD novelist

There's so many things that go into writing an entire book it makes me wonder, what rituals are imminent to the success of your future bestseller?

For me, writing consists of what, I'm sure professionals do, with a set schedule, separate files for outlining, notes, etc., and absolute silence every minute I type. I insert a five minute break every hour to do calf raises, steal a piece of my daughter's candy from the potty bowl, followed by a sun salutation whether the sun is up or not.

Okay, so I might have fudged my routine a smidge. Here's what actually happens on the days, (when I'm lucky enough to have them), I paint my masterpiece.

My name is Candyland. And I'm an OCD novelist. (Welcome Candyland, everyone chants...in my mind)
I thought I was getting better. The almost daily blog posting, the sort-of intense focus on a chapter for what feels like forever, (but is really only five minutes), and the sugar. My God, the sugar. It's everywhere. My drug of choice.

The TV, though turned on, is set to a low murmur. The cats surround me in a blanket of fuzz, competing for my attention along with the hubs and gasp-my daughter. The shades are drawn, because, well, I like darkness. Sunshine is too perky for someone with my attention span. The rays only draw my eyes away from the ramblings, much like this one, that's taken an obscene amount of time to type.

I wear a robe. A big, soft, dingy robe. Even when it's really hot. My toilet belt hangs on the bathroom's door hook because, let's face it, it's gross and I'm not a) Hugh Hefner or, b) Trying to show off my tiny waist in this thing.

My socks are pulled high, and my hair is that of a true rock star who needs a shower. I eat one-two pieces of toast, with butter, and sometimes an egg. In my coffee, I spoon four giant piles of sugar into each cup, and my body puffs as I drink it.

The house orchestrates a ruckus of epic proportions as my three year-old blasts Miley Cyrus on repeat in the play room, while banging on her tiny drum set. After jittering my way through general web surfing for far too long, the noise is too much, and before I get a chance to look at my beloved ms, I surrender the computer to the counter and promise to start again...later.

Later comes, I check the usual: Emails, FaceTwitter, BlogSpace, places I've submitted excerpts, and some other random site that has nothing to do with anything, so long as it keeps me from doing anything productive.

Near the end of the day, once my little angel is sleepy-eyed and the hubs is closing in on the end of his work day, I sit down with a cup of hot tea, and finally take a look at my lonely ms, only to realize American Idol is on or said little angel is out of her bed, playing dress-up, in which I must intervene. The next day, it starts all over again with promises to myself, I can do it. I can make it. I can have another piece of potty candy, even when I don't potty, and write another chapter.

Everything I've just described, is everything I need to function as a writer. They, in all of their silliness, make me who I am; a frenzied, frazzled, potty training novel writer in all her glory. I am real. I have flaws and I have obstacles attempting to keep me from my goals. But in amidst the fury, I do not stumble, I do not fall. I write because I love to, I write because it's a part of me. I find the time, in in return, my story finds me.

What's your must-do routine?

Spread thy seed. Often.

The secret to success is often measured by...how many seeds one plants.

Fame, fortune, respect, they don't just appear. You have to earn them. Want the shortcut version?

-If it's for you, create a blog. It's not for everyone and if you suck or it makes you hate life, don't do it.

-If you have said blog, you have to caress it, love it, nurture it. Don't just adopt it then leave it in its pen all day.

-Having said that, post topics that are relevant to what you're trying to accomplish. If you're an aspiring writer but you post about your daughter all the time...wait...(she says checking backlog)

-Find more of your kind. You know, the others who ramble on about the same thing you do, but in a different way. They are your kin. Treat them well and learn from them.

-Plant a seed or two or eighty. Comment often on the blogs you find. Let others become familiar with your profile picture and the way you comment. They just might give in to their curiosity to peek at your page. And for that, you give them candy.

-Be consistent. Like Tiger Woods-with-his-women consistent. Don't let your new following down. If they come to seek your wisdom then by golly-give it to them!

-Outside of the blog realm, find your buttons. Eww not those. The Facebook, Twitter, Myspace, etc. buttons. Join, link up with your new homies. Keep spreading.

-Be super nice. No one likes an a-hole.

-Practice. Not everyone can be a Carrie, Natalie, Elana or Kiersten over night. It takes time. Lots and lots of time. And comedy. They all have that.

-Join online critique groups. I've said it before, I'll say it again, and again. YALitChat, TeenFire and every place like them helps whip one's butt into fighting shape. You make friends, allies, and a beautiful ms in the process. What's not to love about that?

