Spread the word!!

The Women's National Book Association wants to know about bookstores in the United States that excel at inspiring interest in reading, as well as creatively bringing books and young people together.  They will present the annual WNBA Pannell Award to two bookstores--one a general bookstore and one a children's speciality bookstore--at the 2010 BookExpo America.  Each recipient will receive a check for $1,000 and a framed piece of original art by a noted children's book illustrator. Nominated stores have the option of making their submissions to the Pannell jury electronically or by sending hard copy materials by mail.

To nominate your favorite bookstore (even your own!) that works within the community to instill the love of reading in young people, please provide the following:

His bones hit the stones with a crack as the guard shoved him to his knees. They weren't normal playing cards; they all had strange metric road signs on them. And they spoke French.

"Brian Keene," said a terrible voice. A familiar voice.

The burlap sack was ripped from his head. On the throne before him sat the most beautiful woman in the world. Her blood-chestnut hair fell in a shimmering cascade below her generous breasts. Her short red skirt revealed several miles of leg encased in several miles of black-and-white striped tights. The ruby platform slippers matched her dress, the four-inch heels of which he knew masked the blood of men's hearts exceptionally well. Her glistening diamond tiara reflected the bright sunlight and scattered rainbows around her, complimenting the fire in her eyes and the glittery flames that decorated her face, surrounding them. Her crimson lips parted in a gorgeous smile he couldn't help but reciprocate, and he damned himself for his lack of willpower at her feet. Those perfect teeth had fed on many a meager soul before his own, and they would feed on many more when his time on Earth was finished. Which he imagined would be about five minutes from now, give or take. 

She was the Good Fairy who had given him life. She was the Muse who'd ruined it when he'd asked her to. And now she was the Reaper, here to claim what was rightfully hers.

Five minutes or no, Keene decided to spend the rest of his life being true to himself. "You remind me of a princess I know," he said without being spoken to.

"I get that a lot," she said, sotto voce, and then, "My little Bunny Foo Foo. Whatever am I going to do with you?" 

Keene winced. He hated when she called him that. He also hated rhetorical questions.

"Off I sent you, skipping along through the forest, with one warning. Do you remember what that was?"

"Something about field mice?" he asked.

The right shoe shot out and kicked him square in the jaw, the rubies on the toes scraping deep into the skin of his cheek. With his hands bound behind him he couldn't assess the damage, but he could already feel the wetness, taste the blood. As suspected, her shoe still looked perfect, unmarred, and hotter than hell. "I said, 'NO MORE ZOMBIES.'"

"Is that what it was? I'm so bad with French." Expecting the shoe this time, he managed to peek up her skirt before his face hit the stones. Skull panties. The guards propped him back up on his knees.

"I should turn you into a goon," she said.

Keene spat out a mouthful of blood; it shaped itself into a heart on the stones at her feet. "I believe that is the established method."

"And yet, my dearest bunnykins, something about you compels me to go old school." She rapped her emerald scepter three times and bellowed, "OFF WITH HIS HEAD!"

It all happened with a quickness that commanded respect. A playing card obliged and bent himself in half like a table so that Keene's head could be pushed down upon him. He saw the giant shadow of the executioner behind him and had not even the time to wince as the sharp blade bit into his neck, snicker snack. Ninety seconds, he knew. Ninety seconds before he lost consciousness forever. Forever. She smelled like forever.

His head rolled in the pool of blood at her feet and he looked up at her, his new vantage point affording him quite the view, and with his last breath he did the one thing he knew she'd hate, the one thing that grated her nerves more than anything ever had. He'd miss that damn cat.

"Why are you smiling?" she asked Keene's head. "WHY ARE YOU SMILING?!?"

He loved that it was a question she'd never have the answer to. As it happened, he did know a princess, one who had placed his name in a bag with salt and herbs and planted it at the base of her ivory tower by the light of the full moon. She knew a thing or two about magic. And he knew a thing or two about zombies.

He thought about that princess in his last 140 characters before the world went black. Now if only all her father's horses and all her father's men hurried up and got to him before he bled out completely he'd be home in time f--

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Today is Brian Keene Must Die day. Brian will be killed in dozens of horrifying ways in blogs across the blogosphere for a very good cause. If you enjoyed this humorous little vignette, please consider making a donation to the Shirley Jackson Awards.

