Betagged!

Ooookay. I've been officially blog-tagged by two fellow bloggers in the past month now, so I can't avoid it. For those of you who haven't heard of it, when you're blog-tagged, you provide a link back to the tagger, list five things about yourself that most people don't know, and then tag five more bloggers.

I can do this.

So, my respective taggers are the very impressive Cooper Dragonette (who's been a full time artist for a year now and does some pretty $%^& amazing work - way to go Cooper) and Tracey Costescu (I think I even spelled her last name right), a portrait artist from Canada (but we'll forgive her that).

So, without further ado, five amazing things about me most people don't know.

1. My name was not originally Maggie Stiefvater, or even Margaret Stiefvater, which is what it is now legally. I had my first name officially changed when I was sixteen and full of angst, and my last name changed to its now unpronounceable form when I got married. Looking back on it, it all seems like a lot of paperwork to go through to get a name as unsexy as Maggie Stiefvater. I think if I had it to do over again, I'd have to go with Cleopatra McGowan or Milky Way or Cookie-Dough Rocks.

2. I'm an introvert. Though most people can't tell when they meet me in person and most of my friends deny it fervently, I don't really like socializing or vapid conversation. My idea of a hellish conversation:

Person: How are you doing today?
Me: So-so. I wish my car had leather seats.
Person: How about this weather?
Me: Uh.
Person: I've got to go shopping now. Christmas is just around the corner, you know!
Me: Uh.
Person: It was great talking to you!

It seems to me that if you open your mouth, either moths should fly in or something interesting or important should come out to make the action of opening your mouth significant. Anyway. Yes. Me. Introvert. I have taken the always fascinating Myers-Briggs test and always come out INFJ. (If you take it, don't read your personality results on that first page, which is boring as all get out. Read them here.)

Though the INFJ personality page starts with "INFJs are gentle, caring, complex and highly intuitive individuals" I dunno about that gentle bit . . . seems to me my moth statement negates the gentle statement.

3. I speak enough German to get into trouble and read enough Latin to do the same. Once, when I was in college, I was working for a little down-town tourist hotspot, and some German tourists came in. They did that annoying foreign thing of wandering around the store pointing at things and saying "look how cheesy that is" and "everything is way too expensive" and basically "this is all crap" in their own language. Too bad I spoke German. As they breezed out the door, I called "Schones Wochenende (have a good weekend)"(there's supposed to be an umlaut in there but darned if I know how to type it). Two seconds later, the guy came back in and practically fell over himself apologizing for their behavior. Most awesome foreign language experience of my life.

Only awesome foreign language experience of my life.

4. I'm an incredibly picky eater and I have a problem with a lot of condiments. I hate A1 and yellow mustard. Bell peppers are another non-food that I refuse to eat. I don't know why some people think that they're a good idea -- because they ain't. Also, chili with beans. Or raspberries. Or . . . actually, it would be faster to list the foods I do eat.

5. I don't wear jewelry. I'm not really a girly girl. I had my ears pierced for a few weeks until I got tired of having to mind how I pulled off my shirt. Once, at a craft show, I saw a necklace that I would wear. I was amazed. I went back to my booth to contemplate if I should give into this strange urge to purchase it, and when I went back, it was sold. A Sign, surely.

Anyway, so five totally worthless things you now know about me!

Now, since I tagged seven artists for my last blog tag, I thought I'd turn from my usual artist blogging friends and tag some writers instead. I don't know if all my tagees will play, but I'd be charmed if they did. I'm going to go for:

Melissa Marr: author of the excellent YA fantasy WICKED LOVELY and moderator of the wonderful urban fantasy writers' community Fangs, Fur & Fey. I always read her blog because she seems to have a weirdly idealistic worldview like I do.

Cyn Balog: author of upcoming FAIRY LUST and new critique partner (I'm reading her latest work in progress and she's reading mine . . . no spoilers but it's got a great concept!)

Mark Henry: author of upcoming HAPPY HOUR OF THE DAMNED, because his blog is hilarious, as is he, and because he sent me encouraging e-mails back when I was having sailing rough blogging waters. (warning to the faint of heart, his blog, interstate 95 during rush hour, contains swearing and zombies).

