I had the privilege of meeting Laurie Halse Anderson at a signing event for this book last week. I was so impressed by the candor with which Laurie spoke about the book’s focus, anorexia, and her insights into teen life. She was a warm, engaging speaker, and even if I’d never read any of her books, I would have understood why she has such a huge following. This event was made even better by the presence of other authors. I had a great time hanging out with Cheryl Renee Herbsman again (her first novel, Breathing, comes out the same day as TMI) and meeting Heidi R. Kling, another debut author whose book, Sea, will be published in 2010. Heidi has a picture of the three of us on her blog.

Then I went home and actually read Wintergirls. I read it in two days and haven’t been able to pick up another book since.

I don’t even know what to say other than a string of words. Haunting. Mesmerizing. Beautiful. Terrifiying. Poetic. Raw. Important.

Wintergirls is going to be placed on a shelf of honor alongside the finest young adult books ever written. It is going to win awards. It is going to be part of school curricula. But more importantly, it is going to give readers sympathy and insight into the world of eating disorders, a hurricane in which so many young women are swirling. Anderson’s book is a plea for understanding and dialogue about a mental illness that ravages the body and spirit with merciless ferocity.

The only thing left for me to say is: go read this book.

1. Google “Sarah Quigley TMI review”

2. Check to see who rejected my friend requests on Facebook and proceed to obsess about said rejections

3. Buy Trader Joe’s dark chocolate in bulk and try to eat just one square a day

4. Attempt to do anything domestic the hour before my husband comes home from work (The Bean* is at her clingiest in the late afternoon.)

5. The Bachelor

6. Give the Bean anything to eat without first stripping her naked and laying tarp over all surfaces of our home

7. Try to park or turn left anywhere in San Francisco

8. Brainstorm ideas for second novel

9. Magnifying mirror and tweezers

10. Come up with ridiculous, semi-clever lists

*The Bean is my 13-month-old daughter. Her name is not really the Bean (not legally, anyway), but this is what my husband and I usually call her.

Becca, the heroine of TMI, is the Overshare Queen. She can’t stop herself from talking about things that make others squirm. Her prune overdose. Her boyfriend’s enormous tongue. Her crush on Teddy Roosevelt. Becca lays it all out there for anyone within earshot.

Can you relate? Do your friends and family regularly drop the TMI bomb on you? Do you need an outlet for your confessions?

Then you’ll be looking forward to Tuesdays. Each week, I’ll be posting anonymous overshares from my fans. I’m looking for juicy morsels! So send me your best stuff, and it may wind up on my web site.

The first TMI Tuesday will be April 14, two days before the release of TMI. I need submissions! That’s where you come in. And there’s something in it for you, too.

Send your overshares to sarah@sarahquigley.com (or via message on Facebook or MySpace) by April 7, and you will be entered into a drawing to win an advance copy of TMI. Signed. Mailed to your home. Anywhere in the world.

Is that a dream come true or what?!

Rules for TMI Tuesdays

1. Keep your overshare to 125 words or less. As Shakespeare said, “Brevity is the soul of wit.”

2. Keep things rated PG-13 or tamer. I know, I know, this could present a challenge for many TMI-ers, but the young ‘uns will be reading these.

3. Feel free to submit as many overshares as you like. Each TMI you send me earns you one entry into the drawing.

4. I will never reveal your name or contact information to anyone.

5. I reserve the right to edit submissions for clarity, grammar, usage, and PG-13-ness. I will contact you to approve any major changes (i.e. more than a typo or spelling correction).

6. I reserve the right not to post submissions for any reason. Just sayin’.

Ah, how I long to say this someday. Perhaps to a surly barista or robotic video store clerk. You know the type. The ones who refuse to make small talk or laugh at your little jokes.

I encountered such a person today. I was at my local bookstore purchasing The Forest of Hands and Teeth by Carrie Ryan (squeal!) and tickets to Laurie Halse Anderson’s signing of Wintergirls (squeal! squeal!). I casually mentioned to the bookstore employee that I would be having a signing event of my own in May, and he merely sniffed. I then said, “Yeah, and I’m probably going to be really famous someday, too.”

And what did he say?

“Here’s your receipt, ma’am.”

Maybe he didn’t understand that I was kidding. Or maybe he had bad heartburn. Or maybe his kitty just died. Don’t know. But I was totally tempted to say:

“Don’t you even KNOW who I AM?”

But I didn’t because I was afraid the maniacal laughter would burst my eardrums.

One of these days, though, I’m going to work up the courage to say this, and perhaps if I’m really lucky, someone will utter my fantasy response:

“Why, yes! How I adore you and your work. Wow, you’re even more gorgeous in real life.”

Ah, how I long to say this someday. Perhaps to a surly barista or robotic video store clerk. You know the type. The ones who refuse to make small talk or laugh at your little jokes.

I encountered such a person today. I was at my local bookstore purchasing The Forest of Hands and Teeth by Carrie Ryan (squeal!) and tickets to Laurie Halse Anderson’s signing of Wintergirls (squeal! squeal!). I casually mentioned to the bookstore employee that I would be having a signing event of my own in May, and he merely sniffed. I then said, “Yeah, and I’m probably going to be really famous someday, too.”

And what did he say?

“Here’s your receipt, ma’am.”

Maybe he didn’t understand that I was kidding. Or maybe he had bad heartburn. Or maybe his kitty just died. Don’t know. But I was totally tempted to say:

“Don’t you even KNOW who I AM?”

But I didn’t because I was afraid the maniacal laughter would burst my eardrums.

One of these days, though, I’m going to work up the courage to say this, and perhaps if I’m really lucky, someone will utter my fantasy response:

“Why, yes! How I adore you and your work. Wow, you’re even more gorgeous in real life.”