Soteria & Charles have been married two years today -- hooray!



The rest of us remember what was one of the coolest weddings in history -- held at the Charleston Aquarium, my father officiating, Soteria walking down the steps in her customized designer gown to a string-version of The Pixies' "Where is My Mind?", my nephew cracking us all up during the "speak now or forever hold your peace", Monica's amazing flower arrangements complete with fish in the vases, and the dancing. All the wonderful dancing. Including this one. Remember this?

The song is "Burning Down the House" -- the demo tape got yanked off YouTube, but the tutorial is still there:


And here is a clip from the actual dance being performed at the wedding, complete with some of us jokers wearing masks like the tutorial taught us:


The best part, though, was never captured on video -- like most truly best moments are. But those of us who were there remember someone handing the wedding soundtrack to the bartender at the after party, and someone else pushing the tables aside so we could all jump up and do an impromptu recreation of the dance right then and there.

Because all the best people's lives include impromptu musical numbers.

Happy anniversary, Soteria & Charles. Here's to many more awesome years. xox

(Want to wish them happiness yourself? Stop by the Dixie Dunbar Facebook page and send your love!)

Dude...of course I'm totally talking about me. Yeah. That goober there in the picture with the chibi eyes and the face of a Muppet. The one and only Alethea Madeleine Kontis, a.k.a Princess Alethea. Moi.

Yes, Alethea is my real, mom-and-dad given name. The Princess title was inevitable...like a freight train down the track, it was simply a long time coming. Contrary to popular belief, I never wanted to be a princess growing up. I wanted to be an actress and a writer...both of whom were free to dress like a gypsy and run around the yard speaking in a British accent.

Mostly I blame my current Princesshood on Jill Conner Browne who, during a visit to Ingram in March of 2007, bestowed upon me a Big Ass Tiara and proclaimed me Princess of Ingram. When I signed up for LJ they told me I couldn't use my own name as someone had already syndicated it, so I had to come up with something else. BAM. At my best friend Devin's wedding a year later, I made up nametags for Devin's sister, my sister, and myself, declaring that we were Princess Megan, Princess Soteria, and Princess Alethea. I left it stuck on my laptop for a very long time. When I was asked to come up with a title for my review column at Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show, what name could have been better than Princess Alethea's Magical Elixir? Similarly, when the sideshow idea for Dragon*Con sprang to life like Athena from my cranium...well, you see where this insanity has led.

Type in www.princessalethea.com. Yeah, I went there. Figured if I was gonna do it, I was gonna own it.  I took physics -- that freight train has a lot more inertia than I do, and it would be futile to stop it. A lot less fun, too.

Ultimately, I've found it's easier for people to call me "Princess" than remember how to pronounce Uh-LEE-thee-uh, and I'm totally okay with that. If we only see each other at the odd convention, you really shouldn't have to work that hard. We're there to have fun, not embarrass each other.

Now, according to my magic mirror (which I sometimes refer to as "Google Alert"), there are two other Princess Aletheas on these here intarwebs. One is a Princess in the SCA (Alethea Eastriding, Crown Princess and one-time Queen of the East), and the other is a fan fiction writer. I should not be confused with either of these women -- who I'm sure are very much fabulous in their own special ways.

But let's be clear -- like it says up there at the top -- all the ways about here belong to me.

Hooray! Just got notified that "The Monster & Mrs. Blake" has sold to The Story Station! (bev_vincent has a story up there now.) I'm super-excited about this one, because it's one of my absolute favorite stories...and it's for kids!!

Summary: Jeremy Blake has a big imagination. He's eleven years old. He has a monster under his bed. And the monster's getting bigger.  He's too ashamed to tell any of his friends or his father about it, but he finally confesses the details to his mother...who knows a lot more about dealing with monsters than Jeremy ever dreamed.

I liked Story Station because their guidelines said they wanted "stories like Goonies," and that's just awesome. No details yet on when the story will go live -- I'll let you know as soon as I hear.  Squee!!! I really can't wait. You guys are going to LOVE this one.

Takes me about 20 minutes every day to get to the other side of that rainbow. Music helps pass the time.

