If this is your first time, let me explain the rules. I am a writer. Which gives me Creative License. Which also allows me to do things like talk to and argue with myself for the sake of my Art and by no means indicates any need for therapy or medication. This Creative License thing also allows me to totally make shit up, but that would be too easy, which is why I write non-fiction. (Side note: my reality is too crazy to make up, anyway.)

Today’s scenario: I am a hopeful writer with a completed manuscript in search of an agent and dreaming of book deals, book tours, and being able to afford more shoes after the first royalty check comes in. Wait a minute…

The cast:

*Aspiring Mama: The snarky, cheeky mama writer who happens to eerily match the description of today’s scenario.

*Pauline: The cheeky, snarky mama writer who also happens to eerily match the description in today’s scenario.

Action!

Aspiring Mama: So, um, what’s the point of this again?

Pauline: You are supposed to ask me deep, thought-provoking questions that allow me to showcase my brilliance.

Aspiring Mama: So I’m supposed to answer them for you, too?

Pauline: Let’s not confuse the issue here. Or the readers. I think they are already a bit scared.

Aspiring Mama: I know I am. I’m talking to myself. (taking a deep breath) So let’s go with something easy. You are celebrating your 300th blog post today. Anything exciting planned?

Pauline: Are you serious? It’s a Sunday, The Husband sleeps during the day because he works at night, and I don’t have a sitter. So by exciting, if you are referring to this blog post being counted as my only adult interaction during my waking hours and watching Yo, Gabba, Gabba with Buttercup before getting her into bed, waking him up and making his lunch before he leaves for work, then hell yeah. It’s a party.

Aspiring Mama: (Clearing throat) Sounds like a great time. (Mutters under breath) Remind me not to ask you how you’re doing.So, a lot of blogger peeples like to point out a few favorite blog posts during these occasions. Got any you’d like to highlight for your imaginary fans?

Pauline: Of course! Read up and marvel at my brilliance. (Or snicker quietly and pat me on the head.)

Momma’s got a brand new blog

Diva Wants

The Straight. The Proud. The Observant.

What I know

Once Upon a Time

There are more, obviously, but I’m running on empty so let’s just move on to the next question, shall we?

Aspiring Mama: Good deal. What else do you have going on? Aside from narrowing down the number of shoes you will purchase when you do make it big and get that book deal.

Pauline: Aside from this enthralling self-conversation, you mean?

Aspiring Mama: Hey, I’m amused.

Pauline: Good, you can comment when no one else does. So what do I have going on? A book I finished. An agent I am searching for. A waist I am busting my ass to find beneath my muffin top. Basically, lots of hurry up and wait with some big dreams and a shit load of effort thrown in for good measure.Oh, and Oprah’s couch is out. So I’m hoping Ellen and The View ladies think I am hilarious.

Aspiring Mama: That would be where the Aspiring part of the Mama comes in, I’m guessing.

Pauline: You know me so well. And it only took 300 blog posts.

(Wait, what do you mean I don’t have legions of fans? You mean it’s more like two? And my BFF Mel and The Husband do not count? I’m just going to pretend that I didn’t hear you say that. Moving on…)

So here’s the (already familiar) drill: We pretend I’m already a famous lit star and that this interview is one of many I’ve been dodging for months because I am *that* busy writing my billionth book and packing for a cruise to celebrate my gazillion dollar advance.

(My fantasy. My rules. And that means no pissing on my parade.)

Last time I was interviewed by the highly respected and totally made up Trashy Brainless Magazine. This time in a blatant attempt to get a boatload of new followers for my new twitter account dedicated to Me-the-author (as opposed to Me-the-write-mama), I think I’ll have @aspiringmama get the deets from @baby_fphat on her life, her book, and why being a writer is probably the single remaining factor standing between her me, us and a padded room.

Fascinating stuff, yes?

(Also a rule if you want to play in my head…you must agree. Or at least pretend to and humor me.)

@Aspiringmama: That was a really long-winded and self-serving intro. Which one of us is going to claim responsibility for it? Please say it’s you.

@baby_fphat: No way, princess. The blog is called Aspiring Mama, remember? This is all you. Consider this me, not taking one for the team.

AM: Damn it. I knew I wasn’t going to like you.

