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Naomi Clark is my new hero

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An Open Letter To Laurell K Hamilton

I agree with Ms. Clark. The tweet she references, in which Ms. Hamilton suggests that she welcomes the deep, gothic, darkity dark thoughts that she is plagued with and other people are just, I don’t know, not artistic or gothic or deep or what the fuck ever enough to handle them, makes me sick and offended. I’m a writer. I have a mental illness. And I’m not going to go untreated so I can better pour my tortured soul into my stories about vampires and shifters poking each other.

There’s another component to those words that suggest that if you’re strong, if you’re dedicated to your craft, you don’t need help to overcome your mental illness. There is already enough stigma attached to mental illness. We don’t need to be glorifying it as a gift from the Gods or something. What is this, ancient Rome? Okay, folks, Caesar had epilepsy, he wasn’t “touched by Mars” and if he lived today, he would be on medication for it. (I realize that epilepsy isn’t a mental illness, but I’ve been rewatching Rome lately and I can’t get out of that mode right now, okay, Vorenus?)

If you’re depressed, if you hear voices, if you live in constant fear and you know that it’s irrational, please, I urge you, go get help. This isn’t directed as Ms. Hamilton, but to anyone who might read this post and have these issues. Going untreated for a serious mental illness is not a badge of honor. It’s not an artistic, deeply feeling thing to do. It’s self-destructive and selfish, when it affects the people around you. I repeat: do not go untreated because some successful people feel that you can “create” better if you’re struggling with these issues.

Please, do go read Naomi’s letter, because she’s much better at breaking through her rage and channeling it into constructive words, and she hardly uses fuck at all in there, which is why she’s more professional than I am. You can read more reaction about this comment from a group known as the LKH_Lashout on LiveJournal: http://lkh-lashouts.livejournal.com/553179.html#cutid1 wherein people who live with mental illness react to those words and the hurt it caused them. It’s not pretty.

These are probably the worst cupcakes in London.

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I let my two-year-old pick the next cupcake project from the book, and of course she had to pick one of the most complicated. So, here are the results:

First, I had to sculpt a realistic corpse finger from marzipan. The author of the book suggested ivory food coloring, but that looked a little too fresh, so I used a teensy bit of yellow and a teensy bit of brown. Then, using my own natural sculpting talents and a ton of willpower to not just start shoving marzipan into my mouth by the handful, I made those corpse fingers, damnit:

The nails got a brush with piping gel. As per the instructions, I set them aside in an airtight container while I whipped up a batch of chocolate cupcakes.

It took literally all my willpower not to leave this…

…on top of the trashcans at the funeral home down the street. But I managed.
After the cupcakes were cooled and vanilla frosted, it was time to make some marzipan pie lids. I finished construction while singing along to “The Worst Pies in London”, “A Little Priest”, “God That’s Good” and “Joanna”. The Patti LuPone/George Hearn version, of course. After a little experimentation with methods (though the book instructs you to put the entire thing together before decorating with luster dust, I found it was easier to brush them with gel food coloring for better contrast and then put the entire thing together) and thickness of marzipan, I they came out looking more or less all like this:

They were a hit with the kids, and bigger hit with me, since the kids didn’t want to eat the marzipan fingers and gave them to me.
I am surprisingly enjoying the aesthetics of them sitting on my baking rack in little rows. It’s like a bunch of cupcakes flipping me off every time I walk past.

“and every two years you take up knitting for… a week.”

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In my fevered attempts to keep myself from working, but also to not bake super complicated and work intensive cupcakes every single day, I’ve also decided to treat my work addiction with cross-stitch.
Counted cross-stitch is probably one of the easiest hobbies on the planet, unless you’re my friend Bronwyn Green and you spend ten years working on a Theresa Wentzler project until your husband tells you that you can’t cross-stitch anymore because he can’t take the stress. There is just something soothing about mindlessly counting and stitching, counting and stitching. Until, you know, you fuck it up and you have to take a bunch of stitches out.

Keeping that last part in mind, I present my very simple first project of this whole “not working” experience:

I plan to cross-stitch several pieces with my favorite 30 Rock quotes on them, and then hang them in my office because my husband expressly forbids me from putting them up anywhere in the house, stating that, “Your nerdness must be contained to your own space. Don’t make your nerdness everyone else’s problem.”

Sage advice. I hung it above the doors in my office, so that the view from my desk is something like this:

I have a lot of admiration for Liz Lemon, the fictionalized version of Tina Fey on the show. Although I always think of my friend Jill as being more Lemon-esque (and she has the coloring and glasses), I notice similarities between Liz and I. We’re both trying to “have it all” and are obsessive perfectionists.