I bought the masks at Michaels almost a month ago 'cause I thought they were cool, but I didn't know what to do with them. I blame Janet Lee (papillon_enrage ) for putting Wonderland on my brain. I am really, really happy with how cool and creepy they came out.



Next, of course, will be Glinda and the Wicked Witch.

Edit: Just to be clear, I painted and decorated these. The original masks were simply plain papier mache.

Just click the dang link already.

(courtesy of Diane Duane. Yes, THAT Diane Duane.)

There was a minute -- one full, sixty-second interval -- when I had that fish out of water "what the heck am I doing here?!?" feeling. I filled out the "Noises Off" audition application with my name and address....and nothing else. It asked for us to list the last three productions we'd been in, and in what capacity. What WAS the last play we did in High School? The Diviners? No...it was something else, I'm sure of it, but  I wasn't about to ask Patrick and have the rest of them laugh at me. So under Previous Experience I wrote on the top line in big letters: "NOT FOR A REEEEEEALLY LONG TIME."

For other 149 minutes of the audition, I was strangely at ease. Maybe because it was Patrick directing, so I didn't feel like I was being judged. Maybe because it was community theatre and not Carnegie Hall. But I've shaken like a leaf in front of friends and high school audiences in the past. Maybe it's because I've been rejected by so many magazines I don't feel threatened anymore. Maybe it's because I've done massive amounts of public speaking in the past few years and I no longer have any fear of addressing an audience of 20...or 200. (Did you see that the "Hour With Sherrilyn Kenyon" at Dragon*Con is being held in one of the Centennial Ballrooms? Holy CRAP! I've made it to Main Programming!!)

I SUSPECT I spent the evening in a happy Zen place because if any of my friends had said, "Hey, Lee, wanna come over tonight and read a bunch of scenes in over-the-top British accents?" My answer would have been an emphatic "Hell, yes! I'll bring the Red Rose tea."

I had SO MUCH FUN. Possibly way too much fun, if that's possible. Patrick had said he wanted over the top...so that's exactly what he got. Most of the time, I didn't even feel like i was auditioning. I introduced myself to the actors both on and off the stage -- I felt like I was there to keep everyone happy and excited, and to read a few scenes as a favor for a friend.

I made it to the second round -- call backs are tonight at 7pm. I brought make-up and different shoes with me to work and I have no idea what the heck I'm going to eat for dinner...which probably means either nothing or this handful of dark chocolate-covered espresso beans I happen to have here in my bag. I'm fine either way. I can't wait!!

Oh -- and people have asked me if I have my eye on any particular part. Are you kidding? Of course not! Once Upon a Time I stole the entire Duchess scene in Alice in Wonderland as the Cook with one line ("Pepper!"). There are no small parts, only silly people.

A special thanks to all my blog-reading peeps, my Facebook friends, and the Twitterverse for the constant stream of good wishes and support. This is so much easier to do with you guys behind me. I have the best friends ever. xox

Yesterday morning on the radio I heard that the Discovery shuttle launch had been postponed until 11pm or midnight that night, and I seriously debated getting online to see if I could book a quick ticket to see my folks in Titusville. I've seen a shuttle launch live now so it's officially crossed off my list, but a night launch is something special to experience.

Happily, my parents (who now get ringside seats to all the launches) experienced it first hand for those of us who could not be there, and Dad snapped a few great pics.

Shiny things make me happy. I have no excuse. Then again, I'm a princess -- I don't need one.

Know what else makes me happy? Clicking through Dixie Dunbar Studio's brand-spanking new website and checking out all the pretties. The details of the necklaces, bracelets and earrings will tell you what each piece is made of -- elements like raw silk, wire, and rubber right alongside precious gems, Austrian crystals, and biwah pearls. I'll always be amazed at how my sister can put all these strange things together and make them look stylish. But I like that about her.

And if you haven't jumped on the bandwagon yet, join the Dixie Dunbar Studio Official Facebook Fan Page. Check out new items, pictures of the shop, and fan photos of beautiful people wearing beautiful jewelry. Own a piece of Dixie Dunbar jewelry yourself? Post a pic!

Keep an eye out on Facebook -- and here -- for an announcement about a Dixie Dunbar Christmas Eve party...I hear there will be wassail. And possibly baklava.

