Once upon a time, a romance author living in a town of 5,600 with one husband, two Maine Coons, and a chocolate Lab was nominated for a prestigious award in the professional organization she belongs to. The award ceremony is being held in a city she’s never been to, and had little chance of seeing. After all, New York City isn’t cheap. She despaired the effect on her family’s finances. It’s not like running across town, either: She still struggles with her fear of flying.

She resolved to stay home. After all, if she won, someone else could pick up the award and make the speech on July 1st. She even went so far as to enlist someone for this little job – the lovely and talented Susan Mallery. She took a deep breath, and told herself it was best.

It seems there was more than one person in her life who thought this was ridiculous. As a result, our heroine will be on a jet to New York City on June 28th.

There are so many people to thank for this event that it’s hard to know where to start. Most want to remain anonymous, and I will respect that request. At the same time, it is hard to imagine how I could ever have adequate words to thank the people who are making this happen for me. I’ll get myself and my suitcase onto that plane, and eight hours later, I’ll be in the city I’ve heard about all my life.

This, of course, reminds me of some of the things I’ve heard over the years. Yes, I’m packing a lot of black.  I’m staking out the area around the hotel for food options. I hope to not appear in an upcoming issue of Glamour as a “fashion don’t,” but this may be inevitable. I can’t wait for that first glimpse from the airplane window.

Most of all, I’m reminded of the song lyric I’ve heard a thousand times before: If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere.

See you soon, New York.

-S

I grew up in a fundamentalist church. It’s a long and involved story, but I walked away when I was in my late twenties, and never went back. I don’t regret that decision.

According to some, tomorrow is the end of it all. I prefer to face the music and dance, so I hope you’ll enjoy R.E.M.’s deathless anthem.

I’ll see you next week!

-S

Raheem Brock and Chester Pitts are mining the NFL lockout for comedy. I think they succeeded.

Rock on, guys!
-S

p.s. If you’re not using that phone number, might I have it? There’s a few things I’d like to say to the commissioner as well. I’m sure he’s anxiously awaiting my call…

I sat in front of our TV, stomach churning.

It took another hour to finally hear what the President had to say: Osama bin Laden was dead. We found out later that he was killed by some Navy SEALS, acting on Presidential order. I watched, dumbfounded, as a crowd gathered in front of the White House gate, waving flags, singing the national anthem, and acting like it was Super Bowl Sunday.

Let’s face it, I’m not sorry Osama bin Laden is dead. I’m sorry it took ten years for it to happen. At the same time, if I had to put any kind of label on how I feel even days later, it’s this: I’m thinking about those we lost, both on September 11th, 2001, and over the past ten years of wars in both Iraq and Afghanistan. To quote the President, I’m thinking about the thousands and thousands of empty seats at dinner tables around our country.

One of the people most profoundly affected by the events of September 11th is Kristen Breitweiser. She lost her husband in the Twin Towers collapse. She’s written a thought-provoking essay about her feelings. I hope you’ll read it.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kristen-breitweiser/today-is-not-a-day-of-cel_b_856535.html

Ten years later, now fully awake in the bright sunlight of the day, when I contemplate the definition of victory for our country when it comes to the death of Osama bin Laden, I can only think about the damage that has been done.

I think about the thousands of lives lost — American, Afghani, Iraqi. I know firsthand the sorrow those families have felt. I ponder how the billions — maybe trillions — of dollars could have been better spent. I remain alarmed about the continued expansion of absolute Executive power in the name of fighting this seemingly ongoing and never-ending “war on terror.” I worry about the further erosion of our constitutional rights. I wonder when our troops will ever be called home. I know all too well, that thousands of young American men and women soldiers will never have the opportunity to return home. And of course, I fear reprisal.

I realize Ms. Breitweiser and I are in the minority. After all, it’s time to wave the flag and chant “USA! USA!” wherever anyone will chant with us. I’m thinking, though, this is a hollow victory. Why spend even one more minute of time on someone that brought so much misery to so many people? Why not honor the memories of the lost, instead of clamoring to see the photos of his corpse, and sitting through one more news program?

Why is this considered an occasion worth celebrating?

