And The Winner Is...

MATT! Kid 2 did the drawing (and I only put his name in once, even though he commented twice, because we're all about fairness around here) and Matt, you are the winner.

I will get a copy of RRO out to you in the mail as soon as you email me with your address. (that's becca (at sign) whisperingvoice (dot) com)

And for the rest of you? Here's a little excerpt for your reading pleasure.

"You," she says, pointing her straw at my face, "are an idiot. One of these days, young lady, you are going to have to learn to believe that you're good enough." She looks like my mom when she says that. Like she's humoring me into something. Like she has some stash of Great Wisdom that someday, if I'm extremely lucky, I may get to glimpse. That is so annoying.

Okay, there you have it. So happy New Year, everyone!

XO

B

Grandma Wright

My little Grandma Wright died today.

She was always Grandma Wright, even before we were related. She was my Grandma Jennie's best friend, and every time I went to Oakland to see Grandma Jennie, we visited Grandma Wright, too. She'd lean over the counter at the distribution center and kiss my face. She smelled perfect - Oil of Olay, I discovered later.

She loves to laugh and watch old musicals and play games.

And drive fast.

And eat dessert first. (Life is short, she says.)

Mixed nuts and See's chocolates and a freezer full of ice cream, that is Grandma.

Not so much the vegetables.

Sweaters and jackets all summer long, because she doesn't like how her skinny arms look. But really nice sweaters and jackets. There's no such thing as a bargain if it's not beautiful.

Jewelry. Lipstick. And dignity.

Once she came with me to visit my great-Aunt Ruth in a care center. She said, "Oh, Becca. Close her mouth while she sleeps. Give her that, at least." These past couple of years, as Grandma has fallen asleep with her mouth open, I still think she's beautiful. But I help her shift her head so her mouth closes. Because I can give her that, at least.

I bring my daughter to play her violin for Grandma. Not often, not often enough. But it thrills our little Grandma, and she closes her eyes and clasps her hands and sways with the music. And laughs and gets a little groovy with the fiddle tunes. And experiences some sort of private worship with the hymns. And then opens, unclasps, and reaches. "Thank you, dear." Dear works when she no longer remembers our names.

But.

When my cousin was visiting Grandma and catching up on our family, Grandma said, "Oh, Becca. She's the fun one." Clearly selective memory, but I'll take it.

My little Grandma has gone Home. She's left behind the body that grounded her for ninety-two years. Four wonderful grown children and piles of grands and greats. Her sweetheart, whose hearing aid always whistles for the pretty girls. A counter covered in mixed nuts and See's candies and a freezer full of ice cream. And our cracked hearts. And our memories.

Holding the Happy

Hey, guess what? I've got something to tell you... I received a small box of small books. Really pretty books with a cute swoony redhead on the cover. And also on the cover? My name. Right down there in the lower right corner.

And I discovered something about myself, about how I work. Something about my M.O., my style, my heart. I am a giver-away-er. I want to give a book to everyone I know. Also strangers. And Libraries. And set them in public places, like waiting rooms and bus stops and grocery lines.

Husband laughs.

I laugh, too, because I know it's silly to give away all the twenty books Mr. Publisher gave me.*

But.

I want to give one. Just one. Here's the deal. You leave me a comment, telling me either:

1. The best book you've ever read that's a romance but not a Romance, if you know what I mean, or

2. Your most embarrassing slip-up regarding a "person of interest" of the opposite gender, or

3. Who you will share "My Ridiculous Romantic Obsessions" with (after you read it) if you win a copy (bonus points if they blog)**

Easy, right? I'll choose a random winner on, um, let's see... Thursday morning. Yes, dear, I know that's a holiday. But I'll be home, and you can check in anytime. Please don't let me disturb your busy social schedule.

As for softening your despair if you aren't the random winner... I hear rumors. See, this book is published by Shadow Mountain, who is owned by Deseret Book. So even though the official release date is March 4th or something (I only know that because in a fit of insanity I checked on Barnes&Noble's website), books are being spotted at Deseret Book stores near you.*** And if I were less lazy, I'd go check the Shadow Mountain website to see if you can order online. Oh, all right. Hold on, please.

(Hm, hm, hm....****)

Yeah, okay. Maybe not online yet. But soon. Soon, I tell you! (as far as I know)

OH, YEAH - also, my toe is mending. Thank you. I can sleep. I can breathe in and out. I can hobble. I have to put on shoes later this morning. Pray for me.

