I recently had the pleasure of appearing at Young Adult Author Night at A Great Good Place for Books in Oakland, CA. I teamed up again with fellow first-time YA authors Cheryl Renee Herbsman and C. Lee McKenzie (our first event together was the Debutante Ball in May) and also met Ellen Klages.

Here we are: me, Ellen, Cheryl, and C. Lee

We spoke to a fantastic, inquisitive crowd about our books, journeys to publication, and writing strategies. A good time was had by all, and if you’re near Montclair Village, I urge you to stop by this gem of a bookstore (and pick up a signed copies of TMI and the books by my awesome fellow YA authors while you’re at it!).

Okay, so there is one contributor to TMI Tuesdays who has left everyone else in the dust. Here is this person’s follow-up overshare to Confessions of a Teenage “Sexter” and Never Trust a Kid with Freckles. Thanks for the excellent contributions, sweetheart!

Oh, and if you get the chance to be a sexter, don’t do it because it’s not worth all the trouble. I hope you’ve realized that by now

Somebody asked me yesterday for the word count of TMI.* She was horrified that I didn’t know. Is that like a mom not knowing her baby’s birth weight or something? I’m not sure. So I looked it up.

Word count: 60,063

So there ya go.

*The question wasn’t totally crazy; the woman is a journalist and gets paid by the word.

I just had the pleasure of talking, via speakerphone, with a book club in my hometown. I know a few of the members, who are all adult women, and they had lots of nice things to say about TMI. They all got a kick out of the small-town setting and inside jokes that only people from my hometown would get.

They wanted to know how strongly the characters of TMI were based on real people. It’s definitely a fair question given that I stole the setting from real life. While several characters resemble people I actually know, there isn’t one who is totally based on a real person. The closest I come to that is with Becca, and she’s me.

Thank goodness I didn’t have Internet access as a teenager.

One of my friends from high school, shortly after reading TMI, wanted me to name names of people I had in mind when I created my characters. She also point-blank asked if Matt Wooderson, Becca’ big crush, was really the guy she was in love with in high school. A lot of girls crushed on this guy, and with good reason. He was good-looking and incredibly charming. He was athletic and had a great singing voice. He had a lot of things going for him, but he was human like the rest of us. I always knew this, even as other girls drooled over him.

Funny enough, though, I did not have him in mind when I imagined Matt. Matt is purely a product of my imagination. Someone told me that he was too perfect, which is a valid criticism, but perfect was exactly what I was going for with Matt. He’s a fantasy. And it’s important to remember that TMI is told from Becca’s perspective. If Matt has any flaws, Becca is either unaware of them or refuses to see them. She doesn’t actually know Matt all that well by the end of the book.

I actually have an idea for a spin-off book to TMI that would show just how unperfect Matt is, but it’s a ways down the pipeline. Hopefully, y’all will get to read it someday.

I just had the pleasure of talking, via speakerphone, with a book club in my hometown. I know a few of the members, who are all adult women, and they had lots of nice things to say about TMI. They all got a kick out of the small-town setting and inside jokes that only people from my hometown would get.

They wanted to know how strongly the characters of TMI were based on real people. It’s definitely a fair question given that I stole the setting from real life. While several characters resemble people I actually know, there isn’t one who is totally based on a real person. The closest I come to that is with Becca, and she’s me.

Thank goodness I didn’t have Internet access as a teenager.

One of my friends from high school, shortly after reading TMI, wanted me to name names of people I had in mind when I created my characters. She also point-blank asked if Matt Wooderson, Becca’ big crush, was really the guy she was in love with in high school. A lot of girls crushed on this guy, and with good reason. He was good-looking and incredibly charming. He was athletic and had a great singing voice. He had a lot of things going for him, but he was human like the rest of us. I always knew this, even as other girls drooled over him.

Funny enough, though, I did not have him in mind when I imagined Matt. Matt is purely a product of my imagination. Someone told me that he was too perfect, which is a valid criticism, but perfect was exactly what I was going for with Matt. He’s a fantasy. And it’s important to remember that TMI is told from Becca’s perspective. If Matt has any flaws, Becca is either unaware of them or refuses to see them. She doesn’t actually know Matt all that well by the end of the book.

I actually have an idea for a spin-off book to TMI that would show just how unperfect Matt is, but it’s a ways down the pipeline. Hopefully, y’all will get to read it someday.

Another little gem of an overshare! Thanks for contribution, Little Miss You-Know-Who-You-Are.

My Buddy Bart

When I was little, I used to think an alligator lived in my drain. But, he wasn’t a mean one, he was a baby one. I used to sit in my bathtub for hours looking down it, and once I even put oatmeal down my drain to feed them. His name was Bart.

I urge y’all to venture over to the adorable Lara Zielin’s site. I did a guest blog for her this past week. Lara’s book, Donut Days, will be out August 6, and she’s giving away gift certificates to Dunkin’ Donuts as part of her book launch celebration. Sweet!

I’ve got to more events this summer in the San Francisco Bay area:

July 22, 6 PM

Young Adult Author Night with me, Cheryl Renee Herbsman, C. Lee McKenzie, and Ellen Klages

A Great Good Place for Books
6120 LaSalle Ave.
Oakland, CA

August 24, 7 PM

Kidlit Salon Young Adult Author Panel with me, Cheryl Renee Herbsman, C. Lee McKenzie, Malinda Lo, and Lauren Bjorkman

Book Passage
51 Tamal Vista Blvd.
Corte Madera, CA

So if you’re dying to meet me and want your copy of TMI signed, stop on by. I’d love to see you! Oh, and the other authors I’ll be hanging out with at these events are awesome, too.