BF: Are my feelings supposed to be hurt? Never mind. Don’t answer that. More importantly, are you going to bother actually interviewing me? Because I have shit to do. And arguing with myself is not on my to-do list today.

AM: Well aren’t we the prima donna.

BF: Well, yes…we are. First question?

AM: Because I can’t spell it correctly, I’ll just say “too-shay.” Fine. First question. You’re new to twitter. Why should people follow you?

BF: Because I’m funnier than you. And because my account name matches the book name. That’s one. And two. Next question?

AM: Whatever. You opened the door so I’m just walking in. Have you finished the damned book yet?

BF: No, I haven’t. Genius takes time. And I can’t write any faster than the Gods allow my ass to shrink. That’s the beauty and pain of writing a memoir in real time as I live the experience. Be patient. I’m trying to be.

AM: Right. So, what have been the highlights of the 17 completed chapters? And how in God’s name did you manage to squeeze 17 chapters out of 11 pounds lost in seven months?

BF: I’m just that good. No, seriously, I am. Ok, ok, really seriously…I dived into writing Baby F(Ph)at with the intention of lighting a very public fire under my own ass in an attempt to motivate myself to lose the weight I’ve been holding on to since I squeezed Buttercup outta my hoo-ha. But I didn’t stop to consider that my PCOS and Insulin Resistance were going to be major players in that little scenario and it’s been a lot of trial and error. I can’t fix the outside until I attend to the inside and I’ve finally figured that out.

I think.

Besides, I’m pretty sure that a lot of women will relate to the fact that I didn’t just wish myself skinny(er). I’ve had to work hard at losing the little bit I’ve managed to so far, and I’ll have to work harder to lose the rest. My readers will be cheering me on.

AM: And I’m glad those therapy sessions have addressed that self-esteem issue you were having.

BF: *grinning* thank you.

AM: Snark and manners. I like it. What other character flaws should I be aware of?

BF: I’m late. For everything. Ever vacationed in a time-share at Mexican resort and get pissed because nothing ever started when it was supposed to? Yeah. I didn’t get pissed because I’m running on the same internal clock those Cancun and Mexican Riviera resort employees are. I think the scientific term is “Mexican time.” The Husband has learned to deal.

Oh, and I second-guess everything. There’s a rule The Husband likes to call “The Menu.” No matter what it is I’m looking to buy, shoes, a laptop, a new bra, or dinner at a restaurant, the minute I say, “I think I’ll try that…” is when The Husband Takes The Menu away. Because if he doesn’t and I have enough time to say, “You know? This sounds good instead…” I always end up pissy and moping because  realize I should have gone with my first choice. I think it’s a medical condition.

AM: Fascinating. So we’re crazy?

BF: You decide. I just interviewed myself again.

So are we pretending? Are we in line at the grocery store with nothing better to do than grab the latest trashy tabloid with mystery cellulite splashed unceremoniously across the cover and getting ready to open it up to see if we can match the unidentified, highly-magnified belly pooches, thunder thighs, and fatty arm wings?

We are?

Good. Now let’s pretend that before we can make it to page 6 to play the fat-celebs match game, our limited attention spans are caught by the tell-all interview with the totally famous, uber-awesome author behind the New York Times best selling “Baby Ph(f)at” series, Pauline M. Campos. (Because the line you are in at the grocery store is actually a worm hole and you’ve stepped a few years into the future. Just go with me on this one.)

Here’s everything you never wanted to know. And then some.

Pauline M. Campos is every bit the epitomy of motherhood today. She’s overworked, under appreciated, and wondering why she left the work force because even though she felt the same way there, at least a pay check was attached to the daily attack on her ego and self-esteem.

While one would expect a lit star of her status to show up for an interview covered in class, Ms. C is instead covered in what appears to be dried mac and cheese noodles on her yoga pants and a splash of what can only hope is chocolate pudding on her T-shirt.

But who are we, the Trashiest and Most Brainless of them all, to judge a mother who begged to get herself in the public eye with her tell-it-like-it-is momoir about her struggle with losing the baby weight long after it’s socially acceptable? Instead, we invite you to read on and judge for yourself.

Trashy, Brainless Mag: It was hard to peg you down for an interview, Ms. Campos! Have you been busy promoting your new book?