So have a happy day, please. And if you want to be a winner, just know that you already are, in my book. But not necessarily OF my book. You know what I mean.

*There aren't twenty left. Because... well, haven't you heard what I've been saying?

**That is a lie. This will be random. Because I'm feeling sort of random, you know?

***I mean, if you live near a Deseret Book Store. You understand.

***That's your hold music. Hope you enjoyed it.

Justifying the Lazy

Once upon a time*, Husband made great hamburgers for dinner**. Yum. I prefer mine bunless (saving my calories for buttered popcorn, you know) and I finished first. So like a polite and well-adjusted person I went to rinse and stack my plate.

But.

I managed to kick Husband's chair*** and say only "owie-owie," as opposed to the many fine blue words bouncing in my head. I walked it off. It didn't feel better. I put ice on it. I elevated. I sat around. I watched it swell. Right around the weird, hard bump. That was a bone.

Yup. I broke my toe.

Awesome, right?

I've had worse timing in my life, because there's no need for me to, say, drive anywhere in the next few days. But walking? Hurts. Sleeping? Also. Sitting around? Ditto. Plus, I've been really, really good about working out in the past week. I'm talking an hour at a time on the elliptical. That's over for a minute. The one bonus? The cute and generous BIL and SIL gave us wii-Fit for Christmas, and I didn't fight the Kids for a turn (because I know they'll tire of it by the time they go back to school, and it will be all mine) and now when I feel all better, no small cartoon man will berate me for my long lazy-stretch. Because, really, how do you justify the broken toe to the cartoon trainer?

* Saturday

**He often does this. He prefers to do it when it's positive degrees outside, but he'll agree to do it whenever I buy meat and buns.

***This was not pent-up agression. Just random stupidity.

How Publishing Is Like Giving Birth. And Also Not.

Like: There's this beautiful new thing, and I want everyone to see it.

Not Like: I invite a whole lot more people to come around at delivery when it's a book.

Like: There's that gasp of surprise and delight to see it whole and shiny.

Not Like: Much less mess.

Like: I find myself telling people all kinds of details they SO don't care about.

Not Like: Nobody really even pretends to be interested*.

Like: I just know someday, someone is going to say mean things about it. And it will hurt.

Not Like: I don't have to listen to critics. I can pretend they don't exist. (But bullies are real. Forever.)

Like: There will be mistakes, and I might be embarrassed.

Not Like: They're all MY mistakes. (Worse, right?)

Like: I love this new thing.

Not Like: It doesn't need me - my work is done.

Like: It still keeps me up at night.

Not Like: I can't rock it back to sleep.

Like: I find myself in there, when I peer. (Does anyone else love that word? Peer. Try it. Peer. Mmm.)

Not Like: Chances aren't good that it will take care of me when I'm old.

*This is a complete lie. Everyone is interested. Or pretending to be. And that is fun, fun.

Uncap the Pen

Just do it, I tell myself. Open the notebook. Scratch out the words. Sit down at the desk. Let fingers find keys.

A dozen words. A hundred. A thousand.

Uncover the characters. Discover voices. Let them tell their stories. Listen to their dialog. Shake your head over their mistakes. Let them try. Let them fail. Let them try again.

Keep going, I tell myself. Don't stop when it gets hard, or stupid, or off-track. Don't let complications get in the way. Don't find excuses. Wake earlier. Exercise later. Write quietly, so as not to wake the restless ones, the demanding ones, the precious needy ones.

No. It's not too hard. It's certainly not impossible, I tell myself. Try.

But it's hard.

Yes, I tell myself. Yes, it is hard. And remember this: You've done harder things, I tell myself. But the only way it's impossible is if you never uncap the pen.

Go. Sit. Write. Words. Phrases and sentences. Conversations, turning points, actions, conflicts, resolutions.

But, but, but... But what? I ask. But what if it's awful? What if the words won't come? What if the words I write are useless? What if I've used up my allotment of good / funny / poignant / meaningful words? What if nobody ever reads it?

What if nobody ever reads it?

Write it, I tell myself. Uncap the pen. Nobody will ever, ever read the words you don't write. And most people will never read the words you do write, and is that really, really why you do it?

No, I answer. The words are there, inside me. They want to be set free, to get out, to taste the air.

Uncap the pen.

Set the words free.

Clean It Like You Mean It

I belong to a church of volunteers, which means that

when something needs doing,

it gets done by the congregation.

Teaching, music, all those sermons and talks, all of it.

