To Everyone’s Surprise, I Got Married Nine Years Ago. To No One’s Surprise, It Was Awkward.

I’m in the midst of writing Driven to Distraction, the fifth book in my Lovestruck Librarians series. Near the beginning of the story, a prior heroine and hero get married in a ceremony attended by all their friends.

Fun, right? Except that, for the life of me, I couldn’t seem to get a handle on that chapter. For a full day, I attempted to imagine various aspects of the scene: what the bride would wear, what vows the groom would make, the flowers, the cake…

None of it inspired me. At all.

I really wanted any fans of this hero and heroine to feel satisfied by the wedding, but I couldn’t get the words on the page.

Then it finally occurred to me: Apparently, in fiction as in real life, I don’t really give a damn about weddings. Love, yes. Weddings, no.

As a child, I never made Barbie marry Ken. My Barbie, despite the permanent arch of her feet and the disturbing holes in the sides of her head—the better to accommodate high heels and earrings, respectively—led an independent life of adventure. Well, maybe not adventure. But she could claim sole ownership of a luxurious Dream House and a shiny Corvette.

My Barbie even boasted some skimpy lingerie. Poor Ken never saw any of it. As far as I was concerned, Barbie’s staid boyfriend did not meet her needs. Too young to attribute Barbie’s dissatisfaction to Ken’s eerily smooth nether regions, I simply decided he was boring. And so Barbie remained single, glamorous, and happy, even after I gave her a haircut suitable for asylum inmates.

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The A to Z Challenge, As Completed by the Wordiest Person on Earth

My friend and awesome author Susan Scott Shelley tagged me to discuss my life from A to Z, so let’s DO THIS!

(NB: You may not be able to scrub your brain clean of some of these answers after reading them. Particularly Q and U. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, people.)

A—Age: 39

B—Biggest fear: Disappointing others. Oh, God, I’m doing it now, aren’t I? AREN’T I???

C—Current time: 5 p.m.

D—Drink you last had: Diet Coke. Battery acid-flavored beverage of champions.

E—Every day starts with: My daughter climbing on top of my sleeping body and poking me. Her: “Mommy? Are you awake?” Me: “Not willingly.”

F—Favorite song: My current obsession is “Love to Get Used” by Matt Pond PA. But my all-time favorite is probably “Find the River” by R.E.M.

G—Ghosts, are they real?: I’m skeptical. But I’m certainly not going to contradict people who say they’ve seen one, because—by the immutable law of horror movies—that’s just asking for a poltergeist or other malevolent spiritual presence to move into my home.

H—Hometown: Williamsburg, VA (AKA Colonial Disneyland)

I—In love with: Salted caramel anything. Oh, and my husband and daughter, I suppose.

J—Jealous of: People with blithe self-assurance. Makes me want to trip them, because they clearly deserve it.

K—Killed someone?: Just to watch him die.

Wait, no. That should read “Of course not! Hahahaha! What a silly question!”

L—Last time you cried?: Two days ago. But I’m a total sap. For example: When people get eliminated on Chopped and look all sad, I’m usually sniffling along with them. Unless they’re going home because they used too much sesame or truffle oil, because really? They should know better by now. Do they never watch reruns??? C’mon, people.

M—Middle name: Olivia Dade is a pen name, so I don’t have one. But maybe I should add it now? I’m open for suggestions. Esmerelda, for the youthful allure? Bertha, for the sexiness of it? Beyoncé, because various people fail to ready themselves adequately for my jelly?

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My First RWA Conference: A Tale of Awkwardness, Woe, & FREE BREAKFAST

When I tell you about what I did at last year’s RWA conference in San Antonio, please keep those two facts in mind before calling me a complete idiot: 1) I do not function well without adequate sleep. 2) If I can’t get adequate sleep, I refuse to function at all without adequate food. God, I love food. Especially when it’s free and in buffet form.

Even with those facts in mind, you will likely still call me a complete idiot, but you will do so with pity rather than scorn. And that’s good enough for me.

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