Fall has arrived in Arkansas. I’m so glad. I love every single season, but by the end of one, I’m ready for the next. And of course, the closer we get to fall, the closer we get to snow days. Buh-ring it.

The lovely and talented author Miralee Ferrell sent me iPhone video of portions of my acceptance speeches from the ACFW conference. Here is the YA award where I’m a little monotone thanks to whatever over-the-counter plague combatant my friend Jeanne Wynne slipped me.

There was some mix-up over which of the first two Charmed Life books won, so I just thanked everyone who’d ever touched the two books. Except that creepy man I met last month in Borders.

You can also see a fragment of the speech for Just Between You and Me. Not that anyone would want to. This is not exactly Must See TV. Unless you’re my mom.

In hindsight, I wish I had put a little more thought into my dress for the Carol Awards. I just decided to pull out the dress I had worn two years earlier. It wasn’t about frugality. It was my silent protest about the state of the economy. I got the LBD at Banana Republic, and I did make a small effort to find a new dress for this year. Two years ago I remember I had a hard time choosing from Banana. This year I couldn’t have picked ONE if I’d had to. So two years ago little black dress options. This year? THIS is what I saw:

Number one, I had that shirt in 1988. Or maybe my dad did. I definitely had those shoes though (Payless, circa 1990). But where is this girl’s pants? It’s bad enough models don’t get to eat. But now they’re deprived of pantalones?

So it’s Banned Book Week, something I usually don’t bother commenting on. But this year I’m unimpressed over the call to ban Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson in Republic, MO, which is not too far from me. As this associate professor was calling for the removal of these books due to the content being rated triple X,  I was in Indiana telling writers in a YA class to put the older book on their must-read list. The story is about a girl who makes a wrong choice and goes to a party, knowing she shouldn’t be there, and suffers some horrible consequences including rape. Fifty percent of rape cases reported are adolescents, so I can’t IMAGINE why Anderson would want to write a book about the dangers of silence and the power and courage of finally speaking up. I’d be interested to know if Professor Scroggins has read the book. When I taught English and had a large classroom library, this book was a mainstay on my shelf. Plus, Lifetime made it into a movie, so it HAS to be good, right?!  The Green Bean Teen Queen said it better than I did.

This isn’t related to anything, but I am pretty sure this dog and my cat are related.

Have a great weekend! See you Monday.

We have our final cover for Save the Date. Cute, eh? Since the story involves a mega football star, we originally we had Tom Brady standing in the background, but when he refused to cut his Bieber hair, I demanded his removal. (And then he left the photo shoot crying. And singing One Less Lonely Girl.)

So a week and a half ago, I went to Indianapolis to the American Christian Fiction Writer’s yearly conference. At first I was like Indiana? But my stepdad assured me I would be pleasantly surprised by their capital. He was so right. And we were smack dab in the heart of downtown where there’s cool revamped old buildings (like the rep theater right outside my hotel window) and lots of things to see, such as the beautiful Soldiers and Sailors monument, which looks like it could’ve been imported from Paris. There was a mall attached to our hotel (score!). And restaurants all around, like the gluten-free friendly PF Chang. Downtown is really beautiful, and I wish I had gotten out to see it like I’d intended to. I also wish I had taken more pictures. Or any pictures. I think I took like 5. Instead of my usual 500. Further proof I was sick and not in my right mind.

Going to the conference is like a big family reunion. Except we don’t wear matching T-shirts. Or see how long it takes for Uncle Vinnie’s Polident to wear off. I always get there a day early, but every year there is still a group or two of writers, getting there even earlier, hanging out in the lobby or near the elevators having squeal and hug time. I was glad to see some familiar faces. I also saw a face or two that took me a while to recognize. I realized this year that I have a bad habit of introducing myself. To people I’ve met years in a row. It’s not that I forget. It’s that I don’t assume they’d remember me out of the 620 other attendees. This is Sharon Lavy.

