Kirstin Cronn-Mills

I’m waiting right now. If you’re a writer, you’d better know how to wait. It’s not a good word.

I’m waiting for people to say yes. I’m waiting for people to say no.

I’m waiting for inspiration to strike.

I’m waiting for trepidation to recede.

I’m waiting for confusion to clear up (ha ha–never!).

The other verbs that go with waiting are goofing off, surfing, thinking and avoiding.

I’m goofing off in every possible way by doing *other* kinds of work, which is BAD.

I’m surfing the interwebz for new author promotion strategies.

I’m thinking of all the ways I can strengthen my characters.

I’m avoiding the tough stuff–should I *really* be a writer? Should I quit my job, pierce my lip, dye my hair teal, and take up photography? Should I buy a pair of purple Chucks? Should I run away to Australia? All of these things are valid questions, except the last one. I couldn’t run away because then my kid wouldn’t take his vitamins, and then he’d die of scurvy and rickets and other horrible diseases, which would not be OK.

Despite all this roiling about, underneath it all, there’s always waiting.

(Do people even know what “four-letter words” are anymore? Like p*ss and sh*t and f*ck? Maybe the four-letter word concept is old and tired, but I still think wait is one of them.)

The pug is for you, Amy Tipton, and the sign is from here.

One of my students (a high-school guy) said that to me: “Nobody ever gets shot on the Hallmark Channel.” Exactly! It’s not their audience. Knowing your audience is a key part in selling things, including writing. Granted, I don’t know about the Hallmark Channel–I’m not their audience, except for being a woman. Maybe people really do get shot there, but I’m sure, if it happens, it’s only bad guys or for a good reason, and there is forgiveness all around.

Henceforth, two wildly different examples of knowing your audience:

Example #1: It’s a Chamber of Commerce buffalo, isn’t it? Actually, it’s a random buffalo I found in Custer State Park outside of Custer, SD, but he looks like he was planted there to sell the place, down to that raised right front foot. He needs a coffee can next to him that says “tips”, or the state of South Dakota should have him on retainer for standing around like that. He read his audience (people who drive around looking for SD wildlife) quite well.

Example #2: Hyperbole and a Half. I have no idea why I like this blog, except for the fact that her screechy insanity appeals to me more than almost anything I read these days. I think her audience is people who *want* to be crazy-ass weirdos who scrawl funny drawings about stupid stuff heaped with sarcasm and wild amusement *but have no guts to do it*. Like me. I hope Allie Brosh won’t come after me for swiping her drawing, hopefully not since I only said good things.

On a related note, I did see fish at Shedd Aquarium in Chicago that posed for cameras–swam right up to the glass and showed people their best sides and smiled in a fishy way. I was floored. So maybe this buffalo posed too, I don’t know. But I’d guess not. I always figure a buffalo could give a fsck about a camera, because he’s huge, powerful and able to trash a car in three seconds. He knows he’s better that you, tip jar or not.

Has anybody seen the “I heart boobies” bracelet that Zumiez sells? My child now has one, courtesy of a friend. He thinks it’s completely awesome, of course, because he’s just getting to the time in his life when boobies are ultra-interesting, but not for breast cancer awareness, if you get my drift.

So I said to him, as he’s talking about his bracelet and trying to annoy me, “Are you sure this is about cancer and not just loving boobies because they’re boobies? What about a bracelet that said ‘I heart balls’ or ‘I heart penises’? Could we do that for cancer research?”

Shocked silence. Then “Mom, nobody would wear those.”

“I can think of people who would.”

“No you can’t.”

Oh yes I can. And then I start laughing, because I’d bet I could sell a mixed case of those suckers in about twenty minutes, especially if I mentioned it on Facebook.

So here’s the next question: if these bracelets are to raise cash for cancer (I am *not* saying raising money for breast cancer is bad, even in a wink-wink, nudge-nudge way), where are the ones for anal/rectal cancer that say “I heart assholes”? Or “I heart cervixes”? My brother has brain cancer, so why not ones that say “I heart brains”? Problem is, brains, cervixes, and anuses aren’t sexy and cool–they are what they are, with not a lot of love attached–oh, unless you’re a zombie, and then you do heart brains because you’re hungry. But boobies–we can admit our sexy love for them and still call it fundraising. Is this good? I don’t know.