Jackson Pearce: author of upcoming the really fascinating sounding AS YOU WISH. Because she's charming, funny, and thought my dogs were cute.

Carrie Jones: author of TIPS ON HAVING A GAY EX-BOYFRIEND, because she's also funny and a fellow Flux author.

There you have it folks!

Horrors!

First of all, isn't our new baby cute? Well I guess she isn't new -- we've had her since she was hatched. But she's newly single as her littermates are all in their new homes. Admire, admire . . . Ginger and her mum Peanut (who will be modeling art again soon).

So, back to the non-holiday grind, right? For me, that means back to portrait commissions and writing as usual. Over the holiday weekend, I was reading a young adult anthology of fantasy and sci-fi stories (Firebirds Rising for anyone who is interested) and it occurred to me that I wanted to look up some of these writers' longer works. By extension, it occurred to me that I should be writing short stories so that other readers would be inspired to look up my longer work (see the mighty whirrings of my brain? Truly mysterious).

No matter that I can't write short stories to save my life (well, I can. Only I call them "chapters.") I was inspired, and nothing gets in the way of inspiration, except for cookie dough. So off I went to check out submission guidelines for short story mags. It didn't take me long to acquire a list of approximately 812,345 fantasy/ sci-fi short story magazines in both print and online form, and to cull out the 812,112 that were only read by the mag's editor and his mom (his mom only because she read the computer screen over his shoulder in her basement where he still lives).

I found one that intrigued me, not because I wanted to submit a story to them, but because they went into great detail about the definition of "horror" as a genre. Horror, they explained at length, is not supposed to be about gore, but rather about a general mood, an overall scariness, a feeling of otherness. Traditional horror definitions corrupted the true appeal of horror, they argued.

I thought both definitions of the genre were off, personally. By the very nature of the word "horror," the stories ought to be about something that either scared the pants off most people or at least made them throw up in sheer . . . well . . . horror. So really, we should be talking about short stories that feature things like paying taxes, driving in D.C. traffic, and finding out your cat has peed on your bed while you were out getting your car serviced.

I mean, the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Traditional horror plots are things like "college students get their faces sawed off during a long weekend in Florida." What's scary about that? Sounds like the plot description for the season finale of Nip/Tuck to me. Or "strange mist settles into a town and half the population is missing when it lifts." Kiddo, this happens every Saturday night in my county. Do I need to spell it out to you where the people all went? Believe me, they'll be back on Monday after they've slept it off.

Still, I'm not sure the fiction world is progressive enough to accept my riveting horror short story, "Unknown Sludge," about a houseguest with an intestinal bug who uses the bathroom and then tells the main character that the toilet's backed up and there's a huge mess on the floor. Still, if there are any horror editors out there looking, it's 1,000 words. The first is "Intestinal" and the last one is "residue."

Obligatory Holiday Spending Post

Okay, folks. You know I had to do it once this season. It's my job, right?

Ho. Ho. Ho. Give your family what they really want. Put art from Maggie Stiefvater under the tree. Etc.

Remember there are two places to get my art:

my eBay store has prints, originals, and gift certificates.

And my Cafepress store has journals, mugs, totes, T-shirts, and mousepads.

And of course I can do custom anything . . . it's why you buy from me and not Wal-mart, right? Oh, that and if you tell me you're a blog reader when you buy, ask me for a free gift and I'll throw in something fun and/or beautiful.

Do me a favor. Make both our Christmases merry. ;)

Phew, glad that's over with.

Socks, Fresh from the Bag

"The Dogs of Lost Acres" - work in progress - 12 x 16" colored pencil on board.
Copyright 2007 Maggie Stiefvater blah blah blah
Private commission, check my eBay store for commission info.

I am, in general, a big fan of tupperware and ziploc bags and those hot dog bags that have zip things on the side (even though they never zip completely so they leak hot dog juice all over your fridge -- and what the heck is hot dog juice? do I even want to know? -- I appreciate the thought), but there is one product that comes in a resealable bag that I just don't get.

Socks.

Yeah, socks. Have you guys bought any recently? Since it's winter and the Christmas elves steal all my useful clothing in November to give my mom a good reason to give me underwear and socks, I beat them to the punch and bought myself and the kids some new socks. And lo and behold, these lovely new socks have cushioned arch support, padded toes, sporty features, and a resealable bag.