By the people and for the people.

And also the bathrooms.

I just got home from cleaning the church with my family.

And I may have witnessed a miracle.

Kids were scrubbing toilets polishing sinks and mirrors,

vacuuming, washing windows. Washing windows, I tell you.

And then? I heard these words. "What should I do next?"

So how do I harness this? They worked hard, fast, and willingly *

because they were cleaning God's house.

Any chance they'd believe He lives here?

*at least for the first hour

Bring Home the Turtle

Here's photographic proof of the Pet Solution.

You can't really tell, but this is my big pasta serving bowl. Grande. And so is the turtle. So one more round of applause to Kid 2's brilliance.

(clap, clap, clap)

Also, this reminds Husband of that part in the great movie "Cinderella Man" when Russell Crowe's character talks about "bring home the turtle/title" - have you seen that movie? You should. Apologies in advance for the mouth on the agent. I wasn't involved with the dialog. Or anything else, you know. Ron Howard didn't consult me on this one, even though he was my first crush. Some people's memories are just a little shorter than others.

Weekend Book-Buying Fun

So come, and shop, and visit! I'll be at the Fort Union Deseret Book this Saturday (tomorrow, people) from 12:00 until 2:00.

They have a bakery.

Yes. Books and breads. You're welcome.

Also, I will be joined by Mr. John Bytheway from noon till 2, and Mr. James Dashner and Mr. Jeff/Scott Savage at 1:00. In case you're into quality humor or Random House's Rock-Star Golden Boy.

The Pet Solution

My brilliant and lovely Kid 2 to the rescue, petwise.

She found Kid 4 a turtle that carries no salmonella (until he bathes it in egg - we hope that doesn't happen soon) and is virtually stink-free. Also, it doesn't die if you forget to feed it.

Introducing the grow-in-water pet turtle.

(Okay, I can't find a photo. But it's actually very cute.)

It should grow up to 6 times its size in 72 hours in a bowl of water. Or a series of progressively larger bowls of water, if you're us. So there it is. One happy boy, one superhero sister, one stinkless pet, and one relieved me.

Crossing Stones

I found this book at the library. This may not seem like such a surprise to you, but it's always a thrill. I live in a small town that houses a small county library, and although it has a fireplace (+), it also has a huge metal staircase running directly through the main room (-). I tell you this to illustrate that some of the choices made in relation to the library are... weird.

But.

Crossing Stones by Helen Frost.

This is a beautiful piece of historical fiction/poetry. (Dont' be scared. It's easy poetry to handle.) It takes place between April 1917 and January 1918 and blasts right into the US involvement in World War I and the women's suffrage movement. Three characters tell the story chapter by chapter. Muriel's words flow physically and aurally like the stream that separates her home from the Norman's. Her brother Ollie and her best friend Emma narrate in (you won't even know it when you're reading it) sonnets that represent the stones in the creek - the crossing stones that get the families from one side to the other.

Muriel pushes the boundaries of society's expectations, but in a gentle way. "Maybe you won't rock a cradle, Muriel. / Some women prefer to rock the boat." There is joy and pain, aching and resilience, comfort and the unknown.

Well, what are you waiting for? Go read it.

Happy Birthday, Kid 4!

Sweet boy. Those words are used on lots of kids, but meant just for you.

I love the way you laugh, you smile, you sing, you play. I love the way you care and tend. I love your responsibility, your willingness, your obedience. I love the gap where your front teeth should be. I love the workings of your brain. I love your inclusiveness. I love to see you get excited about things like tomato soup, and skateboard toys, and play-doh. I love the way you do your jobs quickly, with a smile - especially the one that's called "give Mom hugs and kisses." I love the freckles across your whole face. I love to help you practice the piano, even on the days when hands-together makes you frustrated. I love listening to you read, and seeing your eyes light up when the words are funny. I love your gentle, your kind, your tender ways.

Six years ago today, you made our family complete. Every day since, you've brought us an armful of joy. Happy birthday, little buddy. I love you!

The Relative Utility of Sinatra and Brando

Ironing. I hate it. Not the doing of it, precisely, but the time it takes away from anything really fulfilling. Like eating marshmallows right out of the bag, or reading a book, or painting my toenails.*

But, hey - I'm not one to complain about an unpleasant task when instead I can make said task more enjoyable.