-S

Today’s example: State Senator Bruce Caswell of Michigan. Of course he’s a Republican. It seems Senator Caswell, while serving a state in which unemployment is well over 10%, concerns himself with another matter: The foster children in Michigan should not be allowed to have new clothes. After all, he claims he didn’t have them when he was growing up; why should they? His plan would require foster children in the state of Michigan to shop for clothing solely in secondhand stores.

http://michiganmessenger.com/48487/foster-children-would-be-allowed-to-get-clothing-only-from-second-hand-stores

His explanation?

“I never had anything new,” Caswell says. “I got all the hand-me-downs. And my dad, he did a lot of shopping at the Salvation Army, and his comment was — and quite frankly it’s true — once you’re out of the store and you walk down the street, nobody knows where you bought your clothes.”

Senator Caswell goes on to say that he doesn’t know if this plan would actually save the state money. Obviously, he’s more interested in making sure those damn throwaway kids don’t get anything he allegedly didn’t have while he was growing up, isn’t he?

Maybe this doesn’t seem like a big deal to anyone reading. After all, there’s nothing wrong with going to the secondhand store to get clothing; the vast majority of people now are trying to cut corners anywhere they can to keep up with $4.00 a gallon gas and spiraling food prices. At the same time, it’s hard to believe that Senator Caswell’s super-shopper dad was purchasing items like shoes and underwear at a thrift shop, isn’t it?

Foster children have a rough enough time growing up without the harassment of adults who have no clue what they’re talking about. I wondered to myself what the grooming and clothing budget is per year for a foster child in Michigan. Well, due to the miracle that is Google, I know. It’s $79 a year. That’s right – seventy-nine bucks. I’ll bet Senator Caswell’s shoes cost more than $79 a pair, and I’ll bet he has several.

It is comical to me to listen to those who believe that all fetuses are sacred – well, till they leave the womb. Foster kids didn’t ask to get dumped into the system. For every “snowflake baby” (and don’t get me started on how angry that whole phenomenon makes me as well,) there’s hundreds of adoptable kids who languish in foster homes around the country. There are currently a quarter of a million foster kids in America. They might have caring, involved foster parents who dig into their own pockets to make sure the child has adequate shoes and clothes. They might not. At the same time, to marginalize these kids even further by insisting that they can’t use a fraction of that $79 to buy some new underwear or a pair of new sneakers? That takes a special kind of hate, in my opinion.

It’s nice to know there is nothing else happening in Michigan that requires the state government’s attention, isn’t it?

-S

Lunchbox Laboratory is unlike any burger place anyone’s ever been to before. Instead of pre-formed patties and the same five or six toppings, Lunchbox Laboratory was a constant experiment  in pushing the boundaries. After all, its owner was a chef. He owned two highly-regarded restaurants in Seattle before he opened his burger lab. Let’s face it: How many burger places in America are currently serving duck or lamb burgers? He did. One could spend all day picking ingredients and seasonings for those burgers, too, from a huge list. (There was a ketchup on the menu called “Satan’s Tears”, for instance, among other items.)

Scott Simpson made the best cheeseburger I’ve ever eaten in my life. It’s sloppy. It’s huge. It’s delicious. He used Kobe beef and the best ingredients he could get. When I wasn’t stuffing my face with a perfectly done burger and Tater Tots, he made amazing milkshakes. (The pumpkin pie caramel milkshake. The Key Lime milkshake. I’ve heard about the Nutella milkshake, but I am afraid. After all, we do like sleeping inside.) We were both afraid that “Top Chef Masters” would find out about Scott, we would lose him to the bright lights of LA, Chicago or New York, and I’d have to get on a plane to have his food.

http://www.lunchboxlaboratory.com/

We didn’t lose Scott to television, or even to another location. We, and everyone else who loved him and his food, lost him to bipolar disorder. He died on Monday. He was only 38. We didn’t see him every day. We didn’t see him more than a couple of times a year. At the same time, he always made time to talk with us, no matter how busy he was when we visited for a meal. We last saw him two weeks ago. We were scheduled to meet up with a friend, and we hadn’t been to the new South Lake Union location yet. Someone’s three-year-old pulled the fire alarm in the building just after we finished our lunch. Scott was apologizing to the diners who had to spend a few minutes outside while things were checked out. I patted him on the back, and told him it wasn’t a big deal. Everyone was safe.