Recently at a local restaurant, I couldn’t stop drooling over one of the waiters. He was gorgeous, from his lofty cheekbones and chiseled jaw to his tall, athletic-but-not-steroidy frame. The thing that really had me jonesing, though, was his hair. It was smoothed back and coiled into a neat bun, which meant that it probably reached halfway down his back when he took it down. Just thinking about what that man looked like with his hair flowing in the breeze was enough to make me whiteknuckle my menu.

It was gender reversal of the sexy lady librarian fantasy. Sort of.

I am a sucker for a long-haired boy (LHB). He doesn’t even need to be as Depp-like as the waiter was. In fact, there have been many times when I’ve stopped myself mid-lust and realized that the LHB in question actually isn’t that great-looking.

It’s no accident that Evan Johnson, Becca’s boyfriend in TMI, has a ponytail. He doesn’t have the cutest face in the world, but Becca thinks he’s hot, hot, hot. It’s all about the hair.

What is it about the LHB that unglues me? I’ve never been able to pinpoint it exactly, but I have a few theories. My parents were hippies, which meant that my dad was an LHB for many years. Growing up, my mom often talked about how attractive she found that.

The first boy I had truly sexy feelings for had long hair. It was actually more of a mullet cut, but the fact that he liked me back made this easy to forgive. Also, it was the early 1990s, and the mullet was still very much in fashion. I was in ninth grade and he was in eighth, so our relationship was doomed to be short-lived. He cut his hair soon after I dumped him.

I spent most of high school pining for various LHBs, most of them skaters with garage bands. I finally got a short-haired boyfriend senior year. My hair was pretty short at the time, too, and my boyfriend and I agreed that we preferred members of the opposite sex with long hair. Neither of us visited a salon during our nine-month courtship.

Right before I left for college, a beautiful LHB boy two years younger than me confessed that he thought I was the prettiest girl in my class. I was floored. Partly because I never imagined someone would think this, but mainly because he thought it. This boy had nearly waist-length golden hair, dimples, and a peaches-and-cream complexion. He was absolutely stunning. We made out in my car one night, and he told me he liked it. So did I. Kissing Golden Boy fulfilled a huge fantasy for me.

I knew a number of LHBs in college and admired several of them from afar, but everyone I dated had short hair. I started going out with my husband senior year. He’s about as clean-cut as they get. I’ve asked him many times to grow his hair out, but he won’t do it. He says it’s not his look. I accept that, just as he understands my thing for LHBs and isn’t the least bit threatened by it.

I’ll take confidence over a ponytail any day of the week.

Here’s the follow-up overshare to last week’s fabulous TMI. Enjoy!

Never Trust A Kid With Freckles

Like I said, I was really depressed for a few weeks, because someone who I thought I really liked, (maybe even loved,) had no feelings for me, and was only using me.

In reading class, this kid with a face full of freckles was like, “What’s wrong?”

I sighed, and replied, “Nothing.”

But, of course, when someone sighs and mumbles “nothing,” you can assume it’s really something that they’d rather not share. So, instead of realizing I didn’t want to talk about it and move on, he kept asking.

And asking.

And asking.

Sooner or later, I finally just broke down and told him the whole story. How I really liked this guy, and how he pretended to like me for reasons that were irrelevant. How I cried for weeks over him, just to find out he never really loved me at all. I am okay with sharing my feelings, but not okay when I’m judged because of them.

Which is exactly what happened.

The kid with the freckles told like three people, who told three more people, and still to this day, people are asking if I still “sext” (a fake word to resemble text,) a certain jerkface, (whose name will not be mentioned.)

Never trust a kid with freckles.

Have a burning confession that you want to share (anonymously) with the rest of the world? Find out how you can contribute to TMI Tuesdays here.

A lot of things make me angry, but nothing pisses me off as consistently as smokers. They’re impossible to avoid. And while a few will put out their cigarettes or go somewhere else when politely asked, most behave like entitled jerks.

I was in at the Children’s Playground in Golden Gate Park today with my family, and I saw a woman light up. There were kids running all around her. Yes, she was outside, but a lot of little lungs were still taking in those carcinogens. As we passed her, my husband mentioned to her that smoking is not allowed on the playground.

“Write me up a ticket, then,” she said, taking another puff.

Normally I don’t say anything to smokers, but having my husband by my side gave me courage.

“Have a little concern for others,” I said. She shook her head and looked in the other direction.

“What’s the matter with you?” I asked as I walked away. The woman didn’t answer. She just kept on smoking.

I was shaking mad. Maybe I should have known better than to waste my time talking to this woman. Those kinds of confrontations almost never result in anything constructive. It’s pretty clear that anyone with so little regard for her own health wouldn’t give a rip about others. Still, the nerve of some people never ceases to amaze me.

I realize I’m probably preaching to the choir for the most part. Nonsmokers far outnumber smokers these days. But those still clinging to their Marlboros seem to think they deserve rights. Well, guess what? They don’t. Now that I’m a mother, I feel more strongly about this issue than ever.

To the lady in the park: keep your toxins to yourself. My daughter doesn’t need them.