So, what. The socks are going to go bad? Or better yet, you're going to keep storing them in that bag?

Husband: Honey, I need some socks.
Me: I washed a buttload of them, dear.
Husband: Where are they? I can't find them.
Me: They're in the bag we bought them in, stupid.

I dunno. Does it take more energy to make a bag with that resealable zipping thingy? Because if so, it seems to me that sock manufacturers are really missing an opportunity to cut costs. They should save that money and maybe put an extra sock in each bag, because you know you always end up with an odd number of them. Or they should pass on their secret technology to someplace that could really use resealable bags, but don't, like potato chip companies. Someone please tell me why potato chips don't come with zips? Instead, you have to rummage in a drawer for a clip, discover they're all in use for experimental modeling supports in the hobby room, and end up rolling it up and hoping that your family can consume the 27,000 calories contained in the bag before they go stale. Hey. I think I answered my own question.

Still doesn't explain the socks, though.

Thank ye, thank ye

Just a brief post because it is Holiday and I are Partying. Well, that's patently untrue. I'm stuffing myself, reading books, and working on portrait commissions. But I'm fitting a bit of relaxing in there as well.

I just wanted to say I'm thankful for a lot of things this year, including

• my fab blog readers -- love your comments and input and e-mails
• my book contract -- still in shock over that one
• my new puppy who make small pee puddles just the size of the bottom of my sock
• the ring on my finger which means hubby has not yet kicked me to the curb despite my eccentricities
• two healthy children, one of which eats tires off toy cars and the other which is in love with Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy"
• my strange family
• my clients who pay my bills
• my clients who buy me muscle cars (okay, I don't have any of these yet, but I'm hopeful)
• the writers of "Hot Fuzz", because I haven't laughed that hard at a movie for a long time
• misc. etc.

Hope you're having a great weekend, all!

A Girl's Best Friend

Well, today I took the beautiful and sweet Pepper to the airport to fly to her new home in California. I have learned several things on this trip:

• puppies are like a gas. The warmer they are, the faster they move. And the faster they move, the more pressure they put on the walls around them.
• there is a chinese food restaurant in maryland directly next door to a pet store called "Fresh Pets." I can't make stuff like that up.
• A lot of people don't like doing their jobs. Especially, it seems, when it comes to making my life easier. Yes, this means you, Sullen Airport Shuttle Guy.
• A proper puppy crate must be at least two inches taller than the puppy's shoulders for the puppy to be able to fly
• You should not buy a crate for shipping a week and a half before the actual event because
  
• puppies grow.
• Wal-mart has three sizes of puppy crates and is located within driving distance of the airport.
• Forget diamonds. Caffeine is a girl's best friend.

Cranky

I'm too cranky to do a proper post today. Because I had better things to do, I felt the insatiable urge to do a pastel, and once I'd given into the urge, I discovered I had no pastel paper left.

This

makes

Maggies

CRANKY!

And while I was productive today, I can't show you because it's still that same secret Christmas portrait I was doing yesterday.

I'm going to go draw on the walls.

High School Rules!

Um, actually, it doesn't seem like it did for most people. I wanted to thank everybody for pitching in e-mails for my high school info contest! And a lot of high school teachers that sent me great tips and advice.

I've got two runner-ups/ honorable mentions: Sherrie & Saundra (I'm sure you know who you are).

And the winners of the two journals are Amy Cantrell and Becca Medlin! Please, ladies, head over to my Cafepress store and pick out which journal you each want and send me an e-mail with your addy so I can have it shipped to you!

I'm going to be doing an expanded version of this in a few months with even better prizes (I just got the okay for some of these better prizes so I'm still slap-happy about them myself) so keep an eyeball on my blog, high schoolers. Thanks again!

Random Thoughts for a Saturday

Sketches from a super secret commission that I can't show you guys . . . remember to subscribe to my blog for a chance to win my sketchbook in just a few weeks. (winner will be pulled from blog subscribers)

Today, of course, is significant because it is the day before Future Queen of America Day -- that is, my birthday. Most minions only celebrate FQA Day on the 18th of November each year, but here in my Future Immediate Domain, we have Future Queen of America Two-Day Festival. So today I actually got to spend some birthday loot.