Also, this.

Trading one addiction for another

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Recently, with the help of my community’s department of mental health services, I was informed that I am addicted to work. Apparently, “workaholic” is an actual thing. Usually, I feel as though if I work twelve hours a day, it’s not enough, and I don’t have enough time to get anything done.

As a result, I am now taking my first hiatus from writing in six years. I needn’t tell you, gentle reader, that it blows real hard. All I want to do is write. Great ideas just keep popping up. But I’m forcing myself to ignore that urge, and, like a smoker who chews gum to quit smoking or a heroin addict who smokes cigarettes to quit heroin, I’ve found a parallel addiction to rule my time.
Crafts.
The glorious anniversary of my birth is tomorrow, and as a present, my friend Cheryl Sterling over at Writers, Like Me gave me this:

This is A Zombie Ate My Cupcake, a book full of some of the strangest, most pointlessly complicated cupcakes you will ever see. And I have made it my personal mission this summer to make them. All of them.

I started out with Lily Vanilli’s Rainbow Cupcakes. Now, I’ll be honest. She has a recipe for the actual cake in there. But cake and I… we don’t get along. I’m not good at making cakes without a mix, so I will confess, I used a mix. But I did make her frosting recipe (I am amazing at making frosting). The cupcakes turned out like this (pre-frosting):

Mine turned out quite short, because I am new to this whole cupcake thing and I didn’t fill the cups enough. As it turns out, that was a point in my favor, because once I had made twelve little cupcakes, I had enough left to make my own version of a rainbow cake. I made a tie-dye cake:

This fulfilled my life-long need to eat something that looked like the pretend food they ate in Neverland in Hook.

Once I got the cakes frosted, I decided to take a look at the inside, to see how the rainbow effect worked out:
Aww and yeah. Look at all that rainbow-y goodness. These cupcakes are magical. I don’t know what it is about eating something that looks like you’re having a mild hallucination, but it tasted delicious. As per Ms. Vanili’s forward, I used fair-trade ingredients whenever possible. Farm fresh eggs and hand churned, organic butter from the hippie farm. I think it made the cake taste more psychedelic, even if it came out of a boxed mix.
I’m letting my daughter pick out the next cupcake design to try, though I’m a bit nervous she’s going to want to jump right into the ones with sculpted marzipan fingers.
Stay tuned for further projects. Besides the cupcakes, I’ve also got some other things up my sleeve, crafts wise, this summer.

Pirates aren’t that bad, mkay?

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So, as royalty statements went out this quarter, the near-deafening cry that went up from ebook authors was, “STUPID PIRATES”. This is pretty much to be expected. If I do a google search of my pen name, Abigail Barnette (Abigail’s latest steampunk story, BOUND IN BRASS is now available at All Romance Ebooks), illegal download requests and sites pop up on the very first page. It’s enough to make an author gnash her teeth and rend her garments. Unless we start to look at it another way.

This man is not the enemy. This man gets us drunk.

