Silent but sparkly

 3 Responses »
Jun 242010
 

Once I figured out I was going to BlogHer10, I had a new slew of crazy to add to my regular To-Do List. And even though I’m still navigating the joys of cross-country childcare, a trip top Michigan to drop off Buttercup so I can hope another plane to NYC from there after she’s safe and sound with my mom, and of course, figuring out how much it’s all going to cost me when I finally book a plane ticket, I can  still call it good.

After all, I’ve got my self-proclaimed official BlogHer10 Blog Bling from Survival of The Hippest in my hot little hands.

Yeah, I know I still have to arrange for dog care, call a neighbor to pick up the mail, have someone else stop by to feed Buttercup’s new Birthday Fish, and make sure another someone else is on standby to dispose of the body and run out for Emergency Backup Birthday Fish should Original Birthday Fish not survive to two-week trip to Michigan that’s sandwiching my BlogHer10 festivities…

But let’s concentrate on my new shiny, pretty, Sparklies.

It keeps me calm, people. It keeps me calm.

First up we have my super-awesome-because-it’s-mine key chain. This bad boy is made of sterling silver, spelled correctly, and sure to reflect all known sources of light from that mega-huge purse that I’m still looking for, because that’s where I plan to hang it.

And you can bet your ass I plan on working it into the conversation if this conversation-starter just happens to go unnoticed.

Hi! Nice to meet you! My name is Pauline and I’m Aspiring Mama on Twitter.” Smile, smile, gush, gush, chuckle for effect. “Lemme get you a business card from my purse. Oh this?” Bigger smile as the camera pans in. “It’s my new twitter bling from Survival of the Hippest. No, they didn’t sponsor. I paid my own moolah. But that’s cuz I love them!

What do you mean, actually use it as a key chain? Are you crazy? Oh no! This baby stays on my purse, where it can be protected, fawned over, and shown off on a regular basis, but thanks for asking!

The bracelet, while super awesome in and of itself, could be attributed to allowing myself to hit SUBMIT ORDER before letting myself think the whole process through. My friend and BlogHer10 roomie, Juliette, just spent a very reasonable amount of money on business cards and other Things That Make Sense. I? spent a very unreasonable amount of money on Things That Don’t.

And here’s the beauty of it, folks.  I still feel good about it. Because thanks to Survival of the Hippest, I can count on making an impression even if I don’t squee, fan-girl, or otherwise make an ass of myself.

But since we all know I’ll be doing plenty of all of those, I can now safely say all my bases are covered.

The Definition of SNARK

 6 Responses »
Jun 212010
 

My name is Pauline Campos and I’m writing a memoir called “Baby F(Ph)at: Adventures in Motherhood, Weight Loss, and Trying to Stay Sane.” It’s an honest and snarky account of my efforts to lose the baby weight two years after pushing the kid out. It’s not another book claiming to have the answers because I don’t have them. What I do have is something real moms can relate to, and point and laugh at when they feel the need.”

I was sitting in award-winning writer, comedian, producer, and a bag of chips Rick Najera’s Comedy Writing workshop at The National Latino Writer’s Conference. A small group allowed us the chance to go around and introduce ourselves and pitch our respective projects.

But when it was my turn, Rick only heard one word.

“Snarky.”

He looked at me, curious, and asked what it meant.

I just stared back at him blankly.

“Um, well, I don’t know the dictionary defitinion,” I admitted, feeling like a total asshole. “But it’s the one word people keep using to describe my book and my sense of humor.”

I was kicking myself for not knowing the actual definition of the very word I’ve been using to describe myself. Especially now that I had a 10 pairs of eyes blinking at me expectantly.

But Rick saved me.

“I’ll give you a defintion,” he said. “Snarky: It’s ‘Sarcastic, Naturally.’”

Awesome.

“I’ll take that,” I said, smiling. “It’s perfect.”

****

So what’s the actual defintion?

According to wiktionary.com, it’s this:

Snide and Sarcastic, usually out of irritation.”

****

Rick? I like your interpration much better.

So here I am, Sarcastic. Naturally.

Mother Tongue: A review

 No Responses »
Jun 142010
 

” Some women fallin love in advance of knowing a man because it is much easier to love a mystery.” — Mother Tongue by Demetria Martinez.

I haven’t read for myself, not regularly, anyway, in years. These days, I can recite The Cat in the Hat and Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?” by memory. But until recently, I couldn’t tell you the title of the last book I read that hadn’t been checked out or purchased for the  pre-K age group.

Then I signed up for The National Latino Writer’s Conference. And as the days brought me closer to my first conference, I decided to read as a way to calm my nerves. It would get my mind off the butterflies. And help me prep for meeting published faculty face to face.

Mother Tongue was one of my pre-conference frenzy reads. It’s a novel written as a memoir, a love story where you know he leaves in the end, yet can’t be mad at him because it was for the very best of reasons. I’ve oversimplified the plot almost to the point of sin, but I’m afraid to say too much; afraid I’ll spoil the beauty of the language on the page and the images contained within.