It is amazing to me that someone so brilliant, so gifted and so kind is no longer with us. Someone responding to his obituary in the Seattle Times today called him a “supernova”. I have to agree. Everyone says the same things when something like this happens. “They’re in a better place.” “We’ll see them again.” Maybe. Mostly, I’m just pissed off that this country doesn’t treat mental illness as something that’s as much of a killer as heart disease or cancer. I don’t see a lot of telethons or “walks for the cure” for bipolar disorder or depression. Evidently, it’s not sexy.

Mostly, I’m sad. I wonder to myself what he would have come up with in the future. I feel badly for his loved ones, especially his girlfriend, Allegra. Lunchbox Laboratory will survive with his employees and his business partners, but he won’t be there.

I wish things were different.

-S

Every romance author reading the above comment is laughing aloud right now.

I wrote my first book in 2005. The best part of writing your first book is the fact you don’t know what you’re doing, so you’re not freaking out over plotting, character arc, hooks, subplots, and all the other magic that goes into writing a “keeper” book. In 2006, I learned there was an entire organization devoted to the care and instruction of romance authors. Romance Authors of America® boasts 10,000 members, and hundreds of local chapters across the country. Anyone who’s serious about succeeding as a romance author belongs to RWA®.

My first book is on a thumb drive in my desk drawer. It is the worst piece of crap* ever, but I finished it. The first book is the learning book. I might take it out some day, dust it off, edit it, and show it to someone else, or maybe not. MOST authors do not sell their first book. Out of the hundreds of romance authors I know or have met, four managed to sell their first book, and four have never had a rejection. FOUR. There’s a learning curve.

Since that day in 2006 I sat at my computer and typed “The End,” I have written four other books. I have two books in various stages of completion as well – they needed to “cook” for awhile in my head before I did a lot of other writing on them. Some of my author friends have helped in the editing and polishing of my completed books. I’ve entered various contests with them. I’ve submitted some of them to editors and agents. It’s a tough business. Somehow, I will find the person that loves my work, and I will sell those books. Right now, though, I’m still working, and I’m still taking those steps towards publication.

My favorite NFL player, Patrick Kerney, said something in an interview a couple of years ago that has really stuck with me: “Greatness lies just beyond fatigue.” The hardest thing about what I do is persisting in the face of overwhelming odds. I know that fatigue. It’s followed me around for awhile now. I know something else, though: I will persist until I achieve my goals. I can’t imagine doing anything else, because despite the discouragement, fear and odds, I will succeed.

The Academy Awards of the romance industry are the RITAs and the Golden Heart. They are awarded at RWA’s national conference each year to authors whose work has been voted on by their peers. If you’re published, you’re going up against your colleagues for a golden statue. If you’re unpublished, you’ll win a 14k gold medallion necklace. Being a Golden Heart finalist has been one of my goals since I joined RWA. I have finished in the top 25% of voting for the past three years. It wasn’t enough.

The finalist notification calls went out last Friday morning. The Dauphin had an early meeting at the office, so I was up a little earlier than usual, and waiting for the excited recipients of those phone calls to start e-mailing and Tweeting everyone they knew. A couple of the finalists in other categories were already on Twitter. About 7:15 a.m., the phone rang. It wasn’t The Dauphin. The woman on the other end of the line asked for me, and identified herself as being from RWA. “You’re a Golden Heart finalist,” she said, and I burst into tears.

“Don’t cry, or you’re gonna’ make me cry, too,” she assured me, and asked if I had a pen to write some things down. She had instructions. I needed to send them a photo. They needed some other stuff, too. I’ll send it. She talked to me for a few more minutes, I thanked her a hundred or so times, and we hung up. I was shaking so hard I could barely dial the phone to call The Dauphin. Oh, yeah: I was still crying.

I’m sure getting an early-morning phone call from a crying wife is not a great way to start the day, but he handled it like a champ.

It’s been 48 hours since my phone rang. The people I know have said, e-mailed and Tweeted things to me I will cherish for the rest of my life. I have a one-in-eight chance of hearing my pen name called on July 1 in New York City. The award recipient speeches are heartfelt. Most are delivered through tears. After all, everyone in the ballroom knows how long and hard that author worked to succeed. They also know how many people around that author encourage and support them to success.