I think I’ve introduced myself to her every year. I have no idea why. This year she just looked at me like, “Tell me your name again, and I’m going to whack you over the head with my King James.”

My good friend, author Christa Allan, is an awesome roomie every year. I would show you a picture of her, but I didn’t take one. (I bring shame to the Olympus camera.) We’re both short. We both teach. At one point both of us taught English. We’re both Southern, though one of us has a curious NYC accent, but swears on a Moonpie she’s from Louisiana. We both cherish all things irreverent. And neither one of us can stay awake with the party crowd. Christa is a mom to five, and one of her daughters made this.

Sarah lives at The Mustard Seed, a community for mentally challenged adults, and they make all sorts of things for their gift shop. Sarah herself made my Christmas ornament, and I LOVE it. Every time I look at it, I think of all the stories Christa tells of Sarah and her funny sense of humor. That girl’s a character. And a Saints fan. So Christa gave me a beautiful gift. And what did I share with her? Germs.

So I had two classes to teach, one on writing humor in fiction and one on YA. Being the neurotic I am, I had covered about all of my bases, so should a disaster strike, whether that be a lost file or a nuclear holocaust, I would still be prepared to give my presentations.  The one thing I didn’t count on was that my new laptop would have a freakin’ energy saving default setting that would totally jack up my completely awesome YouTube clips for my first class. There is little I’m a perfectionist about, but something like this is a definite exception. Apparently it wasn’t the worst thing ever, but it involved something we teachers fear like death: down time. I kinda just rolled with it, but in my head I’m like, “Omigosh, omigosh, omigosh, omigosh, omigosh, omigosh, omigosh.” One ACFW member came up to me later and said she saw me morph right in front of the class from writer to teacher. Like the Hulk. And it was true. The teacher in me was not amused and had to modify quickly. And I kept thinking, “There’s really nothing I can do about this. Think…think. What would I do if we were in my classroom?” But then I decided playing the game Big Booty might not be all that appropriate. You just never know how the Baptists will feel about that. ; )

We still had some fun in the humor class. But the Russian judge would definitely not have given it a perfect 10. The YA class was great. (Not my teaching, but just the conversation.) I could talk about that stuff all day long. And it made my heart glad to see people committed to writing for the millennial generation. I would love it if there were so many great Christian YA authors that ACFW struggled in narrowing it down to six for the yearly awards.

So fast-forward to Sunday night, and it’s the award’s ceremony for the newly renamed ACFW Book of the Year, now called the Carol, after the editor who fought hard to acquire and publish Janette Oke’s first book. Janette Oke and Carol Johnson both appeared and spoke. (Side note: Janette totally has a sense of humor. Carol totally has foxy hair.)  It comes time for the YA award, and I don’t exactly check my teeth for lipstick because I have analyzed the contenders and picked my winner. And it’s not us.I mean, I wasn’t even paying attention, that’s how sure I was. Both So Not Happening and I’m So Sure were finalists, and I was so unplugged I caught myself clapping for myself. WHO DOES THAT? (In my defense, there was a ridiculous amount of clapping that was required that night, and I think I just got to the point where I went on auto-pilot and continued clapping until the awards were over and the janitors started vacuuming.)

When they announced I’m So Sure, I was truly surprised. I was also slightly jazzed because each winner got a huge spotlight on him/her for the duration of the walk to the stage. And I had a long walk. (It was also a packed room, and I know I got inappropriate close to some ACFW members. Sorry tables four and seven. Maybe next year I’ll wear Spanx.)