Enter Sinatra and Brando. Specifically, "Guys and Dolls" on DVD. There is such an abundance of goodness there that I find myself singing along (especially Miss Adelaide's "A Person Could Develop a Cold") only to find that several shirts are ready for Husband to wear to work. In fact, I go looking for more ironing options. Like Kid 4's little churchy button-downs, and the girls' scarves, and maybe even kitchen towels. (Okay, that was a lie. I do not iron towels. Ever. But you get the idea.)

This also works well for wrapping Christmas gifts.

Yes, you're welcome. I'm only here to help you.

* I have discovered, though, that if I do a coat of toe-polish and then iron a shirt, it's just about time to do another coat. But that's multi-tasking to a ridiculous extent, so let's never speak of it again.

What Comprises A Good Day Around Here

FACT: Husband loves him some basketball. He's not the kind of Husband who watches games on TV (ever, really) or spends lots of dollars to go to games. But he loves, loves to play. And there are days when he's still got it. I'm just saying.

Also, he's still hanging on to his thirties.

Barely.

FACT: the Kids love to razz their dad about being old. Like Kid 4, who wanted to draw a picture of Dad, but couldn't, because there were no silver crayons for his hair. (So he drew him on the iPhone, making every other line for his sticky-uppy hair white. White. Every other one. Hilarious. I know.)

FACT: Yesterday was a red-letter day for Husband at 5:30 basketball. He made, in a fairly uncomplicated and totally unexpected shot-streak, nineteen points in a row. Nineteen. That's a lot of points.* It doesn't happen like that very often. In fact, he was so delighted and surprised that he mentioned it, oh, fifty or sixty times between 6:30 and 7:25 a.m.

So I tell you all that background info to present the following nugget of Wilhite Kid Hilarity:

Husband: And did I mention that I made nineteen points in a row this morning?

Kid 3 (she's 8): Wow, Dad. That's awesome. That must make you feel great. Something like that takes lots of practice, huh?

Husband: Yeah. Lots. (Sensing a teaching moment) You have to practice for the things you want.

Kid 3: Years of practice, right?

Husband: Years.

Kid 4 (he's 5): Years. Lots and lots of years.

Me: (Trying not to wet my pants laughing silently)

Kid 3: Yeah. Lots of years.

This went on and on, until eventually Husband figured out that the kids were digging at him, at which point he looked to me for support (because some people never learn) and found me gasping for air, bent over the kitchen sink with eyes streaming (but bladder firmly in control).

FACT: I love my little family.

*And if his team still lost, well, that's totally not the message here.

Let's Get Together, Yeah-Yeah-Yeah

Are you Christmas shopping in Utah? Come see me!

I'll be at the Orem University Village Deseret Book (that's by University Mall) on Friday December 11th with the lovely Ally Condie and Lisa Mangum from 6:00 until 8:00. After 8:00 we'll be going out to dinner, and you're welcome to join us. But. Only. If you promise not to be offended by our humor or wet yourself in direct relation to our comedy. (Hey, I understand, it could happen - I'm just asking for your effort. )

Also, because I'm an equal-opportunity DB signer, I'll be at the Deseret Book at Fort Union from noon till 2 on Saturday, December 19th. Other exciting authors (maybe some who have been tearing up the Kirkus review, just maybe) will also be there. Plus, there's a bakery. I'm just saying.

And if not? I just stumbled upon the fact that Bright Blue Miracle is now available for your Kindle. Who knew? Click on the cover over there in my sidebar and you can find all manner of information about it. (I think you should know that I don't have a Kindle, or any other kind of e-Reader. I am a bookie. No, not like that. Like I'm a foodie. I love me a real, page-y book. But if you're a Kindle sort of person {or know someone who is} that there's another easy gift idea...)

Happy Shopping, friends!

Pets? Probably Not.

Once I talked about pets. Now, Kid 4 is at it again. As his birthday approaches, he's asking for a turtle. Ick. They smell, I think. Husband agrees.

Advise me, wise ones. Does Kid 4 actually need a pet to become a well-rounded, upright, employable adult at some point?

And is there anything as easy as a turtle that smells less... um, stinky?

Once Was Lost (an Interview with Sara Zarr)

"Samara Taylor used to believe in miracles.

She used to believe in a lot of things.

But where there was once faith...

there are now only questions."

Sara Zarr's "Once Was Lost" (Published by Little, Brown in October 2009) is the entwining of a personal crisis of faith and a community's shared crisis - a missing teenage girl. Sam, the main character, feels abandoned - left behind by her mom, who is doing a stint in a rehab unit, and emotionally abandoned by her pastor father. And the faith that used to come so easily? It seems to be lost, too.