First of all, we need to stop looking at every download as a sale lost. There’s an old saying, “Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?” I’ve never really understood that saying, because it usually has to do with women giving up sex for free, and the whole milk metaphor seems to work better in conjunction with semen, but that’s a blog post for another time. While one could apply this to e-piracy of our books by saying, “If they couldn’t get the books for free, they would purchase them,” I think the opposite is true. If ebook pirates couldn’t get the books (milk) for free, they wouldn’t buy them (the cow), anyway. Because clearly, if you’re getting it for free, it’s not something you’d be willing to spend money on. The opportunity is there for these people. They can easily go find our books on any of the fine retail websites that carry them. But they don’t. Instead, they go on message boards and say, “Looking for a torrent, plz,” and wait. They wait for it for free, when they could easily drop the measly three or so bucks to have it immediately. To me, that kind of proves that they don’t want that book that bad. They want it, but obviously not enough to pay for it.
So, instead of going, “I saw that my book was illegally downloaded twelve times from this site, that means twelve sales I lost,” maybe we should look at it like, “My book was downloaded twelve times. That means twelve more people read it than would have otherwise.” Sure, this doesn’t have the same monetary value to us as authors, but it does have some value.
I’ll fess up to something here: I’ve been known to download episodes of popular cable television shows because I’m too poor and too cheap to pay for cable. It is what it is, okay? Occasionally, I’ll tell one of my friends, “You have got to watch this show, it’s totally awesome.” But she won’t illegally download anything. Not a song, not a book, not a tv show, not a set of photoshop brushes, nothing. She is the anti-pirate. I can respect that. So, when I tell her, “You really need to see this show,” she waits for the dvd, and either rents it or buys it through perfectly legal means.
Let’s extrapolate that out, to the world of books, specifically, romance books, where our reputations as authors are based largely on word-of-mouth sales. Let’s pretend our pirate’s name is… I don’t know, Sheila. We’ll call her Sheila. For whatever reason, be it our current economy or just plain being a miser, Sheila doesn’t spend much money on books. If she wants a paperback, she gets it from her library, if she wants an ebook, she downloads it from a pirate site. So, let’s say Sheila downloads… oh, I don’t know, GIANT by Abigail Barnette, and she likes it so much that she tells her friend, we’ll call this friend… Harriet, about how great GIANT is, what with the sweet romance and super hot love scenes and all. Harriet, being morally opposed to piracy, goes and buys GIANT from ARe. And while she’s there, she picks up the first book in the series, GLASS SLIPPER.
Obviously, this isn’t going to happen every single time, so let’s talk about a different scenario. Let’s say Sheila reads the book, then goes to a review site, like Amazon or GoodReads, and leaves a glowing review. And, since she’s such a book nut, her reviews are being followed by, I don’t know, fifteen people. That’s fifteen people who have just been told that GIANT is an amazing book, and fifteen people more likely to check it out.
Not to mention the fact that just having your name come up with more search results on google is a good thing. If I run a search for either of the names I write under, the last thing I would want is to have six results lead back to me and the fact that I write, and the rest of them pointing to a real estate agent in Kentucky who has more internet gravitas than I do. I’m grateful to pirates for the fact that when I search Abigail Barnette, google no longer asks me, “Did you mean Abigail Breslin?” That shit is disheartening. So, even if you google your name and all that comes up is your site and a thousand piracy sites, at least it’s saying, “Hey, this person is out there, and they write books, and they’re not Abigail Breslin.”
Now, please understand that I’m not trying defend theft. But I’m consistently surprised at how many authors publicly bitch about piracy, when readers are quick to point out how obnoxious they find it. When my latest Jennifer Armintrout release, AMERICAN VAMPIRE came out, I joked to a reader on twitter, “Thanks for buying it instead of pirating it.” I meant it as a joke, because I really don’t give a shit what other people do with their computers. But the reader was clearly taken aback, judging from her response. I’ve probably lost that reader over my stupid joke, and it’s not like I have so many readers that I can afford to lose them.
Let’s take that example and extrapolate it out again. Let’s say I love an author. Love, love, love this author, so much so that I follow her on facebook or twitter or some other form of social media that I don’t know about because my youth is over and I’m relegated to some hellish limbo wherein I’m no longer “young” but not yet “middle-aged”. But when she’s tweeting or facebooking or yonking or whatever people do these days, she’s always on and on about pirates. Pirates this, pirates that. It seems like her disdain for pirates has consumed her, so much so that everyone is a suspect, including me. Also, it’s clear from these tweets and yonks or honks or franks or whatever that she’s not really interested in crafting stories for me to enjoy. That’s secondary to the real reason she’s writing, which is money. And if she’s not getting enough to be appeased, I’m going to have to listen to her complain about it.
So, I implore you, authors of the world. Let’s just shut up about the book piracy thing. Yes, it sucks. But we’re not losing as much money as we assume we are. If they’re pirating our books, they’re not buying. That doesn’t mean they’d have bought them in the first place. And having our work in front of more readers is a good thing. And while we’re only in it for the money, we can’t tell readers that. It would destroy the illusion that we’re all artsy, creative types who live for our work.
WHICH WE TOTALLY DO.

Unexpected Benefits to New York Recognizing Gay Marriage

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Like many people across the nation today, I’m thrilled as can be that last night, New York became the sixth state in the nation to allow folk who are homosexual to get married. I mean, there is that horrible, cynical side of me that is irked that only six states have done this so far, that goes, “Oh gee, you’re going to let them get married, just like real people? That’s mighty big of you,” but even I can set that crotchety old-manness aside to be genuinely grateful for the brotherhood of man today.