Demetria uses this book as the basis for teaching workshops on both fiction and non-fiction and I had the great honor of sitting in on a memoir writing session at the conference. I felt confident raising my hand and contributing to the discussion because earlier that day, I had already made an ass out of myself.

I had walked into the lunch session just a few minutes late and grabbed the first available seat I saw, ducking down as to not draw attention to myself and away from our speaker. I paid no attention to the dark-haired woman sitting in the seat next me. At our round table, the woman’s back was to me as she focused on the lunch time presenter. I did the same.

It wasn’t until she turned around to introduce herself that I realized who she was.

“Hi, I’m Demetria Martinez.”

She said it like I would say, ” Hi, my name is Pauline Campos,” or “The sky is blue.” Because to her, being who she is is not the same as hearing the name of the woman who wrote one of the most beautiful works ever written while the hand of that very woman is being extended in greeting.

For a moment, I was dignified.  I shook her hand. I told her it was an honor to meet her and reminded her that I had submitted a sample of my work for her to read. She nodded again.

Then I gushed.

“I’m reading Mother Tongue right now. It’s amazing! Every time I think you’ve stolen my breath for the last time, you do it again on the very next page.”

And Demetria? Bless her heart. She was humble. She was gracious. She joked that it was lovely to know her words were not just gathering dust.

“Dust?” I balked. “Of course not. They’re being treasured.”

And she waited for me to file through my memories until I was able to recite one of the most memorable lines in Mother Tongue…and there are many.

“He asks, have you kissed a man whose name you did not know?

I say, I knew the name but not the man.”

What NOT to do at a Writer’s Conference

 5 Responses »
Jun 022010
 

Take it as you will, because I’m no expert. Instead, I’m in the same boat as many of you: up a creek, no paddle, and trying to furiously navigate the strange and frustrating world between Writing Something and Getting it Published.

But I’ve done my homework. I know what has to be done, how to go about doing it, and when to bullshit when I haven’t a clue.

I did plenty of that at a recent writer’s conference. It was my first. I met writers in all stages of the game, shmoozed with famously awesome authors, and had my share of aneurysms when it was made abundantly clear the not everyone read the “What Not to do at a Writer’s Conference” manual I have written in my head.

In case you lost your copy, here are a few highlights:

10: Do NOT show up without a clue. It doesn’t matter how “new” you are to the writing game. Do your research. They say there is no such thing as a stupid question, but I happen to disagree. (See next item…)

9: Q&A sessions with editors and publishers are NOT the appropriate time shanghai the microphone, pitch your project, and then demand to know which editor is interested in your work. Can you say “you can only make one first impression and that one sucked?”

8: You will most likely meet published authors. Chat. Show some dazzling personality. But do NOT shove your unsolicited manuscript in their hands, walk off with your head high like you just did them a favor, and then return with a demand to know when they are going to finally read your work.

P.S.? The same goes for agents, editors, and other industry professionals. If they like you and ask for your work, *that’s* what you call a free pass. Run with it.

7: You will also meet authors and aspiring writers who’s work you just do not like. But guess what? That last open mic session was NOT about you. It was about the writer sharing their work. And that famous guy with the shiny new award? Yeah, he earned that. So if you don’t like their stuff, do NOT walk up to a table full of other Famous People with shiny new awards and tell them their book sucked. Ever see Bambi? If so, I refer to the Rule of Thumper…

6: You’ve written a masterpiece. That’s great. You haven’t found anything else in the market like it. That’s fantastic. But if you are pitching a Self-Help/How-to/Financial Guide/Paranormal Memoir/Novella with Biblical references, foot notes, and quizzes that you are sure your readers will love, it’s time to step back and re-evaluate. There is a reason you have NOT found competition. So um, do your self a favor and refer to item #1, research, focus, and rewrite.

5: Try NOT to squee like a fan girl (or gay man) when faced with a Writer More Famous than Yourself. Especially if it’s an act and you don’t normally squee because faked squee’s are blatantly obvious to the squee-ee. If you are truly a squee-er (like me) then just tone it down a bit. Writers are not used to be jumped like rock stars backstage after a sold out concert. A simple “I am so honored to meet you” will nicely downplay your fainting upon uttering the last word.

4: You have a name. A job (presumably). And the only work you’ve ever read better sure as hell NOT be your own. My point? Do NOT just talk about your book. Networking and shmoozing are an art form in and of themselves, and if you can’t turn the Pitch Button off long enough for a glass of wine or a Conversation about Nothing that Can Turn Out to be Something, you might end up turning those around you off to further attempts to connect.

3: Get business cards. If you are ready to query, bring a polished package with a proposal, including sample chapters. Do NOT show up unprepared for that magical moment when you are asked for a sample of your work and have nothing to show for it. And the business cards? That’s just a given. So is that pitch you better be practicing so you do NOT just blink when an agent asks what you’re working on.

2: Have fun. Drink. Shmooze. Dazzle your new friends and contacts. But do NOT claim the wine bottle on the table as your own, stick a straw in it, and slur your way into oblivion. You might not remember what you say, but everyone else will.