You can, however, buy a similar product as chewing gum, as the picture demonstrates. Now we just need to skew it towards cancer research. And yes, there is such a thing as penile cancer.

This is why I’m a word nerd–the power within them fascinates me. Now I’m off to find a manufacturer for my “I heart penises” bracelets. Wish me luck!

You’ll never guess what I found in the Central Nowhere paper. I had to read it three times to make sure I had the genders correct:

“Mark Edward Becker and Cody Bill Shafer McKiddie, both of Denver, Colorado, are pleased to announce their engagement and upcoming wedding ceremony.

Mark, 29, is . . . Cody, 31, is . . . He is [also] an Iraq War veteran with 10 years of service as Staff Sergeant in the United States Air Force. He has served 1 tour in the Middle East and 2 in South Korea. The wedding will take place July 31st, 2010, in Council Bluffs, Iowa.”

Mark is originally from Central Nowhere! And, double bonus: the other groom is a gay man in the military.

Why does this matter to me? Maybe, if she still was a teenager there, the real Tessa could be out today, and not have to hide herself with fake boyfriends. Maybe she could bring a girlfriend to the prom, and not have to deal with what Constance went through. I highly doubt it–one wedding announcement does not a gay pride festival make–but you never know.

For me, it boils down to this: if this announcement is in my hometown paper, there’s hope in the world. Though I hope they don’t choose this cake topper.

I know–long hiatus. Sorry.

I love research. Why? It’s an awesome procrastination tool.

But it’s also a smart thing to do. I just took a four-day research trip (and drove 1400 miles total, WOW, lots of gas), and it was beaucoup fantastic. I learned so much, even more than I was expecting to learn.

Some of what I now know:

1) one character needs a French surname, not an English one
2) buffalo are WAY bigger than you’d think (see photo for scale)
3) coyotes can’t catch prairie dogs, even though they try
4) grandmothers rule the world
5) people are incredibly generous (thanks again, Ernie & Sonja!)
6) there was a real guy named Buddy Red Bow–he’s not just a character in a film
7) a person could get lost in western South Dakota–on purpose or by accident
8) always bring a cooler

The best thing about research is how much better it makes your fiction. At the same time, you have to be very, very careful not to let facts overwhelm your story.

Now to do justice to what I learned. Eeek.

Hilarious photo from here.

I want to do more to talk up other writers. What are the interwebs about but networking? So I thought I’d start with agent siblings–or people you share an agent with. And I have some really cool agent siblings, way cooler than me, plus they do interesting things.

For instance, Victoria Schwab. Her novel THE NEAR WITCH is out in Summer 11, but what’s she doing in the meantime? Helping to bring Nashville back from its recent flood. Writers are good community members, and she’s one of the best. Please please please, check out her auction.

Also Amy Reed. Her book BEAUTIFUL came out in October of 09, and she’s busy talking about bullies and making a stand with other writers.

There are more! Marci Blackman is publishing an insider’s guide to biking in NYC, out in April 2011 (not to mention all the other writing she’s got out) with Ed Glazar, a phenomenal photographer. Courtney Summers has been writing since she was one–one!–check for evidence here, and what else could you ask for in a writer, or human being in general? But she also has two YA novels out there, CRACKED UP TO BE and SOME GIRLS ARE. Then there’s Tahereh Mafi, who has more enthusiasm in her than one human should be allowed to have. And these are just the agent sibs I know of. I’m sure there are more, all equally cool.

Visit them (be sure to visit Victoria’s auction here), buy their books, hang out. Enjoy!

I wish this was a story about trampolines.

A couple weeks ago, I was the guest speaker at a writing event for 3rd-12th graders. It was great. I even saw parents nodding along with my talk. One guy came up to me afterward (a grandpa) and said, “When you put that cup of water on the podium, I thought, ‘Wow, we’re in for a long one.’ But you kept it short and sweet–and interesting!” Big smile from the dude, and no better compliment could I have received.