Those close to me will know that Maggies are traditionally loathe to spend money on themselves. Not so on FQA Days! I got two dozen donuts, four novels (The She, Golden, Firebirds Anthology, & One Day This Pain Will Be Useful To You), a pair of shoes designed for stomping on slow drivers, and a disgustingly cute tiny dog collar for Ginger.

Okay. Enough blabbing. What else did I want to say? (Can you tell that I'm a bit strung out after my day of fun, fun, fun?) Oh. I just finished an amazing novel, Feed by M. T. Anderson. It's a sci-fi of the same brand as Brave New World. I don't normally read sci-fi and I wouldn't have picked it up off the shelf if I hadn't had four very strong recommendations. Well, I finally read it and -- wow. I am humbled as a writer, and that's a very good thing. M.T., if you're reading this, you rock. I feel like I actually met your characters face to face. In fact, I think I might feel inspired to write the second fan letter I have ever written in my life.

I highly, highly recommend Feed. Read it, squirm uncomfortably, shut the covers, and spend the rest of the week thinking about it.

And my final reminder is that the best high school experience e-mails will be chosen tomorrow, two of them, and the winners get to pick a journal out of my cafepress store. So if you're a high schooler and you haven't yet sent one in, or you have a high-school aged kid who hasn't yet, send 'em in buy 9 pm eastern tomorrow for a chance at the journals. Thanks everyone who has already sent theirs in!

Prom Queens, Wal-Marts, & My Grandmother's Nose

"Stewart (Patty's Look @ Me of ClipClop Connemaras)" - 11 x 14" colored pencil on board.
Copyright 2007 Maggie Stiefvater.
e-mail me at portraitswithcharacter AT gmail.com for commission portrait information.

Yesterday I dropped off a friend at the airport, and, as husband was working, brought along Thing 1 & Thing 2 (my toddlers) with me. After a fun-filled hour and a half trip to the airport, I had two Major Realizations on the way back.

(A few previous Major Realizations of this year:

• I'm going to have my grandmother's nose
• I'm only buying booth space at one horse show next year
• Black goes with everything
• I'm a published author!
• OH MAN I'm going to have my grandmother's nose)

The first Major Realization was that I knew how to tidily finish up my novel. It was so simple, so beautiful, so . . . dumb. Why hadn't I thought of it before? And the other Major Realization was that I needed a printer cartridge or I wouldn't be able to print any shipping labels.

Aren't you excited to know how my mind works?

Anyway, Major Realization No. 2 meant I had to hit Walmart on the way back, which Things 1 & 2 were not pleased with. I promised them "prizes" if they were good and ventured into the abyss. 35 minutes later, I emerged triumphantly with a printer cartridge, a package of magnetized numbers, and some sort of Barbie riding an elephant.

I wish I was joking.

This is the first doll/ Barbie that I've bought for Victoria, and frankly I found it a mystifying experience. Myself, I was never a Barbie sort. Well, my sister and I had some Barbies, but I mostly popped their heads off and turned their arms in improbable positions. So for Victoria to desire one . . . how bizarre.

So back to the elephant Barbie. It was indeed a creature made of wonderful marketing stuff. The small Barbie (the packaging said her name was Kelly, but she didn't look like a Kelly to me) sat on the back of a pink, glittery elephant, waving her arm like a prom queen in the East Indies. A blonde, mascara-ridden prom queen in the East Indies.

As Victoria eagerly watched me unwrap the box when we got home, I wondered how she was going to play with it. I mean, what sort of scenarios can you do with one doll and an elephant?

Kelly-who-is-not-really-Kelly: Walk, Elephant.
Elephant: Huh-uh.
KWINRK: Why couldn't I have been Malibu Barbie? Didn't she come with a Corvette?

I sighed and handed Victoria her loot. 10 minutes later, Kelly the Elephant Princess had gone missing and Victoria was happily playing with the elephant. She tells me she only wanted the elephant anyway.

Thank goodness, we are related.