1: Jeans and flip flops are appropriate for the plane ride to your conference. They are appropriate for the casual writing workshops when everyone else is wearing their Cute and Comfies. But if you’ve got a one-on-one interview scheduled with an industry professional? Wear that dress or the dress slacks and button up shirt you prettied up in for that last job interview. Because really? That’s what this is. If you want to be taken seriously, dress the part.

Oh, and Famous Writer Guy? Your book doesn’t suck. That shiny new award kinda speaks for itself.

Kendra, Hank, and Aspiring Mama (a new reality show)

 3 Responses »
May 262010
 

Kendra Wilkinson

I don’t watch reality TV, nor do I really give a damn who’s next up to have their life filmed for millions to tune into. But judging from the reaction on my Blackberry, my BFF Mel was about to have a coronary.

“Kendra? KENDRA? OMG i LOVE her! Tell her I love her!”

I glanced up at Hugh’s former girlfriend and her husband, Hank Baskett, who had surprised the hell out of me by slumming it back in the sardine-packed coach section of the plane. I think she liked me because I had realized who she was and not made a total ass of myself by screaming, passing out, and then demanding her autograph.

Kinda like BFF Mel was currently doing on the Blackberry.

“Have to turn of my phone now” I messaged back. “But I’ll try to get you a surprise.”

“I hate you” was the response.

“So you don’t want a surprise?” I asked.

“I love you.” BFF Mel shot back.

We were in Albequerque heading to Phoenix. I was leaving the writing conference I’d been at and Kendra and Hank were on their way to catch a connecting flight to Palm Springs. I was sitting in a stranger’s seat who had been kind enough to switch with me after I realized the first row came without purse privileges, and totally caught by surprise when the teeny blonde with gargantuan sunglasses sat down next to me.

“Respect!” she said with a smile.

I just blinked and tried to figure out if we had gone to high school together.

“Why do I know you?” I had asked.

She looked at me, almost daring me to figure it out with the smallest of smiles tugging at the corners of her mouth. And that’s when it hit me. I was sitting next to a celebrity that I really could only say I recognized thanks to People magazine covers about her recent pregnancy and foray into motherhood.

Which is when I realized I was an old woman at 32 next to Miss Pretty and Perky.

Kendra ended up switching seats with the man who became my new neighbor, and was just across the aisle now, playing Uno with Hank until the flight attendant’s made everyone behave for take-off. And I admit it. Even though I can only claim to having watched maybe five episodes combined of her former and current shows because you all know the choice between sleeping, writing, and all things Social Media is already hard enough, I was still slightly fascinated. So I pretended not to stare.

I’ve lived in Tucson long enough to finally get over my heart-stopping fear of turbulence, but I still stroked my fingers across my religious medallion every time we hit a rough patch on the way up to our cruising altitude. And there were many. With each and every shaky dip, I marveled while not staring of course at the scene unfolding across the aisle.

Did you all know Kendra is deathly afraid of flying? She had folded herself over with her head buried on Hank’s lap as she dug her nails into his skin, and reached out flailing for reassurance whenever the plan shook.  I knew she was terrified, but had to smile. Hank simply covered her body with his while stroking her hair and holding her hands, all the while telling her she was going to be okay. At one point, Kendra looked up and asked him if it was over, but quickly grabbed on for dear life when the plane rocked again.

So I reached around my neck and unclipped my medallion, waiting for Hank’s eyes to catch mine.

“She needs to hold on to this more than I do right now.”

And she did.

When the captain finally declared it safe for the crew to serve our one free beverage, I passed over a notebook with two business cards because I am nothing if not shameless. One was for Kenda to keep. The other was for her to sign for BFF Mel. And she was cool enough to do both.

kendra wilkinson autograph

Every now and then I heard her tell Hank that she would really rather rent a limo to drive the rest of the way. And he’d nod his head, waiting for her to decide if she could handle another flight. Then he fell asleep with his head on her tray table, and she with her head on his back.

Landing was her undoing. As we began to descend, the plane hit one of the roughest patches of turbulence I’ve experienced to date. Hank woke at the first signs of trouble, prepared to calm her. And as she disappeared into him, I sat back and closed my eyes with a smile.

I don’t read the tabloids. I don’t care about reality TV. But when Kendra and Hank handed my medallion back and thanked me for telling me how adorable they are together, I was a little surprised to hear the media is claiming they are divorced over a sex tape scandal.

Whatever, people.

I can’t predict the future. But right here and right now?

They’re in love. Like, the disgustingly cute kind of love.

Remember, I don’t give a rat’s ass about what she does on TV. I just know that what I saw on that plane gave the old married woman in me renewed hope for young love.

Disclaimer #1: I am sitting back now and waiting for the barrage of hits related to Kendra, Playboy, Hugh Heffner, and Hank Baskett. Don’t worry, I’ll still love you all when I’m famous, too.

Disclaimer #2: I’ll hand this over to you, BFF Mel, when you show up on my doorstep for that visit. Just call when your plane lands.

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