CHOO CHOO

Hello, friends! I’m back in New York, having said goodbye to Oscar, cat friend, screaming old lady, J.K. Rowling, and all of my companions in the UK, and am back in the heaving steam bath that I like to call home.

By now, many of you will have seen this video, which was created for my friend John Green’s birthday. There are a lot of things to explain about that video. Like the clothes. (I wasn’t super-clear on the wardrobe issue.) Or how it even came about. (Sitting around with Scott and Justine, an e-mail, some drinks, a small buffet at Libba’s house, moving furniture, me injuring my knee, and what will almost certainly be a lifelong aversion to Mamma Mia. It’s a whole saga. Another blog, perhaps? Do you guys want the story? Respond in the comments if you do.)

I’m glad to see that many of you could relate to my feelings on revision. Even Meg Cabot chimed in! That gives me hope, because in my mind, Meg can do anything. Even fly.

The storyboard I had created on the London Office wall, the one that looked so neat and lovely there, was carefully removed and transplanted to the New York Office wall. It is not as neat here, as the wall space allotted to it is a bit on the smaller side. But now I have to pack it up again, just as soon as I got it up!

Yes—it’s Dragontrain time! Right around this time tomorrow, Scott Westerfeld, Justine Larbalestier, Holly Black, Cassie Clare, and I will all be on a full-service sleeper train, barreling down south to Atlanta.

As you may (or may not) remember, this whole thing started when we were all sitting around in Scott and Justine’s apartment at the wee small hours of the morning. (See, basically all my harebrained schemes start in that exact position.) They were talking about how much fun conventions are, and then someone said that we should all do one together, and then someone else said wouldn’t it be fun if we all took a train down instead of a plane? We all agreed that that sounded classy and civilized, unlike planes which are generally horrible and oppressive.

And then I said, “If you actually set this up, I will go in a Princess Leia/Wonder Woman outfit” because I doubted that it would happen.

Which brings us up to now.

I never welsh on a bet, friends. I have just picked up my Wonder Woman boots. I have to say, they are pretty spectacular. I have a sneaking suspicion that the company that made them specializes in stripper wear, but I have no particular problem with this. They have done a top-notch job on these boots. Hera herself would admire them!

(I will not say whether or not I am already wearing my new Wonder Woman boots. That is totally irrelevant. Let us move on.)

We are also about to test the theory that traveling 18 hours on a train is actually better than traveling 1 ½ hours on a plane.

Maybe I should clarify something, as some of you are visiting from outside the United States . . . trains are not really one of our strong points here. We do have trains. We even have a few very nice trains. But we generally don’t use trains very much in terms of longer trips, largely because it seems insane. This is a big country. It takes a long time to travel around it. I’m coming to grips with the fact that we have chosen a method of travel that will literally take 12 times as long as an airplane.

So why have we done this? What made it sound like such a good idea, round about 2 AM all those months ago? Here are the reasons, as I remember them.

1. Trains are generally fun

I really like trains, personally. I especially like trains in the UK, which seem about a million times nicer than our trains—and by “our trains,” I mean our smaller commuter lines, which generally look like castoff pieces of the trans-Siberia line, circa 1977. I have had some excellent rides on trains in the UK, like my fantastic ride from London to Scotland when I went to live in the castle for a month to write 13 Little Blue Envelopes.

(I am invariably thinking this thought, sitting there in my nice little seat, looking at the passing sheep, thinking how wonderful England is . . . and someone will throw up in the vestibule. But even this doesn’t seem that bad—and granted it is always on the midnight train back from central London. Somehow, it’s not as bad when English people barf in public. I think it may be because, unlike here (where it seems more likely that you have Rage Virus and are about to turn into a zombie), that’s just the English way of saying “We have been drinking tonight!” It’s almost kind of friendly, like you’re being invited to join the experience!)

2. Trains seem glamorous

I mean, come on! A group of writers going on tour together by taking a long, cross-country (well, it’s not cross-country, it’s just, well, south-bound, but it’s still pretty far) trip together. And there’s a dining car and a porter, and we can write, and Cassie and I are sharing a little room and we can tell each other ghost stories!


View of my expectations.


3. Unlimited luggage!

We are already planning on loading down this train something fierce. I really need to step up and start packing like I mean business. None of this “weighing your bag” or having to shove everything you are taking with you to your seat into one small piece of luggage the size of a microbe. I am bringing all my stuff. I may even bring some of your stuff. I am living the dream of travel tip number #2—because I can, can, can!

4. Excellent company

This does not come with the train. This just happens to be excellent company!

5. A chance to see the country

I wonder how many Wal-Marts I will see from the train window?

6. A chance to work without distraction

No wi-fi on the train! Nothing but me, some good writer friends, and the track rolling in front of us.

Pretty good reasons, right?