I hope to make one of those speeches. I’ll be thanking the members of my RWA chapter, Greater Seattle RWA, my friends, my mentors, Susan Mallery, Mary Buckham and Jane Porter. I’ll thank Cherry Adair and the “Write the Damn Book Challenge”; it produced the book that was nominated. I’ll thank some non-writing friends. Mostly, I’ll thank The Dauphin. I could never have embarked on this path without his help and his support. Mostly, he believed in me when I wasn’t sure I believed in myself.

If you’d like to admire the announcement, here it is. If this is a dream, I hope I never wake up.

http://www.rwa.org/cs/2011_rita_and_gh_finalists_announcement

-S

*My creative writing professor in college urged us to write the worst crap in the United States – after all, writers learn and improve by writing. I asked her, “Why limit yourself?” I endeavored to write the worst crap in the universe…

Yesterday, I saw a YouTube of a woman coming back to her wrecked home and finding her safe-and-sound cat. Today, I swallow the lump in my throat as I post the following.

Photo: REUTERS/Kim Kyung-Hoon

The people of Japan could use your prayers and positive thoughts. If you have any cash, a great place to donate is Doctors Without Borders.

-S

Barack Obama was more than happy to call on the unions of America when he ran for President. After all, they opened their wallets (and their phone banks and volunteer rolls) to his campaign. They worked hard to put him into the White House. They believed he supported the right of collective bargaining. In return, he has ignored them, disrespected them, and made it clear that he doesn’t consider them worthy of his time. After all, I’m sure he’s busy filling out his March Madness bracket.

If you have been following the events in Wisconsin over the past several weeks (and now, Idaho, Michigan, Pennsylvania and New Jersey,) the White House has remained silent during what appears to be the most coordinated efforts to bust unions since Reagan shut down the air traffic controllers. Things weren’t quite so silent when Mr. Obama was campaigning for President.

Allow me to present, for your reading enjoyment, Barack Obama’s comments on February 12, 2008, when he visited Madison, Wisconsin, during his campaign. There’s also video available. After all, I can’t wait to watch yet another Presidential candidate lie to me and to millions of other people. Again.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/02/12/AR2008021203144.html

Because at a time when so many people are struggling to keep up with soaring costs and a sluggish economy, we know that the status quo in Washington just won’t do, not this time, not this year.

We can’t keep playing the same Washington game with the same Washington players and somehow expect a different result, because it’s a game that ordinary Americans are losing. We are going to put this game to an end.

It’s a game where lobbyists write check after check and Exxon turns record profits, while you pay the price at the pump and our planet is put at risk. That’s what happens when lobbyists set the agenda, and that’s why they won’t drown out your voices anymore when I am president of the United States of America.

It’s a game where trade deals, like NAFTA, ship jobs overseas and force parents to compete with their teenagers to work for minimum wages at the local fast-food joint or at Wal-Mart.

It’s what happens when the American worker doesn’t have a voice at the negotiating table, when leaders change their positions on trade with the politics of the moment, and that is why we need a president who will listen not just to Wall Street, but to Main Street, a president who will stand with workers not just when it’s easy, but when it’s hard, and that’s the kind of president I intend to be when I’m president of the United States of America.

There’s another campaign-era quote currently making the rounds about Obama’s putting on his “comfortable shoes” and walking a picket line alongside union members. I can only assume that the “comfortable shoes” must have been left in Chicago when he moved to the White House.

SHAME.

-S

I’ve written here before about what happened to our family during the ten months The Dauphin was out of work in 2008-2009.  Our experiences were minor compared to the “99ers,” those people who’ve exhausted all unemployment benefits and are STILL trying to find a job.

For those who believe the unemployed are just not trying hard enough to find a job, that they are unemployed by choice, that they are “gaming the system”, I challenge you to play the following game. It’s free. I’d like to see how some of you make it through one month with the $1,000 in your checking account the only thing between you and the streets.

http://playspent.org/

Again: If you think you have all the answers on how someone who’s broke, can’t find work and still trying to survive should conduct themselves, play the game. I would LOVE to see some of our elected officials play this on national live TV. Better yet, I’d like to see President Obama play it on national live TV. He seems to have forgotten everything he learned at his mother’s knee about being brought up by a low-income single parent.

Step right up and play the game. Let’s see if those who’ve told me before in the comments that they think the unemployed are malingerers or worse have the guts to tell me in the comments how many days you made it through before you lost it all.

In the meantime, all thanks to Urban Ministries of Durham for putting us all in someone else’s shoes, for even a few minutes.

-S