Excuses, excuses

Whoo . . . I'm pooped. I'm going to reply to all the great comments and show you guys my latest commission that I've just finished tomorrow. And blog about Barbie, rah!

I spent the last three days with the phenomenal and charming Helene Keough (who is also extremely talented) and I'm completely zonked. We stayed up so late every night . . . yes, I'm an idiot. Ok. Over and out, folks, see you tomorrow.

Interview with Andrew Karre, an Editor Sort

Regular blog readers will know of course that I have a novel coming out next fall from Flux, a young adult imprint of Llewellyn Worldwide. I would tell you the title, but we're still arm-wrestling over it. Anyway, my editor, the charming and extremely helpful Andrew Karre, agreed to do an interview with me for the blog. His only condition: ask questions that he hadn't been asked before in previous interviews. My only condition: keep it funny. Whether or not we both succeeded is a matter of debate.

So here it is -- he was rather more flattering than he had to be, but we'll let that pass.

THE INTERVIEW
Andrew, space and my blog readers' attention spans are limited, so this is a reminder to keep your responses pithy and wildly funny.

1. You're an editor. I've always appreciated the word "editor" as I've never had a typo while trying to spell it; I think it's the fortuitous combination of easy-to-reach letters on the keyboard. How has being an editor affected how you read books during your time off?

It hasn’t affected it for the worse. I am not a natural copy editor or proofreader, so I don’t get hives when someone splits an infinitive. There are books that I read, though, where I get distracted by how I might suggest the author approach a scene differently. Leisure reading is still fun, though, thankfully.

2. A lot of Flux's novels seem to be getting revoltingly flattering reviews; truly we must be a talented bunch. Do you ever feel your head is in danger of swelling as you admire your flock of authors? Do you ever feel the siren song of New York and great pizza?

Yes, you are, and no I don’t. The pizza is excellent here and the beer is vastly superior. I am a Midwesterner born and bred, and I will never move to New York.

3. You let your authors use the 'F' word in Flux's young adult titles and in polite conversation with you. Do you find swearing to be controversial in young adult lit? And more importantly, when you stub your toe at home, what is the first word that flies out of your mouth?

As a soon-to-be father I’m being fairly diligent about those sorts of things. “Jesus riding on a bicycle” has always been a favorite, though. And I don’t swear in polite conversation with all of you. Just a few.

4. Normal people like myself find strange people like editors, tornado chasers, and lizard scientists to be mysterious and fascinating, if unapproachable (because lizards, being reptiles, have teeth). What part of your job do you think is generally unknown by the average joe?

How little of it is actual editing? That I don’t wear tweed? Actually, I think lots of what we imagine of an editor’s job is wrong, but, oddly enough, the important part—working with authors and making books—is still there, so we do it anyway.

5. Do you chase tornadoes?

Actually, no. Cowering in fear is more likely.

6. I am continually amazed by how you fail to get my cunning movie references and have decided that you must boycott the television. Do you feel that movies and TV culture have affected the way books are written? Especially YA novels?

Uh-oh. Caught. We don’t own a TV. I love movies, but I’m not what you’d call current on contemporary popular cinema. I think TV, like any influence, can be good or bad. Some TV writing is really efficient and fast paced, and that’s never a bad skill for an author to have. On the other hand, I think TV tends to place characterization on the backburner and that is never a good thing for an author. I hate it when I can trace a book’s cast of characters back to Saved By the Bell. Repeat after me, “Screech is not a worthy archetype.”

7. I cannot help but notice that Flux's list is populated by novels that are sensitive and insightful observations of teen life. What is my novel doing amongst them? (Kidding . . . mostly . . . ) Do you ever feel the desire to release a vapid series of teen books meant purely for entertainment (naming no names)?

Actually, I think your book fits perfectly. I think urban fantasy and paranormal YA are great ways to explore the teenage condition. When they’re done well, the fantastic aspects and situations tend to be extension or amplifications of the fears and desires of the teenage characters. To quote a certain author: “When he said I seemed older, it gave a reason for my isolation. I was different in a positive way. Not weird. Not awkward.”

And to your last question, no. I couldn’t afford it.