We will see how it all pans out . . .



Another view of my expectations.

In any case, I have promised videos, and they will be here. But they will not feature Mamma Mia. Anyway, I have to go practice my Wonder Woman spinning in these new boots . . . .

I mean revise. And pack.

(Oh, and I guess I should tell you when I am actually speaking. I will post my conference schedule here later! Watch this space!)

BULLET-STOPPING, AXIS-FOLDING ACTION (WITH SATIN TIGHTS)

If you had asked me on Monday night, when I first posted the costume poll, I was sure that Tonks was going to win. I started resigning myself to the idea of temporarily dying my hair pink.

The more I read about pink hair dye, the clearer it became to me that the temporary spray would not be good enough. I was going to have to have my hair turned pink professionally, and then I would have it until I changed it back. This, I was pretty much okay with. One of the many perks of being a writer is that you can turn your hair pink, and no one can say a word to you about it. In fact, they kind of expect you to do something like that.

Then, out of nowhere, came the Wonder Woman army . . . and by the power of Hera they put up a fight. It was brutal. It was Tonks, Wonder Woman, Tonks, Wonder Woman . . . And then, rushing out of the sidelines, came the Leia Bikini people.

Here is something I have learned.

Some of you have very strong . . . feelings . . . about the Leia bikini. I only suggested the Leia bikini in the first place because it was the only scifi costume that popped into my mind. I knew it was famous—but I didn’t know how important it was to some of you, and what kind of a role it played in your personal development.

Lesson learned!

It was a passionate battle, very occasionally verging towards the creepy. Good arguments were made on all sides.

Here were the votes when I stopped counting (more have come in since):

Tonks: 28 votes
Leia Bikini: 15 votes
Bellatrix LeStrange: 9 votes

Magenta got three and the devil struggled in with one vote, and astonishingly . . . NONE of you voted for Classic Leia.

But the winner, with a total of 46 votes, was WONDER WOMAN!

Yessssss!

I can confess now that I was rooting for Wonder Woman all along—although I think I hinted at that pretty clearly. I had to watch this to get ready:



HOW GREAT IS THAT?

Although, I confess, I remembered the song . . . but not how insane the lyrics are. “In your satin tights/fighting for your rights/and the old red, white, and blue”? Really? “Make a hawk a dove/stop a war with love/make a liar tell the truth”? Or, perhaps my favorite, “Stop a bullet cold/make the axis fold.”

And was there really a guy named Lyle Waggoner in it? How did I miss that before?

I am already practicing my spinning, and I am getting real Wonder Woman boots! This must be done Right. Do you know why? Well, for a start, the Weasley Twins are going to be there! Yes! The ones from the movie!

Ah may faint.

And if you remember by post about TV crushes, you may recall that I had a childhood obsession with William Katt that caused me to develop a condition called William Katt Love Hangover and a terminal attraction to curly hair.

WILLIAM KATT IS TOTALLY GOING TO BE THERE!

Seriously. Four year-old mj is not going to be able to take this.

The videos of this event—what with the Wonder Woman, William Katt, the Weasleys—and my excellent company (Scott, Justine, Holly, and Cassie) . . . they should be something very, very special.

MORE WINNERS!

If you get my newsletter (and if you don’t—why not sign up now?), you’ll know that I put a challenge out there for the best photo representing Girl At Sea. The prize: signed copies of Girl At Sea and Devilish, in a limited edition Harry Potter bag, swiped from the prime Scholastic stash by my editor, Emma Lollipop. (See, it pays to read the newsletter.)

I very much enjoyed this photo:



Also, I was completely fascinated by this.

But a winner had to be chosen. I’m terrible at picking winners, but fortunately . . . FREE MONKEY CAME HOME!

I didn’t tell you guys that he actually got lost for a while. I didn’t want to worry you.

Believe it or not, he vanished after leaving Bartlesville. Ten entire days went by with no word. I feared the worst and was on the verge of making the announcement that he was missing . . . when all of a sudden, a box appeared, and he popped out of it.

Anyway, I showed all the entries to him, and he ended up picking these artistic photos of Girl At Sea, taken by Ally B.





Thank you to all who entered! I have one more of these bags to give away, along with more copies of Girl at Sea. I’ll have to think of another good summer contest. Or maybe I’ll just give one away at random to whoever leaves the best comment.

Yes. I’ll do that. Leave a good comment, and on Sunday, I’ll pick one and send you a book! I don't care what it's about. Just speak your mind! Why not? I’m WONDER WOMAN! I can stop a war with love, and I fight in satin tights!

LIES MY PARENTS TOLD ME

The first draft of my new book is due on Friday, which also happens to be my birthday. Just so you know, I am taking stun gun off the list of things I want. This is because I had to reach behind my tv the other day to unplug something, and I got a huge shock from the power strip. It zapped my whole arm. So for now, I do not want a stun gun.