Now get out there, my little flowers. Those seeds won't spread themselves.

Never Underestimate a chihuahua, my friends

The bet: For me to drink an entire pitcher of beer without
a) up-chucking
b) falling over
c) passing out
d) dying

The reward: My beer paid for AND the verbal trophy of hearing my best dude tell me he was...wait for it...wait...WRONG.

Let me preface this scenario by stating that I am referred to pretty widely as the "One-beer-queer," (take no offense to this term, please), so to overcome this feat of mythical proportions, I was stepping over into the dark side. Full of pro, beer-pong champ, whiskey downin', good old-fashioned drunks.



The verdict? I freakin blasted those fools. Two hours in and my pitcher was empty and I won. Take those doubts and suck it, my doubting friends.

The point? Take this attitude and USE IT. Use it to write. To conquer the world. To believe in yourself. To prove EVERYONE wrong about you. Tap into your inner chihuahua and show everyone how tough you really are.

Poetic Tragedy: Don't be one

Those of you who know me, like really really know me, are privy to the fact that I'm kind of into, (okay consumed), with The Used. Not familiar? Don't sweat it. They're only my favorite band, ever, (aside from Aerosmtih, who practically helped raise me). More so, lead singer, Bert McCracken is the male, mouthier, dirtier, grittier version of yours truly,(at least I like to tell myself that).

I've had some pretty random run-ins with so-called stars of rock in my years of musicianhood and socialting, (yep those are words now). I danced on stage with Afroman. Paid no attention to Breaking Benjamin singer, Ben Burnley, as he flicked cigarette ash into the trashcan next to the merch table I was working. Talked to The Donnas about my demo. Threw a paper airplane at Puddle of Mudd lead singer Wes Scantlin then told him to his face he was hot. Ate at IHOP with Flyleaf in the wee hours after a show. I could go on with the excessive name-dropping that no one cares about, but nothing was as important as meeting Bert. Mainly because I was a total douche and now, if we ever meet again, he'll always remember and probably cringe at the thought of me. *sigh*

But I digress.

You may wonder what any of this has to do with anything. You may furrow your brows and frown. You may stir peanuts in your peanut butter instead of buying the crunchy kind. The reason I love Bert Mccracken isn't because he so graciously accepted my douche-iness. He writes really compelling lyrics that resonate, and get me in the gut. I feel the words when he sings, and screams, them. That's the way all writing should be.

I want to heed a warning. To all of you dreamers out there, on Bert's behalf. Keep your dreams alive. Nourish and cultivate them as you would any other thing that matters. Don't get lost in the "what-if's." Don't lose sight of the big picture, but always stay present through the little moments in between. I leave you with the beginning words to Poetic Tragedy, (which is on my LaLa player at the bottom of the page), and I urge you, even if it doesn't grab you the way it does me, NEVER GIVE UP.

Poetic Tragedy
"The cup is not half empty as pessimists say
As far as he sees nothing's left in the cup
A whole cup full of nothing for him to indulge
Since the voice of ambition has long since been shut up

A singer, a writer,
He's not dreaming now of going nowhere
He gave heed to nothing
And all that he was is just a tragedy"

"Hey, Candyland, sorry I'm so awesome and you're such a douche. Watch me smoke and think about how to un-douche yourself. I'm pretty."

Wanted: Part Time Help. Requirements: Must be AWESOME

The time has come, my dear saplings. I'm looking for TWO experienced betas to read my finished ms. I will be finishing edits over the next three-four days and would really like it to be nestled in caring hands by this Sunday to make notes and tell me what's missing/wrong/awesome/smelly. Wait...

My first pages have been through the gamut over on YALitChat's First Five and have also held spot numero dos on TeenFire's writing forum since it started over a moth ago. However, I'm ready for the Big Lebowski. The golden compass. The green lantern. Wait...

I'm looking for the following in my beta: Efficient, timely, honest, thoughtful, insightful, funny. I like to laugh. A lot.

If you think you're the right candidate for the job, or you know someone who is, email me at:
candace ganger [at] yahoo dot com

Pass this post on. Momma needs a shiny ms. Oh and because you're awesome, I've decided to give you a peek at the real Candyland. Yes, you're that special.
Don't say I never gave you anything.

Okay, so I still have a sense of mystery to maintain.

Ask yourself, WWCLD?

Question: If you had to choose between: a)being a writer who loses the hand you write with or b)being a runner who loses a leg which won you the gold... which would you choose?"

