Dear Future Agent,

I have a secret to share. It may shock you.

Then again, probably not.

See…(and this is kind of embarrassing to admit)…but (deep breath) I. Am. Not. Famous.

I’ll give you a minute to digest that little piece of information. Because really, the Holy Crap factor was probably enough to knock the wind out of you. You know, while you laughed at me. So I understand if you need to compose yourself.

Right now, dear Future Agent, you are probably asking yourself why you should give a damn about me and my Regular Peeples status. Or not. After all, we haven’t been formally introduced yet. Or perhaps we have and I just haven’t quite convinced you yet. So in reality, you are probably busy cycling through your inbox while fending off off over-zealous writers with good intentions and big dreams who may have sent you cookies instead of a properly formatted query letter, wishing it was five o’clock so you can get home and pop the cork on a bottle of wine, skip the glass, and stick a bendy straw in there. You know, after you have served the kids dinner. (I’m going out on a limb here and guessing you will be a mom. And if you are doing that bendy straw thing, we are soooo a match made in heaven.)

But back to the me Not Being Famous and why you should care thing. You see, before I find you I have to be told to keep looking by others. “This is a subjective business…” “Other agents opinions may differ…” “What doesn’t work for me may be perfect for another agent…” Oh wait. It’s been three weeks and two days. Which means I can cross too more off my list. I know my query is solid (maybe). I know my writing has promise (right?). I know I will not be a word-diva when it comes to revisions (which I think is major bonus points, yes?) I could focus on the fact that I just got turned down again or I can remind myself that these two passive rejections are playing their karmic roles in getting me closer to the day I find you. But instead, I think I’ll focus on the fact that my (solid) query is missing something. That my (promising) writing isn’t even going to come into play for many of the agents who shall come before you because of that pesky little platform thing. And seeing as I don’t really have one to stand on, why ask for more if I don’t have enough to get me past Go to collect my Monopoly money?

You already know, dear Future Agent, that Non-fiction and Strong Platforms go hand in hand. That there is plenty of rhyme and reason for the current system. I get it, too. But I have to admit that the whole situation kind of has me in a pickle similar to the Gotta Have Credit to Get Credit situation I found myself in when I was young and stupid enough to jump on the first credit card offer that got me a free T-shirt on my college campus; I’m not famous enough to garner the attention of many agents looking for famous enough people to garner the attention of publishers looking for people famous enough to sell books. So they have (and will continue to) take a pass on me. No matter what they may think of my writing or my claims that my old job, this blog, and my twitter addiction could be considered a platform.

And that’s okay. It sucks. But it’s okay.

Because one day, you will take a chance on me. And I’ll do that little happy dance every writer does when their own future finally slows down enough for them to grab hold. And then I can dream bigger and work harder (while trying to remedy that Not Being Famous thing while taking breaks from that working and writing thing, of course.) Until then, I’ll continue to nurse my bruised ego, marvel at the fact that the girl who was so unsure of herself has grown into the woman who is sure enough to continue this soul-crushing exercise as long as it takes, and wait.

I may not be famous (enough) yet, but I’m stubborn as hell. Which means I’m not going to let my cute little platform (or lack thereof) get in my way.

Sincerely,

Me

I posted this last Monday on Bookieboo, the mom-centric, healthy living site I write for…

I’ve been blogging for Bookieboo for quite a while now and yet…I haven’t exactly been participating fully. Granted, I was writing a book and recently came up for air with a completed manuscript and realized my house had gone to hell in the year I had my head buried in Baby F(Ph)at, but that’s besides the point.

I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe in the message…or want to become a healthier mom…or think Leah was the cutest thing ever. Because I do.

(And she is.)

Frankly, I can’t fathom the idea of losing 170 pounds. The thought is utterly beyond me. And that’s probabably because my body is stubbornly holding on to much much less and my mind is stubbornly ignoring the little bits of Ben & Jerry’s that get beyond the gate here and there and how much that little bit probably isn’t helping…but still. I’m here. I wrote a flippin’ book about it. And I’m still trying.

I don’t plan to stop trying, either.

So here’s the deal—I am officially planning to pledge to become a Mamavation sista. Sure, it might seem a bit backwards, what with already being a Bookieboo editor, and all. But I’m late for everything. The point is that I’m here.

And I’m not going anywhere.

Those of you who have been reading Aspiring Mama and my posts at Bookieboo know that I tell it like it is. If I have a good day, I tell you.

If I have a bad day, I tell you that, too.

Motherhood is not for the weak. my blog isn’t for those who want the sugar-coated side of motherhood and fitness. Like right now? I could tell you that potty training is going great, my house is spotless,and I’m about to kick back and pop some fat-free bon bons or that I’m eating great and working out and sis boom bah but I won’t because I’m not. (Well, I am eating great…but let’s just say that if I had a treadmill in my living room, it would probably be doubling as a coat rack right now.) For me, it’s all about relating. And that means clinking the sippy cup I’m holding for my kid with the moms I pass in the trenches.

It’s another day. I’m ready.

Are you?