But to all of you out there with spare Vespas and miniature ponies . . . they are still very much on the list.

The new book is going very well—at least in the sense that the first draft is going very well. There is much left to be done and it will be written several more times before it is done. I will tell you this much about the story . . . it takes place in New York, and it’s about a family that lives in a hotel. In making this hotel, I had to think about the rules that might govern life there, the things you might take for granted.

It made me think of the rules, and the lies, my parents imposed on me when I was just a tiny mj.

When I was growing up, if my parents suspected me of telling a lie, they would say to me, “Maureen, stick out your tongue.” I would do it. My mom or dad, whoever was doing the questioning, would lean down and examine it. If they doubted me, they’d say, “I see a black spot!” I would run to the mirror and look for the black spots. Sometimes I even thought I saw them.

I was a pretty truthful child, so if I thought I saw one of these spots on my tongue, I would sit and really question what I had said. Was I really telling the truth? Had I done something I was unaware of? This would send me into metaphysical spins for whole minutes at a time.

Eventually, I figured out that this was a trick. It took a while, but I got there.

What I didn’t figure out for a long time was that this is not a universal trick. I sort of assumed that everyone’s parents did this—that it was some kind of wacky old tradition that they’d picked up on.

Recently, someone told me something that sounded like a lie, and I said, “Liar. Stick out your tongue!” It was a bit of a throwback, I realized, like making reference to a really old commercial by accident. It just came out.

The person who I said this to just stared at me. I explained . . . lies, black spots, tongue. I did not see the shock of recognition. There was no, “Oh my God! Your parents did that too?”

I’m no dope, readers. I can put two and two together, and with a little effort, come up with a four—or a really low five. I called my dad and confronted him directly.

“The black spots,” I said. “On the tongue. Where did that come from?”

My dad laughed jovially.

“Oh that,” he said. “I have no idea. I just said it one day, and your mom heard it. She started laughing so hard that she had to leave the room. After that, we did it all the time. She did it more than me.”

I was not overly amused.

“Listen,” I said. “Do you realize that when you did that, I used to go and LOOK for the spots? Do you realize that sometimes I thought I SAW them, and then I would question my own grasp of truthfulness? Because of your little joke, your four year old daughter spent a lot of time wrestling with the full meaning of honesty and the state of her soul?”

My dad started laughing so hard that he had to set the phone down for a minute.



I chose to confront them, but they did not care.

I started thinking back a little more about things that were just considered “givens” in my house. Here was another one: I wasn’t allowed to say that I hated anyone. There was no human being, I was told, who deserved to be hated.

On the surface, this is a very good rule, and one I applaud. But, it had a weird rider, like one of those laws they try to get through Congress with a strange little sentence attached. I wasn’t allowed to say I hated anyone . . . except Hitler. It was perfectly acceptable to hate Hitler. So, if I was angry, I would often shout, “I HATE HITLER!”

Now, maybe this is something that would have been normal in, say, London, during 1941, at the height of the Blitz. And hating Hitler really is the little black dress of hatreds—you can’t go wrong taking a swing at him. Coming out of a small child in Philadelphia in the late 70s, though, it was a bit odd. I hated Hitler when my toys broke. I hated Hitler when I had to go to bed early. I was doing an awful lot of Hitler-hating.

Here’s another one: we couldn’t sing at the table. No explanation was ever given on this one. It was just a very big deal. If you even started to sing, which I sometimes did, it was stopped, immediately.

I don’t for a second think I am alone. I am certain your parents made up some rule or fake tradition just to mess with your head too. That is what parents are for. I invite you to share them.

In the meantime, I am getting back to work. My editor, Emma Lollipop, reads this blog. She will know I have been taking time off from the book . . . and obviously the black spot thing has ruined me in terms of lying to her about it.

Just two things before I go.

1. The book is also about a show, in particular, a very carnival-like production of Hamlet—so I want to pimp some of my friends who are currently doing great theater work.

If you have ever wondered how musicals are made, you should read this blog. My friend Andrew is an amazing composer who has written a first-class musical called Meet John Doe, which is being put on at the Ford Theater in Washington D.C. (Yes, the theater where President Lincoln was shot.) His blog will show you what it’s like to take a musical from casting to set design to rewriting to performance. Also, he includes many hot photos of model stages and hats.

Also, my friend “Broadway” Joey (my baseball coach for The Key to the Golden Firebird) is in the hit show The Drowsy Chaperone. If you are planning on coming up to get some Broadway action, this is the show for you.

2. I do not normally show pictures of underwear on this blog, but I have to make a special exception for these . . . which are also very much on my birthday wish list. Come on. How great are these?



Better than a stun gun? Just maybe.