Sara recently agreed to answer a few questions for me (even though she's officially on a blog-vacation), so you could all see a little behind the scenes of her book and her world. Awesome, right?

Here goes:

Becca: I want to be really nosy and ask you how this book reflects some of your personal faith. How do you tap into your faith to carry you through your own struggles? Are you a reader? A pray-er? A counselor?

Sara: I don't have a ritual or routine related my faith or religious practice. Generally, the way my faith carries me through goes something like this: I go through an independent, self-sufficient stage, mostly ignoring my spiritual practices; life gets harder to manage; I hit a wall/have a crisis/sink into despair; I return to my spiritual practices, find a state of relative peace and think, "Oh yeah, why did I neglect this for so long?". I stick with it awhile, feel better, and go back to stage one. Et cetera. My goal for growth is to learn to not wait for despair before returning to my faith, but I seem to have not figured that out yet.

Becca: That sounds incredibly familiar. I think that sort of cycle is universal, until we may someday achieve that sort of mental/spiritual/emotional growth that we all strive for. So now, I want to know which of the characters you identify with most. I have an assumption, having followed your blog for quite a while - but do you appear anywhere in this book?

Sara: Not to be cryptic, but I appear everywhere in all my books. For me, it's necessary to identify with every character in some way. Otherwise, I can't do them justice and make them live on the page. So of course I identify very much with the narrator, Sam---especially her frustration with and anger at God or at what she's grown up believing about God. I also identify with Erin, the youth group leader, though maybe that's more about her backstory that's not part of this novel. Sam's dad, too, is someone I understand. There is a lot of pressure on him to be all things to all people, and in trying to juggle that he's bound to drop something. As a classic people-pleaser, I get that.

Becca: (Is anyone surprised that I connect with this woman? I've already embroidered that last couple sentences on a pillow and printed in in vinyl letters for my bathroom wall. Okay. That was a lie, but you know what I mean.) Sam's view of the world (and of God) shifts in this book. Do you think she's settled? Or will her views continue to change? (Not to sound like I think your characters are alive in a weird, creepy way...)

Sara: Ha - I understand. They are alive to me and, I hope, to the reader. I do picture the characters moving forward in their lives without my help. Sam's view changes, but subtly, and I don't think she's settled. I don't think any of us are ever settled, and definitely not at age fifteen. Young adult fiction is so much about firsts. This is about another first---a first crisis of faith, a first dark night of the soul. I'm sure there are more ahead. In my books, change tends to come in tiny but significant movements rather than in big dramatic epiphanies. I think life is made up of those tiny changes by degree.

Becca: (Because I can't help it, this has to be a little about me...) I grew up as a non-Catholic kid in a very Catholic town, and I understand what it means to be "other". You have written about being an "other" in a fairly Mormon city. Does that distinction affect your worship? Your writing? Your politics? Your passions?

Sara: Where you live affects everything. Moving to Utah from San Francisco was definitely a big change, but it's been good in that it makes me think more specifically about what I believe, and I'm constantly being confronted by some of the assumptions and I make about others and the stereotypes I buy into. I have a lot of LDS friends now and know you can never say, "Mormons think X, Mormons believe Y." My politics are the same but the context puts me on different places on the spectrum. In San Francisco my politics seemed a little more conservative, but put the exact same politics in Utah and suddenly I'm aware that many here would describe me as a liberal. Labels are popular here, and I resist them more than ever.

Becca: I understand. Labels are dangerous - once I said on your blog something like a label is never enough, and sometimes too much. But I feel inclined to label myself sometimes. Maybe it's a way to ground (attach) myself to something. But, you know, back to you... Now that the book is finished and out there in the hands of readers, what are you working on? Do you take a break when a book is finished, or do you work every day?

Sara: I'm working on another YA novel for Little, Brown. If I feel like I need a break, I take one, but generally the break I need isn't from writing itself, more from the career end of being published...the being "on," being public, reading reviews, the editorial process. Writing a new book and being in that stage when I'm the only one who knows what it is, the only one who sees it, is enough of a break. And right now I'm on hiatus from social networking, blog reading, industry news, and all of that, and enjoying it immensely. I've been traveling a lot since September and didn't get much work done other than promoting Once Was Lost, so now that I'm home I try to work every weekday.