8. A few years ago, when I perused the young adult section at my local bookstore, the only people I had to elbow out of the way were under-aged emo types who gave me hurt looks before slinking away. Now, I increasingly have to trample other adults and reluctant adults like myself to find my favorite authors. Why do you think more adults are being drawn to the YA section?

Because there’s good stuff there, I suppose. Because no one ever really recovers from being a teenager [insert 12-step joke here]? I wonder, too, if in an iPod world, people are less inclined to take categories and genres seriously in their consumption habits. If it’s okay to have Steely Dan next to Henry Purcell on your iPod, why not have John Green and Don DeLillo on your nightstand? Categories are less important than connections and resonances.

9. It seems like everybody and their mother wants to be a novelist these days; it takes all kinds. A recent poll I did on Fangs, Fur & Fey, revealed that the vast majority of the published writers polled were introverts and some combination of the IN- personality types on the Myers-Briggs test. Do you notice any sweeping similarities amongst the authors you edit? Other than mind-blowing talent?

It’s actually a fairly diverse group. The intros probably outnumber the extros, if you’re inclined to take those categories seriously, but not by much. There are self-described introverts who turn into rock stars when they get the right audience. Besides, no writer can be truly introverted and survive this business anyway. If you’re an introvert, why do you want to be read? The main commonality is stubbornness. I am constantly amazed by your sheer force of determination.

10. So. Finally. You play French horn. So does my sister-in-law. Any chance that it's in Flux's budget to have the two of you playing a duet on my book's release date? C'mon, don't be that way. At least think about it before you say no.

Depends on where. I’ve always loved the collection of duets Mozart wrote.

So there you have it. Editors are afraid of tornadoes, they don't own television sets, and they say "oh, fudge," when they stub their toes. How more thorough could I have possibly been?

So weigh in and tell Andrew what you think . . .

Plea to the Underaged

I'm looking for some help with high school. Not going to it, but writing about it. My school experience was totally messed up, as I skipped high school and went straight into college at 16. At the time I thought "cool, I'm skipping high school" but now, I'm thinking, "I write young adult novels and I skipped high school!!!!!???"

So here's my plea. Would any high school readers who are feeling enormously gracious and like they would care to encourage the Karmic Santa Claus to visit them later in life send me a description of an ordinary high school day to me via e-mail? Omitting no details, including people you avoid or hover around, what classes are like, how the lockers smell? It's the little things that matter. Or if you're a parent of a high schooler, could you beg them? I can only set novels during summer vacation for so long.

Heck, I'll sweeten the deal. Whoever sends me the best (and what "best" entails is entirely up to my own mysterious standards) e-mail before next Sunday can pick a journal out of my Cafepress store and I will send it to you gratis. (And I'll be adding about ten new journals this week as well).

And send those e-mails to maggiestiefvater AT gmail.com, replacing AT with @.

Thanks, y'all!

Ho Ho Ho Thump

"The Library's Cat" - 12 x 16" colored pencil on board (finally done)
Copyright 2007 Maggie Stiefvater.
$500 - email me at portraitswithcharacter AT gmail.com for ordering info.

I have this theory that over-playing of holiday music causes road rage.

Wait, wait, hear me out. You all know that I was at the Richmond Craftsmen Classic this past weekend. Well, as it’s one of their shows aimed at holiday shoppers, all of us were required to decorate our booth in a Christmasy fashion (seems a bit against the spirit of the holiday, doesn’t it?) and Christmas music was piped in overhead for all three days.

Ahhh, the spirit of Christmas. Except it’s November. Not even late November. It’s early, neonatal November. I found myself mentally unprepared for the holiday onslaught. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m all for ho ho ho and ha ha ha and lots of presents (especially when they’re for me and involve harp strings or donuts. Or harp strings and donuts). And Gilmore, the show’s promoter, is a great promoter. And people thinking about Christmas do buy Christmas gifts.

But.

After 72 hours of pleasant Christmas music in emotionally soothing major keys, all I wanted to do was leap in my car, throw some Breaking Benjamin or Fuel (the band, not the substance) in the CD player, and burn tire out of that parking lot, cutting off fellow cars left and right and identifying the number of pedestrians only by counting the thump-thumps. Sound terrible? It's the Christmas cheer coming out, my reaction to holiday tunes, played indiscriminately and in an untimely fashion.