And wouldn’t you know it? I got in. I’m a Sista. It’s only been a week, but I can already tell you that this is going to be boatloads more fun than the nightmare of a sorority experience I had in college. So yes, I’m excited. And I can’t wait to see what happens.

Something strange happened when I finished writing Baby F(Ph)at.

In short, I looked up and realized I suck as a housewife when I’m knee-deep in a manuscript. After a year of getting by with frantic “just throw the extra shit in the closet!” sessions reserved for guests and making sure we had enough clean laundry so no one was wearing anything nasty, I finally saw the house through the eyes of my alter-ego, (Mexican) June Cleaver. And aye…Ward has reasons to question if he’s man enough to stick around when I get to writing that next book.

While it’s true that I finished the book before I left for BlogHer, it’s also true that I was away from home until last week. And after a few days of doing the blissful nothing I demand after 20 days of non-stop family, I blinked…and then it all came into focus.

The dust covered blinds (I wrote my name one one…kinda cool, actually.)

The junk drawer so full of random crap that it wasn’t even closing anymore.

The closet. Which we couldn’t fit the vacuum into. And that’s a problem.

The dust bunnies under the couch (which are now getting their own mail forwarded to my address.)

The linen closets (not just for linen anymore! Holy shit! That’s where that other thing I don’t need went to…)

Needless to say…I have my work cut out for me.  That’s why I started a to-do list with one or two projects to be tackled daily. Like the dusting and the evicting of the dust bunnies. Or the junk drawer and the closet. Or telling The Husband to bite me and to shove it when he tells me I suck as a housewife when I’m writing a book. Or maybe just telling him to fuck off and then laughing because I can’t keep a straight face because he is so totally right.

It’s been about a week since I started my reverse nesting. That’s what I like to call this phase. Moms-to-be nest when a baby is on the way. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. Moms who are writers nest after they (I) finish a book and figure out they (I) better haul ass on Operation Clean House before the next project is officially started. (While they (I) are (am) querying.)  Because that’s such a relaxing combination.

And when I type Chapter 1? Again?

It’s house, hell, and hand basket…all over again.

Bring it.

Until then, I’m gonna whistle while I work and rock this happy homemaker thing.

Don’t mess with my kid when she’s on a creative bend.

It’s business in the front.

And party in the back.

If I hadn’t put it out there in tweets and blog posts, I may have just adding one more day and one more chocolate chip cookie to my deadline.

But I did. So I didn’t.

I have no qualms about admitting that I did enjoy a few too many soft-baked cookies on the way home from my 11 p.m. grocery store trek last night so The Husband couldn’t give me shit when I got home with my clean eating supplies. I’m nothing if not honest, right?

I had bags upon bags upon bags when I walked into the house. Fresh vegetables, fruits, organic and clean pre-made soups, fish fillets and…

“What the hell is that and is it going to eat me?” The Husband was suspiciously eyeing the green onion bunch on miracle grow I had plopped onto the counter for my Paradise Bean Burgers. “Remember the green onions I bought last time thinking they were leeks?”
Yeah?”

“I was wrong. These are leeks.”

(Which, of course, reminded me of this little Baby F(Ph)at excerpt. Oh far far I’ve come. )

***

I check my list again and look at my watch. It’s almost dinner time and I’m nowhere near done. And this, folks, is where it pays to be an over-obsessive compulsive freak of a mom who packs a diaper bag with the works each and every time I leave the house.

“Leeks, M’ijita.” I say, handing her a water bottle and a snack cup filled with all-natural apple chips. We’ve been at the grocery store for 45 minutes and haven’t even gotten out of the produce department yet. I’ve been aware of the fact that staying on the perimeter is the healthiest way to shop for awhile, but never followed an eating plan that actually had me following through. And because this clean eating thing is still pretty new to me, I’m nowhere near confident in my navigation abilities in once familiar territory.
Food isn’t good and bad anymore. It’s clean or not. And “not” means I’m not eating it if it can be helped. Like that venti, iced, unsweetened passion tea from Starbucks a few weeks ago? Totally acceptable. The little pastry I tried scarfing down before The Husband returned from getting us a cart at Target? I threw it away when he pointed out that it was probably as clean as the bottom of my shoe.

“What’s a leek, Mama?” Buttercup asks in between bites. “Do you know?”

“No, baby. Mama is clueless.”

This, of course, is when Buttercup spots the woman who handed her the parsnip. Before I can say a word, Buttercup gets her attention, tells her that Mama is clueless, and returns with a bunch of leeks as the woman walks away laughing.

Turns out leeks is the fancy word for green onions. Awesome. I feel so Fancy Nancy right now.

Update: Turns out green onions are actually scallions and I never got leeks in my Paradise Bean Burger. Whereas I once believed the kind woman walked away laughing because she thought Buttercup was so totally cute, I now realize it’s because she totally played me because I can’t tell a leek from a scallion. And yes, I learned this while bragging about my awesome Fancy Nancy line on twitter. Thank you to @lainasparetime for setting me straight. Pardon me while I go make vegetable flash cards to study before my next visit to the produce department.

** This post originally appeared on Bookieboo!

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