(That wasn’t an intentional reference to How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying. Musical references just kind of come out of me. I’m like the Seth McFarlane of not doing anything of value. So basically just Seth McFarlane.)
So, this decision has gotten me thinking of the unexpected effects this is going to have on the economy in New York state. This is what I’ve come up with, so far:
There’s a 50% increase in job openings for wedding planners.
I’m not great at math or statistics or presenting factual information in a helpful way, so I figure that about half the people in New York are gay, and half are straight. Let’s say half of those gay people and half of those straight people are engaged. We’re going to need someone to plan these weddings, and I bet wedding planners in Manhattan alone are already swamped. Plus, we have to factor in all those “sensitive” guys who told their long term girlfriends that they would get married “When love is equal” or some other political shit they were hiding behind because they’re really afraid of commitment. I’m looking at you, Brad Pitt, even though you do not live in New York that I am aware of. So, now we’ve got gay engaged people and commitment-phobic engaged people looking to get married. We’re gonna need some more wedding planners.
So many more opportunities for cake.
This one saddens me a little bit, because most of the people I know who are my friends and also gay aren’t dating anyone. Also, we live in Michigan, a state that does not recognize gay marriage. So, while the thought of this makes me super happy, it’s bittersweet. See, there are going to be more weddings, and therefore more cake. And I’m not going to get any of it. But still, if you live in New York state, there is a fair chance the number of weddings you’re required to attend will go up. I know, I know, that’s a total bummer and you don’t even want to spend every weekend at Crate and Barrel trying to find the cheapest thing on somebody’s registry before dashing to the church, but I assure you: there will be cake. So, don’t think of this legislation as another way your friends can suck the money right out of your bank account in a socially acceptable manner. Think of it as an increase in cake.
Divorce lawyers, expect to buy a boat in eight years.
Everyone is super happy right now, and I don’t want to cast a pall on that, but the fact is, in the United States, it’s estimated that most divorces occur around the eight year mark. This is fantastic news for divorce lawyers in New York, who just had their client base expanded for them by the state legislature. Doubled, if you use my faulty math.
Expect at least three gay-wedding themed reality shows on basic cable.
You know it’s coming. Turn on any basic cable channel, they probably have a show about weddings. Planning weddings, buying dresses, family drama, people can’t get enough of that shit. Now just imagine “Say Yes To The Dress” but with two brides arguing over what they should be wearing. I think it’s safe to say that those creative liberal television types in New York City are going into development meetings as we speak: “It’s called My Big Fat Gay Wedding. Write that down.”
Okay, so it’s fun to joke. And maybe some of these predictions will actually come true. But the bottom line is, I’m so, so happy for all our brothers and sisters in New York state who happen to love someone of the same gender and who are now, far, far too late, being recognized as our fellow Americans.
Now other forty-four states? Get your asses in gear, and stop your fucking whinging.
God bless New York, and God Bless America.

Wherein I change the lines to Mean Girls to be about Billy Joel instead of Regina George

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How do I even begin to explain Billy Joel?

Billy Joel is flawless. He has two Fendi purses and a silver Lexus.

I hear his hair’s insured for ten-thousand dollars.

I hear he does car commercials. In Japan.

His favorite movie is Varsity blues.

One time, he met John Stamos on a plane. And he told him he was pretty.

One time, he punched me in the face. It was awesome.

He always looks fierce. He always wins Spring Fling Queen.

We all remember that James Frey is an asshole, right?