Then they get to the Contemporary Romance. And I hadn’t even bothered to check out the finalists because I had yet to buy into the fact that Just Between You and Me had somehow made the short list.  So as they’re reading the list of finalists, I’m seeing the covers on the big screen for the first time, and I’m just like, omg, it’s Sesame Street: Which one does not belong. And I’m really wishing I had given into my earlier thought and gone back to my room with my Sudafed, Dasani, and People.
And then they call my name.
And thanks to thirty years of listening to music at concert-level decibels, I don’t exactly have the best hearing. And I think, huh. That sounded like my last name. And I glance at the screen then back to my lap.
Wait a minute.
I look at the screen again. And there’s our book cover. And I think, “That’s odd.” And then people around me are clapping. And so I sit there some more, giving them time to gracefully correct themselves. But the clapping continues (and I’m proud to say I had stopped clapping for myself at this point) and no one says, “Never mind!” So then I hesitantly stand up. And just wait a few seconds. Still time to pick another winner. I felt like the Justin Bieber autobiography in a sea of Jane Austens. And then deciding these people are all on crack, but who am I to judge, I finally make my way back up to the stage with that purple spotlight on me again, thinking it sure would be nice if I could take that thing back to school.

I have no idea what I said. Something like thank you or God bless America or does anyone want to trade me for their dessert or please don’t wear fur. No clue what came out. Total rambling. It was very unexpected. And very cool. And I’m very grateful.

And then after the ceremony, mega-author Tracie Peterson comes up to me and says nice things about Just Between You and Me and tells me her book club read it for their selection. And I’m shocked again. And speechless. And I think I said something intelligent like, “DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE??!!“  And then I checked out her name tag just to make sure I wasn’t disillusion and it was her. And then I got paranoid she’d think I was talking to her chest. And then I got on the elevator. And went to bed. Where I stayed awake the whole night. Mentally writing the best blog ever. Eloquently thanking everyone I’d ever met.
Yet forgetting it all by breakfast.

But just to bring it all back down, I have to quickly share that days before, when I’d arrived at the conference hotel, I was intercepted by a fellow writer. “I have to tell you I LOVED your last book.”
“Wow . . thank you,” I said. 
“It was so good. I mean I don’t usually like heavy stuff–”
“Wait. . .”
“I don’t read literary fiction, but even I couldn’t put this one down. Just beautifully written.”
“Um. . .I think you have the wrong author.”
“No! It was your book. And I don’t even like literary fiction!”
“I don’t write literary fiction.” I smile. “Sorry, it sounds like a good one, but definitely not my book.”

After the awards ceremony, I run into the same writer.
“I’m so sorry I got you confused with another author.”
“It’s totally okay. That didn’t bother me a bit.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s just your hair. I confused you with Lisa Samson’s hair from a few years ago. I’m so sorry.”
“Seriously, don’t give it another thought.”
“I mean, I know better. You don’t write literary fiction.” She laughs and gives me a hug. “But I do love your historicals.”
And I just smile. “Thank you.”

I didn’t think Friday would ever get here!  That pic above is me and the fabulous Janna Ryan, a wonderful book reviewer and the amazing woman who runs the conference bookstore every year at ACFW, a task that would scare Superman. AND she did it this year with a new baby.

I’m short on time, so I’m gonna hold my ACFW conference stories til next week. But how awesome to come back home to fall TV premiere week! Glee was interesting. I had to do a little background check on the new football coach. Yep, that’s a woman. She looks so much like Emma Pillsbury’s ex-fiance, I wasn’t sure what was going on. Actually she reminds me of a character from Shrek. The barmaid. Anyone remember that?  And then Castle. I accidentally slept through that, so I need to catch it online. And I watched Modern Family. What new shows did you guys watch?

Have you guys seen this? The German American Idol winners. I’ve only listened to it a few hundred times.

I find they sound better with my mad harmony skills. All 100 times. I don’t even like U2 and I like that song. (Sorry Bono diehards. You know who you are. *cough*Shauna)  This cover of “Hallelujah” is good too.

Have you seen this cat who adopted a baby squirrel?

It purrs. Isn’t that awesome? If Miller had adopted that thing it’s only talent would be meowing 1440 minutes a day.

I’ve started watching Psych. That show is so smart. And dumb. The perfect combination.

Some of you have been singing its praises for years, and I would occasionally catch an episode, but didn’t commit. Well, Psych and I are going steady now.

I stole this from someone’s Facebook, but this cracked me up.