Ms. C: Hell no. I spent my advance before the book even got on the bookshelves and can’t afford a nanny to watch my toddler while I traverse the country spreading my literary wit. Instead, I’m home and dodging the meals my daughter throws at me. It’s her way of saying she would have preferred Whatever I Didn’t Put On Her Plate instead.

TBM: Ahhh, explains the, um, choice in apparel today.

Ms. C: Go ahead and say I look like shit. I know I do. It’s a wonder I made it here with anything on at all since 90 percent of my laundry is dirty. I got this little ensemble off of the miniscule clean pile of clothes on my bedroom floor. Or, at least I think it was the clean pile.

TBM: *Clearing throat.* Okay then. So tell me about your book, “Baby Ph(f)at: Adventures in Motherhood, Weight Loss, and Trying to Stay Sane.” It launched you into literary stardom, after all, and a cult classic gift for new moms.

Ms. C: It’s my answer to every mother who has ever been surprised that they were in for more than they expected after giving birth. We all have that friend, that sister, or that co-worker who gained 15 pounds during pregnancy and walked out of the hospital wearing their size 4′s. Before motherhood, we assumed we would become that friend; after motherhood, we secretly hate that friend.

We have to stop looking outside of ourselves for the secret that will work for us. You know, the one that will help us lose weight, find a good balance, learn how to prioritize, find the exercise program or activity that we will gladly do day after day, help us not go clinically insane the next time the kids start fighting over who looked at who first and the husband gets pissy when we ask if he can take the kids for an hour so we can go for a little walk for some much-needed alone time. We have to look inside of ourselves for our own “zen” hidden in all the craziness.

“Baby Ph(f)at” is my answer to that. Your peek into my life and my fight to beat the mom pudge and regain my MILF status. I swear, I tell it like it is, and I can laugh at myself. If that sentence didn’t speak to you, then don’t buy the book and then bitch about the “F-bombs” peppered throughout the book on the Amazon reviews, for Pete’s Sake.

TBM: What’s an average day like for a mommy lit star as yourself?

Ms. C: As you can see (gesturing at her food-splattered clothing) it’s not exactly glamorous. My mom lives with me, so I sleep till 10 if I stayed up late writing the night before, and she takes care of Buttercup. Then I putz around in my mismatched old T-shirt and yoga pants I sleep in (and no, I’m not wearing what I went to bed in last night. I swear.) and get The Husband’s lunch box together while cooking us all a big meal for lunch before he leaves for the afternoon shift.

If life is good and Buttercup is not teething, crabby, or thinks the moons are misaligned, then I can get dressed before he leaves and walk Buttercup out to wave her Daddy off to work. The rest of the day is a cluster-bleep of housecleaning, laundry, sweeping up enough dog hair off of the floor to put together a new one, and trying to keep an active toddler occupied before she goes to bed at 6:45 p.m.

TBM: So from 7 p.m. on then, you have time to work on your writing?

Ms. C: That’s cute. No. Not exactly. Buttercup has always slept with me or a family member so bed time requires one of us, usually me, to lay down with her until she passes out. If I’m lucky, that’s 15 minutes. If she wants to torture me, it’s more like two hours.

TBM: So you write then?

Ms. C: Nope…then I have to sweep the floor again (living in the desert can suck sometimes) and mop, clean the kitchen, and motivate myself to work out so I can not look like hell.

TBM: So you write then?

Ms. C: Only if I have made sure I paid the bills, balanced the checkbook, showered, made sure The Husband’s crap is ready for the next day, and gotten Buttercup’s diaper bag ready for her morning gymnastic sessions.

TBM: I’m almost afraid to ask…

Ms. C: Yeah, i write then. And that’s why I’m up till 3 a.m. It’s a vicious circle. Glamorous, isn’t it?

TBM: So how exactly did you have time to write the book to begin with?

Ms. C: Lots of coffee. All-nighters. And a very understanding and helpful mother.

TBM: Sounds like you barely have time to think, let alone promote yourself. How’d you land the book deal? How do you stay connected with your readers?