Becca: (Isn't she an inspiration?) Thanks a ton for taking time to answer these questions, for being approachable. I appreciate the beautiful thing you've created. Thanks for sharing it with us!

Sara: Thanks for having me!

(Applause, Applause)

And when you're ready to get to know Sara, be sure to read this post. When I did, I loved her even more.

Go, Now. Find "Once Was Lost."

Monday we'll be doing a blog interview with Sara Zarr, author of the newly-released "Once Was Lost" - giving you time to run out and purchase/borrow/locate/steal a copy to read over the weekend. You won't be sorry. Unless you steal. Then your conscience will peck at you like an angry duck. So don't steal it. But do find it.

See you Monday!

A List, Again.

Easy for Me:

Reading a good book fast.

Hard for Me:

Reading a good book once.

Easy for Me:

Proofreading.

Hard for Me:

Editing.

Easy for Me:

Waking up at 5:30 a.m.

Hard for Me:

Staying up past 9:30 p.m.

Easy for Me:

Cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner every day.

Hard for Me:

Coming up with an idea for breakfast, lunch and dinner every day.

Easy for Me:

Dealing with a fussy newborn.

Hard for Me:

Dealing with a fussy 12-year-old.

Easy for Me:

Buying Christmas gifts.

Hard for Me:

Making a Christmas wish list.

Easy for Me:

Starting to write a book.

Hard for Me:

Finishing a book I'm writing.

Easy for Me:

Being grateful.

Hard for Me:

Writing Thank-You notes.

Easy for Me:

Opening my heart.

Hard for Me:

Closing my mouth.

Easy for Me:

Doing things myself.

Hard for Me:

Delegating.

Easy for Me:

Reading a good book to my kids.

Hard for Me:

Reading a lame book to my kids.

Easy for Me:

Getting over it.

Hard for Me:

Helping anyone else to get over it.

Easy for Me:

Start crying (lately).

Hard for Me:

Recognize why, exactly.

Easy for Me:

Watching a movie.

Hard for Me:

Staying awake through it.

Easy for Me:

Making and keeping blog friends.

Hard for Me:

Being there on a daily basis for "physical" friends.

Easy for Me:

Ice cream.

Hard for Me:

Whole-wheat pasta.

Easy for Me:

Blending in.

Hard for Me:

Dealing with the fact of being invisible.

What I Learned from NaNoWriMo

1. I can write half a novel in half a month. *

2. I am better at beginnings than middles or endings.

3. There is a community out there for pretty much whatever it is you want to do.

4. Dialog is fun.

5. 2,500 words a day is possible.

6. Or, I can have a shower and clean the kitchen.

7. "Fail" is relative. I have more words than I used to, and that is a kind of success.

8. To write something, even if it's c-r-a-p, is better than to not write at all. **

9. Deadlines, helpful for some writers, give me the creeps.

10. If I weren't doing anything else, I could probably have finished a novel in November. However, the other things (see #6) are important, too.

11. Writing from my brain is not as effective as writing from my heart. This may not be true for everyone, but that's okay. I have more success when I write what I love, as opposed to what I tell myself I should.

12. I like to edit as I go. This is not a good practice for NaNo.

13. November might be the second stupidest month to dedicate to anything other than survival.

14. I may actually use this book I've been working on (someday), but for now, it's okay to set it aside.

15. There's always something to write about.

16. Yes. That means I've started something new. (See #2.)

17. A woman of character would have finished the Nano book before starting another.

18. Duh. I'm not a woman of character. We should all know this by now.

19. I can't actually remember what we've been talking about, because...

20. I just pulled 3 loaves of bread out of the oven. Mmmm.

So, here's the thing: This was a great exercise. I did not manage to finish a novel in November (oh, but I read a few...) but I worked hard for several weeks, and I could do it again. And there is a great deal to write, so I should go do it.

After I have a piece of bread.***

*This should mean, at least theoretically, that I can write a whole novel in a whole month. I can hold on to the dream...

**I am, and plan to always be, a fan of the split infinitive. Just saying.

***With a great deal of butter, natch.

Official Author Website

I just tried it. It works!

BeccaWilhite.com is real.

Of course, all it does is take you here, but hey - here is where the action is, anyway, right? Yea, Husband for being a little bit Hacker among all the other talents!

So, someday, BeccaWilhite.com will be the place to be, and now it begins!

Really? It's just fun to say it. And type it. And click on the note to come right back here. Really, it is. Fun. (Yes, that's my kind of fun. Thanks for asking.)

XO