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Apparently, James Frey, author of A Million Little Pieces, the “memoir” famous for being a steaming pile of bullshit, is going back on Oprah to promote his new book.
If I sound a little bristly, it’s because I think this guy is a fucking scam artist. But I’m apparently in the minority. If you go to CNN’s entertainment blog, The Marquee Blog, you’ll find a story about Jame’s Frey’s return to the Oprah show and lots of comments from readers who feel that it was Oprah, and not James Frey, in the wrong during his first appearance on the show. I feel it is my job, nay, my divine duty, to call it like I sees it and tackle one of these comments, a statement that hits every single one of my “Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me!” buttons.
Jan writes: whether the book was completely true or not, it was a compelling read. very intense. and it told a good story and demonstrated a good lesson. i bought several of them for addicts and they truly appreciated the books even if they were not 100% true. i don’t know about his new book but i always felt that oprah went overboard in taking him to task on her show the way she did. it was pretty tough to watch. he did what he did, with the help and advice of very knowledgeable people in the business. i think he was more of a dupe that she was
What this comment tells me, Jan, is that you don’t give a shit about truth or integrity, just as long as you’re entertained. It doesn’t matter if the book was appreciated by people struggling with addiction. It was a lie. And it was no one’s fault but his own.
This is a sentiment that got thrown around a lot when the controversy first hit the news. a call-in on Larry King’s show, Oprah herself blamed his publisher for the book being, well, full of lies and half-truths, saying it was the publisher’s job to verify the facts. Of course, she changed her tune later, but it apparently stuck in the minds of a lot of readers, like Jan there, who feel that Frey was simply the sweet, unwitting pawn of an evil publisher.
I’ve got some experience in the publishing industry. Not in memoirs, mind you, but I do have eight fiction novels in print and five novellas in e-book format, and I’m currently working as an editor for a publishing house that will go unnamed for professional reasons. Whenever I have signed a contract, there’s been this little section in it that says something to the effect of, “this is all my work, and if I’m lying it’s totally on me.” I would bet that James Frey signed a contract with a similar clause in it, something like, “If I’m lying and exploiting dead people for my own gain, it’s nobody’s fault but my own.” And when I’m editing a book, I don’t feel like the onus is on me to make sure that every historical fact the author includes is accurate. I assume they know what they’re talking about, and I don’t get paid enough or have the time to research how people cleaned their teeth in Victorian Britain. If the facts turn out to be inaccurate and readers complain, they’re holding the author responsible. Blaming the publisher for James Frey’s lies is like a five-year-old blaming his mom for his lies. “Yes, I lied, but you listened to me lying. Really, you’re the one at fault.”
Let’s go back to that that “exploiting dead people for my own gain” thing. James Frey writes in A Million Little Pieces about a tragic car accident that caused the death of his only friend in high school. Of course, this turned out to be all lies, except for the part about the car/train accident that actually happened, and the girl’s surviving family objected strongly to her portrayal and the inclusion of her death in the book, saying that she and Frey didn’t know each other, were not friends, and that Frey was not involved in the accident or the aftermath in any way.
Now let’s hop back to the statement that a lot of readers make: “It doesn’t matter if it was fake, it helped my friend/my husband/my dad/my whoever, because they’re an addict.”
Drug addiction is a difficult dragon to slay. I’ve had my own problems with addiction in the past. You know what would have definitely not helped me during those times? Finding out that the thing that had inspired me to seek recovery was actually a gigantic, steaming pile of horseshit and failure. But setting that aside, whenever anyone says that James Frey’s lies are admissible because they “helped people,” what they’re saying is, “I don’t care about the emotional pain and stress this douchebag money grabber caused this dead teenager’s family. Yes, they’re real people, who have a real vested interest in this farce, but I choose to ignore that in order to still feel good about this wannabe hardass who goes on national tv with his big, sad eyes and cries about how life was so hard being a white suburban teen in the midwest.”
Leaving aside his lies, which included turning a five-hour stay in jail into the life of a hardened criminal (a word he capitalized throughout the book, to really drive home what a hard-ass he is), there’s the fact that he’s created a sweatshop for people who want to write but don’t want to make a living from it. You can read about that here .
So what we have here is a guy who lies, won’t admit he’s lying in the face of overwhelming evidence, exploits dead teenagers and living writers, and there are still people out there defending this curly haired fuck?
What kind of a world do we live in, that this guy is able to continue making a living and go out in public without everyone throwing rotten garbage at him? Is he not the definition of a super villain? James Frey is like Lex Luthor with half the brain, and we’re funding his career by buying his books? Fantastic, this is exactly the world I want to be living in. Fuck integrity and honesty, as long as we’re entertained.
“Are you not entertained?”

And now people are wondering if Oprah will apologize for her behavior during his last appearance on her show. Why should she? She read this guy’s book, she believed it and trusted that he was telling the truth. Of course she believed him, he ran all over hell and high-water, telling everyone who would listen that his book was 100% fact and he is now and forever shall be the hardest motherfucker with the biggest balls ever, an ex-con so tough he survived a root canal with no anesthesia at the hands of a Nazi dentist and also he’s Superman and he kicked his addiction to every drug ever while simultaneously rescuing babies and kittens from a burning meth house, and then he drove a bulldozer into a police car and stood in the middle of the street with his arms wide open, receiving their hate like Ed Norton in American History X only not a white supremacist. Only after he was caught did he start to offer up excuses for his lies, like he was Obi-wan telling Luke that the entire “hit a police car and faced an eight year prison sentence for felony mayhem” thing he told him about was true “from a certain point of view.”

Stop defending this asshole, everybody. Seriously. Stop defending him, stop proselytizing about the power of A Million Little Pieces to heal even the most hardened of drug users. Stop insisting that James Frey was the victim while he continues to victimize others. And stop demanding that Oprah apologize. The person who needs to apologize is James Frey, but that’s too much to hope for, so long as we continually reward whoever steals the title of “Most Audacious Liar”.