“For God’s sake woman, he’s a man who’s caught a cold. A man cold.” Sadly, I was that whine-bag this week. But all I needed was sleep+drugs. Some of my students also seem to require sleep+drugs, but that’s altogether different.

On a writing loop I’m on someone brought up this site, the six word memoir.  I think mine today would be:
Friday always gives me happy tinglies.

What would yours be? Six words that describe you, your day, etc. I’d love to hear them. They’re almost haiku-ish. And we all know what a connoisseur of the haiku I am.

Happy weekend!

I just got back from the ACFW yearly conference. It was a great time. I want to apologize for everyone I sneezed or coughed on. I came back to Arkansas with a head full of snot and some serious indignation (nothing ticks me off more than being sick). I was all fired-up and ready to find out who gave me the plague, only to  discover that it’s pretty much spreading everywhere here. Um, guess it will be spreading everywhere in Indianapolis now. You’re welcome. Anyway, between ACFW and whatever demonic forces took over my sinus cavities, I did not get a chance to blog.

It was a fabulous conference. Normally I’m the nerd soaking up every single class, but this year I was the nerd who had to miss a lot. Between a ton of meetings,  teaching my own two classes, and blowing my nose, I only made it to 1.5 sessions. I’m gonna have to buy the mp3′s for sure.

So I have a lot to share from the week, but let me tell you about my cool moment–one of many. So it’s Sunday, the last day of classes at ACFW and hours until the banquet and awards ceremony. And I felt like death. I don’t get sick. I might have a health issue or two, but I have the immunity of John Travolta in a bubble, so it always throws me. And I had no drugs. I had some drug wannabe in my bag from the airport, but I needed the kind you have to sign for in the Wal-Mart pharmacy. The kind that contains ingredients that could blow your house up if mixed with a little heat and battery acid. And I hadn’t slept in a while. And my hair wasn’t cooperating. And they kept feeding us asparagus at meals.

So it’s Sunday afternoon and I’m on minute thirty-one of looking for this stinkin’ class. I had a map. I had a room name. And I could NOT find it. So I’m just walking around looking for this room and praying that Sudafed will magically drop from the ceiling. And this girl comes up to me and says, “Are you Ms. Jones?” And my first thought is, “Oh, crap, what have I done?”  And I consider saying, “No. I’m Susan May Warren.” But I tell her, yes, I am. And she breaks into the biggest smile (the kind of smile I would get if she had handed me Mucinex) and says, “I’ve been looking for you for days. I’ve read all your books. I love them.” And I just stop. And forget about the class I’m never going to find. And we stand there and talk. And I’m blown away by the way she’s looking at me. Like I’m special. Like I’m Justin Bieber. Like I’m Blue Bell ice cream.  And Victoria introduces herself (that’s her in the pic above. Isn’t she the cutest?) and then her mom stops by. Victoria’s sister, who I’d met earlier, is attending the conference, and Mom and little sis have come to stay with her and give support because we can be a bit intimidating. And I think it’s the coolest thing ever. (In third grade I asked my own mother to ship me off to live with an ice skating coach (any one would do)  for the rest of my life so I could fulfill my dream to be a figure skater. She wouldn’t do it. I’m still not over it.)  And then Victoria asks me some questions about the books, about the characters, and we just talk. And I know I’m standing in a God moment.And that he’s just totally spoken to me and blessed me.  Through one little girl.

After we part ways, I don’t get two steps before another mother approaches me to say, “I just want you to know your books are making a difference.” And proceeds to tell me about her daughter. And I say thank you, but what I want to say is, “Do you have any idea what a gift you’ve given to me? Do you have any idea how hung up I’ve been on the wrong things lately? And that last week in church I know God asked me, as clear as a bell, “Are you gonna listen to what people say about you and the books? Or are you going to listen to me?”  As an author (or any artist, creative type, etc), it’s so easy to tune in to only the negative. I needed those reminders, especially in a conference surrounded by people who completely intimidate me with their talent, that there is a purpose in the books beyond the things I get caught up in like reviews, sales, and awards. We rarely get to see the faces of our readers, let alone hear from a reader in person how a book has made a difference. Those two conversations are something I will hang on to for years to come, occasionally pulling them out to look at, like my grandmother’s old diamond ring.