I am so ready for Dragon*Con.

For me, 2008 was The Year of Getting Better. (Like Tomo would say: Bad Breakup was bad.) I took the first six months off to wallow in self-pity and nurse my wounded pride. By Mo*Con, I was ready to come back into the world and my friends welcomed me with open arms. I spent the rest of the year back in the seat of the Incredible Whirlwind...and true to the form of that Whirly Girl of Beauty & Dynamite, I overdid it.

After traveling and writing and editing myself into almost a week of pain and torture and sleepless nights, I caved and made my very first physical therapy appointment. The therapist's office was 5 minutes from work -- just past the Starbucks and across the street, beside the new Stonecrest hospital. The therapist was a lovely, soft spoken gentleman with a new baby (to whom, of course, I signed a copy of AlphaOops). This was a new experience for me: spending an hour being physically touched by a nice man whose sole purpose was the improvement of my well-being, without any conditions or expectations. When the hour was over, I thanked him, put my silver-Sharpie-decorated wrist brace back on, made an appointment for the following week, and left the office.

I made it to the elevator before the tears came. Then I sat in my car and openly sobbed for a good five minutes.

I've heard that PT can affect people this way -- I just never understood why until then. And like hell I was going to go straight back to the office looking like I'd been on the receiving end of a thorough pepper spraying.  I had to pass back by the Starbucks, didn't I? Perfect. This seemed exactly the sort of problem that might best be solved with a healthy dose of whipped cream.

I love the Starbucks by work. The staff there is nice without being overly pretentious. Olivia, who used to work down at the Espresso Joe's moved up to work there. She's a sweetie. I usually go inside to soak in the good juju. This time, it was all I could do to take off my sunglasses as I pulled around the drive-thru after ordering my big fat frappuccino. (I feel rude wearing sunglasses at the drive-thru. Not sure why.)

When that window opened, it was like someone had pulled back the curtains and let in the sunshine. Her name was Hannah. The best way I can describe it is "kindred spirit at first sight." I felt like I had just run into an old best friend, only I'd never met this smiling young woman before in my life. She asked me how I was. I said "Crappy." She saw my brace and asked what happened. "Too much writing," I told her. I explained about my double-life. She told me her favorite book was The Blue Castle by L.M. Montgomery. As much as I love Anne of Green Gables, I really need to read that one. I admitted as much.

We talked about books and relationships (I congratulated her on her own recent Bad Breakup) and shoes and ships and sealing wax and the price of tea in China. Thank god nobody was behind me...though what felt like hours was in fact all the time it took to make a grande caramel frappucino. I reluctantly paid and drove away, smiling like I hadn't smiled since Indianapolis, like I knew I'd be able to smile again someday. I guess that day was someday.

A couple weeks later, I stopped in to give Hannah a copy of AlphaOops. She was over the moon about it. Really, it was the least I could do. How do you repay someone for changing your outlook so completely? Unfortunately, Hannah worked the day shift. As many times as I frequented the Sam Ridley Starbucks, she was never there. I figured she'd moved on, moved away, or that some enterprising entrepreneur had snapped her up and was paying her millions of dollars a year for the use of that edgy, sunshiny magic. But I still looked every time.

Wednesday, on the way back from lunch, Yolanda asked Patty to stop by the Starbucks. We swung through the drive-thru. Thanks to being spoiled by Dunkin Donuts in Rhode Island during Necon last weekend, I ordered an iced coffee. When the window opened and the barrista appeared, the only thing I could see from the passenger's seat was HANNAH written in black Sharpie across her green apron.

I squealed just like the inner me squealed when I met Neil Gaiman. And so did she.

Hannah's still there, and she still works the day shifts. But as it turns out, she'll be performing at an open mic night at the Starbucks in Murfreesboro (S. Rutherford Blvd, across from the Wal-Mart) tonight somewhere between 7 and 10pm. I'm super excited about seeing her. Patty's going to come and drag her son along. If you're in the area, I hope you'll join us!

And if you happen to stop by the Sam Ridley Starbucks in the morning, be sure to tell her I said hi.