Ms. C: My super-awesome agent found me by way of this blog. It was luck and prayers answered and dreams coming true…for my agent, I mean. I’m pretty happy with how it all turned out, too, though. As for my readers? The women I write for are just as crazed and busy as I am. They don’t have the time to drop the kid at the sitters so they can come see me wax poetic at a coffee shop 45 minutes away from them. But they do have time, between loads of laundry, husband’s that can’t dress themselves, and kids screeching “MAMA!” every other second, to stop by my blog, read an entry, and realize they are not the only ones who never feel like they have it all together.

TBM: So last question…what’d you spend the book advance on?

Ms. C: Shoes. And therapy. But mostly shoes.

Well, right now…nothing. The blog design is boring, I only have two posts up (and counting), and I really haven’t shared much yet.

Give me time. I had a lot of laundry to do today and then spent ($$$) too much time at the grocery store and then cleaned and re-organized my refrigerator and then…well that’s when i finally sat down.

So let’s see. What would I want to know if I wasn’t me?

Ah hell, let’s just interview myself.

Me: So, tell me a bit about yourself.

A. Well, that’s a broad question. Care to get a bit more specific?

Me: Okaaaay…Why are you the Aspiring Mama?

A. That’s better. Well, I’ve been screwing around on the internet for a while with blogs that really weren’t going anywhere. And they weren’t going anywhere because I was blogging for the wrong reasons.
I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I was eight when I read my first Gordon Korman book and decided he was my hero. My plan was to be a published author by age 13. That didn’t happen. By an effing long shot.
By the time I started blogging, I had already done a decade in the newsroom and thought that if I mimicked this and copied that, I’d get this fantastic following in no time and have some super fantastic book offer just thrown at me based solely on my blog posts. Too bad my blogs weren’t truly representative of who I am sucked and got my nowhere even faster.
So I took a break. I pondered. I decided I wasn’t in high school anymore and didn’t want to straighten my kinky curls just to try and look like the other girls.
In the middle of the night, my mind woke me up with what I think is a sweet little play on words that represents my aspirations to become a successful writer while trying to balance the mother-load. And voila–Aspiring Mama was born.

Me: Thanks for the tangent. Next question–Who are you mimicking now? And why continue to blog if you still don’t have a super fantastic book deal?

A. I’m me now. No more attempts to be someone I’m not or bothering to whore myself out in an effort to get a seat at the cool blogger’s kids’ table at lunch anymore. And forget the super fantastic book deal.
I mean, no, don’t forget it, exactly. If a random agent stops by and thinks I deserve one, I am in no way saying I don’t want it. But I AM saying that it’s not the reason to blog anymore. I blog to share, to learn, to get my name out there. And if what I write is funny enough or witty enough to make you want to come back, then cool beans. But I’m saving my magical powers for my writing projects that I think will eventually earn me that super fantastic book deal.

Me: Get out much? Ever answer a question in less than a million words?

A. Well, there was this one time when…

Me: Never mind! Try describing yourself in five words.

A. Ummm…

Me: That’s one!

A. Fine!

Me: That’s two! Better get crackin’!

A. Kooky, independent, needy?

Me: Now we’re getting somewhere! Now tell me, is your glass empty or half-full?

A. Depends. What’s in it? Water? Or a mojito? Because if it’s a mojito, it is so half-empty.

Me: So you’re a smartass, eh?

A. Took you long enough to figure that one out, huh?

Me: Moving on…give me some basics. Name, rank, and serial number.

A. My name is Pauline. I’m 31. Married mother of one, whom I shall call The Toddler for now. What else? Mexican-American, oldest of five girls, dog-lover, baby-wearer, and totally reliant upon spell-check.

Me: So what have you written? What are you planning to write?

A. I’ve written tons of articles for newspapers I either worked for directly or freelanced for. I’ve filled six journals with my thoughts. And I’ve written for a few other blogs, including Bad Mommy Blogger. I’ve also written two children’s books I’m working on getting published.
As for what I plan to write…well, I’m working on a memoir about my efforts to lose the baby fat and a young adult novel about a Mexican teen with an eating disorder. The first one is sarcastic and funny. The second? Not so much. But I figure there are plenty who can relate.

Me: Anything else you’d like to share?

A. Tons, actually. But I need to get to bed. I’ve got a morning gymnastics date with The Toddler.

Me: What a coincidence.

A. Yeah, I know. Interview over.