In other news, I’m So Sure won the ACFW Book of the Year for Young Adult.
Just Between You and Me won Book of the Year for Contemporary Romance.
But neither one compares to what one girl and one mom gave me as I stood in a hall. Unsure of where I was supposed to be. And lost.

Thank you to every single reader of the books or the blog. It is an honor that you would read one single page, let alone let the story into your life. And I’m profoundly grateful and humbled by the two chance meetings where I listened to two new friends, felt the hand of God, and thought of you.

Since Monday’s post was about my neurotic stressage, today I thought I’d tell you what I’m thankful for. It’s the little things, isn’t it?

First of all, I’ve had a great week of smile moments. A few days ago I did my bi-annual run to the recycling center in town. I absolutely hate this chore. The place is run by volunteers of old men driving fork lifts. This part I like. Because they’re nice. And funny. And for reasons I can’t guess, they’re there because they want to be. And as I’m tossing my magazines in this giant refrigerator box filled wth other thrown-away mags, I spy the September issue of Southern Living. The one that costs five bucks. The one I had passed up just HOURS BEFORE in Wal-Mart. SCORE! And I got a new People magazine. DOUBLE SCORE! And I got street cred for dumpster diving.

Now we move on to last Sunday. Before I leave on a trip, I usually have a “Last Supper.” Often this involves eating at my mother’s, as she is a fabulous cook. (She doesn’t believe brownies come from a box. God sure knew what he was doing when he was passing out mothers.)  Sometimes the Last Supper is just going somewhere and ordering whatever I want, as I usually eat a pretty restrictive diet (despite my obsession and frequent mention of all things fatty and lacking nutrition). (Ice cream is gluten free, by the way.)  So that’s what I did Sunday. After church, I joined my mother, aunt, and uncle in a nearby town for fried chicken at one of my favorite restaurants. Why Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives hasn’t stopped by this place is BEYOND me.  I mean, just check out the beautiful exterior.

I think that pink paint is original. If they’ve ever repainted, I’m not aware of it. Neal’s opened in 1944 and little has changed. It’s a local landmark and they can cook, y’all. Check out this glittery chair.

That’s real, genuine glitter. On your chair. You can’t find that just anywhere. The rest of the interior is just as impressive.

What I love about this restaurant, besides their perfectly fried chicken, is that you can see millionaires dining beside farmers. Everyone eats here. This big guy hung over our table. I mean literally over us. If my mom had been a little taller her head would’ve been up his nose. This pink monstrosity of a diner makes me very, very happy. After I filled up on home cooking, I went to our local mall. It was a beautiful day (outdoor mall), and even though I had to give Banana Republic some super cute shoes back (seriously, have you seen their flats?), I was treated to the sound of a New Orleans style band right outside Banana’s doors.

Aren’t they amazingly good? I was so impressed.

And then I got to watch this dad dance across the lawn with his girl. And then my mom gave me an old family treasure I hadn’t laid eyes on in decades. It’s so valuable, I’m probably gonna have to get a super secret wall safe with a full-time body guard.

That’s right. It’s the original cast recording of Annie the movie, starring Albert Finney, Aileen Quinn, CAROL BURNETT (I love you Mrs. Hannigan!), and Tim Curry. I used to listen to this by the HOUR. And kids, the cool thing about records was you could open their covers and find all sorts of things to look at. I can still sing “I Think I’m Gonna Like it Here” on command. (Used to room…in a tomb…where I’d sit and freeze! Get me now! Holy Cow! Would someone…pinch me please?!)

So these were my little musical, greasy blessings this weekend. What about you? What are some blessings or cool things that have caught your attention lately?