Christmas tunes are like antibiotics. They should be carefully chosen to target the specific problem at hand and given only when needed. Blanketing the world with Bing Crosby and Nat King Cole crooning Away in a Manger will just cause more problems than it solves.

It doesn't help that I have an allergic reaction to many Christmas tunes. I don't do cheesy. I don't do vocals, with a few notable exceptions. And I do not do not abide Burl Ives singing in anything except for Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. So I perhaps reach the road-rage point sooner than most. But still. I think if we weren't so $%^& jolly during the Christmas season, we'd all be a lot happier.

That said, "The Library's Cat" would make a great Christmas gift . . .

Our Triumphant Heroine Returns

Holy Hanna, I'm back. Well, actually I was back on Monday, but I slept for most of it. After greeting and talking to the 35,000 people who make it through the Craftsmens Classic, this particular introvert needed to curl up in a fetal position for a few dozen hours.

That said, I had a fantastic show and once again I have to say thanks to the crafters that helped me and encouraged me -- I always learn so much from you guys.

I also wanted to say thanks to my buyers and portrait clients -- it was great meeting all of you and I'm really looking forward to tackling my new projects over the next few months.

I would like to not thank the gaggle of old women who stood in front of my booth talking for a half hour, farting the entire time. I know you thought the music was loud enough to cover the sound. It wasn't. And if you think the smell of the fudge makers down the aisle was enough to cover the smell . . . it wasn't.

I have art and fun things to show you guys, but for now I'll leave you with the title my editor is using for my novel: LAMENT. I am purposefully including that statement without any emotion attached to it, because I want you guys to tell me what you think of it before I say what I think of it.

I'll be back later on today. I'm cooking a head-cold and I'm feeling distinctly wishy-washy. I'm also showing the last puppy available today and I'm seriously hoping they take her home with them. Because the 7:30 wake-up call in seven voices is getting a bit aggravating.

(look at all my pretty prints . . . they look like a real artist did them)

Hey gang – I’m going to be at the Richmond Christmas Craftsmen Classic for the next three days, so don’t expect me to be posting much. At least after that I go into winter break and I should have a bit more time off. (Ha)(Nay, double Ha!)

I have to say that I love this show. The promoter is awesome and does more for their booth fee than any show I’ve ever been to. I hear the show advertised non-stop on the radio, see billboards for it all through town as I drive to it (and this is Richmond - billboards ain’t no small thing), get donuts and coffee in the morning, have porters to help load and unload my booth, and have booth-sitters in case I have to run to the bathroom. There’s a reason Sunshine Artist voted them #6 – oh yeah, and the fact that 35,000 customers come through each year.

That said, here’s three random suggestions for art shows:

1) Sell yourself. Your art may be beautiful and your booth wonderfully set up, but when it comes down to it, your attitude will affect the majority of your sales – or your non-sales. I once read somewhere that you should wear make-up to shows. I scratched my head over it and thought “uh . . . “ But having been to shows, I get it. No one wants to buy something from a grumpy old hag with hair sticking up and a shoulder-slump that says “my spouse isn’t supportive and I don’t believe in myself.” You don’t have to be an A+ hottie to sell art (though I am)(kidding), but you should be neat, clean, and smiling. Your attitude should be positive - nay, effusive. You should inspire. Sell yourself.

2) Help your fellow artist/ artisan/ craftsman/ person inundated with too much imagination to be functional in a desk job. If a fellow vendor needs help moving something, offer. Don’t wait to be asked. Be known as the helpful artist and it will come back to you tenfold. Look for opportunities to make someone’s life easier – and remember those who do the same for you.

3) Put yourself in your buyer’s shoes. Which direction are they walking from? What will they see first? What will they love the most? Be objective. Be creative. What would you like to see in an artist’s booth? Where would you like the prices to be? When people come to look, treat them as you’d like to be treated, not like a sulky teen or a scary-clingy stalker.

Actually, just take out the art related comments in those suggestions and apply them to life in general.

Any more suggestions for selling and attitude? Put ‘em in the comments and I’ll pull the good ones out for a recap on the last day of the show when I come back. Bye, y’all! Love all of you! (well, except the scary-clingy stalkers).