Kitti announced a last-minute impromptu skate nite last night, and since I desperately needed another activity that wasn't running I jumped all over it. It seems horrid to say, but Michael Jackson's death improved the quality of the music at the rink. I knew maybe 30% of the songs this time, instead of the usual 10%. Shame, though, that they wimped out and cut off "Smooth Criminal" right after the "bloodstains on the carpet" line. Idjits. But Kitti and I still had fun, so I'm not complaining. But the day they actually PLAY a Green Day song I will have a flippin' party.

And despite being wary about how I'd feel, my knees held up quite well. I concentrated on my form (not doing anything fancy) and I skated admirably for over an hour.

I did not, however, skate THIS admirably:

The Kitten Shower was a lot of fun. Thanks to everyone who gave me great ideas!  We had tea & homemade scones and lots of kitty luv. Tracy snapped a few pics. Including this one! Soak it up now, because you won't see many photos like this...


Princess Lee, Cisco, and proud Mama Kathy


Cisco on the prowl

Get Your Cyborg Name

(courtesy of nayad )

I barely slept the night before my first 5K...you know how it is. I was up at 3am and 4am, worried that I'd sleep through my 5am alarm -- especially since I was in the middle of a writing retreat at Sherrilyn Kenyon's cabin (which was closer to the race than my house). For all that I had prepared I had forgotten both the shirt I had planned to wear and my hair sticks (notice I have one hair stick and one Papermate pen) and the chain for wearing my car key around my neck (thank heavens for sports bars), but I remembered my shoes and my iPod, and that was the important part.

I was crazy early and got a good parking spot, found the bathroom, checked out the YMCA, and walked in circles around the parking lot to warm up while I waited for everybody to show. All the Ingram folks were to meet at the big sign at 6:30 (the race started at 7:00). Kevin found me first, so we hung out at the sign and chatted as Sam and Alison, Robin & Amy and their husbands, and Ben trickled in.

I kept doing stupid stretches to a.) look like a big shot and b.) keep myself from fidgeting and c.) because I probably needed it. So I'm folded in half touching my toes by the sign, and I notice that there's quite a bit of clover interspersed with the grass. Back In The Vermont Days, I used to spend hours in the field across the street from our house searching for four-leaf clovers. "Wouldn't it be funny," I thought, "if I found a four-leaf clover right now?" And then I did. Within like 30 seconds. I'm not kidding. It's pinned to the top left corner of my number in that picture. I pressed it when I got back to the cabin. Are your surprised? Me neither.

I took a friend's advice and started the race way in the back, so I wouldn't be run over by the Serious Athletes. (Instead I got run over by ladies with baby carriages.) So I didn't cross the START line the minute the gun went off, but I had a nifty chip on my shoe that would mark my time from the point that I did, which was cool.

My only goal was 45:00. I figured it would be a miracle if I finished that fast. For the last half of the race I think I joggled my iPod between the Beach Boys' "Surfin' USA" and "Let's Start a Riot" by 3 Doors Down. The former was my running song; the latter was my walking song. I just kept at it, back and forth. I skipped the water when it was offered (it was really a beautiful day and not nearly as hot as it should have been), and it was nice to be cheered on by perfect strangers. Kevin was waiting for me at the FINISH line with a bottle of water and a smile. The time on the big clock said 46:09. I figured I was maybe a minute back at the START line...I could maybe pull off beating 45 minutes. So when the times were posted and it said 43:53 by my name, I had to read it three times before it sunk in. WOOHOO!!!

I was the slowest person on my team and at the bottom of the list in my age group, but I totally don't care. I did something I never thought I'd do, and I had a great time. Even better -- I'm totally looking forward to the Christie Cookie 5K in September. I can't wait to kick my own butt.

For those of you keeping up with my new running hobby (heck, *I* can barely keep up with my new running hobby), my essay "From Pages to Pavement" is now live over at Fantasy Magazine. Trace the insanity of how an author's mind goes from "I can finish a novel!" to "I can run a 5K!" Leave me some encouragement in the comments there...I can use all I can get.

My first 5K is this Saturday. Wish me luck!


Feliz Cuatro de Julio!

I heart Stephan Pastis.

I'm referring, of course, to Bill Barnes & Gene Ambaum and today's Unshelved strip.