After the event, I got to sell my books (which is the subject for another post–reconsidering audience). Great, right? Last week I got a note from the bank, and one check had been returned. My bank account is now out $10, plus a $7 fee, and there’s the $6.50 I paid for the book in the first place. $23.50 and a free book went to John and Brenda and their daughter (I’m guessing).

Someone said, “Well, call them and ask for your book back! Or the money!” What good would that do? What if these people have no jobs, but they bought their daughter a book for $10 because she wanted it? What gets me is this: did they *know* they had no money, but they did it anyway, for her? Or was it just a gap between paydays and something came up, and they thought they could float, but they couldn’t?

I’ve thought about this situation a lot (not that it’s my biz, but writers think about things). Honestly, I am happy to give them a book and pay $23.50 for it. Maybe they really, really, needed one. Maybe they knew how happy it would make their child.

I could be wrong: John and Brenda may be complete scam artists, though none of the families at this event struck me that way. Moms and dads and everyone else were there to honor their kids, beginning writers who were proud of themselves, and the families were proud, too. I can chip in for that.

When you’re from Nebraska, you expect “small world” stories all the time. There’s one degree of separation between people–two, max–but sometimes the degree is so close and unexpected that it knocks you out.

This morning I called my hometown to do some business for my dad, and the woman I talked to was nobody I knew–DUN DUN DUNNNN–or so I thought! I still don’t know her, but it turns out she was a student of and mentored by the real Elsie Yvonne Callahan, Morgan’s grandma in SKY. My actual grandma, the music teacher/piano virtuoso, who taught an hour west of my hometown before she retired.

This woman said the kindest, sweetest things about Elsie, and what an amazing gift for a Friday morning. And SO random and cool. A convo about clown cars? Or migrating snakes? More expected than this conversation.

Then, the person who answers my next phone call is a woman I babysat for when I was 11, and haven’t talked to since then, who asked me kind questions about my family.

There is no place like Nebraska. I love it.

Gunn High School in Palo Alto CA had some serious tragedies: student suicides. People jumped in front of trains. And who showed up to help them in their grief, and to protest the fact that they’re a diverse, inclusive school? Westboro Baptist Church, of course, since they are uber-supportive of people in times of tragedy. Margie Phelps (daughter of Fred) brought ugly signs and lots of hate, of course.

And what did the Gunn High School kids do? They sang, and protested back with LOVE. Can you imagine? The same thing happened when WBC moved on to picket at Stanford, at their temple. People just loved them instead of hating back.

I admire the hell out of this. If you can love on Fred Phelps and his crowd, well, you are a love ninja. Or a buddha. Maybe even Gandhi. So, your job for today: love on the most difficult person you can find. Enjoy Fred Phelps’ “fag-loving country”, filled with lovers and haters.

Old news again, I know–it happened in March. But it’s worth mentioning. Photo not of the incident–it just has great examples of their signs.

Friends! This is National Library Week! And who is on the banner from the American Library Association for National Library Week? Neil Gaiman, my literary crush (who, when I saw him last September, had bedhead and frayed cuffs on his jeans, won’t you be mine, Neil?, but I digress).

What is cooler than a library? Not much, in my opinion. I vividly remember my library in Central Nowhere, and the crabby Mrs. George who wouldn’t let me read in the adult section (I may have been 12) until one of cool librarians did, and then I was stuck in Stephen King. When we were little, my brother and I lost tons of library books in our book closet. The moment I knew I had arrived as an author: when I found out the Hennepin County Library System (in the Twin Cities, for you non-Minnesotans), had purchased 10 copies of my book. My brain: “holy SHIT, I’m in a library! That book is real!”

Helpful folks, there in the library, helpful with research and/or recommendations. Lots of lively tomes. Lots of peace and quiet and happy patrons. I actually live down the alley from a tiny library, and I don’t go there much. My vow is to re-up in my dedication. Have they asked me to speak there? No. Have I volunteered? Twice. However, I will still patronize them for their cushy chairs and their quiet.

Love your library this week, friends. A lot! BTW, the second photo is the Trinity College Library in Dublin, Ireland (school founded in *1592!*). Look close–that’s two stories of beauty and books. I got to go last year, and could have stayed for a year. Photo taken by Candida Hofer.