Better yet, just ask yourself, "What Would Candyland Do?" Personally, I'd keep my arm. I'm not sure how I'd clip my toenails or shave delicate areas (sorry) with only one upper limb. If you're scratching your head on the decision, take a look at Moon Rat's carefully constructed answer, (thesis, really), over on Editorial Ass.

You can find the HOT debate by clicking HERE.

Also, to prevent any loss of limb, check out this book:

Dudes, it's about WHO you know

So, Twitter has become an obsessive pass time while crammed into my tiny workspace here at home and I came across a contest. Not just any contest, but like, a really really cool contest. Have I said contest yet? Contest. Contest. Contest.

Got that out of my system.

You want toffee? How about free books? Oh okay, well what about a FORTY-PAGE partial submission.critique? Huh? Huh? Do ya? (Well, I sure do).

Anywho, take a look at Suzette and Bethany's blog. Enter HERE. Be happy. Stay hydrated.

Peace and Love on this Super-Fantasmal Monday.

Perseverance: Word of Thee Day

If you have none, you'll always be where you are. Feel like giving up? Check out these inspiring posts:

Don't pet me, I'm writing
AND
I Wrote a Novel

You're not alone. Need a blog buddy or virtual shoulder? Dudes, I'm so here for you. Oh and one more thing. NEVER GIVE UP. EVER.

Candyland OUT. (I can't help myself)

The Wizard Behind Your Blog

There's been recent chatter about the girl behind the curtain on my various forums and such, mainly because my photo is the same on everyone. Is Candyland real? Oh yes, she's very, very real. But to reveal oneself completely would take any magic away from believing eyes. A little mystery goes a long way.

However, I understand your curiosity. It's only natural to want to know more about the blog maker and her mysterious world of novel writing, (channeling J.K. Rowling for you). So here's a little Q & A to tide you over. So our relationship can move forward and we can connect on a deeper, naughtier level.

Q: The picture. It's everywhere. What does it say/mean?

A: Thursday Night Scum. I used to play (guitar) at a coffee shop/bar every Thursday night. I was considered pond scum. Self-explanatory.

Q: Why are there no pictures of your face? Anywhere.

A: I prefer you imagine me the way you want me to look in your head. I hate failing to meet expectations.

Q: As an aspiring author, who do you read?

A: My most favorite books in the universe are ones about the real struggles today's teens go through. Obviously Patricia McCormick's "Cut," any/all of Ellen Hopkins books, "Chloe Doe," and one of my favorites is Jodie Picoult's "Handle with Care," which also brings attention to things like bulimia and cutting.

Q: You have something called TWLOHA all over your page. What is it?

A: To Write Love on Her Arms is a non-profit movement dedicated to preventing, treating, finding help for depression, suicide, self-injury, and addiction. They inspire and heal with love and respect, advocating the importance of talk, no matter how difficult.

Q: Whoa. Serious stuff.

A: 'Tis.

Q: If you were stranded on a desert island, what three things would you bring?

A: My daughter. She's hilarious.
Toothpaste. I'm obsessed with brushing.
Coffee. I'd need it because of my daughter, and then I would eat the toothpaste.

Q: What are you writing about right now?

A: I'm finishing final edits on 9:59 Rewind, my labor of love, before finding my dream agent. It's the story of a teenage musician (sounds familiar...) who is shot (well not now) and gets one chance to go back and find the only moment that could have saved her. It begs the question, if your last moment came with a rewind button...would you push it?

Thanks to everyone who's reading my nonsense. And...Candyland OUT, (yeah I went there).

Sweet Niblets I'm a Semi and CONTEST

Results for the Sourcebooks Fire writing comp are now in and guess who made the semi-finals. Go on, guess. Okay, if you guessed Taylor Lautner, you're wrong but oh-so-right in a differnt kind of way. Mmm. Taylor.

Anywho. What were we talking about? Oh yeah, the contest. Sourcebooks/Teen Fire had this contest all last month and number fourteen on the list is yours truly. Granted, there's still another round and I could potentially get cut, but for now, I'm beyond stoked just have gotten this far. A big thanks to Georgia McBride at YALitChat and the Sourcebooks Editors for giving emerging writers a chance to be seen.

On a side note, the SIX WORD STORY CONTEST has been extended until Friday, March 12th at 9 pm. Mainly because, well, no one has entered yet, (Yeah I'm pointing at YOU). Entries are now to be emailed to me at: candace ganger [at] yahoo [dot] com.

The winner will receive a "yeah you won" blog post. Still, nothing else. So be excited. Be very very excited even if you don't feel like it.