Happy Canada Day! Don’t forget, you can win a copy of the TOTALLY AWESOME book The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by following the directions on Monday’s blog. You have until Thursday evening. Around eight-ish. Central Time. Maybe Mountain Standard. I dunno. Depends what kind of mood I’m in.

Okay, so I’m on Twitter, right? I didn’t want to join. I didn’t. But after about a year, I caved. And I’m not a huge fan. Facebook won me over almost instantly, and we’re still going strong. I love how user-friendly it is. I love the easy-on-the-eyes interface. Twitter (TweetDeck) gives me anxiety every time I make myself open it. And even though I don’t get the technical nuances of it (because that would involve research and reading directions), I do at least get the social rules. Others. . .do not. Like authors, can I talk to you for a moment? Authors, we have got to stay strong, band together, and make sure none in our ranks are posting tweets like the following:
I just washed my hair with Mane and Tail.
Aunt Gertie came over today. Still has bunions.
My son is outside.
Went to the bank, doctor’s office, grocery store, and dry cleaners.
I wrote a chapter.
I wrote another chapter.
I wrote a third chapter.

We’re WRITERS for crying out loud. Why do we, as a community, have some of the most BORING tweets out there? Now, my tweets are no work of art, but I really aim to avoid things like “My socks are not as white as I’d like them to be today.”  I mean, I went to the dentist at eight-thirty this morning, and did I tweet about it? No. Was I tempted to tell the world I went to the dentist at an unholy hour? Yes. Yes, I will admit I was. But I refrained. I did some deep breathing exercises, some Twittering self-affirmations, and let it go. I did not release that thought out into the web universe. Let us all join as one to avoid CBTs (crazy boring tweets). CBTs are mentioned somewhere in that complicated book of Revelation and are clearly the work of evil. And if I post a boring tweet, you all have my permission to call me on it and show me the error of my CBT ways.

And then there are the people who post things that aren’t REALLY outing someone. . .but yet they are. And then like a nosy idiot, I sit there and try to figure out who they are referring to. Example:
-I have a family member who won’t go home. I’m not gonna say her name because that’s unGodly, but it rhymes with Bartha.
-I will never co-write with this author again. I would never reveal her identity, but she is four-foot-ten, won Book of the Year, and always has camel toe.
-I just read the worst book ever. Of course, I won’t tell you what the title is because I am a disciple of the Lord, but the author lives in San Fransisco, has three kids, won a Christy two years ago, and her last book was called Hot Amish Man Who Does Not Wear His Suspenders on Friday Nights.

So, yeah, Twitter. I dunno if I’m gonna make it. There are a lot of fun tweets out there. Meg Cabot’s, for example, are always either highly important and informational (like what Michael Jackson will be wearing to his funeral) or just funny. Some make me think, which occasionally is okay. I don’t mind thinking once in a while. (But it IS summer…)  I also like the ones that are updates from events, like a conference or concert. And then there’s the crazy Twitter vocabulary. Don’t even get me started on that. I need a stinkin’ dictionary. I need Rosetta Stone to create a program for learning Twit Speak. Reba McEntire also struggles with Twitter (which makes me like her, even if she does have “people” who help her), and she decided just this week to call her followers Tweebas. Isn’t that cute?  She has yet to post about washing her hair or taking the dog for a walk.

Speaking of the mundane, I got a pedometer. A real one–not the kind that comes in a cereal box. And it’s almost 7 pm as I write this, and I only have 5600 steps! And that’s WITH working out for an hour. I want a refund!!! Stupid thing. Surely that can’t be right. Just because yesterday I was thousands and thousands away from 10k too…I know there’s a malfunction. It cannot be me. Maybe Dr. Oz is wrong. Maybe 10k steps is not the magic  number. I think we should put this to America for a vote. I say 5k is plenty. I’m sure the fact that I take so few steps has NOTHING to do with the fact that my jeans all cut off my circulation these days. Sheer coincidence.

I read Meg Cabot’s latest book, Being Nikki. I would throw up a picture of the cover, but my Mac won’t let me. Which is another rant for another day. (I think I’ve maxed out on griping for one small post.) (Mac= also something apparently I must read directions for. Some days I really regret breaking up with my PC. It didn’t require me to read a single book. Just wanted my love. And lots of spyware removal.)  ANYWAY, this is a cute book by one of my all-time favorite  authors. My favorite YA books of hers are her Mediator series. They include ghosts who won’t cross over, so it won’t be for everyone. But I thought it was good entertainment. And the main character, a teen ghost buster, who is as bad as Buffy and just as funny, falls in love with a really hot ghost who only lives (or non-lives) to protect her. Great YA.

But this is good too. Being Nikki is about Em Watts, a girl who got seriously (as in stone cold dead) injured in book one (Being Nikki is book two), and so (SPOILER! SPOILER for BOOK ONE!!) since her body is broken (large screen TV fell on her–THAT would mess up the hair), her brain gets transplanted into a teen super model’s body. And to keep her family alive and well taken care of, Em has to become this model and live her life. Very clever idea. (Okay, I just got up and walked around my office chair because I am DETERMINED to break 7000 on this broken pedometer!!! DARN you little box clipped on my waistband, darn you!) In this book (book two), she realizes there’s so much more to her big secret of a brain transplant and that there are nefarious people behind it. (Why can’t brain transplants ever be simple?)  Things are really complicated because NO ONE knows Em is still alive–except her family and the important guy she models for, Mr. Stark, who she knows is shady. (Mr. Stark bugs her car, her phone, her house, etc. A girl can only take so much of that, believe me.) Then Nikki’s brother shows up, and we find out Nikki’s mother is missing. It’s up to Em (the new Nikki) to find her. But how can Em do this when her real family is drifting further from her, the boy she’s loved forever can’t know she’s still alive, and she has to model one very uncomfortable bra? Meg Cabot writes with enviable humor, and I love her chick lit as well. Being Nikki is a book with an ending that had me turning the pages and clearly sets the story for the next installment. It’s a creative, weird idea that only Meg Cabot could pull off. AND I got an advanced copy with a signed name plate…that I’m giving to my very Meg Cabot-enamored twelve-year-old cousin. Hopefully this will stop her from reading Breaking Dawn. . .again.

Don’t forget the contest for Guernsey. It’s easy to win. And you can even Tweet about it! (”I entered a contest.”  “I hope I win a book.”  “If I don’t win, I will hate a certain author. She’s short, dark hair, a little bitter towards Twitter, and has a book that rhymes with Bo Pot Shappening.”)

Have a great rest of the week!!!

JEN